#thinking of making more lore heavy titles for some of my drawings

[tavyliasin]

Raphael - Archduke of Asexuals

Welcome to another essay from Tavylia! We need some words about the handsome devil himself now, darlings, do we not? Because there's something very Ace about him - and I don't just mean "what a nifty guy", strap in (but not on) because we're going on a deep dive on...

Why Is Raphael the King of Asexuals and What Is It About Him That Draws So Many Of Us To Him Like He Is Made Of Garlic Bread: Another "Short" Essay by TavyliaSin (Who Frankly Rebels Against The Idea Of A Concise Title) ((Because This Is More Fun)) (((I Might Have Some Volo In My Family Tree)))

((Side Note - Ended up discussing more of Asexuality in fandom in general, but that's cool, right?...Right, well, the sections are marked, read as you so wish~)) Alright, this time we're not going to go too heavy into any darker topics, but there will be a deep examination of character, lore, asexuality, and a large heap of headcanons. There will also be a lot of microlabels, so I'll pop a short glossary at the end and some resources.

Also, please remember that no headcanon of mine is ever intended to override canon, or anyone else's HC - each HC is true and valid to the head it lives within~ that's the beauty of them, they are ours, and even when shared they remain our own to enjoy too.

What in the Hells is Asexuality Anyway? Aka, is Lia really trying to say the man she writes so much smut for is not sexual at all? (A brief overview of Asexuality)

Asexuality, in the most basic definition, means quite simply: "Experiencing limited or no sexual attraction." Now, look very closely. Some Asexuals, or Aces as we are sometimes called (and will be in this essay) experience absolute 0 sexual attraction. Some experience a very limited amount, or only under specific circumstances. It's also about Sexual Attraction and does not necessarily include feelings towards Action. I find this is best explained by the Split Attraction Model: Sexual Attraction - Attraction with a sexual component. Romantic Attraction - Attraction with a romantic component. Libido - Arousal, physical desire to act on arousal whether alone or partnered. Sex Drive - The desire to engage in partnered sexual activity, with or without arousal. A lot of people might look at those criteria and think "but those are the same thing", and for many that would be a fair assumption if they tend to be experienced simultaneously. But many among us only experience some parts, or they're not connected. The key is that whilst some Asexuals may experience little or none of any of those four, the only one relevant is the first, and an asexual with high libido or sex drive is no less asexual than any other, there's just no person attached to that libido or drive. So there are asexuals who enjoy sex, who have sexual relationships, and there are also asexuals who have no interest in any of that - the best part is, we're all valid!

Alright, But What Does This Have To Do With Raphael? The Devil Who Seduces In Every Other Sentence?

Right, see, here's the thing. He does flirt, but it never goes further. Seduction is just another tool that he uses, the same way he uses intimidation, promises, and bargains. It would be foolish of him to ignore the potential to bend someone to his schemes when he notices the colour rise to their cheeks when he talks, his goals need a lot of pieces to fall into place. None of it feels genuine. Raphael simply needs people to agree to his terms, and if the promise of sex secures a signature then so be it - besides, he has a hungry incubus at home who can fulfil that side of the deal without him ever having to lift a finger~ It isn't uncommon either for asexual people to make innuendo, lewd jokes, or to flirt without intention - some may even find that it's very easy to do this when there's no attraction or expectation. So for that... He reads as very Ace to me, it's all a part of the manipulation and the grand scheme. There's no actual attraction there. Interest? Certainly, the player character can be a very useful tool in his needs.

What About Haarlep? How Do They Fit In If Raphael Is Asexual?

Haarlep is an extremely sexual being, by their very nature they feed on sex and sexual energy, and we know by what they say that Raphael does indeed sleep with them. The canon would lead one to a logical microlabel when looking at Raphael and Haarlep together: Autosexual - This means experiencing more sexual attraction to yourself than to anyone else. This is a rarer microlabel, but still under the Ace umbrella as "limited sexual attraction" which can mean "attraction is very infrequent" and/or "attraction is only experienced under specific circumstances". And, of course, the HC territory can veer into Haarlep feeling like a safe enough option to deal with Libido and Sex Drive without having to find another partner or worry about attraction. You can also, if you really want to, bring in the canon that so many Anti-Raphael people love to scream about, "Haarlep says Raphael is bad in bed". Perhaps he is, perhaps he's just not into it beyond the simple release of tension and need. I'm not judging him for that, even if my HC is wildly different.

Why Is It Asexuals Like Him So Much? Is It Just Because He's Ace Too?

Well here come the deeper theories, based more on my own personal angle than anyone else's, so please do not assume this is the "only correct interpretation" nor the only way an ace may adore him. Plenty of aces don't feel any sexual or romantic attraction to Raphael, they're simply very fond of him as a character. He's interesting, oddly non-threatening because that flirtation is never pushed too far, never acted on, it's just there, a part of his clear interest in the player character (and he is obsessed, in his way, those diaries read like self-insert fan-fiction Raphael, my love, I see you). There's depth, intrigue, and the same things I've talked about before with villain fandom. So we can look deeper. Flirtation can be nice for anyone to feel, and oddly enough as an Ace I have often preferred characters who are open and overt in their attempts to seduce. This isn't necessarily true in life, real people and fiction are very different (hello, fellow FictoSexuals, good to have you here darlings~) but there is something appealing in the casual manner and clear tone. We also might have more of a draw to villains in general, but I've covered some of that in my last little ramble~ Reciprosexuals may also feel more for Raphael as he's initiating the flirtation, expressing potential attraction. Demisexuals are also likely to find that getting to know him is what draws them in. There's an element of "Forbidden Fruit" at play here too, in the way there isn't a romance for him (Haarlep does not count, they are their own being, a different personality). Then, of course we have kink.

Aces In Kinky Spaces

Here's the controversial one, loves, but I do ask that you approach this with understanding and compassion~ Not all aces are kinky. But there are a good portion who are. Kink is not always sexual, although it very much can be there are some people who enjoy, for example, "subspace" in BDSM - this is where a submissive reaches a kind of blissful inner peace as a result of being made to submit, their senses brought to focus on bondage, pain, or following orders. It varies from person to person, but it often described as a floaty feeling, freeing, relaxing, deeply satisfying without necessarily including anything sexual at all. Of course, kink can be sexual too, which you will find in a whole lot of my writing, don't think about it too hard darling let me have this one~ This can be helpful for someone not experiencing sexual attraction, but instead finding sex drive and libido from kink instead, allowing them to engage in sexual relationships and activity in a manner they are comfortable with and enjoy. There is also the safety of trust and rules with kink play. So the obvious reminder goes here: Consent is key Safe words and signals are binding and must be instantly respected when used Nobody should be shamed for safe word/signal use Aftercare is important and not optional Negotiation needs to happen before a scenario, not during/after When I write with Raphael, there's almost always the kink angle because he so naturally falls into D/s and Power Play tropes. On the surface you have a very Dominant personality, so it's easy to see him continuing that role in the bedroom. But then there's the other side, Raphael as a sub, not only because of what Haarlep says (and do remember "sub" and "bottom" are not the same thing), but because people who are often in control and making decisions in their daily life find freedom and enjoyment in giving over that control to someone else, not having to worry about anything but enjoying the situation while another takes on all those decisions. So he fits very well with plenty of kinky ace themes, and I quite like that feeling of "he's not just going to get into bed with someone who is pretty, there's going to be a genuine interest and desire there that's beyond the surface, a deeper need and longing for who they are". That's rather nice, honestly.

Aces and Spicy FanWorks

Alright going to draw this in to a close now loves we are running long with this one! FictoSexuals will be more aware of this than most, but fictional characters and works often have more draw because there's a layer of disconnection to it. There's no actual partner with expectations or needs, you can step away from fiction at any moment. You can close the app/browser, scroll past the art, stop reading, save and exit the game - there is complete control in how and when you engage with the content, whether consuming it or making it. So there are a fair few of us, playing around with those fantasies in art and writing, things that are fun and comfortable in our own ways, and I'm grateful that we have this space to do so~ I've met more than one fellow ace in the creative side of fandom and I'm simply never surprised by it. We aren't defined by our attractions, and we are collectively rather talented at this little hobby of ours~ The fun theory there is that when we don't experience much (or any) sexual attraction, we are looking that much closer when writing about it. We don't tend to skip it, we analyse what is attractive, where it comes from, how it might feel, why it feels that way, and that can present itself as deeper and more detailed fictional works. Whether that's in the posing and expressions of visual arts, or in the narration and dialogue of writing, we are paying attention to trying to get it right, whether it's an experience we can ever relate to personally or not.

Alright, Is This Thing Ever Ending?

It really should, you're so right~ Raphael Fandom, and other more niche characters, do have a fair amount of Asexuals for all the reasons above and likely a whole lot more too. I love that for us, and I love talking about it because there is so little Asexual visibility sometimes that people take many many years to even know they're ace because it's simply not an option they're aware of. So hello to all of you who slid down the OverCompensating Bisexual/Pansexual -> Asexual pipeline because you thought "feeling the same way towards any gender" was all that meant and didn't realise "feeling nothing towards any gender" is actually different and its own thing, oops. We're here now, and that's just fine~ Take care, beloved Aces, regardless where you are under the Asexual Umbrella, or what microlabels you wear.

You are valid, seen, heard, and loved.

^ Raphael realising he's not Bi/Pan, he's Ace and owning it, like the king he is. Or perhaps not king... Archduke of Asexuality~

---------------------------------- ---------------------------------- ASEXUAL RESOURCES AND MICROLABEL DEFINITIONS ---------------------------------- ----------------------------------

Asexual - Experiences little to no sexual attraction Greysexual/Grey Asexual - Experiences limited sexual attraction Demisexual - Only experiences attraction after an emotional bond has formed or knowing the individual well on a personal level Fraysexual - Sexual attraction is brief and does not last once an emotional bond is formed Fictosexual - Experiences sexual attraction towards fictional characters (art, writing, film, games, other media, but not real people) Autosexual - Attraction is towards the self more than to other people Reciprosexual - Only experiences attraction after attraction towards them has been clearly expressed --- This is not a full or comprehensive list of microlabels! Nor should people feel a need to use them. They are there to help us understand ourselves and to relate to others in the community. None have to be strict, and it is perfectly valid for your sexuality to shift during your lifetime for any reason. --- For more information and resources on Asexuality, I strongly recommend seeking out Ace communities, even on places like Reddit, and this website:

Asexual Visibility and Education Network (AVEN) Website

#baldurs gate 3 #fanfic #bg3 raphael #haarlep #asexuality #asexuality in fiction #asexuality in fanfiction #raphael the archduke of asexuality #aces in kink spaces #asexuality and kink #asexual #acespec #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #let's talk about asexuality because it's damn near invisible sometimes #asexual microlabels #aven #please feel free to discuss this in comments etc #we are all valid

[nyseehallow]

Hetch, Red, And Others Like Him: Genloss Mini Theories

Disclaimer

A lot of the theories is just me trying to make sense of Hetch's existence in the bigger scope of genloss cause honestly he's pretty sussy. Also, there'll probably be lots of lore inaccuracies and all theories could be easily debunked when the founder's cut gets released. Still, I hope there's still some substance in my rotting brain :)

!! Spoiler Warnings Ahead !!

General Background

At the end of episode 3, I find it strange that we don’t get much of Hetch’s personal motives and intentions as to why he “finds” people for the cast; why he still bothers going on with these experiments. Though that isn’t clear, I don’t think his motives matter as much in the context of the general lore of the entire series. But, I do think his presence on gen 1 will say a lot about the plans of the founder and the prevalence of “generation loss” in the lore. Because of this, I’ll be dividing this into different mini theories and connecting it into one big theory:

The color red on Hetch and the red censor box

The inauguration and its connection to Hetch

Infinite generations = more people like Hetch

The Theories

1st Theory: The color red on Hetch and the red censor box

From the 3rd episode, the symbolism of the black box has been made pretty clear: death or something similar to it (ex: the box closing on Ranboo). But for the red censor box, it hasn't been shown at all in TSE literally. My theory is that it's shown more figuratively in TSE, that the person under the red censor are people who are given a purpose by the founder. In TSE, that would be Hetch. I have a couple of reasons why.

In this pic from Gen 0 with the video titled: T_1, the person censored with a red box is the one teaching the genloss symbol to a class of students.

And looking back, it's similar to how Hetch has been running these social experiments with the help of Showfall, brainwashing the cast into propaganda that keeps them in a time loop of death. But why draw this similarity? Well, it has something to do with the color red. While there are a few characters with the red motif, Hetch is the only character who has full autonomy and control over the cast and Showfall in all eps of gen loss with heavy use of the color red. Not once have we seen him being explicitly mind controlled or reset by Showfall. Instead, his red motif appears whenever he tries to "hack" into the system or even just simply talking to Ranboo in ep 3.

Examples below show Hetch appearing with red glitches whenever he communicates to Ranboo in ep 1 & 2.

In ep 3, the screens behind Ranboo turned red when Hetch announces the results of the audience, controlling the box trap and Ranboo's fate of death.

It signals to me that Hetch knows his control over the cast and control over his affiliation with Showfall but is being held back by the founder. He was able to say the full truth to the cast and us the audience but not the outside world past the mall's exit doors. In short, he has control but not the entirety of that control. Hetch is only a fraction of it.

This pic shows that he was once those students but is an outlier amongst everyone (outliers will be called as "chosen ones" for now).

It leads me to my next point as to how the founder picks these chosen ones (referring to Hetch) to be part of a generation.

2nd Theory: The inauguration and its connection to Hetch

In the vid: T_2, us the viewers are being interviewed and asks us some weird "would you rather" type questions. I won't analyze every question, but the last 2 questions are vital to my theory that the inauguration is a final test for people who are chosen by the founder.

"You or Them?"

If we were to compare it to Hetch's character progression throughout TSE, he was very much willing to let the cast members die and being rebooted back to the show. And yes, while he did "help" Ranboo and got himself "killed", he still came back to life and ended up killing Ranboo. My speculation is that the founder wanted the chosen one to be selfish enough to be able to put themselves over others, but not enough to betray the founder in the end.

"Are you Alone? Yes or No?"

Okay I will say this one may be grasping at speculation since we don't know if Hetch was ever with someone during his inauguration but the fact that he was alone in delegating the show raises a lot of questions. He was alone in hacking into Showfall, he was alone in helping Ranboo, and he was alone with the responsibility of making these experiments go to plan. I think that the founder is just making sure that Hetch truly was alone and that Hetch wouldn't suddenly just try to go off not doing his purpose. But what is Hetch's purpose? The next theory is mostly speculation so take it with a grain of salt.

3rd Theory: Infinite generations = more people like Hetch

Whew... you somehow made it this far. With the last video posted on the genloss channel, we finally get to see the founder and how TSE has all been taped/recorded from the start. Now don't get me wrong, it would be safe to assume that the story of Gen 1 would be continued in Gen 2 or at least be connected to one larger story, but Ranboo has said otherwise.

Ranboo answers a question from a chatter about this. (credits to @/GLUpdate on Twitter for the screenshots)

So since Gen 1 and Gen 2 will most definitely have an entirely different plot from each other, what if the founder had inaugurated these chosen ones to individually make sure that each generation will take place? I'm not saying that Hetch will be a reoccurring character in all of the generations but I do think that people like him who are given a purpose are making sure that there will be infinite generations. It's really just a question of how far the rabbit hole can go, how far can the founder can really go into these generations. And with that, comes betrayal.

The Actual Big Theory

So what's the connection with all three of these theories? The real big theory I have for people like Hetch and the future of genloss is that there will be a generation where a chosen one will try to really get full autonomy of the founder's plan, trying to break this cycle of infinite generations. This is why there's an inauguration taken place to make sure that these chosen ones will be kept at bay and won't do anything stupid. And it's also why the chosen ones are kept separated and alone; they know too much. In short, the founder is not to be trusted and that the chosen ones are being held back by something twisted that make them continue doing bad things (possible ex: killings) for the founder and their own generation.

Thank you so much for reading this :D! I will be genuinely surprised if this somehow doesn't get debunked immediately once the founder's cut gets released kek :) Feel free to ask me questions about this theory cause I would love to hear your thoughts :DD!

#generation loss theory #genloss theory #genloss #generation loss #genloss brainrot #genloss hetch #gl!hetch #generation loss the social experiments #nysee brainrots genloss #nysee brainrots

[zyonnproject]

ART622 Proposal

NAME:  

Jordan Zygiert

TUTOR:

Mike Lawson-Smith

TITLE OF WORK:

Zyonn (Main character’s name)

MEDIUM / /MEDIA:

Digital drawing, 3D modelling, 3D printing, model painting, scale modelling

SHORT DESCRIPTION:

My current goal for this project is to make around 10 models of my own characters after drawing up their designs, then 3D print and paint the models. I want to make the models in 1:56 scale (28-32mm) as that is the most common size for any tabletop games, like for example Warhammer or Dungeons and Dragons. This would potentially make more people interested in the models, as they may recognise the size and associate it with tabletop gaming. I also spent a lot of my time over the summer preparing for this project by building and painting tabletop models, which means I got more practice painting models, and I have a better idea of what works well on scale that small, like exaggerating the details in the sculpt to make them noticeable on a model that size. I am also currently working on a diorama for a Warhammer army, which will be good practice for the one I want to make at the end of the project.

My secondary goal is to write some lore for the characters, and make either one large diorama to house all of them, or a series of small dioramas. Currently, I am leaning towards the latter, as that would allow me to give more context for separate characters/groups of characters with their surroundings. In terms of the character lore, I don’t want to make the project too writing-heavy, so I will probably keep it to the world setting and a paragraph for each character. However, I want to put all of the writing, along with the drawn designs, in a booklet on the side, so that people can see the models first and come up with their own interpretation before reading anything about them. I am also thinking of potentially including a notebook in the exhibition, so people could write down what their interpretation of the characters was before reading about them if they want to.

 In terms of the audience, I will mainly be aiming for older teenagers-young adults, however, anyone who is into games, painting models, futuristic/steampunk media or comic books could also be interested. As for the artists, I am planning to reuse and further my research from last year, and add some artists and miniature model companies I found over the summer, like Squidmar, Miniac, Ninjon on Youtube, I found them very helpful with miniature painting and I’m impressed by their work, or companies like Games Workshop or Loot Studios, which make and sell amazing models. Analysing those will help me produce the best outcome possible for my own miniatures.

 SPACE REQUIREMENTS:

Not much space, only enough for a diorama/series of small dioramas and a stack of booklets next to it. Large plinth.

TECHNICAL:

No technical needs with my current plans.

PLAN:

Large diorama/series (2-4) of small dioramas to house all of the models I make + a stack of booklets with the designs and backstory of the characters.

TIMELINE:

               *VERY rough time plan

October: Planning, practice (diorama), start documenting research

November: Finish the practice diorama, halfway though should be able to do 3D printing induction – test out models from last year on a smaller scale, adjust whatever needs improving on them, possibly start re-making those models. I will also try to write the story for the models as I design them, so I don’t end up getting a back log.

December: Create 2-3 more characters designs + start working on the models

January: Finish off the models, with test printing them along the way to see if they’re working

February: 2-3 more character designs + models (should get faster with practice)

March: Last characters along with models, start working on proper paint jobs on the models (ideally want to paint all the models at the end so they match together well,

April: Design the diorama(s), gather the materials, and start building them

May: Finish off the diorama(s)

DEGREE SHOW ROLE:

Installation/Technical

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

“An old photo of one of the security guards working at the Clifton Mall! This one dates back to 1978, and features the man nicknamed “Cone Head” by locals.”

#woah original stuff #shmorps ocs i guess #body horror #cone head #creature design #character design #artists on tumblr #shmorps art #thinking of making more lore heavy titles for some of my drawings #though this specific character doesn’t have a whole lot of lore to him right now #also testing out making drawings look like old pictures :) #I like this guy he’s such a guy

[izaswritings]

Title: the brothers grim

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Synopsis: Left in an unfamiliar land with a mission he never wanted, a young Kaeya lies, survives, and somehow finds a family in the process. 

Or: How Kaeya came to Dawn Winery, and why he left it. Includes lore, sibling bickering, found family struggles, and a more in-depth look at the years between Kaeya’s arrival and Crepus’s death.

AO3 link is here.

[Next chapter is here!]

.

chapter one: the storm

.

Kaeya’s first day in the nation of Mondstadt is a silent one.

They reach the border sometime in the bitter blue dawn, and by midday have reached the rolling hills. His father walks bent under the weight of the winds and Kaeya picks his way along the path behind him, half-hidden in the stooping shadow and lone eye fixed on his father’s back. They do not stop to eat. There is a statue of the Seven settled in the heart of a shallow lake, and they do not stop there either. The whole way through this windy land, despite his secret promise to keep his eye on his father until the end, Kaeya’s gaze drifts, fascinated, to the sea of grass sounding them.

His father has no such distractions. Though he has never set foot in Mondstadt either, his gaze never drifts, his eyes fixed cold and sure on the horizon. He walks with purpose, and does not falter, even when Kaeya lags behind. He does not speak. Beyond the quiet oath he had made Kaeya swear the night before, in that last campfire, he has not said a word.

The clouds clutter close and gray. The wind howls. Kaeya quickens his pace, lingering by his father’s heels, and says, “I think it’s going to rain.”

His father’s eyes flicker up. He is quiet for a moment. He says, “That will help you.”

Kaeya presses his lips and doesn’t argue. He thinks about the oath. He reaches for his covered eye and then forces his hand back down.

In the late afternoon, they arrive. His father leaves him on the side of the road just as the storm is beginning to form, the clouds churning high above their heads, gray and angry like the ghosts of Khaenri'ah at their worst. His hands weigh heavy on Kaeya’s shoulders; his gaze unsettles him. His eyes are pale and focused and do not seem to see Kaeya at all.

“You understand,” he says again, as he has been saying for days now, and Kaeya nods. “This is it, Kaeya. Your last chance. You are our only hope.” His fingers dig tight into Kaeya’s shoulders. “You understand.”

“I do,” Kaeya says back. This is serious, and he should be taking it seriously, but he has heard these words so often now they’ve become exhausting for him. Still, he says what his father wants to hear: “I understand.”

“Good,” his father says. His hands draw back, and he steps away. He is staring out somewhere over Kaeya’s head—to Khaenri'ah, to home, and there is a bitter curl to his lip and yet a brightness to his eyes. “Good.”

Kaeya waits. His father says nothing else. He prompts, “See you.”

His father pauses. His eyes flicker down to Kaeya, and for a moment he actually seems to see him fully: Kaeya, the chosen son, nine years old and tired from the journey, too-thin wrists and thread-bare hems and all. He considers him. And instead of echoing the words, instead of see you again or good luck or make me proud, all he says is, “Goodbye.”

It is late afternoon and those distant storm clouds are staining red. The wind is beginning to howl. Kaeya stands off on the side of the road, the grasses swaying by his waist, and watches his father leave him behind. It is cold. His fingertips are already going numb. He chuffs his hands and crosses his arms, and settles down to wait.

.

By evening it starts to rain, and Kaeya curls his arms around himself and thinks it would be very funny if all their information turned out wrong, and their last chance died out in the brutal storm from the cold. He entertains the idea for a good few minutes, grinning to himself, and then the raindrops start to soak through the cloth he’s tied around his eye, and he is distracted from the hilarity by annoyance. The cold is sinking into his bones.

The dusty road has turned to sludge, and the winds have been echoing mournful howls for hours now—perhaps this is why he misses the coming of the carriage. In the growing twilight shade it is near impossible to see, half-taken by the fog, and Kaeya spots it only moments before he finally hears the creaking wheels over the wind.

His smile falls. He holds himself still. He waits until they are close enough to see him, and then he ducks his head and backs away as if they’ve startled him.

The carriage is slowing to a stop, voices beginning to rise over the wind. The door opens. A man steps out from the carriage, one hand shading his eyes. Even in the gloom, the red of his hair is striking; his face is lined with an age that crinkles warm at his eyes. Kaeya watches him, wary. The rain drips in his eye.

The man has an umbrella, and he props it open. Someone else in the carriage protests. “Master Crepus, please—”

“Peace,” says the man, waving the second voice away, and then he gets the umbrella open and picks his way through the soaked grasses and muddy road to where Kaeya is standing. He is limping slightly; an old injury, maybe, made worse by weather. Kaeya judges the man’s expression and shuffles back another step. The man stops.

“Hello,” he says. He has to raise his voice to be heard over the wind. Kaeya squints at him through the downpour. “What are you doing out here, child?”

Kaeya opens his mouth and closes it again. He hesitates. At last, he calls back. “I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

For you. “My father. He said—he’s coming back.” He is not. The lie curls at his toes; not so much the act of lying but the fact it’s a lie at all. Goodbye. What a wash.

The man’s face is blank, and he takes in this answer with a flicker of a frown. “Back from where? Is he nearby?” 

This time Kaeya stays silent, and looks away. The rain has soaked his hair flat; the water is icy cold against his skin. He makes a face down at the road.

“Boy,” the man says, after a pause, “you are just about soaked through. This storm is… do you have somewhere you can go?”

“He said he was going to get some juice,” Kaeya says. This lie, at least, is easy to speak aloud. “He said to wait here, I—”

“When was this?”

Another long pause.

“Child—”

“This afternoon.”

This time the silence weighs heavy. Kaeya keeps his eye on the ground, trying to think of how a fearful, abandoned child should act; but he’s tired now, all of a sudden, too tired to really sell the lie. He can’t stop shivering. He is starting to get a little angry. He is playing his part and playing it well, but this man is forgetting his lines. Say something already.

It occurs to him that maybe Crepus Ragnvindr is deciding what to do, that perhaps he is wary about taking in this strange, half-staved boy from the road. Maybe Kaeya should push it a little, ask for a night of shelter and then “offer” to help work around the winery to pay him back. A fair bit suspicious at first, perhaps, but if he keeps his head down, they’ll probably forget about him within the month, and he will be free to act. Kaeya can do that. He lifts his head—

“Master Crepus!” someone from the carriage calls, and the man turns away.

“Yes,” he says, sounding annoyed now. “I know, I know, just a moment!” And before Kaeya can speak he has turned back to face him, is crouching down carefully to Kaeya’s level and offering out his hand. Kaeya blinks at it. “I’m sure your father will come back soon,” he says warmly, and Kaeya’s planned response falters at that. For a moment he almost wants to laugh. You do? I don’t. “But it is getting dark, and I can’t in good conscience let a child wander about in a storm. How about this— let me shelter you for the night, and when this storm has passed we can come back here and wait for your father to return together. Is that all right?”

Kaeya stares at him. The man smiles patiently back. He looks tired too.

He should build the lie further, Kaeya knows; he should act his role a little longer yet. But he’s cold, and his fingers feel frozen, and deep down Kaeya feels a little like his insides have turned to ice too. The momentary warmth of his father’s hand on his shoulder has faded.

And in the end, all Kaeya says is, “Okay.”

If the man is suspicious about how quickly Kaeya gives in, it doesn’t show on his face. He is smiling, looking almost relieved; he stands and beckons Kaeya to the carriage. “I am Crepus,” he says, kindly. “What is your name, boy?”

“Kaeya.” He bites his last name back behind his teeth at the final moment. Alberich, no longer. He has to get used to it.

“Kaeya?” It is not a Mondstadt name, Kaeya knows, and holds himself briefly still, but all Master Crepus does is hum. “It is nice to meet you. Come along, then—let’s get you out of the cold.”

Suspicious, wary, and in no position to argue, Kaeya follows him.

The carriage is a fancy thing, and bigger than first thought. As a man comes down from the side to take back Master Crepus’s umbrella, Master Crepus reaches over Kaeya’s head and opens the door, gesturing him onward. Inside is dimly lit and another man is settled in the opposing seat, brown-haired and masked and scowling. Kaeya pauses in the door.

“What is this?” the second man demands. “Master Crepus—”

“Good sir,” Master Crepus says, from behind Kaeya. Kaeya looks back at him, and when Master Crepus gestures him on again, resists the urge to roll his eyes and finally climbs into the carriage. “This is Kaeya. He will be joining us on our ride to the winery—I trust you have no objections?” The man opens his mouth. “Wonderful,” Master Crepus says, before the other can speak. “The Fatui are truly generous. The Tsaritsa is lucky indeed to have such people as her subjects.”

He climbs inside the carriage and closes the door, and raps his fist against the wall. With a quiet lurch, the carriage starts to move. The man scowls, briefly, but does not try to speak again.

Kaeya sits against the far wall on the edge of the seat, his legs hanging over the drop. His fingers seize up and he rubs at them again. The air is too warm here, too hot—his fingertips, once frozen, now feel as if he’s set them on fire. He curls his aching hands in and out of fists and keeps his eyes on the window.

Outside the closed doors of the carriage, the storm is rattling still; in contrast the carriage itself sits in silence. Master Crepus watches Kaeya with the slightest of frowns, a knot of worry in his brow; the Fatui man avoids looking at Kaeya at all. Kaeya keeps his eye on the window. The falling rain, the meandering road; still, he watches it all, gaze fixed on the distant and misty fields, the swaying grass dripping rain. He wonders how far his father has gone. He wonders if his father has left Mondstadt yet, if he has found shelter from the storm, if he is still thinking of Kaeya at all.

Master Crepus has promised to bring him back here, and something about that sits bitter in Kaeya’s chest. There is nothing left to be found. But he is not angry. He is not upset. Because when it comes to this, to this last chance and last hope, this final oath taken by that final campfire, Kaeya has always understood.

#genshin impact #kaeya alberich #diluc ragnvindr #ragnvindr brothers #crepus ragnvindr #kaeya ragnvindr #kaeya #diluc #genshin #genshin fic #don't tag as ship #iza fanfic #fic: the brothers grim #ive had this fic on ao3 for awhile but im gonna start posting here too #I'll get all the chapters on here eventually haha #reblogs are always appreciated!!!!

