#my wavering spirit finds its home in a little corner of your mind and it's where i love to be

[bongsavior]

why does everyone else's state dictate how i'm doing? why do i obsess over how everyone is, except for myself?

[elysiadjarin]

Day 6: Hand Kink

Day 6 of Kinktober! Already almost a week in, huh… I figured I’d dip into the rich Japanese side of mythology this time. I hope this is an acceptable tribute… Find my Kinktober Masterlist here.

Warnings: Minors DNI, this is 18+ content ONLY. Trigger warnings for violence mentioned including physical assault, some family abuse dynamics, implied sexual assault (does not actually happen), and mild descriptions of death. Also sexual content including soft dom themes, PinV unprotected sex, entirely consensual.

Tags: Beast Youkai x reader, fox spirit x reader, exophilia, terato

Small Sun Showers

“It’s such a small thing, really.”

You slid the bag you’d brought into the hollow of the old tree. Avoiding the ropes strung around, you carefully sat on the rock next to the tree.

“I brought you some sweet buns, this time, with poppy seeds,” you said, ignoring the comment that had come from the dark hollow. “Since you said you missed some of the herbs.”

The sound of crinkling came from the hole, followed by the sounds of munching. “Attentive to me, as always, sweet one,” the disembodied voice cooed, though a moment later burning orange eyes stared at you from the darkness.

You studiously avoided the gaze, looking down at the grass under your feet. A sliver of shadow from the abandoned warehouse nearby fell over you, giving you some shade from the warm sun. As always, you didn’t respond to the epithets. You never did.

“How is the temple doing?” The voice asked.

“It’s fine,” you answered, almost automatically. “The festival is coming up soon, so everyone is excited.”

“And yet you do not, hmm?” The eyes tilted, as though the head had cocked at her curiously.

Your eyes slid away, more towards the forest beyond the tree. Unconsciously, your fingers tugged at the long sleeves you wore, despite the warm weather.

“I’m a little nervous,” you admitted. “As a Shrine Maiden, I’m supposed to be doing the Miko Kagura. I’ve been practicing, but…”

“You wear long sleeves again.” A hint of suspicion crept into the voice.

Despite yourself, you flinched. “I— I’m just-“

A low growl issued from the tree. “A spirit has been harassing you again, hasn’t it. Why haven’t you called an exorcist? Or told your Father, the Priest?”

You turned your head away. “It’s been contracted by someone else,” you admitted, voice thin. “I… can’t tell Papa.”

A pause. “Because it was bought at a high price.” A sneer laced the voice. “Then how do you plan to get rid of it? You can’t hold it off forever yourself. And it’s already injured you, hasn’t it.”

You shook your head. “I’ll find out a way. I can’t bother anyone else with it.” Your eyes slid closed, the bruises mottled up your arm throbbing.

“Or you could create a contract with something far more powerful,” came the slick purr. “If you’d only break the talisman, I would make a contract with you, sweet one.” The sealed beast offered, for not the first time.

“You are a beast youkai,” you answered, voice steady. “It is against your nature to bind yourself to anyone, much less become the guardian spirit of a small temple.” You reminded both him and yourself.

“Unless we have reason. Even the mightiest of beasts might be swayed by beauty such as yours.”

A bitter smile twisted your lips as you turned your face away. You? As if. The beast youkai only even spoke to you because you gave it food and paid attention to it out of your own loneliness, not because it somehow cared about you. You couldn’t bring yourself to really believe that.

With a soft sigh, you plucked at your sleeves. “What do you want me to bring you next time?”

But the voice stayed quiet for a moment. When it spoke again, something in its voice had changed. “Do you truly not believe me? I do not lie when I say that I would bind myself to you. I would never let you be injured. I would protect you, like your family cannot. I would hold you close,” the voice said, a dreamy tone in its voice, “and I would shower you with everything you deserve.”

You fought the tears that welled in your eyes as you abruptly stood, grabbing your bag. “If you don’t have any requests, I’ll just bring anything,” you interrupted, struggling to make sure your voice didn’t waver.

A sigh, so soft that you wondered if it were only the wind. “A meat bun.”

You nodded, then headed back down the hillside towards home. Reaching up, you angrily smeared your tears from your cheeks, breath hitching on your sobs.

You could never allow yourself to believe the words of a youkai, much less a powerful and dangerous one like him. No matter how sweet his words, how genuine they sounded… Everyone always lied to you. He would be no exception.

You tried to ignore the little part of you that wondered if maybe, just maybe, dying at the hands of the youkai would be better than continuing the misery of your life.

~

“Fouuuund youuuu.” A yawning mouth sprang from the darkness, black eyes fixed with crazed bloodlust on your body.

You dropped to the floor, scrambling across the hardwood to slide towards the doorway. Leaping back up, you ran for your life. Your breaths came fast and shallow as you blindly ran, tripping through the dark halls of the temple. Behind you, you could hear cackling laughter as its talons scrabbled after you.

You reached out your hand, then burst though the main doors, stumbling across the stones out front. Looking up, you froze.

An entire group of men stood in front of you, all staring at you with leering, jeering faces. The one in the front, the one your brain automatically assumed was the leader, stepped forwards.

“Well, well. Would you look at that.” He grinned, his eyes sliding over your shoulder.

Something grabbed your arm, wrenching you back. You stifled a cry, sinking your teeth into your lip as claws brutally dug into the bruises already all up your arm. The spirit held you, its tight grip almost unbearable.

“I guess the boy must really hate his family, huh?” the man sneered, hands in his pockets as he stared at you down his nose. Reaching out with his foot, he kicked at you like some sort of trash. “To think that he’d offer his own younger sister in exchange for his debts.”

Your heart sank. Of course. Your brother who had gotten into debt with the yakuza. Of course he’d offer you: the only girl, the precious little shrine maiden.

Sadly enough, it didn’t even surprise you. But at least now you figured out why the spirit had haunted you in particular so insistently, and how much trouble you were in. Which, you snorted bitterly to yourself, was a lot. Probably at risk of your life, at best.

A wild thought flashed through your head, desperate but somehow… insistent. Your eyes briefly scanned the crowd of men. You were smaller than most of them, and probably in better shape at this point. If you managed to get a brief head start, you weren’t too far away— enough to maybe be able to get there just fast enough. But you’d have to immobilize the spirit first, at least temporarily.

Thickly, you swallowed, closing your eyes and breathing in deeply. You had enough. Just enough for one— Your other hand landed on the spirit’s as your eyes flew open. The spirit let out a piercing shriek, letting go of you as the searing spiritual energy burst through your palm. You didn’t hesitate.

Breaking into a dead sprint, you headed straight for the hill behind the temple. Behind you, you could hear the angry shouts of the men as they started after you. You pushed yourself, ignoring it, taking as many shortcuts as you could, heart pounding in your ears as you gasped for air. Your legs were starting to ache, and you could hear them gaining on you; but the warehouse was in sight.

Skidding around the corner, you ran straight for the tree. Your hand reached for the talisman.

When the yakuza men caught up to you, they found you kneeling at the base of the tree, a shattered seal at your feet.

Tears streaked down your cheeks as you whispered into the hollow. “Please… if you help me, just this once… I’ll give you myself in exchange,” you promised weakly.

“It’s too late now, little girl,” the boss sneered, starting to step towards you. “You’re coming with us.”

But before he could say anything more or another move was made, a dark mist began to swirl around the area. Shouts of confusion arose as the mist covered everything, too dark to see through, almost too dark to even move in safely. A low, grating laugh spilled from the darkness, just as you felt yourself being lifted up.

Startled, you gasped softly and clung to the solidity you could feel under your fingers. Lips parted, you stared at the familiar orange eyes that slowly materialized in front of you. A wide, fanged grin split the darkness underneath the eyes; and slowly, a body started to emerge from the swirling dark mist.

“Well hello there, my sweet one,” the familiar voice cooed. Long, pitch black hair tied in a low ponytail framed a pale face. The beast youkai, one that you now recognized as a Fox, held you effortlessly in one arm, pulling you close to his chest. He towered above the ground, dwarfing you in every way possible. His entire hand curled around almost your entire thigh.

You swallowed. “H-hello,” you whispered tremulously, not even sure what to think at this point.

“You released me,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on you. He leaned forward, and his nose brushed against your cheek as a soft purr rumbled through his chest, reverberating down into you.

Your fingers clenched in his robe, surprise flittering through you that he wasn’t… leaving. Or killing you.

“My brave darling,” the youkai fairly gushed, nosing against you. “Now I can finally fulfill my promise to you.”

“Promise?” you repeated dumbly, mind whirling. What-?

He chuckled. “I told you, didn’t I? That I would contract with you, if you set me free. Protect you, cherish you as you should be.”

He’d actually meant it? What?

“I…” You stared up at his orange eyes, fixed on you intensely. Your breath stuck in your throat as the familiar ache of longing overcame you. Reminded you of your stupidity, falling in love with the beast youkai that you thought would never even glance at you if he were free.

“Of course I’ll do anything for you,” he purred, his tongue flicking out to briefly lick away the tear-streak on your cheek. “As if I would deny you when you offer me the one thing I truly desire more than anything else.” He grinned, eyes sparking. “You.”

And then his fingers tilted your chin up, and your eyes squeezed shut as his lips landed on yours. The kiss was warm and soft, surprisingly so. You could feel your spiritual energy gravitating towards him, could feel it wrapping around him, infusing him, as he made a contract binding him to you and your spiritual energy. He reluctantly let go of your lips, the dizzying kiss making your head spin as you gasped for breath.

“My name is Kaz, sweet one,” he murmured, orange eyes half-lidded in simmering contentment.

Unthinkingly, you repeated the name. “Kaz…”

His eyes glowed. “Now then. Why don’t we start with these filth?”

In the next moment, the mist cleared to reveal that everyone now stood in the empty warehouse. Kaz still held you in his arm, keeping you close against his chest as he stared at the yakuza men starting to reorient themselves.

The boss cursed, glaring at you and Kaz. “Hand her over,” he spat, bristling. “She’s ours.”

But Kaz only laughed, his teeth baring as feral glee glittered in his eyes. “Give you my precious shrine maiden?” he cackled. “Didn’t you ever consider the fact that she is in fact a shrine maiden at a temple, with her own powerful spiritual energy? Enough to make a contract with a powerful beast like me?” He licked his lips. “And your blood… smells wonderful.”

Some of the men started to look wary, clearly leery about the sheer size of Kaz, especially in comparison with you.

Kaz tilted his head toward you, just as he flicked his fingers. A soft sort of puffy cloud materialized beside him, and he gently set you on it. “Stay here while I get rid of these nuisances,” he said gently, his fingers brushing across your cheek. “I’ll be right back, I promise.” With one last sickeningly sweet smile, he turned towards the men. A sword materialized in his hand, practically the size of your entire body.

You looked away, bile rising in your throat. The blood drained from your face as you heard the men screaming, the sound of the carnage making you reach up to clap your hands over your ears. Though you were sure the men were far from innocent or deserving of mercy, the brutality of their deaths was undeniable. A high-pitched, inhuman shriek indicated that the spirit they’d contracted had also been shredded by Kaz.

It made you wonder. How powerful was Kaz, exactly-?

After another moment, you felt Kaz lift you up again in his arm. Eyes flying open, you grasped at his shoulders as he pulled you close against himself again. His other blood-spattered hand still held his sword, but his eyes were adoringly fixed on you.

Reaching up, you absently wiped away a tiny drop of blood off of his jaw. “Thank you,” you whispered. Despite yourself… you felt safe.

His eyes visibly lit up, and his grin widened as he gazed up at you. “Ah, my darling praises me!” You could swear his eyes had hearts in them. “Do I get a kiss?” His grin turned teasing.

You swallowed thickly. “I… I promised you myself if you helped me,” you said weakly. “It’s all I can really give you… besides my spiritual energy—“

Kaz leaned forwards, his face so close that you could almost feel his breath against your lips. “Be my bride,” he whispered, his voice a heady murmur.

You breath hitched. “K-Kaz?” Had you… heard him right-?

“You offered me yourself, darling,” he purred. “So, be my bride. I am contracted to you, aren’t I? So I will be an impertinent beast and ask the shrine maiden to be my bride without shame.”

You closed your eyes. “Okay,” you whispered.

He paused, as though he himself didn’t believe you’d agreed.

Because you both knew that as a youkai contracted to someone with spiritual energy, you had the power to entirely command him to do anything… and deny him anything. Yet here you were, agreeing to be his bride.

“Okay, Kaz,” you repeated, not meeting his eyes. You could feel the color splash across your face.

But in all honesty, it wasn’t as though you really had many other options. Kaz could promise you some sort of safety even against your own family, and his power was certainly enough to protect you against other youkai. It had taken one of the highest-complexity talismans to even seal him away in the first place, and you could already feel through the contract how powerful he was.

The idea of being his bride… wasn’t really disagreeable.

“Darling,” Kaz breathed. His lips gently slid against yours, the touch soothing and almost… grounding. “I’ll be a most devoted husband, I promise,” he murmured.

You closed your eyes and decided that you would try to believe.

The talisman had been such a small thing, really.

~

You smiled as you walked down the street, stretching your hand out to gather the raindrops that pattered down and pooled in your palm. The weather had been beautiful, but despite the warm sunshine and hardly a cloud being in the sky, it had still decided to rain.

Pausing in the middle of the empty sidewalk, you lifted your face and let the raindrops splash against your face in a cooling shower. You loved the rain, the way it seemed to wash away all your heavy worries and soothe the ragged edge in your soul.

A shadow fell over you, and you opened your eyes to see Kaz standing above you, smiling down at you. He leaned down and swept you up into his arm, one hand holding your thigh while the other wrapped around your waist. A startled laugh fell from your lips as you held onto his shoulders.

“Is my darling enjoying the fox wedding?” he cooed.

You flushed, just then realizing the common name for the burst of cloudless rain. You gave him a shy smile, then nodded.

He chuckled. “Should we celebrate, sweet one? I can give you a gift, if you like.” Between one breath and another, he’d shifted you both somewhere else.

You gasped, eyes widening as you saw that you were floating on a soft, wispy cloud, now deep in the forest on the outskirts of town. A place no other people were, where the rain pattered softly against the leaves of the trees and dripped to the undisturbed grasses below. Flowers bloomed beneath your cloudy carpet ride, and you leaned over to brush your fingers through the colorful blooms.

The cloud rose a little, coming to a stop and floating peacefully. Kaz pulled you into his lap, his hands wrapping around your entire waist. He smiled, watching your expressions as you looked around in delight.

“And what do you think of your wedding veil, my darling bride?” Kaz murmured, leaning down to brush his nose against your hair.

You looked down at the long, wispy cloud under you, and smiled. “It’s pretty. Thank you, Kaz.” You tilted your head back to smile at him.

His orange eyes flared, and he caught your lips in a burning kiss that seared through you like foxfire. Letting out a surprised squeak, you grasped his robe, fingers tangling in it for support as he pulled you closer, tilting his head and deepening the kiss. Your head spun as your eyes fluttered closed.

When he finally parted, you gasped a little for air, blinking dazedly. His hand gently slid up your waist and side, sliding to your back, pulling you flush against him. He pressed another kiss to your lips. You realized, with a burst of embarrassment, that the rain had entirely soaked your shirt, plastering it to your body and leaving rather little to the imagination.

“Darling, my darling,” Kaz murmured against your lips, “won’t you let me touch you?” His hands slid down your body, fingers caressing you sensually.

You bit your lip, heat staining your face. It wasn’t fair. He knew your weakness for his hands. His large, strong hands that held you close, admired your body with touch. His calloused, capable hands that protected you, defended you, worked for you.

You nodded shyly, peeking up at him. Your lips parted in a gasp as his hands slid under your shirt, starting to map out your skin. His tongue slid against yours in a soft kiss, almost distracting you from how his hands deftly explored your body.

It almost startled you when your back landed against the cloud, Kaz hovering above you with his hands wrapped around your waist. His robe slipped open, sliding down his shoulders as he observed you with burning eyes.

“So beautiful, darling,” he purred, his hands trailing down to your pants. “Can I touch? Please?”

Shyly, you nodded, one hand over your mouth as you let out a quiet whimper, chest heaving with breath. Kaz’s hands were so broad, so warm… handled you with such a reverent sort of gentility and softness that you couldn’t help but bask in it, melt into it.

A steady purr rumbled through his chest as he kissed his way down your jaw and neck, fingers sliding into your pants and underwear to pull them off. Sliding his hands under you, he pulled your body up against him, lips sliding across yours.

Your hands braced you against his chest as you gasped, feeling his cock land heavily against your stomach. It throbbed against you, but he quickly distracted you as one hand slid into your hair, pulling your head back. He pressed a kiss to your lips, his mouth hot against your skin.

“So tiny and sweet,” Kaz mumbled against your neck, his voice half-drunk. His fingers slid across your thigh wrapped around his waist, and he lowered his hips, pushing you into the plush softness of the cloud. Your mind started to fuzz, entirely focused on the way his hands grasped at you, somehow greedy and gentle all at once, and the way he handled you with that deft confidence yet tender infatuation.

“Kaz,” the moan left your lips before you could quite help it, your entire body humming at every brush of his fingers.

His answering hum was low and amused as he started to gently slide into you, making you gasp and arch. His cock slid into you without resistance. You’d gotten so wet just thanks to his soft touches and gentle attention. He murmured your name against your lips as he slid wholly into you, seating himself inside with a heavy breath.

You whimpered, biting your lip as you tried to somehow ground yourself. Everything had started to go fuzzy, especially as his hands wrapped entirely around your hips and pulled you down onto his cock, his grasp iron as he ground up into you.

His pace, once he started thrusting, stayed steady and almost agonizingly slow. But when you whined, he chuckled and slid his fingers between your lips instead. You let his lithe fingers gently play with your tongue, while his other hand kept you anchored to him.

You could feel the coil inside you steadily growing, getting tighter, closer to the edge. Everything felt so hazy and light, like the solidity of his body was the only real thing, the only think that mattered. Like his hands were the only things that kept you grounded, held you down, safe from drifting away.

“K-Kaz.” Your teary eyelids opened to gaze up at his face.

“Does this please you, my darling?” Kaz murmured, sliding his fingers out of your mouth and down to press against your clit.

“I— I love you.” Your fingers curled against his chest.

His orange eyes widened, then flooded with that pure, infatuated adoration. “I love you, my sweet darling,” he purred, kissing you. “And I am so entirely yours.”

The coil in your stomach snapped, your orgasm washing over you with a force that left you lightheaded and dizzy. The pleasure suffused your entire body until you were gasping, tears streaking down your cheeks as you whimpered.

You finally floated down from your high to the feeling of Kaz’s hands sweeping over you. He murmured soft endearments into your ear, pressing soft kisses to your skin. He pulsed inside you, but still kept his pace slow and steady as he fucked you through the aftershocks.

Wrapping your hands around his neck, you nestled your head into the crook of his neck. His hands clenched around your hips, and he let out a groan as he rested his head beside yours. You could tell that he was so close, his hips starting to stutter.

“You feel so lovely, so warm and tight and soft, darling,” Kaz groaned. “Please, can I—“

“It’s okay, Kaz,” you reassured sweetly, voice shy. “You can.”

He jerked one more time, sinking into you with a low groan. His entire body shuddered as he came, pouring into you as he gripped your thighs hard enough to leave fingerprints. For once, you didn’t mind the bruises.

Pulling back, he caught your lips in a deep kiss, mouth slanting over yours. He poured the love, the gratitude, the adoration between your lips until you felt as though you could drown in it.

“I will always protect you,” he promised against your lips.

And for once, you believed the promise.

It was such a small thing, really.

[shady-knight]

Thirst

A/N: If you know me in real life, please don't read this. I'm serious. I'd die of embarrasment🤣 

I wrote this because I recently rewatched the first episode and confirmed again that Claes literally slays me with his performance. (Any dialogue that you recognize is directly taken from the episode, I won’t take any credit for that, of course.)

Fandom: Dracula (2020)

Pairing: Dracula x Reader

Warning: None, maybe UST (you don't get to bone the vamp-man)

Summary: You're Mina's sister and present when Dracula visits the convent. You think he's pretty hot.

When you had agreed to travel with your sister Mina to find her fiancee Jonathan, you hadn't ever in your life thought that you'd find yourself in a convent in Budapest, standing behind an iron gate at Sister Agatha's side and watching a wolf whimper as it fell to its side.

You were fearful, almost trembling when its flank tore apart and pale, bloodied hands emerged, followed by an equally pale (and naked) body. As the man (beast) wiped some slimy substance from his face and observed you, you were struck with the strangest mixture of dread and anticipation. "I don't know about you girls", he began, voice deep and alluringly accented as he stroked the wolf's belly, "but I do love a bit of fur." Bloody filth was smeared all over the man's skin, his chest absolutely covered, hair wet and dishevelled as he stood up, revealing the long panes of his nude limbs.

He stretched his arms wide, unashamed of his lack of clothing. "Suffer onto me." The dark eyes beneath heavy brows spoke of sin, of forbidden wants and delirious hunger. Then he laughed as he stepped toward the iron gate, revealing his razor-sharp, inhuman teeth.

You couldn't help but watch, spellbound, as Agatha taunted the beast of a man, calling the other Sisters, her eyes seemingly never straying below his face. The Count (Dracula, your mind whispered) struck his head through the gaps in the gate, watching you like he was the prisoner, not you.

You found it hard to do the same thing as Agatha, your own eyes betraying you and lingering on his naked torso and threatening to go even lower. Your cheeks burned when his (Dracula's) gaze swept over you and your insides burned even hotter when he grinned, again showing off his oh-so-sharp teeth. You tried not to flinch when he called out to the group, and preferred to hide in the corner, not meeting anyone gaze.

This man... this vampire, he ignited something buried deep underneath what you had been taught was good and proper. His careless show of power left you breathless and wanting to see more. Experience more of him. His might. Briefly, you wondered if this was part of his power, too. To make you want it. Well, if it it was, it was certainly working. You were vaguely revolted by how easily you fell for his vampiric charm - he hadn't even spoken a direct word to you and already you were more attracted to him than any man from back home who had asked for your hand.

There was just a certain something about him, beyond even being a vampire. It surely hadn't altered his face - and yet, you couldn't help but find him beautiful in his dark exoticism. Like a fallen angel, Lucifer personified.

When Sister Agatha opened the gate and forbid him from entering, you felt like fainting. How could she be so calm? So utterly unaffected? "I could tear you apart." You knew that his words weren't specifically geared toward you, but it didn't stop you from shivering. What was wrong with you? Why were you...not scared witless? Oh, you were nervous and afraid of dying but...you were also attracted to this...this monstrosity.

"A beast can follow rules. I don't expect it to understand them." When the vampire snarled, reaching out as if to strangle Agatha, you realised that you should better listen to the actual conversation than to contemplate why exactly you found yourself drawn to the Count Dracula. "I am more than a beast.", he countered, tilting his head a bit.

Your eyes trailed over his strong neck, down his shoulders and over his broad hairy chest. Belatedly, you realised that you'd never seen a man's naked chest before. "Do you want me to show you?", he answered when Agatha questioned him. "Of course. I'm waiting.", she told him and you marvelled again at her courage. Or was it stupidity? You couldn't decide. Dracula beckoned her forward until she was almost touching him. For a strange moment, you felt almost jealous of her, of the attention he was giving her. Mentally, you wanted to slap yourself to snap out of your sudden obssession with this...creature.

"Look at them.", he ordered softly. You could see that she was holding his gaze, not wavering. "Look at your sisters." Agatha did not turn and look as she replied. "Armed and ready." You could see that the stakes in the nuns' hands were trembling.

"You're not looking.", he countered, barely even blinking, their noses only a fist-wide apart. "I don't need to.", she shot back. He raised a clawed finger. "One of them. That's all I need. If just one of your pretty little army beckons me in, I will tear your world to pieces", the Count talked as one talks about the weather, as if it were inconsequential, "and I will drink my fill." You didn't want to imagine the carnage that he could probably unleash.

"Why would they invite you in? What do you have to offer?" You felt shame pool in your belly. It seemed that Sister Agatha could really not feel his demonic allure like you did. It made you feel dirty and weak. "Eternal life.", Dracula replied, so quietly that you wondered that you didn't have to strain to hear him. But his voice just seemed to fill the space effortlessly. "Well, they have that already.", the nun explained, then turned and began to dismiss him with a quick "Thanks" over her shoulder. You bit your lip, thinking that she was forgetting about you a bit with her answer. Maybe on purpose, maybe not.You weren't a nun.

"Starting tonight, because the first one to invite me in stays at my side.", the Count bellowed for everyone to hear, "The others, I will tear apart, and, ladies", he laughed, a sinister smile exposing his fangs, "I will take my time.", a pause, "One should never rush a nun." Blood rushed through your ears and you felt heady, a conflict you had never thought to know igniting in your veins. You couldn't hear what he was saying as he continued, your head spinning. But he had only said that one would live. If you let him in, he would kill Mina and take Jonathan. (What had he called him? 'His bride'? What a strange concept.) You couldn't let that happen to your sister.

Then Agatha cut open her palm with a knife and Dracula rushed toward her as far as he could, feral bloodlust colouring his eyes as he bared his teeth, growling like an animal being denied its rightful meal. She flicked her dripping blood over the convent's treshhold. "Oh, go on, help yourself. There's a dog comes past here most days. We often give it scraps." She did it again, watching as Dracula retreated into a corner, growling deep in his chest but trying to control himself.

"Go on. You've come so far.", she ventured mockingly, "I'm sure you could do with a drink." You breathed in sharply as the woman held out her palm, letting blood drip onto his face as he opened his mouth like a man dying of thirst, tongue darting out to catch the ruby red liquid before she snatched it away again. You wondered how Agatha could stand this - if it were you, you would never been able to stand it - the sheer eroticism of the scene.

"See I'm not certain I see the appeal of blood.", she told him, sucking a drop of her own blood from her finger. He snarled as she gestured at him with her boody hand, letting droplets of the ruby liquid stain his skin. "Each to his own, I suppose."

"Do you think provoking me is clever?", he asked her, breathless, nearly moaning. From your distance it was hard to tell but you could swear that his eyes were now a deep crimson. "Yes, I do."

You saw Dracula's throat work as he swallowed heavily. The way his breath passed his lips sounded almost obscene - like he had been doing an altogether different streinous activity. One that, ironically, would also require the same state of undress. "I want to learn about you. I want to see the limit of your capability." You admired Sister Agatha for her spirit. Truly, she was a very forward thinking, intelligent and confident woman. Not like you. "It's the point of this experiment.", you breathed in harshly, tightening your hand into a fist. She was almost treating this like it wasn't life-threatening for everyone involved. Like there wasn'ta liiteral demon at your doorstep.

