#the sun summoner and the prince touched by darkness who held onto her as his beacon when he was becoming a monster

[luvdrunk]

i got so caught up in the euphoria of ben barnes darkling that i forgot my nikolina roots. never again

[kkeidawrites]

Lost Light

Whew, let me tell y'all writing this one shot was killing me...having to re-watch and relive the experience from this made me have a broken heart again like all those years ago. But, here we are.

Loki Laufeyson x black!reader

Disclaimer: The story you are about to read is full of spoilers from the Avengers: Infinity War movie, I do not own any of the quotes or the gifs that are displayed on this fanfic, that all belongs to Disney, Marvel Studios which is a subsidiary of Walt Disney Studios and its proper companies and I would suggest you not read this if you have not seen the movie yet. This story is both fictional and all the characters that are mentioned are all my personal, made up ocs that I wanted to share. So, just you know, prepare yourselves. Thank you.

The stench.

The falling ash.

The haunting distress call, pleading for any help that was close by, didn't reach a willing ear.

Pieces of the ship, that once held all of the surviving members of Asgard, were scattered astray and skewed in space.

Asgardians young and old littered the remaining floating, functioning part of the ship, dead and being stabbed again by the ones who created the carnage to ensure they stayed dead.

Mawu watched helplessly as Thor laid on the bay of the ship, defeated and critically wounded, his breathing was becoming labored but the Moon Goddess couldn't do anything as she was restrained by the large behemoth that had its foot on her back.

They had fought valiantly and fearlessly, but in the end it didn't matter, Thanos had took them down without breaking a sweat. His lackeys went to work to kill the rest of the innocent Asgardians, claiming he was doing them a favor.

"Your people are nothing now...you have no world to occupy." he had said after he broke our spirits. He spoke to us like we were his captured kill from a glorious hunt.

"Your people are powerless, tired, it would be best to end your suffering."

"I know what it's like to lose," the titan turns his back to stare at Loki who shifted his gaze from his wife back to Thanos. The last thing he needed was the titan to know that he was a married man and Loki refused to allow anymore harm come to her.

He had done so in the past and he vowed to protect her since then. Mawu watched powerless as the feeling of the creature's foot pressed a bit more on her back, making Mawu grunt in pain.

"Feels so desperately that you are right, yet to fail none the less."

Thanos approaches Thor and picks him up by the neck dragging him over to Loki's stiff form.

"Turns the legs to jelly. I ask you to what end? Dread it, run from it. Destiny arrives all the same. Now it's here, should I say 'I am..'"

Thor makes a clipped comment and Loki quickly gazes at his brother fearfully then back to the menacing titan's glare.

"The Tesseract or your brother's head." His large fist began to squeeze the new king's head.

"I assume you have a preference?" Thanos asked smug.

"Oh, I do. Kill away." Loki's statement lifts the titan's chin smugly and Mawu's jaw drops in disbelief; the large brute then takes the power infinity stone and presses it against the side of Thor's head. Thor screams from the immense pain that was coming from the stone and Mawu squirmed under the beast's foot.

"Stop it! Leave him alone!" Mawu yells as she struggled. More pressure was applied to her back and the Goddess gasps in pain going limp, and had no choice but to listen to the agonizing screams of the king of Asgard. Tears were running down her cheeks, as a sob left her lips.

After all they had been through, Loki would pull something like this. Mawu believed that her husband had changed for the better and here he was allowing this monster to kill his own brother. She struggled to turn her head and out of the corner of her eye she watched her husband. He was looking conflicted to what was happening. Thor let out another excruciating cry of pain and Loki balled his fists at his sides.

"Alright, stop!" Loki yells.

The power stone was removed from his brother's head and Thor panted helplessly at Thano's side. Loki sighs in relief.

"We don't have the Tesseract. It was destroyed on Asgard." Thor wheezes.

Low and behold, Loki materializes the Tesseract in his right hand, raised to Thano's eye and the titan gives a chilling grin.

"You..you really are the worst brother." Thor says and Loki comes closer to Thanos as if to hand over the sacred item to him.

"I assure you brother , the sun will shine on us again." Loki tells him and that makes Thanos chuckle.

"Your optimism is misplaced Asgardian."

"Well for one thing, I'm not Asgardian. And for another, we have a Hulk." Just as he said that, the green gamma fused hero came barreling through and punches Thanos giving Loki enough time to move Thor out of harm's way.

"Let him have his fun." Ebony Maw tells Black Dwarf who moved to help their master.

Mawu was shocked at the quick turn of events and the pressure on her back was lifted long enough for her to roll out from under Black Dwarf and use her cosmic beam emission to blast him away from her. Sending another beam at Corvus Glaive, Mawu floated over to Thanos to help Hulk.

This brought Proxima Midnight attention to Mawu's sudden escape and she steps in Mawu's way to halt her assault. Spins her three-pronged spear to ready her stance. Mawu readies herself and her hands and eyes begin to glow a bright blue color.

"You won't leave here alive." she taunts with a smirk.

"We will see, bitch." Mawu sends beams her way and Proxima dodges them, moving close to unleash swings from her spear. Mawu dodges them and blocks the ones that reached her face.

Hulk began with having the upperhand on Thanos but, the titan quickly unbalanced him and took his down within seconds, hauling his large body over his head then slamming it on the ground of the ship's bay. Hulk lays there defeated and not moving.

Thor comes up behind Thanos and hits him with a lead pipe that bounces off his armor and the titan turns around and pushes him away. Ebony Maw takes this time to use his psychokinesis and trap Thor's body with the iron from the ship.

Mawu manages to scratch Proxima's right cheek and the woman grunts in pain touching her cheek to feel the blue blood running down to her lip. She gives a battlecry and sweeps her spear under Mawu's feet but she was quicker to jump back and uses her right leg to come down and snaps the spear in half.

Proxima uses one end of her spear to throw at the Moon Goddess and Mawu dodges it.

Elbowing her in the face, Mawu is quick to get onto her hands and spin her straightened feet in a kick combo on her face. Proxima dodges the first spin but was hit by the second one, along with an uppercut Mawu sent once she returned to her feet.

.As she stumbles back from the attack, Mawu grabs Proxima by the neck and throws her down into the ground, raising her leg to bring it down on her head as a final blow when she was suddenly grabbed by the back of her neck and pulled away from her opponent. Black Dwarf had grabbed her threw her but, Mawu was stopped by an invisible force.

The Goddess squirmed from the invisible force holding her and turned her head to see Ebony Maw holding her against her will.

She cursed him in her native tongue as she was left floating at his side.

However, the thing Mawu saw was Heimdall as he prayed softly to his ancestors and her eyes widened at what he was doing.

"Forefathers, let the dark magic flow through me one last...time." his soft prayer was heard and the Bifrost was opened and immediately took Hulk away. Thanos approaches Heimdall and grabs Corvus Glaive's double-sided polearm as he looks down at the struggling man.

"That was a mistake." Thanos tells the watchman of the gods and stabs the polearm through his heart. Heimdall stares defiantly at Thanos until his last breath of life left his body and he fell limp against the piece of metal he was propped up against. Thor cries in anguish as he watched his friend die and glares hatefully at the titan.

"You going to die for that." Thor swears to Thanos then his lips are bound when Ebony Maw seals his lips with metal.

Ebony Maw then presents the Tesseract to Thanos, as he kneels before the titan and the purple brute removes his armor, and plucks the cube from his lackey's hand. He crushes it and inside his hand sits the space stone. He places the stone on his gauntlet and hums in pleasure of the new power flowing through him.

Mawu suddenly feels weak and lethargic, her head begins to pound severely. You see, when the space stone is disrupted, it effects those who helped create the universe, Mawu is beginning to lose her powers because, the space stone is what keeps the balance of all the nine realms in harmony. With a dark heart like Thanos, the space stone could easily kill the creator gods of the universe.

"There are two more stones on Earth," Thanos marvels at the stones on his gauntlet, he then turns his attention to his 'children'.

"Find them my children, and bring them to me on Titan." he orders and his 'children' kneel down in front of him in respect.

"Father we will not fail you." Proxima Midnight says. Mawu glares at the woman.

"Karachi ẹnu kẹtẹkẹtẹ bishi (Stupid kissing ass bitch)." Mawu cursed and Proxima gives her a menacing glare as if she understood what the Goddess said.

"If I might interject," Loki makes his appearance and slowly moves closer to Thanos.

"If you are going to Earth, you might want a guide. I do have experience in that arena." he gives a dry chuckle.

"If you call failure experience.

"I consider experience, experience."

"Oh mighty Thanos," he grew closer now as he sneakily summoned a knife in his left hand.

"I, Loki, prince of Asgard...Odin's son, the rightful king of the Jotunheim, God of Mischief...do hereby pledge to you..." he gives his wife a look. Just one look to show that he loved her and Mawu's eyes widened. Mawu watched in horror as her husband approached the titan and began shaking her head.

"...my undying infidelity." Loki moves to strike Thanos through the throat but, the space stone possesses his arm to stop him. Loki pants in disbelief and Mawu struggles in her metal bindings, trying desperately to get out to help her husband.

"Loki! Get out of there! Loki!" she screams to her lover, whom even if he wanted to, could not move.

"Undying? You should use your words more carefully." Thanos scolds Loki and pushes back his arm, making the God of Mischief grunt in pain as he was quickly disarmed and Thanos gripped him by the throat. Mawu struggled harder as the titan raised her lover higher to get a better look at him. Loki's choking gargles alerted both her and Thor.

"Let him go you alainiye lori (son of a bitch)! Loki!" Mawu grunts as her metal prison squeezed around her body. She watched pitifully as her husband squirmed in Thano's squeezing grip and her tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Don't...Do not do this! Please don't do this!" she cries as the sound of Loki's bones began rattling.

As he struggled, Loki had the gal to look in Thanos in the eyes as he whimpered out one last statement. "You...will never be...a god." Loki then shifts his wavering gaze to his wife and gave her a painful smile then mouthing his love to her before the crack of his neck resounded in the tense atmosphere.

"Noooooooooooo!" Mawu yells.

Thor's muffled cry of anguish is a haunting one as Thanos brings his dead brother's body over to his bound form, dropping him at his feet.

"No resurrections this time." Thanos taunts. The titan then raises his gauntlet and activates the power stone, all around them what's left of the Statesmen began to explode and Thanos uses the space stone to open a portal and the Black Order leave the blowing up ship.

The metal around Thor disintegrated and he quickly crawled over to Loki's body. He looked over his brother's face and sobs left his lips as he hugged him to his chest.

"Loki..." he whimpers solmenly.

Mawu however, had another agenda, once she was released from the metal prison her eyes had coated over to a dark blue color and her hands glowed a illuminated white color. Her adrenaline was high as hell and so was her anger which gave her more of a boost as she flew up from the Statesmen and aimed her glowing hands at Thanos' ship.

"O gba ọkọ mi, ẹbi mi, lẹhinna o ro pe o kan le sá? Iwọ yoo ku loni, aderubaniyan(You take my husband, my family, and then you think you can just run away? You will die today, monster)! " Mawu beams up her hands and begins throwing concentrated cosmic energy balls at the ship.

Two of the engines on the ship went up in flames, and Mawu flew closer to punch a side of the ship but, her assault was cut short when a canon blasted her away. This gave the ship enough time to portal out of there.

Mawu regained her balance mid-flight and her brows furrowed in anger as she watched the ship disappear through the portal. Her tears returned and her adrenaline wore off, as the Statesmen blew up in a purple flash behind her. Mawu welcomed the force of the blast as her eyes returned to its original brown color.

She simply floated in outer space as the debris of both the ship and deceased Asgardians coasted past her. Mawu's eyes caught Loki's departed form and moved closer to him, grabbing his cold hand and pulling him to her chest. Mawu cried in his chest as she wrapped his arms around her body, wanting to once again feel his loving embrace.

The moon has a dark side and it has a bright side but, with how her emotions played out, the moon has been cased in a dark grey hue that stirs the gravity on the Earth.

Mawu didn't care about any of that right now...her husband was dead, her heart has been torn in two, and there was nothing she could do to change it. Mawu's eyes filmed over a grey color and she fell limply against her deceased husband's chest as her body shut down into a vegetative state.

The light was lost from the moon that day and the end of the universe was closer.

``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

I hope you all had a good cry like I did when I wrote this story. This had been sitting in my brain for weeks, yall. WEEKS. And I finally sat my ass down and wrote it. So, enjoy, like, comment and reblog. Also make sure to head over to my inbox for any requests. Peace y'all.

[tacitwhisky]

Jon of Dorne, pt 1

Dornish Jon. Or, the story of how Jon was raised in the water gardens of Dorne beside Arianne Martell and the sand snakes. When Oberyn journeys to Kingslanding Jon goes with him. There he meets Sansa and secrets her back to Dorne / AO3 Link

---

Jon is eight when first he’s brought to the water gardens.

His mother had held him tight in the shadow of Starfall’s high tower the day he left. As around them bannermen tightened saddlebags and gathered their horse’s reins in hand, she’d pressed her mouth pressed to the crown of his head. “Never forget you’re mine, Jon,” she’d whispered into his hair, “mine and only mine.”

Jon had nodded into the soft linen of her dress. His eyes had stung, but he’d known he was too old to cry, and so instead he’d willed his voice strong as he imagined his uncle ser Arthur Dayne’s had been. One day you will be the Sword of the Morning just as he was, his mother has promised, and he clings to that knowledge now.

“Don’t worry, mother. I’ll be back soon. Won’t I?”

In place of answering his mother gathered Jon’s face in her hands. Any other mother would lie, would soothe his worries by telling him he would be, but his own mother’s violet eyes had flashed as only Ashara Dayne the Lady of Starfall’s could, and for that Jon had loved her desperately. “Doran will keep you at the Water Gardens as he will. He knows more than he should, but there is nothing to be done for that now. Keep your eyes open, Jon. Watch and wait. And always remember, come what may or what you’re told, you are my child. Remember I love you. Remember you are of Dorne.”

They are the last words she ever speaks to him.

---

Areo Hotah waits for them at the dock at Sunspear, a bearded giant tall and powerful, the curved blade of his polax gleaming under the Dornish sun, a pair of guardsmen in copper scales standing to either side of him.

Beside Jon, Sansa tenses, her fingers tightening on the ship’s railing. “Is that…?”

“Areo Hotah.” Of course Oberyn sent word ahead of us. He should’ve known the Red Viper of Dorne could somehow find a way to outpace a ship fleeing Kingslanding. Or perhaps it is one of Doran’s many eyes. “He’s the captain of prince Doran’s guard.”

Sansa nods faintly, the sea breeze playing with the stray of her hair. Her eyes dart to Jon, then away. “Will he send me back?”

“Hotah?” Jon shakes his head. “He only does as he’s tasked to and no more.”

Sansa nods shakily and brushes back the strays of her hair, the faintest tremor to her fingers. “And prince Doran?”

Jon pauses, less sure how to answer. A week at sea they’ve followed the coast southward from Kingslanding to Sunspear, but in most ways Sansa is still a stranger to Jon, cousin in name alone. He does not know how how much truth to answer this strange and shy pale creature so unlike the brash and bold women he was raised beside all his life: Obara who was like to answer any offer of help with a bruise, Tyene whose every courtesy was laced with venom sweet as syrup, Nym who laughed and mocked with little mercy, Arianne…

Arianne who is fierce and wild and as impossible to grasp as the desert wind.

“Doran is a good prince,” Jon says slowly, “fair and just. He has no love for the Lannisters , but above all else cares for Dorne. If I can make him see that keeping you here in Sunspear and not returning you to the Lannisters is for the good of Dorne then he will give you his protection.”

“And if you can’t?” Sansa fingers whiten as she tightens her grip on the ship’s railing. “If he sends me back to Kingslanding?”

Something strange wells in Jon’s chest, painful and sore, something he does not understand, something that urges him to take her hand and swear to protect her from whatever will come.

“Sansa.” Jon catches her gaze in a long, steady look. “I swore I would protect you from the Lannisters. If Doran sends you back I’ll go too."

“Why?” Sansa swallows. “I know I’m a stranger to you, Jon, even if we are cousins by blood. You don’t owe me anything. You don’t have to-”

“But I will.”

Sansa’s lips part as she searches Jon’s eyes. “Why?”

Jon shakes his head, unable to answer. A moment later the ship shudders as it pulls into its berth, and he wordlessly offers his hand to Sansa. Her eyes search his for another moment before she takes his hand, fingers slim against his palm.

Hotah stands imobile as they descend the lowered gangplank, black eyes watching impassively, the red silk threaded through the spikes of his helm playing faintly in the breeze.

“Ser Areo Hotah,” Sansa dips in a curtsy when she reaches the end of the gangplank, her voice so light and sweet that if it were not only moments before Jon would never remember the tremble of her fingers. “My cousin tells me you serve prince Doran.”

“I have that honor.” Areo Hotah’s voice is a rumble. He regards Sansa a moment before turning to Jon, face distant and impassive as though it were carved from stone. “Prince Doran has summoned you.” He gestures and one of the other bannermen behind him brings forward a trio of horses. “He would see you at once.”

After a week at sea there is nothing Jon would like more than to collapse into a bed, but he knows better than to protest. Still, when he glances at Sansa and the dark rings under her eyes he nearly does all the same, the same pang as before rising in his chest. But...

You will be doing her no favor making Doran wait. Prince’s dislike that. And we need all his good will.

The horses' Areo has brought with him are of the prince’s own stables, a pair of sand seeds swift and lithe. Jon helps Sansa onto hers before vaulting on the other. The sun’s gaze has turned the saddle’s leather scorching, and Jon unwinds the loose weave cloth from around his neck and offers it to Sansa whose pale skin is already pricked with sweat. It smells of the sea’s salt, he knows, but...

“It will shield you from our Dornish sun,” he tells her, “a little, at least.”

Sasna accepts it with a shaky nod. She wraps it in a half hood over her hair and gives Jon a questioning look. He smiles in answer, an expression that belies the unease filling his gut, and turns his horse away from the sea and towards the desert and water gardens where prince Doran Martell waits to pass judgement.

---

Jon is eight when first he’s brought to the water gardens.

They gleam pink under the desert sun, a palace of cool marble and palm fronds and lapping blue pools. Children Jon’s own age shriek and splash in the pools, and though after the long dusty ride through the desert Jon wants nothing more than to jump into the cool water beside them, the guard he trails behind leads him away from and above the pools to a balcony shaded with orange trees. At the entrance to the balcony stands the tallest man Jon has ever seen, a silent and bearded giant with a polax tall as he in one hand, coal black eyes regarding Jon impassively.

“Come closer,” calls a voice beyond the bearded giant. A man sits at the edge of the balcony in a chair with wheels, watching the children below. A richly embroidered blanket drapes the man’s legs, but beneath the tasseled hem Jon catches a glimpse of red and angry lumps round as fruit bubbling from his ankles and toes like blood oranges ripe enough to burst. The man doesn’t turn from the pools, only waves an absent minded hand at Jon. “I would meet the bastard of Starfall.”

Jon glances at the bearded giant, but the man’s eyes do no more than watch him impassively. Warily, Jon steps around him to stand before the man in the wheeled chair, and raises his chin. “Your grace.”

Prince Doran Martell’s eyes rise from the pool and settle on Jon. Kind eyes, gentle creases at the edges, but somehow distant as they study Jon. “You don’t have the look of your mother.” Doran’s lips purse in a faint smile. “Or perhaps you do. I never did gaze upon the girl myself.”

There’s some jest in Doran’s words, some hidden thing that Jon does not understand, and he has heard enough whispers and giggling from the other children of Starfall to mistrust jests of any kind. He lifts his chin higher, meets Doran’s gaze squarely like a man should, like he knows his uncle Ser Arthur Dayne the Sword of the Morning would’ve. “They say I have the face of a Stark, but I am Dayne too-”

“Not Dayne,” Doran interrupts mildly. “Bastard. But bastard Sand or bastard Snow?”

“Bastards are named for where in the seven kingdoms they’re born, your grace.”

“That is so, but which is your blood? Sand or snow? The sun of Dorne or the cold of the north?” Doran’s eyes drift away, seeming to harden as they settle once again on the children splashing in the pool below. “They say prince Rhaegar dishonored my sister Elia with a Stark girl. That after he stole her your… father… Brandon Stark rode into the Red Keep baying for Rhaegar’s blood. Perhaps he thought the ice in his blood could protect him from Aerys’ flame, but he should’ve known better. When fire and ice touch only one remains, and ice has no place north of the Neck, not for the thousand years since the Long Night.”

Jon’s shuffles his feet. Sand, snow, fire, ice: none of it makes any sense. Always keep your eyes open, his mother had told him before he left Starfall. And so Jon does, watches and waits as Doran gazes at the pool below despite the urge to fidget and say anything to break the silence. Finally, the prince looks up again. “Your lady mother tells me you are fond of stories of your uncle. A Stark slew him too, did he not? Ser Arthur Dayne the Sword of the Morning murdered by Ned Stark, the Usurper’s right hand.”

Jon prickles. He’s known the story since he was old enough to sit on his mother’s lap, but there is something different in the way Doran says it. Vague unease washes over Jon, but though he is only a child, he refuses to be cowed for something he does not understand. He draws himself up, wills his voice strong and proud as his mother’s. “He did, your grace, but afterwards lord Stark rode to Starfall to return my uncle’s bones to our crypts and deliver Dawn to my lady mother.”

It is the wrong thing to say. Jon knows it immediately, a sick feeling welling in his gut as Doran blinks. “Of course. Honorable Ned Stark. Honorable enough to return a man’s bones; not enough to punish the murder of women and children.” The prince waves a hand, lumps of gout swelling white and red and angry from the joints of his fingers. “But enough talk of old dead men. You should be with others your age.”

I didn’t- Jon nearly starts, the sick feeling in his throat, but behind Doran the giant man stamps the butt of poleaxe against the floor, the toll of a bell marking the end of Jon’s audience.

Jon bows to the prince and flees.

---

The sun is dying as they reach the Water Gardens, pink marble turned to pale blood in the orange light. Jon jumps down from his horse and helps Sansa down from hers. Her fingers grip his hand tightly, though he does not know if it is from exhaustion or fear. She doesn't relinquish her grip as her feet touch the ground, and he merely squeezes her hand tightly in answer, not letting go as they turn to follow Areo Hotah.

Hotah leads them through the winding path between water pools, the murmur of lapping waves at high tide so different from the shrieking and laughing of children that filled them during the day. Familiarity hollows Jon as he walks between the pools; the long and shallow one where he’d split his lip when he tripped, the smooth bottomed one where Sylva had rode his shoulders to victory against all the other children-

-the one with the craggy edge where he’d watched the gulls circle above the day he’d learned his mother had thrown herself from the high tower of Starfall.

Doran waits for them at the same balcony from all those years before as though he never moved. Areo Hotah stamps the butt of his axe to announce their entrance, and only then does Doran stir to life. So late in the day Jon can see milk of the poppy in the slow way he blinks; the pale haze to them as they stir to life. “Should you not be in Kingslanding squiring with my brother?”

“I was, your grace. But he bid me return to Dorne.”

“This was his plan, then?”

Jon bites his lip. For a fleeting moment he is tempted to lie and say it was. But that is a coward’s path, so instead he draws himself up. “It was mine, your grace. I rescued the lady Sansa alone.”

Sansa steps forward, hands unconsciously smoothing her skirts. During their flight from Kingslanding she has worn simple linen in the way of any of the smallfolk of Kingslanding, and the day’s riding has left it wrinkled and ragged. Poor fare to present before a prince, but her curtsy is as easy and graceful as the one at the dock. “I am Sansa Stark, if it pleases you, your grace.”

“Stark?” Doran does not turn from the balcony. “I thought you Lannister now, my lady. Were you not married to Tywin’s dwarf son?”

“I was, your grace.” Sansa bites her lip. “I was their prisoner then though, and could not refuse.”

“A prisoner they will be wroth at losing.” Doran finally turns to Sansa. “You are a valuable prisoner, my lady, the last living Stark and wife to the man standing trial even now for the murder of our good king.”

“Sansa is a prisoner no more.” Jon steps beside Sansa, voice sharper than it should be when addressing a prince of Dorne. “Theirs or ours.”

Doran tilts his head to the side, eyes cooling as they study Jon. And for a moment Jon is just a boy again, lost and homesick, a bastard child with no right to kindness and no home. Y ou will never be Dornish to him. Always some Stark’s whelp, always an outsider no matter how long you live beneath the Dornish sun. Jon clenches his jaw and meets Doran’s gaze squarely, forces himself not to fill the silence.

After a moment Doran’s eyes drift to Sansa and he gives her a distant smile. “Of course you are our guest, my lady. Areo Hotah will find you a room so you can rest. You have had a long journey, no doubt.”

“Thank you, your grace.” Sansa curtsies again. She glances at Jon, and he nods, the two of them turning together to leave.

“Jon.” Doran tilts his head towards the balcony edge. “Stand with me.”

Sansa’s eyes dart to Jon again. He gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile and nods to Hotah. “You’ll be safe with him.”