[grimmradiance]

Close to Me: How the Hollow Knight's Fighting Style Reflects Their Trauma (and the Radiance's as well)

So I've been trying to actually beat the Radiance, which means I've been fighting the Hollow Knight. A lot, as a matter of fact, since I'm beans at this game sometimes. I've also been thinking about @lost-kinn's meta about how fighting styles are how Vessels, especially the Little Knight, communicate.

In trying to apply this to the Hollow Knight, I've been coming to some very interesting conclusions, especially taken in context of...Everything Else in the lore, and Everything Else implicated in this by the psychology of it.

There's a lot to cover here, and it tracks through a LOT of different places, including trauma psychology, the relationship between chronic stress and lifespan health, and shape symbolism. Two warnings first:

One: this essay is gonna get heavy. It includes fine-grained discussion of the Hollow Knight's trauma, including discussions of the real-life machanics of psychological abuse, as well as the Extremely Concerning Implications of them harming themself during their boss fight. please read with caution and when you're in a safe emotional place to do so.

Two: This post is not a place for justifying the Pale King. If you read this essay in its entirety and still want to do that, please make your own post; my relationship to the Hollow Knight themself is deeply rooted in my own experiences, so in the context of this discussion I can't promise I won't take it personally.

With that out of the way, let's talk trauma and fighting styles:

We know that the Hollow Knight is trained to be a paragon of fighting skill, through the Pure Vessel fight, and this gives us a fantastic way to compare what they were like before they were made Government Assigned Radiance Jail, and after. Or, in other words, we're given the perfect opportunity to see what the Radiance is doing (i.e. context effects), and what Hollow is (i.e. what we can conclude is reliably consistent as a part of them). Listed here, for reference:

Hollow's attacks:

Three slashes

A dash slash

A Radiant Shade Soul, which launches a volley of Infection blobs in arcs

A Radiant Desolate Dive, which produces pillars of entwined Void and Light at random intervals

The Infection bursting out of them in random arcs, covering a significant amount of the aerial space of the arena

The Radiance ragdolling their body around trying to hit the Knight

Contact damage from them stabbing themself and falling over atop you

The Pure Vessel's attacks:

Three slashes

A dash slash

A Pure Shade Soul, which launches a volley of nails in straight lines

A Pure Desolate Dive, which produces nails at specific intervals

A Pure Focus, which causes circular explosions across most of the aerial space in the arena

Lashing out with a Void Arm (word choice intentional)

I've highlighted attacks from each battle that are different, since those are our points of interest here. In addition, both the Pure Vessel and Hollow are exceedingly fond of teleport-spamming in a way that is usually reserved for a specific group of bosses.

Another very important distinction between these two fights: the Pure Vessel doesn't scream. Well, they certainly try to, but no sound comes out. No voice to cry suffering, after all. All of these points have a lot to go into, so let's address them one at a time.

All That Remains: Theoretical Background On The Significance Of Constants

Making comparisons across time is important specifically because humans (and human-like bugs) change. Most personality traits aren't set in stone--they exist as an interaction of someone's internal tendencies, their experiences, and their environment. Speaking of those last two points, not all experiences and environments are created equally. Adverse childhood experiences (ACEs for short) are known to have lifelong implications for a child's health, both physically and mentally. These are events that are so stressful or stressful for so long that they exceed a child's ability to cope and become toxic stress (yes, that's the term in the literature, because it actively damages your organs). They compound, as well--the stress of one ACE makes it harder for a child to cope with another, especially if they overlap.

Some examples of ACEs? Being exposed to physical danger or the threat of physical danger, deprivation of normal social relationships with peers of a similar age, being forcibly seperated from family members, witnessing a loved one being hurt or killed, chronic illness in oneself or a family member, neglect of a child's emotional needs....

Poor fucking Holly. It's a miracle they didn't disintegrate under the pressure. The only other option is that they bent and adapted under that much stress--in other words, most of their personality has been forcibly reshaped by what they've gone through. Anyone who has up-close experience with parentification or complex child abuse already knows: this was by design. I'm not saying the intent was to traumatize the Pure Vessel past several points of no return, but the intent definitely was to reshape their personality for the purpose of being The Vessel. We only see them (the Pure Vessel) in battle after this process is mostly or entirely complete, but we do see them a few times beforehand. I'd like to draw attention to the Path of Pain cutscene right now.

I've seen people talking about the look the Vessel and the King share as a sign that TPK really does love his child. That might be true, but it's definitely not relevant when it comes to how abuse works. This is, in fact, exactly how the cycle of abuse uses affection as a tool. Long periods of abuse or neglect, smoothed over by small periods of affection that placate the survivor? That's textbook love bombing, the kind that forms stubborn trauma bonds and facilitates unhealthy dependency. Forgive me for not giving the Higher Being of knowledge and prescience the benefit of the doubt on that one. (/s)

Team Cherry knows about the importance of parallels and dissonance. There's a reason the music in the second phase of the Hollow Knight fight plays in the Path of Pain. There's a reason it cuts out the moment the battle with the Kingsmoulds is over, instead of at the room transition. There's a reason it doesn't cut out in the Black Egg. Actually, there's two potential reasons, which could also coexist: either little Hollow trusts the Pale King to keep them safe, even after the borderline torture that they were just subjected to, or big Hollow is so hypervigilant that they're in full functioning-through-trauma mode even while they're at death's door.

If you don't see how much the Pale King scarred his child at this point, I'm not sure we were playing the same game.

Walking the Straight Line: How the Pale King's Teachings Show In the Pure Vessel

The Pale King loves order and control. Everything about the White Palace and every decision we see him make implies this. Everything is spotless white walls and well-maintained gardens; the only signs of disorder are hidden away, either in his workshop or in The Pit™. This also reflects in the Pure Vessel's title--pure as in holy, but also pure as in without flaw. Considering the Nailsmith's emotional state after completing the Pure Nail, TPK's fate with his Perfect Controlled Kingdom, and the Godmaster ending as a whole, attaining perfection is not a good thing in any sense.

We know the Hollow Knight isn't perfect--that's the whole catalyst for the plot. But considering their upbringing and their fighting style as the Pure Vessel, their imperfections absolutely kill them emotionally. I'll spare the lecture on how perfectionism affects neurodivergent kids even more severely than neurotypical kids, if only to keep this post to a reasonable length (look up "twice-exceptional children" if you'd like to know the theory I'm glossing over in more depth). But, in essence, the deck is doubly stacked against them--they have a higher goal to reach, and far more obsctacles in their path, including their own emotional scars.

I've already discussed how Hollow isn't meant for this kind of stress in a physical sense in other posts. They're not prepared for it emotionally, either--the Pale King wants perfection, and they can't even stand up straight (every spoonie in the audience already knows how exhausting people's obsession with Standing Up Straight is). There's another page on their stack of emotional baggage, even BEFORE you consider that the Pure Vessel knows their perfection is what bought them a ticket out of the Abyss.

Bringing Teleportation To A Sword Fight: Where The Pure Vessel Reveals Their Fears

How else are they going to cope with that need for perfection, that need to prove themselves worthy of the reason their life was spared, by being flawless in any way they can? Being a mechanical, flawless fighter puts so much pressure on them, both literally (repetitive strain injuries fucking HURT) and figuratively--if you're predictable, the only sure way to win is to mop the floor with your opponents before they figure you out. Hell, that's the way most people play their first run of Hollow Knight, by throwing themselves at the bosses over and over until they figure out the patterns. That strategy is inherently going to fail against an opponent that's, say, an immortal higher being.

There's no way that the Vessel didn't figure this out, and yet none of their TPV specific attacks are positioned randomly--the nails are always evenly spaced, and the Focus explosions are always in a specific height region of the screen. That's clinging to survival strategies even when they become maladaptive in its purest form.

Another dip into psychological theory: let's talk about disorganized attachment. Attachment styles describe how someone's relationships to their main caregiver(s) influence their understanding on relationships in general. Disorganized attachment is a result of an upbringing of inherently unstable parent-child relationships, where there's no way of a child predicting whether an adult is going to be delighted to see them, ambivalent, upset, or otherwise. If my parent woke up some days saying "all right my child, time for the Infinite Buzzsaws Obstacle Course," I'd be the same way. In adulthood this manifests as an inability to form a stable sense of self-concept as well as concepts of others. Mission accomplished, TPK, there's no will to break if you broke it yourself.

This is where the fighting styles as communication comes in--Hollow needs to keep Ghost at a distance to fight, but also wants to be closer to their sibling (the only being who has a chance of understanding what they've been through), BUT also has a trauma-rooted fear of attaching to people, as their experiences with attachment are inherently unpredictable and dangerous. Hence, both the teleportation that doesn't seem to match their fighting style any more reliably than "aim at the thing attacking you" and the second attack unique to the Pure Vessel--they're quite literally lashing out in pain to push people away. There's a reason that attack is so reminiscent of the Thorns of Agony.

Of note is that Holly does seem to teleport like the bugs of the Soul Sanctum do (favoring the edges of a screen, rather than going wherever like Dream Warriors do), which makes sense--they're the most obvious answer to the question "how did they learn how to teleport, anyways?" However, Sanctum bugs have abilities designed to capitalize on this, like homing spells and slashes from above. I can only assume this means that someone saw Holly's proficiency with the nail and assumed it translated to other forms of combat, and didn't feel the need to give them at least a bit of a primer on how to make the best use of it. There's another tally for the Hollow Knight as an autism metaphor.

Trauma Bonds: How the Radiance Speaks Through Hollow

Now, we're back to the Black Egg, and two people stuck in the same sinking ship. The thing that makes this hurt so badly is that Holly and the Radiance are at complete cross purposes here, and yet they both want the same thing:

They both want out, no matter the cost. For the Radiance, this means forsaking the pacifistic nature of the moths and nuking Ghost personally.

For Hollow, this means forsaking the way they were raised and everything that was bludgeoned into their personality: the only way out is to fail, give up control, and trust that Ghost will do what needs to be done.

Imagine how much pain they're in to actually go for it. Going against a literal lifetime of conditioning is something that takes the average person years to even consider, let alone go through with. It's a form of learned helplessness--if you try to break free and fall, again and again, it actively discourages further attempts. Breaking through learned helplessness is an interesting process, because it generally involves re-establishing a sense of control by recalling previous events where the person was able to change their situation.

Which, as far as we know of, are nothing but traumatic memories for Hollow. It's very unlikely that they'd break through it on their own, but we know they have by the time we see the second phase of their fight. This is them at their most desperate: the same music as the Path of Pain, the way they let, or can't stop, the Radiance throw their body around, the way they actively try to let the Radiance out by stabbing themself.

You'd think that giving up and learned helplessness are inherently compatible, but when giving up both goes against your core personality, and involves your active participation, they're in direct opposition. So either Holly was able to process all their trauma by themself (which I doubt, judging by how much effort the player has to go through to even see Ghost's and Hollow's traumatic memories), or someone gave them a nudge or three in that direction.

Considering that there's been someone living in Holly's head who has a vested interest in them Not Doing Their Duty, I think we know who. And the thing is, I think we watch Hollow have this breakthrough during their battle. Imagine for the first time in decades, at least, you can move. You're in pain from being in the same position, probably hallucinating from sensory deprivation, with an infection sucking at what strength your body has left. And there's this little creature who looks ready to fight you, who seems to have let you go for that exact purpose.

And you look down, and both you and the Radiance recognize them from a place rooted deeper than consciousness, in the murky depths of trauma. You see the other Vessel who just as easily could have been you, and who looks so much stronger for not being you, for being an imperfect, willful creature. And the Radiance sees history threatening to repeat itself, another one of the Wyrm's cursed children seeking to lock her away once more.

What else do you do when you're triggered? You scream, and you go on instinct, and you retreat into your head. Those first blows, with the epic music? That's the Vessel the Pale King forged, the fighting machine that will endure unimaginable stress because it knows no other way. What snaps you back out of dissociation? Usually, either the passage of the triggering stimulus, or an even more relevant stimulus (severe pain from getting beaten up by a nail, for example).

The tragedy is this: we know this isn't a triumph. I think most of us went into that fight the first time, knowing we'd be putting the Hollow Knight out of their misery. The music turns tragic, Hollow screams, and then we see the Radiance and Hollow themself break through: the Radiance trying to fight Ghost directly with the resources she has, and Hollow trying to help her along.

For what it's worth, Hollow even had the right idea, when it came to letting themself rest while helping Ghost stop the madness their father started--they were just digging for the Radiance in the wrong place. The dynamic between the Radiance and the Hollow Knight is something I could write on for pages and pages, but this has gone on for long enough. Tune in next time, where I'll presumably talk about this same topic but in reverse with regards to the Radiance.

#hollow knight #hk #the pure vessel #the pale king #the radiance #my meta #the higher being speaks #i hate fact-checking my abuse infodumps because the ableism against personality disorders is EVERYWHERE #but here this monster of an essay is #anyways the hollow knight as a character sniped my trauma on sight #so i may be a tiny bit biased here But Also I'm Right #abuse // #child abuse // #emotional abuse // #i legit do not know what tags to throw on this #also the overarching title is a reference to the song of the same name from just shapes and beats because. yeah

[asunshinepuff]

Secrets of the Darkened Seas

🧜🏻‍♀️ Hello! Welcome to chapter five! Please please please give a like and follow to my co-author and best friend Luna ( @epithymiahua ) because this story would not be where it’s at without her help! She’s incredible and deserves so much credit for working on this alongside me cause she works so hard. And I feel horrible that she isn’t getting the credit deserves. Just a small reminder that the next chapter will be posted on Luna’s blog! 

This chapter features a mention of poisoning, it’s quite brief and only about paragraph but nonetheless here’s your warning. Also, if you have any questions about swords and the reasoning behind Min-Jun’s sword having a name, feel free to ask Luna on her blog, she is great at explaining the lore behind it all and very patient to help you understand. 

As always, a reminder that there is some lore included within this, however, it will be explained over time so no worries. There are very subtle mentions of lore within the previous chapters so perhaps read back and see if you can catch it. 

Under the guise of Fantastic Nautical Creatures by Newt Scamander, the included lore on different types of merfolk will as always, be taken from the book “The Secret World of Mermaids” by Francine Rose. We will not take credit for its writing. It’s a childhood book of mine that I adore dearly and sincerely think you should all check out!

Also! Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list so that you don’t miss a new chapter! Anyways, that’s about it. I hope you enjoy!

If you’ve missed any chapters here’s the link to the masterlist for this story Secrets of the Darkened Seas 🧜🏻‍♀️

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Chapter 5: The Sea Serpent’s Venom

Everything happened in a span of mere seconds. Regulus and Tadase both woke up in fear, the crew claimed their weapons, the boys were pulled away by Opal and hidden away, Remus drew his sword, Sirius’ sword clanged against his, and the invading pirates boarded the Dragon’s Pearl. 

Remus glared at the offending man, he stepped back when other pirates began to draw closer. One of the pirates stood next to Sirius Black. He was lean and tall, he wore round spectacles, light skin, the most unruly black hair Remus had ever seen, and a sword at the ready. 

Remus blocked the first to his head, retaliating by swinging his sword. The pirate in spectacles charged at Quinn, who only smirked in response. Easily dancing around the younger pirate, disarming him rather quickly by grabbing the spectacles of the pirate. The man yelled out in surprise, shouting at the unfairness of it all. 

Another pirate, this time a woman with bright green eyes and fiery red hair, charged after Opal. Having just joined the fray, she quickly blocked a blow to her side. She was not amused, nor did she want to deal with practical children, minus Remus of course, trying to steal their ship.

“Where is he?!” Sirius snarled out, his sword pressed against Remus’.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” He snapped in return. Pushing his sword down against the Black.

“Don’t play coy, I know your captain kidnapped my brother!” Sirius pulled his sword free and twirled it with his wrist. “Kidnapped?! My captain practically saved him!” Remus widened his stance, putting the hilt of his sword to his chest.

Sirius didn’t even bother to respond to that, only frowning at the answer Remus gave him. He surged forward again, aiming for Remus’ torso. He blocked and began to advance while Sirius began to retreat to the stairs. He was heading for the Captain’s quarters. In a moment of quick thinking, Remus threw his sword. Sirius found himself pinned to the wall- Remus’ sword piercing his sleeve to the wood of the railing.

Sirius tugged his wrist, trying to pull free, he glared at Remus who only offered a smirk in return. His expression falters at the sight of a young lanky man with dusty blonde hair and grey eyes. The young man’s eyes darted around nervously, he quickly ran towards Sirius, handing the object in his arms to him. 

It was Min-Jun’s sword, the one with a dark green sheath with gold accents. Dú hǎi. Remus paled. The lanky boy had snuck into the Captain’s quarters. Sirius smirked, taking the hilt of the sword.

The crew of the Dragon’s Pearl paused, watching Sirius. With all of the attention on him, Sirius spoke. 

“I’ll be taking over this ship, unless you hand over Regulus Black. If you don’t, I’ll have the Dragon’s Pearl kill you all.” The crew merely looked at the Black in confusion.  

Sirius frowns, he lifts the sword up for the crew to see. “See this! This sword controls the ship, and I hold the sword.” 

Remus looked to Quinn, an intense desire to wring the young Black’s neck was clear upon his face. Quinn merely shook his head, sheathing his sword, and leaned against the railing. Remus only looked at Sirius as if he was watching a child wave a stick and calling it a magic wand.  

Sirius’ brows frowned further into frustration at the lack of a response from the crew, in anger, he pulls the sword from its sheath. Instantly dropping the sword, blood dripping to the deck. Sirius clutched his hand tightly, a tiny metallic gold snake with emerald eyes wrapped its body around Sirius’ wrist, its fangs piercing the skin. 

The metallic gold snake released its fangs, leaving two puncture holes, uncoiling its body, and it fell to the floor. Then slithered its way to the hilt of the sword where it fits perfectly to the deep grooves of the metal hilt that had appeared to have lost a large piece. The snake froze and became inanimate once more. Its emerald eyes shimmering. 

Sirius looked to Remus and Quinn. His vision began to fog up around the edges, his mind felt heavy. “What did you do to me? What is that sword?!”

“Us? We’ve done nothing.” Quinn replied with a shrug.

Remus sheathed his sword and walked forward. His expression was neutral as the crew began to drive out the remaining pirates who had grown in fear at the sight of the sword’s snake coming to life. “That sword, is called Dú hǎi.” 

Sirius fell to his knees, he looked up to Remus. “What the bloody hell does that have to do with anything?!” 

Remus remains passive. “Dú hǎi translates to Venomous Sea.” He crouched down next to the pirate. “You were bitten by the spirit of the sword, and now have its venom running in your veins.” 

The pirate glared at Remus. “Give me the antidote!” 

“I don’t have it, only the White Sea Serpent has it,” Remus answered calmly.  

Sirius froze, he had heard that title before. The White Sea Serpent was a man who had vanquished many pirates and had a magical sword that only served one master. “Who is he?! Where can I find him to give me the antidote!?” 

“He’s my captain,” Remus smirked. “Captain Min-Jun Hua. And I doubt he would give someone like you the antidote. He doesn’t take too kindly to trespassers on his ship.”  

Sirius struggled to keep his eyes open, his heart began to slow, he fell to his side. Quinn walked forward. 

“You got bitten by the White Sea Serpent mate. You’ll become legendary if you survive. Which you won’t since its venom is hell without the antidote.” He leans down to grin at the pirate. “You’d best start praying my captain returns soon, eh?”  

Sirius couldn’t respond, he fell unconscious. Quinn tsks, shaking his head. He stood, “Take him to the infirmary, make sure he stays alive long enough for Min-Jun to arrive.” 

The crew gets to work. Remus watches them drag Sirius away, his arms crossed. “Defeated by the captain’s sword when the captain was nowhere in sight. What a terrible way to die. He doesn’t even have the honor to die with the captain present. How tragic.” 

“Well, now you know how it looks in person. This is why no one has managed to take the ship.” Quinn adds, he grabs the fallen sword, speaking quietly to it. A small hiss answers in return, Quinn resheaths the sword.  

“I’ll go check on the children. They got quite the scare.” Remus offered. He personally wanted to make sure the children weren’t harmed during the fight. 

“Alright, try to get some sleep,” Quinn adds as he looks to the ship that was sailing away. “His own crew left him, not that I blame them. They wouldn’t even be able to help him.” Quinn turned to the infirmary. Dú hǎi in his hand. 

When Remus joined the children, Brielle had taken to hiding Regulus as well. She snarled when the cabin door opened, but stopped when she saw that it was Remus. 

“How are they?” Remus asked softly, kneeling on the ground. The mermaid had not spoken once, but it was clear she could understand them. The mermaid only communicated with Remus telepathically, but even then Remus still struggled to understand the complex mer language. 

Brielle simply looked to her right, the children were huddled under a blanket. She looked back to Remus, her eyes turning silver as she spoke to Remus telepathically.

Remus instantly raised his hands to try to stop her, his head shaking. “Alright, I understand. Please stop doing that, it feels so loud my head might burst.” He looks to Brielle who’s shoulders slumped. He sighs. “At least until I know about your language.” 

Brielle looks away, her hair falling over her shoulder. Remus turned his attention to the blanket, lifting it up a tad to peek at the children underneath. Two pairs of wide eyes stared back at him. Remus couldn’t help but smile. 

“Are you both alright?” The boys nod. Tadase crawls out from the blanket, curling up to the older mer’s side. Purring contentedly. Regulus crawled out as well, hesitantly watching the two mers interact, it looked like he wanted comfort too.  

Without warning, Remus pulled Regulus onto his lap, hugging him tightly. Regulus struggled to pull himself free, but gradually came to a stop. The child’s shoulders began to shake, before he began to sob. 

Remus only rubbed his back in an attempt to soothe him. A sigh leaving his lips, he was angry. Regulus had been so small and thin, he hadn’t spoken a single word for nearly all four days. Only flinching whenever someone mentioned the Blacks. What had they done to him?

“He feels abandoned.” Remus snapped his head up, eyes wide as he looked to the mermaid. She had spoken. In english!

Brielle looked undisturbed with her sudden ability to speak. She watched the boy closely. “I feel, loneliness from him. He feels abandoned.” 

Remus frowned. He wasn’t surprised. The Blacks all but unloved the frail boy in his arms. Regulus was neglected for so long, it must have felt like rejection and abandonment. Brielle tilts her head, the mer child in her arms has fallen asleep. Gently, she places Tadase down beside her. She turns to Remus, her arms stretched, reaching for Regulus. 

“I’ll sing. To help him sleep. No more nightmares.” 

Remus’ eyes widened in surprise. “Mermaid’s can be rid of nightmares?” 

Brielle nodded. “Mothers do, for their babies. I will do it for him.” She pulls the boy into her arms, her clawed hands were so gentle, it amazed Remus how such a fierce creature could become so gentle and tender to others. He had much to learn about his fellow mers it seemed. 

Once settled comfortably upon her lap, Brielle began to sing. And her lullaby soothed out the frown on his face, falling deep into sleep. Tadase curled closer to her. Her lullaby seemed to calm the rage within Remus’ own mind, and all the crew slept well for the first time in days. Even Sirius Black who was fighting for his life, the pain seemed to dull. 

Her song reached everyone aboard the Dragon’s Pearl.

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Tag List: (Let me know if you wish to be added!)

@whataboutmyfries

@sunflowerfox87

@spookypotato

#remus lupin #sirius black #remus x sirius #enemies to lovers #wolfstar #quinn scamander #opal teresi #min-jun hua #brielle #tadase #regulus black #asunshinepuffocs #ladynightmare ocs #our ocs #cw poisioning #cw swordfights #love at first sword fight #pirate captain #pirate and mermaid au #mermaid song #secrets of the darkened seas

[nekodracones]

even the stars have fallen to walk amongst us

AN: I wrote this in order to compete in a discord competition.  It was a fun journey, but I’m pretty sure I’m not built for writing long stories.  I don’t post here much, so if you like you can take a look at some of my little poems over at my Sky Instagram.  I’ll probably post all the photos I used to conceptualise the flow of my story there, too.  At some point when I get off my ass.  

Other than that I really wrote this as a way to flesh out all the ideas I’ve had over the two years I’ve been playing sky regarding the hidden forest, since the devs haven’t been giving us much lore to work with.  I considered making another post detailing my specific ideas and head canons, including the title, but I think it’s better to leave everything open ended.  The imagination is a powerful tool, after all.

I hope you have as much fun reading and exploring my story and ideas as I did writing it. :) Thanks for reading!

☆ . * ● . ★ ○  . * . ° . ● ★ ° . . . ☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★  ☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . • °☆

So young a body, so old a soul. How many times have you returned hoping to be made whole?

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

Awareness came fitfully, and not all at once.  Her limbs curled heavy around her sides, cradling her abdomen as though to protect from her some external impact, or perhaps to protect something within.  It was as if her spirit had gone roaming uninhibited, and had only been drawn back into her body with great reluctance, sinking inexorably into her flesh- as it should be.  For a moment, she lay on the cool rock beneath her, muscles and tendons aching, eyes closed.  She didn’t want to get up.  Above her, the birds chattered noisily, as they always did.  Around her, the night air settled, soothing her tired body. Twin eyes blinked open, bleary.  The little fox struggled to her feet, marvelling at her surroundings, none of which she remembered, and yet at the same time were familiar and comforting in the way that remembered dreams often are.

Ahead of her snaked six paths, twining their way through the frames of six stone arches into six distant horizons that were perhaps too far away to see or perhaps not so far at all, and a throbbing compulsion rose within her to set her feet upon one of the paths that began innocuously at the edge of the stone disc she stood upon.

The first path led into a pale lilac dawn, pale sands blowing onto its little dirt path, and she turned away from it, for the winds blowing from those lands were strong, and she had some impression of not being impressed by them.

The next path led into a cerulean blue morning, rolling green fields spilling out around its little dirt path, and she turned away from it, for she could feel a burning warmth radiating from those lands, and perhaps she would have turned towards it some other day, but tonight the air was crisp about her and the warmth did not appeal.

But the third path led into a dim blue forest, and the quiet twitter of birds and gentle suggestion of a cool breeze drew her towards it, little whispers of sound eddying and curling about her; she turned towards it and set her feet upon the soft loam of its little path, turning away from the other paths.

And so the little fox walked into the wan blue light.

★ ° . . . ☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ° . ● . ° ☾ °☆ 

The sickled slash in the sky bleeds silver tonight. Midnight’s cloak of a thousand stars blesses our journey, casting us in their pale light.

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

She walked for perhaps forever or perhaps not so long at all, and in time the air and light began to take on a different quality about her.  It was in this fashion that she came up to the cliff’s edge, where the path crumbled away under her feet.  Ahead of her a spire of pale light shone in the far distance, and she knew deep within her that that was where she must go.  Below her, the cliff fell away into vistas of pale clouds, and emerging amongst them little islands of grass painted in impossibly vivid shades of green, primordial trees reaching into the clouds as though supporting the little aerial path they formed.

The little fox swallowed, and let herself fall.

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

For the second time in recent memory, the little fox felt herself blinking awake in an unfamiliar place.  This time, though, she felt hands on her, and a low, thrumming voice bidding her to wake.  She looked up and into the glowing eyes of an antelope, horned and imposing.  Cloaked in what looked like a fine fur cloak, once majestic, but was now not only yellowed with age, but also dripping wet from having carried the little fox out from the puddle she had landed in in her unfortunate crash-landing amongst the trees.

Are you alright? A voice, rumbling with low amusement, spoke not aloud, but rather in her mind. The little fox shook her head, then paused and nodded vigorously.

You may call me Deer, murmured the antelope, still radiating quiet mirth.  It has been a long time since the Weeping Forest has had visitors, let alone one as enthusiastic about their landing as you.  I wonder what you’re doing here?  Most avoid travelling down the path into these lands, whether they know or not.

A good point that the little fox hadn’t really considered when first stepping foot on the path.  She’d really just followed her instinct, then.  She scratched her cheek, unsure.

The deer saw her hesitation, and reached out with a blue-gloved palm.  I’ll come with you, the deer said.  I may not know all that lies beyond, but I’m sure I know more than you.  And it has been a long time since I’ve been able to move through these lands alone.

They walked, hand in hand, towards the gate set in the towering fortress walls, and the deer set a suddenly flaming palm against the crystal embedded within the wall.  With a grinding sound, the gate shuddered open, and the fox and the deer passed through the vestibule, murals glowing golden as they passed.   Boats stacked high with little bottles shone from the carved stone walls, and the pair paused a while to appreciate the artistry.  The deer gestured at the carvings, shrugging.  You won’t find a lot of those here.  Those are used in the Clouded Plains to contain and calm light fragments.  With time, they will grow into stronger shards that can fly further, and further, until they can finally return home.

They took her hand and led her into the courtyard, where she saw stone boats, laden heavy with their burdens, docked neatly at the side but overgrown with moss, as though they had one day been abandoned, forgotten despite their precious cargo.  But her eyes soon turned to a ghostly silver figure crouched in the corner, and at the nod of her deer companion, the little fox headed over to investigate.  

Summon your soul-flame and reach out your hand, advised the deer.  It’s a soul imprint.  Sometimes you can help them, if they let you.  Just as the little fox was about to protest that she did not, in fact, know what a soul flame was, let alone how to summon it, her gut began to grow uncomfortably warm and their hand, outstretched to touch the ghostly spirit, pulsed, suddenly aflame.  