When she offered the bloody knife to him, your heart stopped before speeding up again. The sound of his quiet gasps, the sight of his tongue licking along the metal - it made your abdomen clench involuntarily.

Then Agatha threw the knife completely to Dracula and turned away from him, returning to her spot among the other nuns. "Here, boy.", she added, as if talking to a pet. Dracula had crouched down to retrieve the blade and was treating it like he had been handed a delicacy.

"This is contemptible. You are without shame.", the Mother Superior spoke, watching him kneel over the knife with disgust in her eyes. "Be careful what you say to me.", Dracula threatened, a bit muffled while speaking around the blade in his mouth. His lips shined in the warm light of the fire and you found yourself moistening your own, aware of the saliva suddenly pooling beneath your tongue.

"Don't speak with your mouth full.", Sister Agatha chastined in true nun fashion. "She has earned the right to express her contempt, you know? We all have." Yes, you thought quietly, contempt for myself. For being so weak. She continued speaking about the nuns behind her, still conveniently ignoring your presence.

"That is why you can't bear the sight of this", she kneeled down, showing him her wooden cross, "it speaks of a holy virtue you do not possess. It is goodness incarnate." The Count only chuckled, his mouth curving upward. "For a moment there, I thought you were clever. But no. No, that's not why I fear the cross. Goodness has got nothing to do with it." In that moment, his eyes met yours for a second and you froze, like a deer about to be shot. He noticed your reaction and let his eyes linger for a bit longer before looking at Sister Agatha again. You didn't follow her next words, too confused by your raging emotions.

After Dracula revealed his ability to learn from tasting one's blood, Agatha turned to leave with the rest of the sisters. They were stalled by his snarls for a moment but Agatha soldiered on, not granting him a verbal reaction as she led the others back inside after carefully closing the gate again. (That a vampire couldn't enter didn't mean that no one else could, and it was at night.)

You hesitated, watching the vampire lick any excess blood off of his fingers, his tongue moving languidly. If sin had a feeling, it'd be the emotions you felt while looking at him in that moment.

"And what do we have here?", he suddenly asked, having finally noticed that you hadn't left with the rest after breaking out of his blood-induced reverie. "A lost lamb?" His voice was deep and throaty and, adressing you, it sounded downright heavenly in your ears. You blushed, stepping up to to the gate as if an invisible force compelled you.

"Did you make Jonathan one of your kind?", you quickly asked, wanting to deflect from your helpless desire for the vampire. He stared at you strangely for a moment, as if trying to remember something. "Let me guess...you're (Y/n), right? The sister of Jonathan's little fiancee." You didn't question how he knew. It'd be pointless, and not really important, besides. Maybe he'd 'read' it in Jonathan's blood.

He gave you a proper once over, his eyes no longer red. "And what a pretty thing you are. Downright delectable." By now, your face must be completely aflame. You certainly felt the blood pounding up to the tips of your ears. It embarrassed you further because you knew that he had to know, too. A vampire like him was bound to have superior senses. Sister Agatha had said that breaking iron would be like breaking matchsticks to him. It terrified and fascinated you at the same time. With vague discomfort, you wondered just how well-developed his sense of smell was in comparison. Could he? Surely not. You hoped not. "But to answer your question, yes, I did."

"Can it be reversed?"

"Not to my knowledge. Not that I've ever tried. When I don't need a vampire anymore, I have other ways of neutralizing them, you understand?" Absentmindedly, you nodded, your heart sinking. If Dracula didn't know of a way, how were you, mere humans, supposed to come up with something?

"But that question is not really the only reason you are here, isn't it, little bunny?"

"Bunny?", you echoed.

"Your heart beats as fast as a bunny's. But not from fear, I gather.", he purred, voice dipping lower. You again became very aware of his nudity, even if he was still covered in that disgusting mess. He stepped as close to you as he could, your eyes level with his chest, making you have to crane your neck to look at his face. A strand of black hair had fallen onto his forehead and you had the strangest urge to sweep it back, to touch him, see if his skin was as cold as you imagined it was. (You ignored the voice that said you just wanted to know if it'd feel as good as you thought it would.)

"I could hear your little heart beating away when I spoke to the woman", he briefly closed his eyes, "Agatha. The others were terrified - but not you." He breathed in deeply, shoulders raising slightly, eyes drooping half-closed again. "You were aroused.", the word dragged on filthily in his low, throaty tone. "You saw me and you wanted. Isn't that right? It's not shameful to admit it." A grin spread across his face, his fangs flashing slightly. "You wouldn't be the first. Even though", he continued, tilting his head a bit, "it's not often that I invoke such a strong reaction in someone. Agatha, over there, certainly seemed all but immune to my charms."

You swallowed harshly, shame simmering in your belly, along with need. "I'll tell you what, if you invite me in, you can have me. I'll give you my undivided attentions. I'll make you feel things you've never felt before. I can take you to heights of pleasure nobody else can. And all you have to do is", his voice was intoxicating, you almost felt drunk off of him. "invite me in." You wanted to, so badly. You wanted to take him in, consume him, be consumed by him. Let each other be devoured by desire. Your blood sang for him. You wanted to give in to him. He knew that you were crumbling when you leaned closer, your head resting against the iron bars. He leaned down and for a wild moment you wondered if he'd kiss you, but he aimed to the side, his broad tongue licking a hot trail upwards, over your right cheek, tasting your skin. He paused when he reached your ear. "Just say the words.", he whispered seductively. "I will do the rest."

You whimpered, goosebumps raising on your skin. "This isn't fair.", you murmured, desperation making your voice small. "Why are you so beautiful? Shouldn't a monster like you be revolting?"

You couldn't see it, but you heard Dracula inhale quickly and let out a sound that seemed like a groan. "You think I'm beautiful?", he questioned hoarsely. "My, my, what a suprise you turn out to be."

"W-what do you mean? Isn't that normal? Thinking that you look", you cringed slightly, not knowing how to phrase your unrational desire, "pleasing?" He withdrew from you and drew back to his full height, shaking his head as he did so. "While my, ah, vampiric charm draws most people in, they still tend to find me...well you said it yourself, unexplainably revolting. It's their base instincts telling them that I am their predator." His eyes held yours, appearing deep and unreadable. "Which you seem to lack. Tell me, is there no part of you that is repulsed by me?"

"N-no.", you admitted truthfully, heat gathering in your face anew. "Quite the opposite. I don't... I don't understand myself. I... I feel-... you compel me like I am a moth and you a flame." Dracula's lips morphed into a toothy smile, his dark eyes glittering. "Very curious. I do believe that I will enjoy any time I spend with you, my dear."