Hotah’s poleaxe thumps the ground as he leads Sansa away, and only once it’s faded does Jon move to stand beside Doran at the balcony edge. The sun is gone, the sky left a blue so dark as to be black in its wake, only the silver light of the moon tracing the pale marble of the Water Gardens. The sea breeze is a cool caress after the day’s heat, its touch turning the fronds of the palm trees between the pools into murmuring shadows. Below them servants light lamps and copper braziers, pools of gold among blue shadows.

“It’s a dangerous kind of guest you’ve brought us.” Doran’s voice is tired. “Were she anyone else I would send her back to Kingslanding tonight and you with her. When the Lannisters learn she is here they will think us responsible for Joffrey’s murder.”

“The Lannisters never need know it.” Jon leans forward. Meticulously during their week at sea he’d fitted the pieces together, the pieces to a plan salvaged from fleeing with Sansa, a plan that Doran might accept. “No one need know who she truly is. I could keep her hidden. Her hair is already dyed, and we are half a world away from the Lannisters. Only you, Oberyn, and Hotah know the truth for now. When the time comes, I could-”

“You will do nothing.” Doran’s voice is sharp. “You have done enough already. It was folly to let Oberyn take you as his squire. What you have done has endangered us all. For the love of my daughter I will not send you back to the Lannisters for them to do with you as they may, but do not doubt that I will not forget what you have done.”

Jon draws back, ears ringing as though he’d been slapped. “What I did, I did for the good of Dorne. Sansa is valuable. She is the last Stark.”

“And what would you know of the good of Dorne? It is not your place to decide what is or is not for the good of our land.”

Of course it is not my place. Bitterness knifes through Jon, keen and cruel. Do you think I don’t know that? That I would ever forget I will never truly be of Dorne in your eyes? That I will only ever be some Stark’s whelp? Born in Dorne, but never of it, not truly.

“Will that be all, your grace?” Jon cannot keep the vicious bitterness from his words. “I would take your leave.”

Doran waves a hand, dismissing him. “Tomorrow you will return to Sunspear. Keep the lady Stark hidden until I say else. Whatever your folly in taking her, she is our guest now.”

Jon bows to the prince and turns to take his leave. He has only made it a few steps though before Doran speaks. “Why did you take her?” Doran’s voice is soft, barely carrying above the murmur of the orange leaves above them. “The truth this time, Sand.”

“I could not leave her.” Jon swallows, throat dry, and knows it’s the truth, the truth he couldn’t speak to Sansa on the ship, the truth he couldn’t admit even to himself. “I had no choice. She’s my blood.”

[beyondtheciouds]

30. Part 2 of 3

"I'm not going anywhere."

Once upon a time there was disengaged and distressed damsel who was supposed to lean out of a tower, praying for a perfect escape. The mission; written on paper was simpler to read between the twisted lines of prose. A famous plot for such a tale of fairies. Instead of damseling distress, our amoured princess found herself outside a cryptic tower.

The roles reversed revealed she was searching six degrees of separated spiritual awareness for her soulmate. The girl, a strange one, indeed was traditionally quite beautiful and kind. Her fairytale qualities had made her a lit match for the handsome prince on many a destitute and dark day.

Her face; oval and cherub cheeked was sweet with everlasting sandstorm curls. Those curls bounced as the heavy axe swung around and around; slicing the prickles of thorns one by one. The last cherry kissed breaths of innocence tortured her heart as blues focused relentlessly on cutting down the evergreen thorns. She was stoical in her approach.

An emotionless blackbird; sure as her name, a stain on the glassy reflection of the burning brilliance of the sky. Light was less than an hour away and she hacked and hacked at the briars until she was untangled. Her hands stung and her muscles burned, and still she pressed onwards.

A church clock chimed five in the distance and the ghost of her remained locked in the moment, steadily tearing and threading thorns. Swollen rose petals were chanting the ancient Latin refrain quietly into the air.

Redi a fluctuationem iusto.

The sky; omnious with luminous shades of yellow and gold; red and orange burned back the black, dark desires as the tower became a pillar in her vision. As if an answer, the clouds opened, spilling tears of regret. Soaked with tears of the angel, our princess's present priorities became irrelevant. The spirits sang their misery to her; cried out the crimson spilling from her palms like a psalm.

The Blackthorns buried secrets twisted her heart; enemy snakes secondary to their belated blasphemy.

Gold simply found a new hollow; a place to call home on the pale throat of the girl's prisoned prince.

The locket was calling for her to come home.

Jesse was calling for her.

Entombed; the ghost boy was an uncurible romantic that had the bad luck of having been written on a path of disillusionment and degradation. His love for the princess had lasted longer than the stars knew. Longer than the moon felt. The heavens aligned with the planets in perfection and harmony the day he first met her in the forest.

Resurrection was his destiny.

Death had been his fate.

But, clinging to the here and now had cost the prince dearly. He knew there were decisions and deceit that clung to his soul, dragging behind him an eternal chain of thorns.

Jesse could hear her heart thumping like the beat of a drum through the crumbling ways of the castle tower. The sweet sound beckoned him like children and church bells.

Our prince, unbeknownst to either had a sinister purpose for staying in the inbetween; he had been a human sacrifice to his mother's insanity. The damning death of his father and the decaying dynasty that his mother had traded her solitary sanity to the devil for became his purpose the day he burned with fever.

Jesse Blackthorn had been meant for the destruction of herons; those desirablely efficient and elegant family of fledgling that had cost his mother everything.

Reader; a private reminder in reference to Romeo andJuliet; lovers starcrossed; mismatched by name. The stage had been set for the unsuspecting crossings of this far fetched fairytale.

My only love sprung from my only hate!

Too early seen unknown, and known too late!

Prodigious birth of love it is to me,

That I must love a loathed enemy.

Fast forward.

The forest was quiet; cold and unkind. Lucie stood in silence; listening to the dirt bend. If she listened hard enough, she could calmly calibrate the change in the atmosphere. Animals were no longer woodland friends; insects had become nusom foes with yellow eyes. The wind had stilled as if anticipation ran through the bones of the trees to the roots of the Earth. Glass jars of fireflies lit up the circle in a vibrant, blinking outline.

Bright eyes were watching beneath the brush; curious and meddlesome. The energy was in the simplest of shadows, perched as birds on the crooked branches.

Bare.

That was how Lucie felt as the shadows hung over. Jesse wasn't sure if this would work, she had known he had reservations from the start. The plan had been borderline absurd. It had taken alot to convince him out of the castle and into the clearing.

Watching. Waiting. Wanting. The spirits were impatient and impacted the atmosphere.

Judging her heart. Everyone was judging her heart.

Lucie became her worst fate; an open book for the world to read. A sigh of sorts escaped and to think the small silver lining was a lifetime away. She felt the chill of death clutch her fingers; a distracting touch more dangerous and damaged that neither ghost nor girl could imagine. Manifesting, a visible hand held onto flesh and bone, bonding.

It is alright, Lucie. Everything will be alright.

Chills deepened the thrills; our heroine's heavy heart kissing and telling even as her lips were unable to contain the forbidden phrase. She continued to repeat the latin over and over in rebellious hope.

Although she was temporarily trapped, she could undoubtedly feel the weight of contempt on her brother's face as his eyes roamed her face. Gold flared at her like a moody afternoon sun and she felt a cold calm growing inside. There was nothing more to say to convince him of the convenience of the spell.

Choosing; she could illuminate the ghosts if she wanted to provide her brother with a better understanding. Their voices grew curious and unsatisfied like a impatient hunger. They wanted to see.

She knew James's soul as sure as the hairs on her arms stood in a field of goosebumps. He would see. He would see.

Lucie nodded to Jesse, absolute and eager as a sliver of the moon drifted in slow motion to the soil. "Are you ready?"

His chest pulled in like he was practicing taking a deep breath. "Yes."

The seven sins stood behind the lit circle; invisible and evolving shapes like ships in the night. Demons summoned by the blue and gold eyes of the Herondales were restricted and restless. They were Belial's witnesses in waiting. Proof that the magic was real.

The friends nervously stood in the circle, kicking the dirt. They were very much unaware of the danger lurking in the shadows.

Lucie watched as Grace painstakingly drew the last pentagram in the dirt a few feet away with a burnt stick from the Fairchild's fireplace.

A nudge; a bump of her hip and her best friend was standing beside her.

Cordelia's presence gave Lucie so much hope. James had awoken her out of a deep sleep and convinced her to come. Lucie didn't know what James had told her, but Cordelia looked ready for a fight. She was dressed in gear as the others were; Christopher, Alastair, and James. Cortana glistened in the fireflies light on Cordelia's hip; the blade the length of her leg. Her blood-red braid swung around as she shifted the sword onto her back. She stood rigidly to the right of James, hands splayed. Clearly she was uncomfortable as her dark eyes settled on Grace.

Lucie was still greatful. She smiled sweetly in the dark, her eyes dazed.

Thomas shivered, watching Alastair with wide, bloodshot eyes. His lingering smile held to ill effects of alcohol and Lucie hoped he wasn't turning into Matthew.

The worried look on Alastair's face said he hoped the same.

"Luce, are we starting?" James asked impatiently, dissolving the silence like sugar.

The sky became eerily dark; not a bird fluttered in trees. The sun was hidden behind the hills and Lucie couldn't shake the awful feeling that unequally washed over her. "Yes."

Silence; silence hung suspicious in the air between Jesse and Lucie. She was holding back her tears as his pine green eyes turned to her. A blanket covered scream wrapped around Lucie, pulling tighter than a corset. It was now or never...

There was too much say and not enough time to speak. Lucie froze.

Grace opened the book and shuffled through a few pages. Her gray eyes scanned the aged passages; a finger sliding down and along as she mumbled at certain paragraphs. "Ah, here we are. Et mortui sunt vivi: Resurrectio."

Blue eyes blinked sinsterly in the depth of shadows among the yellow eyed foes. A hideous grin formed; broken, crooked teeth glowing gold in the pit of darkness. Some of the sins gathered together; around the skeletal smile. In their black hooded robes they were indistinguishable from the shadows.

Pink bloosomed like a rose on Lucie's face as she heard the snake calling her name. Jesse quietly let of her hand and tipped his chin up to the sky. He made his way to the center of the ceremony; transparent and translucent as the moon completely disappeared behind the trees.

Jesse was ready to be alive.

Grace was unusually skittish as she clutched the book, shoving it closed back under her arm. She kept looking at Christopher as she rejoined the circle. It was as though he held the key to something far greater than this resurrection.

Grace's butterfly lashes fluttered, but those solid stone eyes were empty; devoid of the previous day's flirtation. "Did you bring Compound X?"

Christopher nodded and proceeded to pull a covered tube out of his boot. It was the same flashy, purple liquid from before. "Yes."

Thomas eyed the tube skeptically. "Are we sure about this?"

"No--" Cordelia started but was cut off by Grace's cold voice.

"But we're doing it anyway." Grace said, opening the book again. "Let's begin."

***

Will Herondale was getting far too old to be challenging princes of Hell. He stepped forward, out from behind the glass wall with his hands grapling for a weapon among the metals. "Let Tessa go, Belial."

Belial grinned broadly at Will, the subsequent approval apparent in his silver eyes. "Or what, Herondale?"

"I will....I will..."

Tessa struggled in Tatiana's grip; her arms pinned behind her back. Her long, brown hair was loose and whipping as she moved. "HE'LL KILL YOU."

Belial smiled wickedly, "Oh, it is so lovely you haven't lost your fire dearest."

Will Herondale was in the worst shape of his life. He wasn't about to attempt an attack on the Prince of Hell, but if it just happened that was another story.

[windup-dragoon]

【Ｗａｔｅｒｌｉｌｉｅｓ】

Hien x Kiri

Goddess of the Sea AU 

Word Count: 2868

Brief mentioning of @windupzenos​‘ Octavia. 

“You swore an oath to me, Goddess!”

“Not this drivel again.” 

“From your very lips you gave me your word! Now release me!” 

“And ya’ thought you’d control the sea? Everyone knows the sea is fickle, my dear prince. Now shut yer damn trap!” 

Anger boiled his blood, his heart drumming harder in his ears than the pounding of his fist against the wooden door to the captain’s quarters. He could hear the hinges creak and groan beneath the strain, even rattling when he threw his shoulder into it. Yet it remained sealed despite his desperate attempt at escape. 

“Kirishimi!” His voice was hoarse from shouting her name. This time he would go unanswered, the sound swallowed by an abrupt roaring all around him. The ship rocked violently, slamming him against the door. He could hear the maelstrom worsen just beyond the wooden planks that barred him from the goddess out on the decks. Wood snapped like thunder claps that sent quakes throughout the hull of the ship; the sails hissed as their fabric was torn in the blistering gales; and if he listened, hard and close, between the chaos ensuing beyond his prison, the faint ring of metal sparking against metal. 

This was his fault. 

Hien felt as if he may begin sinking. The din outside faded beneath the weight of his thoughts and thundering heartbeat. He slipped to his knees, forehead to the splintered door and eyes loosing focus on the intricate knots of the floorboards beneath him. With each tug and pull experienced by the ship, the sway and lull as it crested tide after raging tide, he felt neither here nor there. 

All of this would be on his hands. 

While his search for the goddess had yielded grand results, his people restored and brought home to live in peace once more, he had doomed the goddess herself. A viper in his company had used him. A mere plaything to be discarded once he had fulfilled his role. How had he been so blind to it before? 

Of everyone in his crew, all but two had been his own kinsmen. While his own men were ready to cast aside their lives in search of a fantasy woman, she who spoke with the churning tides and sang with the gulls, these two hired hands had business of their own to tend to. And all the while he busied himself with the goddess, telling her stories of his country and admiring the way her eyes lit up with every shared laughter, he was dooming her to certain death. 

His heart ached at the wretched thought. Those nights spent on an eerily calm sea, watching stars mirror themselves on the oceans glassy surface as if a blanket of jewels while in her company... And she would die for his blunders. 

“They’ll tell stories of you,” The woman had snarled at him before drawing her weapon against the goddess. A monstrosity of an axe against a trident. “A sappy love story, to be assured. Poetic, as the bards have habit of making everything out of tragedy. ‘Land and sea dying together.’” Octavia gave a helpless shrug, as if to apologize for poetry not being her forte. 

Meanwhile, trashing in the maelstrom, Leviathan snapped his ship swallowing jaws at her companion, the crowned prince of metal and steel. In large arches blood dotted the stormy skies, a shower of scales and thick ichor. The prince seemed to have little trouble dealing blow after blow to the creature. Hien could do naught but feel his stomach twist with guilt with every pained cry from Leviathan. 

Words could not convey his regret for having ever brought this upon the goddess. 

Before tears could well in his eyes and blur his vision all together, the erratic movements of the ship had ceased. The brewing storm and angry lashings of waves to the ships hull began to fade. A glimmer of light briefly shimmered through the windows around him giving the prince reason to once again rouse from the floor. 

“Kiri-” His hands, scrambling for purchase at the door, were met with no resistance now and the door swung wide. The prince stumbled and spilled onto the deck. 

Sunlight showered the ship, setting pools of gathered sea water sparkling and glittering. It was near blinding. With raised hands to shield his eyes he surveyed the damage wrought upon the ship, jaw slack with dread. 

The masts were all shattered at their base, their tree like limbs completely gone without a trace; railing that he once noted to be intricate and heavy with artistic design were little more than bursts of splinters and broken lumber. The only thing he could visibly see that survived had been the captains quarter. Not a single glass pane had shattered while he occupied the room, nor had a lantern fallen amid the chaos. Surely this was intentional. 

“Good. Yer alive.” The voice of the goddess grabbed his attention, reeling him back from his dumbstruck awe over the unreal serenity of the moment. The oceans rage had been quelled at the cost of her ship. And no Octavia or her prince in sight. 

Hien followed the sound of her weakened voice finding her just behind the thrown open door he had lurched through moments ago. Her jacket, of such deep ocean blue and decorated in the finest pearls and lost jewels, little more than shreds at her arms. White hair a frazzled mess from the howling winds of hurricane gales. Her lips, bruised and bloody, curved ever so slightly before the woman sank against the wooden wall at her back. 

The prince threw himself at her, one arm around her shoulder while the other tenderly touched at the various cuts along her cheek. 

“What? Catfish got yer tongue?” She gave an echo of a laugh. 

“Shocked.” Hien brushed his thumb over a gathering bead of blood at her jaw and arched a brow. “I thought a goddess would not bleed red like the rest of us.” If this was the worse of her injuries, perhaps he could at last fill his lungs with a breath of air. 

“Heh, only when we’re close ta’ dyin’... does it turn to gold.” Despite the splits in her lips, Kirishimi smiled at the prince and drew her hand along her side. When she pulled it away Hien choked on a gasp. Her fingertips glittered beneath the afternoon sun now that the storm clouds had vacated. The ichor that set rivulets down each length of her fingers and pooled in her palm was ethereal to say the least. Never had the prince seen such color. Gold melted down, touched with the rainbow shimmer of pearls and glittered like stardust. 

His mind went blank at the realization. All at once it felt as though the world had stopped moving, his blood ran as if ice filled his veins, the darkest waters of the abyss drowning his lungs and smothering his heart. His hands felt numb as urgency filled his muscles, tearing away at the remains of her waterlogged jacket. He raised her arm, distantly hearing her muffled groan in retaliation to the pain. 

Along the curve of her side and splattering the deck spilled more of this unusual blood. A long gash had been torn into her from the cage of her ribs down across her abdomen. Hien’s throat tightened and vision blurred. 

“Don’t’cha look at me like that, mate.” She urged, an unusual softness to her tone. “I held my part o’ the bargain, didn’t I? Yer folk are home safe and yer still kickin’.” 

Hien shook his head. It was suddenly impossible to look her in the eyes. Those beautiful sapphire and crimson eyes. “At what cost? I’ve murdered a goddess.” 

“Oh? And which one o’ these injuries of mine belong to you? Don’t see yer sword in my gut or a knife in my back.” 

“Octavia and Zenos were apart of my crew. I had damned you from the start.” 

“Speakin’ of which. They should be crashin’ against the cliffs soon. Levi gave ‘em a tsunami bath. Teach them for steppin’ foot on my boat.” Kiri attempted more laughter, tried with all her strength to stay smiling for the prince at her side, but choked on a welling of blood in her mouth. 

She coughed and he leaned closer. “Kirishimi-...” 

As he moved closer, the goddess took his hand and pressed an object into the heel of his palm. It was sticky with blood, ichor that made his mortal skin feel alight with a warm flame of a candle. Miscolored eyes looked up to his, searching his pained expression. “Call Levi for me? I want to go home...” 

The item in question was an ocarina, he had seen her use it late at night, playing haunting melodies to the stars and the moon. But it’s make was hardly alike any  he had seen before; it was carved into the shape of a fiddler crab and painted with scarlet red for its body with claws of ocean blue. 

“This summons Leviathan?” He questioned, already knowing the answer. “W-Wait, what do you mean by ‘home’? If Leviathan can take us to land, surely a doctor or a healer could see you!” 

“Just play a tune for Levi, will ya’?” Mismatched eyes began to flutter against the sunlight. 

“Kiri, wait!” 

- - - 

The young prince had seen many things in life. He had seen war destroy homes and villages over night, witnessed life at birth and at death, even met the goddess of the sea. But this? This was a marvel in of itself. 

An entire city deep beneath the waves. Not a thriving metropolis like he would have suspected if one had made mention of a lost city; but one of ruin. Statues depicting once living people had begun to crumble from the oceans currents; limbs missing here and there or faces having fallen away to sink to the sea bed below. Every so often he would catch the glimmer of light sparkling off what was once beautiful stained glass, only to be swallowed by the darkness of the ocean as they slipped by. 

What stunned him beyond belief however was the place the goddess called home. Not a castle or throne room decorated in lavish pearls and sunken jewels. But rather a library. Fully intact at that. 

The building itself was nestled into a slope of earth beneath the tides, an air pocket preserving the library as if it were an underwater cavern. Parts of walkways had long since been submerged by rising waters, but the library itself towered high; lined every which way with tomes and books galore. 

The architecture resembled that of the sunken city; built in stone with towering columns and crumbling railings. Along several walls he could see motifs etched into the stonework. Beautiful depictions of a serpentine creature, each scale embedded with sapphire or cerulean blue tiles. Everywhere he looked he saw similar artwork. Leviathan. All of it was a dedication to Leviathan himself. And at the very center of the library, just feet above the ocean water that claimed the walkways, stood a fountain lined in the same tiles and jewels as the creature had been. The statue that still functioned, pouring water from a vase dusted in gold, was the goddess herself. Or at least the prince could only surmise. 

Her face had spiderweb fractures, pieces of her cheek having fallen into the pool at her feet centuries ago. And where the goddess, currently cradled in his arms unconscious, had short hair, the statue was given hair that fell to her pedestal and into the fountain itself. 

“A mortal?” Echoed a voice from one of the many tiers of flooring that made up the library. 

Hien had to squint against the faint light that weaved throughout the railing, it looked as if fireflies were encased in the stonework itself to provide soft light. “A-Aye! The goddess is injured! Leviathan has brought her and myself here! Please, if you could offer us succor, her life could yet be saved!” 

Somewhere behind the prince, lounging in the caverns opening, Leviathan let out a gurgled hiss before resting its beaked nose against the half submerged staircase that made the libraries entrance. Hien had felt pity for the creature, only it’s head could fit. Leviathan, despite the injuries sustained, had bore them both to the bottom of the sea without qualm. Another miracle, Hien thought now, that the creature could conjure an air pocket for his riders while they descended to the depths. 

The voice overhead squeaked, a sound of books clattering to the floor soon followed. “Oh my! Quickly now! Place her in the fountain! Go!” A shuffling told Hien that the voice had departed, perhaps to reach them. 

Hien held the goddess closer, her head lulled against the crook of his neck. When she wasn’t barking orders or giving attitude, she almost seemed at peace. Though the prince knew not to be swayed by her looks alone; this was hardly sleep but death approaching. He could see it in the way her cheeks twitched as she grimaced, or the flutter of her closed eyes. 

With gathered strength he trudged forward, descending a small set of stairs where water soon swelled up to his knees. The stonework had begun to crumble here and there beneath him, he could scarcely make out the dark blotches just beneath the murky water. He picked his way through carefully, first feeling with the tip of his foot for purchase before moving forward. The water still rose, up to his waist before another small set of stairs appeared, leading up to the fountain. 

The fountain was larger than he would have guessed from his earlier position. Several goddess’ could have been laid beneath the glittering water with ease. Even the statue loomed over him, taller and far more detailed than he had given credit for. Each fold in her dress was clear as day, he swore he could even see the stitching in the stone. 

But the time to admire such craftsmen ship was gone. Hien shook his head, sitting himself down on the lip of the fountain. His eyes trailed to the goddess in his arms, absently sparring a moment to brush aside misty white hair from her cheek. Carefully he leaned over and lowered her into the water. 

Golden ichor spread throughout the fountains pooled water, shimmering and swirling like galaxies beneath the ripples. Her form sunk against the tiles, the pool swallowing her entirely. 

Hien watched impatiently as her blood bled into the fountains water. Had he been expecting a miracle? Magic to suddenly encase her and instantly heal her? 

“It’ll take some time, lad.” A voice once more called to him. Wadding in knee deep water, along one of the other pathways that lead further into the library, stood what Hien could only comprehend as a standing tortoise. A creature that looked human in the way he stood, two legs and two arms, but had a shell adorning his back encrusted in gold and jewels. Even his head seemed more turtle aspect than man. The creature ran a hand through a length of beard at his chin before chuckling. “Never seen a Kojin before? C’mon, let’s leave her alone to recover. You can regale me with how this all happened, eh?” 

Hien found himself shaking his head, too dumbstruck to register what the man had said at all. Was this tortoise truly speaking to him? Had he gone mad while traveling the ocean? The more he considered the thought, the more it made sense. Libraries do not just sink to the ocean floor. They do not make homes for a goddess. And what, he is supposed to believe she enjoys reading? Or Leviathan for that matter, who had snarled and hissed at him upon their first meeting, now a snoozing kitten at the entrance of this grand forgotten place. 

“I’ve lost my mind.” Hien wheezed, holding his head in his hands. “Ocean madness truly exists.” 

“You’re only mad if you insist on staying in wet garb all day, lad. You’ll catch a cold.” Snorted the Kojin as he began his retreat, climbing a staircase out of the water. “I’ll put on tea if you change your mind.” 

Loathe as he was to admit, this cavernous library was hardly warm. He had felt himself shaking with chill as they arrived, though in part it was worry that shook him. Fear that the goddess would die cradled in his arms. If she had passed, who then would he tell stories to late into the night? Of fabled cities that dotted the landscape just out of her reach? She seemed to love his storytelling... Maybe she did invest time into reading? 

Hien rose suddenly, curiosity filling his chest. This was home to the goddess herself. What other strange and interesting things did she keep secreted away down here? The prince, with new urgency, stood up to follow after the kojin. He spared only one glance back at the sleeping goddess and gasped. 

The fountain had filled itself with a rainbow of waterlilies. 