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

‘Shit, it’s cold.  Any idea what’s with the odd weather in the Forest today?’ cried Zeynab, shivering.  Josef turned to her, still loading the boats with the jars they had just purchased.  ‘No idea, dear, but let’s go back and grab the last pallet?’   Zeynab sighed.  Of course, her practical husband wouldn’t be wondering about the erratic weather patterns in the forest lately, with rain that chilled her to the bone and seemed to nourish the odd, blue-black plants growing all about.  Her usual merchant had been unusually short with them as well, and she had written off her mood to the worsening weather, but with the increasing number of bruise-coloured plants all about, who knew why it was suddenly raining so much...oh well.

It wasn’t as if a little rain would kill them.

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

The little fox came to, surfacing as though from a deep pool, falling to her knees on the damp grass and gasping for breath.  Next to her, the deer was staggering to their feet.  Above her, the female spirit stood, towering over them.

Blind silver eyes turned to the little fox and her companion.  Why are you here?  The spirit made no noise, face still as stone, and yet the little fox heard her voice rasping through her mind.  If you are here for the Forest’s wares, there is nothing left for you here.  We couldn’t escape, but you still can.

The little fox shivered.  She had nothing holding her here beyond her innate curiosity, and the curious pull behind her navel drawing her to the faraway star-touched temple shrouded amongst the clouds.  But she had never been one to turn from a mystery long buried (how would she know?), and so she bowed her head.  There may be nothing left, but I wish to go on.

The spirit was silent for a long time.

Eventually, she lifted a translucent silvery hand.  Take them.  It’s not safe to go alone. Twin white butterflies, bone-white and luminescent, flapped lazily down from above and landed gently upon the spirit’s outstretched hand.  I gift you the blessing of safe passage.  With a light shard, small as it may be, the darkness cannot touch you for as long as you carry it.  Be safe.

With a final rasping breath, the spirit sank into the crystalline dark figure kneeling at their feet, and the little fox and the deer were once again alone in the glade, two butterflies flapping about them.  Solemnly, the deer guided the little fox’s palm to the figure, her own already lit with soulflame.  With a quiet crackle, the figure burned away to a wisp of light, that soared up and away towards the distant temple.

Together, the fox and the deer turned away and pressed their palms to the crystal set within the wall, and watched its growing otherworldly light limning through the cracks between their fingers.  The ancient mechanisms deep within the wall groaned as the gate ground open, and they walked into the darkness.

★ ° . . . ☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ° . ● . ° ☾ °☆ 

The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.

-       Robert Frost

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

Soon the dark that enshrouded them faded to gray, and then to pale light, casting the forest floor in pale shafts of light slanting from the fog-hidden canopy above.  Ahead of the pair, a little mud path wound, escorted on both sides by cracked lampposts, standing forlornly stalwart in the rain sheeting down.  

In her mind, the deer murmured, See, here the path ends.  We shall have to fly.  Indeed, the path ahead dropped off rapidly into a burbling brook winding through the forest.  But the little fox had spotted a glint of silvery light in a crumbled gazebo hidden behind the calcified trunk of a tree.  She took the deer’s hand and tugged them insistently towards the spirit, kneeling, barely covered by the eaves of the decayed gazebo.  Her hand, already wreathed in soulflame, brushed the spirit on the crown of her ghostly head.

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

It was a bright and sunny day- until it suddenly wasn’t.  Ingrid shivered in the cave tunnel, chilled by the sudden cold rain, and torn between turning back and forging on towards Ana’s little shop.  Her family had needed new lanterns to replace their cracked ones for a while now, and she had put off her duty for long enough.  There should be lanterns ahead to warm her, she thought, but she did so hate walking in the rain, soaked to the bone, not to mention having to wash her dress after dragging it through the mud.

Mud which had been, annoyingly, increasingly common these days as the rain fell in stops and starts; a deluge that was growing to be more or less a fixture in the forest these days.  She had hoped to make use of the clear skies that day to make her purchases, but clearly the weather refused to cooperate.

‘Ingrid? Did you bring an umbrella?’ A voice hailed her from behind.  Shamil!  He had snuck up on her behind, and like the sweetheart he was, had evidently brought her an umbrella.  ‘Take it, it’s really pouring out there today!’   Ingrid smiled at him, something bubbling up happily in her chest, and a rosy flush warming her cheeks.  She had settled down with Shamil a year ago, and he was still as sweet to her as he had been that day they had first met down by the brook.  She bid him goodbye and continued down the little path to Ana’s shop, the rain not so much an inconvenience any longer; instead a pleasant background pitter-patter.

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

This time, the little fox simply blinked away the afterimages flitting across the back of her eyelids.  This spirit smiled at them benevolently, and reached out, a single cool palm tucking her sodden hair behind one ear.  

You’re cold, child.  The spirit commented idly, hand still trailing down the little fox’s cheek.  Such wet weather, what were you thinking coming out here without an umbrella?  She considered her little blue umbrella for a while, turning the handle over in her hands.  I suppose you could use this, more than I can, anyway.  It’s not like I’ll ever need it again.  I gift you the blessing of protection.  It shall armour you against the rain, I hope.

Silvered hands pressed the wooden handle of the little umbrella into the deer’s hands, who accepted it gracefully if not with a base expression of mild dubiousness.  Don’t worry so much, child.  Take care of it, my love gave it to me.  Chuckling gently with a voice like a peal of bells, the spirit floated into the dark figure by her feet, and was gone.

The little fox set her palm against the figure, flame burning the figure away to nothingness.  Like before, a wisp of light circled them once, before soaring over their heads towards the temple.

Well, let’s try it out.  The deer carefully opened the umbrella with no little amount of bemusement, and they stepped out down the little dirt path the spirit had been headed in her imprint-memory.

Lo and behold, the umbrella did indeed shield them from the freezing rain, and hence the little fox and the deer  huddled tight under its little circle of protection.  About them, the two little butterflies circled, content to flit about in the rain.

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

In no time at all they came upon a cave opening; where yet another silvery spirit knelt by a cluster of extinguished wax candles.  The pair wasted no time lighting the spirit- they knew the drill by now.  The familiar perspective change that descended upon them was no surprise either.

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

‘Damn it, when will this cursed rain stop?  Zeynab and Josef promised to stop by hours ago and they’re still not here.  How am I supposed to make a living like this?’ fumed Ana, resident Silent Forest shopkeeper.  Zey and Josef were a nice couple, she supposed, but absolutely mercenary with haggling.  She was barely making a profit trading the last of her light-concentration jars to them, especially with the Plains (or Prairie, as some of the newer denizens were calling it) nearly having satisfied their demand for those damned jars.

Really, she made a living off fulfilling the needs of others, but some of these requests were getting more outlandish by the day.  Call her a traditionalist, but all these nonstop newfangled inventions couldn’t possibly be just created from thin air, right?  She supposed she wouldn’t know, though.  Best to leave the planning to the experts.

For now, she would sit here a while by her little fire, gaze out at the deluging rain, and...well, she was pretty tired.  Perhaps she could just close her eyes for a while…

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

This spirit gazed at them out of flaming golden eyes, regarding them calmly, a stark contrast to her irate visage earlier.  Ah, visitors.  You’re too late to buy anything from me, young ones, but I can offer you a dry place to stay for a while.

The little fox blinked up apprehensively at the wrinkled face of the shopkeeper.  Thank you, she hedged, but we’re moving on soon.  

The rain never stops.  It makes little difference to dry off now, supplied the deer.  The little fox snuck a glance up at the deer and smiled at them gratefully.  The spirit had been so, so angry- she wasn’t good with anger.

Fortunately, the spirit took no offense, or if she did, she hid it well.  Fair enough.  But you won’t leave Ana’s shop empty handed!  At this, the spirit turned away, and when she turned back, she had retrieved a wrapped bundle from one of the cases behind her, and offered it to the fox child.  

Take this, small fox-child.  The spirit, gently smiling, bent towards the little fox, unfolding the bundle to reveal a shimmering blue-green cape, material ethereal and smooth as gossamer silk; and yet held a comforting solidity.  Your cape is thin, but the rain chills, and the least I can do is to gift you the blessing of warmth, such that the flame within you shall be stoked for a longer time.

At this, the spirit flicked her eyes amusedly at the deer.  And you, deer-child.  Your cape is more than thick enough, but you too shall feel the sting of this cursed rain dulled.

The deer dipped its snout, acknowledging, but turned from her and plucked the gifted cape from the little foxes hands and draped it about her.  The cape, heavy against her little frame, wrapped around the little fox, and she spun around, causing the cape to flare out, admiring how it glimmered in the dim light. It fits you.  I’m glad.  The spirit clapped her hands together, her light waning gradually, until she too was gone, and they were once again alone with a darkness-encrusted figure.

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

Over the burbling brook they clambered; and under yet another shattered bridge they took shelter.  The rain pelted them, but with the blessing of warmth they barely felt it; and the umbrella caught the worst of it.

Shall we continue? Asked the deer, very low.  Or shall we forge our path into that cave by the brook?  I can hear the living rocks screeching; and they only screech where there is fallen prey to feed on.  

The little fox said nothing, but she entangled her hand with theirs, which was good enough an answer.  The darkness plant withered under their twin flames, and they were in the cave.

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

It had been a long time.  

Here in the darkness Lucim knew no day or night, and only restless sleep took her, sometimes, unwillingly and into the land of dreams, only to jerk her awake again, breathing hard, listening too-intently to the shifting of the deep earth beneath her.  It was nothing, as always.

A lifetime ago she had been playing with the other village children, secreting herself away in the nooks and crannies of the Silent Forest she knew best.  They never could find her.   But one day the earth she had run upon for so long had opened up and swallowed her, and now...she had been hidden better than she could ever have herself, and they never would find her.

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . • 

The little girl-spirit leapt to her feet.  I’m free!  Oh, thank you, thank you, I’m going to return to Ama and Apa and they will be so happy to see me!  She grabbed the deer’s hands and swung them around, laughing mirthfully.  Oh, travellers, you are kind.  I shall gift you the greatest blessing, the blessing of youth, such that your feet can carry you further and more swiftly, and your breath shall not grow short, for as long as you determine it not to.

With a final peal of laughter, the little girl was gone.

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

The gazebo receded behind them into the fog, and the little fox and the deer, huddled under the umbrella, forged on through the trees and over the little outcroppings on the ground, rocks overgrown with moss.  It was a hard journey, and even with the little girl-spirit’s blessing, the deer, much stronger, had to stop for the little fox.

Eventually they came upon a plateau overgrown with lichen, but the calcified fungi above provided a watertight shelter for the pair.  Here the ground was still wet, but less of a marsh, and as they settled, chests heaving with exertion, the loamy soil crunching below their tired bodies with a clean, sweet aroma.

The little fox drew her fingers through the earth and brought a handful up to sniff at it, turning to the deer in silent questioning.  The forest had clearly once been beautiful and less…wet-

The deer bowed their head somberly, considering the umbrella laying in their lap.  It used to be simply the Silent forest.  When I was still new to this world I traversed these lands freely, all alone and yet without fear.

The spirits sang with all the songs of the wind that whistled through these verdant forests, and from the trees sprang new growth young and verdant; blossoms and leaves falling like snow and growing green and golden in turn with the ponderous rising and setting of the sun and his moon.  The grass came in thick, emerald green, and heralded the eternal springtime you could find amongst these peaceful woodlands.  These glades used to be a nursery for light fragments to fuse and grow larger, and stronger, and then journey from these lands on to harsher ones, passing untouched into the heavens.  

To the naked eye it looked something like a continuous stream of shining birds, glowing in the sky like the Milky Way, rising on unseen currents and soaring towards that faraway temple up above.  Below, the burbling brook mirrored the birds winging their way past high above, winding between the ancient trunks of the trees.  Little butterflies flitted about tall grasses and glowing spirit fungi alike.  Beyond these glades; an open courtyard leading up to the temple corralled little spirit mantas until they were amalgamated enough to fly on into the Triumphant Ridges.

But such a rich font of growth had to be hiding some treasure, reasoned the elders.  Everything comes from something- so the Silent Forest must contain natural riches untold- and it did.  Everyone wanted something.  The Clouded Plains wanted jars to capture their light fragments, the Triumphant Ridges blessed gold to craft their monuments, the Golden Sands colossal arks to explore their vast shores, and the Sacred Archives their darkstone to power their mechanisms.

Only the Isle Guardian turned away from them, his old face grave and wrinkled in concern- or perhaps sorrow.  ‘Everything comes at a cost.  The crust of this soft, borrowed world has gifted us many boons freely- to sup so hungrily at her lifeblood today is foolish.  Tomorrow, she shall run dry.’

If only they had listened.

Silently, the deer raised its head.  I have walked these woods a long time.  All I have accompanied into these grasping trees have perished in one way or another, and yet none of them regret embarking on their journey.  All I can do is ease their way, and hope and strive to bring one of them to the end one day.  And eventually you children have stopped coming entirely, whether due to those whispers that all who enter these gates are doomed to death, or perhaps the spirits here have simply stopped calling for new blood.  The deer raised a hand, and a butterfly settled, gently on their finger.  But not one of them has thought to relive these spirits; fearing that whatever rot had petrified them would infect them too.  I have hope, once more.  Let us go.

Here, the deer reached out a hand to the little fox, and the little fox propped herself up, ready to take their hand, when suddenly the lichen-covered rock she had been sitting on gave way, and she fell back, back, back- a panicked shout in her mind from the deer- until the world turned inside out all about her and she fell to the end of time.

★ ° . . . ☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ° . ● . ° ☾ °☆ 

By the golden light of your soul-borne flame The fallen have risen again in their silvered ranks, Clad in their eternal truth, shining.

And they shall stand up once more to say- ‘We never deserved these deaths, Rent open by hidden knives To feed the darkness hungering below’

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

I’m dead, thought the little fox, the certainty a thorned bud aching in her chest.  She had fallen from a great height, after all, and her surroundings were so unfamiliar and lovely it was simply impossible that she was still in the forest.  Next to her, the deer groaned as they peeled themselves off the ground they had slammed into facefirst, gingerly picking soil off their furry cape, now even more dirtied than before.  The little fox felt a pang of guilt.  She hadn’t meant to kill her guide alongside her with her clumsiness…

But the deer was already gaping up at the forest, eyes glittering strangely in the light.  It’s the forest of old.  Look, look how alive it is.  They whispered reverently, gazing upwards.  The little fox looked.

Here the cloud canopy was higher than it was elsewhere, and bright sunlight filtered unhindered by clouds, through the primordial trees, down onto the verdant forest floor hundreds of metres below.  From the trees sprang new growth young and verdant; blossoms and leaves falling like snow and presumably growing green and golden in turn with the ponderous rising and setting of the sun and his moon.  The grass came in thick, emerald green, and heralded the eternal springtime found amongst these peaceful woodlands.  The open glades were a nursery for light fragments, which flittered about, glowing silver and golden and all the iridescent colours of the rainbow.

To the naked eye it looked something like thousands of fireflies, glowing golden sparks in the pale wan light about the bases of the ancient trees, circling idly.   Below, tangerine-orange fishes darted merrily in the spring burbling below, encircled on all sides by softly swaying grass, little flowers blooming amongst them.

Fox and deer alike stood in wondering amazement, drinking in the dreamlike beauty of the glade, so different from the drowned woodlands they had just left.  With hushed reverence they crept through the sunlit glade, shocked into silence.  

As they walked, the glade grew darker about them and the trees seemed to bend over them into a bower, and ahead- there was yet another hollow in a great tree trunk, as though the tree itself had been split open by some unseen force and carefully turned inside out, carefully revealing the hole in its core that descended down into the formless dark.  From deep below the clarion call of a distant beast called, and the strange pull behind her navel tugged her forward- and down.

The little fox swallowed hard, commended her soul to the elders high above, and leapt.

★ ° . . . ☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ° . ● . ° ☾ °☆ 

The stars may fall, The moon may sway, But wilder yet is my call. We the dragons- let us blaze this night away.

We begin here, while birdsong trills, Here animals frolic, clear waters flow. But let us soar over those faraway hills Into the wilderness where no men dare go.

Before velvet darkness turns to day, Let us run wild and free tonight.

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

Sliding through the stone chamber was fun, but bouncing to a stop at breakneck speed less so.  Soft grass broke her fall, and she skidded, inadvertently tearing up the grass as she went- until she crashed into the deer headfirst.  Kinetic energy turned into the sharp pain of the jab of golden horns into her side, and they rolled together to a stop.  

The deer huffed, winded by the weight of an entire fox, small as she may be, landing upon them like they were a convenient mattress, but quickly brushed themselves off, offering a hand to the abashed fox as they went.

You have a talent for unfortunate landings, fox, the deer mused.  But look ahead- butterfly jars!   The jars lay, abandoned and rolled onto their sides; some had cracked open, and around, butterflies teemed, a wild swarm basking in the patch of sunlight shining down from high above.  The butterflies that the first spirit had gifted them flew up and forward to join their brethren, chiming happily, and the pair followed.

If one called to light fragments, most would happily carry you above, so long as your voice was deep enough such that they could hear you.  Yet another non-memory rose like a surfacing fish to the top of the clouded pool of the little fox’s memories.  With this in mind, she called to the butterflies with her voice of chiming bells, accompanied by the deer’s deeper, more melodious call, and the butterflies swarmed about around them and carried them to the high ledge above.

The platform sloped sharply ahead and then dropped into a sharp cliff leading into a sea of clouds; perfectly even, fluffy, and white- and a long distance down.  Slim spires of earth protruded out of the clouds, topped with a dusting of verdant green grass.  All about the cavern; birds glided amongst the formations, casting the entire location in an ethereal silvery light, which was no small feat.  The scale of the cavern was large enough that it was difficult to judge it’s true size, and even as she stepped forward further into the strange warm light the entire cavern seemed to be bathed in, when the clouds suddenly burst apart and a colossal coelacanth rose from the depths, even it looked oddly stretched and faraway amongst the clouds.

The coelacanth emerged in a rolling blast of cool air, and with a sonorous boom that ripped through the cavern and through the two travellers, who subsequently had the breath blown out of them.  It towered high above them like some sort of oversized dragon; oddly misshapen and color mottled in the golden light, which glinted over remnant scales dotting over its massive flanks.  Wispy trails of clouds trailed behind it; caught upon its numerous ridges.  For something so large, it was surprisingly silent and mobile; soon it had wound its way about all the odd islands of earth stacked high, and vanished into the depths of the vast cavern.

I don’t know what that was, breathed the deer, reverent.  Something so large… it’s odd that it hasn’t made its way into further realms.  Creatures of the light are always drawn ever closer towards the greatest source of light in the heavens.

I wouldn’t know either, the little fox whispered back.  Any chance it’s just a benevolent coincidence?

Likely not.  I’ve never seen any creature of light that colour,  The deer murmured, grave.  We should continue on, with haste.

The little fox and the deer leapt off the cliff and took wing, rising with the air currents, and at the top of the cavern, they finally landed on a plateau on the tallest pillar of stone in the cavern.

Above them hung a perfect sphere, luminescent with blinding warm light so piercing it was almost painful to the eye.  It...simply hung in the air, a miniature sun warming all that its light touched.  The little fox gazed up at it in wonderment, but the deer grabbed her hand and dragged her, with haste, towards the gates ahead, as though afraid of that innocuous, yet inexplicable miniature sun hanging above the Sunny Forest.

★ ° . . . ☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ° . ● . ° ☾ °☆ 

Imagine a room, a sudden glow- A sunbeam gaze blessing all the creatures far below Blind forevermore

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

Here there had evidently been a landslide, for the earth that the little fox gingerly toed at was loose in large chunks, and the tree above them looked rather like it was clinging onto the sheer mountainside precariously, roots mostly exposed and dangling off the edge.  With trepidation, the pair peered off the cliff and down into the floodplains below.  There was nothing for it; they would have to go down.

Ahead of them, the temple loomed huge and imposing, and far below the crumbled ruins of pavilions dotted the flooded landscape, with many half submerged in the marshy ground below.  Quite used to jumping off high ledges now, the little deer and the fox threw themselves off the edge, and landed, crouched, in the silty marsh down below.   There was a darkness sprout ahead, glinting oddly.  Ever curious, the little fox stepped out of the umbrella’s protective shade for a closer look- a manta lay, contorted and thrashing weakly, bright white light suffused and dimmed, choked by the growth of the darkness from its tender wings.  She gasped, for her travels through the lifeless, rain soaked woodlands earlier had taught her she would not find anything still alive in these wetlands.

The deer, who had followed her over in a bid to find out what had drawn her over, clucked in sympathy.  Together, they burnt the darkness away and freed the little manta, which circled about them in delight, before flapping its way gently over to a concealed alcove cut in the rock face.  Here; the darkness had grown neatly over a hole- big enough to admit us, the little fox guessed.  Perhaps it wants us to save its brethren within!

But inside the cave was nothing but a spirit, kneeling alone within.

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

Once upon a time, down in one of the deep dark caves of the Silent Forest, there were five orichalcum miners hard at work in their subterranean mine.  Orichalcum, an ore regarded with such high value as to be near-mythical, was treasured in the kingdom for its ability to project a subject’s wildest dreams into solid reality.  Many teams had been sent out hoping to strike gold (or better), but theirs were one of the only ones to find a thin vein of the ore leading deep into the earth.

Work in the mine was hard.  Dust clouded the air in the dig site; and the air was noxious, so heavy it was nearly tangible.  They spent fourteen hours at a time seeking out miniscule scraps of the ore, and five hours resting in small rock alcoves they had carved out in the cave walls with their own pickaxes.  It was hard in the start.  Some miners escaped, yelling that they couldn’t take slogging away amongst the fumes any longer, and were sent home with nothing to show for their toil.  The rest may have silently agreed with them, but none of them wanted to be dismissed without their pay.  Slowly, they learned to make peace with the endless slog their existence had become; chipping at the walls daily with little hope of being sent home to rest until they had collected all the orichalcum possible.  It simply wouldn’t be economical to spare any of the dig teams that had been sent out, searching for rare minerals in the Forest, after all.

Days, weeks, or perhaps even months into their idyllic existence, the daily monotony of their lives were suddenly disturbed by an ominous judder of rock, debris raining down from above.  The miners all looked up- they were deep within the earth, what could possibly have caused an impact so great it had shaken the cavern walls?- and it was then that a massive blackened appendage punched a hole neatly through the top of the cavern and through the solid stone frame bracing the cave entrance.

Almost immediately, chunks of detritus falling from somewhere high above landed with a tremendous boom; neatly sealing off the newly-made hole- as well the airholes they had so carefully drilled in the cavern roof a lifetime ago.  To make matters worse, the cave entrance had begun to sprout florets of malignant blue-black Darkness.  The miners drew back.  Everyone knew the Darkness released spores into the air almost immediately after budding, and everyone who breathed them in would inevitably succumb to the fatal wasting disease, black death.  They needed a new air source, stat.

‘We shall have to dig ourselves out from the other end, go under the rubble, and hope we emerge in a safe location,’ cried Elsad, one of the more assertive miners.  The other miners all looked at each other.  It wasn’t as though any of them really had any other better ideas, and they were on a clock here.  In unison, they focused their efforts on the western wall of the cavern; where the floor was higher and they were hence less likely to hit bedrock.  

They never hit bedrock.  Water erupted out of the new hole they had dug into a hidden aquifer; dislodging the loose rock about the hole, which crumbled into a massive cave collapse.  By the time the dust cleared, three of them had been crushed by the rubble.  There was nothing Elsad and the other miner could do for them, but comfort them as they feebly breathed their lasts.

Now they were only two, and their only hope of escape was either through an aquifer or through the unknown amount of rubble and Darkness crushing the cave entrance.

They sat down and waited for death to come.  But Death is a cruel master, and Elsad soon noticed that her companion, bruised blue-black, had been unusually silent for a while.  But when she turned to him, it was already too late.  The Darkness had claimed him, too, and Elsad was alone in the cave.  Cursing the heavens, she curled up in her little alcove.

About her, the water rose.

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

There was nothing to say.  The spirit bowed her head, silvery tears still dripping down her face, and raised her hands in silent supplication.

Please, free me, she cried, softly.  Let me go back home.  All I ever wanted was to go back home.  May you be blest with my gift, the blessing of empathy, such that you may find and bring all our lost souls home.  With yet another feeble cry, the spirit shrank into herself, fading into the darkness-encrusted body kneeling behind her.

The little fox reached down and took the body’s cold hands in hers.  Be free, she thought, hoping with all her might, as her vivid darkness waned into a pale light.

★ ° . . . ☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ° . ● . ° ☾ °☆ 

They left the tear-stained cavern behind them, following the manta as it led them steadily across the silted courtyard and circled back on occasion to warm them with its pure light.  The deer hoisted the umbrella higher, in the hopes that it could be saved from the occasional mud splatter as they slogged through the marsh.  They had clearly long given up on their fur cloak; for it hung damp, mud-stained, more brown than yellow, and more yellow than   white.  The little fox trailed behind, sodden despite the deer’s best efforts, and too tired to even try to keep her gifted cape clean.

Beneath a ruined bridge they found yet another manta, which, once freed, seemed content to circle about their little group, dipping and weaving between their legs.  Up and over the bridge’s ruined pavilion they clambered, and took a brief reprieve beneath the eroded roots of the calcified white skeletons of the massive trees dotted everywhere about the landscape.

And through a pair of hollowed tree trunks the travellers found a pair of kneeling spirits, wrapped about each other as though deriving comfort from their incorporeal embraces.

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

‘I’m telling you, there’s something seriously wrong with the trees!’, Voski whined, tugging on Leyla’s cape.  ‘You’re telling me this fungal calcification looks normal to you?’

Leyla snorted, forcefully plucking Voski’s grasping fingers off her cape one by one.  ‘You’re asking me?  Besides, you’re the tree expert, go tell me more about how the trees going through an occasional dry spell as they do every few moons is anything special.’ ‘It’s not a dry SPELL at this point, it’s a dry SEASON, Leyla.’

‘Big deal.’

In a huff, Leyla stormed off.  Voski was really too worried about the wrong things, she thought.  The real concern here was how the number of light creatures in the Silent Forest seemed to be falling steadily with no replenishment.  She would like to hope that they were simply migrating away as always, but if the trees were truly ailing as Voski said… perhaps something was truly wrong.

The trees towered mighty above, as they always did.  Melodious birdsong floated through the Forest, as they always did.  Ahead, the pavilion path up to the temple shone bright, lanterns lit at every gazebo, and though the courtyards were flooded by the neverending rain; the land still shone bright under the light of the sun far above.  

A thunderous crash interrupted her thoughts, and the little bird she had been idly tracking through the hollowed trunks chimed its displeasure and took off, joining its brethren in the overcast skies.

She turned towards where Voski had been, fuming.  ‘VOSKI.  I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOU WANTED TO PROTECT THE TREES.’  Between them, a newly fallen tree lay, calcified, bald trunk incongruous amongst the lush greenery.  Voski, herself shell-shocked, threw herself onto the ground ahead of Leyla.  

‘I’m so sorry! Are you hurt? I was only tapping the tree to check the bark for any faults,’ she cried, reaching for Leyla, who brushed her aside.

‘Don’t ask about me.  Look at this.’

Together, they stared down at the tree, once towering mighty over the Silent Forest, but now entirely rotted hollow within.

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

The two spirits, arm in arm, met their eyes somberly.  We were only checking on the health of our forest, they said, voices as one.  It looked fine, but we never thought that it would have rotted through.

The forest they set their eyes upon now was nothing like the forest the spirits had known.  Where before, the trees had stood proud above; now many of them were splintered in the trunk, or stood as mere stumps, monuments to a glorious path.  The sky was dark with fog; and no birdsong filtered through the forest any longer.  The pavilions from whence they had came stood ruined and strangled within florets of darkness.

They turned to the moss-covered tree behind them.  But by the time we knew, it was too late.  When they turned back, their eyes were filled with sorrow.

The hunter placed one hand on each of their foreheads.  I gift you with the blessing of foresight, such that you may see through this damned fog as we once did.  

The lumberjack, however, raised her hands to her own head, and, reverently removing her crown, pressed it into the deer’s hands.  A token of passage, she explained.  You’ll need this to enter the temple.  Take good care of it for me! With tearful smiles, the spirits sank into their darkened bodies.

★ ° . . . ☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ° . ● . ° ☾ °☆ 

To the left, a massive, toppled tree lay.  Wordlessly, the deer grasped the little fox’s hand and dragged her past it, soaring high above, where the birds once had, in the lumberjack and hunters’ memories.  I saw something that wasn’t there...before, they murmured thoughtfully, which really didn’t answer much.  Clearly much had changed in the forest.

The deer touched down gently in a decrepit pavilion, boots making a clacking noise against the slick stone of the foyer.  The whale skeleton.  It’s hard to kill these giant beasts; I wonder what could have.  As with everything else, the skeleton was overgrown with darkness plants, emanating a bilious sense of wrongness.  It didn’t quite seem right to leave them as they were, even on a creature so long dead as the whale, and so together, the little fox and the deer bent over, silently burning them off.  The mantas circled anxiously about them as they worked.

Finally, the bones shone white and pearlescent once more, and-

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

Once upon a time, in a silent forest in a realm stripped of her treasures by man’s greedy fingers, there lay a vast silty marsh of waste, composed of the noxious fumes pouring from a hundred busy mines all around, the discarded slag pouring from the smithy high above, and the trash of all the men who had begun to traverse through her vast expanses.  Borne of the myriad pollution pouring into the green clearings of the forest, this marsh was so bilious and foul that it had necessitated the building of the pavilion bridge above to allow safe passage to the temple above.

In these lands there are many old wives’ tales that float about, the bread and butter of many dinner-table conversations, shared only to be dismissed easily by most who hear them.  But the older men and women used to say- for every beloved object, it would need only ten years to grow an awareness, a hundred years to grow a soul, and a thousand years to grow a sentience.  And everyone knows that all living things are comprised of body, spirit, and soul, and anything with a defective soul will begin to decay, poisoning the spirit and body alike.