The black-haired vampire winked at you, smirking infuriatingly attractively and turned on his heel, quickly striding away, into the darkness. Your eyes trailed over his broad back, lingering on his perfectly formed ass as he disappeared from your view. You wanted to curse and rage. Why were you so bewitched?

~~~

After your meeting with the Count you went straight to bed, not caring about anything else. You didn't want to think about him - you just wanted to rest after an exhausting day. Mina would wake you up if something happened.

Waking to screams and growls echoing through the hall, you immediately sat up on your bed, a shiver running down your spine. A strange chill settled in your bones as you didn't dare move an inch from your bed, clutching the white sheets to your body and listening to the horrifying sounds until they finally died down. You didn't want to think about what it meant.

You strained your ears for something, anything else and almost jumped from fright when heavy footsteps resounded through the halls, growing ever louder. They were undoubtedly heading in your direction and, additionally, coming from the sort of shoes that you knew no Sister wore.

The footsteps stopped in front of door. You didn't dare breathe, shoulders shaking from tension and when you heard the first creak of the hinges of the door, you closed your eyes, not wanting to look evil in the eye, so to speak.

"Darling", he said and his voice was close like he was standing directly above you, "don't you want to see me?" Cool hands trailed over your shoulders and down your arms, making you flinch slightly, his fingers dancing over your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. Your breath hitched and you held yourself as still as you could. "After all, I stayed just for you. I could already be on a ship to England, but here I am, paying you a visit." His hands grasped your own, encasing them in the inescapeable cage of his grip. You felt his breath skim your cheek when he leaned down to whisper in your ear. "You didn't think I would let you go, did you?" A stifled shriek flew from your lips when his teeth nibbed at your earlobe. "We're going to have so much fun, you and I."

Not being able to stand it any longer, you opened your eyes and were faced with a wall of broad chest, clothed in expensive looking clothes. Where he had gotten them from, you didn't know, but they fit the Count perfectly. He was mostly clean now, his black hair artfully swept away from his forehead, not a hair out of place. Despite that, you could see several small specks of blood splattered on his skin and the front, where his dark cloak opened to reveal a pristine white shirt and black vest combo.

It was then that you noticed him watching you study him and when you met his eyes, a dark grin bloomed on his face. "Yes, yes, I know. I clean up nicely, don't I?" He flashed you his teeth, and one of his hands curled around your right wrist tightly, the sharp nails digging into your flesh painfully, but not breaking skin. "Now up you get, my sleeping beauty.", he told you breezily and when you were too stunned to comply immediately, he yanked you up and onto your feet effortlessly. You stared up at him, mouth agape and heart racing. "Do you want me to take my clothes off again? You seemed to be much more talkative when I was naked."

"N-no, I..." you spluttered, trying unsuccessfully to free yourself from his grasp. "Now it almost seems as if the roles are reversed.", the Count continued teasingly and you drew your eyebrows together, confused. Freeing a hand, he gestured at your body and you followed the motion, suddenly realising that you only wore a thin white shift to cover your modesty. But it was quite too late to cover yourself. There was nothing that he could see that he would not have seen by now. Instead, you restricted your reaction to a quiet "Ohh."

"(Y/n). I know I said that I'd tear everyone in here apart but" he leaned closer to you, conspiratorially whispering against your temple, "I find that I do not want to do that to you." He stroked his index finger over the inside of your wrist almost tenderly and sought out your eyes, holding them with his. "Instead I have a proposition. An offer that, I'm sure, you will not want to refuse, my dear." You scarcely blinked and had to remind yourself to breathe as you felt lost in the depths of his eyes. Close like this, they looked like they belonged to just a normal human.

"Become my bride, (Y/n)." Your eyes widened. "Wasn't that...wasn't that what you called Jonathan?", you managed to ask. "Yes, well, the position has been left open by, let's say, tragic events. Johnny won't be doing much anytime soon.", he inclined his head, letting a little snort-like laugh escape his throat, "Or ever." You nodded slowly, closing your eyes for a moment. In a way, it felt cathartic. You knew that Jonathan would have never wanted this kind of undead life for himself, where he'd be a danger for your sister. He had truly loved her.

"My sister", you breathed, "is she...", you couldn't finish the sentence. The Count shook his head, his thumb catching you by your chin and tilting your head up. "She will live a long life, provided that she stays silent and doesn't come looking for anyone."

"But why?", you asked. "I exchanged her for Sister Agatha. That woman threatened to kill herself if I did not let her ward go." Your heart thuddered as you were filled with that strange jealousy again. "If you have her, why do you need me?", you questioned, trying to avoid his eyes. The grip on your chin tightened until it pinched. "Look at me, my dear." You obeyed. "Agatha won't become my bride. Much too feisty, that one.", his eyes twinkled mischievously. "Then why..."

"I will pick her apart and drink my fill off of her until her body cannot endure it any longer - and when she begs for it, I will kill her. But not too soon, I plan to make her last.", Dracula place a feather-light kiss against your jawline, just above the pulse-point in your throat. "You...you I plan to keep. I do so hope you'll become my most successful try." You blinked slowly, panting under the touch of his wicked lips.

"Give yourself to me." With a moan, you grapped at his lapels. He let you, pleasantly surprised that it wasn't to push him away but to pull him closer.

"Yes. Yesyesyes.", you chanted mindlessly against his chest, burying your face into the dark cloak that smelt faintly of blood, but mostly of a divine scent that could only be the Count's. It felt so good to let go, and it wasn't as if you had any better alternative. Denying yourself and, most likely, dying as a result wasn't worth it. Or at least that was what you told yourself as he stroked over your hair and settled a possessive hand on your back. "Come on, my dear.", he told you airily, "We have a long journey ahead of us." You followed him willingly.

[nikibogwater]

A Shot in the Dark: a Tales of Arcadia Fanfiction (Chapter 2)

"...The Arcane Order doesn’t actually care whether you live or die. They have given me permission to do to you whatever I deem necessary. So...” Douxie swallowed and grit his teeth as Rivan’s hand began to glow with an ugly, pulsing red light. “...I will ask politely one more time before I resort to more extreme measures. Where is the forest-child Nari?”

When Douxie is stripped of his magic and captured by a new enemy, Nari and Archie risk everything to come to his rescue.

(Chapter 1)

(Chapter 3)

Thank you all for the wonderful response to Chapter 1! I know it wasn’t the most exciting start to a story, but I promise everything in it was very important for setting up this week’s chapter. And now, your patience shall be rewarded! This is the part where everything goes Horribly Wrong. I hope you all enjoy. 😁

(Also don’t forget about the Author’s Commentary if that’s the sort of thing you’re interested in!)

Read on Ao3

Or under the cut:

Douxie wished he could bring Nari to Central Park every day.

The moment her feet touched real grass again, her face lit up like he had never seen before. She ripped off her shoes and dropped to the ground, running her hands across the blades lovingly. She bounced up a moment later, flitting to the nearest tree and pressing her palms against it, giving a breathless laugh of joy as she felt its spirit reach out to greet her. It was a bit like witnessing a long-lost family reunion from the outside, and Douxie felt a strange ache settle in his heart as he followed the tiny forest goddess, who danced from one place to another, wide eyes glowing like sunlit amber.

“...She should have this all the time,” he murmured to Archie, who, after having his own little roll in the grass, had returned to his perch on Douxie’s shoulder. “She shouldn’t be stuck in that prison cell of an apartment.”

“I agree,” Archie replied softly, following Nari’s movements with his eyes as she clambered on top of a large rock and held a hand out for an inquisitive sparrow fluttering around her. “But it’s not safe for her to be out in the open like this for longer than a day.” The Familiar gave his wizard a sympathetic look. “You are doing everything you can for her, Douxie. But above all else, she must be kept hidden from the Order. Not just for her sake, but for the entire world’s.”

“...I know.” Douxie understood the weight of his responsibility. He had seen the Arcane Order’s power firsthand, had even gone up against it himself. Even without the power of the Genesis Seals, they were capable of the most destructive kind of magic he had ever encountered. There would be no hope of stopping them if they ever found Nari. Once the Seals were opened, all hell would break loose, and no one, not even a Master Wizard like himself, would be able to stand against such chaos. Though the thought was like a twisting knife in his heart, his duty as Nari’s guardian would always have to come before her happiness.

Nari had stopped chattering at her new feathered friend and was looking over at him, her brows beginning to furrow with worry. He immediately forced his spirit back into a state of calm, subduing the waves of melancholy that had been gently churning within his aura. He flashed her a bright grin and gestured back towards the path.

“Come on. There’s a lot more to see. Let’s go find one of the ponds.”

“There are ponds?” Nari gasped, her eyes sparkling in delight as she lifted the sparrow back into the air, where it took flight with a cheerful twitter. Douxie laughed at her apparent ecstasy as she slid to the ground, bounded to his side, and began tugging on his arm eagerly.

Even with the weight of the world on his shoulders (not to mention the recent discovery that something strange was lurking nearby), Douxie would have been perfectly content to spend the rest of his life in this moment. ***** “What do you suppose it would take for Americans to learn how to make a decent cup of tea?” Douxie grumbled, glaring at the disposable coffee cup in his hand as though it had personally offended him. “Seems like any hack street vendor with a pot and a filter can be taught to make a solid enough cup of coffee in this country, but ask them for a simple cup of hot water with a bag of leaves in it, and somehow no one knows how to do it properly.”

“From what you have taught me about proper tea preparation, I would say it is a rather complicated affair,” Nari opined, taking a sip from her own drink. “And their sweet teas are not so bad.”

“Sweet tea is an abomination and I only let you get one because we’re eating out. But never shall such a detestable liquid be found under my roof.” Nari pulled her cup closer to her in a mock show of defensiveness and giggled. Next to them, Archie was contentedly licking out the inside of a creamer packet.

The day had passed by in a green and golden blur for Douxie. He had spent the majority of it trying to keep up with Nari as she pranced with endless energy across several miles of the park. Exhausted as he was by the end of it, he had still dreaded telling her that it was time to leave. He had seen the crushing disappointment sweep over her face with painful clarity in his mind’s eye, but when the cursed words finally passed his lips, she had surprised him. She had simply given a nod of agreement, slipped her shoes back onto her feet (which were miraculously clean after an entire day of hiking barefoot in Central Park--apparently there were perks to being a woodland demigoddess), and resumed her place at his side. She hadn’t even looked wistful as they left, instead seeming quietly content, as though she’d had enough to sustain her for the time being. Now they sat underneath an umbrella outside a tiny street corner cafe, watching the sky turn red and the city begin to glow.

Nari’s eyes drifted across their surroundings, not with the same loving gaze with which she had surveyed the park, but still with benign curiosity. Suddenly, her eyes fixed on something behind Douxie’s left shoulder, and her countenance lost all trace of happy intrigue. The wizard was just finishing off his last dredges of tea, grimacing as he set the empty cup down, when Nari’s hand slowly crept across the table and brushed against his. Douxie felt a sudden alertness shoot through his tired body like a bolt of electricity.

“...He’s here,” she whispered, her gaze never wavering, though her other hand clenched nervously against the table. As subtly as he could, Douxie shifted in his seat just enough to trace her line of sight, while pretending to be re-tying his shoelace.

The man in question certainly didn’t look particularly threatening. In fact, he looked like the kind of person Douxie would find unbearably dull, all business and academia and such. He lacked any trace of youthful energy or optimism, though his physical appearance suggested that he wasn’t a day past twenty-five. He was standing in front of a store window, apparently looking at the displays. If Nari hadn’t been so petrified by his mere presence, Douxie wouldn’t have even spared him a glance. He straightened up and resumed his original position.

“You sure that’s the same guy?” he murmured, tracing the logo on an empty sandwich wrapper with his finger and attempting to look bored. Nari nodded, finally tearing her eyes away and looking down at her hands, which were nervously folded in front of her.

“It could just be a coincidence,” Archie put in softly. “He may be a magical anomaly, but we don’t have proof that he intends us any harm.”

“I...I think we should go home,” Nari squeaked. “He just....gives me a bad feeling.”

“Alright,” Douxie agreed, rising from his place and lifting Archie up onto his shoulder. He moved around the table and took Nari’s hand as she stood, squeezing it reassuringly when her other hand came up to anxiously grip his sleeve. They stopped by the bins to dispose of their trash, and Douxie looked back at the stranger one more time. His stomach twisted uncomfortably as he saw nothing but an empty sidewalk in front of the store window. He pulled his hand out of Nari’s grip and tucked her against his side as they walked, reaching out with his magic and draping it over her like a veil.

“Celare,” he whispered, his breath catching as the spell sapped a little more of his strength. It was easier the second time, but his steps still faltered for a few moments afterwards. He felt Archie dig his claws into his shoulder, a wordless admonition for wasting his magic, but Douxie ignored him and pressed on, silently shepherding Nari through the rapidly darkening streets.

The walk home was quiet. Douxie found himself listening to the rhythmic sound of their feet moving against the concrete, as around them, the streets began to glow golden beneath electric lights. A chill wind picked up and pushed gently against their backs. Under his arm, Nari shivered and pressed closer to him.

“Here,” he offered, bringing them to a halt beneath one of the street lamps and setting Archie down beside his feet. He slipped off his hoodie, leaving him in his black tank top that showed off the intricate pattern tattooed across his shoulders and upper arms, and held it out to Nari.

“Oh, no, Douxie,” she began to argue. “What about you?”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, draping the garment over her shoulders. She tucked her arms into the sleeves somewhat reluctantly, but Douxie didn’t miss the satisfied little hum she emitted as she closed the warm fabric around her. He gave her a grin and ruffled the top of her hair, while Archie curled around her legs pleadingly. Nari giggled and picked up the Familiar, wrapping him up in her arms snugly.

“Thank you,” he purred politely as they continued on their way. “I’d hate to be seen as fastidious, but this pavement really is very cold on my pads, and Douxie puts up such a fuss if I grip his bare shoulder with my claws.”

“‘A fuss?’” Douxie echoed. “Archie, those things are like curved drawing pins! If I let you ride on my shoulders without any protection, I--” The words died in his mouth as suddenly as a gust of wind. Out of the corner of his eye, he had caught sight of the stranger from before, strolling unhurriedly on the other side of the street, just a few dozen yards behind them. His hand moved to Nari’s shoulder and gripped it tightly. “Okay...” he breathed. “Okay, he’s definitely following us.”

“Douxie...” Nari squeaked, as her eyes followed his line of sight.

“Just keep walking,” he muttered, giving her an encouraging nudge.

“Douxie, whoever he is, he cannot be allowed to know where we are staying,” Archie hissed.

“I know, I know. I’m thinking.” As nonchalantly as he could, he drew his phone out of his pocket and pulled up their location on his GPS, studying the map carefully as they walked at what he hoped looked like a calm, relaxed pace. “...Okay, in about thirty meters, we’re going to be passing an alleyway that branches in two directions. If you two take the left fork, it should put you out just a few blocks behind our complex.”

“Just us? What about you?” Nari objected. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to wait for him at the fork, find out what he wants. He’s been pretty covert out here in the open, but I bet he’ll be willing to come closer if we’re somewhere a little more out of the way.”

“But....Douxie..!” Nari began to argue, as they reached the turnoff into the alley. Douxie pushed her into it, his strides becoming longer and more hurried as they slipped into shadow. They reached the place where the alley split, one branch continuing straight, the other going to the right. Douxie brought them to a halt and snatched Archie out of Nari’s arms, the Familiar sputtering with protest.

“Celare,” he panted, wrapping his aura around his best friend and pulling it tight. He grit his teeth as his chest lurched painfully, his exhausted magic leaving him with a cold rush.

“Douxie!” Archie hissed, struggling out of his wizard’s arms and dropping to the ground with an angry huff. “Why would you waste your magic like that?! No one is looking for me!”

“Because I need you to take Nari back to the apartment, and this guy might be tracking us through our auras,” Douxie labored, bracing himself against the nearby brickwork.

“Douxie, I cannot leave you here!” Nari protested.

“Neither can I,” Archie added.

“Archie, please, I need you to go with Nari and keep her safe,” Douxie pleaded, shooting a nervous glance over his shoulder, well aware that the stranger could appear in the alleyway at any moment.

“You are my Familiar!” the cat shot back. “My duty is to protect you first and foremost!”

“Archie, please.”

The two stared each other down in silence for a moment, Douxie’s hazel eyes both beseeching and trusting. He could have ordered Archie. Traditionally, a wizard’s Familiar was always subservient to their chosen human. It was part of the sacred bond they shared that the Familiar would obey any command their wizard gave them. But Archie had always been more than Douxie’s assistant. They had made an agreement when Douxie was still a small child that the boy would never use his position to force Archie to do anything. Familiar he may be, but Douxie had always seen Archie as his brother, his equal in every regard, and Archie was a creature who valued his freedom, even if he had chosen to dedicate his entire life to protecting and aiding Douxie.

Even at his most desperate, Douxie wasn’t demanding. But he was begging, with every ounce of his heart, calling on the bone-deep affection that had always bound these two together.

“...Yes, Hisirdoux,” Archie sighed, and Douxie’s heart ached with a rush of love and gratitude for his Familiar. “...Nari, come with me.” With a flick of his tail, the cat turned and began to move further down the alleyway.

“...N-no... Archie...!” Nari stammered, looking frantically between the two of them. “Douxie, please!”

“Everything’s going to be fine, sweetheart,” Douxie soothed, giving her a gentle nudge forward. “I’ll meet you both back at the apartment later.”

“But...!”

“Nari,” Archie called, looking back at her with soft golden eyes. “This way, please.”

“Go,” Douxie insisted. “I’ll be okay.” Nari stayed rooted to the spot for a second longer, staring at Douxie with a look of betrayal. He was unrelenting, and gave her another little push towards Archie. Finally, she tore away from him, and together, she and Archie disappeared into the darkness, the Familiar giving Douxie one last glance over his shoulder before the shadows claimed them.

It wasn’t even a full thirty seconds later when Douxie heard the scrape of shoes against the concrete behind him. The well-dressed stranger was standing at the end of the alleyway, his hands in his coat pockets, leaning his weight on one leg casually, as though he and Douxie had planned to meet each other here. He was still wearing his sunglasses, in spite of the darkness.

“...Can I help you?” Douxie asked, pushing away from the wall, trying not to audibly gulp when his vision spun for a split second--he must have used even more magic than he’d originally thought. He’d have to try to stall without using his magic for as long as he could.

“I suspect that you can,” the man replied, his tenor voice bouncing off the walls of the alleyway and making Douxie feel eerily claustrophobic. “Forgive me for the intrusion. My name is Rivan. I’m looking for someone. A forest-child by the name of Nari, who I’ve heard dwells somewhere in this city.”

“Forest-child? I think you’re in the wrong city, mate,” Douxie chuckled, his fingers twitching with the desire to activate his magic vambrace. “At least, I’ve never heard of anyone like that. Certainly not here in the Big Apple.”

“...Haven’t you?” Rivan’s tone was irritatingly polite, as was the inquisitive head tilt that accompanied his words.

“No,” Douxie replied shortly.

“I see.” There was a long pause. Neither of them moved.

“...And I’d appreciate it if you’d kindly stop stalking me,” Douxie added a touch irately, his left fist clenching at his side as he withheld the urge to summon his staff. Rivan gave a short sigh and an apologetic bow of the head.

“As the gentleman wishes.”

There was a blinding flash of red light. Douxie barely had time to throw himself to the side as the magical charge soared past him, crackling and spitting like electricity. At least, he assumed it was magic--but he couldn’t feel any magical energy radiating from it as it flew past his head. He stumbled back to his feet, his own magic gathering in his palm, when something slammed against his right wrist, causing his shoulder to jerk back and throw him off balance again. There was a click and a soft whirring sound, and suddenly the magic in Douxie’s hand was pulled out of his grasp, leaving his fingers cold and empty. The wizard cast a frantic look down at his right arm to see an iron band locked around it, its intricate engravings glowing the same color as his own magic.

An inhibitor cuff.

Oh fuzzbuckets.

His stomach lurched as he was swept off his feet and hurled against the wall. The last thing he was aware of before his head slammed against the brickwork was the feeling of his phone shattering in his back pocket. ***** Consciousness returned to Douxie sluggishly, as though it had to crawl a great distance in order to reach him. The first thing he was aware of was that he was very cold. The second was the sound of water lapping against concrete somewhere nearby. And the third was that he couldn’t move his arms.

Face scrunching in discomfort, he forced his eyes to open, blinking a few times against the fog that was still clinging to his vision. He was in some kind of empty warehouse, though it was a little hard to tell in the pale gloomy light shining from a solitary electric lantern nearby. Judging by the sound of waves outside, he was probably somewhere near the shoreline, maybe even at the harbor. He was tied to a metal folding chair that, after a bit of experimental jostling, he concluded was fixed quite firmly to the ground, likely with a standard binding spell, if the lingering presence of active magic was anything to go by. His wrists were bound behind him, the rope also fastened into place with a spell. There wouldn’t be any undoing of that knot without magic. He tried to summon a bit of his own, but the moment it began to move from his chest and down into his fingertips, the cuff around his right wrist glowed bright blue, and sapped his power, leaving him with an icy feeling in his veins for a few seconds. Douxie heaved a frustrated sigh and strained against the ropes halfheartedly for a minute, though he was fairly certain that was a pointless endeavor as well.

The sound of Rivan quietly clearing his throat froze Douxie in place, and his eyes flicked up to see his captor leaning against the wall nearby, just outside of the pool of light cast by the buzzing lantern. He was still wearing those damn sunglasses.

“You awake, then?” he asked, the false benign curiosity in his voice grating against Douxie’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

“...Where am I?” Douxie rasped, willing his voice to keep steady, though he was shivering from the cold. “What do you want with me?” He had a pretty good idea what the answer to the second question was, but he was still hoping to get away with playing dumb.

“Apologies, but I would rather not divulge your location to you at this time. As to your second question, I told you before: I’m looking for a woodland sorceress--Nari of the Eternal Forest.”

“And I told you before, I have no idea who that is or where you could find her.” He needed more time. He just had to stall long enough to come up with a plan.

“Mr. Casperan--” Rivan paused and turned his head in Douxie’s direction, though Douxie got the strange feeling that the man was not really looking at him from behind those sunglasses. “That is your name, right? That’s the name my employers gave me, at any rate. I admire your loyalty, but nothing frustrates me more than when people pretend to be stupid. I know that you are the forest-child’s chosen guardian. I know that you brought her to this place in the hopes of concealing her from the Arcane Order, who are seeking her for their own purposes. I traced her aura to this city and very nearly pinpointed her exact location--only for said aura to suddenly disappear. Only the auras of you and your Familiar remained, leading me to conclude that you had something to do with the girl’s disappearance.”

“You traced her aura...You’re a witch-hunter?” Suddenly the presence of the magic-suppressing cuff made a lot more sense--not just anyone would have equipment like that. Only those whose job it was to capture and retain rogue magic-users. Merlin had always warned him about such people, who were specialized in sensing and following auras, but Douxie had never encountered one before now. However, something wasn’t adding up here.  “...Wait, what do you mean she disappeared? You were there, you were following us, you must have seen--” Douxie cut himself off, suddenly realizing what he was saying, but it was too late. He had clearly piqued Rivan’s interest.

“Ah, so she’s still somewhere in the city, then?” he said. “Excellent. That makes my job a bit easier. As for seeing...” Rivan sauntered over to Douxie and slipped off his sunglasses. The area around Rivan’s eyes was burned and scarred over, red, bumpy flesh stretched across the permanently sealed lids. Douxie forced himself to swallow the bile that rose in his throat. “...I’m afraid I haven’t done much of that--at least, not with my eyes--since the late nine-hundreds, when your kind attempted to wipe the Shades from the earth.”

A Shade. Of course. That explained why Nari couldn’t sense Rivan’s life force or aura. Shades were a rare breed of wizard, who transmitted their living and magical frequencies on a level no other magic user could detect. This made them greatly feared, but also greatly prized in the magical bounty-hunting industry--you couldn’t run from someone you didn’t even know was chasing you. And a mage with Rivan’s level of skill in sensing and tracing auras would be almost impossible to evade forever, even if he could be sensed by magic. He didn’t need his sight to find his quarry. His magic told him everything he needed to know about the world, and the people in it.

...Unless someone managed to blind him twice over. Douxie thanked his lucky stars that he had thought to use that concealing spell. If Nari’s aura couldn’t be sensed, Rivan couldn’t recognize her, even if she was mere feet away from him. Douxie’s overbearing sense of caution was the only thing that had kept Nari out of harm’s reach today. If he ever made it back home in one piece, he would be sure to rub this in Archie’s face for years to come.

That was starting to look like a pretty big if, though.

“Now, I hate to inconvenience you,” Rivan continued. “but I promised the Order I would deliver this asset to them in a timely manner, and I’m already running a bit later than is good for my business reputation. If you would be so kind as to divulge the girl’s whereabouts, then I--”

“Spare me the pleasantries,” Douxie interrupted. “I’ll die before I’ll let the Order anywhere near her.” Rivan seemed to regard him for a moment, as if he was gauging the boy’s sincerity. Then he let out a short, weary sigh.

“...I see. Ordinarily, such a statement would needlessly complicate my work. However, the Arcane Order doesn’t actually care whether you live or die. They have given me permission to do to you whatever I deem necessary. So...” Douxie swallowed and grit his teeth as Rivan’s hand began to glow with an ugly, pulsing red light. “...I will ask politely one more time before I resort to more extreme measures. Where is the forest-child Nari?”

Douxie stared back at Rivan defiantly, his jaw clenched shut, though behind his back, his hands were trembling with dread.

To be continued. ✨

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

Overgrown Metal

Series Summary:  Almost two decades ago, the fae rose up from beyond the veil with technology far surpassing the human race, quickly taking over after laying waste to nearly everything in their wake. Now eight paths cross to right the wrongs on both ends, working to uncover secrets that would have rather stayed hidden

Chapter 5: Bow With Hope

Summary: Enter Patton.

Trigger Warnings: death mention. If i missed any please let me know.

General taglist: @im-an-anxious-wreck (if you’d like to be tagged for all works or specific ones feel free to ask!)

Patton sighed gratefully as the great doors closed behind him, quickly straightening before anyone could see and hurrying down the main street to the tallest building before anyone could catch him and ask too many questions. His jaw clicked painfully as he tried to subtly stretch it out and hoping no one would notice just how fast he was blinking behind his rather large glasses. Too many potential questions, too many potential conversations, too much of everything and honestly why wasn’t he there yet he was in impeccable shape and walking fairly quickly and-

He nearly crashed into the front doors of the building not having noticed tripping his way up the steps. Blinking a few more times he shifted his pack to one shoulder somewhat painfully considering its weight and nudged the door open slowly and just enough for him to fit through, slipping in fast and shutting himself and the inside away from any potential prying eyes. Dropping the pack carefully he slumped against the frame and let his eyes adjust, the milkiness nearly cleared from his vision as he stretched his mouth open as wide as it would go. Being mute outside the walls didn’t give you many opportunities or use for that matter for opening it very often, defaulting to clenching his jaw an unhealthy amount and making it a relief when he finally returned to his city and no longer had to worry about keeping up any pretenses.

Looking around revealed an unsurprisingly empty lobby, the converted hotel expanded almost impossibly wide and making the light fixtures work twice as hard to banish the shadows from the furthest reaches of the room. Several staircases led up and away to various sections of the building, though only a couple led down into the depths where he and others of his current status were rarely ever permitted to tread. Waving away the sadness that threatened to swell at the thought he simply sighed again and hoisted the pack back over his shoulder, oddities from a nearby Undercurrent ratting softly within it. He wondered briefly what the residents of the underground towns actually called themselves- certainly something better than the blatant derogatory name Societies had given them. The nicer ones were nearly identical to Patton’s own city: well structured layers of markets and power plants and homes all buried safely beneath the ground to adapt to their rapidly changing environment.

Of course he wouldn’t care to live in one...he didn’t even really care to be living in a Society despite the “safety” it promised him especially being as high up as he was. Given the choice he’d be a wanderer as so many were now, refusing to settle down where either roots or branches would eventually chase you out or kill you as you tried to hold them back. Vast open plains were really only a temporary solution as wildlife continued to grow and shift and spread without mercy or care for what it was destroying to create whatever ideals were behind it. Shaking his head once again he made his way to the nearest staircase. There’d be time for thinking later...maybe. For now he needed to deliver what he managed to find and hopefully it would be enough to pay him with a day pass to the cemetery; his superiors didn’t want the past to hold anyone back which was fine with Patton- it just  meant he worked incredibly hard to be able to earn his time with who he had lost.

Finally getting to the door he needed he took the time to give his jaw one final stretch, mouthing out a couple words to practice their shapes before he had to talk again. His vision  had finally cleared fully leaving his dark brown curls the only thing obstructing his vision. Carefully they were pushed up and away, tucked neatly behind his ears before he smoothed the front of his still dirty tunic. Wincing he tried in vain to brush as much of it off as he could only to give up after barely half a minute as the dirt made it clear it was there to stay. Stern voices chiding him for his lack of professionalism were waved away quickly. His job was tough and dirty and there was really nothing he could do to help with that unless they decided to transfer him to a different purpose. These assurances fell somewhat limply as he sucked in a breath. He would never trade his purpose for anything, dangerous as it could be and even with the added drawbacks. He was free to roam out there- within a time frame but still. He could see how the world was progressing and how life was coping, he could see grass and “trees” rather than the industrial colors of his Society, and most of all he could look for-

Gripping the straps he straightened one final time and placed his hand on the door knob. There would be time for thinking later; right now he had a job to finish. Swinging open the door before he could change his mind he stepped in, head down and shoulders back before shutting the door behind him. Nothing happened for a full minute, the only sound in the room Patton’s own quickly beating heart and the gentle tinkling in the bag as the trinkets shifted with his fidgeting, Five minutes had passed before he slowly lifted only his eyes to scan the room, realizing with a start that he was completely alone. 

Cheeks burning with slight embarrassment he walked forward towards the thin envelope with his name on it on the wide oak desk. Placing the pack beside him he opened to reveal a small wad of twenty dollar bills and a note most likely written by the direct herself.

Patton,

If your past findings have been anything to go by this should be enough to pay you for what you’ve brought back this time, though action will be taken if my assumption is incorrect. The day pass included was taken from your pay, I took the liberty of sparing you a trip.

Faris

Blinking in surprise he quickly shuffled his pay to find that there was, in fact, a day pass included. His stomach squeezed uncomfortably at the thought of his routine being known so well but the organization he worked for was a rather tight knit group so in the end he supposed it made sense. He nudged the bag closer to the side of the desk and turned to leave, only briefly wondering why the director hadn’t been there this time before quickening his pace back towards the way he came. If he hurried he’d be able to use it now; he’d scarcely thought of much else his entire trip outside the walls.

Walking as quickly as he dared through the silent lobby he found the long familiar flight of stairs and hurried down them, barely stopping ;long enough to shove the pass through the slot before nearly crashing into the second door he hadn’t been paying attention to today.. Schooling his annoyed expression as the pass was logged he reached immediately for the door as he heard the beep, mood sobering immediately as the cold musty air hit his face. The cemetery was a quiet place, as they so often were, and hung heavy with the warm smell of earth contrasted just shy of unpleasantly with the crisp air of the underground cavern. Here the dead lay still in whatever a family could scrounge to wrap them with, most only in their best clothes laid as carefully and respectfully as possible in the holes dug by those who cared for them. Families weren’t allowed to see the dead laid to rest, too painful a thing to watch with the limited amount of technology they had, the director had said. Patton would have gave everything- he glanced up at where his feet had automatically taken him. His son’s grave.

His tight smile turned genuine as he kneeled in front of the stone, tears already pricking his eyes as he stared at the name written there. He brought his arm up slowly, palm resting on the corner of the smooth stone he had picked out himself: smooth and just big enough and slate gray with obsidian cracks spidering at the side. He always liked smiling in the cemetery, hoping that if God forbid his sin’s soul lingered he would see his father smiling and be comforted. He knew if he was ever a spirit he wouldn’t want to see his family mourn him, pain cracking their usually cheerful features. No. He’d rather them smile with the memories of their time spent together, and especially for his young child, he smiled as wide and as long as he could, simply absorbing the silence and trying his best to turn the cool indifference of the stone into warm comfort with the simple touch of his palm.

“I always wondered who it was you put all your hard earned savings towards. Though I’m deeply curious patton: if you’re mourning him down here, then why look for him up there?” Patton froze at the cold words tossed at him so carelessly, matching the rest of the room and sapping what little warmth he himself had left to offer. Standing carefully he schooled his face into what he hoped was an open expression and turned, meeting the deep brown eyes of Director Faris. 

She really shouldn’t be this intimidating he thought to himself as he bowed his head. The director was his height and only slightly chubbier, dark suit with a crisp lab coat laying carefully over it filling the picture of professionalism. Really the only thing scary about her was the necklace she wore with their society emblem carved into a small pendant, the snarling muzzle of a dog glinting in the low light. Her stern gaze never wavered from him, much as he wished it would, and the air between them had grown incredibly uncomfortable by the time she cleared her throat to indicate he could answer.

“Blind hope I suppose.” He offered weakly. “Thank you f-”

She waited patiently for him to clear his suddenly very dry throat, trying desperately to clear the gravel of disuse from his voice before he tried to speak again. “Thank you for  including a pass with my pay, the saved trip is greatly appreciated.”

“Blind hope that he survived and somehow escaped your notice for ten years?”

“A father knows.”

“So does a leader.” Faris stepped forward and  laid a hand on his shoulder. “You always have so much trouble simply letting go Patton. Let the past be.”

Patton bit back the retort of his purpose that was given to him by the director herself was finding relics of the past along with whatever could be made from present materials to bring back to the city. His purpose relied on the past and people finding new ways to innovate it so it fit into the future. That to simply let the past go- well, wasn’t so simple. He cast a longing gaze to the smooth stone sitting obliviously in the dirt, Faris’ eyes following sharply.

“Whose body do you think is down there if not your son’s? How little respect do you have for us if you think we would deceive you on such a personal level?” Patton felt a wave of guilt wash over him at those words, looking down shamefully. “Have faith, Patton. This world has no more room for questions.”

As the director's hand fell from his shoulder at last she gestured as she turned away, taking confident strides to the stairs. “Follow me when you’re ready; I have other things to discuss with you.”

Pressing his lips together, Patton took one last look at the grave marker. Doubt curled not for the first time in the back of his mind, an ever growing sapling digging its roots ever deeping in the bed of questions he had surrounding the Society in which he lived and the people put in charge of it. As one of the head researchers it didn’t sit right with him that Faris allowed so little to be questioned, instead offering up faith as the sole reason to follow whatever whim the higher ups decided to pursue. He worked only a small branch of the Society, so much was left behind closed doors he very rarely if ever had access to. There was always, always room for questions. 

“I will never stop looking for you.” He whispered quietly enough so he was sure faris wouldn’t hear before turning and hurrying towards the steps. “I promise you, Virgil.”

This work is also available on AO3!

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[shhh-no-ones-home]

cheat code (1/2) duff mckagan x reader x izzy stradlin

+++++++++

part 1 part 2

Disclaimer: the beginning reads kind of weird as far as specifics so here's a reminder that y/n is not dating or with any of the gnr guys. It's about someone else but he doesn't get a name.

Song: Rubi by doll skin

tag list: @cynic-spirit @satans-arse @slashscowboyboots

+++++++++

I pushed my head deep into my hands and tried to stifle the sob that escaped my lips. My whole body was shaking as I sat by myself on the floor in the corner of the room. It was still fairly dark out but I knew my regular morning alarm would be going off soon, it was almost 4 after all. It was the alarm I had set every day for the last six months, the time Duff was usually up to call me after a long night doing whatever the hell it was they did. I peaked reluctant through my fingers at the completely trashed room.

Bedding and dresser drawers had been thrown about in anger. I didn't care at the time though but I knew it would hurt worse when I had to clean it up later. When the initial shock finally left my body and mind that is. I still loved him. I sobbed angrily as another hot tear slid down my cheek. I relaxed a little bit, my legs slowly sliding down away from my body. It was everything I could do to stand up, my whole body protesting as I pressed my back into the open window. The curtains whipped about my ankles but I couldn't remember when I had opened it, it must have been during my rampage to get him packed and out of my house. It may be after, when I had reluctantly lit the long forgot about cigarette. It was stale and burned my throat as I inhaled it. It had been so long since I'd given into my vices.

I sighed out heavily, looking at the torn sheets on the mattress and immediately making the decision to get rid of it. All I could see there now was her legs wrapped around his waist. It wasn't fair. He had told me he loved me. I hated myself for believing him. A sorrow fell over me as I recalled the events of the night before. I came home late, working longer than usual. I had called him earlier about lunch time to tell him I would be. He seemed more than alright with that which should've been the first sign. When I walked in the door, food in hand, I could hear him moaning softly which should've been the second. By the time I had propped the door open I was hit in the face with the harsh reality that he had been cheating on me.

I stared at them in anger for a moment before absolutely losing it. I screamed the loudest profanity I could muster before dropping the bag I was holding and yanking her off of him by the hair. She protested greatly,  yelling at me to leave her boyfriend alone. I closed my eyes tightly as I ran the words over in my mind again. 'her boyfriend.' it made me wanna vomit. As soon as the words left her mouth all I could do was slap her, my face getting redder in anger. He tried to pull me away but all he got was a solid scolding and punch to the nose. I practically ran to the closet to get a suitcase, throwing all of his belongings at him and demanding he get out. That's why the room was now a mess. I emptied every nook and cranny I could, trying to get him out of my room, house, and mind.

It wasn't fair and here I was left with the phantom of the one I once loved. His fling killing my hope and desire for life. I jolted back to reality as my alarm finally sounded. I looked at it for a second before grabbing it with both hands and yanking the whole machine out of the wall. I screamed as I smashed it under me, a loud crash against the carpet as it busted into pieces of plastic and worn wires.

"Fuck!"

I yelled, sobbing again. It felt like The tears where melting my face, the river running down as a harsh reminder of heartbreak. Then as if on queue the phone rang. I debated not picking it up but if duff needed me like the last few times he had called I knew I would regret it. I tried calming down for a second but it didn't work so I picked up the reciever anyway. I didn't say anything at first, hearing what I assumed to be a party in the background.

"Hello?"

I heard. I closed my eyes.

"Duff it's not really a good time."

I managed out, my voice cracking and wavering. There was a short laugh.

"It's not duff, it's Izzy."

He announced boldly. I drew my brows together.

"He told me to call you though. We were gonna take a walk on the strip and wanted to know if you were game to join."

I closed my eyes tightly, letting the last few tears fall. I made a split second decision.

"When?

I heard cheering but not from him. Then the I heard shuffling.

"Hey y/n it's duff. We're getting a cab and we'll be over. Wear your hottest outfit and leave your boyfriend at home cause you're partying with the top selling band guns n roses tonight!"

He practically yelled, the music changing in the background to something with a heavy beat. His words kind of stung but I complied anyway.

"Alright duff."

I said reluctantly, thanking any divine power he was too gone to hear the hurt in my voice. Then the phone clicked off. I looked around the room again for a split second before making my way to my closet. I flipped through the few remaining items in it before plucking a leather mini skirt off a hanger followed by a mesh under shirt and crop top. I looked at the items in my hands for a long moment before realizing they would be here soon. I trudged to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. This was the first time I'd seen my reflection since I'd left work the night before and God was I a mass. My hair was tossed about in a tangled bunch and my makeup had since been washed off by the tears, faint mascara lines at the bases of my eyes. I looked broken that was for sure.

I sighed heavily and got to work. I started by brushing my hair out and stripping completely. It felt good to get my old clothes off finally. I ran the shower and stepped in, washing my face first before doing everything else quickly. When I stepped out I dried off and got dressed, pulling the shirts down over the red bra I hadn't yet had a chance to wear. It was supposed to be a birthday surprise for my now ex so I guess it didn't really matter if I wore it. I looked over myself before drying my hair and lining my eyes with eye liner. I looked halfway decent and was kind of proud I could put myself together even after having a full mental breakdown. As I was putting my boots on I heard a knock at the door.

This was the first time I'd left my room since I demanded he leave with that bitch. The rest of the house was just as trashed and I stood there shocked for a second. My book shelf was flat on it's face, books and records thrown around the room. Vases and flower pots where smashed into the carpet and my TV was on its side in the middle of the room. Another knock at the door shook me from my trance and I rushed to open it. When I did Izzy and duff were both standing there, sleazy smiles on their faces.

"Hot damn y/n you clean up nice."

Duff admired, making me blush.

"Thanks Duffy."

I said, trying not to let them look in my house. Then izzys face fell.

"Y/n what the fuck happened here?"

He said, pushing past me and into my dimly lit house, the rising sun making things glow in it's wake. Duff looked at me concerned before doing the same. I turned around and stared at them, inspecting the disaster that was my life.

"And where what's his face?"

Duff snapped, pointing at me and noticing my boyfriend's absence. I sighed.

"He's probably somewhere dicking down his new play thing."

I said a little hurt, venom dripping through the sentence and into their ears. They exchanged knowing glances.

"Is that cab still here? Cause I'm gonna go find him and kill him."

Izzy said pushing past me again.

"Wait!"

I said grabbing his arm and spinning him back to face me.

"Don't."

I breathed out. There was enough hurt for one night and I was done with it.

"What happened?"

Duff said softly, sobering up quickly. My face fell. Now I had to be faced with the truth again.

[neondvcks]

and the water was honey

fjord/jester, fairytale!au

A/N: I guess inserting these characters into Fairy Tale settings is a thing now; do note that this a standalone piece. As always please excuse any inevitable mistakes and inconsistent writing.

[AO3]

There lives a witch in the woods.

She is dangerous and terrifying and has an insatiable hunger for children. Fjord is told about her within hours of arriving in town. One of the dockworkers warns him with a laugh when he asks about the endless trees expanding onto the horizon and a few others join in on the joke; spinning tales of nightly visits and boiling pots filled with uneaten vegetables.

A cautionary tale then, Fjord decides, told to children to keep from misbehaving, to keep them in line. There had been plenty of those when he was growing up, though they were surely less imaginative than flesh-eating witches.

*

There lives a witch in the woods.

She has hoofed feet and twisted horns and she sing sweet lullabies to lure people into her hut. Fjord doesn’t put much stock in fairy tales, even less so when it’s the tavern drunk who’s spouting them. The man is old and his voice carries throughout the entire establishment as he talks about disappearing nephews and curious ritualistic markings.

Fjord has known many men like this one, lost in the haze of spirits and grief, plagued by invisible horrors buried deep within their minds. Harmless, really, to anyone but themselves.

*

There lives a witch in the woods.

She smells of cinnamon and sugar and keeps her victims in cages to fatten them up. Fjord has been in town two days and has already heard about her thrice. It rings different, though, from the mouth of a shaking kid; even if he caught her trying to put her hand down his purse. Her eyes are big and pleading and her fear is so tangible it nearly hurts him.

Fjord understands children like this better than he understands anything. From the stubborn set of her jaw fighting against the trembling of her lower lip to the ratty, ill-fitting clothes on her back. Alone and desperately looking for a family.

*

There might actually live a witch in the woods.

Her house is hidden beneath the dark canopy and decorated with an array of oddities. Fjord curses the child’s ability to tug at his heartstrings and coax a promise out of him as he studies the sweets and baked-goods lining the roof and walls. The faint scent of cinnamon hangs in the air.

It’s curiosity rather than bravery that drives him forward. With his hand on the hilt of his sword he inhales once (an overwhelming breath of sugar) and knocks on the door. The sound is muffled by the gingerbread and for a long moment nothing happens.

Then a soft musical voice filters through one of the sugar-paned windows:

“Nibble, nibble like a mouse, who’s nibbling at my house?”

There is no pause, no wait for an answer; the door simply opens with a gentle creak. Fjord peers into the dimly lit room, hesitating only slightly before tightening the grip on his sword and stepping over the threshold.

With the curtains drawn the only light comes from a fire burning in the hearth, casting eerie shadows onto the floor. A large table surrounded by a mismatch of chairs sits in the middle of the room, a warm sweet smell drifts up from the stove on his right. Aside from his own shuffling feet, the ticking of an ornate clock is the only sound until—

“Friend or foe?”

Fjord whirls around quickly, sword halfway out of its sheath. There, in front of the now-closed door, stands a figure hidden by shadows - it’s only discernible features the curling horns and coiling tail. A sudden rush of blood fills his ears as his heart beats out a warning sign in his chest.

The voice continues, though it doesn’t seem to come from the creature’s mouth: “A weary traveller looking for warmth or a sneaky thief looking for trouble?”

He steadies himself - slow breath in, slow breath out - determined to keep the trembling out of his reply.

“Friend, I hope.”

There is a long pause - made longer by the fear clawing at his throat - before suddenly the figure in front of him wavers then disappears into thin air as the curtains fly open and bright daylight streams into the hut.

“Oh, thank Gods,” someone pipes up near his elbow, causing him to jump. “I just made scones and they really are best when they are still warm.”

Smiling merrily stands a young woman barely a foot from him, in her hands a tray of delicious smelling pastries. Smaller than he had imagined her to be with cheerful eyes and a soft accent to her words, the horns on her head seem far less threatening - even the fangs in the corners of her mouth don’t seem to betray any bloodthirst.

Bewildered Fjord looks on as she places the scones onto the table and turns her attention towards the handful of children that seem to have climbed out of odd places all throughout the room (he must imagine one of them appearing out of the clock). One of them, with a beak and ruffled feathers, blinks curiously at his tusks as they all sit down and excitedly reach for jars of jam and cups of milk.

Surely, he thinks, this is when he ought to wake up.

“Won’t you join us, mister…?” The woman gestures to an empty chair, still smiling pleasantly even as her gaze flickers down to the sword at his side. The children all peer up at him with a mixture of expectation and wariness.

“Fj—Fjord.” He clears his throat as he cautiously sits down, still scanning the room for any potential threats. “The name’s Fjord.”

“Fjord,” she echoes, pleased. “I’m Jester.”

It is always ill-advised to take food or drink from strangers - even more so from strangers living in edible houses hidden away in dark forests. Still, when the offer is made with such eagerness, such generosity, it becomes significantly harder to refuse. In the end, Fjord eats two scones.

*

As a sailor Fjord knows that to survive a rip-current one can only stay calm; resistance is futile and only increases the chances of fatality. Being near Jester feels oddly similar to the sensation of being dragged out to sea; overwhelming and disorientating and strangely exhilarating. More than once does his breath escape him.

Jester asks countless questions (aided by the bravest of the children) and happily interjects her own anecdotes and wisdom wherever she sees fit. Repeatedly, Fjord finds himself staring at her for a beat too long - at her open-mouthed laugh and the way her nose scrunches, at the way her skirts twirl when she gracefully moves about and her tail dances behind her - and when she catches him with raised eyebrows his face flushes so hot he wonders if it couldn’t all still be a fever dream.

Somehow he ends up out back, axe in hand and a pile of woodblocks at his feet, two of the kids at his side for supervision. They laugh with him as much as at him now; don’t seem as perturbed by his monstrous appearance. That is until he mentions their sister and fear and confusion and hope flicker over their small faces.

Watching them retreat hastily to the hut, a bird joyfully chirping from a nearby tree, Fjord cannot blame them. Had he been presented with a place like this at their age he would’ve done anything within his miserable power to keep the outside world from creeping in. Even now a part of him yearns for the sanctuary within those gingerbread walls.

*

A comfortable quietness falls over the hut once the children settle in for the night. Jester and he sit at the scrubbed-down table, the fire crackling, a pot of tea between them. The scratching of her pencil as she scribbles in her journal is oddly soothing and for a little while he wishes not to speak. He wishes to sit here with her and her peculiarities and warmth until the days run out.

“They have families that miss them.”

“They would not have come here if they hadn’t been lost and alone,” she dismisses.

“They need to go home,” he pleads.

“They need to be safe,” she counters.

“Jester—”

“Do you have family Fjord?” she demands, suddenly; eyes bright.

He looks away as something akin to shame fills his chest.

“No,” he admits, gruffly.

She leans forward, carefully putting her hand on his and waits until he meets her gaze once more.

Softly she says: “that’s why you found us.”

It’s there then, mirrored within her; something painfully familiar. Slowly he takes her hand into his own.

“Where is your family Jester?”

Her shoulders slump only slightly; when she speaks her voice trembles with emotion.

“I can’t go home.”

They sit there, at the scrubbed-down table, hands intertwined between them, the night stretching on.

*

There lives a witch in the woods.

She keeps the company of a terrible monster with sickly green skin and grotesque teeth. Children stray to her house and return their heads filled with ridiculous fancies and their fingers sticky, rambling about endless pastries and undying fires and other such absurdities.

It is said that at dusk, when the wind blows just right, one can hear her laughter ringing through the trees.

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 26: Loyalty

Lance makes an offer to a not-so-distant friend

Also, headcannon that Lotor has orange scales like his mom :)

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Lance sits on the ground in the grotto, pulls a comms device out of his boot. All he has to do now is wait. So that’s exactly what he does, tossing the comms device back and forth between his hands. He’d managed to lighten his mood for a dobosh or two, long enough to put Keith at ease for a bit, but now he can feel himself starting to shake.

He stops playing with the comms device once his hands start shaking so bad he nearly fumbles it into the pool. The little fish don't know to dart away, unfamiliar with predators from above.

“Lance, what’s going on?” Keith whispers, voice low. He sits off to the side, knees tucked up, tail curled around his feet, twisting the end of his braid between his fingers. Galra, Lance thinks. They’re so instinctive, so insightful. He couldn’t pull anything over on Keith if he wanted to. To the kit’s credit, he looks more ready to draw a weapon than to cower in a corner.

It’s amazing what agency does for a person’s spirit. Since being allowed to do things and be useful, Keith's become fiercer, less aloof, more prone to humor.

“Those rumors Lanval talked about? I’m worried they might not be rumors. I’ve asked Shiro via Adam’s comms device to set up a conference between me and Lotor to discuss strategies.”

“Strategies,” Keith grumbles. “Lance, you’re just a prince. You only have what power Alfor bothers to give you. And then I only have what power you bother to give me.”

“That’s appointed power, beloved. Lotor and I have much more than that. We’re attractive and charming, and so are our spouses.” Lance smiles. “The people don’t know what we are and are not allowed to do. But they want to follow us and be like us. We choose how we want them to behave, and then that is how we must behave ourselves.”

Keith stares into Lance’s eyes. Lance lets him, lets him seek out whatever he’s looking for. After a moment, Keith sits back. “I’ve never had power or influence. I don’t really know what they are or how to use them. I can only trust you.” He reaches out, brushes some of Lance’s hair out of his face, smirks. “So don’t fuck it up, okay?”

“But you-” The comms device buzzes in Lance’s hand. He answers, letting it hover in front of him. “Prince Lotor.”

“Crown Prince Lancel.” Lotor smiles, the orange scales glittering on his cheeks. They shine with green iridescence when the light hits them and they have a different shape, more like bolts of electricity than the spread wings of the Alteans. “It’s good to hear from you. Though,” Lotor frowns, “I can’t imagine this is a social call, given the secrecy.”

“Not, it is not… Shiro. Are you listening?”

“I’m here,” Shiro murmurs, stepping into view. Keith notices from the corner of his eye as Adam slips into the grotto. Keith stays out of view of the call, leans up against the wall, arms folded. He can practically see Lance shaking, hands twisting in his lap.

“Right. Where to begin…”

“Take your time,” Lotor says, tucking a lock of silver hair behind his ear. “I will listen.”

Keith suddenly remembers that Lotor is several decaphoebs older than they are, has been given more power and responsibility. Lotor actually knows what he's doing. Lance is just doing the best he can.

“Right.” Lance takes a deep breath. May the Ancients forgive what he’s about to do. “I recently received word that there are rumors running through my court that Altea still prepares for war with Daibazaal. Looking into it, one of my associates discovered a hidden war room we believe is connected to my father’s laboratory.” Lance closes his mouth, waits to see if Lotor has anything to say.

Lotor’s frown deepens, brows furrow, but he merely gestures for Lance to continue. Lance sits up a little straighter, hands in his lap. His fingers clench so tight his knuckles are white even against his brown skin. Keith can see him tremble, hear every rattle of his lungs as he takes a deep breath.

“I do not know if King Alfor intends to invade or if he is simply concocting contingency plans in case you choose to betray us, but… In the event that my father does launch an attack on Daibazaal and her people, I humbly request asylum for myself, my husband, and our associates. My people will not survive another war with Daibazaal. They are tired, and our numbers have begun to dwindle. Children are fewer and we have lost many soldiers. I do not wish to put them through another war.

“I am quickly gaining the respect and love of my citizens. If I side with you, they may yet turn against my father if such a thing occurs. Siding with Daibazaal is my people’s greatest chance. And… It is my husband’s only chance. If King Alfor chooses to turn on Daibazaal, he will surely kill him. I would not have him die.

“Please, Prince Lotor. I beg of you, help me save my people.”

There's a long stretch of silence where no one speaks, where the entire grotto holds its breath. Keith gapes, eyes wide, mind reeling at the image of his spouse. He hasn’t seen this version of Lance yet, this version with the one thing his father lacks entirely: humility.

Lance kneels with his head bowed before a foreign prince, before the man he only a little while ago called his enemy. The circlet on his head, shining in his white hair suddenly means so much more than Keith ever gave it credit for. It’s a heavier thing than ever he knew.

“It’s a little early to commit treason, given your evidence.” Lotor hums. “But not necessarily inappropriate given our circumstances. I find it interesting that you have heard the exact same rumors I have, seemingly within a movement of my hearing them.”

Lance lifts his head. Keith can see his throat bob as he swallows. “You have heard the same?”

“Yes, though it is not clear who is the assumed aggressor… I silenced the rumors as soon as I heard them. The only Altean to travel to Daibazaal since your wedding has been your attendant, Adam. Do you trust him?” In a manner of speaking, Keith thinks.

“Completely. I sent him to investigate the rumor and do some research for me.”

“So he traveled here after you caught wind of the rumor. Very interesting… What of outside our little system?”

“You’re implying we may share an outside enemy?”

“It’s more than possible.” Lotor sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Let us look into outsiders before we look into each other, shall we? We’ll give our fathers the benefit of the doubt for now. But should King Alfor turn against us, you and yours will be welcomed. I would not have your people condemned based upon the wayward whims of their king.

“In the meantime, let’s you and I come up with ways in which we might better present a united front. Perhaps I could come visit. I’ll bring Allura, and Romelle is well enough to travel. We can… I don’t know, wander together about the city or something.”

“There is the Frost Ball. It’s as tedious and lame as it sounds, so you might as well come and shake things up. I shall tell my father that I invited you. I’m deeply sorry that I forgot to run it by him first.”

Lotor smiles. “That sounds perfect. Hopefully we can find an excuse to bring you to Daibazaal soon enough.”

“I think Prince Yorak would like that.” Lance finally smiles, eyes sliding to Keith. He’s still shaking, having essentially promised to commit conditional treason, but Keith sees that weight on his head lighten just enough for the crown prince to straighten his shoulders again. "Truth be told, I would like that as well."

“Excellent. In the meantime, let us look into our outside relations and see what we can find. I will confer with you as soon as possible.”

Lance bows his head again. “You have my deepest thanks, Prince Lotor. From myself, and my people, though they do not know it.”

This time, when Prince Lotor smiles, it’s sad. “And you, Crown Prince Lancel, have my deepest respect. Let us pray that your people never need know what transpired today. Farewell.”

“Farewell,” Lance whispers, head still bowed. Lotor ends the conference, and the comms unit goes dormant. Lance heaves an exhausted sigh.

Keith stares. Lance would give up his seat, give up any chance at a relationship with his father, give anything, everything to see his people safe. Keith knew this already, of course. He’s known it from the quintant they met.

But to betray the Crown is to surrender his crown, and Lance stares that possibility in the face, trembles, but does not flinch. Keith moves from his place against the wall, begins working feeling back into Lance’s cramped hands.

Keith has spent his entire life resenting royalty. They’re the ones who took his mother away, the ones who caused the death of his father. Thanks to them, Keith spent eleven long decaphoebs of his childhood alone and isolated from civilization. Still, it’s here, in the presence of a fearful, inexperienced youth destined to one day be a king, that Keith feels at home for the first time since he was six decaphoebs old.

So, he makes a move in its own way as bold as Lance’s. Keith lays a gentle hand against Lance’s cheek, coaxes the Altean to meet his eyes. Despite the fear there, those eyes do not waver. Lance does. not. flinch. And neither does Keith as he gently presses their brows together, brushes his thumb over those blue scales. They’re iridescent like Lotor’s, Keith suddenly notices, shimmering red where the light hits them. A heart full of love for his people and fire for their survival.

Lance’s breath comes ragged and fast. Keith closes his eyes, takes deep, cleansing breaths, waits for his spouse to match up with him. There’s a sniffle, something wet where Keith brushes his thumb over Lance’s scales again. He takes Lance’s hand -It’s larger than his own, he finally realizes- and holds it against his chest, over the greater of his hearts.

Lance shifts forward, rests his brow against Keith’s collarbone, and Keith embraces him without a second thought. It matters not what happens next, what the higher royals choose to do with the toys they call people. Keith will not be coming back from this.

He will not be coming back from Lance.

[tinybluedots]

love's whisper

some nights

I wrestle with the voice of doubt

some nights

I feel the worry of a mother,

as I lay

curled in the smallest ball

I can manage

listening to my own cries

ringing out,

tears like oceans

that pull crashing waves from my lips

heavy rains

rocking my soul,

and the loudest voice in my head

says about you,

“you couldn’t want me,

how could you?

how could anyone?”

I have hunted

through dark and cobwebbed mazes

in my mind

to find the culprit,

to find the one

who dares to scream

I am not good enough,

I will never measure up—

I have seen the face

to the voice,

the one that lies,

steps on my dreams

like old gum on the sidewalk—

it is thin

and starving,

so it tries

on hard days,

particularly the ones

when I miss you so terribly,

to feast on opportunity,

to use my heart’s

precarious position

against me

when I am missing you

the most,

when I cover my face

to drown out the sobs,

pulled from a place

of wondering

if I could really be

in your heart

the way you are in mine,

the creature in me,

hungry in the midst of

sunny days,

joy and hope,

finds its voice

just enough

to utter through parched lips—

“you are not good enough”

“why would he love you?”

“you’ve made so many mistakes”

I have heard this voice

since I was a child,

always felt

I must be

an outsider,

outcast,

psycho,

must be

insane

but one thing I’ve learned

is the louder I hear

the voice of doubt,

the louder I hear

the voice of love.

funny

how doubt must scream

at the top of its lungs

to be heard,

and only comes out to play

in moments of weakness,

while love has hardly

to whisper

for me to be swept away.

and the tears

don’t burn

like they used to,

only caress my cheeks

and pool tenderly in my eyes—

and in the moments,

on the days

when the sun in my eyes

is clouded,

on the nights

when my heart

longs to be wrapped in yours,

when my body

feels more weak,

older than it should,

weary from the journey

spent apart,

aching for your loving touch,

when my perception

is a lonely dream,

the kind where I watch you

disappear around corners,

and no matter how fast I run,

never seem to be quick enough

to reach you,

where I am teased

with glimpses of you

only to watch you dissipate,

on the nights

when my heart feels

that going on without you

by my side

is pointless,

when everything just seems

stupid

without you,

when, no matter what I do,

my heart seems to say

“what’s the difference?”

because

anything

and everything

means nothing

without you,

without at least

the hope

that we will come together

again someday—

for if I ever lost that,

my will

to live,

dramatic as it may sound,

would surely go with it

on those kinds of nights,

when I’m sure

it must be easier

for you to run away,

to leave,

must be better for you

to drop my weight

and go on,

on those kinds of nights,

it takes a little more attention,

a little more elbow grease,

but I always arrive

back

at the truth

that exists in love,

and the grace I did not earn.

I arrive

back at the truths

of love,

like how love is devoted—

never quitting,

never giving up.

like how love is patient—

always waiting,

with a kind smile.

like how love is kind,

how love is giving,

how love is gentle,

and graceful,

and forgiving,

like how love challenges us—

to overcome,

to stay the course,

to push ourselves,

to encourage,

to smile after a weeping cry,

to stand back up after falling,

to explore,

to go where nothing else can

(boldly so, like Star Trek, hehe)

how love does not falter

does not waver,

is always prevailing,

is always true,

is everlasting

and never failing.

arriving back here,

a place only your heart, only your spirit

can travel to—

can travel with—

is like

being away from home

and being celebrated

upon return.

I have lived

enough to know,

no matter the distance

I go,

the miles I’ve walked

on aching

and battered feet,

however lost

in the cold

I have felt,

every step

is undone,

every wrong

made right

when Love

Himself

smiles at me

-k.

https://operationuprisenow.com/

[dinfeanoriel]

Wolf Companion?

Just something that came to my mind randomly one day and that I decided to play around with. And would you look at that, Time, Twi, and Wild are here! 

Linked Universe belongs to Linked Universe and Jojo56830. I own nothing but my writing! 