[indiavolojones]

CONGRATS ON 1K @obeysme​!! I am your humble servant, m. please, anything you want to exist, I will do my best to bring to u. *choked sobbing*

2.5kish words, T for blood mentions, human sorcerer!Asmodeus/demon!Solomon. 

#lil bit of gore, lilith dies here too. 

the main difference in this AU is that Solomon (and MC, but they don’t appear here) are demons, and the seven brothers are powerful human sorcerers. this is a wildly indulgent AU with a ridiculous amount of unnecessary lore already existing in my brain lmfao.

this is also... mostly just snapshots of a relationship. hopefully it’s not so jumpy than it doesn’t make sense!! but if anyone cares, lmk and I’ll clarify anything!

~~

The first time Asmodeus asks Solomon to make a pact with him, he tells Asmodeus that he’d rather pick his teeth with Asmodeus’ bones. The second time, Solomon chokes Asmodeus until the other nearly passes out, only letting go when Diavolo’s disapproving frown appears in his mind like an unfortunate conscience.

The third time, a tipsy, bold Asmodeus dares to take the empty seat beside Solomon at the party, and Solomon is ready to snap. 

“Would you make a pact with me, Solomon?” Asmodeus asks, as if that is their hello. 

I should kill you for speaking to me, Solomon nearly says, but manages to bite it down.

At Solomon’s silence, Asmodeus reaches a wavering hand out towards Solomon, expertly painted nails catching the light. Solomon does not flinch back, too proud of his status to move--Asmodeus stops inches from his chest, before he clenches his hand into a fist and pulls his arm back. 

Solomon cannot promise he wouldn’t have ripped Asmodeus’ nails from their beds should the other have touched him.  

“Is this part of your attempt to work your way up through the ranks of Hell?” Solomon asks, exasperated--it would be foolish of him to not know of Asmodeus, the insouciant, flirtatious sorcerer who has charmed his way through much of the Devildom’s upper echelon. Asmodeus blinks at him, before he laughs. 

(Asmodeus has a laugh like tinkling bells, and Solomon refuses to acknowledge the sound isn’t wholly unpleasant.)

“There are much easier ways to work my way up than by seeking a pact,” Asmodeus says, filled with innuendo, and Solomon tilts his head to the side, wondering how mad Diavolo would be if he just killed a human out of sheer annoyance. 

“Your Prince of Hell,” Asmodeus begins, and Solomon’s eyes glint dangerously in warning, as if daring Asmodeus to speak ill of Diavolo, “He’s trying to bring peace to the three Realms, isn’t he?” Solomon blinks, before nodding stiffly, interest piqued. 

“My brothers and I are some of the strongest sorcerers in the world right now. My oldest brother, Lucifer, could find a way to charm the King of the Devildom himself should he put his mind to it.” Asmodeus is drunkenly praising his brother, Solomon wants to roll his eyes.

“Then perhaps I should go make a pact with Lucifer,” Solomon says loftily. Asmodeus merely grins back, and waggles a finger with his other hand on his hip. 

“Lucifer would never make a pact with a demon. He’s too proud to give anything up in return.” 

“And you aren’t?” Solomon can’t help the soft snort. 

“I’m not so proud that I’ll turn away the kind of power you offer for something as pointless as my soul,” Asmodeus shrugs. Solomon stills, the offer mildly exciting. 

“It is a bold act to readily offer up one’s soul as payment,” Solomon begins, wondering if he should add ‘suicidal’ to the ‘idiot flirt’ to his mind’s profile of Asmodeus. Asmodeus tilts his head to give Solomon another smile, dripping with all the charm of his previous ones, but there’s something more there. A fervor that Solomon might have missed amidst Asmodeus’ flirtation, but unavoidable now that the other is loosened by drink. 

“We’ll see. But in the meantime, with however much time you higher powers grant me,“ Solomon might have laughed at Asmodeus’ higher power jibe, were it not for his interest being held by the ambitious glint in Asmodeus’ eyes, “...there’s some hell I’d like to raise.” 

How curious. 

-

-

-

Obviously, he says no. 

Asmodeus calls for him many, many times. As they do not have a pact, Solomon isn’t required to answer, and he takes malicious delight in turning them down. Unfortunately, as a Lord of Hell, Solomon doesn't get to completely avoid the other’s presence. More often than not, Asmodeus has somehow sweet talked his way into all of their important events in the Human Realm. 

Solomon is revolted to find that some people find him… charming. 

However, when Solomon feels the curl of someone’s magic around his wrist, he hesitates before banishing the tendril. Instead, he lets the tendril swirl in his palm, brings his nose down to sniff at the magic. 

Usually, Asmodeus’ summons feel like a song; haunting and sickly sweet. Tonight, it sounds like a whimper, and Solomon’s inherently wicked nature stirs in interest. Iron, salt, the stench of death, of suffering that sings to Solomon. He allows the magic to take his hand, and it carries him through the realms.

-

Asmo casts a slim, striking figure in the center of the dark room in his fitted black suit. The glass bottle of human liquor has fallen to the side, dark liquid spilling onto Asmodeus’ carpet. Asmodeus does not look like he cares, does not look anything like the provocative, teasing sorcerer he occasionally crosses paths with.

Ah. So it finally happened.

Asmodeus’ arm stretches out between them, blood dripping from his clenched fist over Solomon’s seal burned into the floor. Solomon’s breath catches at the beauty of it in the flickering candlelight, all of his senses sizzling at the barely contained wildness of Asmodeus’ magic. Asmodeus, with his red rimmed eyes, the smears of eyeliner and mascara dirtying his face--he can taste Asmodeus’ pain just by parting his lips to the air. 

It calls to him. 

For the first time, Solomon touches Asmodeus; delicate, clawed fingers curl around Asmodeus’ bloody hand. Solomon wants to pry open Asmodeus’ hand, lavish his tongue to the wound he’d find in the other’s palm; he settles for pushing his thumb on Asmodeus’ wrist, feeling his quickened pace. 

“What are you looking for, Asmodeus?” Solomon asks, quiet, as Asmodeus’ blood drips onto his own hand.

“Immortality,” Asmodeus says, and Solomon can’t help the incredulity in his voice.

“Really?” 

“No, but it will have to do,” Asmodeus sniffs, full of young, brazen gusto--but Solomon is old, and knows that willpower will only get Asmodeus so far. Solomon cannot help but think of Asmodeus’ younger sister, still warm in her grave. 

At once, the confirmation settles in his head; Asmodeus is a fool. The words do not leave his lips. Instead, he steps closer. Asmodeus watches him with stunned wonder, obediently letting Solomon open his fist. 

“Very well. I swear myself to you, Asmodeus.” 

Solomon brings Asmodeus’ hand to his face, presses the bleeding, open palm to his cheek. His lips part, tongue flicking out to lap at the wound. Solomon allows the shiver to run through his body at Asmodeus’ powerful blood, lashes fluttering at the sensation. 

“Your soul for my oath, until death takes you.”

Asmodeus’ eyes do not leave Solomon’s, even as he nods. 

“If death takes me,” Asmodeus says, his fingertips skimming across the heights of Solomon’s cheekbones. 

It is almost too easy. 

Asmo’s perfect skin will break under his teeth, Solomon will suck the marrow from his bones, and his soul is an assured delicacy. No matter how far Asmodeus reaches for his goal, there is no way he will be able to achieve what no other human has before.  

But… Solomon thinks, a wicked, undeniable pleasure curling low in his chest… What if he does? Asmodeus, with his bright eyes and soft, loose curls--could he achieve the impossible? 

Solomon realizes that he would love to see Asmodeus try. 

How curious. 

“I expect great things from you, Asmodeus.” 

“Likewise, Lord Solomon.” 

-

-

-

Solomon should have prepared himself for this, but honestly, how the hell does one prepare for someone like Asmo? From the beginning, he should have never expected someone like Asmodeus to act as predicted. Solomon should have just never made the fucking pact in the first place.

Mere moments earlier, Solomon had been overseeing the renovations for the grand ballroom in Diavolo’s palace--and now, he squints up at the ghastly human sun. 

“Solomon~,” Asmo croons, and Solomon--with all the patience he can muster to not immediately assume his demon form and tear apart this entire godforsaken beach--looks down at him. Asmo flutters his eyelashes at him from over the rim of his sunglasses. 

“You cannot keep doing this, Asmodeus,” Solomon stares down at the bottle in his hands, absolutely furious--but Asmodeus tosses an amused glance over his shoulder at the other. 

“Solomon, please, call me Asmo,” he purrs, and Solomon’s response is immediate.

“No.”

“I’ll stop calling you for things like this if you call me Asmo?” Asmo grins. Solomon gives him a glare that says he clearly does not believe him, and Asmo pouts. 

He touches his forehead, the center of his chest, his left, then right shoulder, kisses his index finger, and points upward, “Promise!” He winks. Solomon’s jaw nearly drops at his audacity. 

“Now come on,” he says, pushing his glasses up to obscure his face and presenting Solomon with his pale, bare back, and whines, “I’m going to get sunburned, Solomon,” Solomon looks back down at the sunscreen in his hand. 

Damn the pact, Solomon is going to kill him. 

-

-

-

“I summon you, Solomon--” Asmo’s voice is a whirlwind in his ears, as it drags him through the world.

“What now, Asmo, I’m bus--” The sharp retort dies on his lips the second Solomon answers the summons, hit with the sudden, unmistakable stench of burning flesh. 

“Lend me your power, Solomon,” Asmo begs, desperate, and Solomon’s eyes widen at the tears in his eyes, the blood dripping from his split lip. Curled up on the floor, his older brother Lucifer is staring at Solomon with sheer hatred in his eyes. 

“What are you doing, Asmo,” Lucifer snarls, but it’s not as intimidating as it could be when Lucifer starts to choke up blood. Asmo scrambles over, leaving his own streaks of blood on the floor after him. He holds his older brother close, hands pressing against a growing dark stain on the other’s midsection.

“Shut up, Lucifer, just shut up,” Asmo laughs, hysterical, “You can lecture me later.” 

Solomon breaks his gaze away from the two brothers, turning to face the center of the room. A blond man stands in front of a terrifying monster of a devil, hands dripping with his angry magic as he tries to stop the devil’s approach. Repulsive, Solomon thinks, the acidic scent of the human’s magic sickening him more than any amount of human gore could. 

“What are you doing here?” Solomon asks the demon, and the blond man swirls around to face him.

“Who--” The blond says, but Solomon does not give him a second glance, stepping forward to stare down the beast, seemingly frozen in place with a strange purple glow around it. It snarls mindlessly, lost to its base desires, struggling angrily against the invisible restraints. 

“Did someone summon you?” Solomon asks, hand running up the ugly, marred scales across the front of its draconic features. 

“We didn’t. They did.” The blond man spits, and Solomon sees the barely distinguishable form of bones and viscera in a pile nearby. He sighs; typical humans. 

“Die with the damned, then.” Solomon says.

The devil screams as it dies, and Solomon feels nothing. 

-

-

-

“This… this is not the way it should be,” Asmo stares down at the carnage in front of him, eyes obscured by his long curls. Satan has long taken Lucifer to a healer, and now it is the two of them amidst the smoldering room.

“And how should the world be, young Asmodeus?” Asmo flinches at the words, frowning at Solomon. 

Another moment passes. 

“Different. Not this.” Asmo sighs, gestures at the blood. Solomon is surprised to see a hint of Diavolo in Asmo’s expression. Briefly, Solomon wonders if there are any of their other personal quirks that would mesh. He quickly shuts that down, lest some bastard higher power be listening. It would be his own personal hell should the two ever become acquainted. 

“I see your eldest brother is not happy about our pact.” Solomon muses, boot kicking idly at a charred piece of rubble. 

“Probably just upset I got to do it first,” Asmo laughs, but Solomon is not so sure. There’s still a tremor to Asmo’s movements, a distrust in his eyes at every dark corner. Silence lingers between them, now that Asmo is not speaking to fill the space. 

Asmo’s search has seemed to bring nothing but misfortune, a friend would be concerned; Solomon is… not that… but… 

“Perhaps you should give up on your quest, Asmo,” Solomon does not quite know why he says it, but it comes out regardless. 

“I bet you’d love that. How boring would that be?” Asmo sniffs haughtily, one hand combing through his dirty curls, “I’m not getting any younger, now am I!” 

An unknown emotion paces in Solomon’s lungs--his hand presses on his chest, startled by the unfamiliar tightness. Asmo blinks, and looks at him, expressive eyes big with something that resembles concern. The very thought is laughable to Solomon, but Asmo leans over to nudge him with his shoulder before he thinks about it any longer.

“Come on, help me burn the rest of this place to the ground.” 

-

-

-

“My lord,” Solomon says, trying to mask the dawning horror from his expression, “Surely, you aren’t thinking of--”

“Seven of the most powerful sorcerers this century, all of whom are highly regarded in both human and Devildom hierarchies for my exchange program? Why wouldn’t I?” Diavolo grins, fist pressing against his cheek as he props up his head. The profiles for each of the seven lay splayed out in front of Diavolo, and Solomon’s dread grows at the familiar wavy curl on one of the photos. 

“Are you not excited to see Asmodeus again?” Diavolo drags out Asmo’s page from the pile, and pushes it towards him. Solomon bites his cheek to stifle the grimace, opting for a neutral, hopefully believable smile. Asmo’s cheerful face grins up at him, as well as a long list of the other’s accomplishments; the list is sizable, and if Solomon weren’t so damn horrified, then perhaps he would have maybe felt a spark of pride. 

“You could say that,” Solomon grits out, but Diavolo is already rattling off another round of orders for Barbatos. 

-

-

-

“Asmo, it wouldn’t do for you to get eaten on your first day,” Solomon laughs, but there’s an annoyed twitch to his eyes. Asmo reaches out to tug Solomon’s tie from the jacket, and steps closer to examine the color. The glance he gives Solomon through his thick lashes as he does so is irritatingly impudent, but it still stirs a wicked heat in his lungs. 

“Isn’t that what you’re for, darling?” Asmo hums, before deftly tucking the tie back into place, and patting him on the chest, “I prefer your turtlenecks.” Asmo sighs, putting his cheek in his hand as he looks over Solomon. One of his brothers calls his name from across the hall, and Asmo’s gaze snaps to them with a wide smile, waving his arm in recognition. 

Asmo turns back to Solomon, reaching a hand out to cup Solomon by the cheek. Solomon does not flinch, has never flinched, but he’s never been pleased by Asmo’s touch. Asmo tilts his head, gives Solomon a coy smile that Solomon supposes others may find attractive. 

“I’ll see you around, Solomon.” Solomon brings his hand up to brush against where the ghost of Asmo’s touch still lingers. 

This… will be a trying year, Solomon sighs.

[amarabliss]

Oaths and Hearts - 6 (Ignis Scientia/reader)

So this is a crossover between FFXV and Dragon Age Inquisition.

You fell through a rift into the fade fighting the demons you swore to protect your world from. When you popped out you were no longer in the lands of Ferelden instead trapped in Insomnia. The gracious king allowed you to say recognizing power when he saw it. One thing led to another and now you were part of the procession of the prince to his wedding years later. Before the final battle, after years of fighting, losses, and love…your friend…your king…Noctis has asked you to change it all…

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

“It’s not that simple. It doesn’t work like that!”

“It is that simple, you just go up!” You looked at Nyx again before looking back at a glaive training, “You just will the magic up.”

“My magic does not do that.” You told him rolling your eyes, “I go anywhere on the field I need to…”

“Except for up, which can be pivotal in a strategic sense.” Nyx stood up holding his hand down to you.

“I have never had a problem before.” You took his hand as he hoisted you up, “I think you just like to show off.”

“Says the chick who supposedly took down a dragon?” He smirked as he pulled out his dagger from his back belt.

“Three dragons.” You held up your fingers before crossing your arms, “Not at the same time…but still three dragons.”

“Oh! Excuse me, I’ll remember for sure next time.” Nyx raised his hands up faking everything before he took a strong stance, “Now it’s really easy…”

“It’s not going to work.” You stood next to him, “I don’t warp…I-I…phase…”

“Well phase up!” He threw his dagger and landed on the upper floor of the training room before warping back down in front of you.

“You’re an idiot.” You smiled up at him.

“Yeah I know…” He moved behind you smirking, “Used to think that was part of my name, but then I figured out that ‘Nyx you idiot’… was not full my name.”

You laughed as he started pointing out targets in the distance.

“That was a good day.” You looked toward the voice as you stood in a void. Nyx was standing there, arms crossed in his glaive uniform smirking.

“Nyx…” He looked at you and you instantly teared up, “What is this place?”

“Neat isn’t it? Little bland for my taste, but certainly more spacious then my dirty old apartment, right?” He looked around a bit, “I’m not a king…so I can’t hang out with the rest of the crew, but I still get a little piece of the good Luci Ring space. I think King Regis might have a hand in that but…I don’t know how all this shit works…”

“Nyx…” You reached out slowly up to his face.

“I’m about as real as you’re going to get, your Ladyship.” He leaned into your touch smiling at you as tears fell down your cheeks, “Hey…hey don’t cry. No tears. Not for me.”

“You’re such an idiot…” You spoke through clenched teeth as he pulled you close rubbing your back, “What were you thinking… putting the ring on…”

“Ha, you are one to talk. You are millimeters from doing the same thing.” He chuckled pulling away to look at your face. His smile was sad, “God…I’m sorry the only way we get to say goodbye is like this, but…at least I can help you one last time.”

“I don’t understand…” You shook your head as his hands landed on his shoulders.

“What are you doing here?” Nyx stared into your eyes.

“Wh…I want to help Noctis.” You shook your head, “I need the power of the Kings…”

“Really? You need the power of the Kings to help a King?” Nyx smirked at you, “You wanna try that again?”

“Nyx, I don’t have time for this.” You glared at him, “I have people…”

“Make time.” His face became serious, “Seriously, Y/N, I need to hear your answer because once you step out of my corner of the ring, I can’t help you anymore.”

You stared at him as he let you go continuing, “Now, I have no doubt that if you stepped over into the realm of the Kings that they would grant you that power. You are far worthy then me and they gavee the power. Then you would succeed at a cost…a cost I don’t think you realize you would making.”

“I will do what I have to.” You took a step away.

“To do what? To protect Noctis?” He pointed away from himself raising his voice, “He doesn’t need you! Even King Regis himself knew that Noctis could take care of himself and sent him away from the city.”

“Don’t…” You looked away from him feeling tension rising inside of you.

“Nobody needs you to make this sacrifice!” Nyx shouted, “Especially not that smug faced retainer…”

“Don’t!” Your eyes snapped back to him, “Don’t do that…you know how much he respected you before you left on that mission…”

“Yeah I do…” He sighed slumping his shoulders, “But he doesn’t need you either…not the way you think…”

“I am doing this for him.” You stepped toward him feeling anger rise up inside you, “You don’t know what price he paid before. I will not let him suffer again…I am…I am doing this f-for him.”

“No you’re not.” Nyx shook his head he stepped forward, “And I think you know that…it’s never been about saving Ignis or Noct…”

You stared up into his eyes as he stepped close enough to rest his forehead against yours. You whimpered when his hand pressed against your stomach, “…Nyx…”

He stared into your eyes as his filled with pain, “You never told him…you bore that pain for years by yourself. He was blind…literally he couldn’t see the glow you have now, fade away from one day to the next. You just said you missed the sun…it made you sad, but what you meant was you missed your son…the life that you carry right now.”

“You can’t know that…you can’t…It’s too soon.” Tears blurred your vision.

“Funny thing about time here…it kinda happens all at once…” He smirked a little bit, “I flattered that you considered my name…didn’t think you’d want an idiot in the family.”

You let out a choked laugh as his hands came up brushing your tears away. “There has to be at least one in each family…”

“So, tell me…do you really need a King’s power?” Nyx brushed hair from your face, “Or can the love of a mother…like all mothers…scare away the monster?”

“…how…” You shut your eyes feeling so tired suddenly.

“What did Ignis tell Ellie?” He smiled as you opened your eyes again.

“But I’m afraid…” Ellie looked at you from her bed.

“Afraid? What do you have to be afraid of?” Ignis stepped into the room tilting his head a little.

“I don’t want to be alone at night…it’s too dark…” Ellie looked over at him as he approached, “the deamons…”

“The deamons will never be able to touch you.” Ignis knelt down smiling at her, “Do you know why?”

“No…” She shook her head staring at him.

“Because my darling, you are made of starlight.” Ignis beamed at her, “And nothing can smother starlight, even in death they become brighter until they burst forth spreading more light until it recollects again into another star. You will forever shine.”

“Really?” You felt the corners of your mouth curl up as you saw relief spread throughout your daughter’s face.

“Would I ever lie to you, my love?” Ignis stood up capturing her face with kisses getting her to giggle chasing any  leftover fears away. He tucked her in tightly before exited after you.

“Starlight…that’s a new one.” You whispered to him as you walked down the hall.

“It’s the only way to describe what I see…” You stopped in front of him as he adjusted the tinted glasses on his face, “Which is a light around her…not just her, you too. I always have. It’s similar to starlight, bright and pure.”

“You never said before…” You stepped up to him nudging his nose with yours, “Why do you think that is?”

“I have speculated…” He whispered against your lips, “It has something to do with your origin. You’re not from here…you’re a stronger force then the darkness that resides here…”

You laughed against his lips before he kissed you.

“Starlight…” You stared at him taking in a deep breath, “But...”

“You’re almost there…I can see you working the problem…” Nyx told  you quickly before looking behind you as bright light shined onto his face, “But you gotta make a choice…here and now…are you crossing the line or being the big bad Inquisitor I know you are?”

The moment was over. Nyx was gone, the ring a breath away from contact with your finger. You could feel the world around moving so slowly as you stared at it. Then everything went backwards, then forward again. You looked at Ardyn, smug grin plastered on his face. He wanted you to put it on.

You watched his face as you pulled the ring back away from your finger. Shock to anger. “Thanks Nyx…”

“Change of heart?” He glared at you coming to rest on some debris a short distance away from the broken bridge you stood on.

“Just needed a gentle reminder of why I’m here.” You took the ring securing it in your pocket. You pulled the hilt of the Enchater’s Blade to your side.

“So many questions…how will that broken trinket help you?” Ardyn smirked looking at you as you stood unmoving, “I was surprised when you came in slapping the dagger away from my hand saving the Oracle, even more surprised a small woman like you had the ability to block an attack of mine. You have so much tenacity in your eyes, it’s rather beautiful…it’s a shame I’ll have to take the light from them.”

You kept quiet as he jettisoned across the water over to you clamping a hand on your throat. You clenched your hand around the hilt pushing it against his side. His hold on your neck caused you to both to stumble backward as you summoned the blade.

His grip loosened enough to for you to speak when the blade pierced through him, “You keep asking the wrong questions…”

You ripped the blade from him spinning, quickly slashing again across his chest. He fell to his knees as you spoke, “You keep asking who I am? What I am doing? You never once asked what I am?”

“A witch…” He spat at you, black ooze dripping down his face, “it is the only reasonable explanation. One of the Oracles spirits…”

“If only…” You whispered kneeling down next to him, “no…I’m a mother and I will not let you destroy this world…their world.”

You raised your hand up into the air summoning a force you had not used in such a long time. Pain seared up your arm as the familiar green hue filled the sky. You watched as he looked up with fear at the swirling vortex that had joined the Hyperion’s storm, “What are you doing?”

“Whatever it takes…” You felt a tear roll down your cheek as he pushed you away grunting to his feet. You latched on to his coat as he warped away you in tow with him. You could practically hear Nyx calling you a cheater.

Ardyn looked back at you as you both slammed on a roof, “Damn you!”

“I will not let you stay here.” You stood summoning the Enchanter’s Blade again, “I gave my word…”

“To who? That pathetic excuse of a prince?” He pointed looking over at Noctis still twiddling away at the flying beast who claimed to be a god before he launched a flurry of attacks at you, “He cares not for you!”

“Maybe he doesn’t!” You shouted back eyes burning as you fell down to a knees blocking the attack as best you could, “But it changes nothing.”

“Stop this foolishness…What mother would leave her children to fight a losing fight!?” Ardyn scowled at you his true nature beginning to show through. As hard as he tried to push it away the darkness inside of him surfaced, “Leave this ridiculousness and go back to your family.”

“Then let us be done with this!” You phased toward him pushing your marked hand against his face.

He let out a roar as you summoned forth the rift magic in your hand. Out of the corner of your eye you saw his blade hand rise and there was nothing you could do as he drove it through your leg. You let out a loud cry.

“You can’t kill me.” He growled as bits of him began to peel away drifting upward toward the rift.

“No…but I can put you so far into the fade where the deepest nightmares will even frighten you.” You spit back.

“Noct!” Gladio ran forward with Prompto on his heels. They ran over to their friend who had landed exhausted next to Luna, “Are you okay?”

“As good…as…” Noct spoke through large breaths.

“Be still Noctis.” Luna told him rubbing his shoulders, “You did what you must…but it took a great deal of energy.”

“Something he’s not used of having.” Prompto poked fun at him.

“Shut up…” Noct looked up at the sky, the wind had died down but the sky still swirled a bright green vortex, “Where’s Ignis?”