But the truth of these two statements is that an emotion in the opposite direction would have very much the same effect on the manifestation of a soul, and that a living thing only needs a soul, while the other two can be...sourced.

And so the marsh, neglected for so long, began to hunger for attention.  First it sank deep within the burbling brook, and, fed into the verdant trees, instead began to draw the vitality out of them, taking indulgent tastes of their well-fed spirits, given so much attention and oh so revered by their local communities.  When the trees were empty and dead; with even the fungi calcified into vague memories of their earlier shapes, the marsh was satisfied for a while.

But not for long.  Next it began to drown unsuspecting light creatures, reaching primitive tentacles up from within the water, wrapping its around hapless prey, and drawing them down into the deep.  With their glimmering spirits augmenting its mass, the marsh was satisfied for a while.

But not for long.  Men themselves began to disappear, and locals started to warn each other to stay away from the river, for strange things happened if you stayed too long.  The marsh, of course, had simply been plucking unfortunates from the riverbank as its fancied meal of choice.  With their rich spirits augmenting its mass, the marsh was satisfied for a while.

And one day the marsh found a thrashing light creature caught amongst a cluster of darkness plants.  A gentle light whale, which soon found it’s grisly demise within the eldritch abomination that the marsh had become.  

With its pure, strong spirit, and its massive, sturdy skeleton, the whale was the last spirit the marsh ever consumed, for it was all that was needed to birth the Leviathan as a being that had claimed enough lives to form an amalgamation- a patchwork spirit and borrowed skeleton, strong enough to seek out the temple far above- for it had smelt the scent of the mightiest spirit high above, a familiar stink entangled deep within its decaying bones, and its patchwork soul throbbed in its swollen need, and hungered to consume it.

(Just like how the spirit had once consumed her own home and spat it back up, aching, forgotten, below her own temple.)

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

Her voice sounded different.  A voice of chiming bells it was no longer, but now a sonorous wail. The whale call was mighty, and the mantas heard its call, carrying the little fox and the deer up towards the temple, where they were gently deposited.

Ahead, two stone doors loomed, and where they split neatly down the middle, an empty socket awaited.  Gingerly, the little fox placed the diamond crown carefully into the hole, and it sank into the stone with a clink and a scrape- and when the doors opened, it was not with a scrape but with a sky, as though it had been waiting for their arrival for a long, long time.

Together, they clasped each other’s hands and walked into the nothingness.  They walked for perhaps forever or perhaps not so long at all, and in time the air and light began to take on a different quality about them.

★ ° . . . ☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ° . ● . ° ☾ °☆ 

Once, the hidden forest had a mother, A mother who never grew old. With a smile of sunshine, And a heart molded of pure gold. In her eyes two flaming stars, Upon her head a cold forged crown. Strong arms swinging a celestial hammer, But always gentle when setting it down.

But that golden heart was broken long ago. So now you shall see- When you visit her, Kind she will not be.

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

In a land before time, or perhaps in a land that came so long after time that the space around her had forgotten what it felt like, the fox and the deer walked, and walked, and walked.  About them shadowy memories of trees rustled, a susurration of a million quiet voices threading through their ghostly leaves and whispering in their ears.  Ahead of them a figure far distance knelt bowed over -shimmering and waning in some pale, unearthly light.  It never seemed to grow any larger, but after an indeterminate amount of time it raised a staff, face still downturned, and the trees drew apart before them with a sigh-

All at once the little fox realized that her sense of perspective had been entirely wrong, and the figure was a titanic woman towering over them, at once both a million miles away and an arm’s length away, and the staff was not a staff at all but rather a golden hammer, metal cracked and stained dark.  But the woman’s face was the most terrifying of all, for where in all the other spirits two flame-bright eyes had resided, her eyesockets held only fathomless dark, and where a mouth had been was now a bloodied gash, and on either side her high, regal cheeks had been smashed and her nose broken.  Down her arm, hanging at an odd angle, black blood dripped freely from ugly gouges, and her dress had been torn open, lacerations rent by some beast down her chest and opening her belly like a flower- the little fox stopped looking.  The room stank of ichor and slag.  And when she looked in their direction, she smiled.  It was not a kind smile.

★ ° . . . ☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ° . ● . ° ☾ °☆

Once upon a time, in a silent forest in a realm unmolested by man’s greedy fingers, a wise queen presided over her kingdom.  Here was a land where flowers bloomed beneath the boughs of flourishing shrubs and glowing fungi, where birds sang and creatures frolicked, where a brook burbled happily as it wound its way beneath the roots of ancient trees.  Her open glades nursed many a light fragment on their journey into harsher realms, and songs of her people and beasts alike filled the gentle winds with joy.  

High above the queen in her smithy smiled, and her soul, pulsing gently within her, shone all the brighter, casting all the lands in its protective light, which shielded all from the darkness lurking beyond her realm’s borders.

But even the wisest of men are men, in the end, and men are hungry things, always grasping for more, more, more.  Bounty exists solely for the plundering, the High Council said, and the queen was only too happy to allow her councilmen to do so, for they paid her a handsome price for her services, which she turned into infrastructure improvements for her people, for after all, she was a kind queen, and she cared for her people, but not so much her land.  

In time her kingdom began to hear whispers of something stealing her men away, in the dark, dragging them down and away into the deepest parts of the little forest brook, and she spared no expense sending men to seek out the perpetrator, for after all, hers was a rich kingdom now, natural bounty spent for untold riches.

But she never could.  How could she, when the culprit may as well have been the forest itself, given form and risen again from amongst her buried sins to punish them for their pride?  For all that she and her men searched, they never suspected that the forest itself would turn against them.  All about them, the forest itself began to weep, for it knew that the root of its evil could not be excised.

Until one night, the Leviathan rose out of the waters of the oil-slicked marshes below the temple and roared its furious challenge with an earthshattering scream.

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

I didn’t know I was going to live until I had Crossed the oil slicked sands, Clasping a single accompanying hand.

I didn’t know I was going to live until I had Driven the cracked fragments of my staff through its skull And pinned it, thrashing, into the wastelands, Bright eye going dull.

It may already have killed me, and I didn’t know if I was going to live, Even after it had gasped it’s final breath, twitching.

And so I fell to the ground, Spent and shivering.

But still I didn’t want to die Unless I had spent myself down to my cold stone core, Until my limbs gave way, Until my heart refused to beat.

Until I had bought my victory With a thousand years of remembered pain, For a thousand more forgotten souls.

And so I grasped your offered hand And drove my staff into its dragonheart once more.

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

For ten days and ten nights they battled across the skies, light against dark, perfectly matched.  One, two, a hundred trees fell, crushed under the weight of their violent celestial battle, and still they fought on.  The queen lost count of how many times she had thrown, or been thrown by the massive shapeless beast.  Her mighty hammer blocked the blows of the Leviathan countless times, but she had not escaped its fury, for now her right arm hung useless and dripping ichor at her side, and her stomach had been torn open and she was losing her strength fast.

(Down below, rocks from the Leviathan’s most recent meeting with a cliff face showered down upon one little miner’s hole)

But the queen had the wisdom of experience and the sorrow of years of mourning her subjects backing her, and, with an effort, she finally regained the upper hand over the spirit.  But her body was torn, crushed, and abused beyond the hope of any semblance of repair, and she knew then, that if she failed in her final blow, she would not have a chance again.

And so she heaved her celestial hammer high above her, and, infused with the power of her ancient soulflame, brought it squarely down upon the single massive eye of the Leviathan.

Soulflame met bright eye and fused in a burst of flame, which ripped down the amorphous dark of the body of the Leviathan, golden light racing through the cracks in its body.  With a pained roar the Leviathan crumbled apart into three- a golden light swept past and up towards the heavens, a silvery, massive spirit- body, revealed under its shapeless dark, flung unceromoniously in the direction of the hammer’s swing, and a whale skeleton, freed from its prison, tumbled into the marshes below.  The Leviathan’s eye, shining like a sun, was flung alongside the Leviathan’s spirit towards the edge of the forest, where darkness lurked and no man dared tread.

But the queen saw none of this, for her body too had succumbed to its injuries, falling down into the smithy where she had spent so many days ruling over her golden kingdom.  Her body, devoid of soul but not of spirit, lay lifeless in her throne room, the beginning of its slow torturous decay.  Around her, the kingdom began to crumble.  She did not hear the screams of her subjects as they were swallowed- for without her soul to light the way, the pollution and darkness, taken on a life of its own, could not and would not be stopped.

Above, the rain kept falling.

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

So at long last I have visitors to my glorious domain, declared the woman, face upturned, arms spread wide and gesturing up at what must have once been a truly glorious room.  She seemed to not notice her injuries, or how as she moved, her dress slipped further, catching on the exposed bone of her broken arm, heavy with the stink of ichor that dripped down and ran into the water pooled around her podium.  Welcome!  I have waited long and eager for you.

The deer pushed the little fox behind them, hiding them from view.  Your majesty.  We are honoured to be in your exalted presence, he intoned, bowing deeply.  But the little fox saw the tension in the line of their back, and their grip on her arm was white-knuckled and trembling.

You have just what I needed, she murmured, smiling her too-wide smile.  Don’t hide it, bring it here.  I would have a look at it.  The woman trailed her fingers slowly across the hammer at her side.  I don’t want to ask twice.

Still the deer bowed, and in a steady voice, they answered, This one is honoured by the request, but it is no treasure, merely an untested child.  Here they raised their hands to their chest- I am a soul who has wandered this earth for a hundred years before the Darkness came and took what was yours from you, and have wandered a thousand years since.  Surely I am enough.

The woman snorted.  How dull.  I can’t use your old, dim soul.  I suppose you will make me ask twice.  In the space of one heartbeat and the next, she had crossed the chamber, and, twirling her hammer with the ease of one long-practiced, she flung the deer into a wall, where their surprised yell had cut into a croak and gurgle of blood upon impact, leaving them crumpled to the floor.  They did not move again.

The little fox, who had leapt, crying out, towards her fallen companion, was suddenly flung in the opposite direction onto the podium, caught by the handle of the golden hammer, and struggled, crushed beneath a colossal weight, pinned helplessly.  Above her two claw-tipped hands reached, and she gasped, for in the space between her ribs the bright soul had begun to crackle painfully, drawn upwards towards a being so powerful and painfully devoid of one-

The little fox closed her eyes.

The fallen queen closed her palms about the flame, snuffing it out.

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

All about the latticed windows set high in the walls slammed open, sending golden sunlight shafting into the forgotten throne room, and the bells flanking the great stone doors, silent for so long, began their sonorous tolling, and the doors slid open with a mighty scraping.

All the creatures of light, locked out of their home for so long, began to spill into the throne room, clamouring in their myriad voices. In the midst of the chaos the queen sat, stricken, singed hands stinging.  Above her a newly forged darkstone diamond shone, adamant and burning with the light of a new soul.  Below her two bodies lay, lifeless.  In her face two flame-bright eyes gleamed with a strange wetness.

★ ° . . . ☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ° . ● . ° ☾ °☆ 

At the end of the world There lies a fallen star Memories of shining moments Crumbling like stardust.

☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . •

These days, if you visit the Hidden Forest, you shall find that the corruption has stopped.  Why? No one knows.  Still it rains, but the air smells of growing things and petrichor, and the water does not sap at your strength.  You may meet a deer guide accompanied by two spirit mantas, who will smile at you and tell you that sometimes, you do not need to be great to do great things, and you do not need to be brave to be courageous.  You may meet a titan, diving through the air in a slow, momentous descent in a hidden cavern far beneath the earth, with its own little sun casting the chamber in eternal sleepy afternoon light.  Far below the calcified trees a little brook winds its way through the woodlands, burbling merrily on its way into a vast flood plains, filled with water clear and sparkling.  Above, flies a flock of migrating birds winging their way across the Forest, glowing in the sky like the Milky Way, past a silent temple where they say on the darkest nights of the seasonal monsoon, you can sometimes see a woman, silent under the weight of her sins, kneeling behind a altar built to an absent god.  High above the altar a diamond shining brilliant with a pure, flaming light smiles down upon a resurrected kingdom.

And if you journey through the entirety of the forest, you may find that at the end, there stands a little child-star, eyes closed, face tilted towards the heavens, and you should know that once upon a time, she saved an entire world.

#sky #story #thatskygame #sky children of the light #hidden forest #cotl #teth #original character #fanfiction

[residentlesbrarian]

The Fourth Book I Read In the Dark: Of Expectations and Other Relatabilities

Of Gryphons and Other Monsters by Shannon McGee

Hey, guys, sooooo...this is aaaawwwkward. I wrote 95% of this review when I wrote the other Books I Read in the Dark series for the blog, but the ADHD hit me and COVID was still you know...a thing! So I am gonna post this review, finished of course, OH, but also pay extra close attention to the conclusion alright! Hmm...this is a bit like a time capsule...here are my concentrated thoughts from 6 months ago while I was slightly delirious on books and darkness. So go forth and uh yeah this one is...you can just feel the feral “I haven’t had access to proper internet so I’ve been curled in the corner like Gollum with my books” energy coming off it so...enjoy?

Okay, so yeah, I really didn’t have a reason to end my last review that way I just wanted to, so sue me for injecting a little excitement into a series of posts about me literally sitting in my house reading nonstop for 2 ½ days, my reviews my rules. Back to manufacturing my own excitement shall we!

It’s Day 2! I’ve just finished my last library book, whatever will I do! I could always reread The Neverending Story for the 1,273rd time, but I have a need. A need for GAY! I rack my brain, there has to be a solution. My town is without power, my local library won’t be open, but then it hits me. It’s so simple! It’s meant to be really! Like the universe knew this was coming and it made sure I was prepared! Like a prepper stockpiling mental SPAM for my stimulus needing ADHD riddled brain! I have an entire shelf of books that I haven’t read yet! Way back in Clexacon 2019 my best friend (Lookin at you @justalifelongphase) gave me way too much money from missed birthdays and Christmases all at once before the con started because the world has deemed it impossible for us to live geographically close to one another. Anyway, I went a little book-buying-crazy and have not had the time or opportunity to read any of them since then. Their time has finally come!

I figured after going full whimsy with The Lost Coast and sci-fi superhero with Dreadnought and Sovereign why not take a dip into more traditional fantasy, also this one was first in line on the shelf, yay for not having to actually make a decision! No more dawdling, let's get right into the review!

Unicorn Rating:

Blurb: Taryn always loves and hates gryphon season. She finds the lesser gryphons more cute than anything but the ever present fear that a greater gryphon might be just out of sight is terrifying, and this gryphon season proves to be the one that will change her and her families lives forever! Just let a girl herd her sheep in peace!

Disclaimer: I will try my best to not spoil anything from the book, but my book loving rambles may give more away than a traditional review. Here we go! Ramble time!

Review:

I genuinely enjoyed this book. It took me a bit longer to get through it than the others, but I think that was a combination of three things: A. I was starting to feel the fatigue of reading so much in such a short amount of time. B. Our local Wal Mart had power restored on Day 3 and our entire household went on a trip to buy non-perishable food stuffs and I was like a solitary confinement prisoner being let out into the yard for the first time in months when my phone picked up a wifi signal and it was a bit hard to get back into the swing of reading after talking to other humans, even virtually, that weren’t imaginary or in my head. C. Our power was finally restored on the afternoon of Day 3 so yet again I was inundated with the draw of technology and all of my friend-os I hadn’t talked to, but the book had drawn me in enough I did the most unmillienial thing and left my phone in a different room to charge while I finished this book before going back to the land of technology and interwebs. That should tell you something.

McGee was able to write this story in a way that pulls you in so you care about what happens to these characters and this little mountain town. You learn just enough about the world to understand where they fit within the overall weave of it, but you aren’t given a Tolkein-esc dissertation on the world lore. I felt the worries and the fears. I was concerned when the routines had to change. I mean she made me care about the freaking sheep! Sheep, people! One of the reasons I think this works so well is we are so firmly rooted in the head of our protagonist, Taryn. Imma use that lovely bridge I just built to skip right on over the plot section of the review to get to the characters first, don’t worry we’ll circle back round to the plot. I always do, but I just wanna talk about my newest set of brain babies.

Taryn is a character that, if the title of this post is anything to go by, I found very very relatable. Now I know relatability can be pretty subjective, some people can latch onto something with the all consuming, “It me!” While others just stare on dead eyed not understanding the appeal. I feel like Taryn could be that kind of protagonist. You are either going to really relate to her or you won’t understand where she is coming from at all. I obviously fall in the former category. I was the quintessential middle child, still am really, though my relationship with my parents has shifted now that I’m an adult. More mutual respect and friendship than parent to child. I always did my best to pick up the slack, if ever there was any, and just tried my best to be as little of a burden as possible to my parents. I see so much of that aspect of myself in Taryn and how she sees her place at the farm and even in the town, she has her place and her role, but those expectations are heavy. One of those expectations being that she will inevitably get married and help take over the farm from her parents and have kids to continue the line. The fact she finds the lesser gryphons that flock near the farm far cuter than any of the local boys that she will eventually have to choose from to fulfill that inevitable expectation is just...sad at best and down right tragic at worst. And her family doesn’t help matters either. They won’t let her forget that she will have to settle down with one of these local boys, a boy who would make a good husband and take good care of her and the farm. She knows that, logically, but she also wants to be in love, like her parents, and she just doesn’t feel like that for any of the boys in town. She doesn’t know how to make those two things line up. It’s a struggle between her head, the obligation of what she has to do, and her heart, what she really wants for her future, to be happy in doing what she has to do. Wow, I went off a little bit there, but this was my long winded way of saying I have never read a protagonist that really captured the utter confusion of being raised in a heteronormative environment without it being drenched in internalized homophobia and fear. Protagonists like this seem to always know something is off but just don’t have the words for it so they just hide it because they know it’s “different” and out of the norm, but Taryn is just livin’ her sheep herding life and ain’t got no time for these boy crazy fools. She knows her mom wants her to find a good boy to court her so she can marry someday but she’s still young. She’ll think about that tomorrow, and she just repeats that ad infinitum. The thought that maybe she doesn’t fancy any of the boys because well...girls...never even occurred to her. It's not how things are done in this small mountain town, not because of homophobia reasons, but just stubborn tradition reasons. We are even told there is a gay couple living in town who are staples in the overall dynamics in town, instrumental even, but the idea of having a lineage, being able to pass your land down is so ingrained no wonder poor Taryn was so in the dark about her own probable gayness till it slapped her in the face. As someone who was raised in a medium sized Oklahoma town...girl I feel you. I was 22 and in the middle of Appalacia, way up in the mountains for college when my gay awakening popped up and said “Hello!” Everything that never quite made sense in my life came into perfect clarity. Not quite what happened with Taryn, but the arrival of Aella surely helped, as pretty girls are want to do. Oh look a segue, good, cause I could talk about Taryn for literal hours and I’ve already gabbed about her too much for this review.

Aella, you smooth motherfucker. Like I wish I could possess a quarter of the smoothness that you do. Like I’m lucky to string sentences together around a pretty girl, but here you are just strutting about being the smoothest of smooth. Honestly, I just...I can’t with you Aella. On a serious note though Aella is a character that served as showing Taryn a glimpse at the world beyond her small mountain town, as much as she had no desire to leave, unlike her brother. Nope, sit down, we’ll get to you, Michael! Oh, we’ll get to you. She’s traveled and has stories from all over and she is fairly open about the fact that she only likes girls, but she doesn’t have land, responsibilities, and a family line to continue. She just gets to live her life the way she choses. And y’all know I am a sap for the hard dark characters that are totally softies underneath that rough exterior. I think Aella was a great foil to Taryn and great at showing her what she could have if she was willing to leave, to stretch what she was allowed to wish for, but of course the biggest issue with her wishing for anything was...Michael.

Michael was such an interesting character. I loved him. I hated him. I wanted to hug him. I wanted to punch him. Again as with the town and the people of the town I was so deep seated in Taryn’s head and feelings that her conflicted feelings about Michael and how he was acting became my feelings on the matter. Not enough to not separate a tad and see what was coming or at least try to predict it as I always do when reading, but emotionally I was right with Taryn the whole way. The one thing that really pushed Michael from just a character I was conflicted about to one I really wanna give a swift kick in the nads to, is that he knew. He knew all about Taryn’s absolute lack of romantic inclinations toward any of the boys in town and her doubts that she would ever find someone to love and marry to take over the farm. He was the only person she confided these fears in and he still selfishly followed his own pursuits with little regard to her or her worries. You sir, are a terrible brother and overall a shit human, so sit your ass down and shut your mouth.

The plot for this book was so embroiled with the characters and their journeys that I can’t talk on it much but the twists at the end and the final climax was very satisfying for me and left me excited to dig into the next book. Also something of note that I didn’t talk about in the character section cause I felt it was dragging on a touch, I really only talked in depth on our three biggest players but there is a very colorful cast of side characters ranging from Taryn’s nervous pony to the boy-who-cried-gryphon neighbor no one can stand to the troupe of hunters led by Aella’s mother to Taryn’s best friend Nia, all of whom play important parts in building that sense of caring about the people of this town and the town itself, which in turn made me deeply care about the outcome of the plot at the heart of the story. And the sheep! The god damn sheep!

One thing I do want to say before my final thoughts is that whoever designed the cover of this book in a genius because as I dug into the story I found myself constantly closing it to spout off about theories of what I thought was happening on the cover and what it all meant, I was kind of reader fatigue delirious for most of those theories but some of them I was right! I might have reenacted the Captain Holt “Vindication” gif IRL just because it felt too good not to. I just love when a “cool” cover turns out to be so much more than that once you’re “in the know”. So yeah, now y’all know to pay attention for that.

My final thoughts on this book are pretty positive. I can tell the author is building us toward so much more, hence the name of the series, Taryn’s Journey, and it feels like it. This is only the beginning and I honestly can’t wait to take the next steps with her.

Queer Wrap-up:

Hey it’s me from the future...present...whatever...so, this is when I stopped writing the review six months ago and there is a reason for that. I, kind of, agonized over what to rate this book on the scale. Multiple times having to call my brother and go back and forth just to then repeat the same arguments with myself as soon as I got off the phone. Now why was this such a hard terrible no good awful back and forth well...SPOILER WARNING...seriously anything past this point will be spoiling some character beats for the majority of the book...okay? We understand one another. DANGER ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE...or you know scroll on.

So, Taryn is never confirmed to be queer in the text of this book. Now you would have to be wearing the tightest hetero goggles in known history not to see the heavy HEAVY subtext saying THIS BITCH GAY! It’s basically a full grown elephant painted sparkly rainbow trying to hide behind a dead shrub aka not hiding at all. I so desperately wanted to give this book four of those darling unicorns but in this rare case I just don’t think I can justify it. We have a protagonist that is still figuring herself out, which is amazing that we get to see that and go on the journey with her. Some of the things Taryn does and thinks are queer coded as hell, especially if it involves Aella who is explicitly gay on the page, but Taryn herself never express whether she herself is queer. Which, fair, other really important and traumatizing things were going on and I love that about her as a character, she didn’t meet Aella and suddenly that was all she could think about. Aella, of course, is representation who I’m counting because even though she shows obvious interest (you smooth motherfucker) in Taryn she is so much more than just a love interest and her character isn’t just boiled down to her sexuality. Now in this wrap up I’m also including the doctor and his husband in the town. They are very minor characters but they give us interesting insights into the town and the people. They are accepted and treated well in town even if some do almost, pity isn’t the right word, but they seem sad that they won’t be able to have any kind of legacy or lineage. As I said in the review it’s not homophobia it’s being stuck in your ways and it’s an interesting take.

Links:

Shannon McGee Website

The Storygraph

Okay so this one is a bit of a mess. Pieces of it were written 6 months apart and most of it was written while I was kind of delirious but hey at least I can say it’s honest. I still stand by everything my past self wrote and I still really enjoy thinking and talking about this book and am excited for whenever I get around to reading the sequel to continue on Tayrn’s journey with her. This is a book I probably would never have known even existed without ClexaCon and trolling through artist alley for literally every table that had books on them. I guess, moral of the day is maybe you won’t just find great books on library shelves but on unassuming convention tables too and it never hurts to look. Trust me, I’m a lesbrarian.

Oh bet you thought this post was over. I did the sign off and everything but oh no no! I have some info and such to impart. I am WELL AWARE these reviews have been fairly inconsistent to down right sporadic. Well, this is just a little info dump letting you guys know I am gonna be putting up one more review after this one that I wrote ages ago and I mean AGES (think years, as in multiple) and just never got around to posting and then the old blog is probably gonna be going through a PLANNED dormancy while some pretty big stuff is coming down the pike. You may notice visual changes and other stuff before anything else is announced but just keep an eye out. To quote the Fates from Hercules, “It’s gonna be big!”

Okay now for the actual sign off, I got shit to do! No one look behind the curtain, it’s a surprise!

#Of Gryphons and Other Monsters #Shannon McGee #resident lesbrarian #3 unicorns #questioning girl #lesbian #heavy wlw romantic subtext #ya novel #ya fantasy #go to your local library #but wear a mask #and wash your hands #and stay 6 feet apart #be safe out there guys gals and nonbinary pals

[too-much-sunshine]

Fangs for the Hospitality

Chapter 5

Summary: After Roman leaves his family reunion mad at Remus, his car breaks down. The huge snow storm forces him into the forest hes always been told to stay away from. Who will he meet? And why are they being so nice? Most importantly, why are his teeth so sharp?

A/N: My self-indulgent magic/vampire fic! Let me know if I need to tag something or you wanna be tagged!

Relationship: Familial DAM, Eventual Roceit, Eventual Intrulogical

Warnings (per chapter): Some Panicky thoughts from Roman, mention of late parents, reference to homophobia/transphobia (Romans family just sucks),

Catch up!:  Master list, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Word Count: 3241

Read on AO3!

Roman opened his eyes to light shining in his face. It wasn't extremely unpleasant since it was warm, but his eyes burning was something he didn't want to continue. He rolled to the side of the bed and faced a...fireplace? Oh yeah...He was in a random person's house...after almost freezing to death..in the middle of a scary forest…

‘If I wasn't terrified, I’d make the joke that Remus would be so jealous.’ Roman thought as he slowly sat up in the bed. It seems the person he'd met last night was right about sleeping to gain strength back. He could actually use his arms now.

Sitting up he realized the room looked very different in the light of the day then in the dark of night. It was very nicely put together. The walls were a nice pale yellow with the beams in the ceiling exposed to show the nice dark lacquer. The furniture of the room matched the dark coloring of the exposed wood with some red and gold accents as well. The room looked regal, and expensive, dramatic even. Roman felt a bit out of place.

Roman closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He took a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth. He still felt a bit out of his wits, but he was starting to calm down a bit in the quiet of the morning.

“Hello!!” A loud voice said from his right.

This caused Roman to startle so bad he was within inches of falling off the bed. Most of the  sense of calmness he worked up immediately was lost in a matter of seconds. Roman brought his hand up to his rapidly beating heart as he took gulping breaths in.

“Oh no! Don’t worry! I’m not here to hurt you! I just wanted to say hi and actually meet you! You kinda died last time we met and I just wanted to make sure you are okay! Daddy says you just got really really cold and when I’m really cold I like warm hugs but I’ve been told that I’m supposed to ask people if they want a hug first but I couldn't ask you because you fell asleep.” The child took a deep breath since they had not since they started speaking.

Roman took a long moment to catch up to what the child had said. They just spoke so fast with such expressiveness Roman couldn't keep up. Let alone he was sure this room was empty not a minute before the child had spoken.

The child stood in the corner of the room with an amazingly bright smile. They rocked back a forth on their heels making their curly brown hair bounce around with them. The child was wearing light blue overall with a pastel yellow shirt that had white flowers embroidered on it. They looked to be around 8 years old and if Roman remembered correctly this was the kid that opened the door last night. Did he ever get their name? He couldn't remember.

Roman realized that the child was waiting for an answer to their question. Their question to….Oh! Hug Roman. They wanted a hug. From Roman? And he doesn't even remember the kids name. But the longer Roman took to answer the more the kid was looking dejected. Panicking, Roman answered them.

“Umm. I...Suppose?” Roman slowly opened his arms.

The child's face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning and climbed up the bed. The speed at which this child climbed up to him surprised Roman a little. They crawled into Romans arms and burrowed their face into Romans chest. Roman sat frozen for a long minute, then slowly lowered his arms around the small child.

For someone so small, they were quite warm. Roman couldn't remember the last time he had had a real hug. Distantly he thought about how it was kind of sad that the first hug he could remember was from a child that he didn't even know the name of. But he pushed that thought aside and squeezed the small child a little tighter.

He was very surprised at how trusting this child was. He was basically a stranger to this kid and yet they were so...comfortable around him. He had never met someone so trusting, even for a child.

“You know there's a spell on your door, right?” The child spoke suddenly, interrupting Romans thoughts and still huddled close.

“Oh there is, is there? How so?” Roman smirked. He missed the whimsical way children would speak. This one must have a big imagination. Much like Roman did when he was their age.

“You can’t see it? Look!” The child turned and shuffled so he was still close to Roman, but was now seated at his side under his arm.

They then pointed at the door and looked up at Roman with big, excited eyes.

“Look at the door! There's a yellow outline around it! That means daddy put a spell on it!” The child smiled brightly, then suddenly it turned into a childish pout. “I don’t know what it is though. I haven't been able to find out cause I’m not good at magic.” They huffed as they crossed their arms.

“Aww hey bud don’t say that! I’m sure you’ll get better. You just need some practice is all! Do you have a wand or something? Maybe I can help you!” Roman replied, smiling at the kid. Their eyes started to shine with unbridled excitement.

“You know magic!?” They asked, jumping off the bed.

