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I'm loving all this great discussion you've got going on about Rhaenyra Targaryen. How would you have preferred GRRM to have written her? What could have given her greater nuance and made her less "total hot mess" and more "nuanced and possibly tragic antiheroine"? Thanks for your generosity in answering all of these questions!

Thank you so much! I hope I’m not annoying people with my constant complaints about Fire and Blood haha.  Just as a whole I think Fire & Blood would have benefitted as being a series of interwoven novellas, not a mock-medieval-history of the past 300 years of Westeros. GRRM’s greatest talent as a writer, imo, is in how he develops characters as nuanced and realistic people with understandable ambitions and fears through their own perspectives. That’s lost out on in F&B. Occasionally it breaks into more ‘novel-like’ scene descriptions, but overall it’s supposed to read as a dry historical text, only it’s an often contradictory, absurdly biased, all over the place, relying on shock value dry historical text. I get that part of the whole idea was to present various viewpoints of certain characters and events and ‘leave it up to the reader to decide’ who they were inclined to believe, but really it’s just more of a vehicle for misogyny than anything else, since we exclusively get the viewpoints of a couple of very sexist maesters and... Mushroom. Yay.  Okay for example if I was going to handle Rhaenyra’s character while still hitting the basic plot points of her story (and this is not me saying I think I’m a better writer than GRRM or that I ‘know his characters better’, it’s just my personal interpretation), I think my goal would be to humanize her to the audience of readers while not shying away from her darker moments. She’s supposed to be controversial and provocative. However that doesn’t mean she has to be totally 2-dimensional or such a hot mess. I think I would start by emphasizing Rhaenyra’s position for the first 10 years of her life. She is the coddled, cossetted, and beloved only child of Viserys and his adored wife Aemma. She has never had a sibling, she’s never had to share any attention, her parents dote on her, as does all the court. Of course she is going to be spoilt, high-maintenance, proud, and temperamental when she doesn’t get her way. However, Rhaenyra is not just a bratty princess stereotype (or, she doesn’t have to be). She is also an extremely brave and determined little girl. She is extroverted; she likes socializing and being around people, she’s confident and assertive and used to having her voice heard. At the age of seven, she single-handedly tames and bonds with a young dragon. That is an extremely impressive feat for a child. You can’t argue, bully, or demand your way into riding a dragon, a wild beast. Rhaenyra had to show some serious grit and tenacity to do that at such a young age, so she’s not just this puffed up little fragile flower who wails when she doesn’t get her way. Rhaenyra also has a great relationship with her father. He doesn’t seem to hold the fact that she is his only child and a daughter against her; he praises and shows her off in front of his court, he makes sure she is always by his side. Rhaenyra is used to being honored before everyone. She is her father’s cupbearer, she is present while he holds court, she is exposed to a high level of adult political interactions and basic courtesies. She’s probably pretty bright for her age, and has a keen understanding of who is who and what everyone at court’s relations to one another are. She’s not been kept locked up in a nursery playing with toys, she is seen as an active member of court and her father’s little shadow. She also likely has a very good relationship with her mother Aemma. Rhaenyra is Aemma’s pride and joy, her sole surviving child after the trauma of a very young marriage and multiple miscarriages and stillbirths. Aemma has no close siblings of her own, and never knew her own mother Daella; no doubt she prizes her relationship with Rhaenyra and hopes Rhaenyra does not experience what she did as a little girl, growing up without a mother and only much-older half siblings in the Vale.  Then there is her Uncle Daemon. Daemon is the ‘fun’ relative little kids adore. He doesn’t treat Rhaenyra like a child, he doesn’t condescend to her, he brings her back all sorts of exciting and interesting toys and gifts, he takes time out of his day to spend with her, he takes her on outings and makes her feel special and loved. He’s not always busy with the mundane aspects of ruling that her father likely is, he’s not caught up with his own wife and children, he has all sorts of wild tales of adventure and mystery. It’s easy to see why Rhaenyra loves him so.  