“Luna!” All them looked over seeing Ravus running forward. Luna stood up as he ran to her embracing her tightly, “Thank the Six…oh…you live…”

Following behind him was a disheveled Ignis. His face was toward the sky eyes wide with fear. Gladio stepped over to him quickly, “Iggy…what’s wrong?”

“Where is she?” He whispered quickly.

“What?” Gladio followed his gaze, “I’m not getting it, you gotta give me more.”

“Y/N…where is she?” Ignis met his friends gaze, “Sh-she wasn’t answering the radio…she…and then…I saw this…”

It was beginning to connect now, “Ignis we don’t know…”

“This is her…she…gods…” He looked panicked and it was freaking his friend out.

“Ignis, stop…stop!” Gladio grabbed onto his arms.

“She went after Ardyn.” Everyone’s eyes shifted to Luna as she stepped away from her brother, “She came here and…she saved my life, so I could protect Noctis. She’s still fighting him…she took the ring…

“We have to do something…” Ignis stepped forward again, “Ardyn…whatever he is…”

“I see her.” Prompto’s voice rippled to his ears. The blonde was looking through his camera, “Oh my god…what is she doing to him?”

“What…what do you see?” Ignis pleaded with him.

“I don’t…I don’t know. It’s like…she’s…dissolving him. They’re right at the center of that thing…” He moved the camera away still staring up.

They all watched holding their breath as a burst of light filled the sky. A large gust blew down on them sending debris their way. Gladio moved in front of Noctis summoning his shield just in time.

Ignis shielded his head bracing himself. When it died down, he looked up seeing the sky clear free of the rift. His eyes moved around frantically trying to find you.

“There!” Prompto’s sharp eyes found you and he pointed, “She’s falling!”

“Y/N!” Ignis ran to the edge of the alter eyes landing on your limp body falling through the air.

[tarotdeckshuffle]

Jello! (Because it's yummy) You're an amazing writer! Making me believe that I'm in a relationship with all of the boys lol (T-T) May I request a happy ending fic? A celebration party is held before Noctis and Luna's wedding and s/o is trying to be supportive for her two childhood friends. She tries to come to terms that she's gonna lose her Noctis. The prince tries to talk to s/o about her distancing herself from him when the emotions were too much she needed flee..

Jello is pretty yummy. I haven’t had that in ages…

I’m so glad you like my writing!! Your support means so much to me! It lets me know that I’m doing something right and that I can bring joy to others, which is really all I’ve ever wanted. 

I am so sorry it’s taken me sooooo long to get to this fic. But, here it is! I’d say it’s a decent mix of angst and fluff with some Noctis x reader, some Luna x reader, and some OT3 with a dash of Disney references! I enjoy anything that lets me write Luna. Four Suns has gotten really out of hand in terms of length, so I’m working to keep my fics a bit shorter and moving a bit faster.  I hope this fits with what you were hoping for! Enjoy! ❤

Taglist: @idiotflowerex, @laststory1013, @sayaoqueen, @jophinabean, @mysme-already

If you like what you read, please consider supporting me on Patreon or buying me a Ko-fi!

Come Home, Cinderella

The wall was cold against your back, but it was better than being in the middle of this commotion. You were in Altissa, attending an “engagement party” for Noctis and Luna. Everyone laughed, drank, and danced around you, relishing the rare moment of communal joy.   The celebration was as much for the happy couple as it was for the entire kingdom of Lucis, as peace was soon expected.

Soon, the Prince and the Oracle would be wed. It was to be an ornate ceremony where the two professed their love for each other as the world looked on. As the rest of the world rejoiced in a celebration of love, you felt a hole form in your chest where your heart had been.

Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change,

You could taste the playwright’s words on your tongue. Perhaps they were overdramatic, but you didn’t care right now.

Noctis was your everything. He always had been.

You had grown up as friends, meeting in the Citadel when your parents worked as groundskeepers. You had fond memories of playing hide and seek with your “new friend”. People had thought the little boy you spoke of was imaginary. Their shock at finding out your friend was real and THE PRINCE was hilarious to your young self.

The two of you tried to stay friends over the years. Many of your games came to include others, like Luna, Prompto, Ignis, and Gladio. No matter who came and went, you and Noctis were constantly together. The two of you grew distant with time, though, as you went to different high schools and made new friends. But fate had other plans.

Noctis was thrilled when you entered the court one day, summoned to be his newest bodyguard. By his side, the two of you became ever closer. A childhood friendship grew into a whirlwind romance. Sweet smiles led to small gifts that eventually led to secret kisses.

The two of you had been together for some time, keeping everything hushed until the future was more certain. The “royals” of Insomnia would not look kindly at a bodyguard the Prince was dating. So the two of you kept your kisses secret and your nights together short, only letting your closest friends know about the two of you.

And now, here you were.

With every memory you had of Noctis as a child, you now remembered Luna being there, too. She was a dear friend of yours. You truly did adore her. Who wouldn’t love the fair maiden with a soft heart and strong duty. But this was all so unfair.

You were here for them, though. You loved Noctis with all of your heart and Luna was still your friend. You had to keep telling yourself that it was your duty to support them.

Noctis had spoken to you as soon as he found out. So much of the conversation was a blur. He didn’t want this to happen, best for Lucis, stay together…blah blah blah. You knew he hadn’t wanted this to happen, but it was hard to see that through his smiles with Luna, now.

Luna’s smile lit up the room next to Noctis.

But he was your Noctis…yours.

It wasn’t fair.

But…he never truly was yours, was he?

The two of you were from different worlds.

Luna was from his world…

A hand on your shoulder woke you from you thoughts. It was Noctis. His soft smile touched your soul.

“Hey…” he said, moving to stand beside you.

“Hey,” is all you could respond. The two of you stood in silence for a few moments, staring out at the party.

“Want to get some air,” he finally asked.

You hesitantly obliged, unsure if you wanted to spend time alone with the Prince after all you had been through.

The two of you stepped out onto a balcony overlooking the sea. Silence and salt filled the space where love once lived.

Noctis sighed, looking down at his hands. “How’ve you been?” The silence did not break cleanly.

“I’m…fine.” You answered. How could you tell him you were being torn apart at your very seams, pulled between duty and love. How could you tell him that you still adored Luna but part of you wanted to hate her? How could you put this raw pain into words?

“That’s…good.” Noctis couldn’t look you in the eyes. He bashed his hands against the stone railing before turning to you. “Please, may I just kiss you? I miss you so much.” His eyes were pleading.

You stared back, teetering between what your heart wanted and what your head told you to do.

“No. It would be inappropriate. Your bride is just inside,” you replied, reverting back to your duty. The facade of the good soldier was easier to wear than that of the hurt lover.

Noctis stared at you, silent. Finally, he sighed, looking away. “Fair enough.” He turned away from you. You wanted to reach out to him, to hold him, to let him know it’d be ok, but…you couldn’t, you wouldn’t.

“[Y/N], I want you in my life. I love you. I…I want us to go forward TOGETHER.” His words were directed more to the sea below, than to you.

“I know.”

“Then…what are we going to do?” He turned to you and you were swept away by those eyes.

“I..” You began to speak, but were interrupted by someone calling for Noctis.

“Erg…wait here, I’ll be right back, ok?” His eyes held a determination in them as he held your shoulder. He turned away to return to the party. You watched his black hair and strong back disappear from view.

“Ok,” you whispered as he left.

What were you going to do? How would you get through this? If you stayed, you’d always hurt. You couldn’t be Noct’s mistress, that wouldn’t be fair to Luna. It wasn’t right. Could you ever be a proper bodyguard if you loved the future king?

A thought crept up from the back of your mind: Wouldn’t it be better if you weren’t involved?

The thought tasted bitter and left you with an awful sorrow, but it wasn’t wrong. Perhaps, this was the best option.

You set your glass onto the railing, determination running through your veins. You turned, making your way along the wall of the party. You reached the steps to the outside and began to run, taking your first breaths of this new freedom.

You were almost to the bottom before your heart pulled.

“[Y/N]!” It was Noctis, at the top of the steps.

Tears welled in your eyes but you kept going.

You kept going until you made it to the docks. A ferry was leaving in that moment. You ran aboard and threw yourself into a vacant middle seat. Wherever this random ship went was fine by you.

Noctis made it to the docks, just in time to see the ferry leave.

It was years later. You had been wandering Eos as a rogue hunter. That fateful ferry had taken you back to Cape Caem, only days before the darkness fell. You had heard rumors of Altissa falling, but you had also heard that both Noctis and Luna made it out. They had set out for Gralea. After that, though, there was little information.

You had been wandering the darkness for five years. It had been five years of wondering if Noctis was alright. Five years of wondering what had happened to Luna. Five years and countless steps plagued by guilt that you had left Altissa and abandoned everyone to the darkness.

You had spent every day trying to help in any way you could. You had escorted countless refugees to Lestallum and ended every daemon that you encountered. You didn’t help Noctis, you had run from your feelings and left him to face the darkness alone. You tried to repent every day by helping everyone else.

Today, you had heard rumors of daemons congregating near the entrance to Insomnia.  None of the other hunters dared to go near the city due to superstitions and the sheer power of the daemons in the city. You felt some sense of duty and need for self sacrifice, which brought your feet to the gates of the city you once called home.

The city that held so many fond memories for you. But standing at the gates to the ruined place made all of those memories feel like they belonged to someone else.

You stood, looking through broken gates into dark streets. “It feels like forever since we were last here. Doesn’t it?” A warm voice asked from behind you.

You spun around to face a dream in white. It was Luna, now a bit older than last you saw her, smiling warmly at you. She leaned on her trident as she took you in.

“Welcome home, Cinderella. You really scared everyone when you took off from that party.” She could have been no end of bitter with you, instead, she greeted you with the warmth of an old friend.

You stared at her, so many emotions swelling within you. “Where’s Noctis?” Your voice cracked, reminding you of a scared child.

Before you could take another terrified breath, Luna was there, holding you. “He’s alright. Shh, he’s just…resting.” She held you close while she explained everything that had happened.

The two of you made camp outside Insomnia, as you were in no shape to face daemons, now. Luna never left your side.

It took some time, but eventually you made your way into the city. The Oracle surprised you, holding her own and striking fear into the hearts of all daemons as the two of you swept through the city like a hurricane. None could stand in your way.

A song of laughter accompanied you as you made your way back to Lestallum. Luna had always been your friend, but this journey reminded you of why.

Having no place of your own to go back to, Luna invited you to live with her and Ravus. The spectral man was rarely home to mind, anyways. It took time, but living within someone else’s light soon thawed your frozen heart.

You found Luna to be the light of your life. Her smile was warm and her wit was sharp. She was utterly amazing. You had been too blinded by Noctis to see it before. All you could hope was that their marriage was filled with joy.

But it is the simple moments that change life the most. You had been wounded on your last daemon hunt. A stray tonberry left a long cut down your back. While Luna had healed it with gentle hands for you, the stiffness lingered.

You were attempting to put on your boots, but your stiff back made it painful to lean over. Luna noticed. With a silent but pained face, she was at your side, helping you with the task.

“Really, you don’t need to worry. I’ll get it,” you protested. You tried to wretch your leg from her, but between her strong hands and the pain in your back, she won.

“When will you stop torturing yourself? You don’t deserve this!” Her hands shook as she tied your shoe. Soon, the dark leather was stained with teardrops.

You stopped, stunned.

“Please, [Y/N]! Every time I see you hurt my heart breaks! Please, stop trying to atone for sins you never committed,” she looked up at you, crying.

“But, I…I…” you hadn’t expected to have to voice your soul. Your head snapped towards her as your voice plead. “I LEFT YOU ALL! I abandoned you in Altissa! And for what? Because I was lovesick and jealous…”

Luna stood, cupping your cheeks in her warms hands. “No, you didn’t. You ran away from a love you could no longer control. From a situation you didn’t know what to do with. No one blames you but yourself.”

“WHY?! Why don’t you blame me,” you cried. You could think of every reason Luna should hate you, but she didn’t. Why did she grant you such mercy?

“Oh, [Y/N]. It’s because I love you.” Her warm words hit you. You couldn’t believe they were real.

Your stunned eyes asked more questions than you could voice. Luna laughed through her tears. “I’ve always loved you! I loved you the moment I first saw you. But Noctis was always at your side. I didn’t want to intervene. I…well, I didn’t know what to do.”

“You…what?”

Luna wiped tears from your face before leaning in to gently kiss your lips. “I love you. I wanted you to stay with us in Altissa, but I was too scared to say anything. Please, won’t you stay now?”

It took a moment for you to fully understand everything that she said. Honestly, it all made sense. She was your moon goddess, your light, and you had always adored her. You had always found everything about her to be perfect. Looking back, maybe you should have realized your own foolishness sooner.

You wrapped your arms around her neck, pulling her in for another dreamlike kiss.

“Yes.”

The two of you were inseparable in the years that followed. Both of you had been planning for Noct’s return. You were trying to figure out how to tell him about your relationship, considering you both still loved him, as well.

The day finally arrived. You met the men in Hammerhead. Noctis was in shock when he saw both of you standing before him, hand in hand.

“I…I don’t know what to say…” is all he could say to you and his wife.

“Well, Sleeping Beauty, do you want to come home with us?” You held out a hand to him.

“There’s room for one more,” Luna added.

Noctis simply smiled. “I…I couldn’t imagine anything better.” He leaned over to kiss you, a rough hand on your cheek. His lips were as warm and soft as you remembered. You free hand wrapped around the small of his back, while your other held Luna’s.

Next, Luna swept in to kiss you. Her lips were a constant warmth in your life, sweet and gentle.

Then, you watched her and Noctis kiss. The sight that once pained you, now brought joy to your heart. You all had always loved each other, it just took time to learn that.

And now, you’d make sure you would have plenty of time to spend with each other. The three of you shared a love strong enough to conquer the strain of time; dameons would be no problem, in comparison.

Together, you walked into the light of a new day.

~END CREDITS SCENE~

Luna: “Wait, if you’re Cinderella and he’s Sleeping Beauty…who am I?”

You: “Maybe Belle?”

Noctis: “Naw, more like Ariel…”

You and Noctis, together: “PRINCE CHARMING!!”

Luna: That makes sense…

[mirkwoodshewolf]

My daughter, the trickster; Loki x teen reader

Okay ya’ll. This request came from my Wattpad, and a long time ago someone had asked if I was going to do requests from IW well......this is what I had gotten and what I had written for the requester a few days ago. Now for anyone who STILL HAS NOT SEEN THE MOVIE PLEASE TURN AWAY AND DO NOT I REPEAT DO NOT READ THIS FIC!!! I Also want to open up the tissues and sweet dessert table because like my wattpad readers, you all WILL START CRYING THIS IS PURE, UNADULTERATE ANGST you are about to read. You all will be crying, I myself was crying cause I had to watch the opening over and over and over again just to get the quotes right. But I promise you, the next fic that comes around will NOT be angsty, I’ll try to give as much fluff as I can, maybe even transfer some more wattpad oneshots I have onto here.

______________________________________________________

This is the Asgardian refugee vessel Statesman.  We are under assault, I repeat we are under assault. The engines are dead, life support failing….Requesting aid from any vessel within range, we are 22 jump points out of Asgard. Our crew is made up of Asgardian families we have very few soldiers here! This is not a warcraft! I repeat, this is not a warcraft!

Was the distress call that was sent hours ago.  Half of our people managed to escape with Valkyrie and Korg but the rest of us—most of them were dead. The only ones still alive were myself, my father, Heimdall, my Uncle Thor and his friend Bruce Banner.  But I might as well be considered dead.  

I was stabbed, beaten, and my wrist broken.  Much like Heimdall who was on the ground with a deep wound on his side and my uncle barely moving on the ground as the mad Titan stood over him.  One of Thanos’ crazed followed walked over the dead corpses of my people speaking of how those who survived are now considered to be the children of Thanos.

My father stood among them with a weapon pointed right at him as Thanos himself finally spoke up.

“I know what it’s like to lose. To feel so desperately that you’re right…yet to fail, nonetheless”. He then picked up my Uncle by the cuff of his armor that he was forced to wear on Sakaar just a couple of days ago.  I could hear him choking on his blood as Thanos walked slowly towards my father as he continued to say, “It’s frightening. Turns the legs to jelly, but I ask you to what end? Dread it, run from it…destiny arrives all the same. And now it’s here. Or should I say…I am”.

He raised his other hand that held the Infinity gauntlet that held the Power Stone that he had stolen from Xandar after decimating it just last week, and it was with this Power Stone, he would soon destroy our ship once his so-called mission was done.

“You talk too much” my uncle groaned out.

“The Tesseract or your brother’s head” Thanos tried to force my father to trade. “I assume you have a preference”.

“Oh, I do, kill away” my father stated bluntly.  Thanos grinned and said. Thanos was silent. He and my father continued to stare at each other and that’s when Thanos spoke up once more.

“Yes, I could crush his head. End his life right here and now. But I’ve known the hatred you’ve always burned for your brother, that’s too easy”.  He then released my Uncle and that’s when I was suddenly picked up from the ground.

The black hooded son of Thanos had me and took me towards him. I grunted as I tried to struggle but it was all in vain as I was forced onto the ground and he pulled my hair back forcing my head to look up at the Titan.  My heart raced with fear as Thanos stared down at me, his eyes cold and soulless.

“But can the same be said for her?” His fingers gently grazed my face as he continued, “I am sorry for this little one, but the child must always pay for the sins of their father”. The gauntlet and the Power Stone came closer to my face.

“No, no! No! No! No!” I tried to fight it and get myself free, but his son wrapped his hand around my forehead keeping my head completely still as the stone finally touched my face and I felt the hot, agonizing pain that came with it as I let out probably the most painful scream of my life.

I kept screaming as the Power Stone continued to literally burn away my skin.  I don’t even know how long this torment went on for, but I finally heard my father cry out.

“STOP! LEAVE HER OUT OF THIS!!” Finally, I felt the stone leave my face and I was released and left to be a crying mess.

“We don’t have the Tesseract, it was destroyed on Asgard” my Uncle stated.  But that was when my father looked to my Uncle before holding out his hand and appearing was the Tesseract.  “You….really are the worst brother”.

“I assure you brother; the sun will shine on us again” my father told my uncle as he walked right up to Thanos.

“Your optimism is misplaced, Asgardian” Thanos chuckled.

“Well for one thing, I’m not Asgardian. And for another…..never come between me and my daughter again because this time….we have a Hulk”. Suddenly the Hulk came roaring in and attacked Thanos just as my dad came in and shielded me with his body. “(Y/n), my darling, speak to me”. I glared at my father and didn’t say a word to him.

His eyes were full of hurt but who knows if that was even true.  See ever since my uncle’s coronation, my father and I have had a—rocky relationship.  After I found out it was him who led the Frost giants into Asgard during my uncle’s coronation, I never spoke to him.  Then when we fell off the Bifrost, I felt instant regret and mourned for his death as did my Uncle and grandmother.

Then a year later, I find out that he was alive after the fall and had tried to take over Midgard had it not been for my Uncle and his friends, The Avengers.  My father was then imprisoned for eternity for his crimes and when he did try to redeem himself by helping Uncle Thor and I with the Dark Elves, he died again this time in honor.  And yet again, I find out years later that he had been playing grandfather Odin all these years, never telling the truth.

Again, and again and again it’s always the same with him.  I’m his daughter, you think he’d be honest at least to me but no. He always leaves me in the dust, thinking I’ll be left an orphan and not even caring about me. Around the time when my aunt Hela was ruling Asgard, she saw the pain inside of me and even tried to teach me how to control that pain and have me side with her.

When my father and uncle returned from the realm of Sakaar with the last Valkyrie, an army of prisoners, and one of my Uncle’s friends, I took up my sword and fought against Hela until she was defeated by Raganarok itself.

But the pain I still felt never truly went away. Because it’s true.  My dad will never change, and to be honest, I think he stopped caring about me a long time ago.

Soon Thanos began to overpower the Hulk which was surprising since uncle Thor had talked about the Hulk being the second strongest after him, I thought he’d give us the upper hand but seeing the Hulk getting pulverized by Thanos, made me believe that nothing could stop this mad Titan.

Thor soon stepped in, hitting Thanos over the head with an iron pipe but it ended up breaking in two and with just a simple kick, my uncle was sent flying across the room before he was bound thanks to snake-head’s telekinetic powers.

With his last ounce of strength, I saw Heimdall reach for the Bifrost sword and he prayed to the Allfathers to give him strength to summon the Bifrost which sent the Hulk back to his home in Midgard.  Thanos came over Heimdall and was handed a staff by the same son who once had me in his grasp telling him that what he did was a mistake before stabbing him right in the stomach with the staff.

“NOOO!!!!” both me and my uncle cried out.  I looked to Heimdall, the man who was once my tutor for everything that stood in the galaxy. I remember as a small child; I would sneak out of the palace just to see the Bifrost and when Heimdall saw me, he never once told the guards of my presence, instead he tutored me on the entire galaxy.  Showed me the stars and the galaxies and what they were like through his eyes.

But now he was dead.

It was then Thanos was granted the Tesseract which held within its cubic barrier, the Space Stone. Thanos took the cube and crushed it in his palm leaving only dust and the Space Stone itself.  He took the stone and placed it right next to the Power Stone and he soon felt its power course through his body.  Now he was even more powerful than anyone in the galaxy, no one has ever survived holding one Infinity stone, but to have the power over two…..now the galaxy was doomed.

Thanos gave the order to his children that 2 more stones were on Earth and he told them to find them.  His children bowed before him and that’s when my father piped up.

“If I might interject,” his children stood up and turned around towards my father as he continued, “If you’re going to Earth, you might want a guide. I do have a bit of experience in that arena”.

“If you consider failure experience” said Thanos but my father interjected.

“I consider experience experience. Almighty Thanos…. I, Loki, Prince of Asgard…Odinson…the rightful King of Jotunheim, God of Mischief…do herby pledge to you….” It was then I took notice of his dagger taking shape in his left hand as he continued to say, “My undying fidelity”. My father bowed his head to finish off his pledge and stayed there for a moment before raising his dagger right up to Thanos’ neck but with the power of the Space stone, his attack stopped at just a hair length.

“Undying? You should choose your words more carefully” Thanos told my dad as he gripped his hand and squeezed it forcing him to drop his dagger.  He then picked my father up by the neck and lifted him up midair and watched as my father squirmed trying to free himself from his grasp.

“You…..will never be…..a god” my father strained out.  Then with the sound of bones cracking, he went limp right there in Thanos’ hand.

My heart sunk. It almost seemed inaudible of the scream I had let out.  Thanos then walked over towards me and dropped my father right in front of me and said.

“No resurrections this time”.  Then using the Power Stone, he destroyed our ship before using the Space stone to teleport him and his children out before our vessel exploded.  Uncle Thor was freed of his bonds and he crawled up toward us. I placed my head over his heart hoping that this was another illusion, somehow, he had to be tricking us again.  He always was.

Loki, the Trickster. God of Mischief. Now wake up damnit! Wake up! I looked up to uncle Thor and he just looked at me heartbroken as I was, and I cried into his shoulder as we both lay across my father’s corpse until finally the ship exploded.

I was surrounded by darkness.  I don’t know how long it was, maybe I was truly dead now.  Next thing I knew I heard a soft female voice telling me to wake and I shot up with my daggers on hand and I found myself in a small, crowded ship.  I looked to my right to see my Uncle standing there.

“Uncle?”

“(Y/n), oh thank Valhalla you’re alright!” I was brought to a strong embrace by my uncle and I buried my head into his neck and that’s when I took notice that we weren’t alone.  Standing behind us was a man, a green woman, another female with antennas, a humanoid tree, a strong, built man with blue skin and tattoos, and a small furry creature. All of them either pointing weapons at us or in a defensive position trying to appear threatening (mainly the girl with the antennas was doing that, everyone else pretty much had a weapon).

“Uncle, we aren’t alone” I said.  I was then put down and my uncle wrapped a protective arm around me and he said.

“Who the hell are you guys?”

As I was sipping on some soup, if that’s what they want to call it as the green-skinned woman began to explain Thanos’ quest to claim all 6 infinity stones in order to exterminate half the population and that once he did get all six, he could do it with a snap of his fingers.  My uncle said that she seemed to know a great deal of Thanos and that’s when the blue skinned tattooed man said that Gamora was the daughter of Thanos.

My head shot up and my felt my magic surge through me.  My eyes turned pure gold and I charged up towards her with my sword now visible in my hand, but I was stopped by my uncle who said.

“Sorry about my niece. It’s just that your father killed my brother, her father”. I pushed his hand aside and growled at him.

“Do not speak of him!” I stomped away to whatever privacy I had in this infertile compartment but there was barely any room that I could hide in and expulse my anger at. So I kicked the nearest thing I could find which was just the wall and I unleashed my Seidr and just let the magical blast shake the ship.

“Hey, Sabrina the teenage witch! Cool it you blast like that again you’ll tear my ship apart!” I heard the Midgardian man yell at me.  I collapsed to the ground and held my knees up to my chest and just sat there.