~~~~~~~

This was Wild’s Hyrule. 

Wild’s Hyrule. 

Not his. Never his. 

So, why, then, did he feel such extraordinary familiarity to it? 

Twilight could not, for the life of him, understand and it was beginning to grate on his nerves! Everywhere he looked, everywhere he went, every smell he inhaled, every aroma that reached him, every sound that caressed his ears, struck him as eerily and infuriatingly familiar! 

Ever since their unexpected arrival to this new Hyrule, Twilight found himself in a constant state of déjà vu. He knew the travelers and strangers they would bump into, he knew the names of the stable workers, and those of the domains they would pass through. 

He knew where there would be Guardians and recognized those blasted Yiga a mile away just by looking at them. 

His wolf senses tingled, the beast within vibrating with excitement and recognition. Why was this? 

It messed with his mind, disoriented him, and caught him off guard. When the Links would ask Wild a question, the answer would surge to the tip of his tongue, ready to fly before Twilight would catch himself. He was left to wonder how he’d known the answer before Wild had uttered a single word. 

Directions came to him unbidden and he would often find himself idly leading the Links to where they needed to go whilst Wild wandered to fetch miscellaneous items or collect whatever it was he would gather in his inventory. 

Wild had commented on it, jokingly claiming he had no need to guide the Heroes when Twi clearly knew where to go. 

Twilight tried to smile and play it off as being good with directions, but the thing was, he did know where they were going!

How? He wasn’t so sure. 

Wild was taking them to his home in Hateno. Twilight had realized this long before Wild had told the Links. He’d recognized the path they were on and the peaceful pastures dotted with grazing horses they would pass by.  

Since the beginning of their trip through Wild’s Hyrule, Twilight struggled to get a grip of his wolf self.The beast had not once settled since their arrival to Wild’s world. It yearned to be set free- to run loose and revel in the familiarity of the world it had once before explored alongside another. 

When night would fall, Twilight would dream. The clarity of his dreams was almost too much for him. They were too realistic to be considered mere dreams. Hazy memories from another life- another time- would crawl forward from the deepest and darkest corners of his mind as if unlocked and called upon, and Twilight would wake with a start. 

He would scramble and struggle to remember where he was and how he’d gotten there. His sense of reality was horribly skewed, two separate lifetimes merging together as one and throwing him off kilter. Confounding questions would filter through his muddled mind and cause Twilight’s head to spin as he was cast in a sea of confusion and wonderment. 

Why was Wild’s hair longer than he remembered? 

Why was the Master Sword missing from his back? 

Why were they accompanied by seven others who shared an uncanny resemblance to his Cub? 

So many questions, so little answers. 

Twilight feared he might be going mad. He was losing himself and Twilight was afraid that he wouldn’t recover. With every passing day, his wolf spirit yearned more and more to be allowed to roam and celebrate its return to the place it’d once called home. 

There were times Twilight would look off into the distance and strange thoughts would come to him based on what he would lay his eyes on...

Heh, that was the same cliff Cub failed to climb three days in a row because it would rain every time he would try. 

Or- 

I remember that stream. I pushed Cub into it because he hadn’t bathed in days and was in desperate need of one. 

Twilight’s nose crinkled in remembrance of the stench. Wild hadn’t appreciated it, but Twilight hadn’t cared. 

Or-

This was where Cub nearly got assassinated by the Yiga. Foolish humans! I will not allow them to harm a single hair on my Cub! 

The fierce protectiveness that arose within Twilight came without warning. A dark scowl impressed itself upon his features as he recalled just how close Wild had come to nearly being beheaded. 

Thank Hylia he’d been there. He’d take care of those accursed Yiga. 

Twilight faltered mid-stride. 

He’d taken care of the Yiga? 

What...

What were these thoughts? These memories that assailed him with almost every step he took? 

Twilight cradled his whirling head in his hands. He didn’t understand! He didn’t know what was happening! His memories and these new memories were piecing together and becoming as one in his mind that Twilight was having difficulty picking them apart. 

They were his, and yet, they weren’t. 

He sensed a change taking place within him. A strange warping sensation of his wolf self, and it frightened Twilight. He felt it’d grown older. 

Much older. 

Something was very wrong. 

Something was very, very, wrong. 

Cobalt blues darted to where the Old Man walked alongside Wild. He stumbled when his wolf self suddenly lurched within him at the sight of the Cub, a mixed jumble of emotions pouring forth to the point of overwhelming him. 

“...Twilight?!” 

Strong hands caught his shoulders and Twilight squeezed his eyes shut as he fought and battled to regain control over his elated wolf self. He placed restraint after restraint until his inner beast growled in defeat and reluctantly settled it. 

“Hey! Twi, can you hear me?” 

Was that Warrior’s voice calling to him in the distance? 

Twilight blinked slowly, owlishly, as the roaring in his ears finally died down and the raging sea in his mind calmed. 

“Twi? Is something wrong?” 

Warrior’s voice was clearer now. Closer too. 

The Ordonian flicked his gaze up to find Warrior crouched down in front of him, worry mingled with concern shining in those brilliant blue eyes. His brows were drawn together and there was a frown marring his features as he waited for Twilight to respond to him. 

When had he stopped walking? Why was he kneeling on the ground? 

The beginnings of a migraine were making themselves known to Twilight and the warm sunlight piercing through the canopies of the trees above them was making his eyes hurt and head pulse. 

“Hey!” 

Twilight cringed, a sharp tendril of agony exploding in his head. Warrior hadn’t raised his voice, but Twilight’s hearing had suddenly become overly sensitive. It had heightened to the point where he could hear mice scurrying through the foliage and the quiet chirping of far away crickets. He could even hear the trickling of a stream he knew was a long ways away from them. 

“Warrior..?” Twilight managed to mumble, forcing himself to focus on the Hylian in front of him. Anything to distract him from the strange feeling seeping deep into his bones and gradually spreading. 

He was still in Hylian form, but he felt very much like he was in wolf form. As if both halves had blended together and now Twilight had to learn how to adapt to the foreign entity he had become. 

Warrior breathed a sigh of relief, clasping Twilight’s shoulder, “You gave me a scare there, Twi. You feeling alright?” 

No. He was not. But that hardly mattered.  “Fine. Just a dizzy spell,” Twilight answered, voice tight. Warrior was not easily convinced, but said nothing to contradict his words. 

“If you say so.” He straightened, dusting himself off and smoothing the wrinkles from his tunic before lending Twilight a hand. 

Twilight took it and allowed Warrior to effortlessly haul him to his feet. Another wave of vertigo swept over Twilight and he subconsciously tightened his grip on Warrior’s arm to stay standing. His limbs were oddly wobbly, his coordination terribly off, and he wavered momentarily. 

Warrior didn’t remark on it, but Twilight knew he’d caught it. The Knight’s sharp eyes narrowed, noting the sudden paleness of Twilight’s complexion and the confusion and worry carefully hidden in the background of those cobalt orbs. 

Twilight might pride himself in being able to hide his true feelings, but Warrior had grown adept at reading people like an open book. The only one he’d been unable to get a good grasp on was Time. 

“If you start feeling worse, let me know and I’ll have us stop to make camp for the night,” Warrior told Twilight, tone brooking no argument. He held a hand up to stall Twilight’s oncoming protestation, sternly stating, “Your Cub’s home isn’t going to disappear overnight. It will still be there tomorrow. He can wait.” The Knight inclined his head with a faint smile and added pointedly, “Besides, I think Wild would be more concerned about your health than getting home, anyhow. Don’t you think?” 

Twilight wisely chose to shut his mouth, glowering mildly at Warrior. He was visibly disgruntled that Warrior had already known what he would have said, but he had to concede to the point the Knight made. 

He hadn’t missed the thinly veiled warning behind those words either. 

You had better tell me, or I will tell Wild and you will have to deal with the consequences then. 

~~~~~~~

In the end, they’d made it to Wild’s home. It was late in the night and most of the Heroes had retired almost immediately after stepping foot inside the homely house. 

It was mostly bare with a handful of furniture here and there, but they hardly minded. They were just relieved to finally be off their feet and get a good night’s rest without any fear of monsters or an unprecedented ambush. 

There were three still awake, two of whom were growing increasingly concerned by the third’s uncharacteristic behavior. 

Wild wouldn’t admit it aloud, but his worry for Twilight would not stop rising. The Ordonian was a man of few words, yes, but he’d hardly spoken to him during the past three days! He hardly interacted with Wild now, and the teen was beginning to wonder if something was seriously wrong. 

He was slowly becoming twitchy and impatient, waiting for Twilight to snap out of whatever daze had appeared to take hold of him. 

Time shared his concerns although he hid it well. The Pup had a tendency to space out for hours on end and when he would finally return to the present, he would look so utterly lost and bemused about everyone and everything. Time had seen him when he would wake in the mornings- sometimes in a panicked haze, other times in fear, and most of the times perplexed and lost. 

Twilight’s eyes flickered and shifted as if there were some kind of inner battle taking place that he was struggling to win. 

“You mentioned you wanted to stop by somewhere before we should leave?” Time’s rumbling voice broke the tense silence hanging uncomfortably o’er them. 

Wild blinked and turned to the elder Hero, nodding before verbalizing,  

“I need to visit Kakariko briefly and pick up a few things.” 

Time hummed, “And how far is Kakariko from here?” 

To think that village was still around... It was amazing. 

“If we teleport to TaLoh Naeg Shrine, we could save ourselves a day’s walk.” 

Wild, who had been on the verge of answering Time, froze. Time’s brow creased and both Links slowly rounded on Twilight who was sat across from Time at the small table. The Ordonian hadn’t once moved from his slouched position. He had an arm resting on the table and was tapping a finger on the surface, apparently deep in thought. 

But they knew he had spoken. 

That had been his voice casually answering for Wild. 

“Twilight..?” Wild whispered, utterly confounded. How had Twilight known that? How did he know of the shrine and of Wild’s teleportation ability? He’d never said a word of either! 

Time glanced between them. He might not have understood what Twilight had said, but he knew it was wrong. Twilight couldn’t have possibly known how far it was to Kakariko from here. He wasn’t from Wild’s Hyrule and had never visited it before they’d met Wild. And based from Wild’s shocked expression, Time could tell Twilight must have been right. 

“Is he correct?” He asked for clarification, voice pitched low in order not to disturb the slumbering Heroes in the next room. Wild briefly looked to him then back to Twilight, nodding with a weird and stunned look on his youthful features. 

“Y-yeah...But...How could he have known that?” 

Time had other questions. Teleportation? Shrines? But he brushed them aside. There would be time for answers later. 

Instead, he cleared his throat, trying to gain Twilight’s attention. 

It didn’t work. 

Twilight appeared to have forgotten he and Wild were there. 

Wild was not as patient. He wanted answers, and he wanted them now. Twilight had been acting strangely, but this took the cake! First, he knew where Wild’s home was. Then he chased off a couple of travelers, stating with a growl that they were Yiga scum, and he was acting funny when they passed by the Shrine of Resurrection and the Temple of Time.

Wild had known something had been off about it all but hadn’t thought too much on it until one thing started happening after another in a never-ending stream of coincidences...

~~~~~~~

“Twilight, there you are!” Wild called with relief evident in his tone as he trotted to the still Ordonian’s side. Twilight didn’t react to his presence. In fact, he didn’t appear to realize Wild had called out to him. 

The fur-clad Hero was staring blankly at a small crevice in a rock where an old campfire lay, embers long having been collected by the wind and spread elsewhere in the extensive land. 

Wild remembered this place. It had been the first he’d visited, but back then, it hadn’t been so strikingly empty and abandoned. 

He curiously looked to Twilight, concerned by his silence and the strange expression he wore. There was a distant look in his eyes, as though he were recalling a memory from a time passed. 

“Twi..?” He slowly asked, nudging the older with his arm. 

Twilight blinked with incredible slowness but otherwise did not react. 

“He’s gone...” 

If Wild hadn’t seen Twilight’s lips moving, he would have thought his voice had been a figment of his imagination. 

The teen quirked an eyebrow at the vague words. 

“Who is?” 

Twilight suddenly shivered. He vigorously shook his head, resembling his wolf-self when he would shake his head and whip his thick mane through the air. 