“Of course I do! I’m a Prince after all! All princes know magic in some way! I just haven't practiced in a long time so forgive me if I’m a bit rusty.” Roman said with a smile as he also finally got out of bed. He got to his feet just fine, though he still felt a little weak. Though it was something he could easily brush off, the room was spinning a bit. But he had a child to entertain! And playing pretend was Romans favorite game. Roman took a deep breath and pushed past his slight weakness.

Roman walked to stand near the kid at the foot of the bed.

“Now! Where is this wand of yours?” He asked the excitable child.

“Oh, I don’t have one! Dad said that I draw my magic from the earth and stuff. So anything thats alive I can draw my power from!” They said with a big toothy grin, striking a power pose.

“Wow that's really cool! You must have been doing this magic stuff for a long time to know so much.” Roman praised. He would admit that was quite detailed for a child. But being this far out in the woods he's sure he could come up with some expensive magic lore as well.

“Well yea,” the child said, “Dad said I was born a witch!”

Roman continued to smile and nod even though he didn't quite understand. The person he talked to last night seemed quite nice. Definitely not the type to call their child a witch from birth. Though that's a pretty small insult so the child most likely didn't understand. He supposed he didn't actually know the person… Maybe he wasn't as kind as he had originally thought.

Roman thought it best to continue to play along with the child. They seemed to be having fun and Roman had to admit that he was also getting a bit into the game of make-believe. “Well that is really cool! I myself was born a Prince as you were born a witch. But not too long ago an evil woman tried to take away my title! So I ran away to live on my own and chose to keep my name as Prince Roman.” As Roman told his short tale the child listened with rapt attention.

“Woooww! That's amazing you must be so stroongg!! That lady must be so mean! I’m gonna beat her up for you!” They brought their fists up to show their...lack luster strength. But Roman appreciated the sentiment.

“That's okay kid. I don’t think I’m gonna see her again. I don’t want to go back there anymore anyway. Now! Let's do some magic! Show what you can do!”

“Okay!” They said. “But…” The child got really close to Roman and pulled him down by the sleeve to whisper in his ear. “Don’t tell my dad. He doesn’t like when I do magic in the house when he can’t watch.”

Roman smiled at the new seriousness that the child took on. Roman mimicked the same eer a well.

“You have a Prince's honor.” Roman said as he raised his right arm.

The kid gave him a once over. Seemingly finding what they were looking for, they took a step back and closed their eyes.They took several deep breaths and held their hands palm up in front of themself. While continuing to breath, they started to sway a bit.

Roman continued watching closely to see how long this kid was gonna commit to the whole ‘I can do magic’ thing. He was waiting for something small to happen, like a creek in the floorboards or a sudden draft, to blame on the kid. He would of course hype it up to say they moved a mountain or caused an incoming storm.

But before either of them even had a chance to speak up, heavy footsteps could be heard bounding toward the closed door. The door banged open hitting the wall, which caused Roman to jump. In the doorway to reveal a less than pleased looking Janus with a small child poised on their hip.

They paused at the door seeing that Roman was out of bed and standing next to the foot of the bed. His son was in the center of the room, doing his deep breathing exercise he had taught him to help manage his magic. Looks like he showed up just in time.

Roman stood frozen, starting at the person in the doorway. Were they the same person that he had met last night? They looked so much different in the light of the day. The slim, yet on the shorter side. They had dark black curly hair mostly covered by their circular black hat. They were wearing a yellow turtleneck sweater tucked into black high waisted pinstripe pants.

The small child they were holding was hiding their face in the sweater. They were wearing a small purple beanie that covered their black hair. The scared child was holding a stuffed toy of the cartoon animal Stitch so tight his tiny knuckles were white. They couldn't have been any older than 3 years old.

Janus finished assessing the scene in front of him and finally spoke up, addressing his child.

“Patton dear, what have I told you about magic without my knowledge?” Janus asked, slightly bouncing the toddler.

“To not do it in the house…” Patton said, hanging his head.

Janus sighed. “It's okay honey. Just want to make sure you're safe while...playing.” He said the last word slowly, while looking directly at Roman.

“But dad! He said he's a Prince! And that he knows magic as well! He was going to help me learn to control my magic more and then I was going to help him beat up some old lady who tried to make him not be a Prince!” They said looking back and forth between Roman and Janus. All previous shame gone in an instant.

“Is he now?” Janus inquired. “Well here I was treating you like a normal person.” Janus looked over Roman, who looked very uncomfortable, and bowed deeply. The child on his hip started to giggle, peeking their eyes out. “Now, your highness I promised you breakfast this morning but since you are already up you can join the rest of us at our table? I can guarantee it won’t be as grand as you are used too, but I’m sure we can work something out.” He grabbed the child that was on his hip under their arms and placed them by his feet. “Patton dear, can you take your little brother to the dining room and set up a bit? Breakfast will be done shortly and I wish to speak with the Prince.”

“Okay daddy! Let's go Virgey! I pour you some juice and then we can color!” Patton grabbed the little child's hand as skipped out of the room. If Roman would have looked any closer he might have seen the door glow a faint yellow for a second, before the color faded away.

Janus watched his kids leave the room with a small smile on his face. After they were completely out of earshot Janus turned fully to Roman.

“So. A Prince you say?” Janus asked.

Roman was extremely uncomfortable. He felt like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Yet there was really no reason to feel this way. He just… did when people talked to him. He always just assumes he's in trouble. He decided though that the truth is the best course of action here.

“Haha yeah no not really. Patton just seemed really into the whole magic thing so I thought I’d play along. They are very sweet…”

“They?” Janus asked, raising an eyebrow. It was off topic from where he wanted to go in his questioning, but his curiosity caused him to pose the question anyway.

Roman froze. Did he fuck up again? He shouldn't have let the slip when he didn't know how tolerant these people were. They were as close as you could be to living under a rock. They were so far in the forest.

Then again maybe they would be cool with it? It's not like Roman knew the gender of any of the people here so he just… Didn’t want to assume anything.

But that excuse did not work in his family. When he said that before he had gotten a long lecture from just about everyone in his family. It was like they all took turns, repeating the exact same ignorant shit. He remembers leaving that specific Christmas party and just crying alone in his apartment. That was not a good night.

Roman was so lost in thought he didn't even realize when Janus took a few steps closer to him. Shaking his head slightly to clear his thoughts Roman looked back up to Janus. He took a deep breath and hid his slightly shaking hands behind his back. He decided he might as well try and explain the truth again.

“I...I didn't want to assume any of your genders and none of you explicitly told me. I didn't want to be rude.” Roman said not directly looking at Janus.

Janus was largely taken aback. He was not expecting the stranger to be so...considerate. Janus looked the stranger up and down, searching for any sign he was lying to him. Finding nothing that could condemn him as such he decidedly spoke instead.

“Well that's very kind of you. I myself go by he/him. Both my sons do for now, but they are welcome to say otherwise whenever, or if ever, they wish. You?” Janus asked slowly.

“Umm… He/him as well…” Roman answered in a slightly shocked state. He never in a million years thought that Janus would be so chill about it all. It was such a stark reaction to everyone he had ever talked to about these things. Except the one person at the theater he had met, they were very chill since they were nonbinary. Roman had learned a lot from them.

But even if Janus was chill now, Roman still felt that everyone had a limit. So maybe he should just say he only used he/him and grin and bare it for now.

“Mhmm,” Janus hummed, “Okay, now that that's out of the way, I would like to know when my son came into the room? I happened to be taking Virgil to the kitchen when I heard Pat from outside the door. How long had he been here?”

Janus seemed slightly concerned, and Roman only had a few guesses why. Most of which included leaving a child with a random stranger that they had only met last night. But once he started to think about it, he knew when Patton scared him, but not how he came in. Surly Roman would have seen the door open; it faced the bed. Roman took a few steps back till he took a seat on the bed.

“To be honest I don’t quite remember when he got in here. I didn't see him come in, only when he scared the beegeebies out of me when he said hi. So maybe only about 20 minutes? I’m sorry. I understand why you wouldn't want me around your kids. I don't know you and you don’t know me. Sorry I randomly showed up at your door. Pat and I didn't do much, just played a bit of pretend before you showed up. Oh and he also wanted a hug when he first showed up. Sorry if you didn't want me too but he just looked like he would cry if I said no and I didnt want that so he crawled on the bed and we talked about magic for a bit.” Roman said, speeding toward the because he was running out of breath. He was also getting a bit anxious at the way Janus was just staring at him.

Janus was more interested in the fact that they talked about magic more than he was that Patton had hugged him. Pat was a very touchy child. His biological parents were very giving when it came to physical affection, so Patton was very used to it when he was taken in by Janus. Janus had to get used to Patton just running and hugging him. It had taken quite a while to teach him to ask first.

“Oh you talked about magic? What did Pat say?” Janus inquired.

Roman was a bit confused at the path the questions were taking. But not wanting to upset Janus anymore then he assumed he already had, Roman answered anyway.

“Umm.. Ye-yea. He told me the door had a spell on it and told me that he's bad at magic. And I’m never one to turn down a kid's wild imagination so I entertained him a bit. I told him that I would help him practice since I’m a magic Prince. You showed up right before he showed me any of his magic tricks though. I was just playing along with him, not trying to lie.”

Janus sighed and nodded his head. He looked around the room seemingly trying to find something to say.

“Okay. Well, I’d appreciate it if you weren't alone with my children. You are still a stranger to us and I’m not willing to trust you yet. You should probably feel the same about me. Now, let's take this talk to the dining room and we can decide where to go from here. Follow me.” As Janus finished he turned around, waved from Roman to follow, then walked out the door.

Not wanting to keep Janus waiting, he quickly followed him, still not noticing the faintly glowing door.

Next Chapter!

Taglist:

@primaveradoodles @bluerosesbleedred

#sanders sides fanfiction #eventual roceit #eventual intrulogical #fluff #TftH #Roman sanders #Janus Sanders #Virgil sanders #patton sanders #magic au #verys fic #homophobia mention #transphobia mention

[daisydaisybilly]

Hard to love - part 5

title- hard to love - 1, 2 3 4

Pairing: fem!reader x Sam

Word count: 4.6k Square filled: for @spnquotebingo​​ - “___. Good to see you. But if you’re here, who’s guarding Hades?”

Warnings: angst , swearing, mention of blood and mention of death A/N: one more part left until i move on to my dean fic! Not as edited as i’d like but i hope you like it.

MAIN MASTERLIST | REQUEST OPEN | series masterlist

  Black soon turn to white, soft light casted shadows over the soft surface you were lay on. Your mind buzzed, pulling yourself up you looked around the room. It w as a bedroom with two huge windows casting sunlight everywhere.    

You felt heavy with weight of your dream, hunting monsters and being with someone or was this the dream? Everything was mixing together.

"Y/N? You're going to be late if you sleep any longer" You froze that voice it felt like years since the last time you heard it. Confused you ran along the house, unsure of your path but positive of the destination.

There he was standing in the living room, going through the mail, "You still not dressed?" he looked up laughing but he's face dropped to worry when he saw your face.

"Danny?"   you chocked out, running into his arms. He was almost knocked off his feet by the sudden impact.

"Morning I guess, what's got into you?" he cocked his head to the side looking concerned.

Things went fuzzy, you had to blink before you could answer. "I had the weirdest dream" you drew away and tried to think but hit another wall of confused.

Danny kissed your cheek, "go on and get dressed, I'll drop you off".

Weakly smiling you nodded and headed back to the bedroom. This felt like the first time you had been in the house but it couldn't of been, the whole place was filed with your things and pictures.

One caught your eye more than the others. You were standing there in a white vintage dress , Danny with his arms wrapped around you. Both smiling, not even looking towards the camera but to whatever part of the other they could see.

A outfit was already laid out along with a ID badge.  'Ph.D. Y/N  Y/L/N. mythology and folklore'.

Half way through getting dressed you looked over to a mirror and looked at yourself. It was like you were looking at yourself but not really. You swore you hair was slightly longer and your skin missing key features, scars, buries , mark and tattoos. Why did it feel like you had a tattoo.

"What is wrong with me today?" you muttered as you finished getting ready. Something was weighing down on you but you couldn't say what it was.

Shaking away the feeling you took a bag from the floor, you didn't even need to think about it, you did it everyday.

Danny was waiting by the door in his own work clothes. Normally messy hair was tidy, he wore a suit which brought out his blue eyes. He's a manger. A voice said it the back of your head.

Everything was so different from when you were 22 living in a tiny apartment, now you were both older and doing what you both dreamed.

"you good?" he looked up at you as you walked up to him.

"Yes, I'm so proud of us" you kiss his cheek and link your arm with his and leave the house.

Everything passed in a hazes, doing things without thinking. Teaching classes to students who were where you once were. Full of love for lore and the unknown. Everything felt perfect but something was missing. Through out the day you would get flashes from last night's dream. Flashes of a kind face and a pain that would come and go within seconds.

"Dr Y/L/N?" you looked up from your desk and found two men in suits standing at the door. They were both tall, though one was a bit taller than the other.

"Yes. Can I help you?" you looked closers at the two men, something about them was so familiar but whatever it was wouldn't pop up in your mind.

"I'm agent Sam Mosely and this is my partner agent Dean Moscone, FBI" The taller one said, both quickly showed some ID.

"sit please" You jested to the sits in front of you. "I'm confused to why the FBI want to speak to me".

Sam smiled, "We were wondering if you could help us with something"

Dean cut in, "of course we can't tell you any details with it being an investigation"

"of course" you nodded, "mm so what's your question?"

"What do you know about hades?" Dean  asked very seriously.

You let out a small laughed half from awkwardness and half from confusion. "Like the Greek god?" They both nodded keeping their serious faces. "Well he's the god of the dead, many people think he's the god of death but they're wrong. He's also the king of the underworld" you spoke from your memory.

"and how would you kill him?"  Dean  asked, writing something down in a notepad.

"Kill him?" your eyes were wide when you answered. "why do you need to know that?"

"like we said it's under investigation" Sam seeing the confusion on your face and tried to calm things down.

Something about him, when your met his eyes you felt the same tug you had felt all day but even stronger. "I'll have to look through some books to find something" you were still looking at Sam.  "You can wait around or I can call you?"

Dean pulled a card from his pocket and pushed it over to you. "calling us would be better. Thanks for your help".

They both stood up to walk away but before they could you called after them. "Wait!" you stood up and walked to the other side of your desk. "This is going to sound crazy but have we met before? Something about you two is so familiar, this whole day has been crazy really" you sat down on the edge of the desk and sighed.

Sam and Dean looked among themselves, seeing if either remembered anything. "we travel a lot with this job so maybe we've passed each other in the streets before"

"Maybe" you tried to remember yourself but everything turn into fog.

Sam POV The next morning had come and passed since Y/N last called.  Of course he knew she would be just find, he had seen her handle two vampires in one move, if she was hunting a Djinn then she'll have it over with fast. But it had been an whole day and she hadn't called or texted. He also knew she didn't have to call him but she had been doing it because he wanted her too.

He had called her god knows how many times, at first it would ring but now it went straight to voice mail. "Hey you've reached Y/N  Y/L/N. only a few people have this number and they know who they are so if I didn't personal give you this number hang up."  

"Y/N still not answering?" Dean asked from his doorway. When it came to Sam's feeling Dean was quick to pick them up.  Then again Sam thought even Cas would of picked up on the way Sam was acting. Also having his phone in his hand and contently looking at your contact number on his screen.  

"I think something is wrong" he said rubbing his face.

"you know her better than I do, Sammy" Dean sighed, he walked  into Sam's room. "If you think something is wrong, then we'll go and check it out"    

"Thanks Dean" Sam smiled, knowing he could count on Dean with anything. He didn't know if Dean understood everything that was happening between him and Y/N. He told Dean about the first kiss but nothing about the two days they had together.

They didn't wait long till they were on the road. "So I hacked into Y/N's laptop to see what she was looking at" Sam said going through Y/N's history.

"What was she even looking into?" Dean asked eyes on the road.

"last time she updated me , she was thinking a Djinn, she had just checked out the newest vic" Sam  said checking the records. "the same thing has happened in 3 states"

"So this Djinn knows what they're doing" Dean sighed. "I mean she could of just lost her phone or something"

"She would of found a way, but Dean if this is a Djinn then she's in trouble" he couldn’t met Dean's eyes. "She said once that she'd give anything to get her old life back and the Djinn will use that against her"

"She'll know then. She'll fight her way out" Dean patted his brother's shoulder.

"But what if she doesn't want to get out" Sam could feel his chest get tighter. He hated he let her just walk out on her own.

"look Sam, I don't want to pry into your personal life but I know you care a lot about her, I guess don't want to see you hurt" Dean sighed and briefly looked towards Sam.  

"I just- I don't know what it is about her but just being in the same room as her makes me happier than I've been in a long time but I don't know what she feels, she's been through a lot and I don't think she can handle this" Sam jested  with this hands.      

                                               ***

Sam flipped through a file while Dean talked with the coroner about the victim. Y/N's research and theories match up to what they were seeing.

"I was waiting for you guys to show up with the other kills across the states" The coroner said as she covered the girl's body up again.

"Someone has come yet?" Sam turned around fast.

The coroner looked confused, looking for Sam panicked face to Dean's worried face. "No you guys are the first. Was someone else supposes to come?"

"We got feedback back from one of our partners that she might of found a lead" Dean cleared his throat getting the attention off Sam.

"is there anyone else here who would of shown her the victim?" Dean asked, glazing at Sam who was looking more and more sick as the seconds went by.

"No. we're a small town, it's just me down here" The coroner was starting to look worried too, "You're welcome to check the CTV".

"Thank you that would be great" Sam said, his voice was far to high, he held himself  higher too.

They were left alone to go through  the footage, after going through a fought timeline of Y/n's day they found the right time. Sam swore his breath stopped when he saw her.

First she stood waiting for whoever was coming, from the way she was standing she must have been texting. Checking the timestamp and their text history, she was texting him.  He watched as she took a heavy breath and smile sadly.

"Look" Dean's voice made him draw his eyes away from Y/N, Dean was pointing towards a man walking closer to Y/N, then his eyes looked into the camera and they glowed blue of a second.

"he's the Djinn" Sam exhaled standing up, "He must be the reason she's missing"

                                                      *** Reader pov

"You never guessed what happened today?" You said while washing dinner up, everything had been ready when you walk in the door after work.  

"You found a cool lore fact?" Danny joked from the other side of the kitchen.

You laughed and turn to watch him wiping the table down.   "yes but also The FBI came to my office today and asked about Hades"

He sent you a look that said he didn't believe you, "The god of death?" he was defiantly trying not to laugh.

"God of the dead actually, and they did! They couldn't tell me what it was about but it's just weird" you didn't mention the fact you recognized them.    

"well that's something  you don't hear everyday" Danny said. "Did you give them an answer?"

"actually I need to call them back" you said, pulling your phone from your pocket.

The whole researching into Hades and a way to kill him had taken longer than you thought. You had ended up pulling out every book about Greek mythology and everything in between. You got an odd thrill from researching into something so weird, why would you need to know how to kill a god? After hours of searching, tired from reading you found a few things that could help.

"Hello this is agent Mosely" his voice was clear and once again you felt a tug.

"Hi, this is dr. Y/N, I'm calling about what we talked about today" you looked away from Danny, something wanting to be alone while you spoke. "hope this is a good time".

"Yeah, of course. What did you find out?" he asked.

"Well not a lot but I found a few things. Firstly to kill him you need a stake from a dead tree, soaked in salt water. It needs to be through his heart as well" you explained.

"And the other way?" he asked keeping an serious tone.

"This one is less violent, you could summon his wife. Persephone  goddess of  vegetation.  I read a few tales that said she's the only one who can handle him. You know what love is like" You looked briefly over to Danny.

"well now we have a back up plan" his serious voice went away for a second and you caught a glimpse of who he really was. God I love his smile.

You mind spoke before you could actually think, how could you love a smile you had never seen before or had you, you thought he looked familiar but couldn't name the place.

"Yeah, you do" You smiled wishing you had told him in person. "Call me if you need anything".

"we will, thanks Y/N" he was still smiling when he spoke.

You couldn't help but smile when you put your phone away, something inside of you felt glad, complete with everything you had done today.        

"You okay, love?" Danny was next to you, holding your hand in his. You looked down to your joint hands, the jester made your heart skip but you also felt the same tug you had felt all day.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good" you try to keep the same smile but you both saw it waver. "I just feel a little lost today".  

His hand moved to your cheek, you sighed letting yourself absorb the feeling. The weirdness of the day went away the longer you stayed under his touch.

"come on, lets go to bed" his voice sounded miles away, your breathing sounded heaver but you couldn't feel it moving as fast. The room flicker from the moonlight lit kitchen to a dark room you didn't know.

You were dragged out of your train of thought by an alarm ringing. You shot up in bed, looking all around the room, moments ago you were standing in the kitchen. What happened in the time since.

"rise and shine" Danny came into the room, carrying breakfast on a tray. "you're up in time to have break fast in bed".

He placed the tray on your lap. Your favorite kind of egg with beans and toast with coffee. "thank you" you blinked still feeling dazed.

This overwhelming feeling was getting worse as the days went on, everything should be perfect but it felt wrong like you had gotten use to life being hard and it being a fight to survive that things being good were worst.

While eating your food, you tired even harder to remember something other than the last day. Glimpses were all that showed up, flashes more like pictures.    

The morning pasted like it did the day before, you looked at yourself for far to long, not knowing who was looking back. Danny drove you to work , you taught and then sat in your office not knowing what was next.

Just then the same agent from yesterday came in. Sam, the one with the smile you knew but didn't at the same time. This time instead of a suit he wore jeans, a flannel shirt paired with a jacket.

"Sam. Good to see you. But if you’re here, who’s guarding Hades?” You joked, it felt right like the right thing to say.

You were rewarded when he laughed, turning his face to the side. "I just wanted to thank you again in person. You were a lot of help"

"I think if I didn't then I'd have the FBI on my case" you said still smiling.

"It was just a strange question to ask" he came closer and took a seat.

"I enjoyed it actually. Recently everything feels the same but looking into something weird was amazing" you smile still remembering the feeling. The rush.

"you'd like what we do then, it's always the weird stuff"  he chuckled shaking his head.

"oh I bet, Winchester" you say, not knowing what you said until his face changed. Winchester.      

"I think you have-" he started but stopped when you rose to your feet.

"Oh god. I remember. I was- am a hunter, I was hunting a Djinn and then I woke up here" you back away fast, knocking over a drink on your desk. "And I know you and your brother, we were I don’t even know"

Sam looked panicked that your sudden changed in emotions.

Then it drawn on you, if this was some crazy Djinn dream then it wasn't read. "No. Oh god, he's dead" you whispered it, fear gripping into your bones.  

"hey, just calm down" Sam was at your side, holding you.  

"No" you pushed him away. "I need to go" you left Sam and the room behind before you were hit with more confusion.  

                                                      *** Sam pov After seeing Y/N and the Djinn their next stop was the farm she had mention before. They both knew how Djinn worked,  this Djinn would lock its victim it a perfect world while it drained all their blood. Y/N could days or hours left. He prayed that he would find her alive and fighting. She could of won against the Djinn but too hurt to move, he didn’t know if he liked that anymore.

"Isn't that her car?" Dean pointed just ahead of them,   there it was her green aston martin.  It had a light covering of leafs, it was untouched.

"Yeah, she must be near by" Sam was already looking around the near by area trying to spot her. It was mid day, Dean had wanted to wait till night but Sam couldn't.

They came to the farm next, parking closer so they could get a quick get away if needed. Pausing to get what they needed before going looking around.

Dean took the old house, while Sam went to the barn. The farm had obviously been a busy one. The barn had dozens of old tools, even an old tractor. Apart from all that it had nothing that would help them.

"Sam!" Dean yelled was distance but he could still make it out. He ran towards the house, towards Dean. Once he was inside he searched for Dean and Y/N. "Sam" Dean called again, his voice was coming from the top floor. Sam ducked his head into two rooms before he found the room Dean was in.

It was a small bedroom, the bed was in the far end of the room and slummed on top of the bed was Y/N.  Her back was against the head board, both arms tired to it too. Hanging by her head was a bag of blood attached to her neck. She was dirty with hollow eyes, from losing blood and being without food or water.

Sam went straight over to her and cut her free, pulling the needle from her neck. She fell against him, still unconscious. Her breathing was slow and intermittent. Even though she was in a horrible state she still felt warm.

"I see you found your friend" Both Dean and Sam spun around, shocked to find the same man from the CTV watching them. "she probably does have long left"

He walked closer to them. Dean pulled his knife out, silently threating .  

"I'll give her this, She's very strong. Took almost all my strength to keep her fooled" He looked to Y/N in Sam's arms with a smug smile. "too bad you won't make it out either"

"you've got our places mixed up" Sam pulled away from Y/N, she fell limply onto his lap. He moved fast, pulling his own knife covered in lambs blood from his jacket and threw it start at the Djinn. It was a risk but it paid off, the knife hit it's target.

                                                      ***

Reader Pov

You ran  as fast as you could, you kicked off the stupid heels you chosen to wear after tripping 3 times. You needed to get back to house before you forgot again. Your chest burnt and your body screamed for you to slow down but you carried on.

When you finally reached the house you threw yourself in. Only then did you allow yourself to breath. Danny came into the hallway looking confused. "What are you doing back this early?"

"This isn't real" you chock out as you caught your breath. "You aren't - I'm not really here".

"what's going on Y/N?" he tried to came closer but you moved away. "Of course you are"

"No. You died. And I found you and it broke my heart" You tried to hold back your tears. "and now I can't love the person I should"

"love someone else" he took a step back, looking hurt.

"I still love you, I do but something else is starting and I want to- I want to jump into it" You couldn't hold it in any longer. You walked teary eyed to the kitchen knowing what you needed to do. Danny followed you.

"Y/N, you're not well, Come on I'll take you to the doctors" He was so close, you had to push yourself to keep walking.

"I was hunting a Djinn, it must of caught me and put me here" You know you sounded mad but it didn't matter, you'd be gone soon.  "I've already been here for two days, who knows how long I have left"

"You making no sense! I knew this lore nonsense would lead to nothing good" Danny said, he sounded tired and angry.

"You think I'm mad and god I know I am but not about this. You died years ago and I never got to say goodbye, I thought I wanted this life back but I don’t. I want my old life back" your eyes  darted       around looking for a knife.

"Y/N just calm down" his eyes widen when he saw you pick up a knife. "Just put the knife down"

"I miss you so much but I can't stay, if I do I die too" the weight of the knife was alien and familiar at the same time.  Closing your eyes, you mused all you had and brought the knife to your chest. You gasped as the knife went in.

Your eyes shot open, your hand went to your chest to see if there was blood. "Y/N?" Sam was above you, lifting you into a sitting position. You felt weak and could hardly force.

"we should get out of here" You turned and saw Dean watching you both.

"My car, I can't leave it" you tired to move from the bed but your legs failed.

"It's okay, I'll drive it. You need to rest" Sam stood up, then lifted you in his arms.

"I've basically been asleep for days" You weakly try to fight the suggestion.

"yeah but you're missing a lot of blood". When you left the room you saw the coroner lay dead on the floor.  "why is the coroner here?"

"he's was the Djinn" Dean said walking over the body.

"Okay" you kept your eyes on his still form until you left the room.  

 Dean was walking just ahead, he kept looking back at you in Sam's arms. You were aware of just how Sam was watching you and so was Dean.

You stopped the impala close to the house, Dean got in and sent a nod over to Sam. Your car was just where you left it. Seeing it gave you a feeling of shame, it was his car, it was the only thing left of his in the world.

You silently handed the keys to Sam, he helped you get in the car before circling around to the drivers side. "Try and sleep until we get to the bunker"

You nodded, you couldn't find the strength to do anything else. It was easier than you would of like to fall asleep, even though that’s all you had been doing, you felt like all your life had been drained away.  

The next time you woke up, you were back in the bunker. You had no idea how much time had pasted but you guessed it had been at least a day or two by how much better you felt and how hungry you were.

Sitting up, letting your cover fall off, you saw that you had changed out of the dirty suit you were last in. You guessed Sam was the one who did it.

You were sure o f your answer now, even being in a dream world your problems still came up. This was something you needed to do, to say. Your heart knew what to do with Sam.

Thank god you were in the same room as your things, it would make things so much easier. You pulled on some jeans and got to putting all your things in a bag. There wasn't much in there, everything else was in your car.    Shit. You bit your lip, you gave your car keys to Sam he could still have them.

Your phone was sat on the bedside table,  4am. Leaving with no goodbye would send the messages but why did it hurt so much. You told yourself this was the better ending, if things carried on one of you would end up dead. You had nearly died just the day before.

You had everything ready, only then did you noticed you were crying. When you picked up your bag, you held back a sob when you saw Sam's shirt alone on the bed. Another message.

You walked slowly so no one who hear you. The library was empty and so was the war room, which is what you expected it was 4 am. You luck stuck again, you keys were on the table. But your luck didn't last for long.

"Y/N? what are you doing?" Sam walked through Library and up to you. His eyes took everything in, the car keys in your hand, your bag at you feet and you standing there dressed.

"I thought you were asleep" You said, throat sore from holding in tears. "It would have been better that way"

"what would be better? Leaving without saying goodbye" he sounded so hurt.

"This isn't a good idea" you sobbed, just letting everything out now.

"you're saying what I feel, what I thought you felt isn't a good idea" his eyes were glassy with tears, his voice high but no enough to wake Dean up.

"It doesn't matter what I feel! This will only end one way" You cried, chest heavy. "I can't do this"

"I don’t understand" he shook his head.

"I can't lose someone again. I already lost Danny and that nearly killed me" You were crying harder. "And i- oh god I love you more than I have ever love anyone"

"if you love me then why are you leaving " he was crying too.

"Because this will hurt less, I'll lose you but you'll be alive and I can live with that" you chocked on your words, fighting to get them out.