Then Aemma dies. No doubt this is a horrible shock to Rhaenyra. She’s a little girl, just eight years old. She’s not necessarily that familiar with the harsh realities of pregnancy and childbirth, she just knew she was getting a little brother or sister, and now her mother is gone, just like that. Aemma died during the birth. Rhaenyra never got to say goodbye, and her little brother dies a day later, compounding the grief and horror. Her father is heartbroken and reeling, and her favorite uncle is out drinking and whoring.  But Rhaenyra is named her father’s heir. Her mom might be gone, but her dad still loves her, and he loves her so much, in her eyes, that he is willing to buck the precedent that set him on the throne (passing over Rhaenys) in order to name her his heir. She’s Princess of Dragonstone; a whole island! Despite her grief and rage over her mother being ripped away from her, this is probably thrilling for a little girl. She’s going to be queen one day. Everyone loves her and wants her to be happy. She’s going to be the first Targaryen queen in her own right. Doesn’t that make her special and chosen? Then a year later her father remarries. Rhaenyra likely isn’t happy about this; her mother has only been dead a year!- but she is willing to try to get along with her new stepmother, Alicent, who probably seems like less of a mother and more of an older sister figure, just a teenaged girl of 18. Alicent is smart and pretty and Rhaenyra remembers her from court as a very small girl. Her father is Rhaenyra’s father’s Hand, someone Rhaenyra probably knows well, maybe even considers almost family, having grown up seeing him all the time, exchanging gifts at holidays and birthdays, attending tourneys with his family, etc. Then Alicent gets pregnant, something 9 year old Rhaenyra probably wasn’t really thinking about. She has a son, and people are saying he will be king, that her claim doesn’t matter. Then Alicent has another son. She doesn’t have time for Rhaenyra anymore. She’s not Rhaenyra’s mother. She has her own sons, and Aegon will be king, even though it’s not fair, even though Father promised she would be queen, even though Mother is dead and never coming back.  These are three major events happening in short succession in the life of a precocious little girl.  Rhaenyra likely feels hurt and confused and angry. Sure, her father hasn’t officially declared Aegon as his heir, but Alicent and her father are pushing it, people Rhaenyra thought she could trust. Who is she supposed to rely on now? Well, there’s Uncle Daemon, who suddenly seems like less of the fun uncle, almost like a big brother, and more of.. something else. He doesn’t treat her like a little girl anymore, he calls her beautiful and encourages her to show off her good looks and charm, assures her that regardless of what her father says or does, he will always care for her. She can count on him! And Ser Criston Cole, her longtime crush- well, he just sees her as that spoilt little girl. She’s growing up! She’s not a child anymore but he just doesn’t get it. She’s certain he feels the same way about her, that he loves her back, but his vows and white cloak are in the way, and he won’t stop seeing her as the little princess, not a girl of sixteen, a woman grown! She doesn’t have a mom to talk to this stuff about, but there is Uncle Daemon, and he knows pretty much everything about love and seduction; that’s why there’s all those wild tales about him. If she asks him to help her show Criston that she’s a woman now and wants to be treated as such, he wouldn’t turn her down, would he? Besides, he treats her like a grownup. He thinks she’d be an amazing queen. Father and him fight all the time, but Father’s blinded by his love for Alicent- she’s manipulating him! Uncle Daemon gives her advice, and she tries to impress Criston, but it backfires. He leaves her feeling humiliated and rejected. It’s not fair, she’s the princess, she’s supposed to be good at everything, but he acted like she was wrong to try to show him how much she cares and wants to be with him! Now he won’t talk to her anymore, and Father is sending Uncle Daemon, who seems like her one true friend, away from court because of some stupid rumors that he ‘deflowered her’. Alicent is saying she should be married to Aegon, her half-brother who she can’t stand; he’s a spoilt little creep, always groping servant girls and kissing up to their father. Dragonstone seems like the escape she needs from all of this, but Father is threatening to strip it from her unless she marries Laenor- Laenor who she knows isn’t even into women! They’re not even close friends. He doesn’t want to marry her anymore than she wants to marry him, only their fathers are insisting on it. Daemon’s gone and she has no idea when he’s coming back, and Harwin is sweet and says he loves her, but he would have never been accepted as her husband. Still, at least he’ll never leave her or turn on her, the way everyone else has. And that is basically how I would cover Rhaenyra’s childhood and adolescence in a way that I think at least gives her some understandable motivations, some nuance, and some real emotion beyond ‘she threw a fit when she didn’t get her way’.