“Right...” He murmured in a quiet and thoughtful voice, “He could finally rest...” 

Wild was even more lost when Twilight seemed to draw himself from whatever daze he was in. A look of surprise stole across his face when he noticed Wild beside him. 

“Cub?” 

Now both Wild’s eyebrows were raised. 

“When did you get here?” 

When did he-  Wild nearly dragged Twi over to Time. For him not to notice his presence? To not acknowledge him? Twilight had literally just spoken to him! Had answered him! And now he was acting as if he hadn’t realized Wild was there? 

Something wasn’t right about this, and Wild was determined to get to the bottom of it. 

~~~~~~~

The next time it had happened had been when they walked past the Shrine of Resurrection. Wild hadn’t told Twilight that this had been where he’d awakened from his century-long sleep. 

If Twilight had been acting strange earlier, he was acting even more strange now. 

The Ordonian had looked so disconcerted and uncomfortable. He bared his teeth at the doors, recognition flashing in his eyes. Wild had been bemused and when he’d asked Twilight what the matter was, Twilight growled that he hated the Shrine and wanted to get away. 

He’d muttered other words beneath his breath, and Wild couldn’t make any sense of them. But the teen couldn’t stop thinking of how Twilight had called the Shrine by its name. How had he known? 

Then they came across where Wild had been mortally wounded. The crumbling wall and three Guardians piled atop one another. Wild hadn’t told the Heroes this was where he’d fallen. 

Twilight had gone berserk. The other Heroes might not have recognized the wild look in his eyes or the sheer pain in them, but Wild and Time had. Twilight had basically dragged them away from the spot, claiming the Guardians made him feel queasy and that something about the place felt horribly wrong. 

Wild had thought maybe Twilight had sensed what might have happened. That he felt something terrible had gone down in this very area. But there was something more to it. Something more to the intensity of Twilight’s reaction. 

~~~~~~~

“Twilight!” Wild surged up from his chair, the legs scraping the wooden floor as he loomed over the oblivious Hero. Time very nearly started at the abruptness of his movement. 

A thought had struck Wild and the Hero wasn’t sure what to think or feel. It couldn’t be possible but...  Maybe it was? 

Twilight raised his head, blinking several times before turning to give Wild a faintly bemused look, 

“Yes?” 

“How did you know?” Wild immediately demanded to know, planting his palms firmly on the tabletop. 

A look of pure confusion crossed Twilight’s features, dark brows drawing together at the sudden and very much heated question. 

“How did I know what?” 

“Where Kakariko Village is!” Wild pressed, eyes narrowing. He dared Twilight to try and scrabble out of this one. He’d managed to wriggle away before but he’d drawn way too much suspicion from Wild for it to be coincidence. 

Twilight knew far too much about his Hyrule and Wild was determined to find out how. 

Twilight leaned back, completely and hopelessly lost. 

“What?” What was wrong with his Cub? He could sense Wild inwardly bristling, and his frustration bubbling to the surface. “I don’t know where Kakariko Village is. This is your Hyrule-” 

“Don’t give me that nonsense!” Wild interrupted, wounded. It caught both Time and Twi off guard. Jabbing a finger at Twilight, Wild claimed, “You knew where my house was before I even said a word! You knew those ‘travelers’ were Yiga! You recognized the Shrine of Resurrection and the ruins of the Temple of Time! How?” 

Twilight’s expression suddenly morphed into one of equal aggravation and frustration. He lurched upright in his seat, growling back, 

“I don’t know, Wild! I don’t know this place! I have no idea what you are even talking about!”  They were only inches away from each other and Time immediately stood when he felt tensions were running alarmingly high. He made to separate them but Wild exploded, 

“What do you mean you don’t know?!” 

His thunderous voice awoke all the slumbering Heroes. A few shot up in alarm while others blearily blinked themselves to full consciousness. 

“What is going on?” Wind fearfully asked upon seeing the wrathful form of Wild and the furious Twilight. Time was looking between them, hands hovering uncertainly in the air. 

Warrior curled an arm around the sailor when he shirked back against the Knight. Legend was rubbing at his eye, disgruntled and displeased at having been woken up in such a rude fashion. 

Sky’s eyes were wide as he watched Twilight and Wild stare one another down. He’d never seen them interact like this before! The two were so close, an unbreakable bond binding them together. But now they were completely at one another’s throat and Sky feared something might happen that they would later come to regret. 

Four wasn’t sure what to make of it either. His counterparts were voicing their own opinions. Red was pleading for Wild and Twi to stop fighting, Blue was griping about lack of sleep, and Vio was droning on about how he’d long seen it coming. 

Hyrule buried himself further into his blankets, hoping to drown out the argument. He hated contention and fights. They made him feel sick to his stomach, and seeing Twilight and Wild at odds made him incredibly ill and discontent. It was a horrible feeling that made him queasy and uncomfortable. 

“You know! You just refuse to say anything!”  “I told you that I don’t!” Twilight didn’t shout, but he might as well have. His tone was dangerously low and precariously balanced that even Legend shrunk back at it. There was an undertone of warning neither of the Links had missed. 

Four’s eyes held the uh-oh look the others wore. 

“I don’t understand what you’re saying!” 

“Stop lying to me! You’ve never lied before! Why are you starting now?” Wild’s voice wavered, bordering on a crack and hurt flashed across his expression. 

Twilight reared back as if he’d been physically struck. 

“Lie to you..?” He whispered in disbelief. “What makes you think I’m lying to you?” 

Wild threw his hands in the air, a strangled sound of frustration escaping him, “There you go again! You know what I’m talking about! Stop pretending that you don’t!” 

Twilight was still reeling from Wild’s incensed words, his heart aching. 

His Cub had angrily accused him of lying. 

He swallowed thickly. 

He’d never lied to Wild. Twilight had made a promise not to. Sure he withheld information, but never would he flat-out lie! He’d always been honest and open with his Cub.

Why would he say such a thing? 

What had Twilight done to give Wild the impression that he was lying? 

He tried to speak but his voice withered and died in his throat, the words failing to reach his tongue.

This was worse than any wound Twilight had ever had combined! The words were sharper than even the sharpest knife, stabbing into his heart and viciously twisting it. His heart bled, his chest suddenly tight. 

Twilight couldn’t fathom it. He couldn’t wrap his mind around this. What had he done to lose Wild’s trust so quickly and so easily? For Wild to so readily accuse him...

It hurt more than words could ever convey.

Everyone appeared to hold their breath, the atmosphere heavy with anticipation and tight with worry. 

Finally, Twilight released a shuddery breath and lowered his head, blinking furiously. 

Surely it was a trick of the light, but Time could have sworn he saw his descendant’s eyes glistening. Cobalt blues swam with a myriad of hurt, pain, anguish, confusion, and grief that it physically pained Time to see. 

But it was gone before anyone else could see. 

Gone before Wild could see. 

Twilight lifted his chin and opened his eyes. 

Time didn’t like the look in them. He’d never seen Twilight look so...look so guarded and empty. Completely devoid of any emotion. It was a defense mechanism. A way to protect himself from the harm Wild’s words had undoubtedly inflicted. 

Then his eyes sparked and flashed and Twilight set his expression, stating lowly and with a clarity, “I would never lie to one of my own.” 

The Goddess strike me down if ever I do.  

Then he was gone. 

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~

The great wolf whined as he pawed helplessly at the stone doors keeping him from the one who lay within. 

When would he come out? He’d been waiting for him and his patience was slowly growing thin. 

“Patience, Great Beast,” A dignified, elderly, voice lightly chided. The wolf turned his large head to face the cloaked man standing not too far from him. The man leaned heavily on an axe, watching him closely, “He will come in due time.” 

The wolf grumbled and griped. If the person wasn’t going to wake anytime soon, why had he been brought here in the first place? He wandered away from the doors and searched for a comfortable place to rest. He circled a portion of the ground, still rumbling deep in his throat before finally settling. 

He supposed he could wait a few more days for the kid to wake up. 

The Old Man was left shaking his head bemusedly at the odd animal and returned back to his campsite to await the Hero’s awakening. 

~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~

“Down by the spring,” A familiar, deep voice hummed. Twilight’s ears twitched and he opened his eyes a crack to peer up at the glittering sky above. He should have known the Old Man would seek him out. “You always were predictable.” 

Twilight said nothing. 

Time released a silent sigh, shoulders slumping with the movement. He moved forward with the grace and elegance of an experienced warrior and settled beside where his descendant lay. He crossed his legs and patiently waited. 

Twilight relaxed somewhat when Time’s strong and soothing presence wrapped itself around him. The Hylian counted as many of the sparkling gems decorating the oily canvas above, willing himself not to think of the memory that had come to him before sensing Time’s presence. 

He tried not to think of Wild or of their argument. Of the pent up frustration and confusion Twilight had projected into the fray, adding to the building tension and tipping the scales. 

It was hard not to. 

He shut his eyes against the heavens and willed himself to forget. But he couldn’t. He kept remembering. 

The words echoed in his ears...

He reopened his eyes and peered off into the distance. 

“Stop lying to me!” 

He flinched, anguished and grieved. 

“You’ve never lied to me before!” 

His heart throbbed painfully. 

“Why are you starting now?” 

The hurt reflected in his Cub’s eyes. The confusion and uncertainty. 

“I would never lie to him.” Twilight whispered fiercely. He didn’t know why he spoke aloud, or why his voice sounded weak and uncertain. As if he were seeking to reassure himself but not knowing whether or not it was the truth. 

How was he to know? The past few days had been nothing but a muddled blur. 

“I know.” Came Time’s steady assurance. 

Twilight huffed and turned his face away, sorrow glimmering in his eyes. 

“You do...But he doesn’t...”  

~~~~~~~~

The wolf shuffled through the brush, skirting around the rocks and peering in at the Old Man idly stoking the fire he had blazing. 

He’d been periodically checking in with him, getting updates on whether or not the kid had awoken. Lately, he was always disappointed to learn the kid was still dead to the world and would leave grumbling and complaining about having to wait. 

As if sensing his eyes on him, the Old Man glanced up. A smile lit his face hidden by the hood he’d cast over his head and he told the wolf, 

“I’m afraid you missed him by a couple days, my friend.” 

The wolf blinked slowly then growled, the words slowly registering in his mind. His sharp teeth flashed in the sunlight as displeasure rose within him. He stalked to the edge of the cliff, glaring down into the vast expanse of Hyrule spread out below. Of course that foolish kid would wake up while he’d been off exploring and familiarizing himself with this expansive kingdom! 

He exhaled deeply and searched the area below. It was truly more colorful than his own. And much, much, larger. 

The sheer size still took him aback. 

How was he to find the idiot boy now? 

“I suppose you could try tracking him, but-” 

Whatever the Old Man was going to say, the wolf would never know, for he was interrupted by an enthusiastic whoop.  

The wolf looked curiously in the direction it had come from and trotted to the cliff’s edge to see what had made the noise. The beast had to take a double take at what he saw. 

Was that a...

He blinked, unable to believe what he was seeing. 

The vision was still there. 

There was a half-dressed Hylian surfing down a cliff on a shield waving a torch like a madman in the air. And he was heading straight for the monsters camped below. 

The wolf’s face would have been iconic were the Old Man not restraining himself from face-palming at the wild child he had let loose into the wilds. 

“I am also afraid,” He began, trying to keep his voice steady but the strain was apparent, “That your descendant is rather-” He started when the wolf bolted away, chest heaving as he enthusiastically barked at the Hylian. 

There was no denying it! That boy was his! 

The Old Man’s expression fell flat. What had he done? He inwardly bemoaned. They were two peas in a pod and would wreak havoc across his beloved Hyrule! 

~~~~~~~~

When Twilight next stirred, he was surprised to find it was dawn. He didn’t recall drifting off, but he supposed he’d lost track of time and had another strange and all-too-real dream. 

His brow crinkled when he registered warmth against his side and rolled his head to the right to find Time lying next to him, a serene expression softening his neutral features. 

His ancestor, it appeared, had stayed by his side for the entirety of the night. His arms were tucked beneath his head, providing a cushion against the cold, hard ground, and he’d positioned himself to where he was shielding Twilight from the cool breeze sweeping in. 

Twilight looked away, warmth blossoming in his chest. 

Time still looked after him, after all of these years-

And that was when it hit him. 

Twilight bolted upright with a disbelieving gasp, eyes incredibly wide. His breath caught at the possibility- at the chance that it might be true. Unbridled shock stole over his entire being as the realization sunk deep into his heart and disbelieving mind.

Oh Hylia! 

The Golden Wolf! The Hero Shade! Time had come to him to help him on his journey to defeat Ganondorf! He’d trained him, taught him all that he needed to know to stand his ground against the King of Evil! 

What if...

What if Twilight had done the same for Wild? 

And then it struck him. Wild’s easy acceptance when he learned Twilight could turn into a wolf. The familiar manner in which Wild had greeted him when they’d first met. When their eyes had locked onto one another, Twilight remembered the shock, surprise, disbelief, and hope that brewed within those cerulean orbs. 

He remembered feeling confused. He was the only one Wild would speak and listen to when the Heroes had come across him. It was by chance Twilight had found him. But now, he couldn’t help but wonder whether it was the Goddess’ plan all along for him to be the one to discover the Hero of the Wilds. 

Surprisingly enough, it had been Wild who had- after much hesitation- approached him first and a connection had established. A powerful bond was forged and only grew stronger with every passing day.  

A strong hand gripped his shoulder, anchoring Twilight briefly as thoughts raced through his mind. He startled and sharply looked to see Time had sat up- having been jolted awake by Twilight’s sudden movement. 

There was a hint of concern in his good eye that he fixed on the wound up Twi. 

“Pup?” 

Twilight could hear and understand the questions accompanying his name, but he couldn’t answer them. Not now. Not until he knew...

He gathered himself to his feet as calmly as he could manage, his mind whirling. He needed to talk to Wild. To find out if it was true. He needed to know if Wild had recognized him when they met- if he had known who and what he was before Twilight ever revealed his secret to the Cub and Time. 

It would explain so many things. How well they worked together when he was a wolf- as if Wild had had previous experience. How simple it was for Wild to adapt to his frequent shifting between forms. The familiarity Wild interacted with him that had been evident since before they’d grown close and forged an unbreakable bond. 

Without a word, Twilight walked away from the spring and made for Wild’s home. Time had already stood and strode after the Ordonian without question. The brisk pace Twilight set told Time he had an agenda- an objective he intended to accomplish. The look in his eye was all too familiar to Time, but he knew he had nothing to fear. 

What felt to be an eternity but was truly no longer than a couple minutes, the two arrived to Wild’s humble abode in Hateno to find said Hero already outside, tending to the garden he’d started to grow. It was still early, dawn having just arrived, meaning the other Heroes were most likely still slumbering away. 

In his peripheral vision, Wild caught sight of them and straightened with relief upon seeing Twilight coming his way. Immediately, he deserted the basket he’d been gathering vegetables in and hurried towards them. 

“Twilight!” He called, his hair loose and fluttering in the breeze. Dressed in his Hero of the Wild’s outfit, Wild resembled Twilight and Time from whenever they’d adorned their own Hero tunics during their adventures. 

He met Twilight and Time halfway down the path then paused uncertainly. Shifting on his feet a little ways in front of the Ordonian, Wild’s gaze darted here and there, finding the ground more interesting before moving to lock onto Twilight with true remorse and contrite. 

From the faint shadows beneath his eyes, Twilight felt a pang of guilt flash through him when he realized Wild must have had difficulty getting any sleep the previous night. The two often slept nearest one another or with Twilight in wolf form curled round Wild protectively and comfortingly. 

Rarely were the two apart. While it didn’t often bother or trouble them, this time was different. Twilight and Wild hadn’t resolved their dispute and it had nagged at the both of them. They did have disagreements here and there, and there were times their opinions didn’t align, or their thoughts differed from one another, but never did it escalate the way it had only hours before. 

Both attributed it to stress, but neither used it to excuse or justify their words or deeds. 

Seeking to assure his Cub, Twilight made the first move before Wild could apologize for something they were both at fault for. 

He reached out and gripped Wild’s shoulder reassuringly. 

All was forgiven between them. 

Wild knew this from the simple gesture. Twilight was a reserved individual who spoke when he pleased, and so, for him, actions spoke louder than simple words. 

A smile curved Wild’s lips and he gripped Twilight’s wrist. 

He knew, that even though he’d never voiced it, his apology had been recognized and accepted. 

Then Twilight frowned and Wild faltered uncertainly. 

The intensity of Twilight’s stare, the boring into his eyes told Wild he was searching for something. 

“Wild,” 

“Yes?” 

“Did you know?” 

Wild didn’t have to ask for Twilight to clarify his meaning. He understood what his mentor, brother, and friend was asking. 

Wild grinned widely upon seeing the faint flicker of recognition in Twilight’s eyes. A look entered them that he knew well. They were the eyes that belonged to his much beloved and loyal companion who’d traversed into the deepest of depths and furthest of lands alongside him; who’d awaited him as he completed the trials and regained control of the Divine Beasts; who’d comforted and encouraged him with his presence alone; who’d cared for him, hunted with him, and experienced everything with him. 

Twilight hadn’t remembered anything before they’d met. Most likely due to the fact that he hadn’t joined Wild on his adventure as of yet but someday would in the nearby future. In a time already passed for the younger teen. 

With a nod, Wild affirmed, “I did.” 

The instant I first met you.

He’d known. When their eyes had first met, Wild recognized them as those belonging to the wolf who’d journeyed with him. It was the reason why he’d addressed only Twilight when he’d met the other Heroes and not any of the others. 

Twilight shook his head with a sigh, a small smile of his own appearing and the Ordonian curled an arm around Wild’s shoulders and pulled him close. 

Wild knew then and there that all was well between them. 

Time watched them with pride. Moving behind them, he settled a hand on his descendant’s and Wild’s shoulders and the three looked to see the sun rising in the distance, bathing the world in color and light. 

The other Heroes would soon awaken and their mission would resume once more. 

All was well. And all would be well. 

~~~~~~~~

Link swallowed thickly as he gazed upon the castle bathed in malice. He gripped the Master Sword in his hand and shifted the shield on his left arm. He was ready to face the Calamity. All he’d experienced, all he’d done, and all he’d seen had prepared him for this. 

His eyes narrowed, blazing with determination and face full of steely resolve. He would confront this evil that arose 1100 years prior to this point and defeat it, bringing peace to Hyrule once more and freeing Zelda. 

He would purge this kingdom of the poison that had long-since seeped deep into its very core, smothering it in darkness and suffocating what little hope remained. 

He may not remember much of its rise 100 years earlier, but he knew the Calamity had caused much devastation, despair, and ruin. 

A nudge at his side drew Link’s attention to the great beast standing beside him. The wolf who’d come across him not too long after he’d awoken had never left him. A constant, reassuring presence Link found he treasured and was ever so grateful for. 

This wolf had witnessed his lowest points and his highest during this adventure.This wolf had celebrated when he’d celebrated, mourned when he’d mourned, and encouraged him to press forward- to get back up on his feet after he would fall and try again. 

This intelligent beast had never once allowed him to give up or give in. He’d protected him, congratulated him on his achievements, and gave Link the courage he needed to keep on going. 

With the wolf at his side, Link never felt alone or remiss. Wherever he went, the wolf would follow. 

Link placed a hand on the wolf’s large head and nodded sternly to himself. The wolf huffed and seemed to smile at him. His teeth were bared and he pushed Link gently with his snout, urging him onward to the Castle where the Calamity awaited. 

Cobalt blues bored into Link’s own cerulean ones, telling him the wolf believed in him and knew he would succeed. 

Link smiled in thanks and started down the path. The wolf walked alongside him, his presence soothing Link’s tumultuous mind and troubling thoughts. It pushed away the uncertainties, fears, and doubts that might have lingered helping Link to focus on the purpose of his being here. 

It was time. 

Both had known this- had felt it deep within. It was almost like a calling, telling Link his tale was drawing to an end. 

But...

Whenever there is a meeting, a parting is sure to follow.

When Link crossed the threshold of the Castle, he immediately felt the absence of his companion and when he turned to look, he found the great wolf seated on the cobblestone path, watching him go with sorrow. 

The sad eyes still blazed with the belief the wolf held in Link. Link knew then that the wolf would leave. That he had someplace to return to. 

Link hesitated and denial warred within his heart. He’d drawn close to the wolf...and to lose him...

The wolf barked once. 

Go! 

The beast wagged his tail, thumping it against the broken and torn up path. He tilted his head, watching Link proudly. 

Link knew what he had to do. But before...

Link turned around and began walking towards the wolf. The wolf inclined his head and made a low, rumbling, sound. Link ignored the chastisement. He’d come to recognize and identify the wolf’s thoughts and feelings from the different intonations and body language. Those eyes spoke for the beast more than it probably knew. 

He dropped to his knees and threw his arms tightly around the wolf- his dearest friend who’d stuck with him for the duration of this difficult and wild journey. 

“I’m going to miss you...” He whispered hoarsely, eyes stinging as he squeezed them shut. 

He felt the wolf raise its paw and wrap a limb as best it could around him. Sometimes, this beast acted more human than wolf... 

It nuzzled its large head against his then gently nudged him towards the castle once more. 

This time, when Link left and disappeared into the depths of the decrepit ruins, he never looked back. 

For to look back would mean he didn’t believe they would ever meet again. 

The wolf remained until he was gone...Then vanished into speckles of Twilight. 

When Link emerged victorious and the Princess saved, he found his companion absent. He felt the loss of his presence keenly...

Their parting tore at him. 

~~~~~

However, that parting need not last forever...

Whether a parting be forever or merely for a short time...

That was up to him. 

~~~~~

And, months later, when Link looked and met the familiar cobalt blues of a Hylian bearing a fur pelt round his strong shoulders, he knew. 

The connection was reestablished. 

“Are you the Hero of this Hyrule?” The question directed towards him would have made Link wary and suspicious, but this time, he knew he had nothing to fear. 

This was no Yiga intent on assassinating him. 

Standing and dusting himself off, Link inquired with a small grin, “And if I am?” 

The Hylian with dusky brown hair extended a hand and with a slight smile replied, “Then I’ll need you to come with me. Some friends and I have been searching for you, Link. I’m afraid we have need of your assistance.” 

Link released a warm chuckle and clasped the Ordonian’s hand with his own. The wolf had assisted him on his journey and now, Link could return the favor. 

“Then I’ll happily lend you mine.” 

~~~~~~~~

[trained-trainwreck]

game over!!

Smoke. That was all he could see for malms out to the horizon as it billowed up in thick plumes from the valley floor below. When combined with the eerie orange glow of the flames lashing out at the sky from below, it was as though the spectre of death spread its inky tendrils to every corner of Gyr Abania. So choked with ash and soot was the air that every gasping breath scorched his throat and lungs as his body desperately fought to keep him standing. He’d been fighting for so long now that he’d lost track of time. How long had it been? Thirty minutes? A bell? Maybe more- without the sun it was impossible to know. All he knew for certain is that his limbs were so heavy there may as well have been lead weights hanging from his wrists and cermet in his boots. At long last his legs gave out and he collapsed into a sitting position in the dirt.

     Everyone in Eorzea knew it was only a matter of time before the Empire retaliated after Ala Mhigo’s largely successful uprising, but no one expected it to come this swiftly...certainly not this aggressively. The relative peace that had settled over the Ghimlyt Dark was little more than a prelude to the symphony of destruction that was to come. Somehow, despite everything, the Empire had managed to not only recover from the series of blows delivered to them by the Alliance but counterattack with such overwhelming force that they shattered the Alliance’s fortifications in the Dark and swept back into Ala Mhigo to wreak their terrible vengeance upon the people of Gyr Abania. Though only barely reformed, the Fists of Rhalgr had tried in vain to put up some kind of resistance across the steppes and they too were swatted away like gnats.

     There had been twenty of them when he first joined the mob hastily assembled to defend some of the outlying villages while the people evacuated, but those numbers dwindled rapidly. Too few. Too little training.

Too goddamn weak.     Only a few had stayed with him when the others decided to save the few wounded they could as they fled back toward the west. She had wanted to stay as well- the blonde one with fire in her eyes and lightning in her fists- and it took no small amount of shouting and arguing to convince her otherwise. The weak would have need of the strength she possessed to see them through to the border. Eventually she relented and grumbled something near enough to ‘good luck’ before rallying her people to depart. A pleasant enough notion, perhaps, but a pointless one: both of them knew exactly how today was going to end.

A storm of blood.

     The time since had been a blur, a smear of fists and steel that all ran together into one big muddy blob of unrelenting carnage that had only just ceased. This reprieve, he knew, would not last. His head thumped against the sturdy pole behind him and his gaze drifted skyward, toward the great purple and white banner flying above him. Tattered and scorched though it was, that banner was the most visible act of defiance his group had been able to display and they were certain it would draw the Garleans’ ire. Scores of broken Imperials in varying states of dead and dying around him and his now long-dead comrades were proof enough of that theory. All he could do now was sit and wait for the next wave.

He didn’t have to wait long.

     Again the enemy presented himself, but not the way he’d expected. Instead of the thundering footfalls of a horde of men and machines, he heard only a single man approaching. His footfalls were even, measured, unhurried; it was as if he had all the time in the world to take a leisurely stroll across the killing fields. He drew in another deep breath through his nose and closed his eyes as the footfalls drew nearer and nearer before coming to a stop only a few short yalms away.

“Disappointing.” That voice made his skin crawl. He opened his eyes and turned toward the source. The man who stood before him was towering, even by Ala Mhigan standards, and adorned in Garlean armor that may as well have been painted with blood. It wasn’t the armor or the almost porcelain paleness of his skin or the shoulder length blonde hair billowing in the wind that he found the most striking about this man, though. It was his eyes. Blue, piercing, and...completely devoid of the spark of life. “I had hoped to find my friend amidst this carnage, yet all I am met with is a half-dead animal.” The Garlean heaved a weary sigh and turned to leave.

“And surrounded by your all-dead pals, asshole.” He grunted, braced himself against the pole, and slowly pushed himself to his feet despite his body’s many protests. “I don’t know what they feed you limp-dicked whoresons in Garlemald, but it makes smashin’ your fuckin’ skulls in real satisfying.”

     This apparently gave the Garlean pause. When the man’s attention fell upon him again, he noticed something of a spark flickering in the darkness of those eyes. For several long moments did his foe stand rooted to the spot and he could feel himself being judged as something less an enemy and more livestock at an auction. It was in this moment that the realization of who this person was struck him like a levinbolt from Rhalgr’s own hand. This was no imperial noble or princeling playing at being a warrior. No, the man he found himself standing in opposition to was none other than the butcher of Ala Mhigo- Zenos yae Galvus. He should have felt the creeping stranglehold of dread slithering up from the pit of his stomach- any normal man would- but instead he felt fire stoked anew course in his blood.