"what about me? Don't my feeling matter?" he was closer now, you could feel the warmth coming from his body.

"You'll thank me in the end" you said, throat sore as ever. And without looking at him again you left. Feeling horrible and also dead inside, you got into your car and drove anyway.  

LAST part 

#spnquotebingo #reader x sam #reader x sam winchester #sam x reader #xreader #sam winchester #sam imagine #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester x y/n #spn imagine #spn fic #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural imagine

[pauldron-pieces]

Destrier Revel: So Little Time

Fandom: Dungeons And Dragons (5E)

Pairing: Destrier Revel/Illeria Stennas (F!NPC)

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: This is a hypothetical narrative scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Destrier Revel. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets. Trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!

Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!

Inspired By: Switchfoot: On Fire and I-Human: Give All Of Yourself

Destrier Revel’s Backstory: Burn The Wicked

For Leofore

Light And Home

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains semi-graphic depictions of sexual acts between two consenting adults, and emotional duress. Stay safe!]

Illeria always looked beautiful to him. 

  It was never a question of finding the right angle, or seeing the good through the mediocre. To Destrier, she just... was . It was as if it radiated from her, permeated her entire being. 

  She was, is, would always be lovely. 

  Were he not already serving his masters, both earthly and cosmic, she would be his divinity. Her hands, her smiles, her body...she was so tender with him, so strong when she had to be; an intoxicating duality that would not cease to awe him in its ever-present splendor. 

  Illeria, always waiting for him at the door as he left in the early hours for yet another forum with the King's Chosen, and he still couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe she would willingly spend her time with someone who could offer her so very little.

  When the choice was finally made that they must deal with the other fiendish abomination, the other lich that had encroached and sought to bring such destruction to the kingdom, both King Jonathan and Leofore counseled for expedience. The King's Chosen were to depart on the day after the 'morrow.

  There was always so little time to spend with his beloved, but Destrier bore that burden gladly. It was a small price to pay to keep her, to keep the kingdom safe. 

  Their kisses had grown steadily hungrier as of late, the two of them lingering longer and longer in the mornings. Destrier, for all of Illeria's prompting, had yet to join her in her bed in the evenings, the knight choosing instead to sprawl out across the warm hearth. 

  Not for lack of interest did he avoid her, gods no! But instead, out of an odd fear. He was a man so used to destruction, able to summon fire with a mere thought, able to strike down foes four times his size. 

  He was a man raised rough. War was all he knew, was all he had ever known. This...

  Gods, he ached to hold her, to truly touch her and know her, but he feared that his clumsy, indelicate hands would leave some mark , some grotesque stain. If he harmed her, he would never forgive himself.

  So he battled his urges, reasoning that it was far more than he deserved to even just kiss her. If that was all she wanted from him, he would be content with that.

  /x\

  His sigh sounded like it came from the earth itself and Illeria looked up to see her beloved Destrier standing in the doorway, his fingers grazing the crest above the lintel. His eyes were fixed on the fire that crackled in the common room's hearth, their brown depths equal amounts thoughtful and wistful. For being a man who wasn't particularly renowned for his intelligence, Destrier Revel certainly seemed to do a lot of thinking .

  "I come bearing news that is good, for all that it makes my heart heavy." The knight stated after a moment, his eyes flicking to her own and warming almost immediately.

  A blind man could have picked up on the knight's shyness around her years ago, Destrier's stammering the most endearing part of the whole debacle. That he had finally managed to overcome such a hurdle was a true indicator of how devastating the struggle with Leofore must have been. 

  In spite of that progress though, Destrier still seemed hesitant to go any further than his tender, drawn-out kisses. Illeria could posit easily enough that some of his hesitation was due to his military mileage, the trials he endured enough to break a lesser man. While the woman wished he would talk to her more openly about such things, she could only assume that he was doing the best that he could.

  Illeria Stennas was not some frail creature to swoon after a turn about the drawing room, however. 

  She wiped her hands off on her apron, then crossed her arms on the counter, leaning forward a bit. "What new trouble is our great king sending you and your friends to sort out this time?" Illeria asked, her tone one of playful resignation. She had learned long before their involvement that Destrier's loyalty to his master and comrades was second to none.

  "We are to do battle with a lich." Destrier looked haunted for a moment and Illeria was reminded anew of how hard the King's Chosen had to fight to reclaim Leofore from the clutches of such evil previously. "Illeria, I…" The blond man paused to close and lock the door behind him against the chill of the night air, then turned to face her again. "My love, I am to leave shortly."

  "How shortly?" Illeria queried, cursing inwardly at the sharpness of her tone. 

  "Two days, Illeria." 

  She wanted to protest, to voice her disapproval of the rapid decision, so soon? . But Destrier already appeared miserable, the large man cupping her face in his hands over the counter. "I know you have no choice." She said instead. The young woman wasn't sure if the kiss on her forehead was gratitude or apology. Maybe both. A boon for her understanding heart.

  "Illeria…" Goddess, when he breathed her name like that it was as if her knees were designed to tremble. 

  Destrier was all softness with her, but the occasional sharp edge to him was what she loved so dearly. The barest crack in his armor of propriety, painstakingly crafted over the years of knightly training. Leofore had taught him well, guarded his mind against corruptions or temptations that may have struck out in the field. His occasional slip-ups around her served as a reminder of his comfort in her, as well as a bit of an ego-stroke. 

  "Yes, Destrier?" She replied, her voice just as soft while he leaned in.

  "Forgive me for this." Destrier murmured, and then slotted their mouths together. His tongue sought hers out hungrily and Illeria found herself at a loss, her hands fumbling for purchase on his broad shoulders. He rested his forehead against hers, those eyes nearly golden in the light from the lantern. "Forgive me." He begged again, stroking over the kerchief that she had covered her hair with.

  "What terrible thing have you done, my love?" Illeria murmured.

  "Not for what I have done, beloved. For what I may do." Destrier seemed legitimately distressed and Illeria caught his hands as he struggled to articulate himself. "I have this... hunger I cannot seem to reconcile. These urges, these… base cravings I feel to see more of you. Yet I cannot call anything associated with you truly base, for you are all that I fight for." Destrier kissed her knuckles. "My beautiful Illeria, my shelter, my light, I come to you not as one of the King's Chosen, not even as a knight of the crown. I come to you simply as Destrier Revel, a man rendered insensate by his need for you."

  "What is worse," Illeria began, her head swimming pleasantly at his luxurious words, "than a man who takes what is not his to take?"

  " Nothing ." Destrier answered firmly, and if it was possible the woman fell even more in love with him even as she shook her head. 

  "Destrier, it is a man who keeps his eager lover waiting!" She teased, seizing his ascot to reel him in. A bit more serious, she added, "I feared that you did not want me." Her fingers toyed with the buttons on his shirt. "I feared that perhaps you did not have the same depth of feeling towards me that I foster for you."

  "Illeria, I might die from wanting you." Destrier replied, the bluntness of his words settling in her stomach like an ember. "The years have been brutal to me. I am not the man you deserve." 

  "You are the man that I want. I believe that is enough." Illeria twined her fingers through his, leading him around the bar. "Take me to bed, Revel."

  "Are you certain? Illeria-"

  " Desty ." The woman said the nickname in exasperation, making him chuckle. "I am much more certain than you seem willing to give me credit for!"

  "Very well, my love." Destrier acquiesced, his smile faint but still there. "Forgive my constant need for reassurance."

  She rolled her eyes, tugging him into her bedchamber. Their bedchamber. Goddess, she was really about to take this plunge with Destrier . The incorruptible paladin of the King's Chosen, Knight-Captain Revel. All the lofty titles he had accumulated and yet he was still so uncertain , so humble, that he came to her as nothing more than a man.

  They had entered this room many times before, hand in hand like they were now. Occasionally even clumsily fumbling at one another for a time before he would inevitably soothe her back against the counterpane, his expression troubled as he departed the cozy warmth of her bed and curled up in front of the fireplace. 

  He had oft left her wet and aching with his passionate, tender kisses, but she did not chide him for it. Destrier was not a hasty man, and he was also not a man lacking in emotion. Turmoil ran deep in him, the caution he displayed only fanning the flames of her ardent curiosity. What would he be like if he was truly unleashed? 

  She thought she got her answer as the door clicked shut. 

  Destrier pinned her against the wall, his hand cupping the back of her head to shield it from the impact. " Illeria ," he whispered, his voice grating slightly. "There is never enough time, my love, and yet if I do not ask now, I fear that I will be unable to again." He half-laughed sadly, resting his forehead on her own. "Every time I have ever had to leave the kingdom, every maneuver against the enemy...all I could think about was whether this would be the final time. Whether it would be the end, and I would never be able to see you again. Even if you didn't know how I felt, it seemed like it was enough just to see you, happy and safe. I told myself I could live with that, why muddy everything so?"

  Illeria dug her fingers into his hair, freeing it from the haphazard braid he had constructed at the nape of his neck. Destrier hummed at the gesture, his eyes half-lidding as he leaned into her touch.

  "After what transpired with...with the Knight-Commander, believing that we had truly lost him…I was in such a disgraceful state. It was an immense blow, one that I am aggrieved to say nearly ended me." He confessed. "I could not bear the thought of making you feel even a tenth of the pain I felt at losing Leofore, should something happen to me." His large hand tucked beneath her chin to lift her gaze to meet his own. "Should we continue down this path, my love, I fear I will cause you grief. If we need to cease our interactions here, I will understand."

  Illeria remembered well the way that he had been following Leofore's supposed death. Distant, painfully so, and no victory seemed to be enough to blunt the edge of that specific defeat. "Did you believe you would die? When you departed with the others to rescue the queen and prince?" She asked instead.

  "I do not fear death, Illeria."

  "That is not what I asked." Illeria pushed him back a step, enough to give her some room so that she didn't lose her senses. His proximity could be... overwhelming . "I asked whether you believed you would perish. Did you believe, in some corner of your heart, that your death would serve as penance for the loss of his life?"

  "I..." the guilty look Destrier sported told her all she needed to know. "You must understand, he taught me all that I ever had to offer. Unshakeable where I am brittle, strong where I am feeble, Leofore...is everything I could aspire to be. I told you before that I did not think I would survive the war, and losing someone so important--"

  "And what of your own importance, Destrier?" Illeria interrupted him fiercely. "What of the people that might grieve you, as you grieved Leofore?" What of me , she wanted to ask, what of my heart that broke every time you left? But no, she could not take that out on him. It had been her own fault for remaining silent about her affections for so long, trapped by the inadequacy she felt. He was a brave, noble knight, and she was nothing but an ordinary woman who had carved out an existence for herself. Free, and so, so lonely.

  "Every life in this kingdom, from the youngest babe to the oldest counselor, is worth my own many times over, Illeria. That is the reality of my knighthood, and a burden that I gladly accept." Destrier's tone was resigned. "My life so that others may live on in peace."

  "Do not pretend as if there is no heart in your chest, Revel." Illeria snapped. "You do yourself no great service."

  "Naero said much the same to me once." He smiled fondly at her and despite her best efforts, the woman felt her irritation wane. "When I am with you, it feels as though it is fit to leap free of my chest."

  "You leave the day after tomorrow?" Illeria waited for his nod of confirmation before drawing a shaky breath. "I suppose we must make the most of that time, then."

  "It would be wise." Destrier agreed, sounding a bit confused. "Are there any repairs to be completed? Or-"

  She caught him by the pockets of his waistcoat, pulling herself into him and kissing him hard. Destrier's startled exhale made her want to laugh for a moment, but then he was kissing her back and suddenly laughter was the furthest thing from her mind. "Destrier," Illeria sighed, pleasantly surprised by the way that he groaned in response. "I would appreciate you laying with me before you depart."

  Destrier buried his face in the junction of her neck and shoulder with another groan, this one louder. "Illeria, have mercy ." He pleaded, "I want that so badly it hurts, my love, but-"

  "What is stopping you?" Illeria pressed kisses to his throat, his ear. "Undress me, love."

  " Gods ." Destrier said through gritted teeth. "You want me? Truly?"

  " Yes , Destrier. I want all of you." Illeria hesitated, unsure if what she was about to say would be too weighty for their current situation. "I want you to know exactly why you're fighting so hard to return to me."

  Destrier's fingers dug into her back and the man held her tightly for several long moments. "I don't deserve you." He muttered, finally tugging at the laces of her corset. "I have never deserved you, and I doubt I ever will. If you will accept me as I am, who am I to question such providence?"

  Illeria covered his hands with her own, feeling him trembling as she guided him through unlacing the supportive garment. The corset slid down her body, taking her skirts with it and leaving her there in her chemise. The woman raised her hands to his shirt collar, deft fingers untying his ascot. "Are you alright, my love?" She asked gently. Destrier's eyes snapped back to her own, the man nodding hard enough to make her giggle. 

  "I am uncertain of where to look." He admitted, his expression gone sheepish. A flush had crept up his neck to dust the bridge of his aquiline nose with a sweet rosy tint. The image was utterly precious and so very Destrier that Illeria couldn't have helped her smile even if she had wanted to.

  He seemed content to just stand there and let her undo the buttons on his waistcoat, the knight shrugging out of the garment absently. "Surely you have enjoyed the company of other women?" Illeria teased. "You must have looked at them, Destrier."

  The large man fidgeted guiltily. "Well, yes."

  "And I have enjoyed the company of other men, Destrier." Illeria smiled at him. "Do not appear so pensive, my love! We are neither of us blushing virgins. There is no shame in enjoying the touch of another person."

  Destrier swore under his breath, meeting her gaze once more. "I just feel inadequate, Illeria. I bandy with the notion that you may not enjoy me, and to know that you could be trapped with me...many folk love each other without enjoying their coupling. I do not wish for you to warm my proverbial bed merely out of a sense of duty or normalcy."

  "Fatalistic! We will be fine , my love." Illeria stated firmly. "You must stop thinking of the worst possible thing, lest your forehead become hopelessly wrinkled."

  "Truly, what a terrible fate that might be." Destrier smiled reluctantly, his fingers undoing the kerchief that kept her curls in check. "Gods, I love you. I love everything about you." He said, the plainness of his words doing nothing to take the sincerity from them. "Did you know that your eyes light up when you smile?"

  Illeria blinked at him. "They do?" Being the sole caretaker of Maplecrest, she had little time to practice smiling at herself in the mirror. 

  Destrier nodded. "They take on this warm hue, I am unsure of how to describe it. I've never been of a poetic bent. Regardless, the effect is absolutely enchanting." He cradled her face, brushing their lips together but not fully kissing her. She could feel the strange burn scars that spanned both of his palms pressing into her skin, the touch familiar and grounding. "Illeria, if I do something that makes you feel uneasy or...or if I cause you pain…" he trailed off, searching her eyes. 

  "We won't ever find out if we keep going at this pace." Illeria half-scolded, half-teased, taking matters into her own hands as she grasped the hem of her chemise and stripped it off over her head. 

  She understood his concern, of course. She had wrestled with such notions herself on more than one occasion. But there was no need nor room for doubt anymore. With the same certainty that she knew she loved him, Illeria knew that Destrier would never intentionally cause her discomfort. 

  She stepped out of her underthings and stood before him, hands on her hips, naked as the day she was born. Illeria tilted her chin up to give him a playful wink. "Well, Knight Revel? Is one simple woman too great a foe for you to conquer?" 

  Destrier's reply came in the form of his eyes trailing down over her body, the paladin taking in every inch of her on display. Then, he shifted his weight, advancing on her until the backs of her knees hit the edge of her bed. 

  "I have yet to meet a foe that can best me." He sounded almost contemplative, his hand reaching out to press against her collarbone and continue to urge her back until she had no choice but to lay down. Destrier shed his shirt and unlaced his breeches while she got comfortable, and Illeria decided that she had waited long enough.

  Her own fingers began to move down her body, the woman teasing herself. "If you don't hurry, Destrier, I will certainly best you." 

  "Hmm, doubtful." Destrier murmured, his large form abruptly caging her in. "Though your confidence is not unfounded, I must insist that you yield." His fingers twined through her own, pinning them to the blankets on either side of her head. "You are wholly at my mercy, woman. However, should you request my supplication, I may be swayed to grant it."

  Had any other man said such a thing while looming over her in bed, Illeria would have made them regret being born. But Destrier saying those things, brown eyes scorching in their intensity even as a fond smile tugged at the corner of his mouth…

  She had never thought that a man teasing her could elicit such a heated reaction. Illeria felt her entire body flush. " Please , Destrier." She begged, and he smiled at her so warmly. Her thighs fell open as he tried her with his fingers, the man's breath leaving his chest in a harsh gasp when he found her slick and ready for him.

  " Gods , you want me." Destrier sounded awestruck by the confirmation of her arousal. Illeria whimpered, nodding and arching her hips up in invitation. An invitation which Destrier proceeded to accept, the blond man finally gifting her the last piece of what she had been craving for so long. 

  His hand still holding hers squeezed once when she moaned his name, her own breathing so quick to stutter when Destrier plunged deep. His pelvis ground against her, providing such delicious stimulation that she couldn't help her cry. 

  Destrier rumbled wordlessly in response, ducking his head to flick and tease at her nipples with his awful, terrible tongue. The tongue that said such sweet and pleasing things now menaced her mercilessly, feeling like a trail of fire on her sensitive skin. Illeria gripped his back after he released her hand to support his weight more fully, the large man shuddering all over when she dug her nails in. "Good?" He queried breathlessly.

  "Gods, Destrier , more-" Illeria couldn't even get the full plea out, the muscles in his back shifting before snapping taut beneath her touch as he moved to obey.

  His voice was gravelly when next he spoke, his hand stroking over her hair with such tenderness. "I never believed I would get to do this with you, my love." He looked dazed. "I feel as though I'll wake up at any moment, aching and alone, still in my tent out in the field."

  "You dreamed of me?" Illeria meant to joke with him, but his expression was so soft as he looked down at her and nodded she couldn't bring herself to. 

  "Nearly every night, it seemed." Destrier confessed, making the pit of her stomach throb sweetly with the depth of his next thrust. "I would start awake, your name on my lips, wishing more than anything that I could-" he paused for breath, glancing downwards at where their bodies were currently joined and then back up at her. His grin was pure mischief when he continued, "well, I'm certain your own imagination can fill in the blanks."

  "I have been so fearful that you saw me as a trinket, something nice to look at and do nothing with." Illeria gave him her own confession, laughing a little when he accidentally bumped his nose against hers. "I did not want to rush you, Destrier."

  "Patience is a virtue, my love, but there are worse things in life than being less virtuous." Destrier kissed her forehead. "You have waited so very long for me, and I for you, Illeria Stennas." 

  His hand slipped between their bodies, delving into the apex of her thighs to give her what she dared not ask for. Illeria clung to his shoulders, her legs framing his hips as he rutted into her until she was panting his name, over and over in time with his motions. Destrier's fingers stroked her firmly, coaxing her towards her inevitable climax in a way that no other man had ever bothered to do. 

  "Illeria..." he moaned for her and the effect was instantaneous. Every muscle in her body tensed, Illeria threw her head back and canted her hips to meet his next thrust. 

  Stars erupted across her field of vision, the lure of completion beckoning her onwards. 

  Destrier dropped his forehead against her sternum while she trembled and sobbed out his name, her entire being ablaze with aroused heat as she fell apart for him. In the haze of her post-moment, Illeria vaguely realized that Destrier had gone stock-still, quivering a little.

  "Where do you want me?" He asked through clenched teeth. "I fear I am close."

  Where do you want me?

  She bit her lip unintentionally as she thought and Destrier groaned, a tremor running through him. "Illeria," he began to protest, then grunted as she pressed her heels into the backs of his thighs, theoretically keeping him right where he was. In truth, she knew full well that he could easily remove himself from her embrace if he did not feel comfortable with such an act. 

  "Inside me, my love?" She requested softly. Illeria could have sworn the fire in the hearth behind him flared a little brighter, Destrier's brown eyes flickering like molten gold as he stared down at her. "Our first time together should be special, shouldn't it?" She reasoned, combing his hair back out of his face. 

  "You are certain? " He rasped, and there was a desperate edge to his voice that made her want to shiver. "It is not too late to change your mind, Illeria. I will not unless you truly wish for it."

  "I love you as I have never loved another, Destrier Revel." Illeria assured him. "I trust you."

  That seemed to do him in, the paladin gripping her hips nearly tight enough to bruise. "I will return to you, I swear it." He promised fervently, "Not even death itself has a chance of tearing me from you, Illeria."

  Such lofty words, spoken so sincerely. She could not help but almost believe him. The woman embraced him as he too reached his climax, cradling him against her body while he shuddered and spilled himself into her. 

  /x\

  Destrier's heart felt like it would beat out of his chest. Illeria, Illeria , his mind chanted, and she had never looked so beautiful as when she had lost herself under the caress of his fingers. 

  A thousand nights that he had awoken alone, all washed away by this one instance of lovemaking. He felt like a complete idiot, smiling at her like the lovestruck fool that he was. He was always so careful with her thick hair, knowing that one wrong move could tug it to the point of pain, but he managed to successfully lace his fingers through it so he could tilt her head. His nose being... prodigious , certain precautions had to be taken when he kissed her.

  "You are incredible." Illeria whispered against his lips, giving the man pause. He pulled back, a bit startled and confused by the strength of the affectionate look she was giving him.

  "I am?" He asked after a moment. 

  Illeria laughed, the noise carefree as she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest. " Yes , Destrier!"

  "I love you, you know that, right?" He hated how pitiful he sounded. "I have never felt this way before, Illeria. I have never…"

  Her hands framed his jaw, tipping his face down to gently peck his slack mouth. "Destrier, I feel the same way. It's all so…"

  "Raw." Destrier finished for her, shaking his head.

  " New ," she corrected him, "raw makes it sound as though it is painful. Are you pained, my love?"

  " Gods , no. Oh! I should move, I must be crushing you." Destrier floundered back, nearly falling over in his hasty effort to take his weight off of her. "I did not hurt you, did I?" He asked after righting himself, relieved when she shook her head.

  Her fingers traced the scarring that intersected his left eyebrow. Unbeknownst to her, those and a few more marks that his hair thankfully hid were the only indication of his abrupt departure from (and subsequent return to) the land of the living. 

  Destrier leaned into her touch, taking her hand after a moment and pressing a kiss to the still-thundering pulse in her wrist. "My beloved." He murmured, sure that he looked absolutely smitten. He certainly felt as much!

  "I know you have to leave, but…" Illeria trailed off, her brow creased with worry. 

  Destrier cleared his throat. "Not for two days." He reminded her, trying to smile. "The day after tomorrow." 

  Illeria nodded. "We won't be open tomorrow." She said decisively, her tone downright flippant . 

  "No?" Destrier cocked his head, thoroughly confused. "But...the inn?"

  " Destrier , you leave in two days ." Illeria reiterated with a wave of her hand. "If I can still walk at that point, I may consider it a personal failing on your part."

  " Illeria! " The knight sputtered, torn between laughter and embarrassment. "You are...gods, I love you." He smiled, much more fondly than their ribald conversation would call for. "I shall do my best, if you are willing." He was sure he was red from the tips of his ears to the center of his chest.

  "That is all I can ask of you, Destrier." The young woman slung her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply. "If you are mine, I am willing." She sighed when they parted once more.

  " Always , beloved. Until the stars burn to ash."

  /x\

  "You had better be safe. It will be cold without you." He could recognize now that the terse tone she had taken was due to her concern for him, and his heart ached in his chest.

  Destrier took her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles. "I promised, did I not?" He tried to assure her. "I will return as fast as I can, my love."

  The soft gray fabric wound around his neck, and Illeria used it to pull him back down for another kiss. "Wear your helmet." She insisted.

  "Of course, Illeria."

  "If something happens-" Her voice choked off, the woman blinking rapidly and then looking away.

  "Illeria, you must be strong enough for the both of us." Destrier murmured, his thumb catching the tear that managed to escape. "I will not ask you to force a smile or even put on a brave face, for it would be foolish to expect such a taxing thing. All I can ask is that you do not lose hope. I will return, and when I do, I…" Destrier hesitated, then smiled thinly. "I shall put in a better effort to ensure your lack of motion."

  Illeria gave a watery snicker at that, and Knight Revel rushed to kiss her again before she could potentially say something that would send Thranrok into an absolute spasm .

Part Five: A Choice

#destrier revel #illeria stennas #a paladin and his love #pauldronsexual activity #non-player character x player character #npc x pc #female npc #male pc #paladin #dnd character #dnd #dnd 5e #dnd paladin #me finally finding an outlet for all my flowery language like

[aquilaofarkham]

title: blood moon risen rating: general summary: During a night of insomnia, a young Alucard wanders throughout the castle before learning about the lunar eclipse—or the blood moon—from his mother and father. As an adult, he experiences a similar bout of restlessness and tries to look back on his memories with fondness.

AO3

--

“You don’t have to be afraid—this is your home. It will never harm you.”

The castle doesn’t frighten the boy, not even as he lies in darkness as the distant sound of skittering and fluttering bat wings surround him. His bright eyes are wide open; tiny hands grip the hem of his bed quilt. Shadows slink from wall to wall. It’s been a year since Adrian was given his own bedroom. During those first months, he yearned for the warmth and presence of a loved one sleeping nearby. There was the probability of nightmares plaguing his sleepless nights. Or worse, rogue creatures waiting to snatch him out of his bed. But just as his mother so kindly reminded him, Adrian knows there is nothing to fear.

Still, something keeps the dhampir awake and alert. Bedtime is always hard for a boy of his particular nature. How does someone who belongs to both the day and the night find time for sleep? He wants to be there when the castle comes alive, when its magic and other inhuman inhabitants no longer have to hide from the sun. His mother loves the sun and it loves her in return; the hair she gave to her child shines in its rays like honeyed silk. She also loves a man who scorns the daylight yet adores his sun touched wife.

Adrian is young. There’s still enough time to find that balance so perfectly achieved by his parents. For now, his mother would rather have him asleep and ready for the next day. He closes his eyes only to wait five minutes before they open on their own. He finds little, inconsequential things to pick apart—the blanket is too hot, the room is too cold, the pillow too hard, the bed frame too creaky. Thoughts that anyone would be bothered by but seem far more monumental to a five-year-old who cannot sleep.

A small frustrated whine escapes, about as loud as a mouse’s squeak. The next thought that begins to perturb Adrian is his empty stomach. It’s a long trek down to the kitchen—it’s a long trek walking anywhere within the castle. Too many diverging paths, secret doorways that appear on their own, and things that always appear different when one looks away before turning back. But he’ll have no hope of getting anywhere if he stays in bed.

Throwing the heavy quilt off, Adrian instinctively reaches for one of his closest friends: a black and white wolf stuffed with a plush filling and sewn by hand from the softest fabrics. He has many toys including a wooden sword, some blocks with letters that taught him his alphabet, and another doll with a fuzzy face and green tunic. The wolf is Adrian’s favourite as it’s easier to hug against his chest. With his most trusted companion in hand, he opens the door with a drawn out creak and peeks outside. Candelabras line the stone walls, their individual flames standing tall and still, lighting a hall with no end in sight—only more darkness.

Adrian and his wolf follow the trail of steady fire, entering the darkness. His pace is slow as his two left feet keep tripping over his long nightgown. He carries onwards, corridor after corridor. There’s not a single menacing shadow or sudden noise that can make him retreat back underneath the security of his bed sheets.

Though perhaps there is one thing that can make Adrian stop. He rounds another corner only to hide behind it after catching a glimpse of what awaits him down the hall: two figures, a man and a woman wearing dark colours, illuminated by soft candlelight. One looms over the other like a storm cloud casting itself over a field of golden wheat. Adrian looks closer, keeping himself and the wolf hidden. He notices their smiles as they speak. The towering man lets out a subdued yet genuine laugh before taking the woman’s hand in his claws and kissing it. She returns the gesture by standing on her toes and chastely places her lips upon her suitor’s cheek as best she can. Now ready to continue with their leisurely midnight walk, they remain supposedly unaware of Adrian’s presence. Then the man draped in black and red speaks.

“Do not be alarmed, my love, but I believe we are being watched.”

Dracula’s tone is low, methodical, enough to turn the blood of any mortal man into ice. Yet in his statement, it becomes gentle with a light-heartedness that seems alarmingly uncharacteristic of him. It doesn’t stop Adrian from being frozen to the spot. To think he had the foolish plan of sneaking past them.

“By whom?” Asks Lisa, both of Lupu and now of a castle hold with a mind of its own.

“A certain bat who likes to fly about in the moonlight.”

“Bats are nocturnal by nature, dear. And who isn’t drawn to the moon?”

“But this one seems to prefer gallivanting off on his own well past his bedtime... against the certain wishes of his mother and father.”

There’s no point in using the corner as his hiding spot any longer. He has been caught, time to play fair. Staring down at his feet still obscured by the nightgown, Adrian emerges and bashfully scurries towards his parents. “... I can’t sleep.” Blunt, but truthful.

“Did you have a nightmare? Does being alone in your room frighten you?”

“I’m not scared, but I can’t go to sleep.” Adrian presses the wolf close to his mouth, muffling his words. Lisa kneels down and cups his flustered cheeks.

“You’re just like your father. A little night owl.”

“I’m hungry.”

Lisa looks to her husband; whose regal expression softens with understanding for his son. There are moments when the castle lord can be strict—never cruel—yet as often as possible, he allows his golden eyed dhampir to melt whatever’s left of his dead heart. “Come along. We’ll find something to fill that empty belly of yours. Then it’s straight back to bed with you. Understand, my little bat?”

“Yes. I promise.”

Dracula and Lisa exchange smiles as Adrian toddles between them. Clawed fingertips carefully stroke the top of the boy’s soft head. Like the castle, he doesn’t fear them and neither does Lisa. They never should.