“(Y/n)” I looked up and through my teary eyes I saw my uncle standing before me.  I turned away from him and said.

“Please uncle, I—I wish to be left alone”.

“Do you though?” I sighed heavily and lowered my head into my knees.  I felt my uncle sit close beside me and he said. “I know what it feels like to lose your father, it’s been barely a week since your grandfather passed”.

“2 weeks actually”.

“What are you sure?”

“Yes, Hela arrived to Asgard 2 weeks ago that’s when she came and took me in after killing all of our soldiers, making me be just like her”.

“Wow, Sakaar’s time difference really is a pain in the ass”.

“You were going somewhere with this Uncle?”

“Right, right yes of course. What I’m trying to say is I know what you’re going through. You’re angry, sad, anxious….”

“No, you don’t understand uncle. It’s not the fact that my father is for once dead, it’s—what I told him before the attack”. I stood up and leaned up against the wall and began to explain, “I saw that he had the Tesseract shortly as we began to head to Earth, we argued and that’s when I finally snapped. I called him a lying, selfless tramp! I—I told him I hated him and that I was ashamed to be his daughter. I told him I never wanted to be associated with his name, that I would be (y/n), Daughter of Sigyn. Just of Sigyn’s bane. I couldn’t take all the secrecies, the lies, the deception! He—I even mentioned I hoped his soul would never be accepted into Valhalla because if I were to die, I’d never want to spend an eternity with him in death. Because that to me wouldn’t be Valhalla, but Hel”.

As tears fell down my face like a river and my shoulders shook with the sobs I tried to contain, I felt my uncle’s arms wrap around me and my head now resting on his chest.

“Your father was—always tough to reason with, especially for the past several years. But if there was anything he regretted in his entire life, it’s the disappointment that always came in your eyes every time he entered a room or was mentioned in a conversation. He told me in an elevator on Sakaar that one thing that held him back from staying was that he was going to prove himself to you, one way or another. He wanted to regain that light that always shined in your eyes every time you looked up at him when you were younger”.

I held onto my uncle tightly as I wept into his chest and I would even punch his chest to release my anger which he allowed me to do.  Whatever I needed to get my anger and guilt out, he allowed me to do.

A little awhile later, my uncle decided it would be best to go to Nidavellir to have a weapon that can kill Thanos once and for all.  The small rabbit and the humanoid tree, and me were to go while the rest of Guardians go to Knowhere to find Thanos before he got the Reality stone.

“Come on (y/n), we need to get there as fast as we can”. My Uncle said.

“Hate to break the news to you angel pirate but we can only fit the three of us, she won’t fit”.

“Nah she can shapeshift, we’ll be fine come on (y/n)”. I then stepped inside and my uncle wished the morons the best of luck and soon we took off.

Once the space pod left, I stepped out from behind the wall and said out loud.

“Finally, I thought he’d never leave”. The rest of the guardians jumped back, and the Midgardian man said to me.

“How the hell are you here? We just saw you go with your not handsome uncle”.

“That was an illusion. He may have been able to detect my father’s tricks but luckily for me, I never pulled as much tricks on my uncle, so he won’t be able to tell until it’s too late”.

“What do you mean?” asked Gamora as I revealed my sword.

“I’m going to help you kill Thanos”.

*Time skip to Knowhere mid battle*

We were too late. Knowhere had been destroyed.  At first when Gamora made the attack on Thanos, I knew it was too easy and it was then we realized that he had gotten the Reality stone and showed us the Knowhere was already in flames, much like my ship had been.

He placed Gamora in front of him and Peter Quill (I had found out their names shortly after we took off) had his blaster aimed right at Gamora.  Once he pulled the trigger, bubbles came out of his gun instead of usual gunfire.

“I like you” Thanos said to Peter.

“Then you’re sure as Hel going to love me”. I then came down and managed a hard kick right at Thanos’ face.  I skid across what remained of the catwalk and withdrew out my sword.

“The Daughter of Loki, Princess of Asgard” he said.

“I am no Princess, and my father is dead because of you! I’m gonna make you pay for what you did to my people! And to him!” I twirled my sword and leapt forward and let out a rageful battle cry as I held my sword ready to attack.  Thanos soon disappeared from my sight but I felt him right behind me, I soon disappeared into a red beam of light just before anything could happen.

“You’re not the only one who can bend reality, you purple bastard!” I then appeared behind him and slashed him across the face with my sword before sending a powerful kick right into his chest.  Thanos was now down on the ground supporting a slash across his face and a dent into his chest plate armor.  I stood over him and I pointed my sword down at him and said to him the same words as he said about my father. “No resurrections this time”.

“Indeed”. Suddenly I grabbed by my hair.  Thanos disappeared into red mist much like before and I was turned around and the real Thanos stood behind me holding me much like he held my father.  “You are more sprightful than your father was, perhaps I should have sought you out to retrieve the Tesseract all those years ago instead of him”.

I squirmed in his hold as he now held me by the throat squeezing me, just he had done my father.

“But it would seem my child, you will suffer the same fate as he did”. Then something happened that not even Thanos could expect.  His eyes widened as he felt something go right through him.

“The Infinity stones you’ve obtained so far may have given you the powers of us Gods, but not even you can dodge an attack if you can’t see it coming!” Standing right behind me was me holding my sword piercing through myself in order to get right to Thanos’ weak spot.  He groaned in pain and that’s when I heard Quill’s voice say.

“Yeah! Take that yah big purple bastard! Way to go Princess! Now vanish that illusion and we’ll get the hell out of here with that gauntlet of his”.  I chuckled and said.

“You really think I’m the real (y/n)?” The me that spoke flickered red signaling that she was just an illusion.

“But—why? You damn, stubborn kid why’d you have to go all kamikaze on yourself?”

“It was the only way to ensure he at least got a scratch on him before he got anymore stones. That and for my uncle to see that at least one of us got to him for my father’s death”. My illusion spoke.  While the real me with my own sword still piercing through my stomach as well as Thanos’ smirked weakly and I choked out.

“Long live King Loki. Long live…..my father”. Thanos then kicked me and I phased through my illusion and the last thing I felt was weightless.  

I felt free, at least now he was weaker than when he started and at least now….I hoped my dad was watching this somewhere and that he was proud of me.  Wherever he was.  Next thing I knew, I was on solid ground, my sword pushed further into my back, the blade almost piercing entirely through, my arms extended outward like I had wings, my hair in full display around me like a Halo, and a pool of blood coating me as I felt the last ounce of life leave me.

And what I may have forgot to mention, my sword the one I had used to stab Thanos and give my life for the galaxy, was a gift from my father.

When I awoke, I found myself surrounded by bright light.  I felt around the center of my stomach to feel no blood or wounds whatsoever. I stood up and walked around before hearing a voice behind me say.

“I see you made it, my Princess”. I turned around and I saw a very familiar face.

“Heimdall” I stated happily.

“Welcome to Valhalla, your highness”. I embraced my mentor when I caught sight of another familiar figure.  The long black hair, the green cape, the different clothes after Sakaar and the battle of Asgard…..it was him.  I looked to Heimdall and he nodded to me once before walking away from me.

I cautiously walked up towards him, much like a frightened lion cub till I finally stood beside him.

“When you were first born, I looked down at you and said to myself ‘I am not worthy of this child’ ‘she deserves better’. And for years, I’ve continued that road with all my fake deaths and tricks. But when Thanos finally ended my life,” he fully turned towards me and placed both his hands on my shoulders as I refused to look at him not because of anger, but of guilt. “The one person who I thought was more than happy to see me gone, had proven me wrong,” my father lifted my jawline up so that I was forced to look my father in the eye as he continued, “With the heart of a lioness, and the strength and soul of a Valkyrie. You are the only person to ever truly land a blow to Thanos. And I….Am honored to call that person, my daughter”.

I remained silent until I finally broke down and embraced my dad as tight as I could.

“Oh, daddy I didn’t mean any of those things I said!” I sobbed out.

“Oh my sweet pet,” he separated me from him and I wept.

“I was just so angry and I—I am proud to be called your daughter, I hoped that you would be here. I didn’t want to be alone anymore, and I said to you…..I said that I hated you, I hurt you and….”

“Hey, my sweet girl, it’s okay, it’s okay”. He held my head over his heart as I whimpered out.

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry for everything I—”

“All is forgiven, all is forgiven my sweet,” he whispered comfortingly.  He held onto me tightly as I snuggled further into his embrace.

We now sat together looking at Valhalla’s endless paradise garden together watching the sunset. I was leaning against my dad’s lap as I felt his hand softly stroke through my hair and scalp.  Now knowing that even in death, my father and I would still be together for eternity and I would not have it any other way.

[aardvark-123]

Gensokyo Festival day 6: Danmaku

~Note from Toyosatomimi no Miko~

Dear reader,

There was recently a fracas involving myself, three of my allies and a group of Budhhists. People on Both Sides did things they would later turn out to regret, but public opinion has, as per usual, shifted in favour of the vegetarian youkai-loving crowd. Through no fault of his own, the young scribe writing these stories fell for the Myouren Temple's propaganda and wrote a heavily-biased and inaccurate version of the incident based on Shou Toramaru's account.

I reached out to Aardvark123 in order to clear up some misconceptions about the Taoists; namely, that we are all arrogant bullies who say "ohohohoho~!" and use tickling as a method for conquest, and that we lost the fight. The result was actually a tie. It is true that Byakuren force-fed me my earmuffs, but I succeeded in shoving that ridiculous straw hat up her nose shortly afterwards.

The following story has been fact-checked by Hieda no Akyuu and is an accurate representation of me and my companions. A little artistic license has been employed, but not so much as to mislead the reader. I hope you enjoy it. Now, um, what was that phrase the scribe used to keep using which he thought made him sound cool...? Oh, yes. On with the story!

~Do I Have to Spell it Out For You?~

"Futo, you brought the amulets, didn't you?"

Futo nodded and held up a sack of paper charms.

"Lovely. Tojiko, how are we for provisions?"

"Six peanut butter sandwiches, as promised."

"Good show!" Miko vaulted over the rusted gate. "Keep an eye out for the phantom and don't touch anything. All right, follow me!"

Futo stepped over the gate. Tojiko drifted through it. They ran/floated quickly down the overgrown path in Miko's wake and stopped in front of the Forbidden Pagoda.

Miko kicked through the half-rotten doors, spilling splintered planks onto the cracked floor. She drew her sword and set it aglow with a warm yellow light, turning the dark, cluttered hallway into a patchwork of shadows and faint light.

Futo gasped as something crunched under her feet. She looked down in amazement at a pile of broken pottery in the middle of the floor.

"Now, Lady Sato told us there were sixteen floors in this tower, so we'll have to fight our way through two floors an hour if we want to be done in time for dinner. Are you up for it?" asked Miko.

Futo groaned. "Thou settled upon a fine moment to reveal this detail, O Prince... I hath a date with the fair Lady Kumoi."

"You'll live," said Tojiko. "I brought enough food, right?"

"Aye," sighed Futo. "Dost thou feel she wilt understand mine dilemma?"

"Nope!" smiled Tojiko.

The trio made sure to check all the rooms as they crept down the hallway. Tojiko was almost disappointed by the lack of ghosts to fight. Futo tested the first flight of stairs with a plate and stepped slowly up to the second floor.

"It is safe," whispered Futo.

As soon as the words had fallen from her lips, blinding white light filled the room. Futo yelped and covered her eyes.

"Futo! What happened?!" Miko ran up the stairs. She cried out as she full force of the light met her eyes, searing a yellow afterimage onto her eyelids. "Oh, my gods! Put it out! Put it out!"

The light faded to a soft white glow. Futo and Miko's vision returned after a few seconds.

"I don't know what you two were complaining about. It's not that bright..." said Tojiko, emerging from the stairway.

They were standing at the end of a long, wide hallway lined with torn paper walls. The white glow seemed to come from everywhere, casting no shadows and leaving no bright patches. Futo's skin turned eerily white as she stepped away from the stairs.

"Well, this is weird," Tojiko bravely declared.

"Those boys said they saw a white light coming from in here, didn't they?" said Miko. "Maybe the phantom's scared of the dark."

"What a strange thought," said Futo.

Miko cupped her hands over her mouth. "Yoo-hoo! Hey, ghost, we're here to exterminate you! As in duel you and take you home for tea! Come out, come out wherever you are!"

A tall woman dressed all in white drifted down through the ceiling. Her greasy black hair hung over her eyes and waved slowly as if caught in a breeze.

"Didn't think that would work," muttered Tojiko.

"We've been hearing some complaints about you, ghost woman," said Miko, ignoring Tojiko magnificently. "Trespassing, rattling wind chimes, stealing jam tarts... Does any of that ring a bell?"

The phantom opened her mouth to respond, but all that escaped was a long, low moan like a gale blasting through the pagoda. The hall  grew a mile wide, a mile high and two miles long, leaving the startled Taoists in midair.

The phantom smiled. A bright white orb formed between her outstretched hands and drifted forwards.

"Here it comes..." Miko raised her sword. "Get ready, sisters!"

An ethereal golden teapot formed above Tojiko's head and there was no more time for words. The white orb rocketed towards the teapot. Tojiko dove aside, the orb sparking against her tails as it flew, but the teapot teleported a split second too soon.

Miko felt a sudden warmth around her knees. She looked down in some alarm to see the teapot hovering behind her. The orb was screaming towards her knees. She shot upwards. "Futo! Move!"

Futo moved, just in time to fly through the teapot as it materialised in front of her. The taste of tea pulsated through her soul, then the orb smacked into her head with a decisive pichuuu~n.

"Are you all right?!" cried Tojiko.

Futo groaned and rubbed her nose. "I shall be fine..."

A dozen deep blue orbs popped into the air around the phantom. She moaned again and hurled them forth. The golden teapot shattered in a burst of sparks, leaving the white orb at a bit of a loose end.

The blue orbs were screaming towards the Taoists. "Dive!" shouted Miko, launching herself towards the distant floor.

The orbs streaked overhead. The white sphere shot into the sky as they drew close. It soared out through the hallway, the blue orbs in hot pursuit.

Futo looked at Miko. "Hast thou any theory on what may be afoot?"

"I don't know..." Miko's eyes widened as the white sphere arced back around and started coming towards them. "Heads up, you two!"

The trio wove between the rushing blue orbs. They barely had time to react, so fast were the bullets, but they came through unscathed.

"I'll fix her," snarled Tojiko. "Thunder Arrow: Gagouji's Tornado!"

Zigzagging bolts of lightning fanned out from Tojiko's sparking hands. The phantom just sat there, motionless, as the lightning fizzled past her. A bolt eventually struck her, eliciting a piercing shriek of pain.

The ghost's glowing orbs trembled in the air. The white sphere turned abruptly and rushed towards the blue swarm. It struck an orb, shattering it into hundreds of glowing shards that quickly turned blood-red.

Miko cried out in pain as a shard struck her chest.

"Beware, sisters! These shards are bullets!" Futo warned her a couple of seconds late.

The white orb smashed through two more blue spheres in quick succession. The Taoists braced themselves for the tide of crimson shards and wove deftly through it. A shard tore a hole in Futo's sleeve.

"I have a plan! Get under my cape!" Miko ordered. A slightly confused Futo and Tojiko dove under the garment just as three more blue orbs bit the dust and thousands of bullets poured towards them.

"Hermit Sign: Emperor of the Land of the Rising Sun!"

A wave of golden light pulsed out from Miko, overwhelming the crimson bullets with ease. The light burned like the sun. Huddled behind their friend, Futo and Tojiko found themselves sweating from the heat.

When the light cleared, all the blue orbs were gone and the phantom was curled protectively around the white one. She hissed angrily when she caught sight of Miko and tossed the white orb up over her head.

The white orb flashed three times and grew dim as three smaller orbs materialised around it. One was yellow, one was green and one was sky-blue. The phantom raised her arms and roared.

The blue orb surged forwards, throwing teardrop-shaped bullets in all directions. The yellow orb shot blazing spears of yellow light through the barrage. The green orb hung back and spat out a slow-moving web of electricity.

"Is she making fun of us?" Tojiko did not look best pleased.

"She'd better not be." Miko's muscles tensed as the bullets drew near. "All right, follow my lead! I can see a way through-"

A blue bullet struck Miko in the knee. Futo dove to catch her and took a yellow spear in the face. Tojiko wove desperately towards them but the web of lightning caught her, zapping her until her hair stood on end.

The phantom laughed triumphantly. Energy poured out of the coloured spheres and into her chest. Above her head, the golden teapot reappeared.

"Yes, Tojiko, I do believe she's making fun of us..." groaned Miko. "Are you two all right?"

"I am fine," said Futo bravely.

"I'll live..." said Tojiko.

"All right, then. Charge!"

"What?!"

"You heard me!" Miko launched herself at the yellow orb. She raised her sword, bellowed a fearsome battle-cry and cut the orb in half. It burst in a shower of yellow stars.

Tojiko could hardly believe it worked, but she wasn't about to complain. The twin-tailed ghost charged the green orb and zapped it until it exploded.

Futo took aim and threw a plate at the blue orb. It bounced off and sent Tojiko's hat tumbling downwards. Ignoring the angry tirade, Futo summoned Ame no Iwafune and shot forwards. The orb burst on the boat's wooden prow.

"Good work, sisters! Now let's get her!" suggested  Miko.

"Give me a moment, will you?!" Tojiko was still flying after her hat.

Miko breathed a deep, heartfelt sigh. "You're ready, right, Futo?"

"Aye. If we surround this phantom, we should be able to, um..." Futo paused. To her amazement, the ghost was crying into her phantasmal teapot. "Hold on. Why would she cry at a moment such as this?"

"Obviously she's trying to lull us into a false sense of security! Come on, Futo, you know better than this!" said Miko urgently.

"No! Crown Prince, this maketh no sense!" Futo took a deep breath. "The teapot. The orb chasing the teapot. The orbs chasing the first orb. The first orb retaliating. And then more orbs, based upon ourselves, that allowed the phantom to regain her teapot... I believe she is trying to speak unto us!"

"You... You do?" Miko's eyebrows rose. "About what, exactly?"

"I... Perhaps the white orb representeth the ghost, and the dark blue orbs... The villagers she slew? In which case, the tea pot should represent..."

"Something she wants us to give her!" said Tojiko, reemerging between her friends. "Those three orbs weren't her making fun of us, they were her way of asking for a favour!"

"But what?!" cried Miko.

"The crockery I did step on!" squeaked Futo. "By Jove, the phantom desireth her teapot! Forsooth, without it she shall never be able to rest!"

"YES! YES! You got it! Finally!"

The Taoist trio started at the phantom's shout.

"I was going nuts waiting for you to figure it out! I mean, come on, that last spell-card was sooooo obvious! Anyone could've worked it out from that." The stringy-haired phantom was drifting towards them. Her voice was normal apart from a slight echo. "Yes, as a matter of fact I am a vengeful spirit, here 'cause my stupid sister broke my favourite teapot. Your job is to put it back together!"

Miko looked at Tojiko. Tojiko looked at Futo. Futo looked at Miko.

"I didn't bring any glue," said Miko nervously.

"We'll use the peanut butter," Tojiko decided.

[esselley]

Kinktober #14: Role Reversal

Set early on in Kingdom of Crows verse! This is about 0.02% sexy, and idk what the rest is besides dramatic scene setting/Kageyama being extremely in love

They called it “The City”, sometimes.

It was in jest; because it was anything but. The underground maze of tunnels, sewers, and dungeon-like halls beneath Corvus had no infrastructure, no rhyme or reason to the wretchedness.

The Kingdom of Crows thrived upon madness, breathed life into chaos.

Amidst the rabble, Kageyama felt like he could finally make sense of things again. He pulled his hood further over his head, hiding his face in shadows. Suspicious, perhaps, but the more suspicious he appeared down below the surface, the less people would question him. Everyone minded their own business, as long as he minded his own. No one cared about a lanky boy in patched clothes wandering about, when there were so many others just like him at every turn. No one might guess who he truly was.

He wasn’t afraid, down there, despite the dank, unsavory nature of that world. He could more than handle himself in a fight, if anyone had disliked his look enough to start one. Sometimes fights were the fastest way to a friendship, depending on the opponent; and Kageyama, over the years, had made quite a few friends that way. Any of them just might happen to be passing by, to come to his aid if things got messy. The City was funny like that; so many eyes in so many places, and never a clear picture of who was watching who. Like circling scavenge birds, always waiting for an opportunistic moment.

And in dire circumstances, he had one singular friend on whom he could always rely. He liked to fight his own battles, but he knew that even a lion could be defeated by a million stinging ants. So around his neck, he wore a thick signet ring, dangling from the end of a cord. One glimpse of it would send anyone who valued their lives fleeing. They would all know the symbol engraved in the gold—a crown, with the sun carved behind it. It had been a symbol of rebellion, first, and then of hope. The crest of the newly crowned king of thieves.

It was nearly the same design as was stamped on the ring tucked safely away in a chest under Kageyama’s bed. This ring marked Kageyama himself as the crown prince of Corvus, future king—but his was devoid of the sun. That had been a new addition, made by the new thief king; a reminder.

He was as much a king as Kageyama would one day be. But he and his people longed for the light.

Deeper into the maze, Kageyama arrived at a door, wooden and unmarked. He rapped on it, and a small section near the top slid back. Inside was darkness. A guttural voice croaked out of it, “No room for beggars here.”

Kageyama pulled the ring from under his shirt, holding it up in front of the peephole. He knew the password would change every day, but he had his token for passage. Shortly thereafter, the door creaked open, and he slipped inside.

It was pitch black. He heard the sound of the door being deadbolted and shut behind him and waited, unsure of who the guardsman might be. Then someone spoke right in his ear, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“No need for princes, either.”

He knew that voice, now it was undisguised. He turned in the dark as arms embraced him, as hands were laid warm upon his face, and then, even more welcome, a most familiar mouth pressed to his own. The lips were rough on his, and already smiling.

“I can just leave, if you’d prefer,” Kageyama mumbled against them. He caught a glimpse of a golden glimmer in the darkness—eyes, lit from within, looking up at him.

Hinata slid a hand to grip the back of his neck tighter, possessively. Kageyama knew Hinata could see him quite clearly in the dark, a boon of his fae blood. It had made him a good thief and a better spy.

“You know perfectly well what I meant.”

“Mmm.” It meant that here was the one place, where Kageyama didn’t have to play the part of a prince.

“Thought you still might not be able to come,” Hinata said, fingers tracing the outline of his jaw.

He wasn’t normally this soft, and Kageyama held completely still out of habit, afraid to startle him—afraid it would stop. In actuality, it had been years since Hinata had bothered to hide the way he felt, but it was still rare for him to allow either of them such a long moment of vulnerability. Maybe it was the dark, or maybe it was going so long without seeing each other.

Two months ago, the long fight for control of the Kingdom of Crows had finally come to an end, and Hinata had been named its new king. Kageyama had been there that night, but the chaos caused by the upheaval would have ripple effects felt even in the royal city, and so, to be on the safe side, they had said goodbye. Neither of them knew how long he might have to stay away, how long security might be increased and the prince could not be found missing, for fear of raising the alarm.

But then, a fortnight ago, a crow had landed on Kageyama’s windowsill, and a glint of gold had caught his eye. Tied around its leg was the signet ring and a messily scrawled map with a golden X to mark where Hinata could be found.

As soon as he could, Kageyama had snuck out, to go underground, to reach the X, to come back to the pickpocket boy who had become a king.

“You missed me, did you?” Kageyama said, aware he was pushing his luck. “Sending an official summons.”

Instead of growing annoyed, Hinata suddenly kissed him fiercely. “You belong with me,” he said, so fervently it cut Kageyama’s breath short. “If I am king then I would have you by my side.”

Kageyama gulped at air. He had no idea how to respond to this brash honesty. Growing up, he had learned that it was a monarch’s right, to call upon those subjects who were dearest to them. And it was an honor to be called, as his father had impressed upon him so many times, when he’d forced Kageyama to stand with him, to show the people to whom they must bow. It hadn’t felt like an honor, then. But it did now.

“I—I’m here,” he finally said.

“You came when I called,” Hinata emphasized, sounding entirely too pleased. Kageyama knocked their foreheads together, a little harder than was necessary. “Come on—you’re just in time for dinner.”

Kageyama felt at first a slight reluctance, at leaving the dark behind, where all he had to focus on was Hinata’s touch. But the feeling was soon replaced by amazement, as Hinata led him from the long tunnel out into the light.

He blinked, adjusting to the change, as Hinata strode on before him—back straight, head held high. He was not tall, by any means, but he’d always taken up space. It had been too long since they’d seen one another, Kageyama thought, stalled for a moment as he looked fondly upon the flame-red hair, the still slightly narrow shoulders. Two children ran forward upon their entrance, and Hinata stopped, lowering himself to one knee. They put his gold crown on his head, and his cloak on his back—black and torn, like crow feathers.

Kageyama saw suddenly, like a vision, an impression of the man Hinata would grow into. It seemed right, that Hinata should wear a crown, now, and in the future.