“This country bores me. These people bore me.” Zenos took a few short steps to his left and now stood directly in front of him. One hand lowered toward the contraption hanging from his hip, which rotated with a whirr and came to rest with a dull thunk when Zenos’ wrist came to rest casually atop it. He could only assume this man had decided which implement of death would be the end of one more sick animal. “Hardly sporting, but I suppose you’ll do.”

     Every fiber of his being was burning from a combination of exhaustion and what must’ve been a dozen injuries, minor or otherwise, but he wouldn’t let himself show it. There was no room for weakness. Not here. Not now. “And you call me a rabid dog?” He scoffed, pushed through the pain, and forced himself into his stance. “Sick bastard.” Zenos remained motionless, a statue with his eyes squarely fixated on the man he had decided would be prey. Both of them remained in this state as the world fell away around them, consumed by the all-devouring jaws of complete focus. He forced himself to draw in a long slow breath through his nose and exhale through his mouth, to feel the world around him as he and the ebb and flow of the battlefield became one. Memories flashed in his mind’s eye as he breathed in again, reliving the briefest of moments from battles past and catching glimpses of the warriors who took part in them. Tiny pools of aether scattered around him came together to form rivers that wound their way to the swirling tempest of power at the very core of his being.

     Rhalgr. You and I have rarely spoken- I’ve never known or needed the words. The rivers built in intensity, crashing against the shore of his soul. But I need them now. Grant me this one request, Destroyer: grant me the strength to crush the invader before me. Rivers became torrents became floods that overflowed and warped the air around him in a shimmering haze of his aether. And if you do not listen? He drew in one final breath. Everything he had left, every onze of energy he could muster, was going into this one fight. There was no other option.

Then to hell with you. 

     Stone splintered beneath his feet as he lunged forward fueled by the very aether of the battlefield itself. He could almost feel the spirits of his ancestors driving him onward, filling his body with an unnatural strength the likes of which he’d never known. In an instant he was upon his foe, feet planted, hips rotating, driving through his shoulders to pour everything the man he was into his fist as he focused entirely on driving it straight through the Garlean who had yet even begun to move. Earth trembled and a mighty clap of thunder filled the air around them as he drove his strike home, certain that it had landed clean. Then came pain, white hot and racing up his arm from his fist as the dust began to clear and he cursed under his breath. Not only was Zenos not crumpled on the ground at his feet, he’d simply absorbed the blow with one hand.

     He created separation, exhausted beyond belief but unwilling to give up the fight, and surged forward again. A hailstorm of blows followed, snapping kicks, tight hooks, and punishing straight punches from every angle that he could create. Not a single one of them got through the red armored Garlean’s effortless guard and his body began to break down. Zenos slipped under one hook and he saw what he thought was an opportunity. He shifted his feet wide apart, dropped his rear shoulder, and snapped his hips to drive all of his weight into a savage right uppercut...straight into his opponent’s armored elbow. His wrist buckled, then shattered. The followup left hand was caught in a mailed fist and crushed with next to no effort. Zenos’ expression never wavered throughout. In agony, without the use of both hands, and on his last legs he knew the end was near. Surrendering was out of the question. Not here. Not to him.

     With a bellowing roar, he closed the distance between them again, planted his right leg and lifted his left- a desperate feint at this point- then dropped his left leg back and threw everything he had into his right leg aimed squarely for Zenos’ ribs. He connected cleanly, but not hard enough- Zenos trapped his leg against his side with his right, then delivered a devastating chopping blow to the knee that shattered bone and crumpled him immediately. He lay there in the dust, groaning in agony, as the victor took stock of his prey.“Valiant,” spoke the Garlean in that flat tone, “but pointless.”He glared up from his prone position, unable to even lift himself from the ground.“I’ve seen that look before. In my friend’s eyes.” Slowly, Zenos retrieved one of the blades from its scabbard. “Curiosity gets the better of me.” He canted his head ever so slightly to the side. “What is your name?”

“Ehren,” he spat with all the venom he could muster. “Ehren Ahyfend.”

“I shall remember you then, Ehren Ahyfend, as one who entertained my hunt if but for a moment.”Zenos raised his blade. Ehren, determined to remain defiant, held his head high. There was a flash of silver.

Darkness.( @spiral-seeker thank you for the ask! I got a little carried away. Also @hellocatemonster for the mention )

[damienthepious]

Hello i love y’all and i wrote more of ridiculous knight and ridiculous lizzermonster dancing because i am hopeless, hopeless, absolutely hopeless

Even With Missteps (Chapter 2)

[Ch 1] [ao3] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [???]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Sir Damien/Rilla, Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Lord Arum/Sir Damien

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla, (other characters mentioned)

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Dancing, Costume Parties & Masquerades

Summary:  There is a masquerade ball in the Citadel tonight. Every knight and citizen has turned out, and all of them bear disguises of monstrosity. What better time could there be, for a monster who needs to find a way inside?

Chapter Summary:  Is he still a thief, if he returns what he has stolen?

Chapter Notes: I straight fucking lied when i said this was complete with the first chapter. I just never thought I would actually finish this chapter too. Fam i am so far gone on this mess. They're sending me to space. This is. Too Tense. Happy Lizard Kissin' Tuesday!!! ;3 Also chapter specific warning for a brief moment of (what i would call canon-typical) mild suicidal ideation on Arum's part. Just one parenthetical, really, but please take care of yourself if that's an issue for you! <3

~

Arum hears the rustle behind him, the distinct sound of an arrow being nocked, and he scowls beneath the warm copper of his mask in self-deprecation. Too distracted, tonight. Altogether too distracted-

“Do not move, villain,” says a clear, sharp, familiar voice, and Arum grits his teeth. To keep from barking out a laugh, for the most part. “A knight of the Crown shall not suffer an intruder in her majesty’s chambers, not even on a night of such inverted morals as this.”

Arum does not move. He drops his hands from the closet in front of him, the silk catching on his claws, but he does not turn towards the human he suspects is standing at his back when he murmurs, “How did you know I was here?”

“A keen-eyed attendee happened to catch sight of your ascent,” the voice says, wry and insulted. “And the manner of your climb would suggest that either you have an inhuman proclivity for scaling walls, or that you are, in fact, inhuman altogether. A monster, intruding upon our Citadel. So, which is it, fiend? Am I placing you under arrest, or does this arrow fly now?”

“I was under the impression we were all monsters tonight,” Arum says, tilting his head, turning just enough to look over his shoulder. “And I thought that you were enjoying playing so, little basilisk.”

Sir Damien’s aim does not waver, but his eyes widen, his expression cracking into flushed surprise. “Ah- Arum?”

“Honeysuckle,” Arum greets, turning more fully, and Damien stares down the shaft of his arrow at him like a stunned rabbit. The little knight is still in his costume, still staring out from between sharp little fangs, but he appears to have summoned a quiver to go along with that bow of his.

Arum could bolt. It would not be difficult. He is quick enough that he knows he could dodge that arrow before it pierces him. He could almost certainly leap to the window, or pounce upon the knight himself, or rush past him to the door.

He stands still, though. He stares at Sir Damien, and certainly it is curiosity and nothing more that holds him in place. Will the little knight fire? Will he try to fight? Arum’s palm remembers the shape of Damien’s hip and he clenches his jaw tight and tilts his head, watching, waiting to see if the little basilisk intends to strike.

"What-" Damien pauses, cheeks dark, bow steady. "What are you doing up here?"

"Oh," Arum says. "Intruding, and taking what does not belong to me. Obviously."

Damien laughs, bright and surprised, and Arum swallows down the urge to step closer. "A thief," he chimes, and without taking his eyes off of Arum he shakes his head. "And so brazen about it, are you?"

"I do not see why you should be surprised, honeysuckle," Arum says with a shrug. "I stole from you already, did I not?"

Damien blinks. "You- what?" The knight looks, for a moment, half tempted to check his pockets.

"I stole a dance. A rather daring theft, if I do say so myself, considering the obvious deadliness of my mark."

Damien laughs again, and Arum tries not to feel it as a victory. The knight seems entirely determined not to drop his aim, after all, and it isn't as if the laughter on its own is of any value, regardless of the strange way it makes Arum's hands flex.

"Are you armed, then, thief?" Damien asks, and then it is Arum's turn to laugh.

"Quite," he says. "Though I do not see the point of drawing knives upon an archer."

“So…” Damien tilts his head, his eyes narrowing, more curiosity than suspicion. “You intend to come into custody, then?”

“Not at all, honeysuckle.”

“I do not wish to fire upon you, friend dragon, but you seem keen on making that quite difficult for me,” Damien says, and his brow is furrowed though his voice is still bright.

“I am aware,” Arum says.

Damien stares at him, the moment stretching out as Arum watches the human, as the tightened bow waits for ease in one of two ways.

“Remove your mask,” Damien says, at length, and Arum can’t help the laugh, then.

“Are you certain, honeysuckle?” Arum asks, and he does not bother to conceal the way his voice goes halfway to purr. “Is that truly what you desire? You seemed quite concerned, when we danced, about not betraying… how did you put it… the spirit of the event. Has that changed?”

“We are not dancing any longer,” Damien says, quite seriously. “You have revealed yourself as a thief. That is what has changed.”

“Oh, is that all that concerns you?” Arum says, and then he does take a step closer, finally. Damien raises the bow another inch, but Arum does not stop. He is curious. Terribly curious. How far must he push, for this knight to do his duty? How many steps must Arum take, for the knight to fire?

(Certainly he can avoid the arrow, but even if he is mistaken it will be an acceptable outcome. If he is killed here, the Senate will not have the patience to wait for his replacement to grow enough to be useful to them. They will have no hold left upon the Keep, it will be useless to them without a familiar, an interpreter. His death will be unfortunate but it will still serve his purpose, it will still protect his home in however an unpleasant way, though for some strange reason he cannot seem to make himself believe that Damien actually will- that the knight will-)

“Stop,” Damien says, his authoritative tone cracking uncertainly in the middle. “Do not take another step or I shall-”

“We could dance again, if that is what you would prefer,” Arum says, ignoring his words and creeping another step closer. “I can still hear the music from below - quite fascinating acoustics, this tower seems to have - and there is enough room here to take another turn together.”

“I will not fall for your tactics of distraction,” Damien says, but he still has not fired, and Arum is still moving, still closing the distance. “I will do my duty-”

“If you do intend do shoot me, honeysuckle, you will need to do so before I am too close to shoot,” Arum says, mildly, and the tip of the arrow is mere inches from his chest. “Or, you may dance with me again, and perhaps when we are done I will give you what you request. I will show you my face, and then you may decide if you intend to follow through and loose your arrow at last.”

The arrowhead scrapes the purple of his cape, tickles his scales through the fabric, and Damien is looking up at him with such uncertainty that Arum can nearly hear the shouting in his mind. He can certainly hear the shouting of his heart, hammering away in that chest, and the sweet sharpness of his breath.

“I stole a dance from you downstairs, honeysuckle,” Arum says, quite softly, and then he lifts a hand. “Would you give one to me freely, now?”

“I-” Damien stares at him, his eyes so clear and bright beneath his mask. “I… I cannot hear the music, from here,” he murmurs, and Arum could laugh- the limited sensory ability of humans strikes again, it seems.

“I can hear it well enough for both of us,” he says, feeling reckless and absurd, his hand still in the air, and he knows he has won when Sir Damien breathes a laugh and, at last, he lowers his bow.

Such a naive little fool, Arum thinks without heat as Damien drops his arrow back into the quiver, as he puts his weapon away, as he eyes Arum curiously. Such a ridiculous trick to fall for.

Any moment now, Arum will set upon the knight. Damien’s warm hand takes his own, and he slots his body close to Arum’s again. Any moment. At any breath, Arum will knock this knight to the ground. Will set on him with his knives, will claw him open. Will escape. Damien raises an eyebrow, and looks up at Arum for the length of a few long, quiet breaths.

“You will have to lead, of course,” he reminds, softly. “The music is in your ears, Arum, not mine.”

This is the moment, of course. There is a task before Arum, and this knight is in the way. He and his pretty voice and his careful steps and his clever face. He is in the way. Arum is supposed to remove him, now. To perform the task that he must.

Arum begins to dance.

It is a slower turn than the one they took together down below. The band is playing gentler, now, easing the crowd into the middle of the evening. Damien follows deftly although he cannot hear the beat, his eyes a little guarded, and Arum feels strangely helpless before that gaze. He begins to hum along with the melody as he moves, and then the corner of Damien’s mouth curls up just slightly. That feels helpless as well.

“I know this tune,” Damien murmurs, swaying in Arum’s arms. He begins to hum as well, then, harmonizing with Arum as they move, the ease of the notes making something in Arum’s stomach twist oddly.

Arum almost doesn’t notice their movements gentling, doesn’t realize that the steps they are taking together are softening until the both of them are barely moving at more than a sway, and Arum does not think he could grow accustomed to Damien’s unwavering heat pressed close against him if they danced like this for the fullness of a year. Something about it makes him breathless, and he can hear the way his little basilisk’s heart is thudding, faster than the beat of the song.

“Arum,” Damien murmurs, and Arum realizes that they have stopped moving, now, as Damien peers up at him from beneath his costume fangs. “I…” he pauses again, licks his lips, and then quirks them up into a hesitant smile. “I did not know dragons had such lovely voices.”

Arum breathes a laugh before he can stop himself, his hands on Damien’s sides squeezing lightly. “We don’t, little flatterer. You, however- I knew you had music in your voice downstairs. Even in speaking it rings like bells. A fine trait for a poet to possess, I should think.”

“Oh.” Damien laughs as well, eyes bright and playful. “Oh, you cannot call me the flatterer when you speak so, Arum.”

“I suppose that is fair enough,” Arum says. Damien cannot see his answering smile behind the mask, and so he does not bother to try to hide it. “Then I will content myself to thank you for the compliment.”

Damien’s hands are easy and soft on Arum’s shoulders, and the knight stares up at him for a long moment before he clears his throat.

“Has- has the song ended, then?”

Arum blinks. “What?”

“You’ve stopped dancing.”

“O-oh.” Arum bites back a whirring rattle of embarrassment, and makes himself give a stilted laugh instead, pretending not to be strangely overwhelmed by the amused look the poet is giving him as he stammers. “No, it is still- I- I was simply- distracted-”

“Sir Damien?”

The booming voice is muffled by wood and stone, but it is not distant enough for comfort and it drops down Arum’s throat like a chunk of ice. Damien looks similarly stunned as they both jolt, surprise making Arum loosen his snug grip around Damien’s midsection.

“Sir Damien, have you found the intruder yet? There was nothing in the eastern tower-”

“Angelo,” Damien mutters, his expression a little wild, and then he looks up at Arum with fear and guilt both clear in his eyes, his own hands pressed to Arum’s chest.

“It seems our time has run out before our dance is finished, honeysuckle,” Arum murmurs, and he is torn between the urge to laugh and the urge to bury his face in his claws and scream. “I admit- I admit I am disappointed.”

Damien makes a choking sort of noise, and it shifts into something of a laugh as he steps back, pulling himself from Arum’s softened grasp. “Yes, I- I am as well. But-”

Arum sees the sharpness that has returned to Damien’s eyes, the stiffness that has returned to his posture.

“You have your duty, Sir Damien,” Arum murmurs. He will not die for this little knight, no. He may- Arum may have some strange fondness for him, may have made some foolish allowances, but- there is a window within reach and if he needs he can easily knock this human to the ground, at the very least-

Sir Damien does not draw his bow again, however.

He stands, only a foot or so away from Arum but distant and cool, now, and he mutters tranquility under his breath three times like some sort of spell, and then he straightens his spine as he meets Arum’s eyes again.

“My duty,” Damien echoes, frowning. “You do not belong here in these chambers, of course, but- had you-” Damien hesitates, his hands flexing awkwardly at the strap of his quiver. “Had you taken anything before I found you, Arum?”

Arum works his jaw, clenching his teeth for a long moment before he answers, realizing only as Damien asks that he has been- utterly distracted from his purpose by this little diversion. “No,” he admits in a hiss. “I was not expecting interruption quite so soon.”

“Then it seems that the only person you have stolen from,” Damien says, “is me. If you remove yourself from these chambers, there will be no further cause for conflict or alarm.”

Arum stares down at the knight. “You… you are… full of surprises, little honeysuckle.”

“You stole a dance, as you said. I think in giving you another, we have evened that score. The only other thing you stole from me-”

He pauses, and Arum hears the poet’s heart stumble, hears his breathing pitch a little strange.

“What… what else have I stolen, little basilisk?”

Damien steps closer again, and Arum smothers another compulsive noise as Damien’s hands find his shoulders. “A kiss.”

Arum blinks, and Damien bites his lip before he meets Arum’s eyes to continue, lifting his hands further to very, very lightly cup the cheeks of Arum’s mask, a thumb brushing down one of his stylized teeth.

“It was a rather innocent one, and with this barrier between us, of course. And I- I believe you told me that when we finished our dance, you would remove your mask.” Damien inhales, unsteady, before he continues, “Show me your face, Arum, and return the kiss you stole, and- and I shall have no cause to call you a thief. I will be content to consider this a mistake, and you may leave without harm.”

Arum realizes that his own heart is pounding, too, from some combination of desire and despair. He wants-

Arum wants many foolish things, just now. This ridiculous human revelry has caught him up in its net, and his mind is spinning with song and heat and touch and laughter and all of this has been too much like a dream, too much altogether, and if he means to survive, he must wake up.

Letting Sir Damien know the face of the monster he has been in the arms of for much of the evening might serve to do just that, Arum thinks, perhaps a little wildly. This dream will certainly not survive that shock. Not for either of them.

Arum inhales, swallows, and with his heart still pounding he nods.

“If those are your terms, honeysuckle,” he says, his voice low in the effort not to shake. “Lift my mask, then. I shall do as you say, return the kiss I stole, and then I will- I will leave.”

Damien stares up at him, his eyes flicking between Arum’s, and after a moment his gentle hands push the mask up, and just as Arum suspected the knight’s eyes go wide with shock when he sees Arum’s face through the dark.

Damien seems stunned to stillness, near to a statue, and Arum can hear the footsteps of the other unwelcome humans slowly growing closer, and Arum still feels mad with this evening, still feels the rhythm of his heart or the rhythm of the dance downstairs beating through his very bones, and Damien has not leapt instantly to attack and that is certainly only the shock of Arum as he truly is, but-

Before Arum can reconsider, he leans down.

He is only doing as Damien asked, of course.

Damien makes a muffled noise as the thin line of Arum’s lips presses against his own, and Arum barely knows what he is doing but Damien kisses back after only the briefest of pauses and the heat of his skin is even more pleasant like this, his breath even sweeter when gasped against Arum’s scales, and Arum realizes that he has lifted his hands to cup Damien’s face only after he has already done so.

Damien breaks the kiss but does not pull back just yet, pressing his forehead against Arum’s as they both breathe, as they both find their footing again.

“Have I provoked you to bite, yet, little basilisk?” Arum hisses against Damien’s lips, and the poet gasps, his hands flexing against Arum’s shoulders.

“Sir Damien?”

The voice is far too close for comfort, now, likely only a room or so away. Arum does not have time to understand what he has just done, what Damien has allowed. He only has survival. The other knights-

They will not be like his little basilisk. He knows that, at the very least.

Damien stumbles back a step, pressing a hand to his mouth with his cheeks painted so very dark, and when he lifts his eyes to meet Arum’s again, Arum-

Arum hears the latch move on the door. The song is over, and they are out of time.

Arum flips his mask back down over his face, stares at Damien for only one more heartbeat, and then he turns to spring towards the window, back into the night and the noise outside.

[scaredofheroin]

Captain N - Chapter 3: It’s Dangerous To Go Alone

Pushing the large doors of Peach's Castle open, Captain N feels a new invigoration within him as he looks over the horizon. The sunlight on his face and the breeze brushing across his skin felt new in no way these senses ever had before. The rolling green hills, the almost cloudless blue sky, the hills in the distance formed in the shape of upside-down U's, the few birds flying around through the open air, the small mushroom-shaped houses. A completely new, unknown world packed to the brim with adventure and discovery. For the first time in his life, Captain N felt truly alien. By his side is a bird-pilot, a winged angel wielding a bow, and a magic Princess from a faraway kingdom. Behind the grand, wooden doors he just exited are currently a stern, stone-faced God of thunder, a gentle, angelic Goddess of light, and a bright and pink Princess of this kingdom. And the vehicles! While on his home world, Captain N's species have been limited mainly to cars and trucks, but within fifteen minutes of his arrival, he's seen a spaceship a fraction of the space shuttles of Earth, and mighty airships carrying immeasurably powerful armaments. Within a couple hours, Captain N has seen more impossibilities made possible than ever before in his entire, eighteen-year life. And to top it all off: the prophecy. This great revelation planted a swirling storm of emotions deep inside the newly dubbed hero. While he's finally achieved the level of greatness and importance he's desired for so long, it came packaged with more responsibility than he's ever held before. From hereon out, the lives of countless innocent men, women and children are counting on Captain N triumphing over an evil force he's only just been introduced to. Bowser, King K. Rool and King Dedede, and the armies they command. Gazing into the distance, Captain N imagines what else he could discover in this strange, new world named Yamajiro. Adventure will lurk around every corner, as will danger. He'll be thrust into more life-threatening situations than ever before, more risk than he could ever have imagined he would ever be trapped in. But at least he won't be alone. Looking to his three newfound allies, Pit radiated a positive determination to save the day, Falco seemed slightly bitter and ready to face the evils of Yamajiro head-on, and Princess Zelda displays a readiness to escape the confines of the castle and help in changing the world for the better.

"Are you ready, Captain?" Zelda asked, snapping Captain N's wandering mind back to the present.

"Ready as I'll ever be." He responded, fearing his nervousness seeping out of his words.

"Right, first stop: The warp zone!" Pit announced, pointing to a nonspecific point in the distance.

Captain N could hear Falco grumble about not being able to get to New Leaf Town in his trusty Arwing, but fortunately didn't complain to the group. Pit didn't seem to notice, however, and led the group on with determination. Zelda and Falco followed directly behind Pit, with Captain N in the back, still taking in the foreign scenery. Few conversation was shared as the group trekked through the grassy plains, eventually going through a small town of mushroom-shaped houses. Looking back, it concerned Captain N a slight bit more to see Peach's Castle, a symbol of fortitude and currently occupied by the two powerful deities Palutena and Raiden, shrink further into the distance. Not wanting to sink further into worry, he turned his attention to the strange houses. Some of the houses were only a single story, with the roof replaced with a red mushroom cap with white dots, while other houses were two stories tall. As Pit led the group through the town center, a small marketplace could be seen, but what was noticeably absent from the entire town were actual townspeople.

"So... what happened to everyone?" Captain N asked, breaking the silence.

Zelda sighed forlornly before turning to answer him.

"Once the airship raids began, the Toad people were evacuated to other, safer places, from New Donk City to the Kanto region. Fortunately, only the castle was targeted by the airships, but panic ensued nonetheless." She explain to Captain N, the slight waver in her voice illuminating that the memory is still a sore spot for her.

"Some of the braver Toads stayed behind to help Princess Peach, Raiden and Lady Palutena in any way they could." Pit added on, his voice more chipper in comparison. "Falco, Princess Zelda and I would do what we could, as well, but now that you're here, we could do a lot more good than wait around and wait for Bowser and crew to show their ugly faces!"

"Hey, uh, that reminds me: ...who are you all?" Captain N nervously asked, addressing the elephant in the room. With the group realizing that this was a good question to ask, the three turned to face him.

"Well, you already know that my name's Pit, but I'm also the captain of Lady Palutena's royal guard!" Pit announced, taking pride in his title. It did sting Captain N a little that Pit actually earned the title of captain, rather than taking it because it sounds cool. "I mainly use this here bow, but I'm proficient with pretty much any other weapon out there!"

"Name's Falco, currently the best pilot on this whole planet and I used to be with Star Fox squadron before they... vanished. Now I've just got my Arwing, my blaster, and my wits." Falco spoke up, leaning against a nearby light post. "You've got us too, you know!" Pit noted eagerly. Falco simply shrugged and responded with "Yeah, I guess so.". Zelda rolled her eyes a bit before introducing herself.

"And I am Zelda, Princess of the kingdom of Hyrule and ancestor of the mortal incarnation of the Goddess Hylia." Zelda introduced herself in a very curt and proper manner. With everyone properly introduced and their importance made known, Captain N felt even more out of place. His footing suddenly felt uneasy as the three pairs of eyes turned to him. "Why don't you introduce yourself to us?" Zelda suggested. Captain N's mouth felt dry, trying to figure out what best to say to make himself sound worthy of the prophecy.

"Well... my name's Peter Lavancha, and, uh... I'm... Captain N." was the best he could do, adding a slight shrug to the end of his sentence. Falco snickered to himself, Pit raised an eyebrow and Zelda seemed more confused to anything else. "...Is that it?" Zelda asked, prodding further. "...Kind of, yeah." Captain N meekly replied. "That can't be it! You're the chosen one for a reason! Are you good at fighting or good with weapons?" Pit asked, hoping to alleviate the awkwardness. This failed however, as Captain N shook his head in response. "You some kinda tech whiz, or know how to pilot? You had that weird car back there." Falco noted, referring to Captain N's currently wrecked car. "Not really, everyone my age can do that." He replied, with slight shame in his voice. "Perhaps you're a dedicated leader? Someone who can inspire people towards a common goal?" Zelda asked, eliciting only a "No, sorry" from Captain N. "Have you at least been in a fight?" Falco asked Captain N. In response, all he got was an embarrassed "...No". Falco leered at Pit, silently saying "THIS guy's gonna save the planet?". But before Falco could verbally make a snarky comment, Zelda spoke up once more.

"Well, then, if you're not currently a warrior, then surely you could become one along your journey. The weapon you're holding means you're the one who can defeat Bowser, Dedede and K. Rool." Zelda insisted, motioning to the laser pistol Captain N was holding. He wasn't feeling brave enough to stick it in his pocket yet. Captain N nodded in agreement, eyeing the pistol. "...Yeah, destiny can't be wrong, can it?" He replied, feeling a bit more upbeat. "That's the spirit!" Pit cheered, grateful the mood's lightened. Captain N eyed a road sign a good distance away from him before getting an idea. "I should get comfortable with using this thing, right?" He noted, raising the pistol and aiming at the sign. Holding his breath, he closed his left eye, looked down the sights, pulled the trigger, and a flash of light later, there was a small blast mark singed on the upper right corner, not the center he was aiming for. Captain N felt thrown off by the complete lack of recoil when he shot the pistol, due to there being no kinetic force involved in shooting lasers.