Before reaching the main floor where the kitchen resides, they first make their way down an open corridor guarded by pillars, bridging one area of the castle to the next. A cool breeze passes through the glassless windows. Adrian clings to Lisa’s leg in an attempt to sap up as much warmth as she will give. There are no chandeliers here for the moon has always offered enough light. But there’s something odd about tonight; the only one to notice this is Adrian. His gaze wanders to the skies, settling on what appears to be a large bloody circle splattered upon a dark blanket of stars. He’s never seen the moon so red before. It strikes him with morbid fascination, something Lisa is very familiar with.

“Do you like the moon, Adrian? I like it too.”

“Why does it look like that?”

“It’s the blood moon, or a lunar eclipse.” Answers his father.

“What’s that?”

While Adrian continues to stare in awe, Lisa tries turning scientific explanations into simple terms easily understood by a child. “Do you remember the diagram in one of your books? Of the moon, the planets, and how everything revolves around our sun?”

“Mm-hm.”

“A lunar eclipse occurs when the sun shines on one half of the world while the moon hides itself in the earth’s shadow. This can only happen when the sun, moon, and earth are all aligned.” Lisa gestures with her fingertip, drawing an invisible horizontal line, to further illustrate her brief lesson. “The reason why it looks red is because the sun cannot reach it, thus leaving it in complete darkness. When the moon passes in front of the sun, that’s called a solar eclipse. There’s far more to be discovered in your father’s astronomical tower.”

“I want to see! I want to go to papa’s tower! Can I go see now? Please?”

“Calm yourself, little bat.” Dracula interjects with another pat to Adrian’s head. “I will take you up there myself and we can watch the skies together. But not this night.”

“Okay... I’m sorry.”

Another good-natured laugh from the lord. “No need for apologies. A healthy fascination for the sciences does nothing but good for a growing mind such as yours. You are just like your mother in that regard.”

The hint of a happy expression begins to form on Adrian’s face. Even as they continue downwards, scaling the very spine of their castle, he cannot tear his eyes away from the moon. Revealing its red light every so often through an open window or crevice. In the kitchen, Lisa pours him a cup of milk, pairing it with a small jelly tart. “Only one for tonight,” she chides before Adrian has the chance to ask for a second or third.

He finishes the pastry with haste but drinks down his milk with more thought, as though his mind has gone off somewhere else. “Does the sun miss the moon?”

Lisa and Dracula turn to him with curiosity. “What do you mean by that?” They listen, waiting to hear whatever grand philosophical theory their young scholar has concocted this time. Adrian stumbles with his words at first, thinking them through carefully. They need to sound bigger, older, and more important. 

“When there’s no luh-loon... the sun can still see the moon. And the moon can still see the sun. But when the moon goes into the shadow... they can’t see each other. That’s why the moon gets bloody, because, because it’s hurt and... and lonely. So, when the moon gets out of the shadow, the sun can heal it.”

All eyes are on him. Lisa raises her eyebrows in amazement; Dracula strokes his beard in a contemplative manner. “My boy, I do believe you have just created your own folklore about the moon.”

“F-folk? Lore?” Adrian gulps down the remainder of his milk, leaving a thin line above his upper lip before Lisa cleans it with a handkerchief.

“Folklore are stories that have been passed down for generations. They seek to explain what is supposedly unexplainable. And there are many stories about the blood moon,” she responds.

“Some humans believe they are a sign of the end times or a warning of oncoming change. But we vampires see it as a good omen from the universe itself. After all, it’s when our powers are at their utmost peak.”

“Are the stories true?”

Dracula gives his son a mischievous look. “Not all... but perhaps some. Now remember your promise to go back to bed.”

“Okay! I’ll follow the moon!” Adrian darts out through the kitchen doors with his wolf tucked safely in his arms.

“Not so fast!” Lisa shouts after him. Dracula simply glides close behind them. Seems all that talk about moons and suns coupled with a late-night desert has made the boy more active than ever. But he climbs into bed, letting his mother and father tuck him in. They kiss his head before wishing him pleasant dreams. Adrian makes himself comfortable, happy that his bed no longer feels too hot or too creaky and responds with a goodnight of his own. 

The door closes and shadows surround him once again. His eyes quickly adjust as they observe the room; every book, every toy, even the scraps of drawings littered across his desk. Then there’s the glow of the moon. It hangs just outside his window as though it were looking through, hoping to be let inside.

“Goodnight, blood moon.”

--

It’s difficult to look back on certain memories and regard them as anything else but pleasant. Every time the urge strikes, a strange feeling begins to form at the bottom of Alucard’s stomach. It could be a simple case of nausea passing by and he should rummage through the old medicine cabinets for something that could soothe it. Perhaps it’s guilt. The sense that after what he did—what they both did—any desire for nostalgia is wrong.

He can’t shake it and wandering the castle halls with nothing but a thin night shawl, a fruitless attempt to keep him warm, doesn’t seem to be helping. All it does is remind him of more. More memories of those childhood sleepless nights, more of Lisa slipping him milk and pastries to make him go back to bed. More of a father that once was. Arms cross over in front of his chest, wishing there was something for them to hold other than his own body. 

Alucard stops in the middle of an always familiar corridor and sits in one of its glassless windows. He teeters from side to side, never falling to the ground below. Heavy yet gentle eyes aimlessly drift upwards. There it is again, bright as ever, seeming closer than it actually is. No longer a deep morbid red, no longer crying out in pain for its sun.

“Hello, old friend.”

Out of the silence, Alucard hears footsteps. Followed by an unmistakable voice. “Is everything... alright?”

He turns to Sypha; scars healed, robes repaired, and short hair still tousled. She must not have heard his little greeting to the moon. Alucard forces a smile.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You don’t seem to need a lot of sleep.”

“I certainly need it, more than the inhuman half of me does. But I’ve always had difficulty sleeping even as a child.”

“I suppose that makes two of us.”

“Too many thoughts running through your head as well.”

“You could say that.” Sypha rests her elbows upon the windowsill while the smile on Alucard’s lips grows. Only one day into an unexpected visit that might not last for much longer and out of the castle’s main occupants, she’s made herself more at home than anyone else. It took some time to admit due to sheer awkwardness and fear of intimacy, but Alucard appreciates how much the companionship of two people can ground him. He needs it, especially when that desire for nostalgia tempts him.

“It’s so beautiful. I’ve never seen it so big before. To be honest, it scared me that night it turned red.”

“I don’t believe you get scared for a moment.”

“Well, I just couldn’t show it to either of you.”

He expected nothing less from her. “In any case, I’ve never thought there to be any fear in looking at the blood moon.”

“Why do you think so?”

“All it does is signify a change—good, or bad, or something in between.”

“Do you think something changed for good that night?”

Alucard could answer that question in a number of ways. He could give Sypha the optimistic response, which might be what she needs to hear. He could be honest and blunt, perhaps to a fault. But before he can open his mouth, another figure in the corridor makes himself known.

“Are you two talking about me?” Trevor joins them by the window, his tunic unbuttoned and untucked. Hair just as tangled as Sypha’s, if not more so.

“Not at this moment. I presume you’re having trouble sleeping as well.” Alucard has been all things from honest to outright rude towards Trevor, yet now his voice takes on a far gentler tone. With every interaction, minor or grand, the walls they’ve built between each other are being broken down stone by stone, word by word. They can feel it, Sypha can feel it, but no one mentions it.

“The moon isn’t making it easier.” Each syllable drawls out from Trevor’s mouth as he wipes the lack of sleep from his eyes. It’s rare to see the Belmont like this, so off guard and vulnerable. Part of Alucard prefers this side of him.

“You don’t like the moon, Trevor?” Inquires Sypha.

“It’s always made me feel uneasy. I blame all the stories and cautionary tales my family taught me.” He pauses, his eyes squinting in the moonlight. “I like stars more than I like the moon.”

A phrase that neither Sypha nor Alucard thought they would ever hear from Trevor; they liken it to his mind being softened by insomnia. A comfortable silence passes between all three.

“Can I offer either of you a drink? Or something small to eat? I find it helps with restlessness.”

Sypha blinks her wide eyes while Trevor stares at Alucard. The night is still long and there’s not much else they can do, nor is there any other place they can go. “That would be nice.”

#castlevania #alucard #adrian tepes #alucard castlevania #dracula #lisa tepes #castlevania fanfiction #my writing #*cvfic #don't be put off by the dark edit the fic itself is actually really fluffy

[dalekofchaos]

How The Empire could've won after Endor or why didn't they just use Operation Cinder on Rebel worlds instead of Imperial worlds?

Why not just use the satellites on the key Rebel worlds Chandrilla and Mon Cala? Lets say the Imperial leadership decided they are not going to follow Palpatine's last will...because it's stupid. They unite under one goal. The swift destruction of The Rebel Alliance. They all gather the Imperial fleets and blockade Chandrilla and Mon Cala. Place the satellites on the worlds and hold them hostage using the satellites and use the satellites to slaughter countless people if the Rebels interfere. The Rebels sure don't have the manpower to launch two large scale offensives on both of these worlds. For example if they try to attack Chandrilla, break the blockcade and destroy the satellites, then the Imperials will use the Satellites on Mon Cala and Mon Cala will be reduced to a wasteland. This, needless to say is far better than targeting your own worlds and this would crush the Rebels' morale. The Mon Calamari makes the backbone of the Rebel fleet, majority of their ships and high ranks in their navy were Mon Calamari. To destroy their world is going to cause problems. You can imagine many in the Rebels navy are not going to support anything that could put them, their homeworld and their loved ones at risk.

Meanwhile Chandrilla is homeworld to Rebel leader Mon Mothma and has a very heavy Rebel presence as well to having a vast population center. Again this is going to make the Rebellion very very hesitant to do anything. You're going to see the Rebels draw lines with each other and begin to rip themselves apart. For example, some human Rebels might be very passionate and want to break the blockade at Chandrilla. However if they do that, Mon Cala will be destroyed. Meanwhile the Mon Calamari navy staff will probably want the blockade on Mon Cala to be destroyed. However this will destroy those on Chandrilla. You're essentially putting a huge wedge between everyone in the Rebellion, particularly between aliens and humans, which is not what you want to do. Divide & Conquer.

From here The Empire needs to use this intense time to rebrand itself. Put a spin on the entire thing. In our timeline they simply said Palpatine was not dead and the Empire is fine, it's still strong and you should still fear it. Which is stupid, they should've come clean about Palpatine's death. However, they should've embellished it. Talk about the man who ended The Clone Wars and ushered in which was technically an age of peace and say he was assassinated by anarchist rebels. Denied the existence or purpose of the Death Star. Call it a Rebel lie. Spread information regarding The Rebels, lie about them and launch a bunch of false flag operations on worlds like Coruscant framing them for acts of terrorism. The Imperials still control the Holonet, they should be using it to their full advantage. They control what the people see and hear most of the time, granted the Rebels still have a foothold in the Holonet, but nowhere near the extent of The Empire. They should really be hammering the propaganda right now. Not going around killing their own people and just letting the Rebels running circles around them.

The Empire also needs to start hitting back at The Rebellion. Step up recruiting, both for the army and the navy. As well as enlisting in the help of the criminal underworld and the bounty hunters' guild. They want and need these people's help now more than ever. Make a deal to legitimize them and granting them trade deals once the war is over. Crime syndicates like the Black Suns and the Hutts need a sense of legitimacy, they need something that makes all their illegal money, legal. So grant the Hutts hyperspace lanes, it will be legal and get all the taxes from them and you'll be supported by The Empire. The Hutts would kill for that chance. Plus, don't you think the Hutt cartel leaders would want Han, Luke, Leia and Lando dead for Jabba's death? At the end of the day the crime syndicates were absolutely essential to the Rebels, it's how they got a lot of their equipment. And although previously, the Empire wasn't willing to make deals with them, it's now more important than ever to turn the Rebels' allies to your side and with all of this, The Rebellion has nothing. It can't resupply because the criminals will now firmly side with The Empire. It's kind of a philosophy of "rather the devil you know than the one that you don't." Meanwhile assassins and bounty hunters will be foaming at the mouth for the huge prices on Rebel leaders' heads.  Rebel Leaders that now more than ever are going to be stepping out of the shadows because they need to be seen if they ever hope to create their New Republic. Meanwhile The Rebels will be stuck in limbo, their ability to hurt The Empire results in death and destruction for countless innocents, who are close to them eventually the Rebellion will lose through attrition alone. The Empire will re-establish itself as the undisputed superpower and someone else(maybe Rax or maybe Sloane) will claim the title of Emperor. However this is going to be very difficult to achieve considering the incredibly competitive nature and rivalry between Imperial Leaders.

My point being that ultimately though The Rebellion was far from winning the entire war after the Battle of Endor and The Empire basically gave them the victory on a silver plate. Hell, The Empire could’ve connived all Star Destroyers above Endor and Orbital bombard the shit out of the moon while the celebration was happening. They might’ve destroyed the Death Star and killed The Emperor and Vader, but all they had to do is call up tens of thousands Star Destroyers and destroy the Rebels on Endor.

In a sense, I just won the war for the Imperials even without Palpatine, Tarkin, Thrawn and Vader, if The Imperial Navy just ignored Palpatine’s orders and just sought the complete annihilation of The Rebels without destroying their own worlds.

Instead of actually draw out the war after Endor to show that the Rebels have awakened the Imperial beast without the shackles of Palpatine and Vader, Palpatine stupidly destroys Imperial worlds, the Imperials blindly stupidly follow his last order and the Empire lost on Jakku and The Empire didn't even last as long as they did in Legends. Then rebranded themselves as "The First Order" to being even more incompetent in 30 years time

Credit to Lore Star for having more thought than the so called Lucasfilm "Storygroup"

#Star Wars #The Galactic Empire #Anti Lucasfilm #Operation Cinder #The Imperial Navy #The Imperial Army #Stormtroopers #The Rebel Alliance

[doomedandstoned]

Top 10 Albums Of The 2010′s

~By Calvin Lampert~

I think it is safe to say that underground metal has enjoyed a period of unprecedented growth and popularity in the last 10 years. But when I am saying this I am not only thinking about the heavy underground; those adherents of the Sabbath sound and this whole new wave of doom metal bands. I am thinking of the fact that (underground) metal has undergone a change in image, too.

Though frequently maligned as hipster bands (or metal for people who don't like metal), acts like Deafheaven have brought metal to a whole new audience and raised awareness of the genre as a genuine form of art that does not just exist for its own sake; that metal fans only go for gore, beer and self-referential horn-throwing. Not that Neurosis and Godflesh haven’t been ambassadors of this mindset for more than three decades already, but it feels that the understanding of metal as art seems to have finally broken through to an audience outside of the traditional metal subculture in the past decade.

I think it is in no small part thanks to some of the bands on this list I have assembled (though I may have forgone obvious picks like Alcest and Deafheaven for more personal choices). And in retrospect, it should’ve been a list of bands rather than records, as most of the artists on this list would’ve have had a claim to a spot on here, with any record they put out. Take that as a hurray for consistency. So, without further ado, my picks for the best and most remarkable records of the decade.

10. Akhlys – 'The Dreaming I' (Debemur Morti - 2015)

The Dreaming I by Akhlys

I can’t help but wonder if Naas Alcameth of AKHLYS (also of Nightbringer, Aoratos and Bestia Arcana) set out with the express intent to create what is essentially a nigh perfect atmospheric black metal record when he started working on The Dreaming I. It damn sure feels like, each strum, syllable, and beat sits at the right place; the pieces of this nightmarish puzzle fit with an unsettling ease.

Photograph by by Kuba Leszko

The sound really does justice to the underlying concept of dreams and nightmares, as you’ll rarely find a record with such an impenetrable atmosphere. Once you hit play you’re soon enveloped by countless layers of swirling guitars, all at the command of Naas Alcameth, and he seems hellbent on suffocating you with them. The Dreaming I is about as close as you can get sleep paralysis-made-music. If you put off black metal as spooky noise made by a bunch hooded esoteric nerds you might’ve found your match in Akhlys. They are just that, they’re dead serious, and the results are impressive.

9. Elephant Tree – 'Elephant Tree' (Magnetic Eye Records - 2016)

Elephant Tree by Elephant Tree

I’ve observed myself growing increasingly apart from most stoner rock as of late, sometimes even antagonizing the genre. I’m afraid I’m just burned out on it and grown embittered, so a record from those genres ending up on my Albums of the Decade list should give you a hint of just how special it really is.

That is not to say that there haven’t been some real stoner rock heavy hitters this decade, such as Gozus Revival, Valley of the Suns Sayings of the Seers or Lo-Pans Salvador, but there’s something to ELEPHANT TREE's self-titled record that just so narrowly sets it apart from the others.

Photograph by Phil Smithies

What that is I am still not quite sure, and I had my fair share of relistens. Maybe it is the tasteful balance act of the production that makes this record so wonderfully ethereal but also ridiculously crushing. Or the sleek as all hell songwriting where every hook fires but the flow remains impeccable. Or the gorgeous harmonic interplay of Jack Townley and Pete Hollands vocals. Or maybe really just the sum of it all.

Whatever it is, Elephant Tree get it so very right and it is a true joy to behold such a well-written and fine-tuned record in a genre that has become all too prone to shoddiness and idle Kyuss worship. If there is any justice in the world, Elephant Tree will be looked back as a classic of the genre.

8. Oranssi Pazuzu – 'Värähtelijä' (Svart Records/20 Buck Spin - 2016)

Värähtelijä by Oranssi Pazuzu

So many have tried to do it. Countless chonged out Hendrix worshippers. Australian neo-psych darlings. But they all failed. Turns out the holy grail of psychedelia was dug up by a bunch of dudes in the frozen wastes of Finland when they decided to throw together black metal and almost every imaginable psych rock permutation under the firmament. Absolute insanity inducing balls-to-the-wall trippiness ensues.

ORANSSI PAZUZU is their name, ego-death squared in hyperspace is their game and Värähtelijä is the latest in a slew of attempts to smear your brain across the event horizon, and their most accomplished one so far. Think Hawkwind trying to interpret the soundtrack of Interstellar with a guy being spaghettified by a black hole screaming on top of it. Huge, plodding riffs and spacey synth fuckery abound.

Film by Shelby Kray

This madness extends to their live shows, yours truly (being completely sober) suffered a sensory overload when they launched into the crescendo of the album opener "Saturaatio" at Roadburn 2016. This band is taking things to the next level, and something tells me that Värähtelijä is just another chapter in an increasingly maddening venture.

7. Conan – 'Blood Eagle' (Napalm Records - 2014)

You can’t really draw a picture of the doom scene in the '10s without CONAN. And I do mean that in quite the literal sense, as seemingly every self-respecting doom fan seems to own at least one Conan shirt and you can’t really go to a gig without seeing one.

By all accounts the band probably could’ve retired years ago and just live off those rad merch designs. But Conan knows no rest -- always writing, always touring, always scheming. Thus the band has fed a steady stream of releases to a cult-like following over the years and narrowing down the output of such an important band to just one record is no small task. My choice eventually fell on the fan favorite, 2014's Blood Eagle.

Photograph by Sally Townsend

Conan had already pretty much established themselves as the emergent sludge-doom act of the decade at that time, but as we know they’re not one to rest on their laurels and Blood Eagle was just them driving the point home and the stake deeper, solidifying a grasp on the scene that hasn’t waned ever since, and they did it oh so righteously, by the primordial might of tonal displacement and drop F glory.

Conan might have the closest thing to a universal doom appeal because they speak to your baser instincts. Songs like "Foehammer" or "Total Conquest" seem like trebuchets aimed at the synapses of your reptilian brain, and I can’t help but admire these noble DIY barbarians, who so deservedly have carved out their place in the canon of the genre.

6. SubRosa – 'More Constant than the Gods' (Profound Lore - 2013)

More Constant Than The Gods by SubRosa

SUBROSA was one of a kind. If one band calling it quits this decade broke my heart, it was them. But before doing so they gifted us three outstanding post-metal records, whose folk and chamber music flourishes felt completely unique, intimate, and anachronistic in a genre dominated by more vast and spacious narratives. They reached inward rather than outward and did so with a no-parts-wasted mentality.

In a world rife with one-trick bands, SubRosa's employ of multiple vocalists and two electric violins felt natural and unabashedly non-gimmicky, and they would reveal the true potential of their sound on 2013's harrowingly beautiful More Constant than the Gods.

Photograph by Alyssa Herrman

More Constant is remarkable for its elegant and restrained way of instilling dread. Hardly any harsh vocals, the tempo never goes beyond a steady stride, just those horrific and yet also beautiful violins, plodding guitars, and downright poetic lyrics. And SubRosa seem to feel right at home on either terrain, be it the skin-crawling lead guitar line of "Affliction" or the grandiose outro section of "Fat of the Ram." One can only hope that SubRosa will return one day. A band that was truly novel, and not just a novelty.

5. Tchornobog – 'Tchornobog' (Fallen Empire / I, Voidhanger - 2017)

TCHORNOBOG is many things. Among others, a dark, ancient Slavic deity. In the world of music, a monolithic amalgamation of extreme metal, some Eldritch chimera of cavernous black, death, and doom metal. And the beast of one Markov Soroka, though him stating that the Tchornobog inhabits his head begs the question who might really be in charge?

Photograph by Nona Limmen

Soroka does indeed seem to be guided by spirits since he started the project at the age 14, and eight years of gestation and arduous work culminated in one of the most engrossing, all-consuming records I have come across this decade. Far be it from me to reduce Tchornobog’s remarkability down to the young age of its creator, but Sorokas ambition and execution of those ambitions could run circles around a lot of veteran extreme metal bands. The man is just flat out talented. And that is not even taking his various other projects (Drown, Aureole, Krukh) into account, or his curation work through his own label, Vigor Deconstruct.

As such, Tchornobog ultimately is, among many other things, a bright spotlight shining on a young man who has all the makings of being the next big underground metal mastermind. I’m sure you’ll be inclined to agree as soon as Soroka brings out the grand piano and saxophone on "III: Non-Existence’s Warmth (Infinite Natality Psychosis)" to perform what I’d like to call Lovecraftian Lounge Music. He must have a thing for Demilich too, judging from those song titles.

4. Hell – 'III' (Lower Your Head / Pesanta Urfolk - 2012)

Hell III by Hell

There is a subtle power in melodies, particularly melancholic and sad ones. Doom, and more specifically funeral doom, have long since sought to harness the power of the melody, but I think nobody has been quite as effective or moved me so profoundly with a simple plucked melody as MSW, the singular mind of HELL.

Just one minute into Mourn, the opening (and penultimate) track of Hell III), I am already instilled with a deep sense of melancholy, but also foreboding doom. However, few songs can just thrive from having a good riff or lead -- and there’s 17 minutes yet to go. I’ll spoil you and say that in this time Hell shifts between doom, black metal, neoclassical music, and dark ambient. That’s a lot of territory to cover and it becomes apparent that for how meticulously well crafted its individual parts are, MSW never loses sight of the bigger picture and the transitions between these different sounds are seamless.

Film by Billy Goate

At the danger of sounding like a huge fucking nerd, I really am more inclined to refer to "Mourn" and its follow up "Decedere" as movements rather than songs and if the songwriting doesn’t clue you in you’ll be persuaded by the time Decedere breaks out the operatic vocals and a flute accompanied by a string ensemble. And no matter if he’s performing a contemplative acoustic piece or pounding you in the ground with some absolutely hellish (the band name is apt as can be) blackened doom, MSW always manages to maintain an aura of grandeur. MSW is not just a great songwriter, he’s a veritable composer, and III is his magnum opus.

3. Mizmor – 'Yodh' (Gilead Media - 2016)

Yodh by מזמור

If whatever has come before was bleak, then Yodh is pitch fucking black. This decade hasn’t lacked in dark records (not even taking metal into account -- Mount Eerie's A Crow Looked at Me, Nick Cave’s Skeleton Tree, or The Caretakers Everywhere at the End of Time), but taking on existential dread specifically (and thereby becoming a vessel for it) MIZMOR's Yodh remains unsurpassed in its sheer effectiveness to instill said dread in the listener and is possibly the most harrowing record of the last 10 years.

Photo by Kento Woolery

As befits the theme, Yodh genuinely sounds like the work of a broken man. A miserable slab of glacial funeral doom and grimy black metal, but delivered with a brute strength and conviction that really suggests more defiance than self-pity. I’d be remiss to not point out ALN's incredibly varied vocal performance, ranging from wretched snarls and air-starved bellows to what I can only describe as pterodactyl shrieks, all carrying the same biting vitriol as the instrumentals.

Film by Shelby Kray

Yet for all its doom and gloom, Yodh surprises with occasional moments of tenderness and outright (if melancholic) beauty, too, such as the acoustic intro of "II: A Semblance Waning" or the massive main riff of "III: The Serpent Eats Its Tail" that feels like the sort of thing Pallbearer would’ve come up with if they had been more into Mournful Congregation than Warning.

All these things combined with thoughtful, introspective lyrics make Yodh into an incredibly powerful and downright visceral record, and if for you the main draw of doom metal lies its emotional potency (as it does for me) then Yodh is an essential listen. Let ALN shout down the very pillars that uphold your personal beliefs of life’s meaning.

2. Pallbearer – 'Sorrow and Extinction' (Profound Lore - 2012)

Sorrow And Extinction by Pallbearer

Warning was the first band to try to bridge the gap between traditional and modern doom metal, and while Watching from a Distance might have a fair claim to be one of the saddest metal records out there, in my eyes it was PALLBEARER who took that formula even further and perfected it with their 2011 debut Sorrow and Extinction. To me, it’s a classic record in both senses. A landmark of post-millennium doom and a throwback to the days of yore, when Saint Vitus and Candlemass were in charge of bumming everyone out; while still maintaining the larger-than-life-feel and sonic heft of modern doom championed by bands like Yob or Neurosis.

Photo by Sally Townsend

But Sorrow and Extinction isn’t just some roided up epic doom sans the operatic vocals, Pallbearer are far too clever to suffer such a pitfall. Granted, Sorrow sounds huge, and while there’s plenty of the heavy stuff to go around what makes Sorrow so great is how catchy it is. There is no weak song on this record (admittedly there’s only five), and while most bands could only hope to one day write a riff as good as "Devoid of Redemption's" main theme, it seems like Pallbearer just comes up with them on a whim, and their ability to do so doesn’t seem to have faded three records into their career -- not even to speak of Brett Campbell's soulful lyrics and passionate delivery.

Film by Billy Goate

Then, of course, there’s the amazing guitar interplay between Campbell and Devin Holt, chiefly on the casket closer "Given to the Grave," whose second half essentially boils down to them constantly trading dramatic leads with each other like the world's most woeful ping pong game.

Sorrow and Extinction is not only a deeply moving yet utterly anthemic record, but also one that successfully marries the past and the present of doom. In that regard, it is a preciously rare and so far unsurpassed record.

1. YOB – 'Clearing the Path to Ascend' (Neurot Records - 2014)

Clearing The Path To Ascend by YOB

Writing about metal without resorting to superlatives is hard. Try to practice restraint in the presence of something whose very nature lacks restraint. I am definitely guilty of that lack of restraint; one has only got to scroll up again to confirm it. But luckily some records are so very superlative that I do not have to take that editorial high road and can fire all the “mosts” and “-ests” at will. In fact, they almost require you to use them. Clearing the Path to Ascend by YOB is one such record. Even among all these preceding superlative records it stands above and beyond.

Photo by Angelique Le Marchand

Clearing the Path to Ascend is so vast, it feels singular. It is one and it is all. When I think larger-than-life sound, Clearing comes to mind first. It has become the very benchmark with which I measure other records. Yob's big and beautiful only consists of four tracks, but they made each feel like a distinct part of a greater journey. "In Our Blood" opens with a recording of Alan Watts telling you it is "time to wake up," before the song slowly rises into a stretched-out draw and crash, eventually unfurling into a manic guitar line.

"Nothing to Win" feels like Yob's own take on Neurosis’ Through Silver in Blood. It is an unrelenting, steady 11-minute march down a highway of broken glass, utterly windswept and viciously hopeless. "Unmask the Spectre" seems to tread similarly bitter paths but manages to wrestle itself free into two grandiose spiraling crescendos.

Film by Billy Goate

The death knell of an album closer that is "Marrow" shouldn’t really need much of an introduction at this point. It still feels like I’ll see a link, post or share of it every other day. It has become an omnipresence in the doom scene, and deservingly so. Yob dials back on the gloom and shines all the brighter. "Marrow" is not just hopeful; it is downright ecstatic and by the time Mike Scheidt launches into the grand solo of the track (so very gracefully accompanied by a Hammond organ played by producer Billy Barnett) has ascended to a genuine sermon.

Though Clearing had its fair share of dark moments "Marrow" closes the record on a remarkably conciliatory note and I really think that speaks of Yob as a (metal) band. Call it a big move to offer closure -- a fitting end to such a big record. One that suits the title of ‘Album of the Decade,’ and embodies the spirit of metal that wants to be just more.