They had emerged into a cavernous space, the high ceiling home to an uncountable number of mismatched chandeliers hanging from the rafters; iron, wood, glass—hundreds, maybe thousands of flickering lights between all of them. Some of the flames were mage fire, dancing in all different colors. It made the huge room warm and comfortable, which Kageyama thought might have been intentional, given the people gathered there.

“Hinata…” Kageyama murmured under his breath, “you realize the Tanaka siblings are sitting at your dinner table…”

Hinata flashed him an over the shoulder grin. “They showed up just last week, actually. She said she might like to see what the change in leadership might bring.”

The Tanakas were two of the most feared assassins in the lower kingdom. It was said that they never turned away a client, and anyone could afford them, rich or poor—but might not always like the price they would have to pay. Nonetheless, they’d been instrumental as a part of Hinata’s coup to take the crown, not as killers, but as information brokers. They had more dealings with the brother, who Kageyama had realized possessed a kinder heart than it might be wise to let others find out about. The sister was ruthless, and preferred to observe the outcome from afar, but was protective of her brother to a fault.

Not three seating places down from them, the fire mage Taketora had his feet kicked up onto the table. He seemed to be engaged in a staring match with the younger Tanaka, smoke curling off his shoulders and the top of his head in his agitation. Kageyama felt a slight sense of apprehension—none of them were sure, but there were rumors Taketora was part fire elemental. His temper was legendarily explosive, and paired with Ryuu’s, Kageyama couldn’t imagine it would be long before a fight erupted.

But Hinata only looked amused. “They’ve been doing that for days now, but I’ve never had to break anything up. I think part of that may be because of Saeko. But also, I think they’re just curious about each other.”

There were more people at the table that Kageyama would have never expected to see all sitting in one place, let alone (mostly) peacefully. But it would be a disservice to Hinata not to recognize the reason for it.

“You did this,” Kageyama said. “You… brought all these people together. In just two months?”

“It’s a fragile truce,” Hinata admitted, as he took his seat at the head of the long table. Kageyama sat at his right hand. “But it is a truce. And it will get better. It has to.”

Kageyama nodded. Hinata was always saying that people were stronger together. It was the opposite of what Kageyama had been taught growing up—that it was only his will, standing sure and alone, that mattered. He had been told depending on others would make him weak, but he knew now that wasn’t true.

“So,” Hinata said, as they helped clear plates away after the meal was finished. “You’re impressed, right?” This part was a little different, Kageyama knew; the king rolling up his sleeves to help scrub dishes clean. But Hinata wouldn’t have suddenly become too high and mighty to lift a finger for himself.

Kageyama, who had offered to help dry the dishes, snorted. “That’s what you’re concerned with? A couple months spent restructuring an entire kingdom and you want to know whether or not you’ve bowled me over?”

“Well, yeah, that’s the fun part,” Hinata said shamelessly.

In retaliation, Kageyama leaned down to kiss his cheek. “Come talk to me when you can beat me in a fight.”

Hinata squawked indignantly, pushing him away, before surreptitiously looking around to see if anyone had noticed. The earlier, mature image Kageyama had seen of him was instantly dashed, replaced by the boy he’d known who turned bright red whenever he held Kageyama’s hand.

“You’re trying to ruin my reputation,” Hinata accused him, poking at Kageyama’s belly.

“I ruined that ages ago,” Kageyama said with a grin. Hinata could act like no one knew about the two of them, but it didn’t change the fact that everyone knew. It was another of the reasons Kageyama liked staying down there. It was alright, that everyone knew.

Here, Hinata was king, and Kageyama was nobody (or he was the enemy, blood of the king above running through his veins), but it was alright. Here, it was alright that he let Hinata take him back to his room, to where they would share the same small bed, the same pillows, the same heat under the covers. Here, no one would take Hinata away from him.

“Oh-ho,” Hinata said, propped on his arms over Kageyama, looking down at him in the dim light of candle on the bedside table. “So you were impressed.” He trailed sneaky, practised fingers over the front of Kageyama’s pants and Kageyama arched his back into his touch, needy and irritated and in love, all at once.

“Maybe I care nothing for the crown,” Kageyama said petulantly, as Hinata coaxed his hips up, rid him of his clothes, tickled his throat with the tip of his nose. He couldn’t help but soften, the more Hinata kissed him. “Maybe I just care about the one wearing it.”

“Suit yourself,” Hinata whispered. Once he was inside Kageyama, once Kageyama had buried his fingers in his hair and held on tight enough that he could almost believe he’d never have to leave Hinata again, Hinata told him, triumphant: “Right now, it feels damn good being king.”

That’s because he’s already a great one, Kageyama thought, afterwards, lying facing Hinata, staring at the other boy’s elfin face. He was always so lively that seeing him asleep was slightly shocking.

Hinata had dreamed of this. He’d wanted to seize the crown, he’d wanted to pave the path for his people. For Kageyama, who was used to hating the inevitability of his future reign, this had seemed unthinkable. But the longer he’d known Hinata, the better he’d understood.

It wasn’t enough to want to be king for the crown alone. He had to want more—he had to want something for himself.

He brushed Hinata’s hair off his face and pressed a kiss to his forehead, careful not to wake him.

“If I am king,” he whispered, “then I want you by my side. Always.” He snuffed out the candle and curled up against the little ball of heat in the bed next to him.

Hinata had overturned an entire kingdom to achieve his dream. And Kageyama, if he must, would do the very same.

More Kinktober? If you’re not sure, maybe these will reverse your opinion...

[justaramblingromantic]

Dragon Song

Characters/Pairing: Nakiri Alice and Kurokiba Ryou, Nakiri Leonora and Nakiri Soe/ RyoAli, SoeNora

Type: Fantasy/Medieval!AU, Dragon Heart!verse, Freestyle, Established Relationship

Word Count: 2429

A/N I: Was absently doing some side character development/planning for Dragon Heart, but said side characters ran off with the plot (at least this particular branch of the Nakiri family did), so I ended up with this drabble. For this, I blame all of you spreading the RyoAli!germs around - I’m coming down with another case of OTP!withdrawal and this was probably the result...! 

A/N II: Will put up a glossary (of sorts) to explain some terms at the endnote, so for now just hang tight and enjoy! 

She woke up alone but was entirely unsurprised; her partner was an early riser and by now he knew better than to rouse her from her slumber until she was good and ready to do so on her own. Stretching out like a drowsy feline tangled amongst heavy pelts of cozy furs, she rolled over onto her belly and briefly snuggled into the faint indent on his side of the tent. His warmth was long gone, leeched away by the relentless chill of the Northern morn, but his scent still lingered and she inhaled happily, filling her lungs with sea salt brine and musky spice.

She was content to curl into the nook he had left behind, at least for a little while more, dozing, and it was another hour or so before she was roused enough to start her day, as the sun drifted higher up over the pale blue skies and the temperature started to warm…just slightly. Even though it was summer, this far North in Tootsuki, the weather was almost always freezing. Sitting up languidly, the fur covers slipped down her lush figure, revealing alabaster curves and silken skin, gooseflesh already starting to pebble from the cold, but she seemed impervious otherwise. Running her slender fingers through sleep tousled silver hair, she started to hum softly under her breath as she finally left the warmth of the furred bedding and crawled out of the tent, entirely, unabashedly, nude as she stood before the empty campground, sloe-eyed crimson surveying the breathtaking view before her.

Steep, craggy snowcapped glacier mountains stretched towards the endless crystal blue skies an impossible distance away. A few meters from where she stood, a fjord that fed into the sea snaked out before her, the calm surface pristine like a mirror’s reflection, twining sinuously through the vast and stark alpine ranges, carved into sheer bedrock stretching for hundreds of miles after millions of years of inchingly slow, geological upheaval. There was hardly any vegetation all around; nothing but the glaring white of snow and the contrasting dark greyness of rocky, jagged valleys and quietly lapping water. The harsh Northern sun bore down overhead, almost biting in its sheer intensity, but everything turned to gold where it touched.

This was home.

Beautiful but desolate. Harsh and unforgiving at times, but she would not have it any other way, just as she could not imagine living anywhere else. Her blood was tied here; she was born to this breathtakingly bleak, vast, untamed land, and here she would always return to.

It seemed like she was the only sentient being for miles and miles around, but appearances could be deceiving. She knew that she wasn’t alone; he was somewhere around too…

She wandered a few steps closer to the water’s edge, comfortably barefoot, yet her movements remained airy and graceful as a dancer. Ethereal. She was in a good mood, but then again, she had every right to be, her body loose and limber, still thrumming, glowing and well loved…

She opened her mouth, and started to sing.

Her head voice was haunting, a pristine, lingering kulning vocalized in the lost language of her people. Long, carrying notes echoed off the mountain ranges, resounding across the fjord and the valleys with lilting clarity, an impressive pitch carrying crystal clear over incredible distances. Her song was riveting, enthralling, captivating the hearts and minds of all who were within hearing range, immediately held in the adamantine grip of her lulling, enchanting voice.

She closed her eyes and sang the story of a beautiful Leanan Sidhe, with a head of fine silver hair like moonspun silk and mesmerizing eyes of blood rubies. She was the most beautiful of her kind; flawless skin of ivory, the spellbinding face of an angel’s, the willowy, graceful figure of the fae…and a divine voice that could send grown men dropping to their knees in prayer and euphoric worship.

There were none who could resist her exquisite presence – she was deeply loved by all who set eyes on her, who so much as heard her sublime songs. There were men who would kill for her, who would die gladly for her, just for the sheer privilege of hearing her sing.

But this beautiful Leanan Sidhe, even though adored and idolized by mortals – she was always sad, because for all of her endless wanderings across the realms, never once had she found that which she was fruitlessly searching for. A deep, persisting void grew in her chest day by day, a gaping emptiness that she sought in vain to fill through the enraptured, tortured souls who yearned for her but could never possess her, but their dedicated, ardent infatuations were never enough even when they surrendered their all to her. In despair and sorrow, this muse of the fae resigned herself to a miserable, wretched fate of constantly seeking…though for what…or whom…she knew not.

Perhaps this was the curse afflicted to those of her kind. Just as her beguiling presence elicited sheer madness and obsessive inspiration in the fractured minds of mortal men, so was she doomed to forever seeking for the elusive something that she would never find, that she would never be allowed to experience this feverish, frenetic euphoria and blissful anguish that she hungered for the most. 

Love.

But one day, that all changed.

One day, passing across the violent, frenetic aftermath of a bloody battlefield, the Leanan Sidhe chanced upon a dying mortal man.

He was a Prince amongst men, an honorable warrior who fought valiantly for his men and for his Kingdom. In battle, he was ferocious and heroic, and even in defeat, the loyal, steadfast song that his soul sang with such strength and courage captivated her completely.

When she laid eyes on him, everything else fell away. Nestled cold and still in her chest, something trembled and started to stir. Her alabaster complexion tinged rose. Her fathomless crimson eyes glistened with the beginnings of emotion. Her breath caught in her throat.

She had spent her long, lonely existence searching forlornly for something that she knew not a thing about, but yet, at that very instant, she comprehended immediately and with complete certainty that she had found it. This precious, precious, most exquisite thing.  

For his song resonated in such harmony with her own that it could not be mistaken for anything else.

Her eyes filled with tears. He was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen, perfect in his human imperfection. He was hers.

And she could tell, from the moment their gazes met, that he had felt the inevitable pull too. She could not let him perish, now that she had finally, finally found him. So she took his life as her own instead, in the only way she knew how, in the only way she was allowed to. Tethering his soul to hers, binding them both together because that was right and that was how it should have been from the very beginning, how it should always be. Never mind that she would shorten her own immortal existence and share his human lifespan instead – for what possible existence could she have without her heart with her?

Song of my heart, you are the only song I’ll sing for the rest of my life.

And for this warrior Prince, she was his, too. Light of his life. Her beauty, her grace, her love both humbled and strengthened him. She was something that he did not entirely understand, but whose mysteries he would gladly spend the rest of his life trying to unravel. For her, he would use his shield and his sword to create a life they could share, build her a home in which to raise a family that was both his and hers. She was his muse, his motivation, his inspiration. Wife. Lover. Soulmate. Their joyous union eventually bore fruit in the form of a beautiful baby girl, a little halfling princess who was every bit as exquisite and spirited as her fae mother and brave and righteous as her royal father.

One day, this curious and fearless child princess of the North met a wild Jörmungandr dragonling…

The young woman standing right before the water’s edge allowed her pure, heady voice to trail off slowly, until the tender, dreamy, beguiling notes faded away completely, inadvertently imbuing the now utterly silent countryside with the faintest touch of the Otherworld. Smiling playfully, she reopened her eyes, a flicker of impish mischief glimmered in those unearthly captivating, ruby depths as she steadily, fearlessly met the dangerous, slit pupiled ones of the colossal serpent that she had summoned out of the deep fjord with her song.

The creature before her was amongst some of the most ferocious and savage looking species of dragons to exist. Cold, glittering red eyes, angular jaws lined with rows upon rows of razor sharp fangs each easily standing as tall as a full-grown man, and an intimidating, fearsome face plate studded with an impressive array of deadly horns and jagged spikes. Massive, impenetrable matte black scales covered the entire span of its long, coiling body, dynamically streamlined yet muscular. Sleek fins adorned its back and powerful tail. It possessed no limbs or wings, but this monolithic, aquatic dragon did not require any to swiftly, silently, glide through the icy, dark waters of its expansive territories as easily as though it was flying through air.

It reared its gargantuan head out of the water to peer at her, transparent nictitating membranes sliding back to uncover sharply intelligent reptilian eyes, arcing near enough that the icy water sluicing off the defined ridges of its armored hide threatened to soak her, but the young woman remained unafraid of this danger coming so close to her.

Because there was nothing to be afraid of.

Because, just as her father could never resist her mother’s call, so too was this particular dragon unable to resist hers.

Alice reached out and rested her hand on her mate’s massive snout.

“Ryou, I’m cold~”

His mind-voice rumbled in her head in reply, the same flat baritone as always tinged with exasperation.

…That’s ‘coz you’re naked as a jaybird right now, Princess.

She ignored his droll comment stating the obvious. It was really hard to seduce a three hundred feet long (at the moment) dragon, but she was determined to get her way all the same.

“Warm me up. Now!”

As you wish.

He obliged easily enough, snorting enough that the waters surrounding him were literally vibrating, and she pulled a face at the strong gust of warm air that nearly blew her backwards. Dragon breath. She squawked loudly and tottered a bit, stamping her feet in pique, looking less and less like the exquisitely graceful beauty that she had become, and more like the spoilt, tempestuous child brat he had known for almost all of his life.

“That’s not what I meant!!”

The faint flicker of amusement that radiated from him was almost enough to make her scowl and pout.

No time for that, Princess. Those envoys that your cousin Her Majesty sent from the capital will be here soon, and your father’s still waiting for us to report in after this patrol. Let’s go home.

She did not even blink when in a flash, that massive dragon before her shifted fluidly back into the form of a tall, well-built, dark haired man standing right before her. A very handsome in that wild, feral looking way, healthy, very fit man-god that she was trying really hard not to ogle at. Did she also mention that he was stark naked and dripping wet as well??

She managed to compose herself (and her unruly hormones) enough to give him a disdainful sniff instead, nose stuck high in the air and head turned away from him in petulant rejection.

“Noooo~ I’m not going anywhere until I feel like it, hmphh!”

He squinted slowly at her, expression still deadpan as always. She was obviously forgetting something important here.

In the past, he often indulged her tantrums because that was how it had always been done, thanks to the lenient and loving actions of her overly doting parents. Now, things were a bit different and his mark that sat on her left breast indicated as much. He stepped up to her, lowered his head and nipped at her exposed neck, fangs scraping tantalizingly against her porcelain flesh, one large, lean hand coming up to cup her bare chest, right over her thrumming heart, just in time to feel her pulse stutter at his casually possessive action.

She folded very quickly after that; just as he was unable to resist her call, so was she equally weak to his claim. He took advantage of her momentary distraction to pick her up and heft her over his shoulder; she was a tiny thing compared to himself. Without breaking stride, he strolled straight back towards their tent.

“Aah! Not fair!” She squirmed and kicked out with her bare feet, small fists thumping against the back of his shoulders in a fit of indignant temper but he had a good hold on her so she wasn’t going anywhere despite her best efforts. She also knew better than to bite him too, since he had no compulsion against biting back and they both knew who possessed the larger set of chompers between the two of them. “Ryou!! Do I look like a sack of potatoes to you?!! Let me down!”

“You can sulk on the way back, Princess. We gotta go, so let’s get dressed, saddle up, and then we’re leaving.”

She, of course, took advantage of her new position to grope his behind instead, completely shameless. Not that she could be blamed for her action. It really was a very nice behind, all toned and taut and muscular. Those buns of steel were practically inviting her touch and fondles.

He muttered long sufferingly under his breath. At least she was quiet and docile for now…

Happy again, she started to hum, and his shoulders stiffened a bit, knowing that a full-blown song was not far behind. Her fae blood might be diluted, but she was still Leanan Sidhe like her mother…and very distracting when she wanted to be. It was a good thing that he has had years of practice maintaining his pokerfaced mien, or this unruly mate of his would be gleefully running circles around him.

“Stop that.”

“What?? Whyyy?” Grope. Grope.

“You know why. If you start singing, you’re getting gagged all the way home, Princess.”

AN III: 

Kulning: A unique Scandinavian cattle herding call that’s also a song. It has a fascinating and haunting tone, often conveying a feeling of sadness, in large part because the lokks often include typical half-tones and quarter-tones (also known as "blue tones") found in the music of the region. [Example here]

Leanan Sidhe: In Celtic folklore, the leannán sí is a beautiful woman of the Aos Sí ("people of the barrows, the faery folk") who takes a human lover. The words are Gaelic and refer to a faery muse. “Leannán” means the love of my soul or spirit…my inspiration. “Sí” is the word for a faery. Lovers of the leannán sídhe are said to live brief, though highly inspired, lives. The leannán sídhe is generally depicted as a beautiful muse who offers inspiration to an artist in exchange for their love and devotion; however, this frequently results in madness for the artist, as well as premature death. 

My favorite definition of the Leanan Sidhe can be found here: Leanan Sidhe is often quoted as meaning “the fairy mistress” or the “fairy sweetheart”. She is the famous Celtic muse with such a dark and unearthly beauty that her lover is often distraught with longing and suffering in her absence. In legend, the Leanan Sidhe often takes an artist for a lover, hence the title “the fairy sweetheart”. It is said that her lover gives her the vital depth of emotion that she craves and she in turn inspires his genius. The self destructive nature of many inspired artists probably lent itself to the misconception that she is evil and dangerous. Evil is not darkness, for darkness she is, and she can also be dangerous and destructive. When her gift is honored and nurtured, she shines as a luminous light in the darkness. For those who understand her true nature, who do not idolize or fear her, she is a sliver of moonlight in the blackest night.

‘...(sic) light of his life...’: The name Leonora literally translates to ‘compassion, light.’ I also like that Leonora’s name (and appearance) ties in nicely with the Leanan Sidhe mythos that I have decided to incorporate into her character (and also Alice’s) for this drabble/AU. 

AN IV: Also, instead of ‘milady’ that Ryou is known to address Alice in canon, it’s ‘princess.’ This is because in this AU, Nakiri Soe is a Prince of the Kingdom of Tootsuki, and so Alice is Princess. 

[totentanz]

Crystal Dust

Because in my personal headcanon, Noctis never really leaves Eos.

It was a swelteringly hot day.

A few drops of sweat trickled slowly down Prompto’s back, right between his shoulder blades, and he fought the urge to scratch. After ten years of darkness, sweating in the sun was still something of a novelty - when Noctis vanished into the Crystal and the Starscourge blotted out the sun, it hadn’t just gotten dark, it had gotten cold, and hot summer afternoons were quickly reduced to nothing more than distant memories.

Prompto couldn’t bring himself to enjoy the renewed warmth. The sunlight that trailed over his arms and stabbed at his eyes had been paid for with blood, and that was a price he’d never wanted to pay.

He rolled his shoulders and squinted his eyes, focusing on the Elder Coeurl that he’d finally tracked to a cluster of boulders just north of the Taelpar rest area. She was a magnificent creature: strong and fierce, with graceful limbs and bold markings. Prompto felt a pang of guilt. If she hadn’t been killing the new livestock colonies that the settlers were trying to reestablish near the Causcherry Plains, he’d rather let her live. At least the fur at her muzzle was solid white. She’d already lived a long time, and her breeding years were behind her.

The coeurl stopped and sniffed the air, giving Prompto a clear view of her chest. He lined up his shot. Took a deep breath. Pulled the trigger.

It was a good shot. It should have struck home. But maybe the coeurl had developed some preternatural sixth sense during the long years of darkness, because at the last possible second she swerved to the side, and all his bullet did was leave a bloody gash along her shoulder. A painful wound, but not fatal.

Prompto cursed softly under his breath and took aim once more. Only now the coeurl had spotted him and was bounding toward him, her enraged roar as loud as thunder in his ears, and he could hear another growl from somewhere behind him.

Prompto swore in earnest. While he’d been stalking one coeurl, another one had been stalking him.

His gun wasn’t going to much help, not against two. The best option was to try and run. Except that human legs were no match for a coeurl’s speed, and Prompto knew with sudden, terrifying clarity that he was going to die here.

So that’s how it was going to end. Prompto Argentum, onetime piece of Nifelheim biotech turned companion to the Last King of Lucis, who had survived ten full years of daemon-ridden darkness, was going to die in broad daylight at the claws of non-supernatural wildlife.

It was almost enough to make him laugh.

He settled for another curse and lifted the gun. He fired off one shot, then another, but it was no good. The coeurl in front was already springing toward him, its bared fangs gleaming in the sunlight, and he didn’t dare look and see where the other one was.

Then the world changed.

The wind picked up, and clouds rolled across the sky. The bright afternoon sunshine faded into the purple gray of evening. Prompto’s ears popped, and his chest grew tight. He couldn’t get enough air. He fell to his knees, struggling to draw breath while stars danced in front of his vision.

No. Not stars. Tiny pieces of crystal, spinning through the air like snowflakes.

Except that was impossible. The Oracle and the Chosen King were both dead, and the Astrals would never bother with those born to lesser bloodlines. The coeurls must have already killed him, and he was on his way to the afterlife. This must be what it looked like when the gates opened.

Prompto managed to drag a deep breath of air into his lungs and lifted his eyes to the heavens. He was ready to go. He wanted to cross over so badly, because when he did he would see -

Noct.

There he was, taller than a colossus, standing in the middle of the crystal storm. He wasn’t the young Prince Prompto had left the Citadel with, nor was he the exhausted King who bade his companions farewell before marching to his death. He was something in between the two, his face unlined and unbearded, but stern and wise. He was Lucis’ true, eternal King; and if Prompto hadn’t already been on the ground, he would have fallen to his knees in reverence.

Noctis lifted one immense hand, and his weapons sang through the air. Prompto instinctively covered his face as the combined might of the royal armiger passed before him. He heard the coeurls’ yowls as the blades pierced their flesh, and he realized he probably wasn’t dead just yet.

Then it was over. The pressure in the air vanished, an Prompto scrambled to his feet. The clouds were already dissipating, leaving the sun’s merciless rays to beat down on his vanquished foes.

But Prompto didn’t even see them. He only had eyes for Noctis. The King stood before him, no longer taller than the Archeon but just as imposing, and he held one hand aloft in a gesture of farewell.

“No.” Prompto shook his head and ran forward, his boots scrabbling over loose rocks. “Noct. Don’t go. Please.”

He’d almost managed to close the distance between them when Noctis vanished into the ether, leaving nothing but a shimmer of crystal dust that dissipated as soon as Prompto’s hands passed through it. Prompto stared at the space where Noctis had been, then collapsed onto the ground. He dug his fingers into the dirt while tears streamed down his face.

Noctis had been so close. Just a little more and Prompto would have been able to touch him.

“Come back,” he whispered raggedly through the pain in his chest. “Come back come back come back come back.”

How had Noct called upon the Astrals, back when they’d traveled through Lucis unaware of the monstrous fate that awaited the Chosen King? Noctis had said it was a pull, as if something was being drawn out of him that he had no control over.

I’m not really the one summoning them, he’d said after Ramuh had pulled them out of a particularly nasty run in with a behemoth. They choose when they want to come, and it’s like I’m just the conduit. They’re the ones using me.

And that had been what happened to Prompto, wasn’t it? He hadn’t been trying to call upon Noctis. He’d just been in a bad spot, and Noctis had offered his aid.

Prompto sat back on his heels and wiped the tears away from his cheeks, leaving them smudged with dirt. He looked at the broken bodies of the couerls, then pulled out his hunting knife and began removing their extravagant whiskers as a trophy.

He collected his bounty, and found a new hunt.

It was easy to fall into a pattern. Each bounty he tracked was more dangerous than the last: couerls to behemoths, behemoths to midgardsormrs. They were the sorts of beasts that were meant to be fought by a group of skilled hunters, not a lone gunslinger, and Prompto’s body paid the price. He left each battle bruised and bloody, with cracked ribs and broken fingers, loose teeth and concussions that left him unable to see straight for days.

But he never died, and he never stopped. Because Noctis always came for him.