"Well, I'm sure you'll get plenty of time to practice soon." Falco noted, unimpressed with Captain N's lack of marksmanship. "For sure!" Pit added. Captain N only sighed to himself, hoping he'd do a little better. Turning back to the group, he examined the pistol further. "I think I'll call it the Zapper." He declared, admiring how the sun gleamed on its shiny surface. "You can name it whatever you want, but we really should be getting to New Leaf Town." Falco reminded him. Hastily nodding, Captain N joined Falco and Zelda in following Pit to the warp zone.

The group hike continued past the town and through the same green hills, with Captain N being too preoccupied taking in the scenery to converse with his teammates, as well as still feeling too out of place to consider them more than co-workers. Eventually, a group of large, green pipes sticking out of the ground came into view, with a vacant tollbooth in front of the pipes and signs next to each pipe. "Here we are!" Pit announced, turning back to the three others. "So... what do these do?" Captain N asked Pit. "Oh, right! It's simple, you just jump into one of them and it'll take you to where you want to go!" Pit explained. "...That's it?" Captain N asked. "That's it! Simple as that!" Pit answered.

Zelda walked over to the pipes, reading the signs. Falco idly looked inside the tollbooth, finding nothing of note. Captain N followed Zelda, getting a better look at the pipes. Despite how closely he looked, they were just big, green pipes. Apart from their sheer size, nothing stood out about them. They were smooth to the touch, so either they're made of some tough material or they get cleaned regularly. "Found it! Come here!" Zelda announced, motioning towards a specific pipe. Pit, Captain N and Falco quickly gathered, where Captain N noticed the sign read "To New Leaf Town". "I'll go first!" Pit declared, shooting up in the air and diving down into the pipe before anyone could object. A strange gulping sound accompanied Pit descending into the pipe, which made Captain N even more uneasy. "Looks like Cap here's got some cold feet, so I'll get going." Falco stated, climbing up the pipe and then diving down into it, the same gulping sound coming from the pipe. Captain N was left awkwardly standing with Zelda, wanting to go ahead, but not so sure about it. "...I'll go next." Captain N eventually spoke up, still standing in place. Zelda moved to look Captain N in the eyes, clearly concerned. "I completely understand your situation, Peter. I can't imagine how lost and alone you must feel, but I assure you we will be here to guide you on this quest." She spoke, sympathizing with him. Captain N nodded, climbed up the pipe, summoned the nerve to stick the Zapper in his right pocket, and after saying a silent prayer to himself, he jumped down.

The descent down into the warp pipe was incredibly rapid, and soon Captain N's view was pitch-black. The gulping sound only repeated three times, and after that the only sound to accompany the venture through the pipe was the air rushing past his ears. The further down he went, the colder the air around him became. He tried not to panic, being trapped in this seemingly never-ending pipe. Captain N closed his eyes and tried to send his mind to a more pleasant place. But before he could decide to focus on either his Middle School graduation or his last trip to the beach, the air around him suddenly became much warmer, the three gulping sounds ringed once more, and Captain N shot out of the pipe, falling on the dirt in front of the pipe. Thankfully, the Zapper had remained in his pocket throughout his little expedition, and hadn't been shot either. Taking a moment to adjust his eyes to the sudden sunlight and making sure which direction was down, Captain N carefully stood up, finding Falco and Pit standing close by.

"I'd give that a 3, what do you think, Pit?" Falco remarked. Pit shook his head, frowning at Falco.

"It was his first time using a warp pipe, I think he did great!" Pit shot back.

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah! He could've vomited!"

Before they could keep going, Zelda emerged from the pipe, landing much more gracefully than Captain N. "That wasn't so bad, now was it?" She asked Captain N. In response, he mulled over the overall experience briefly before concluding that, yes, all things considered, it could have been worse. Nodding in agreement, Captain N removed the Zapper from his pocket and joined Zelda, Pit and Falco on the small hill nearby. The view from the grassy hill revealed a steep decline, with a small town visible in the distance. "That's New Leaf Town, we'll find Simon Belmont there." Zelda informed Captain N.

"Wait, so who's Simon Belmont and how do we know he's here?" Captain N asked the group.

"Simon Belmont is a famous vampire hunter, who's defeated Dracula tons of times before!" Pit replied eagerly, turning to face Captain N.

"Dracula? Really?" Captain N asked, surprised by hearing a familiar name for the first time since arriving.

"Yup! Why, is he in your home world too?"

"...Kind of. Back where I'm from, he's a fictional book character."

"Well, here he's the real deal, so you better watch yourself." Falco warned.

"As for how we know he's here, Simon is a common visitor to New Leaf Town, and his arrival is commonly followed with a delivery of copious amounts of steak. Deliveries to New Leaf Town must pass through the Mushroom Kingdom first, and we found a large amount of raw steak in the most recent delivery, a few days ago." Zelda further explained. "How can Dracula be defeated more than once? I'm really confused." Captain N asked further. "Dracula can be revived after a period of time, so it's likely we'' run into him in Castlevania if we're not careful. Now, Castlevania's exact location can be difficult to determine, but again, it will be made simpler with Simon's aid." Zelda answered. Falco was leaning against a nearby tree, clearly impatient to keep going and get to town.

"I'm sorry if I'm asking a lot of questions." Captain N apologized meekly. "Hey, no worries! This is all new to you! It's good you're with us!" Pit interjected, with Zelda nodding in agreement. "Besides, there has to be a point where you're not asking questions." Falco snarked over his shoulder. "Save your comments, Lombardi." Zelda shot at him. "Whatever, let's just get going." Falco shrugged, turning back to New Leaf Town. After being joined by Zelda, Captain N and Pit at the tree, the four carefully make their way down the steep hill towards New Leaf Town.

[thinkingagain]

“Fear and anger are closely related to love.” Matilda’s ears twitched. “They often come from the way love has been prevented or denied.”

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest (A Novel of the Revolution) Book Three: The Be Attitudes Chapter 24

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest was sitting quietly on the ground, his blanket still pulled over him. Love Frog moved his frog arms and legs along the Sir’s fur, sensing, pausing, contemplating. At last Love Frog stepped away and sat near Madam. Busterella snuggled tightly against her side.

A few other Demesne animals, Sy, Leo, and Matilda, were there, watching closely. News had passed across the Demesne that the Sir had woken from his coma. Everyone was excited but concerned and held back from overwhelming the Sir with their greetings.

“How do you feel, Sir?” Madam asked.

“A bit stiff.” The Sir moved his shoulders back and forth and wriggled his hind legs. “Plus some soreness in the lower back. The wound itself is a dull throb. Not actively painful but still present.”

“Present like all bunnies have to be the moment they wake up?” Little Sy choked back a sob of happy tenderness. “We’re glad you’ve come back to us.”

“Where have I been?” The Sir looked at his friends, trying to understand. “I’m afraid I don’t know what happened or has been happening.”

“You were shot,” Sy said, “by a lone deranged Beast gunman. You’ve been lying in a coma for weeks.”

The Sir took in the news slowly and carefully. “Ah, Sy. Thank you for telling me. A deranged Beast, you say. I take it you mean there was only one Beast actor rather than an organized plot?”

“Right,” Sy said. “There was an organized plot too, which didn’t work. The one who shot you was too deranged to work any way but alone. Which made it more dangerous, as it turned out.”

“How are things going on our Demesne?”

“Well enough. We’ve missed your leadership and your spirit and most of all you yourself. Beasts are still destroying the world. But the Demesne survives and is fighting back wherever it can.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” the Sir said. “And most impressed, Sy, with your leadership.”

Sy bowed in such a way that for a moment one might have mistaken the little koala for the little rabbit he was talking to. “I’ve had a great teacher.”

Matilda the beautiful hippo was watching the Sir carefully. “What goes on in that bunny brain of yours?”

“My mind feels tired,” the Sir said. “As if it has struggled even more than the rest of my body, if that’s possible. But some things are definitely different.”

“You certainly seem different,” Matilda said. “You don’t have any marks of a bunny spirit at odds with itself.”

“I do feel strangely calm. And it seems like I now know things I didn’t before and remember things I had forgotten. I think I’ve seen some images of where I was born and where I spent the first brief part of my life before I began my journey.”

Matilda’s hippo ears perked up and the other gathered animals also listened intently. “What images did you see?”

“I’ll  probably never know all of it.” The Sir looked at his paws as if trying to figure out where his memory might be hiding. “There were other rabbits and a wonderful little Madam and the rage of a Beast. I think the Beast set fire to its own home, maybe because other Beasts were about to take that home away. A Beast who was hit by tragedy made the tragedy worse."

“Many of us,” Leo kept his usual booming and joyous rabbit voice quiet and even, “have wondered where you came from and why you didn’t know anything about it.”

“I’m not sure who any of them were,” the Sir said. “Were the large rabbits my parents? I think it’s likely, but I don’t know. But maybe most startling”—here he blushed, looking at the Madam out of one shy corner of his eye—“is that I was not born fearing and loathing Beasts. I loved them. Or at least one of them.”

The other animals all looked surprised at once, Madam most of all.

‘And then one of them,” the Sir said, “wrapped up in its own pain, itself caused by the destructiveness of other Beasts, destroyed the life I was living, the life I maybe even loved.” The Sir’s eyes wavered, watery.

“Fear and anger are closely related to love.” Matilda’s ears twitched. “They often come from the way love has been prevented or denied.”

“I have learned that it is so,” the Sir said.

“A rabbit mind that doesn’t know where it has come from is a rabbit mind that will struggle to know itself,” Leo said. “Although I guess knowing where we come from doesn’t necessarily make self-knowledge any easier.”

“It is not easiness we want, my big Bunny friend,” the Sir said.

“No indeed,” Leo agreed. “But a rabbit mind that can never relax will have a lot more to fight while it decides what to do about living.”

“My mind has not been relaxed in a while.” The Sir took in a big breath of morning air. “Doubt, turmoil. I have been struggling with a constant bombarding of opposites. I have been searching for something that is neither of those opposites.”

“Certainly an either/or mentality is one of the key mental traps of Beasts.” Leo nodded thoughtfully. “If I pick one thing, I must reject another. It’s sloppy and indulgent.”

“That kind of thinking, by Beasts and by myself, frankly, affected me long before my recent problems with The Commandant-mind,” the Sir said. “That’s one of the things my recent dreams have shown me.”

“That’s your first mention of the Commandant-mind since you woke,” Matilda said. “I’ve been wondering about it.”

“I’ve been wondering about it too.” The Sir patted himself. “I do not feel sure. But right now I am getting no impressions of its presence. I do not hear it trying to tell me anything.”

“The Commandant-mind has gone silent?” Matilda asked.

“I’m not sure,” the Sir said. “I think it may have just gone.”

Matilda and the others startled at this news. “It’s not there at all?” she asked.

“If it is I can’t find it. Or it’s not finding me.”

“That’s strange.” Matilda looked at him closely. “But if true, you—we—are all very lucky. Still I find it hard to believe that physical trauma would be enough to force the Commandant-mind out of you.”

The Sir shook his head. “I don’t feel like anything has been forced out of me. If anything I feel done with forcing. I can no longer divide up the world into Beast and not-Beast. That doesn’t mean I’m not aware of the damages of Beasts. I know those damages must be resisted. But I am more aware that my fight is not against the essential and unavoidable heart of all Beasts but against the principles and practices of specific Beasts and the horrors those practices carry with them. There is nothing unavoidable about Beast behavior. There are massive and deadly Beast societies. There are specific Beast histories, beliefs, and practices. There are dangerous Beast groups and Beast individuals. All must be recognized and challenged, but my struggle is not against the fact that Beasts exist.”

“I think that’s true,” Leo said. “Can you say why, during your long sleep, your thinking changed?”

“If I struggle against particular Beasts,” the Sir said, “it is not because I hate them. It is because I wish to love them. From the moment I understood that—in my dreams—the Commandant-mind seems to have vanished. The Commandant-mind was addicted to opposition, I think. The biggest one being that nothing in the universe is as important as the Commandant-mind itself and so it’s the universe that’s the problem.”

“I hope you’ll keep a close lookout for any sign of it coming back,” Matilda said. “The Commandant, when alive, was expert at lurking.”

“You can be sure I shall do so. But if I find anything, I will not do it in the spirit of trying to fight against that mind. I have come to feel that it is only by acknowledging our worst urges, and the terrible pain we have felt and witnessed, that any animal can offer a better way forward.”

Leo hummed a loud, hearty rabbit hum. “Maybe you have grown wise, Sir. Although it’s not always clear what wisdom is. I wonder how your new perspective will change how you live and what you do.”

“I’m wondering that too. And I think that maybe you, Leo, would understand.”

“Understand what?”

“I’m not sure right now if I’ll ever again be able to raise my sword and harm any Beast with it.” The Sir looked at his sword, recalling so many things, brave and terrible both, that it had helped him do. “I could be wrong. I still know that many Beasts need swords raised against them. But it could be that my fighting days are done.”

[cuddlywritesthings]

Ueetay no Mueh'zala

Genre: World of Warcraft

Characters: Lisi’mya, Valk’iel

Special cameo: Shilly Lancasterr (written by me per permission from Lore)

Characters mentioned: Taviast Duskwither, Guntharius Plaguespitter, Renir Marwick

Timeline: Shortly after Not The Time For Jokes, after Reynali would have left the castle

Trigger warnings: Mild language, themes of death and verbal descriptions of torture, ghoulish macabre humor

“Why won’t you talk to me?” 

Shiraka raised her head from her bed-- a disassembled jumble of blankets and miscellaneous pelts. Her taupe fur blended in with the pelts, but her golden eyes couldn’t be mistaken. The wolf watched as her owner paced back and forth in her room, frustrated and distraught, the Zandali pouring from her in a frothing, emotional rush.

“I am loyal to you! You! Not to any other Loa! So why do you keep silent?”

Lisi’mya was a Sandfury, long since defected to the Horde some distant time ago thanks to her parents. She had found her way into The Circle by mere whim and chance. Mostly, though, she had joined out of sheer undying loyalty to Taviast, in thanks for what the elf had done for her. Fate had nestled her neatly in his house of cards, and she hadn’t minded one bit. 

After all, to not mince words... she owed him a life debt. 

Now she remained a resident of the group, working as their primary guide, spirit speaker and master of funeral ritualism. Renir had once called her an exorcist. Not that it was too far off from what she typically did. But she didn’t follow the rules of a church or the laws decreed by some religious figurehead clothed in the vestments of the Light.

No.

She worshiped something darker. Something far more ancient. Something far more forgotten. 

Casting a look towards the small, makeshift shrine she had made in honor of her Loa, Mueh’zala, she balled up her fists in a childish fit of anger. “Why don’t you speak to me,” she snarled. “I am loyal. I have been loyal." She pointed to her chest, each prod of her finger crisp and precise, like the stabbing of a knife. "I have been your loyal servant since the day I was chosen for you-- by you-- when I was a small child in that desert village. I was made to be your servant at such a young age! I had no choice in the matter! And I have been faithful since! I have sent on countless souls to you, empowering you, feeding you. And you have been silent ever since!”

Many rarely came upon her room. Therefore, not many knew of her shrine. And furthermore, not many knew of her sense of decoration: of the bones, the remains of life, preserved in ritualistic ornamentation and displayed in the reverence of death itself. Her room was a spiritual den, dense with incense smoke and thick with an air of mysticism.

Passing by what appeared to be an orc's skull, with partial spine, hanging from the wall and looped within a woven braid of toughened rope like a noose, Lisi’mya approached the shrine with a sense of reproach. Wearing merely a skirt-like wrap, and a strip of cloth to properly censor herself, it allowed for more access for her to adorn her body with jewelry and bits of reverent decoration. Her skin was tattooed in the glory of death. And with each step she took, her bangles and jewelry softly jingled out a rhythmic, ancient song.

“You didn’t help me with Gunthar,” she admonished the small, glistening gold talisman representing Mueh’zala, perched upon a small offering of bones. Glittering chips of garnet, quartz and other desert based stones lay at the Loa’s feet. “You didn’t help me bring him back! And you obviously didn’t want him, for you didn’t take him away." A flash of anger hardened her resolve. "You let him linger between realms, and you remained silent to my prayers, and to the prayers of others! If you weren't going to keep him, why let him suffer?"

The Loa statue started back at her impassionately... lifelessly.

“You didn’t listen to my pleas when I was begging you for help and guidance," she spat out. The flickering candles in her room cast a ghastly glow across her face, lighting up her primal, tribal facial markings and body tattoos. "Asking you! For you to have mercy on my brother after that Kor’kron severed his head from his shoulders!”

The Loa statue remained silent and cold.

“And you didn’t listen to me when I asked you for answers,” Lisi’mya suddenly cried out spitefully, causing Shiraka’s ears to perk up in concern. “ANSWERS! For why my parents had to die such a slow, painful, agonizing death! Was it punishment?” Slamming her hands down on the altar, the bones and stones rattled, but the statue seemed resolute in its stature. With tears brimming her golden eyes, the Sandfury shrieked out in her native tongue, “did you punish them for taking us away from that village, before my brother could be sacrificed to Shadra? Did you punish them for turning to the Darkspear to live a life free of ritualistic murder? To escape our mummified loved ones? To not witness them clawing up from the sandy dunes of our home? From the depths of the desert?” 

The Loa statue remained mocking in its tight-lipped refusal to divulge its secrets.

Reaching out in a fight of rage, Lisi’mya let out a primal scream as she ripped the statue from its revered spot. Raising the ornately sculpted piece of gold and gemstones above her head, she felt her resolve waver as her arm shook with rage.

The father of sleep.

The son of time.

Night’s friend.

“SPEAK TO ME, MY LOA! WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME? I HAVE ONLY EVER BEEN LOYAL TO YOU, AND YOU ALONE! HAVE YOU ABANDONED YOUR LOYAL SERVANT? YOUR SPEAKER? THE ONE WHO BOWS TO YOU, AND ONLY YOU? TO ONE OF YOUR PEOPLE? ONE OF THE FERRAKI?”

Shiraka buried her snout under a lumped pelt of hare fur. The saddened whimper of the wolf mingled with the mournful, enraged cry of the Sandfury whose faith was on the precipice of shattering.

“You know… you need to stop making a ruckus. It’s too late to be screaming and wailing like a child having a tantrum. You want that Worgen coming around again, asking questions you don’t want to answer?” 

The voice did not come from behind Lisi’mya or from beside her. No. The voice came from within her-- altered, and warped and echoed, with a distinct brash but masculine tone. It had the vibrancy of youth to it, laced with the edge of rebellion.

Her eyes had begun to glow ultra-bright with a reddish tint to her usual gold. Her body had taken a rigid, almost jerky sense to her movements. And with a precise bit of consideration, the Sandfury lowered the statue back to the altar, but in such a way that the immortalized Loa was shunned, left to remain face down upon the bones and stones. 

Seeing the statue in such a blasphemous position sent a clear-cut message. This Loa was to be shamed by the spirit within her body for his refusal to speak.

A trickle of tears trickled from the corner of her eyes before she whispered, in her voice, “Valky?”

“I mean,”  Lisi’mya responded instantly, the voice snapping and crackling once more, masculine in its deep timbre, “how many times have you talked to me after your Loa has been silent to you? Hmm? And how many times have you spoken with me since my death? I think you should know my voice by now.”

Jerkily, the Sandfury’s head looked about the room, taking in the sad state of the spirit speaker’s private sanctuary. Eyes that were her own, but sightless, beheld the spectacle... as a specter from beyond saw for her. Everything was disheveled-- more than usual. A bed unmade, with a few empty tankards that previously held the castle’s strongest mead and liquors drained and scattered across every surface available. Furs and pelts were tossed about, as were the various pieces of her adventuring gear. There was a smell of stagnation and sorrow mixed in with the incense and scent of leather. 

“Damn, sister, you really let yourself go.” 

“Valk’iel!”

With a cry, Lisi’mya took control once more. Tears flowing, she spread her arms out in a hug as a wisp formed in front of her. The air chilled her skin, kissing it with the mist from the grave beyond, as it took the form of a slightly taller Sandfury with wild dreadlocks and intimidating ritualistic paint marking his face.

Moving into the arms thrown out, the specter made manifest made the mimicry of hugging her in return. His arms would normally pass through her, but at least she could feel the chill and slight pressure of his presence of his arms around her.

“How many times do I have to come and save you from going too far?” 

Shiraka let out a mighty bark before launching herself from the comfortable pile of lumpy furs. With her tail between her legs out of respect, the great desert wolf pranced back and forth excitedly, happily whimpering and yipping upon seeing the Sandfury. 

Laughing, Valk’iel’s form turned towards the great wolf, reaching out his hand for the wolf to try and sniff it. “Yes, yes! Shira, it is good to see you, too! My scorpion, Thirra’al misses you still, and is waiting for you to pass when it is your time.” 

“Thirra,” Lisi’mya began slowly, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I miss him. He was a good companion. And I never feel his presence.” 

“He has moved on,” Valk’iel responded, letting his reddish-orange eyes fall on his sister. “Didn’t I tell you? ….Maybe I didn’t,” he conceded, after a moment’s thought. “Doesn't matter. What does matter is he found his family. Lots of family. All killed by the adventurers of Azeroth for ‘training’. So, he has been happy, and I do not need him anymore.” 

Hiccuping a little, Lisi’mya let out her last few sobs. Finding a chair, she lowered herself into it, knowing that channeling could easily drain her. And while Valk’iel had manifested (such a bond they shared for him in order to do this) of his own accord, she didn’t want to take it too far and end up not being able to walk, let alone talk, by accidentally giving her brother too much of her energy.

"Where have you been," she gasped out, relieved tears brimming her eyes. "Your presence-- I haven't felt you in a long time. I thought you moved on!"

Valk’iel, the protector of Trolls and the stalwart servant of Bwomsamdi, studied the state of his sister before him. His gaze was judgemental and scrutinizing, but only in the sibling sort of way. His act of judging was born from harsh concern, but in the most loving way possible.

“Too many times you’ve been asking him to talk to you," he spoke up, seemingly ignoring her inquiry as to where he had been this entire time. "And he hasn’t said a thing.”

Lisi’mya found that her voice, just like her Loa’s, had gone silent.

“And you still worship this Loa, sending on souls to him, bending over and breaking your back to show your fidelity. And never once-- since your escape from that hellish village-- has he spoken to you.”

“He has,” Lisi’mya quietly spoke up. “Once. Before your--”

“And you think he didn’t want what happened to our parents? To me? Tell me," Valk’eil snapped, "the proof you have that he wanted better for them. For me. Tell me, dear sister, what did he say to you?"

"He didn't--"

"No, he didn't. Didn't say a damn thing. And he lead you into a false sense of belief, tricking you into remaining at his side, worshiping him while our parents were slaughtered by the Alliance for having tusks and sandy skin?” 

“I--”

Shiraka’s ears drooped as she went to her mistress’s side. Resting her chin on Lisi’mya’s knee, the sandy wolf looked up at her with an overwhelming sense of adoration. 

Valk’iel sighed before moving over to his sister. Crouching in front of her to get more on her level, he looked her in the eye, wanting his message to go through loud and clear. “Aeh'ruk, our father. Nuz'mi, our mother. They still followed some of the Sandfury traditions, while embracing the Darkspear’s. They wanted a peaceful life, free of sacrifices, of losing more family members to rites. Do you think, for one moment, your Loa would have answered you about their deaths? Explained why they had to die, strung up as they were? Made an example of? For the vultures to pick at their eyeballs and their skin to blister as sores in the heat of the sun? Tortured and made an example of, if they were still children of his?” 

Covering her face as if to shield herself from the memory, Lisi’mya buried all her sorrow in the darkness formed by her cupped hands. She wanted the night to take over. The coolness of the air, and the chilly embrace of the desert sands to welcome her home. But that was not home to her. Not anymore. And she knew what a dangerous place that was.

Still, in times of turmoil, she often found herself mentally returning to the windswept dunes of her early childhood. 

"You don't mummify and raise bodies."

"I can. And I have mummified. I've mummified a few of the bodies we've gotten from our missions." 

The deceased Troll had an air of worry about him as he queried, "do the others know?"

"Only Tavi and Gunthar," she replied stiffly. "And I'd like to leave it like that. I can't afford to scare this group off now. I need protection. Tavi offered me sanctuary in the first place, but they both offered me a place to stay here, despite knowing who I worship and what I do. If the rest of this group thinks I'm a rabid Ferraki, they might fear that I'll mummify and enslave them. You know the stigma with our people."

They both knew of the stigma and, in many cases, it was well earned. But still there had been plenty of Ferraki who had promised to do good, only to be judged and met with scathing racism and fear.

And she knew her brother understood this.

"Uh-huh." Scrutinizing her for a moment, Valk'iel shrugged. "Guh! Fair enough. You're right, you're right." He scratched at his spectral cheek in an act of pondering. "But admit it, little sister wolf… you're a Priestess of Mueh'zala, sworn to him and his ways… but you don't do what the other Priests and Priestesses of Mueh'zala do."

"What do you mean by that?" 

"You don't act like them, and you sure as hell don't raise mummified Trolls to be your slaves and do your bidding."

"I mummified you."

There was a heavy moment of silence where the two siblings stared at each other. It was finally broken up by Valk'iel, who turned his head to gaze upon another altar the death-pious Sandfury had constructed within her room. This one was smaller, and more intimate, than the grand and fanatical altar dedicated to Mueh'zala. This one bore peculiar offerings: a scorpid's stinger, a sinister dagger, a single arrow, a small bowl for an offering consisting of dried fruit and berries and earthy incense. Various voodoo talismans littered about the semi-precious desert born stones, along with, curiously enough, half of a tusk, still adorned with a familiar decorative ornament.

But there, as a focal point to it all… were a set of small jars. To the average eye, they'd seem like typical jars. But the brightly painted ceremonial markings upon them gave truth to the matter. These jars were canopic jars, and each were filled with the preserved organ of a deceased person.

"But you did not go through with the raising and enslaving bit," Valki'el said after a moment, returning his gaze, once more, to his sister.

She understood where he was going with this. And that sort of confliction tore at her heart, sickening her with its great twisting motion.

“...Your Loa is absent," he continued.

“My Loa is--”

“Silent. Dispassionate. No longer listening to your faithful pleas and concerns and questions.” 

“He--”

“Has abandoned you. And you don't act like one of his Priestesses anymore."