Caramel Skin Under A Purple Rain prt 53... I like never split birth chapters but this was getting too ling

As they saying goes “time waits for no man”, and Lance was that man. He wasn’t sure where their time had gone. After Keith’s birthday, and after finding their fur son in a food coma on the front veranda, time had seemed to slip through his fingers. The Cuban barely remembered most of Keith’s birthday, only that his husband had been happy, which was of course the main thing. Kosmo had been happy too. Pidge and Coran had brought extra supplies with them, but instead of using flip lock cases, they’d used normal packing cases which weren’t Kosmo proof. After breaking into them, their fur son had eaten his weight in rations. Not found until Curtis had gone hunting for them. Seeing they hadn’t had that much time to catch up, due to him being incredibly tired, Pidge and Coran had stayed the night, then left with Krolia in the morning. After that the following week passed so fast he wasn’t sure they’d been an actual week in there. Curtis, unfortunately wasn’t allowed longer leave, so had taken to commuting back and forth from the Garrison, working on some Earth project for the coalition. He’d had to work Halloween, leaving both he and Keith alone and unsupervised for the night. Normally not one to be overly jumpy or squeamish in the face of a good horror movie, Keith had ended up wearing most of their popcorn as they cuddled on the sofa. Every scene seemed to either make him jump or bring him to tears, even when the character they’d been making bets on died. Spending the alone time with Keith was nice, and frustrating. Curtis acted like a father, keeping them level headed over the simple things such as doing the washing. Keith tried his hardest, but Lance found himself screaming at him when his husband accidentally turned their sheets mucky grey thanks to a wrongly placed black shirt. He didn’t mean to be short with Keith. He really didn’t. Keith meant no harm. He was trying his hardest to look after him, and being the heathen that he was, wasn’t used to separating colours from whites. No. It wasn’t Keith he was mad at, not truly. He was mad at himself. He was over being pregnant. He was over the hormones. He was over the ups and downs. He was over being unbalanced and sore. He was over the wacky dreams, and the even worse nightmares. He’d been murder by a flock of ducks in a particularly weird dream. Keith had laughed way too much over it while Lance had sobbed out his new hatred for them. He was over crying. Over his breasts aching and leaking. Over his need to either fuck Keith or sleep with pretty much no in between. Over... pretty much everything. He wanted his sons out... and felt terrible for wanting that. They needed to stay in him as long as possible. They needed to develop further for their best chance in life. Keith tried to help. Curtis too. “Red” had come back into play more often than before. He found himself almost constantly confused, wandering around the cabin because he’d forgotten what he was doing. After Keith’s birthday and with Curtis’s return to work, they’d picked a date to head to Erathus in a months time, it was now two weeks after Keith’s birthday and Lance was trying his hardest not to be thoroughly miserable. * Watching Lance as he dozed in his arms, Keith was exhausted. He wasn’t sure Lance remembered that Shiro was coming home with Curtis that day, not when they’d wound up having sex on the couch for the second time that day. Keith would never complain about sex with his husband, he just wished that Lance was awake longer afterwards so they could cuddle properly. He also wished his husband didn’t smell so amazing all of the time. His instincts had gone crazy. One of Curtis’s shirts had wound up in their washing. The offending item was promptly thrown out the window to rid himself of the man’s scent. When Curtis had returned Keith had to rather sheepishly explain to him why his shirt was outside, as well as the fact he couldn’t seem to stop growling each time Curtis approached his husband. It was getting beyond a joke. He’d been making their bed a couple of days ago when Lance came to tell him that Curtis had finished cooking dinner. The pillow in his hands torn in two as his Galra side flared thanks to his dumb instincts. He didn’t get why he was so on edge. He’d finally gotten Lance to agree to return to Erathus. Kissing Lance’s sweat damp hair, his husband let out a nasally snore. He wasn’t sure that Lance even realised the reason Shiro was coming was so they could pack and leave this little bubble of paradise. His husband was clearly miserable in his current state. He knew Lance loved their boys, but he also knew his husband was quiznakking over being pregnant. He’d yelled as much in his face. When they weren’t fighting there’d been a few sweet moments. They’d made more than one meal where they hadn’t set the kitchen on fire, or burned what they were trying to make into a charred lump. He’d made Lance throw up once, another win in his books as he wasn’t responsible for Lance’s reaction to the “smelly mushrooms” he’d been frying in the pan. The pan and the mushrooms being literally thrown out the door, not that that had helped. The smell had flooded through the cabin. Taking what Lance deemed edible, they’d sat on the back side of the cabin’s veranda where it was free from stench. Once the nausea had settled Lance was able to laugh over what had happened, their meal long since cold by the time they remembered to actually eat. It’s been nice simply sitting outside, next to each other. Especially when the weather had been so miserable of late as winter rolled in. Keith was nervous that they’d end up trapped in the cabin, or worse for Lance, his husband would have to give birth on Earth. Their plan was Erathus, with the obstetrician that Lance knew trusted. If he needed accomodation Th’al could put him up at the Gilded Cage, not that he intended to leave Lance’s side. He just wasn’t sure if he’d be allowed to be there during the procedure. Plus, being on Erathus meant