Prompto lived for them now, those moments when the air grew heavy and the King coalesced out of swirling shards of crystal. Even as he knelt on the ground, in pain and gasping for air, his heart beat with agonizing joy whenever he saw Noctis’ face. He would happily spill every last drop of blood in his veins if it let him see Noct for just one more minute.

And if Noctis’ eyes grew increasingly sad and desperate every time he manifested, Prompto chose not to see it.

When he lay on the earth after an encounter with a Zu that left him lying half-senseless on the ground, bleeding copiously from both his shoulder and his chest, he heard Noctis’ voice drift through his mind.

This isn’t what I wanted for you, it said. Prompto. Please. Stop.

Prompto smiled through the pain. “Can’t,” he slurred. “Miss you too much. Jus’ take me with you, Noct. Jus’ take me with you.”

Fragments of crystal sparkled across his darkening vision, and he let his eyes fall closed. He was so tired. He wanted to rest.

“Take me with you,” he whispered.

Just as he lost consciousness, he felt cool fingers touch his head. They caressed his hair as gently as a lover would, and when darkness descended on him he had a smile on his lips.

He’d never cared for sunshine.

He always preferred the night.

[souslejaune]

When I was twelve I met my father’s father, FatherGrandpa...

ii

When I was twelve I met my father’s father, FatherGrandpa, for the third time. He was a man who laughed at his own jokes. After a stint as a bookkeeper with the Governor of the Gold Coast, he became a merchant. No one knows how he amassed the wealth he was famous for, but he claimed to have profited from the Second World War. As a direct result of his trading activities, the Ribeiro Trading Company had children in many major port cities in the world: Monrovia, Liverpool, Port of Spain… He kept a list. He came to visit GeeMaa who had just had a hip operation. It was the first time he had come to our house.

He sat. Raised his long, heavy legs onto a patterned sheepskin cushion on the floor. He reached for the water my mother brought him and drank. Sunlight from the living room window cast slatted streaks across his balding head. My father, mother, Naana and I stood in order of decreasing height in front of him. He repeated an old joke as if it was new.

“Ah, Kojo, I see you inherited my taste for fine women!”

He laughed and slapped his left shoulder with his right hand. The sound of his glee was reminiscent of the gurgle of an emptying bath. We barely smiled, but he carried on.

“Where is the beautiful cripple?”

Our parents sat down in the cane armchairs to FatherGrandpa’s left.

“Go and get GeeMaa,” my father instructed.

Naana and I went to GeeMaa’s room to call her. Because of the newness of the operation she walked with the slant and rhythm of a wink. We heard FatherGrandpa laughing as she approached the living room. We looked at each other, shook our heads, and went to sit under the neem tree in our front yard. The neem tree was familiar territory although I hadn’t been to it for a while. It was where I cut chewing sticks for GeeMaa and myself until I went to boarding school.

I didn’t want to be teased in school for chewing sticks while everyone else used fluoride and toothbrushes, so I stopped chewing the sticks. I had felt no ill effects, but I had been unhappy. GeeMaa’s health had been bad since I left for school and it worried me.

I looked across at Naana and smiled. We were still close even though, as my father put it, she was a woman with a vote now. She passed me a stick of green Wrigley’s chewing gum.

“Thank you.”

The tree filtered a net of sunlight that dappled our faces and we sat ensnared within it.

“I’m glad GeeMaa made our names Oppong-Ribeiro.”

I understood Naana. Plain Ribeiro would mean immediate association with our cavalier grandfather. Naana was studying at the University of Ghana, a place where reputations were made, and her image was important to her. I didn’t care much about image, but I understood.

FatherGrandpa summoned me as he was leaving. He opened his red address book (the one that held details of his children) and gave me an address in Trinidad. The book was indexed by name, age, profession and mother’s name. It was well worn but tidy inside.

“Ebo, I saw one of your photos on the wall. That address is for your uncle Sanjit in Trinidad. He is an artist. He will like it.”

“Thank you.”

His height made me feel humble. Though seventy-seven years old, he held himself like an eager cadet.

“Don't thank me,” he laughed. “You have thirty-three uncles and aunties. You have to start knowing them early!”

As he said that I imagined that Miss Havisham would definitely have had her own child if he had been engaged to her. Then she wouldn’t have had time to wallow in self-pity and become so mean. The thought made me smile.

He slapped my back and made me stumble. Then he laughed harder as he sauntered to his chauffeur-driven Lincoln.

I wrote to Uncle Sanjit the next day; a long letter, written on good blue writing paper from my father’s office. The office was simply a table fitted into one corner of the dining room. In the letter I explained to Uncle Sanjit how I got his address, then drew a family tree to show how we were related. For his mother’s name, I drew a dash. I asked for the meaning of his name and added a selection of the pictures I had taken in the five years since Auntie Dee Dee died.

His reply came in a large flat package that my father drove all the way to my boarding school to show me. My school was the Prince of Wales College in the days when Ghana was still called the Gold Coast, but by the time I got there it was called Achimota School. It was my father’s alma mater.

My father helped me open the package with a screwdriver from his glove compartment. It contained a painting and a short note. I painted the picture I liked. It was a pastel rendering of the hills of Aburi at sunset. I had taken that picture during a school trip to play football with the students of Akosombo Secondary School. P.S. My name means he who is always victorious. Keep in touch.

I stared at his interpretation of my picture. Surely he had smelled the evening mist with me, heard the firm crunch of gravel under the tyres of the school bus, seen the sky change from blue to orange to purple. Uncle Sanjit revealed in his next letter that he had studied Art in London and New York, and now ran a small gallery below his studio in Port of Spain. He thought that I had a very good eye and could become an artist if I chose to. For days, I reread his letter, trying to imagine myself as an artist. I loved reading, and taking photographs was something that had helped channel my confusion after Auntie Dee Dee's death – something I had come to love. In the light and shades of its practice, I had come to better appreciate the travel of thoughts across faces. The extra filter it gave to my visualisation enriched my reading and I had come to value storytelling even more. But I didn't think of photography as art, and I had never thought of myself as an artist. I was entranced. I wrote to Uncle Sanjit every two weeks. He wrote back –  about one letter for every four I wrote. They were long letters that described every corner of our separate worlds in delicate detail; the way lizards in Ghana dart around in daytime sun like couriers, how the green of the trees in Trinidad seemed to have blood pumping in them. He told me that his mother was of Indian origin with Hindu roots and ran a food hut by the port. He tried to convey in writing the enchanting singsong rhythm of Trinidadian speech, while I translated and wrote short volleys of Ghanaian proverbs, explaining their origins when I could eke the information out of my parents or Auntie Aba, the waache seller. He ended his letters with quotes from an endless list of luminaries. Benedict Spinoza, Patrice Lumumba, Indira Gandhi. I hadn’t heard of half of them so I found myself spending even more time in the library at school just to keep up. I told him that because he was only twenty-six, I thought of him as my bruncle. I sent Uncle Sanjit hundreds of pictures; insects splattered startled on the windscreen of a truck returned from the countryside, electric pylons straddling rubbish dumps, barefoot children playing with handmade footballs, the fragile-looking wooden shack that was our local corn mill, two-toned sunsets, reeds, flowers and trees caught from unusual angles. It must have taken a lot of his time, but he often replied with short notes and prints of paintings of his favourite shots. I sold some of the prints he sent to my father’s friends, but most of them ended up either on my bedroom wall or with Naana. When GeeMaa died two years after her hip operation, I sent him pictures of the funeral. GeeMaa’s coffin was designed in the traditional Ga manner. Carved and painted as an ambulance to honour her forty years of service as a nurse and midwife. Because she was over seventy years old her funeral was of a light mood. 

“She had all her time on earth.” 

“She has gone to a better place.” 

“God called her.” 

“She has gone to help HIM.” 

Condolences wore clichéd chrysalids. People came wearing white smiles on dark faces. Clothed in black and white; black to signify the death of a friend, white to celebrate her passing on to a better life. A few of the women had glittering white damask and chiffon with black lace scarves thrown artistically across their shoulders. I took a picture of one of them. Head-shaking guests of all ages came. They came bearing nothing but their empty bellies, which they proceeded to fill with food bought with my father’s hard-earned savings. Some claimed GeeMaa had delivered them as babies. Others claimed she had healed them. Every last person had a story to tell. Piecing these anecdotes together, I tried to construct the parts of GeeMaa's life that she had not told me about. Things she had perhaps considered too mundane to share. One of the second intake of British-trained nurses, she had been the only child – boy or girl – from her fishing community sent to the mission school. As she tuned her ears to the clipped tones of sunburnt priests, her playmates and their parents saved treats that the fishermen gave away from the canoes coming in – eels, didɛ bibii and tsile – and waited; first, to hear stories of peculiar behaviour by the missionaries, then, to listen to her reading and translating from her books. She repaid them, after she had qualified as a nurse-midwife, by treating their sick out of hours and teaching the young to read. By 1935, successful young men, social climbers, emerging business magnates and charlatans were camping outside her father's door, hoping to win the affections of the woman one of her friends called 'the best Charleston dancer in Accra'. As such, there was a collective sigh of dismay when FatherGrandpa went to Korle Bu with a broken finger and walked out with a plaster cast and GeeMaa's heart. These stories floated around on the suspension of grief and remembrance, maintaining a steady hubbub on our courtyard. In every corner, a story; not always believable, but a story nonetheless. 

“Oh, she was a great woman. Always smiling…” 

“Ei, she was good oh! Better than some of the doctors.” 

“I have a photo of her with my Kwame when he was born. Look at him now.” The black and white clad bundle of mothering flesh pulled her boy towards her by the sleeve. “Isn’t he handsome?” 

 Kwame smiled one of those smiles designed to support the social efforts of preening mothers. Lifting his cheeks slightly as though he were swallowing a bitter pill. 

By nine a.m. our courtyard was full of chattering mourners. Our square cream-painted house was like a piece of sponge cake besieged by flies. I took a picture from a distance. On the large veranda that led to our front door, GeeMaa’s body lay in state. As the visitors glided past the neat corpse, they stopped and shook hands with my father and his siblings. Auntie Patience, Auntie Ama and Uncle Tommy had all insisted on a big funeral, yet none of them offered to help with the cost of organising it. 

“But she died with you,” they said. As though my father had somehow killed GeeMaa. 

I overheard my father telling my mother that they were already arguing about who would inherit GeeMaa’s two houses in Adabraka. Yet they sat there, looking fashionably solemn in matching fabric permutated into different outfits. Matching envelopes of discontent – to be opened after the funeral.

continued >> here <<… | start from beginning? | current projects: The City Will Love You and a collection of poems, The Geez

[fortheloveofeos]

Tombs and Letters

Below is my second story for Prompto! It’s still one of my favorites and I hope you like it. It’s been proofread now, so let’s hope I got it all. :)

XXX

It was your first time in the Crown City and you were on a mission. The crisp, white envelope held carefully in your hands had been placed in your care and you were going to deliver it as promised. If only you knew where you were going.

Living out on the Lucian plains meant a simple, happy life. One where the largest city you ever had to deal with was Lestallum - and it really wasn’t all that big. The Crown City was huge with its glittering skyscrapers and beautifully constructed buildings. You had seen it on the news or in pictures, but seeing it in real life was a completely different story.

You glanced down at the phone held tightly in your other hand checking the message again. Deliver the letter directly into the hands of the king. They await your arrival with news of the situation. Dave had sent the message several days before - that was how long it had taken you to finally arrive in the city. You just hoped you weren’t too late.

With renewed vigor, your feet carried you down the sidewalk in search of the Citadel. Luckily, you didn’t have to look very far before the massive and beautiful structure came into view. One flash of the seal pressed into the envelope and the guards at the gate ushered you through. You only slowed your pace down to a brisk walk once you were inside the palace itself. You swallowed hard before entered the throne room, the envelope clutched in your shaking fingers.

“Your Majesty,” you willed your voice not to shake. You inclined your head respectfully, your hair falling messily around your face. Pitty you hadn’t been able to try and look more presentable. “I come with the report from Hunter HQ.”

King Regis nodded his head in recognition of your presence. Every attendant in the room’s eyes were trained on you. It was uncommon for hunters to find their way into the Crown City, let alone to have an audience with the king himself.

“The report of the royal tombs?” He questioned. Once you indicated he was correct, he rose from his position on the throne to receive the letter from you personally. “You’re quite young to be a Hunter,” he commented before accepting the letter from your still shaking hands. His eyes carefully scanned the page before he exhaled loudly. “All of them?”

You nodded your head, worry flashing through your eyes. “All the ones that are not directly accessible (which essentially meant all of them). We’re doing what we can but without any sort of help from the crown -”

“You have all done well,” the king interrupted you kindly. “It is not pleasing to know that demons have attempted to defile the tombs of the past kings, but I am thankful for the help of the Hunters and sending the report.” The king’s eyes took in your appearance as a thoughtful expression crossed his face. “You have been to the tombs yourself?”

You cleared your throat nervously. “Not to all thirteen, your majesty. I personally only surveyed four of them before I was tasked with sending word to you.” Unconsciously your fingers grazed the bandage on your left bicep. You had been preoccupied and paid the price for your carelessness. “I have a map with their locations.”

King Regis’ hard face softened as he noticed your injury. “You can guide reinforcements in, then?” He waited for your acceptance before signaling to a man stationed against one of the walls. “Find the Prince.”

XXX

Being stationed between a hulking shield poured over a book and a sleeping prince was not as comfortable as you had hoped. Your body was wired from the knowledge that you were on a mission for the Crown of Lucis and that the king had given the orders directly to you.

“According to your map, we should be arriving at the first tomb shortly,” Ignis announced before pulling off the main road and onto a side dirt road. You waited for the car to come to a stop before piling out with the others. You felt naked without your daggers strapped to your side but you had been given the ability to summon your weapons just as the other four young men in your party. The king had insisted saying that if you were fighting for the crown, you shoud be equipped to do so.

Luckily, you had surveyed this tomb yourself. Although the sun still shown brightly overhead, it was going to be incredibly dark once you entered the mouth of the cave. “We shouldn’t encounter too many demons until we get further into the cave. Be careful of your footing,” you warned, “everything is damp and slippery.”

Prompto’s gun materialized as he rested it against his shoulder. “Easy-peasy.”

“If anyone falls to their death it’s going to be you,” Prince Noctis teased his friend, giving him a light shove.

Gladio stationed himself between the two. “Not funny, Noct. We can’t afford to lose anyone. This is important.”

“Agreed,” Ignis pushed his glasses up the brige of his nose before moving towards the entrance of the cave. “After you,” he beckoned.

You carefully led the four young men deeper and deeper into the cave. Only a small number of creatures had appeared to try and stop you. Prompto, on the other hand, had nearly slipped to his death numerous times. If you hadn’t been so quick, he wouldn’t have made it more than five minutes.

You were nearly to the central chamber where the door to the tomb would be when the ground began to shake beneath you. “Guys -” Prompto trailed off glancing around nervously.

“That can’t be good,” Noctis groaned as his sword returned to his firm grip.

“Bring it on,” Gladio laughed, his long sword resting on one shoulder.

You and Ignis summoned your daggers at the same time. Knowing what was about to happen, you pressed your back against Prompto’s, his heat sinking into your chilled body. Sure enough, the serpent daemon slithered out from the darkness a moment later. You launched a dagger directly for her stomach and Prompto fired off several shots into her body.

Alone, you wouldn’t have stood a chance against such a powerful foe. However, with the Prince and his friends at your back, you were confident. That confidence is what caused you to misjudge the direction the demon would strike. It’s large and powerful mouth was aimed for you. Knowing you wouldn’t be fast enough to stop it, you pulled your daggers up in hopes of at least doing some damage in the process. You braced yourself and waited for impact. But it never came.

Promto fired of a quick and powerful round of bullets covered in a white hot flame into the beast. One last strike from Gladio’s great sword and the beast was gone. “Th-thank you,” you stammered glancing into Prompto’s crystal blue eyes, He seemed as surprised as your felt.

“Don’t mention it,” he blushed before moving away from you slightly. You noticed the movement but didn’t comment, still shaken up from the near death experience. Although he followed behind Noctis on his way to the door of the tomb, his eyes kept darting back to you.

Once the door to the tomb was unlocked, Noctis accepted the power of his ancestor, his weapon beginning his Armiger. Suddenly, you knees felt weak and swayed on your feet.

“[Y/N]!” Prompto, who had ended up beside you in the tomb, caught you just as your strength gave out. “What’s wrong?”

You wanted to answer but couldn’t find the strength to speak. Your head felt cloudy and even Prompto’s warm and sturdy grip was fading from your senses. Normally, you would have been nervous or panicked for a handsome young man to be holding you flush against his chest but you couldn’t even muster the energy to blush. You felt the world shift just before you slipped into darkness.

Coming to was a slow and exhausting process. It felt like years for you to claw your way back from the pressing black that had pulled you under. You winced at the pain in your thigh as you sat up and attempted to make sense of everything around you. Shocked, you realized you were inside a rather spacious tent and that you had been carefully tucked into a sleeping bag,the liner decorated with chocobos. Blinking, you couldn’t help but giggle at the ridiculousness of the detail. Somehow, you knew who’s sleeping bag you were in.

The sound of your airy and happy giggle caught the attention of the four boys gathered around the evening campfire. Prompto was the first to appear through the flap doors followed by Ignis, Gladio, and finally a sleepy looking Noctis. “Hi,” you mumbled as the blood rushed to your cheeks.

“You’re awake,” Prompto excitedly hurried forward before Ignis pulled him back.

“Are you feeling alright?” Ignis quested before carefully peeling back the sleeping bag to reveal a set of thick bandages encompassing you left thigh just below the hemline of your shorts.  You couldn’t help but wince at the sight of the bloodstained bindings. “Not to worry, the wound should heal up nicely. I believe you were weakened from the blood loss that was covered up by the adrenaline rush of battle. You should be back to normal after a good meal and some rest.”

You thanked the careful cook as he expertly replaced your dressings. His fingers were skilled and his touch was light. He flashed a smile before ushering everyone out of the tent. Prompto returned a moment later with a steaming plate of green vegetables and fresh steak. His cheeks were flushed and his grip seemed unsteady before he handed the plate to you. “Thank you,” you breathed before practically devouring the carefully prepared food, You were starving.

“Y-yeah,” Prompto scratched the back of his neck nervously. “You scared me back there. I thought we lost you,” he sighed before earnestly looking you in the eyes.

You were taken aback by his kindness. You had really only just met the four boys but they had already taken a liking to you. Prompto perhaps more than the others. “I’m sorry.”

Prompto shook his head, golden locks falling into his eyes. “I’ll just have to watch you from now on,” he offered a half smile. “I don’t let just anyone use my sleeping bag,” a pink tint crept into his fair freckled cheeks.

“I’ll remember that,” you promised. After all, you still had twelve more tombs to find.

[thepathsofdestiny]

A Matter of Time

~*~ A story for Genevieve Cogman’s The Invisible Library series. Contains spoilers up through book three, The Burning Page. For @holdbeast, who proved that I was not in a fandom of one, to my joy and relief.  Read it on AO3 here.  ~*~ The Library is an island, untouched by time. They say that there, you can live forever, but your wounds will never heal. Irene takes some time to think about the people closest to her- those who stayed, those who left, and those who came back.  ~*~

Kai marched down the corridor with his head held high, the vastness of the Library sprawling out around him. The way he walked, he made a grubby peacoat and pageboy cap look like high fashion. He was a prince, and proud of that fact.

Which is why, despite everything, the first thought that ran petulantly through his head was ‘a prince should not have to ask for directions’.

Leading Kai down the hall was a young Librarian with boyishly short hair, in midnight blue robes that shimmered like the night sky. This earnest young junior was, for the moment, his princely entourage. It was a start, at least.

It occurred to Kai that he’d been so preoccupied with finding Irene that he may have overlooked a few pleasantries.

“Excuse me,” he said.

“Yes, ser?”

“I, ah,” Kai cleared his throat. “I never got your name.”

“Morgan, ser.”

“Morgan,” Kai echoed, a twinge of distaste curling his lips. “After Morgan le Fay, no doubt.”

“No, ser, actually,” Morgan said, bright and cheerful in exactly the way Li Ming wasn’t. “Morgan is just my name.”

“You realize Librarians are meant to use aliases, right?”

“Oh, it’s alright. It’s hardly the name I was born with.”

Kai shrugged, before being ushered through an archway into another sprawling wing of the Library. To his surprise, they emerged onto a cobblestone street. Here, the Library’s ubiquitous bookshelves parted to reveal a pub, sitting incongruously in the corner of the room.

When Irene said she’d be ‘at the pub’, Kai hadn’t entirely believed her.

“Here we are!” Morgan chirped. Kai was examining the pub’s windows, the sign above the door, reaching out and touching the wooden columns as if to confirm that they were real.

“Thank you,” Kai said, finally. Morgan bowed.

“It’s an honor to serve my senior Librarians,” Morgan said.

Kai fidgeted at such deference, lifting a hand. “Don’t… Don’t give me so much credit. I’m still in training, just like you.”

“Just imagine what you could do when you’re fully-fledged!” Morgan all but squealed. “THE Kai. THE Irene! My mentor’s told me so much, and, of course, news gets around-”

Kai pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please. We’re… we’re not… all that.”

“Of course, of course,” Morgan nodded, struggling to put a lid on their own excitement. “Humility is the mark of a true hero.”

“That’s... not exactly what I’m saying.”

“Thank you for this, ser,” Morgan beamed, and it occurred to Kai that it should be the other way around. “I look forward to working with you in the future.”

Kai nodded, waving Morgan off as they disappeared into the Library sprawl.

~*~

The interior of the pub was dark, gloomy, and improbably dust-free despite how little it seemed to be used. Irene was sitting at the bar, nursing a glass of brandy by the light of a single lamp. She cut a striking figure, half-hidden in the gloom. Though even she couldn’t help the quizzical look she gave out the door at Morgan’s departing form.

“Who was that?”

“A fan,” Kai said, drawing up beside her, “if you can believe that.”

“Hopefully one more genuine than Penemue and her lot,” Irene said acidly. Kai shifted in his seat.

“What sort of library has its own pub?” He said at last, eager to change subjects.

Irene shrugged. “What sort of library has its own dormitory?”

“Point,” Kai nodded.

“It’s not like it makes much difference,” Irene said, holding her glass up to the lamplight and swirling the caramel liquid about. “Time stands still in the Library. Nobody here needs to eat or drink. Nobody can even get drunk. So, really, the only thing this brandy’s good for is the taste.”

Kai watched as Irene took a sip, her expression clouding. “Bitter?” He asked.

Irene looked out over the rim of her glass, gazing at something worlds away.

“Yes.”

Kai exhaled. Emotional support was hardly his area of expertise. Maybe if Irene had a literal river of melancholy flowing through her veins, he’d have some power over it. But right now, the only spirit in the room was sitting in Irene’s glass, and it didn’t seem any more capable of lifting her mood.

“How are you feeling?” Kai said lamely. Irene gave him a withering look, one that said ‘I’m drinking alone in a dark room and that by itself should speak volumes’, but it still felt like something Kai should ask.

“Idle,” Irene muttered, clinking her glass down on the bar. “Useless.”

“You saved the Library,” Kai offered. “I’d say you’ve earned a vacation.”

“It’s no vacation if they don’t give you a choice,” Irene grumbled. “Then it’s just a suspension. The Elders didn’t suggest I take time off for my health, Kai. They made me take time off, just so they’d have time to take inventory without me stirring up any more hornet’s nests.”

“Or spider’s nests, as it were.”

“Thank you, Kai.”

Irene slid her glass away, crossing her arms on the counter and laying her head down. She was still staring at that far-off place behind the bar, her eyes distant.

“What are you thinking about?” Kai asked.

“Alberich,” Irene lied.

“You’re thinking about that Fae woman, aren’t you?” Kai hissed. Try as he might, those words, from his mouth, could only ever be an accusation.

Irene slapped her palms on the counter.

“She had a name, Kai,” she said through gritted teeth. “Her name was Zayanna. She saved me from Alberich. She died for me.”

Kai crossed his arms, haughtiness edging into his tone. “Irene, perhaps you don’t recall, but she also tried to kill us.”

Irene met Kai’s gaze, and saw the pride of dragons swimming within. She wasn’t going to back down.

“Kai, Zayanna also helped me rescue you from Venice.”

“Again: tried to kill you.” Kai huffed. “I don’t understand why you’re trying to make excuses for a Fae!”

“Because…” Irene faltered. “...she made good in the end. She thought we were friends.”

“Fae don’t have friends,” Kai snapped. “They have supporting actors, stagehands, pawns, pets! Maybe she saved your life out of the goodness of her heart, or maybe it was just a whim! Maybe helping to save me in Venice was just a flight of fancy, like anything a Fae does! They’re fickle, unreliable, untrustworthy- it’s in their nature, Irene. You know this.”

“Like being obstinate and pigheaded is in yours?” Irene bit back, brittle.

Kai hesitated. So firm was he in his speech, so full of conviction, that his eyes had revealed his true nature, and shone with red light. And Irene stood there, meeting his gaze in defiance, cast in the glow of draconic crimson.