The bitter realization tore into her like the fangs of a desert cobra. Lisi’mya felt the toxic truth flood her veins, poisoning her with the grievous wounds of understanding. Festering. Painful. Time having to heal these wounds, but where time could not be found. She knew how she acted and what she did and did not do was because she was still a part of the Horde-- of the Darkspear-- and she had to abide by their rules. That, and Taviast didn't like the idea of mummification and raising being a well known thing with the rest of the Circle. It could very well be assumed, for she was a Sandfury after all, and death with the notion of death and her Loa. But never could she publicly make it known.

But still...

Rising to his feet, the semi-transparent specter moved about the spirit speaker’s room, gravitating towards the altar dedicated to him. With enunciated movements, he gestured grandly towards her room. “I am dead, sister. And I have been for a long time. Bwomsamdi is kind to me. He has considered most of the Ferraki to be blasphemous, and does not listen to their cries in the afterlife as they move on. He has refused to save them. But he has agreed to listen to those who have forsaken the Sandfury Loas in order to serve him. And he has listened to me. He hasn’t taken me fully into the Other Side because he knows I am needed for you. To try to get you to be on his side.” 

“Oh?” Suddenly angry, Lisi’mya bolted to her feet. Tears began to spill anew as the flame of the desert’s incredible heat alighted her soul. “That’s it? The only reason you’re around is because you’re trying to convert me to your Loa? After all this time? You want to spare me some tortuous afterlife? You’ve only talked to me after your death because you--”

Holding up his hand, the towering Sandfury frowned, his mouth warping a little due to his large tusks. “Bwomsamdi is kinder than you can imagine,” he said. “He could have forced me to pass on. But he knows I’m needed for you to see the truth about your Loa.” 

“I don’t believe this,” Lisi’mya replied bitterly, hurt. “So, you haven’t been here to guide me on--”

“I have been here as your guardian and protector," he sharply interjected. "And I have watched over you, watching you grow. I have been your poison tipped arrow in the dark, keeping you alive whenever I am able to intervene with life itself.” 

Feeling the crushing weight of everything, Lisi’mya found herself frustrated with it all. Taking up a nearby tome, she chucked it at Valk’iel, only for the book to sail through his non-material form. The book harmlessly clattered to a stop against Lisi’mya’s bed.

With a dramatic sigh, he held up his hands. “Really, sister? A book? Like a book is going to hurt me."

“You want an axe?”

Letting out a laugh, Valk’iel doubled over with mirth. “You were always the feisty one! And our parents thought I was the volcano ready to go off! The steam jet waiting to scald one’s flesh! I always had a temper-- but you, oh, you, dear sister! I wish I wasn't dead. I miss our brawls.”

Her face softening at the memory, she let a small cross her features. “I do too,” she replied meekly.

With Shiraka at her side, Lisi’mya watched as her deceased brother approached her. And she felt a flooding sense of loyalty-- not to her Loa, but to her brother-- as he made the motion of resting his forehead against hers in the age-old, comforting gesture they did as siblings.

“I was supposed to be the protector,” he whispered to her, letting his gaze meet hers in that single moment of stellar connection. “I swore an oath to protect the Trolls who could not protect themselves. And yet you took up my role after my death. Became a headhunter. The desert wolf, you were called. ‘The desert wolf with the bloodied fangs’. Hunted down the Kor’kron by your hand alone, and gave them the death they had given me.”

Briefly, Valk’iel broke the physical connection in order to look over towards the orc skull, looped in a noose, adoring her wall. Lisi’mya followed his gaze, knowing full and well that her brother knew who that skull had belonged to.

“So much you found the one who severed my head… and you severed his, in a piss-stained dark alley of Orgrimmar. Not many in this group know you are a headhunter of the Kor’kron, do they? That you sacrificed their bodies brutally to your Loa?”

“No,” Lisi’mya softly whispered. “Only Tavi. And he has sworn never to speak of it to the others.” 

“You follow Bwomsamdi more than you know. And Mueh’zala-- he’s not listening to you anymore. He has other plans, dear sister. Other intentions now.”

Submissive into listening at last, Lisi’mya looked at her brother in concern. “Like?”

“Swallowing all of Azeroth whole.”

“--What?”

“You heard me.” Valk’iel turned his head, letting his gaze fall back on the dismantled altar. “I chose Bwomsamdi as my Loa after our parents defected to the Darkspear. I found that I enjoyed the teachings of that Loa over Mueh’zala. The Loa of the dead over the Loa of death itself. And now, in death... I see I was right to have chosen who I did.” Sensing Lisi’mya’s stifling silence, he reached out to let his ghostly hand mime the action of brushing away her wild bangs. “Bwomsamdi is a trickster. A wheeler and a dealer. And he deals in the currency of souls. But at least he knows of the balance, and he wishes to preserve it. Mueh’zala does not. He is excessive."

Shiraka nudged her master’s hand with her nose, going to give it a reassuring lick. This rewarded her loving loyalty with a comforting scritch to her ear.

“There has been talk on the Other Side,” Valk’iel continued, knowing he was breaking his sister’s heart with every truthful word he spoke. “There is talk among the lost souls… that Mueh’zala was the one who spoke to Vol’jin as he sat on his throne, dying.” 

“--WHAT!”

Lisi’mya felt panic surge up her throat, and she swore she was going to be sick. She could feel the hot bile, and she knew it was going to burn away her vocal chords if she didn’t get it up.

“You heard me.”

“You’re lying.” 

“I am your brother,” Valk’iel replied, a bit scathingly. “When have I ever lied to you? And don’t bring up the lies I fed you when we were kids. That was me being a little shit as a kid, doing kid things.” 

Feeling the whiplash of guilt, Lisi’mya sighed, admonished. “You have never lied to me--”

“And I am not lying now. I don’t know if Mueh’zala is working alone, or with another, or is being controlled… but there are spreading rumors that seem more real now... that Mueh’zala was the one who wanted that crazy bitch, Windrunner, to take over. All of this-- all of the chaos, and death and the unrest and balance… it’s all because of your Loa.”

Shiraka whimpered and whined, ears pinned back, as she looked up at Lisi’mya. The Sandfury troll looked paler than usual, and her eyes were reddened from tears. The spiritual shaman was staring at the Loa statue, turned over onto its face, with a forlorn, miserable expression of abandonment and betrayal. 

“We were children when our parents defected to the Darkspear. We were far too young to truly know about our Ferraki roots and its culture. Our parents knew that no good could come of our old ways. They wanted to leave after our grandparents were mummified and raised as enslaved drudges. We don’t remember much of the tales of the Loa, or the stories that were told as we played in the sands, drawing disfigured hyenas and vultures with our frail little sticks. We don’t remember all of the warnings and the dire tales that spoke of our Loas or their cruelty. It’s not your fault for not knowing. We grew up with two cultures in our hut-- of the Ferraki, and of the Darkspear. And you learned on your own more about the Ferraki and their Loas, and read into everything you could find.” He gestured towards some of the worn books on a shelf in her room. “You know more of the Ferraki Loas than I do. And I also know you. You want to keep loyal to your roots while accepting the Darkspear ways. But, you know... you can’t be doing that anymore. You’ve got to choose now. At least on this matter.” 

Staggering over to her altar, Lisi’mya took up the figure of her Loa. She stared down at it, her face twisted in a pained mask. She felt a resurgence of frustration and rage, as well as despair and the suffocating sensation of being lost.

Standing behind her, allowing his chilly form to be a comforting presence, Valk’iel whispered, “....before you die, please, promise me… you’ll consider what I’m saying.” 

The statue felt like a snake in her hand. It was… repulsive. Unwanted. A pest.

She felt betrayed. Lied to. Manipulated and used.

But for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to rid herself of it. As if some small part of her wanted to believe her Loa. To try and find out more. To find out what really was the truth in all this, and, above all... to remain loyal.

A knock at the door caused both of the Trolls, and the sandy furred wolf, to look at the source of the sound. Shiraka’s ears pricked forward, and she let out a tentative growl.

“No, Shiraka,” Lisi’mya murmured softly. “It’s probably one of the new recruits. I don’t want you scaring any off.” Kneeling beside her huge wolf, she nuzzled the scruff on her neck, smelling deeply the scent of her fur. “We need all the people we can---- Valk.”

“What?”

“....what in the name of the Loas are you doing?” 

In the time Lisi’mya had taken comfort in her wolf, her brother had approached the door, pulling up on his dreadlocks. After a moment’s pause where they both looked at each other, Valk’iel gave a short tug, and with an almost cartoonish pop, his entire head came clean off of his shoulders.

“You asshole,” Lisi’mya hissed sternly.

A craggy, mischievous grin spread across the severed head, now gripped tightly in the grasp of the ghostly Troll’s hand. “I’m just welcoming the new recruit.” 

“Don’t you dare!”

“A friendly welcome from your friendly castle ghost.”

“You fucking--!”

----------------------------

Shilly Lancasterr knocked again, clutching a pouch in her hand. She had only met Lisi’mya a few times and had come to know that the strange Sandfury liked to keep… bones in this satchel. Bones, and stones, and other bits and pieces that she claimed she could ‘read someone’s future’ from. Although Shilly had a hard time believing that she could read anything from just a few small bones from some poor mammalian creature, she couldn’t help but be awed by the mysticism that surrounded the Troll.

And her being a Troll in itself! How exciting was that for her to work with a Troll? It seemed like it had been ages since she last worked with a Troll. One of her favorite teachers had been a shadow priest, and he had shown her how to better harness the darkness. She missed him. 

Another knock, and the sweet, timid Priestess shifted her stance uneasily. “Umm… Miss Lisi?” She heard shuffling from beyond the door. And voices. “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting anything, but I--- I have your bag, the one with stones and stuff? And I wanted to--”

A scream escaped her lips as a head was thrust through the door. The door itself was unharmed, and the head was mostly transparent, despite some washed-out color to the visage. But a head had been effortlessly pushed through the wooden barrier with hardly an issue, held up by the dreadlocks in a strong, gripping hand.

It was a Troll’s head. Golden hair and reddish-yellow eyes. His face was painted up in the gruesome style of a Troll who had taken on the life of a ritualistic warrior, and there was a wild smile that curled around the long, broad tusks adorned with ornamental rings.

Dropping the satchel, Shilly’s hands flew up to her mouth. Her shimmering eyes were wide in fear as shock flooded through her system.

There was an awkward moment of silence before the Troll spoke up in brash Orcish, “ ‘ey dere. You de fresh meat?” 

Letting out a terrified squeak, Shilly backed up quickly, nearly stumbling over her clerical robes. “I’m so sorry--so sorry--sorry-- intruding--so sorry,” she gasped out in a rush, unable to properly dictate what she was saying from the jumbled up mess that had poured from her mouth. “I didn’t mean to intrude--or--or-- or something or anything-- I’ll come back-- later-- another time--”

“ ‘eeeey, lit’l Priesty, where ya be goin’?” 

The hand jutting out from the door twisted enough to turn, allowing the severed head to watch as the poor, timid human bolted down the hallway like a spooked deer. The image of the hand and head wavered a little, distorted, as the door itself opened and Lisi’mya came rushing out.

“AY! SHILLY!” Lisi’mya cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted out to her, but by that time, the human had turned the corner and disappeared from sight. Growling to herself, the spirit seeing Sandfury went to slap at the incorporeal head. “YA ASSHOLE!”

“ ‘EY NOW! What dat be for?” 

“Ya do dis! Every time I be makin’ a new friend, ya go an’ be an ass about’cha’self, and ya go an’ spook me new friends!”

A few more slapping swipes to the dangling head, the headless Troll cackled. “I’m jus’ lookin’ out for my lit’l sista. Makin’ sure she be havin’ good friends who can tolerate her big brudda.” 

“I don’t want her scared of me!”

“I mean, can’t help dat. Your face be scary when ya angry, sista.”

“YOU ASS!”

[josiah-olson]

Chapter 1: To Catch a Bird

The cold of the night kissed at her cheeks, and she could feel the orange-yellow of the bonfire warm against her eyelids. Standing there, on the hard-packed earth beside the fire, Chavugga tried to find her balance. But her legs wavered beneath her, and her outstretched hands moved as branches in the wind. The fire crackled hungrily at her feet, and behind her Chavugga could hear the hushed voices of men and women, and the loud questions and not-so-hushed comments of children. Her mother was among them, she knew, although her voice was not—her mother only rarely talked in public, and when she did, it was for all to hear, for she was a powerful woman. 

Chavugga straightened her back, just like she had been taught, and let the breath breathe itself in and back out of her lungs as it pleased. But her mind was circling in pools of worry, listening close to the judgemental whispers behind her, and her heart pounded a dirge fit for a funeral. Or a sacrifice, she thought, for that is what this was. 

But the goddess of balance she had sworn her life to did not show her face tonight, and the blessing of wisdom was not yet received, and so focus eluded her still. The whole world will change in the morning, she knew… and that was no easy thing to forget. She would be travelling to Tavuammali in the morning, to play her part on the council. But most importantly, she would be leaving her son. Chavugga’s mother had been insistent upon that point, the city was no place for a boy his age, she had said. 

Chavugga couldn’t help but agree. In her own time there, many years ago, she had seen godlessness, violence, and hate, drugs and poverty, sin and slavery—the very worst that people were capable of, and the furthest perversions from spirit one could imagine, it was all there. But she had glimpsed also a beautiful unity like a huge bellowing choir that was all but impossible in a village as small as Mull. The nobles in their elegant halls, dressed in silks and eating the most delicate things, the temples of the Geibachev always filled with songs and dances and prayers, and the beautiful and strange things brought from half a world away to be sold at a market stall. But if the fruit was half bad, even the good must be thrown away. But her mother was right, Fazzi was an angel, pure and untouched, and to take him to the city would certainly leave him stained by some dirty touch or ungodly sight. Still, her want for him to be with her was almost more than her caution, and she would almost certainly take him along with her, if it were not for the threat of her mother’s disappointment.

Chavugga could feel eyes on her; the eyes of all of Mull. Her mother and father, and all the people she shared meals with and laughed with and cried with. The storytellers and musicians, farmers and cooks, healers and sages, and all the little children, they were all there… and their eyes… their eyes weighed heavy upon her. Soon all she could think of were the eyes. They were eyes that had seen her for so many years, and in so many roles; to some she was Chavugga the teacher of the way of Zaadu, to others she was Chavugga the mother of Fazzi. Some knew her as Chavugga who had left her husband, or Chavugga who never spoke unless spoken to. But tonight, they all knew her as Chavugga who had been summoned to the city council. 

All the eyes of Mull were upon her, and she was expected to stand there, calm and patient… and to catch a bird with her mind—it was nearly enough to bring her to tears. 

So she began again a ritual she had come to love and to hate… one by one, Chavugga forced each muscle of her body into position. 

Shaking legs straight and unmoving. Tight neck pulled away and against the crook , uncurving itself. Toes strong into the ground like roots. Jittering fingers, reaching out like straining branches. Now slow the breath down, one jagged breath after another… and finally, the heart follows, and slows. 

Everything was finally in its place, everything was straight.

And she was still at last, like a storm shoved into a bottle.

But still, there was no bird. Since they first began the bonfire, she had been standing there… when the sun was still setting, the heat of day still lingering like an aftertaste, and the meal had not yet been finished. Now… the last rays of sunlight had slipped away hours ago, the bones of supper had been thrown to the dogs, and her cheeks grew cold despite the fire. 

And Chavugga was nowhere closer to her goal. 

To catch a bird, that is all she needed to do. 

And so she reached out for the hundredth time, moving her mind, her consciousness, forward. She sent out a feeling of joy into the open air, drawing on a favorite memory of her son. In the memory, Chavugga sat beside the Great River, as Fazzi, barely walking then, splashed joyfully in the peaceful, muddy shallows. Joy, joy, joy, thought Chavugga. But still no bird appeared. The tears welled up at the corners of her eyes. It is time to give up, she caught herself thinking. I’ll be fine without the blessing, I’ve always been fine.

But she pulled back her tears, for she was a strong woman, and strong women don’t cry.

Her father would understand if she didn’t catch it, if she didn’t get the blessing—he had told her as much earlier, when he had pulled her aside as the wood for the fire was being stacked. I gave you my blessing when you first came to our home, he had said, and there are no take-backs with blessings… no matter what mischief you get yourself into, or however many birds you don’t catch. 

No, it was her mother who would be disappointed, and she would make her disappointment known—not with her words, but with her gaze. She was a powerful woman, a strong woman, with an aura that followed her like the smell of smoke. Nobody ever mentioned Wauri without saying that she was powerful, like it was a part of her name. Wauri, the Powerful Woman. Chavugga admired her for that, to have a reputation that preceded her, a smoky presence that filled rooms when she entered. But to be the daughter of a woman like that… it was not easy, and even as a grown woman and a mother herself, she feared Wauri’s disappointment like a curse without cure. 

A wave washed over her like warm water—a warmth she welcomed just then to wash away the scent of her mother’s sure-to-come disappointment. The wave had a name, and it was Fazzi. Her son, much like his grandmother, could fill a room with his power, although his was of a different sort. Chavugga had watched him lull sobbing and blubbering mourners at a funeral until they were huddled together in silent compassion. She had, on many occasions, felt him turn her own anger aside as he filled her with his child-like joy, and she had woken every morning since his birth to the beautiful mindsong he always sung as he slept; a happy wonder so strong and pure and unashamed that it hurt. People said that he was weak of mind because he still acted in ways one would expect from a boy half his age, but Chavugga knew there was nothing further from the truth; his mind was stronger than any other she had felt—too strong for his own good, she often thought.  

With the rising wave of Fazzi’s mindsong, Chavugga felt the air flutter in front of her face, and she knew that he had brought the bird to her. It took all of her control to swallow the laughter in her throat—such excitement filled her that she was likely to burst. Chavugga opened her mouth, focusing her joy upon the bird, and using it to wrap around her prey like a hooked claw at its back. Steady… steady… She felt feathers on her tongue, and knew that it was time.

Her mouth snapped shut, and the fluttering became strong and desperate and wild, then it slowed… then stilled. Hot, salty blood filled her mouth, as cheering filled the world around her. The taste of the blood filled her with something burning—as if the fire itself had leapt inside of her and set her aflame. When she opened her eyes, it was to a different world than the one she had left all those hours ago. 

The eyes of everyone in the village were upon her, staring as if seeing her for the very first time. And they had fallen silent, as silent as rushes beside still water. But their eyes… in their eyes she saw admiration. She was no longer just Chavugga the mother, or Chavugga the teacher, or even Chavugga the one who had been summoned. Now, she was Chavugga the blessed, and not a single eye that looked upon her then seemed to see otherwise. Even her mother, from whom a compliment or even a smile was a rare sight, gave Chavugga a gentle nod of recognition when their gazes crossed. She felt so beautiful and loved in the midst of those eyes, if only she could stay there forever… she surely would. 

Her father came to her, holding his cane, but not leaning on it—he was a proud man, and said he needed no support other than from his wife, his daughter, and his god. Even so, he walked always with the cane, more to keep Wauri from scolding him than for his own safety. The dreaded locks of his hair bounced with each step as he drew near, drumming against his chest. He smiled at Chavugga, the slivers of his eyes pressing happily aside to make room for his larger-than-life smile. 

“My daughter,” he whispered, “You already have wisdom in your head, balance in your feet, and you couldn’t escape my love if you wanted to, but I’ll bless you with these things every day if that’s what it takes for you to see it for yourself.” Then he pointed to the bird, still hanging from Chavugga’s mouth. “Now, spit that out. As your mother would say—you don’t know where it’s been.”

Chavugga cupped his cheeks in her hands, and would have given him a kiss if not for the bird in her mouth. She knelt beside the fire to let the bird fall into flames. They engulfed the creature, and Chavugga watched through a veil of flame as the strands of the feathers curled up, and the yellow and blue that it wore so regally turned into a black shroud in a matter of seconds. 

She felt a drop of warm water on her forehead. Through the flames, she could see Fazzi sitting apart from the others. He held his body loose, slouching—a posture Chavugga had scolded him for a thousand times. Lil Faz, his lizard, crawled across his arm, licking at a line of syrup Fazzi would continuously smear there whenever Chavugga wasn’t looking. His hair was messy, his pants dirty, and his shirt was on inside-out again, but right then Chavugga couldn’t be upset about even those things. He was her son, and he loved her. And she would never have caught that bird if it were not for him.

Fazzi rubbed at his forehead. It took up half of his face, and was always bothering him, he said. Some days, it felt heavy, and it was difficult to keep his head up, while other days it was a thunderstorm of headaches. At other times, he swore it felt fragile, like it was a great hollow thing that would someday break open.

-----

As they walked back to their hut together, hand in hand, and their feet stepping in sync, Chavugga realized she couldn’t go to the city without him. If she could not catch a bird on her own… then how would she bring balance to the city? 

No, she wouldn’t leave him… she coudn’t. They hadn’t slept apart since the day he was born, and she would lose her mind if she left him behind, she surely would. 

She gave his hand a squeeze. “Thank you,” she said. Fazzi’s huge hazel eyes stared up at her, like he hadn’t the slightest clue why she was thanking him. Lil Faz was stuck to his cheek, licking at the corner of his eye. Fazzi let out a loud laugh, and pulled the lizard away. 

“For helping me with the bird, Fazzi,” Chavugga explained, stroking his hand with her thumb. “I’d give you some of the blessing if I could.”

Fazzi laughed at the idea. “Your blessing, Amma? You want to cut it up like a cake?”

“Yes, Fazzi. I want to have a hundred little pieces so that I can make it last forever… and share it with you too!” she lowered her voice to a whisper. “—but I’m not so sure the geds will allow us… I guess we’ll have to ask them when we go to the city.”

“We?” asked Fazzi, his mouth hung open in disbelief. 

She nodded. Yes, she thought. It didn’t matter what anyone else said. Why shouldn’t she be with her son? She was his mother. She would take him with her, she decided then, and not even her own mother would be able to stop her, although she was sure to try.

-----

Chavugga spent the night awake. 

Her stomach was twisted into knots, her heart thumping, and besides… she needed to pack her’s and Fazzi’s belongings. But even after the bags had been packed and repacked, her things neatly folded and put in their places, and she had tried to cure her nervousness with both a cup of hot tea and a dozen different positions that the sages claimed brought peace of mind, still her body was restless. 

A waking dream filled her mind. In it, she was surrounded by huge stone people, their booming voices filled the air with judgement, and their serious and sullen faces lined up by the hundreds. And there she stood, in the center of them all… but she was no more than a little child, bare-footed, flat-chested, and with a voice that even when she yelled was no more than a quiet croaking whisper. And she was alone, and Fazzi and her mother and father were nowhere to be seen, and even her student Jaceira had abandoned her. The stone totems began to fall upon her, crumbling at their bases. But she was so small and so alone, that she did not even bother to run away. She could have run, if only someone had been there beside her in the dream. But there was not, and so she was buried in a mountain of stone and dust. 

Chavugga blinked the dream away and finished the last sip of her tea. Fazzi was in a deep and dream-filled sleep, and the fire she had made to heat her tea had slowed to pulsing embers, but Chavugga was no closer to sleep than she had been before. She stomped out the embers, threw on a dark, hooded shawl, and planted a kiss on Fazzi’s forehead. He rolled over and giggled in his sleep. His was ever a peaceful sleep—the sort that always seemed to escape Chavugga. She tucked his bare feet back under the covers, and left the hut.

The moon was huge tonight, as plump as a cherry. The people of Tavuammali called it the Eye of Iogwan, Chavugga remembered—one of the most recent creations of the ged makers of the Geibachev. But here in the mountain, where the geds were old and not made, the world was simple and slow , and people were no more and no less than they seemed, the moon was just that… a moon. 

Chavugga felt her before she saw her—a smoky haze that begged her to hush before the thought of a word even came to her mind. Her mother, Wauri, the Powerful Woman, was seated cross-legged on the stump of an ancient tree, bathed in the white light of the moon. Her eyes were shut tight, and her hand stroked the pendant of Zaadu, a simple wooden coin hung on a string. Her eyes snapped open when Chavugga took a step her way.

“Chacha,” she said, with a labored smile. 

“It’s late, Mother.”

“I was about to say the same,” said Wauri. “But when has my daughter ever slept well before a big day? I thought some prayer would be welcome. Stack the blessings high, they say.” She studied her daughter, wrapped solemnly in her shawl. “Nightmares?”

Chavugga shrugged. “Scary nothings, Mother. I just wish I could sleep.”

“Sleep comes only to those who do not search for it, and dreams are given to us always for a reason, Chacha.”

Dreams maybe, thought Chavugga, but nightmares bring nothing but pain. However, she held her silence, and went to sit on the ground at the roots of her mother’s stump. 

“You’re going to miss him, I know,” said her mother. “That doesn’t make you a bad mother. It makes you a good one. Your father and I missed you so badly when you ran off to attend Tavu. I can tell you this, though… I think in the end some distance is good. You mustn’t worry about Fazzi. He is not much younger than you were when you ran off to the city, and he is smart and strong besides. And I promise you I won’t let him out of my sight.” Wauri smiled softly. “How does that sound, Chacha?”

Chavugga looked to the ground, pulling up a handful of grass, roots and all, from the dry soil. “I’m taking him with me, Mother.”

She waited for Wauri to shout, to begin to lecture her, to call her a fool. But she was met only by silence, the distant howls and calls of forest creatures of the night, and the near-blinding light of the moon.

Finally, Chavugga looked up. From here, her mother was silhouetted by the moon, turning her face an impossible dark. She could see nothing of her mother’s face, but her head nodded slowly in thought. “Very well,” she muttered finally. “Now go and get some sleep, darling, and I will keep you in my prayers.”

Chavugga gulped down her fear, it went down hard in her throat, like eating sand. She whispered a goodnight to her mother’s silhouette, and excused herself. Her heart still beat like a mad drum, and her hands shook inwardly. She had been ready to fight, but there was nothing to fight now. 

Her mother’s acceptance of her decision only made her feel guilty. Had she chosen wrongly? What if something happened to Fazzi?

“They say that a farmer once came before The Prophet Azmaji,” said Wauri. 

Chavugga stopped and looked back. She thought she could see the silver glint of tears on her mother’s cheeks, but they vanished with the wave of her sleeve, like some magic trick, and then she couldn’t be sure if they ever had been there to begin with. 

“He carried sacks of seeds ready to plant, and asked The Prophet where the wisest place was to sow…” Wauri became quiet, letting out a long, slow breath.

She didn’t need to finish the tale, for Chavugga knew it well. Azmaji had walked over, and poked holes in the sacks, saying, not in there.

Chavugga wiped her own eyes. But there were no tears, for she was strong. It was never her mother’s anger she had feared, it was her disappointment… her judgement. 

And there, in the midst of that story, it had shown its face.

“I’m taking him with me, Mother.”