Calvin's Choice: 100 Best of the Decade

YOB - Clearing the Path to Ascend

Pallbearer - Sorrow and Extinction

Mizmor - Yodh

Hell - Hell III

Tchornobog - Tchornobog

SubRosa - More Constant Than The Gods

Conan - Blood Eagle

Oranssi Pazuzu - Värähtelijä

Elephant Tree - Elephant Tree

Akhlys - The Dreaming I

Clutch - Earth Rocker

Merkstave - Merkstave

Gozu - Revival

Chelsea Wolfe - Pain Is Beauty

Valley of the Sun - The Sayings of the Seers

Inter Arma - Paradise Gallows

Thou - Heathen

Om - Advaitic Songs

Bell Witch - Mirror Reaper

All Them Witches - Dying Surfer Meets His Maker

Horn of the Rhino - Weight of Coronation

Boss Keloid - Melted on the Inch

KALEIKR - Heart Of Lead

Jeremy Irons & The Ratgang Malibus - Spirit Knife

Woman is the Earth - Torch of Our Final Night

Weyes Blood - Titanic Rising

LINGUA IGNOTA - Caligula

Queens of the Stone Age - ...Like Clockwork

Messa - Feast for Water

Anna von Hausswolff - Dead Magic

Mamiffer - The World Unseen

Samothrace - Reverence to Stone

Primitive Man - Scorn

Fórn - The Departure of Consciousness

Khemmis - Absolution

Bongripper - Miserable

High on Fire - De Vermis Mysteriis

UN - Sentiment

Cult of Luna - Mariner

Slomatics - Future Echo Returns

MISTHYRMING - Söngvar elds og óreiðu

Dvne - Asheran

Earth - Primitive and Deadly

Mars Red Sky - Apex III (Praise For The Burning Soul)

The Midnight Ghost Train - Cypress Ave.

Panopticon - Panopticon - Roads to the North

Mare Cognitum - Phobos Monolith

Sólstafir - Ótta

Have a Nice Life - The Unnatural World

Furia - Księżyc Milczy Luty

Tardigrada - Emotionale Ödnis

Yellow Eyes - Immersion Trench Reverie

Stoned Jesus - Seven Thunders Roar

Höstblod - Mörkrets Intåg

Ulver - The Assassination of Julius Caesar

Zola Jesus - Okovi

Funereal Presence - Achatius

Wormlust - The Feral Wisdom

Daughters - You Won't Get What You Want

L'Acephale - L'Acéphale

40 Watt Sun - The Inside Room

Vilkacis - Beyond the Mortal Gate

Bossk - Audio Noir

Carpenter Brut - Trilogy

Sumac - What One Becomes

Death Grips - Exmilitary

Red Fang - Murder the Mountains

Lo-Pan - Salvador

Whores. - Gold

Truckfighters - Universe

Greenleaf - Trails & Passes

Bölzer - Aura

Monolord - Vaenir

Dead to a Dying World - Elegy

The Body - I Shall Die Here

Mutoid Man - War Moans

Neurosis - Fires Within Fires

Opeth - Pale Communion

Planning for Burial - Below the House

Triptykon - Melana Chasmata

Graveyard - Hisingen Blues

Saor - Aura

Windhand - Grief's Infernal Flower

Egypt - Endless Flight

Emma Ruth Rundle - Marked For Death

Deafheaven - Sunbather

Kadavar - Kadavar

Uncle Acid & the Deadbeats - Blood Lust

Vanum - Ageless Fire

Dai-Ichi - Dai-Ichi

Lord Mantis - Pervertor

Ne Obliviscaris - Portal Of I

Loss - Horizonless

Tome of the Unreplenished - Innerstanding

Elder - Lore

Witch Mountain - Cauldron of the Wild

Ahab - The Giant

Alcest - Kodama

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Fate

So…it’s been awhile.  Like, a long while.

I’m rewriting A Fate You Can’t Escape because it was my favorite project, but I’ve lost all my notes and files.  So here we are.  A rewrite, revamp, reimagining.

I hope you all enjoy this and have the same enthusiasm you were awesome enough to give me with (what there was of) the original.

CeceVolume

PROLOGUE

               A howl echoed through the woods, breaking the serenity the night of the full moon had to offer.  A chilling wind blew, drawing up the leaves on the forest floor to whirl around.  The river rushed through somewhere to the west, a warning to any who knew to heed its call.

               Never had he felt so at home.

               Running through the trees, he relished the feel of everything around him, embraced the wild nature he had so long kept hidden. Never had he been so free to do something he loved so much, nor had he felt such a wild rush of hope and relief. Even if he was to die tonight, he would hold no regrets so long as he could savor this moment, this feeling in the halls of Valhalla.

               The now familiar scent of wolves grew stronger as well as the sounds of their howls and he wanted to join in their song, wanted them to welcome him as a member of the pack.  For too long he had not belonged, would never belong outside of this place.  Only just that night had he found out his true nature and he had felt peace for the first time in his life.

               He had a home, a place where they would have him as one of their own.  And it had been so close.  For years, just beyond the forest outside their tiny village, his true family.

               His mother had always told him to beware the place because monsters resided there, terror growing in her eyes as the years passed. A woman of Esther’s power balking at the idea of taking on the beasts had him on edge.

               But the time for that was over.  No longer did he have to fear what lurked in the woods.

               He was one of them.

Insert Break

               “Stop,” he begged.  “Please, don’t hurt him anymore.”

               His voice was broken, barely audible to human ears, but they heard him perfectly.  And laughed.  He wanted to fight the chains shackling him to the cave wall, held in place by stakes that went three feet deep.

               But even before they’d brought Henrik in, he’d been so weak.  The torture he’d endured…at his own people’s hands…how long would he be able to withstand the onslaught?  What could have been mere days or several weeks should have broken him, should have killed him.  He’d been so close to letting go, to letting the darkness overtake him.

               Then he’d smelt his brother—half brother. Long before he’d seen or heard him, he’d been caught the scent of fear and blood.  It had renewed what little energy he had.  When he’d heard Henrik’s labored breathing and the tell tale catch in his voice as he pleaded with them for answers, wanting to know why they had stolen him in the middle of the night, he’d thought he might actually be able to break free from the bonds on adrenaline alone.

               When they’d brought him straight to his feet….

               “Nik, please.”  His eyes returned to his brother’s tear and blood-soaked face at the sound of the young man’s voice, knowing the end was near for the young man. Even if he was the same as him, he’d never survive his injuries; he was so young, so fragile.  “Please, help me.”

               Roaring, he fought with a new vigor, feeling the chains break his skin.  What was more blood spilt?  What was his life in turn for Henrik’s?  He had been the one to go in with hope in his heart when there was every reason to fear the monsters in the dark.  He had thought to find a place to rest and had only led an innocent soul to hell.

               A wolf stepped forward, naked in his human form. Planting a foot in the young boy on the floor’s back, he said casually, “A true wolf would do whatever necessary to protect his pack, yet the weakest of yours is so close to death. You struggle and spit, but show no loyalty, no honor.  A lowly cur, not strong enough to join the king’s men.”  A quiet chuckle rose through the group of wolves that surrounded them, the scent of ridicule filling the cavern.

               “Let me loose,” Niklaus rasped, baring fangs as his irises blazed yellow, his inner beast scratching under his skin to be freed. “And I will show you my strength. Release the boy and fight me.”

               With a laugh, the older wolf said, “Why should I do that?  His father—your mother’s husband—has killed many of our kind because of some mortal vendetta.  He knows nothing of the Lore or what he is toying with.  So why should I release either of his worthless pups?”

               Before he or anyone else could respond, a hush blew threw the cavern, deafening after the constant movements.  It was as if the sky itself were pressing down on the small area, drawing everyone’s breaths from their bodies.

               Barely able to hold up his head, he could just make out the silhouette of a large man against the moonlight at the mouth of the cave. He seemed to take up the entire space that could easily allow two grown men to pass side by side.  If he was any taller, his head would probably scrape the top of the entrance.

               He commanded the attention of all without saying a word.

               Without a word, he strode through the parting group, stopping just at Henrik’s feet, but his attention was on Niklaus, a look of knowing on his face.

               Now that he was closer, the bound man could make out the features of his hard face.  A strong jaw clenched tight, one blue eye gone milky where three severe scars tore through it.  Red brown hair fell shaggily down to his shoulders, messy curls brushing the collar of the furs covering his body.

               His lip lifted in a snarl when, eyes still on Niklaus, he turned his head to the wolf standing on Henrik.  “Release him.”

               Immediately, the wolf and two others were pulling him free, letting him drop to the ground.  No hesitation, no questioning.

               This man was the king of the beasts.

               As Niklaus hit the floor on all fours, it took everything he had to hold himself up on his shaky arms.  He wanted to stand, to look this man in the eyes, but he feared his legs would give out, showing weakness.  “Return my brother to our mother and I will do whatever you ask,” he said, barely keeping his voice from breaking; there was no place for weakness here.

               The king tilted his head, but moved no more than that.  “You risk your life for the whelp of the man who has killed so many of your own kind? Even though he will clearly never do the same for you?”  Finally, the man looked down to Henrik, toeing him with his bare feet to roll him over. “He’s barely more than a child,” he muttered, though Niklaus wasn’t sure if the disgust was for Henrik or his own wolves.

               “If he dies, Mikael will come for you,” he answered, trying to shakily push to his feet.  “Mikael will tear your entire pack apart just for taking him.  Bartering his release may protect you.”

               A rumble went through the crowd but the king swiftly put up his hand to stop it.  “I am not afraid of the mortal.  It is his wife that worries me.”  The word came out like acid off his tongue.

               Shock went through Niklaus.  “You know my mother, what she is?”  A heavily guarded secret.  Though her children knew of what she was, no one else in the village did, not even her husband.  Witches were hunted, but she had hope that she had passed on to her children the power she so easily controlled.

               “Of course I do.  How do you think a mortal was able to kill so many immortals?  How did he have the strength when my men have a beast that resides in them, the strongest creatures in the Lore?” the man questioned.  “Your mother may be able to hide what she is from them, but we know.”

               Unable to stop himself as curiosity reigned, Niklaus demanded, “How do you know my mother?”

               There was silence for a long moment, the wolves looking amongst themselves uncomfortably.  Tension filled the air as the king’s jaw worked and his good eye flashed to the same golden yellow of every wolf.  Niklaus could actually see the change threatening to overtake him, rippling just beneath the skin.

               One of the female wolves across the cavern finally stepped forward, snarling, “That bitch with her mortal children had the audacity—”

               The king was on her in a second, snatching her throat in his large hand.  Black claws grew from beneath his human nails to pierce the soft skin there.  “You will not speak of your queen that way, not in my presence or out of it.  No matter what she has done, she is still my mate and you will show her the respect that title demands.”  Niklaus could perceive his hands clenching just enough to cut off her air, watched as she writhed against the hold, desperate to breathe.  “Do you understand?”

               She frantically nodded her head and he dropped her to the ground, casually strolling back to where he could face Niklaus. The younger man had finally been able to stand, but wasn’t able to stay that way for long.

               Perhaps it was the surprise that kept him upright, the knowledge that his mother was this man’s mate, his queen. That meant that he was….

               “Yes, you are my son,” the older wolf said easily, causing Henrik to freeze in his writhing on the floor.  “The heir my mate stole from me to be raised amongst mortals.” Eyeing Niklaus skeptically, he added, “I am King Callum of the Werewolves.”

               Too stunned to speak, Niklaus merely stared. This powerful monster, this king was his…father.  At last he could know who had helped to create him, could know the ways of his people. Surely they wouldn’t kill their prince?

               Glancing down to Henrik, Callum muttered, “And here is evidence of my mate’s betrayal; a son by another man.  Even if I could overlook her other crimes against my people, this one will not stand.”

               “What are you say—”

               Faster than Niklaus could pose his question, the king’s heel went down on the back of Henrik’s neck, a great snap echoing through the chamber.  Henrik’s heavy breathing immediately fell silent, even as Niklaus’s heart threatened to burst out of his chest.

               With a cry of grief and fury, he threw himself to the prone body of his brother, no longer feeling the pain of his injuries. Clutching him to his chest, he begged him to speak to him, to say something, but Henrik’s empty eyes just stared forward.

               “As my son, I am allowing you to live, to carry my message to your mother,” Callum said easily, airily.  As if he hadn’t just killed a child innocent of any crime against him.  “You will tell Esther that after these twenty years, my patience for her games has ended; it is time I brought my queen to heel.  Any of the vermin she birthed with that mortal will befall the same fate as this one.”

               Suddenly, he was there, clutching Niklaus’s chin in his hand to force him to face him.  “Then you will return to me.  Your mother may have tried to weaken you by raising you as a human, but I will teach you myself how to be wolf.”

               The sadness that had overwhelmed him swiftly gave way to a fury he’d never felt before.  All to prove something to Esther, this man had killed his beloved younger brother, threatened his other siblings in much the same breath.  Even if he saw it as his mate’s betrayal, that gave Callum no right to destroy what was his.

               For the first time in his life, Niklaus heard the alluring voice of his Instinct rising in his mind.

--Destroy the threat.--

               Gently setting Henrik down on the cave floor, Niklaus stood above him, feeling the cracking of his bones.  But this was different than the torture he’d endured; this was a relief.  He would rip out the throats of all those that had dared to hurt Henrik, to make his last hours on earth filled with terror and pain.  As the gods were his witness, he would kill every last wolf in that cave.

               Starting with his father.

               No doubt sensing the threat, men and women alike began to shift, the years of practice making the transition quicker than his.  He flung out his hand to catch one, the claws growing there piercing through the creature’s neck.  Without releasing his grip, he threw the body across the room, leaving him with the semblance of a throat covering his hand with blood.

               “Boy—” Callum snarled, beginning to change.

               “Not a boy,” Niklaus growled in return just before the full transition overtook him.  “A wolf.”

Insert Break

               Having scoured the woods for days, the villagers had given up hope of finding Esther’s son, Niklaus.  He’d been at the mercy of the wolves for too long; there was no way he had survived within the beasts’ domain.  They had watched as the family’s hope and desperation turned to grief and agony at the loss.

               But for the young Henrik to go missing earlier that day made them uneasy.  Were Mikael and his family being targeted by the wolves for what Mikael had done?  Perhaps it was time to move on, to find another place to settle, far from the monsters of the forest.  They had their own families to think of and if the wolves could get Mikael’s own children….

               A cry rang out from the watch at the edge of the village, a sound of shock and awe.  It was the middle of the night, yet everyone sprang to life when they heard the echoing cry, “They have returned!”

               It was that sound that alerted Mikael and Esther, as well as their four remaining children, to run from their home and stare out into the woods, watching a figure stumble through the brush with a smaller body in its arms.

               The family stood, watching as a few of the watchmen ran to the pair, catching the larger as he fell.  Even though they tried to relieve him of the weight of the younger man, he snarled and snapped his teeth, the sound animalistic as it rang through to his family.

               Esther shook as he struggled back to his feet, covering her mouth to keep from screaming or crying.  There was no sign of movement from Henrik in his brother’s arms and she knew what that meant, though she wouldn’t let it become a cohesive thought.

               There was no way those monsters had taken away her youngest son only to leave her with the proof of her infidelity.

               Surrounding the pair, the villagers ushered them straight to their family, keeping close to Niklaus’s back as if they honestly thought they could protect him from the beasts.  The wind whirled as Esther’s fear grew, her power whipping around.  To her right, she felt a hand wrap her own and looked over to see her eldest son Finn silently giving her his strength even as he stared forward.

               Another hand fell on her shoulder, making her glance back.  There stood Elijah, stoically offering his strength as well.  His arm was wrapped around her beautiful—and only—daughter Rebekah’s shoulders, holding her trembling frame to him.

               On her other side stood Mikael, clearly stunned. No doubt he wondered how they had gotten away from the monsters when he himself could never have.  Of course, he never saw the innate power all her children held, only what they lacked.  Little did he know that she had happily molded them to fit into her plans, had intended for the bond they all shared.

               Always and forever.

               Kol, who had moved ahead gasped and stammered, “Nik is…he’s covered in…blood.”

               Eyes widening, her attention once more went back to where her middle son was coming towards her, unable to believe what she was seeing.

               He dragged the bodies of at least half a dozen wolves behind him, his naked body covered from head to toe in blood and mud. There was a savage scar across his face that was already pinkening, though it must have been so deep, based on the amount of blood there.  When he was only a little way ahead of her, he dropped to his knees, gently placing Henrik on the ground before him.

               Bowing his head, he murmured, “I could not save him. Callum was too quick.”  Yanking the rope off his shoulder, he hefted the wolves’ bodies so they could thud to the ground before Mikael, who Niklaus now turned to.  “These are the ones who captured him, the ones that came into the village.  There is a dozen in the cavern where I left them.”

               Going to stand before her prone son, she dropped to her knees, gently stroking Henrik’s hair out of his face.  She could see the bones that had been broken, the pain he must have endured, and forgot the most important rule her mother had taught her before she’d been killed.

               Never show your power.

               Without a word, she cried for the power of her ancestors to bring back her little boy, to let her have her son back.  She begged them to give her the magic necessary to raise him from the dead.

               If there were any way to make him open his eyes, she would find it.  If she had to exploit every vestigial of magic that existed, she would do it.  He was just an innocent little boy who had paid for her perceived crimes against Callum, the wolf that believed she was fated for him, that she would be his and only his.

               As she tried to draw more and more power from the earth, from her dead ancestors, she heard their voices in her head.

               That is not how magic is meant to work.  He would be an abomination.  He must remain dead.

               How could they forsake her?! It was not his time, nor his fault!  If they were to punish someone, they should punish her.  She would give her life for his!

               “Mother,” Niklaus rasped from before her, “they are watching.”

               Looking up to the villagers, she saw that they were captivated, completely mesmerized by the power flowing from her hands. When she looked down at her dead son, she was shocked to see more magic than she’d ever mustered exploding from her palms.  She felt completely invincible, as if she could choose to change the ways of the world on a mere whim.  So much power…so much strength.

               Yet Henrik remained unmoving.

               He has gone to the Other Side, child, she heard in her ear, making tears burn her throat.  He is welcomed among us and so loved.  He will be safe with us.  You must let him go lest you intend to hurt him more.

               Flinging herself back from him, she let out a wail that would have rivaled the Valkyrie’s.  Instantly, her unharmed children swarmed her, wrapping themselves around her like the shield she’d raised them to be.

               She no longer needed a shield, though.  She needed weapons, something to destroy the wolves as they had destroyed her.

               Her gaze went to Niklaus, her little wolf. He shuddered with the need to join, but she could see the guilt in his eyes.  Henrik had been taken because of him, no doubt.  Though she wasn’t meant to know, she had sensed his first change coming, had known he would run the forest soon enough.  She had sent the lowly creatures to spy on his first run and they had told her when he was captured.

               It had seemed like a small blessing when he’d found his true self.  Either they would kill him or recruit him.  Whichever came to pass, it should have meant she no longer had evidence of her betrayal of Mikael; she no longer had to fear what her son might reveal.  She hadn’t anticipated that the wolves would still see fit to retaliate.

               But if it was war they wanted, it was war she would give them.

               Rising to her feet, power blasted out from her, knocking down her family.  The villagers took a collective step back, now caught between the wolves and the witch. They were scared, as they should be; just as she would punish the wolves for taking Henrik, she would punish them for not returning him—alive—to her.

               As her children and husband stood, Esther called upon all the power of her ancestors, feeling it strip away from them and into her body.  They would not condone her doing this, changing her children.  It had never been done before, though there were rumors that many had died trying.

               But the Old Ones were the only beings strong enough to overtake an army of wolves.  One could fight for days to lay siege through a vast legion of the beasts. They had no need of sleep, breath, or food, just human blood.

               And I will have six to do exactly as I say.

Insert Break

               Callum sat amongst the carnage his son had caused, a heavy weight in his chest.  He may have underestimated the boy; it seemed he did have the wolf within.  Glancing down at the Pelt of the First Wolf, he wondered whether he had made a mistake pushing the boy away.  Though he had been raised by mortals, he would have made a bloodthirsty general.

               It made the king wonder if—when he took Esther back—she would provide him with more powerful children and if they were raised properly by the wolves would they be even stronger.  Of course, he wouldn’t sire anymore children on her until he taught her to heel, otherwise she may abscond with them, as well.

               Really, it was too bad that Niklaus hadn’t had proper training; perhaps he could have been the true heir as was his birthright. But he clearly still cared about his human siblings, something that Callum could simply not allow.  If a wolf was to wear the pelt, he was only to be loyal to the pack.  His true brethren.

               As he pondered this unique and off-putting situation, one of his injured wolves came running to him, bowing at his feet, his breath coming out heavily.  The sight made the king’s hackles rise in alarm.

               “My king!” the wolf said breathlessly, keeping his head bowed, though his eyes still sought Callum’s eyes.

               Waving the man up, he replied, “I ordered you to keep watch over the injured; why have you shirked your duties?”

               There was always the chance of an upstart or negligent wolf not following his orders, though Darach—the wolf before him—was much older than the usual pups that he had to punish.  A worthy healer and exceptional fighter, he was the first to care and watch over the injured.  The man was hard to quell when it came to battle.

               The wolf shivered, rising slowly to his feet. “I was the only one…she sent me in to tell you…your queen is here.  And she has brought vampires.”

               Callum slowly rose to his feet, hiding his trepidation behind the knowledge of his own strength.  “Rally our strongest and bring them to her; I will join the lot of you.”

               “Sire,” the wolf murmured, “I already have.”

Insert Break

               For the first time in his life, he felt no guilt taking lives, nor did he balk at drinking their spilled blood.  In fact, he reveled in the fight, those left fallen in his wake.  This was only made better as his siblings fought with the same intensity on any side of him, glorying themselves in the carnage as well.

               “Cut a path for me to get to the King, children,” his mother had ordered, a command they had readily followed.  “And remember they will not rise only if you take off their heads.”

               Somewhere in his mind, the Instinct whispered, --Something is not right.—

               A cold chill had run up his spine at that, his hackles rising, but he shook it away.  After the pain of his mother using her power to change them into Old Ones, he did not easily welcome the Instinct’s words, didn’t trust them.

               Now that he had the strength, why should he listen to some primitive drive?  Besides, wasn’t it the same drive that had made Callum and his wolves so vicious toward his innocent little brother?  The boy that would never harm a fly did not deserve to be their whipping boy any more than he had.

               As he ripped through another wolf’s neck with his newly sharpened fangs, the rage within him built.  They had destroyed his family, his mother beyond repair.  All he had wanted was to belong and yet they had ridiculed and tortured him for days, only to release him with the guilt that Henrik’s death was his fault.

               They would all pay.

               Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered his mother shouting his name from behind him.  Turning his head as his hand clenched another wolf’s neck, he saw the magic forming in her hands, wind beginning to whirl her blonde hair around her face. Once again, his Instinct told him that everything was not as he thought it was, but he merely pushed the thought away.

               “Bring him to me,” she murmured over the sounds of blood rushing through veins and spilling all around him.  “You are the only one that can.”

               With a nearly imperceptible nod, Niklaus ripped away the head of the wolf in his grip, tossing it far away from his body. He felt his strength growing as his wolf fangs grew beside his vampiric ones—longer, thicker, meant only for harm—and the change rippled beneath his skin.

Turning towards the cavern of his nightmares, he was almost surprised to find how close he was to it.  He could smell his real father even then, just beyond the mouth, watching the onslaught from the shadows.  So he must be a cowardly king, sitting on the sidelines while his people fell all around him, no doubt hoping to escape should his attackers grow weary.

But Niklaus felt no fatigue, only a need for vengeance.  –Too strong.--  But the voice was ignored once again.

Because what was more fearsome than a werewolf who was also a vampire?  As a hybrid, who could overpower him ever again?  Even the wolves that had captured him the night of the full moon were falling in his wake; his mother had given him untold power.

“Come out!” he roared into the cave.  “Come out and fight me!”

At his challenge, a hush seemed to fall over the clearing. The wolves stopped fighting, as did his siblings, waiting for the response.  Would Callum take the challenge or lose his pack to his bastard son?

It didn’t take long; the king was not a man that took a challenge to his authority lightly.  He strode out slowly, no longer wearing the pelt Niklaus was sure he rarely went without.  He had almost forgotten how his father’s presence seemed to take up all the space around him, making him seem larger and stronger.

“Your mother,” he called out as his eyes locked with Niklaus’s, “has made you into an abomination.  If you were a true wolf, your Instinct would tell you of the mistake you are making.”  That steady blue gaze caught his son’s jerk of surprise instantly, narrowing as his fangs burst from his gums threateningly.  “The Instinct is sacred, yet you would ignore it’s power?!” he roared, his skin rippling as he readied for the fight.

Suddenly not so sure, Niklaus answered, “You told me that night that wolves protect the pack; this is mine.”  He swept out an arm towards his siblings and mother.  “You killed the youngest of us and now we have come for revenge.  And soon, you will have to answer to Mikael, just as you should have twenty-six years ago when you took my mother.”

Callum laughed, shaking his head.  “You do not know what you speak of, boy,” he intoned, smirking. “Your mother was my mate and she came freely to me, only to leave when I told her I would not raise her mortal offspring within my pack.  Mikael may come, but he will never be able to erase that his wife bedded the very wolf he had tried to kill for years.”

Snarling, Niklaus threw himself with all his considerable speed at Callum, only to be caught and tossed away as he had done so many wolves.  But he was up in an instant, attacking again and again, always thrown this way and that. Throughout, he could hear wolves falling at the hands of his siblings as they tried to fall upon him when he was down. However, the king just kept chuckling, mocking the son he had been so carelessly cruel to.

“If you truly wish to attack me, then do it. Show me that I was wrong to cross you and I will gladly show you my neck!” Callum shouted, raising his arms as he stared down at Niklaus.  “Within the Lore, might makes right, so prove to me that you are worthy of my blood and my ancestors’ rushing through your veins!  Or are you just a headstrong pup with no true understanding of the world we live in?”

His father’s taunts were the end of it; he could take no more.  The change rose within him and he couldn’t stop it.  But there was something different about the wolf taking over now. Before, it had been hopeful and childish, wanting a home.

Now it demanded blood.

Insert Break

Esther watched as the larger russet wolf stood over his father’s unconscious body, looking to her for orders.  She had thought that by turning him into an Old One—the natural enemy and opposite of the wolf—she would be able to destroy that thing that connected him to Callum.  Before she’d turned them, she had commanded Niklaus to tell no one that he was a wolf, hoping that he would see no reason to with the power of the vampire within him.

If Mikael were to find out, he would kill her.

Niklaus gave a short whine, snapping his teeth a breath away from Callum’s throat, waiting for her orders.  Ever the dutiful son even as a blood sucker, it seemed.

But she couldn’t risk her secret being discovered by Mikael. As a human, he had nearly halved the wolves within the woods.  When—if—he rose as a vampire, he would be too powerful for even her magic to quell.

She would have to kill her son to protect herself.

Raising her hand in his direction, she clenched her fist, making him give a startled yelp.  “I am sorry, my Niklaus,” she murmured, knowing her other children looked on in horror. “But Mikael can never know what you are. Turning you was supposed to give me retribution, not expose my secrets.”  No tears formed in her eyes, though she felt them in her throat.  If there was any way other than this to protect herself, her other children, she would gladly do it.

However, she was out of options.

“I have him in place,” she called over her shoulder. “One of you must take his head. It is the only way to protect us from your father.”

A sharp snarl sounded at her right just before her arm was broken, releasing her hold on Niklaus.  With a cry, she turned to find Rebekah there, dark veins beneath her eyes as she flashed her fangs at her own mother.  “He is one of us!” the girl hissed.  “He is our brother!  We will not kill him!”

Holding her useless arm, she spun to where Niklaus shakily came to his feet with Elijah’s and Finn’s aid, his wolfen yellow eyes catching hers as if to ask her how she could want him dead.

Didn’t they see it was the only way?  She was protecting them!  When Mikael arose, he would find out what his “son” was and know immediately of her betrayal, something he might have already suspected.  And he was enough of a bastard to take it out on all her children, not just her.

Before she could voice this, she was thrown to the ground, Kol standing over her.  “If you would sacrifice one of us for yourself, you would sacrifice all of us; that makes you more of a threat than the wolves ever were,” he growled, his lip turned up to show his fangs.  “It makes you the enemy.”

Suddenly, his head was descending, and terror shot through her.  Without thought, she raised her left hand, sending out a surge of power.  All but Niklaus were tossed away, though he swayed on his feet.  Those wolfish eyes were locked on her, pain radiating from them.

If he would just see that she had to protect them all, he would be able to understand what she was offering him.  By giving his life for his siblings, he would be wiping clean his slate.  He wouldn’t have to feel remorse any more than he had for Henrik’s death, wouldn’t have to go on for potentially eternity with guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders.

They could be a family if he just wasn’t there.

As he shakily walked to her side, she wondered what he was thinking.  Perhaps he understood her?  She would have to kill him before his siblings were able to rise, she knew, but couldn’t help bringing her hand to the fur at his neck as he gently nuzzled the side of her face.

“I know it is frightening, my love,” she murmured to him as magic grew in her palm.  “But you will go to the Other Side with Henrik.  Protect him there until I may meet you, Niklaus.”

Just as she squeezed her eyes shut so as not to see his life end, a horrifying pain ripped through her neck.  Her good hand swung to clench it, blocked by the muzzle of her son. Blood poured from her as, with one strong bite, he left her to die on the forest floor like an animal.

Darkness was coming quickly, the cold of death already taking hold.  But with her last bit of strength, she sent a message to her husband, hoping that he would hear it and rise, avenge her.

Her last sight was her bastard son’s human face over hers, blood coating it as tears fell from his eyes.  She cursed that face, was still cursing it as enshrouding darkness became still nothing.

Insert Break

Mikael arose to new scents he had never smelled, noises he’d never heard.  He had been so close to that veil between life and death, trying to pull it aside so he could rest, yet it had been just out of reach.  He’d wanted nothing more than to go to his youngest child, his parents, his fallen comrades, but then a voice had cut through from the mortal realm, calling him back.

You must kill them, Esther’s voice whispered.  Rise and avenge me.  The wolves, our own children, Niklaus….  Avenge me.

With a roar, he opened his eyes and snarled, “I will kill them all, wife.”

He swore he could feel her hand on his cheek, her favored gesture of thanks.

#fate #klaroline #cecevolume #stories #Klaus mikaelson #caroline forbes #it's been awhile #writing again #this took me forever and i'm really proud of it