Kai took a deep breath.

“Although,” Kai said, the fire fading from his eyes. “She did save you, in the end. I’m grateful for that, at least.”

“She saved you, too,” Irene said softly.

“You saved me, Irene,” Kai said. “Zayanna just held the door for you.”

Irene sighed, in a manner that said the conversation was over. This isn’t what she wanted. She didn’t want people throwing themselves into danger on her account. She didn’t want Kai telling her who deserved her sympathy or her grief. And she certainly didn’t want this brandy, a Library facsimile that failed to chase the ghosts from her head and left only bittersweetness on her tongue.

“I need… time,” Irene murmured. Time, and books, were the two things the Library had in abundance.

“Time won’t heal you,” Kai said. “It’ll scar over, and take the sting out of the pain. But you’ll still carry the wound. You’ll still carry the weight.”

Irene sniffed. “Where did you hear that?”

“Where do you think?” Kai shrugged. “I read it in a book.”

Irene made her way to the door. Her hand lingered on the doorknob.

“I’m taking a walk,” she said.

Kai nodded.

“Irene,” he said, as she opened the door. She turned to him, and he met her eyes- eyes that carried so much weight, for so many years. So much history. So much memory. The Library brand across her back overshadowed any scars her body might bear, but in those eyes…

“Irene,” Kai echoed, remembering where he was. “Just… remember to come back up for air.”

Irene smiled, but it was a tired smile.

“Says a dragon who can never drown.”

Irene lingered in the doorway just long enough for Kai to wonder if she wanted him to follow; but by the time he’d decided, she was already gone.

~*~

“It has been said, ‘Time heals all wounds’. I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”

- Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy

~*~

Where the Library was stillness and solitude, Vale’s London was hustle and bustle. Irene lost herself in the swell of evening traffic, carried along in the tide of bodies. The sun was just beginning to set, a smoky coal behind the perpetual smog, and the people around Irene drew up scarves and veils to keep out the sharp, acrid smell of the city.

Irene took a deep breath all the same, filling herself with the familiar musk of the city. A carriage trundled past, hissing steam into the air.

Not two days ago, the Library was on the verge of catastrophe. But in this world, it was just business as usual. In the grand scheme of things, would anybody notice if the Librarians were no longer scurrying around backstage? This world would keep on turning, along with the countless alternates.

The world would survive without the Library.

Without her.

Irene shook the thought away. It had been two days since she’d confronted Alberich in his phantom domain, two days since she’d summoned a conflagration to save the Library from being annihilated. It had been two days since Zayanna had betrayed her, tried to kill her, and then turned right around and saved Irene’s life. And it had been two days since Kai and Vale had pulled her out of the flames.

Two days, but the smoke hadn’t cleared. A dark mood had taken Irene ever since, both looming above her and settling in her stomach, like the bitter dregs in the bottom of a teacup. Part of her felt utterly relieved that the Library was safe, and proud that she was responsible for its survival. Part of her wanted to mourn, wanted to cry for Zayanna, who died for her, and for the books that she had to destroy in order to save the Library as a whole. Part of her felt guilty for holding Zayanna’s life on the same level as some stuffy books. And part of her felt that Kai was right, that she shouldn’t spare any grief or sympathy for someone who tried to kill her, a fickle Faerie she couldn’t even call a proper friend.

Irene rode that train of thought until she reached Vale’s lodgings. She paused on the steps, gazing up at the door. Maybe here, she’d find some respite from all these irksome ‘feelings’. And if not, at least Vale would know the best local place to get a drink.

“Excuse me!”

Irene stopped on the step, blinking. There was an androgynous youth standing before her, wearing a peacoat, trousers, and pageboy cap. The same one she’d seen a few hours ago, in the Library.

“Are you… Irene Winters?” They asked, bubbling with excitement. “THE Irene Winters?”

“In this world, at least,” Irene said dryly, unable to match their enthusiasm.

“Might I ask a question, ma’am?” Their voice carried an Irish lilt.

“Go on.”

“How, um…” They smiled sheepishly. “How do I look?”

Irene looked them over. Boyishly short hair, bright eyes, uncovered mouth. She raised and lowered one shoulder.

“A little incongruous,” she said lightly. “The pageboy cap won’t be invented until next century, and you look a little young to be wearing a navy coat. But it’s hardly the worst look around, junior…?”

“Morgan, ser,” they replied, undimmed. “I’d thought to take after your own junior, ma’am, but I suppose Ser Kai can make anything look good.”

“That he can,” Irene shrugged. “Listen, Morgan…”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Did you… follow me here?”

“Oh!” Morgan flushed with embarrassment. “Oh, no, no, that’s not- I’m here with my senior, actually, just taking in the sights, getting to know the area, you know. It was just happy chance that I stumbled across the Librarian-in-Residence, and such an illustrious one at that. Irene Winters, hero of the hour! Now, is that after Irene Adler or Milady de Winter? If- If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’d love to have you, that is, it would be an honor if you would sign my copy of The Student Librarian’s Handbook-”

Irene held up her hands, grimacing. “Morgan, I’m flattered, but this is… this is a little much-”

“Miss Winters?”

Irene looked up. Vale was standing in his doorway, a bundle of mail tucked under his arm.

“Is that you causing all that racket on my doorstep?” Vale asked.

Irene breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t think she’d ever been so happy to see Vale, and that included him flying in on Kai’s back to pull her out of a raging inferno.

“Yes, it’s me,” Irene exhaled. “May I come in?”

“Of course, of course.”

“If you’ll excuse me, Morgan,” Irene said, casting an apologetic glance over her shoulder. “I need to speak with Mr. Vale.”

“Peregrine Vale?” Morgan squealed, starry-eyed. “The Great Detective?!”

Vale gave the youth a polite nod, ushering Irene inside and shutting the door before Morgan’s giddy squealing could accidentally summon the police.

~*~

Vale’s study would not have looked out of place in the Library itself. Quiet, lamplit, blissfully bereft of squealing, starry-eyed juniors, and, of course, filled with books. Vale hurriedly cleared a stack of newspapers from a couch so that Irene would have somewhere to sit. He leafed through the stack, before tossing them unceremoniously onto another pile strewn across the floor.

“I hope you’ll forgive the disarray,” Vale said. “Entertaining guests is not exactly my strong suit.”

“It’s quite alright,” Irene said. “Honestly, it feels just like home.”

Vale nodded. “That Library of yours is quite the sight. I would have loved to stay longer, browse a few more books, but you know how it is here. Work, work, work. Not two days away and now I’m back in it up to my ears. Who was your friend?”

“A colleague,” Irene shrugged. “And a fan, if you can believe that.”

“The sort of excitement you get up to, I’m surprised you don’t have more,” Vale said. “Tea? Maybe something stronger?”

“No, thank you,” Irene said. “You seem well,” she added.

What she wanted to say was that Vale seemed... different. Lively. Animated. He no longer had the haunted look in his eyes, nor the hollowness of his cheeks, the face of a man plagued by nightmares. But there was still a manic undercurrent to his energy, as if he was eager not to dwell on anything overlong.

To his credit, Vale admitted as much.

“There’s always more work to be done,” he said, sweeping his arm around the piles and piles of notes and newspapers strewn about. “More clues to find, more crooks to catch, more would-be criminal masterminds to put in their place, which is behind bars. How are you faring? That was quite the mess we pulled you out of. Literally, at the end.”

Irene exhaled, leaning forward and resting her chin on her latticed fingers.

“I’ve been thinking,” she finally managed.

“About that Fae woman?” Vale asked mildly, but it still sounded like an accusation.

“Her name was Zayanna,” Irene snapped.

“Zayanna, then,” Vale said. “Not about Alberich? I suppose that’s understandable. Despite the danger posed by the traitor Alberich, you have foiled him in the past. But as for Zayanna trading her life for yours, well, I imagine that would be somewhat distressing.”

“Must you be so insufferably clinical?” Irene muttered acidly.

“Miss Winters, I am a detective. Professional detachment is a matter of course.”

“Of course,” Irene echoed. Vale awkwardly cleared his throat.

“I’m only stating, objectively, the dissonance involved with-”

“If you’re just going to tell me to ‘spare my pity’,” Irene hissed, “then Kai already did that.”

Vale sniffed.

“There’s no love lost between Mister Strongrock and the Fae,” he said. “Nor between the Fae and I. That being said…”

Vale turned and met Irene’s eyes, his expression softening.

“I’m sure Strongrock is more concerned with how it has you out of sorts, no matter how he feels about the Fae.”

There was a moment there- one approaching tenderness. It was there for a moment, and then it was gone.

“If you were to ask my advice,” Vale continued, “I would say to simply get back to work. A new day, a new project. New work to be done. If one can focus on doing, rather than thinking, than sooner or later you’ll have forgotten the gloom. If you can simply find a new focus, then your mind will be too busy to go wandering around in the dark.”

Irene sniffed. “Where did you hear that?”

“In a book,” Vale shrugged. “Your Library had quite the selection. Like I said, I would have loved to linger, but duty calls.”

Irene sighed. Slowly, she got to her feet.

“Thank you, Vale,” she said, eyes downcast.

“I hope I was able to provide you with a solution,” Vale said simply.

“Some advice, Vale, from a friend?” Irene smiled, but it was a tired smile. “Sometimes, people want sympathy, not solutions.”

“...I see,” Vale said, his lips curling into a frown. “Is… Is there anything else I can help you with, Miss Winters?”

“One thing,” Irene said. “Where can I get a drink?”

~*~

“A mind without purpose will wander in dark places.”

- Dan Abnett

~*~

Vale gave Irene directions to his pub of choice, all the while bearing the quizzical look of a man who’s realized his faux pas but was nonetheless happy to be left to his own devices. Eager to get back to work, no doubt. Irene should have known. Vale was always good for a listening ear, but his was hardly a shoulder to cry on.

Irene didn’t know if she even felt like crying. She just didn’t want to feel anything. Hopefully this pub would be up to the task.

Despite Vale’s glowing recommendation, the pub itself didn’t look all that special. The signboard above the door declared the pub to be ‘The Stone’s Throw’, which Irene had to admit was a hair more creative than ‘The Verbing Animal’. But there was something here, something that caught in the air and prickled beneath Irene’s skin.

Maybe it was fate, Irene thought. Or maybe it was the onset of a buzz. She’d settle for that.

The interior of the Stone’s Throw was subdued, by pub standards. Irene took a private table on the second floor overlooking the main space, settling in with a glass snifter and a bottle of brandy she’d paid for upfront. She poured herself a glass, lifting it up in her hand and watching the dark amber liquid catch the lamplight.

“Is this seat taken?” asked a familiar voice.

Irene sighed, before draining her glass in a single, regrettable, gulp. It burned on the way down.

“If I say ‘yes’, is there any chance you won’t just take it anyway?”

The other woman took the seat opposite Irene, by way of an answer, and Irene ruefully refilled her glass.

“Hello, Irene,” Bradamant said.

“Bradamant,” Irene smiled thinly. “How did you know I was here?”

“Yes, Irene, how did I ever deduce that you were in the world where you’ve been posted as Librarian-in-Residence?”

Irene rolled her eyes. “I meant here, in this pub.”

“Ah.” Bradamant tipped her head towards the balcony. “Morgan followed you.”

Irene looked over the balcony. Morgan was at the bar, dressed in a new knee-length frock coat not unlike one Vale might wear, speaking to a handsome young man with auburn hair and dark glasses. They wore it well, although it echoed Irene’s own sentiment that she was not a role model when it came to fashion. Morgan saw her looking, and gave her a bright, cheerful wave.

“Morgan’s your junior, then,” Irene mused. “She seems-”

“‘They’, if you please,” Bradamant cut in.

“Excuse me. They seem nice. Certainly not lacking in, ah, enthusiasm.”

“Certainly not.”

Bradamant took Irene’s glass and downed her measure of brandy, to Irene’s chagrin. Seeing the look she was giving her, Bradamant tipped the bottle of brandy and refilled the glass.

After a lengthy silence, Bradamant exhaled, holding her hands up peaceably.

“I’m not here to fight,” Bradamant said. Irene warily met her eyes.

“You’re out in the field again,” Irene said tentatively, retrieving her glass. “And with a new trainee. I thought you were spending some time in the Library.”

“As Kostchei’s secretary? Taking notes, filing reports?” Bradamant almost snorted. “That arrangement wasn’t working out for either of us. Now that you’ve oh-so-gallantly saved the Library from whatever calamity Alberich was about to bring down on our heads, Kostchei decided to let me off the leash.”

“Because for you, babysitting is as much a punishment as paperwork,” Irene said, taking a sip and relishing the annoyed quirk of Bradamant’s eyebrow.

“I’m not here just to talk shop, you know,” Bradamant muttered.

“Then why are you here?” Irene asked. She drained her glass, and reluctantly handed it over.

“It won’t do for a lady to drink alone,” Bradamant smiled, pouring herself another measure of brandy. “That’s how you get yourself a reputation. You’ve already got yourself a reputation for going on adventures, and you know what they say about women adventurers in London.”

Irene did indeed know what Londoners said about ‘women adventurers’. More shocking than that, however, was the audacious, nagging feeling that Bradamant might be flirting with her.

Of course, that might just be the brandy.

“Bradamant,” Irene said softly, studying the other woman in the dim lamplight. “Why are you really here?”

“To talk,” Bradamant said. “Can’t we just talk?”

A fair question. A simple question, really, but one with a not-so-simple answer. Irene and Bradamant had a complicated history. Any relationship has its highs and lows, but six months ago, Bradamant had seen fit to stick a needle of curare into Irene’s neck and leave her paralyzed in a closet while Bradamant took credit for her work- hardly the best of terms. The Bradamant sitting here in front of her now, having a civil conversation over a bottle of brandy? This was a Bradamant that Irene scarcely recognized.

Irene studied Bradamant in the lamplight, scrutinizing her expression, tracing the knife-line of her jaw, her lips, to the glass in her hand, searching for the warning signs, the hidden motives.

There were many things knife-like about Bradamant, but somehow, somehow, this felt different.

This felt genuine.

Bradamant lifted her hand and drained her glass, still awaiting Irene’s response, her eyes catching the light like embers.

“Irene?” She asked, more gently than she’d ever heard Bradamant speak.

Irene sighed.

“If it’s all the same to you,” Irene said, retrieving her glass, “I think I’d rather just drink.”

~*~

So they drank, sharing the glass and the bottle between them. And, despite Irene’s misgivings, they talked. They talked about work. They talked about liquor. They talked about books. Irene was surprised to find herself opening up to Bradamant, though she supposed the liquor was loosening her tongue. She spent a great deal of time telling Bradamant about Kai’s abduction in Venice, about breaking into the Carceri to save him, about the confrontation with Lord Guantes in the opera house. She told her about how she used the Language to re-shape the myth of The Horse and the Rider, and had gotten the Horse to aid in their escape. She told her about how, pursued by a multitude of Fae in the space between the worlds, she had invoked the name of a high dragon, escaping by the skin of their teeth and the beating of mighty wings.

Bradamant, for her part, almost seemed impressed. At the very least, she seemed annoyed that she had no comparable exploits to mention, being cooped up in the Library simply filing paperwork.

Irene told her about the debacle with Alberich and the confrontation in his phantom-domain. And, to Irene’s own surprise, she told Bradamant about Zayanna- how the Fae had swung, like a pendulum, between friend, accomplice, traitor, and something in between. She told Bradamant about how they met in Venice when Irene was still undercover, how she’d pitied Zayanna’s circumstances. She told her about how, yes, Zayanna had tried to kill her on Alberich’s behalf, but Zayanna also led her to Alberich’s domain, and died saving Irene from his wrath.

She told Bradamant about how strangely Zayanna’s death had hurt, about how much she wanted to mourn a Fae. And a part of her, deep down, wondered if Bradamant might take Irene’s sympathy for a Faerie and use it as grounds to charge her for treason against the Library. At the very least, Irene expected Bradamant to lambast her for thinking, even for a moment, that she could trust a Fae. Irene cringed, abruptly regretting the alcohol-fueled confession that led to this point, waiting for Bradamant to tear into her, not even knowing if she’d be wrong.

“I’m sorry,” Bradamant said instead. “She sounded like a friend.”

“Except she wasn’t, though,” Irene said. “She just thought it was all a game. Alberich threatening the Library was just a game. Leading me to his domain was just a game. Even when she was dying, even when-”

Her blood was on my hands, Irene thought.

“-even then, she thought it was all a game.”

“She was in a story,” Bradamant said gently. “Like any Fae. It just wasn’t the story she thought it was. She thought she could be your nemesis, your rival. Someone to challenge, someone to push to new heights.”

There was a strange note to Bradamant’s voice, Irene thought, but she shook the notion aside.

“She was your friend,” Bradamant shrugged. “In her way.”

“I don’t think that’s what she was,” Irene mused.

“She was something, then,” Bradamant said, gazing down into her glass. “A maybe. An almost. She was something, or you wanted her to be.”

“I don’t even know what I want,” Irene admitted.

Bradamant shrugged. “Love?”

Irene cringed. A single word, in Bradamant’s voice, called up a memory from what felt like a lifetime ago…

“Don’t you dare tell me you don’t have enough! You want to complain because your parents are too distant, or Coppelia is too cold, or you’re still just a little cog in the Library’s vast machine? There are some people in this world, junior Irene, who would kill to have ‘problems’ like yours! Spend a few years hungry, or out in the snow. Then come to me and tell me you want more!”

Irene remembered what she’d said, back then. She’d asked Bradamant if she’d rehearsed that, or if she’d read it in a book. Needless to say, that didn’t help things. That was their first big fight, one that would be only the first of many. Irene let out a shuddering breath, and pushed the memory away.

“Then again, there’s always the chance you’re mistaking adrenaline for some other feeling,” Bradamant was saying.

Irene suddenly stood up, her chair scraping back. Bradamant looked up at her.

“Something wrong, darling?”

Irene flinched at the word. A sudden anxiety knotted in her chest. “I, um…”

Irene’s gaze flitted around the room, spotting a side door that led out onto a terrace.

“...I need some air,” Irene said, finally. She poured a last measure of brandy into her glass, downed it in one go, and then slapped the glass onto the counter and stalked away.

~*~

“You have a house, if not a home. You have people who care for you, if not about you. You may not have everything you want, but I’d wager you have everything you could ever need, and you have the audacity to claim it all forfeit because it is not love.”

- V.E. Schwab

~*~

The moon over Vale’s London was bright and clear, undimmed by smog or the shadows of moored airships. Perhaps too bright and too clear, Irene thought, but then, that would handily explain all the werewolves. She emerged onto the terrace and let the cool evening air kiss her face, leaning on a balcony rail.

There was something about this world, deep in the fabric of it, that set it apart from the Library. It was louder, of course, and smoggier, more crowded. But there was more to it than that.

Time did not pass in the Library. The Library was a place of stillness, of preservation. They say that there, you can live forever, but your wounds will never heal. Your body will be preserved, frozen in time.

Irene wondered if the same principle applied to the mind. What if the timelessness of the Library effected more than just your body? In the Library, you do not age, and you do not heal. Do you learn? Do you grow? Does pain fade? Does grief soften? Does anger dim?

That would mean that Coppelia will be perpetually obtuse, and Kostchei will forever be stiff and humorless. And Bradamant…

“Enjoying the view?” Bradamant asked.

“Yes,” Irene said, pointedly staring down at the street and not at the other woman slinking up beside her. “If you’ll excuse me, Bradamant, I was having a bottle epiphany.”

“Have you finally resolved to desert the Library and elope with your apprentice?”

“No,” Irene hissed. She sighed. “Bradamant, why are you really here?”

“You keep asking that,” Bradamant huffed. “What’s so unthinkable about a drink between friends?”

“Is that what we are?”

Bradamant stared at her, looking, for all the world, genuinely hurt. Irene bit her lip and turned away.

“I told you, I’m not here to fight,” Bradamant said stiffly. “Would I lie to you?”

Irene answered with a bark of pained, bitter laughter. Bradamant balled her fists, finally grabbing Irene by the shoulder and whirling her around to face her.

“Damn it, Irene!” Bradamant snarled. “Believe it or not, I’m trying to be honest here! I’m trying to tell you something!”

“Then say it!”

“I loved you!”

Irene stared at her, the anger dying in her throat.

“What?” Irene whispered.

“I loved you,” Bradamant echoed in the Language, and the truth of it swept across Irene like a tidal wave. The Language could not speak a lie. “A long time ago, before it got twisted into this poisonous, monstrous envy. You said you wanted to go back to us not quite hating each other, right? Well, I want to go back further- to when we were both young, and eager to do the Library’s work. Before it became about the prestige. Before the Elders started singing the praises of my apprentice, Irene the prodigy, rising star of the Library. Before envy smothered any affection I had for you.”

“Bradamant…” Irene gaped. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Then be quiet for a moment, would you?” Bradamant huffed. “The point is, I didn’t come here to fight. I came here to try to reconnect. To extend an olive branch, if you would.”

“A peace offering?” Irene blinked. “You stole my brandy!”

“Because we’re both such paragons of social interaction, Irene!” Bradamant snapped. She sighed, exasperated. “Listen, Irene. I came here because seeing you moping around the Library was becoming a nuisance. I thought I’d try to put a stop to it. That’s all. And if anyone asks what I was doing offworld, I’ll tell them I was on assignment, and consulting this alternate’s Librarian-in-Residence.”

Bradamant spun on her heel, ready to storm away from this mess of a conversation. It occurred to Irene that she could just let Bradamant leave, and their relationship, frayed as it was, would be preserved as it was right here in this moment, in all its barbs and bitterness.  No. That would not do.

“Bradamant,” Irene called, stopping her at the door. “Thank you.”

The Language coiled in the air around them, its power resonating like a warm breeze, or an embrace. Bradamant took a deep breath, tentatively turning and meeting Irene’s eyes.

“We should do this again,” Irene said simply, the tension between them dissipating on the wind.

“We should,” Bradamant mused. “Maybe next time, I’ll even bring my own glass.”

“I wish you’d said something,” Irene shrugged. “Before.”

“You were my student. It would have been unprofessional.”

“I’m not your student anymore.”

“No,” Bradamant smiled. “You’re not. Good night, Irene.”

“Good night, Bradamant,” Irene said, warmer than she’d been in months. “I don’t hate you.”

“I don’t hate you, too,” Bradamant returned. “I’ll see you at work.”

~*~

Kai was sitting at the bar, discussing the finer points of men’s fashion with Morgan while they stared, wide-eyed, and nursed a glass of cranberry juice. When he saw Bradamant coming down the steps, he stood, and acknowledged her with a polite dip of his head.

“Lady,” he said.

“Princeling,” she replied. “Here to offer Irene a shoulder to lean on? Perhaps a nice, sculpted pectoral?”

“Only if she wouldn’t prefer something softer,” Kai grinned.

“Cheeky,” Bradamant said, bringing a hand to her chest. She raised her other hand and beckoned towards the door. “Come along, Morgan.”

As the duo disappeared out onto the street, Kai made his way upstairs. He stepped out onto the terrace, the evening air a relief compared to the pub’s stuffy interior. But more of a relief was the sight of Irene, on her feet and in relatively high spirits. Woozy and leaning on a balcony rail was certainly better than drinking alone in the dark.

“Bradamant seems downright tolerable,” Kai said, by way of greeting. “What’s gotten into her?”

“Half a bottle of my brandy,” Irene said, not unkindly. She took a step towards Kai and wobbled precariously. He darted forward to steady her.

“I can imagine where the other half went,” Kai muttered, curling an arm around Irene’s waist and helping her lean on his shoulder.

Despite the moment she’d had with Bradamant earlier, it seemed that the liquor was finally starting to catch up to Irene. Irene wondered about the Library’s timelessness and its effect upon Librarian’s alcohol tolerance. Maybe that was something worth looking into.

“Come on,” Kai said beside her, steadying her, both body and mind. “One step at a time.”

Irene considered that. In the Library, time stood still, and wounds did not heal. But here she was, putting one foot in front of the other. Vale would be waiting in the carriage, no doubt with an itinerary of more work to be done. Bradamant would be lurking nearby, keeping her distance, but never too far away. And Kai would be here, right here, ready to catch her if she falls.

Time was ticking forward, and they were moving forward, one step, one confession, one job at a time.

Irene didn’t drink too often. But as far as bottle epiphanies went, well, that was a solid one.

“So drunk you won’t even talk, huh?” Kai tutted. “Come on, Irene. Let’s get you home.”

“I think home is something you take with you,” Irene said, halfway between a daze and truly heartfelt. “Not somewhere you go.”

“Oh yeah? Where’d you hear that?”

“I read it in a book,” Irene mumbled sleepily. “I might not be remembering it right.”

“We’ll look it up in the morning, then,” Kai said. “Let’s go home.”

The Library is an island, untouched by time. They say that there, you can live forever, but your wounds will never heal. But out here, time was ticking forward, slowly but surely, each passing second a heartbeat, a footstep, a confession, or a promise.

~*~

“I think that Hell is something you take with you. Not somewhere you go.”

- Neil Gaiman

~*~