not risking the human staff of the Garrison thanks to his instincts or his Galra side. Once the procedure had been scheduled he’d also contact Mami and Daehra to let them know what was happening. Mami was a force to be reckoned with when it came to Lance and his health. He held no doubts that his mother-in-law would bully them into letting him be there to hold his husband’s hand. Keith was still terrified about the coming birth and the potential complications, but there wasn’t anything he could do to change a single thing. The hospital staff would take care of Lance physically, leaving him to be the stability for his husband, like Lance had been a hundred times for him. Holding Lance, his own eyes started to droop. He’d become a house husband, there was no denying it. Rainy days now didn’t mean that he couldn’t train, instead they seemed to be made for cuddling Lance as they watched some B-grade TV, before they banged it out on the sofa then cuddled up while Lance napped. Letting himself start to drift off, he said a small prayer that they wouldn’t be found like this. Dinner had been missed by their napping, no signs of Curtis or Shiro as it pushed on 7pm. Lance had roused a few hours later with the need to pee. The weather outside turning stormy maybe half an hour after he’d woken. Trying to coax Lance into eating, his husband shook his head, indigestion hurting too much to try eating. Keith got that it sucked balls for his husband, but that didn’t mean he liked Lance skipping meals as if it was the perfectly natural thing to do. Nor was he confident about his cooking skills without supervision by his husband. He was getting better, Lance was happier to direct him than to do the actual cooking. So when it fell on the nights that Curtis wasn’t there, he was proud to be able to cook for his husband, although he was nowhere up to Mami’s standards Lance still usually ate what he created. Making dinner for the four of them felt lacking when his husband wouldn’t eat it. He knew Shiro would crack a joke about his terrible cooking, and “if it was edible”, once he finally got to the cabin... he just didn’t know when that would be. When midnight passed without Shiro or Curtis returning, Keith dragged himself off the sofa to join Lance in their bed. Forced to climb under 6 blankets plus the knitted blanket gifted to them by Lance’s abeula which proudly laid over the ridiculous pile, it was a sauna before he even curled around Lance. He didn’t want to hurt Lance’s feelings but every-time he remade there bed, he’d always only put one or two blankets on, then Lance’s beloved knitted blanket brought by Krolia and hidden in the things she’d packed up for them. Then Lance would come along and smoother their bed with his blankets, especially in the last week. His husband kept stealing cushions froze around the cabin, as well as his dirty shirts, working to layer them through the blankets carefully. He’d been in trouble for stealing them back, then had learned his lesson that maybe he’d have to let Lance have this because he couldn’t stand seeing how guilty his husband was after being caught. Keith simply didn’t understand why they needed so many blankets on their bed, nor why Lance needed his scent all over him all of the time, when being cuddled up to him should have left plenty of smell on Lance’s soft skin. Nuzzling into his husband’s shoulder, Keith let the tension of waiting for Shiro slip away as he breathed in Lance’s sweet scent. He couldn’t do anything about his brother and Curtis not being there, so everything would have to wait until tomorrow. * Keith woke late, a habit he’d fallen into due to Lance usually taking a few hours to finally fall asleep properly for the night. The storm from the previous day lashed the walls of the cabin, run bucketing down with the cold grey overcast sky bathing everything in dark shadows. Grumbling to himself, his sweats and singlet were glued to him with sweat. His skin felt itch where Kosmo’s fur decided it needed to stick to him, said fur son far too spoilt by Lance to sleep anywhere except on their bed where Lance would always attempt to make himself small enough for the three of them to fit. Climbing out of their bed Keith left the blankets pulled back to air out the dampness, the lack of Lance there for their morning cuddles was annoying. If he was going to swelter, he at least deserved his slow morning kisses with his sleepy husband. Fuck it. Lance was probably sleeping on the sofa. He’d just have to wait until then for them. Opting to shower and some fresh clothes before heading out to the living room, Keith found himself to be the last one up. Shiro was nursing a cup of coffee. Shooting him a tired smile, his brother raised his mug at him “Look who’s awake. We got the plates you left out for us. Lance said you cooked?” “Yeah... what time did you two get in?” “About 3. The rain washed out part of the path here. Kosmo found us before we could get any further lost” “The path was washed out?” “Part of it. We thought about sleeping in the pod for the night, but we didn’t know how you two were, or if you still had power” Padding softly over to the kitchen, Keith poured himself a coffee. Over on the sofa, Lance was leaning against Curtis. He hadn’t meant to scowl at the sight, but that was his husband who was supposed to have been in bed with him “Don’t be like that. He came out about an hour ago, asked Curtis for some paracetamol for his back, then fell asleep again” Shooting Shiro an annoyed look, his brother had no idea why he was actually cranky. Ok. So he was kind of jealous... No... He was a lot jealous. Forcing himself to take half a dozen deep breaths, Shiro rather annoyingly watched on “Don’t give me that. You have no idea how stupid my instincts have been lately” “I have some idea. Curtis let me know” “Of course he did” Mumbling bitterly, Keith forgot the sugar and milk in his coffee. The black liquid completely unappealing as he glared at it “He’s worried about you” “He doesn’t need to be” “Keith...” “Not now. I want to check on Lance” “Let him sleep” Growling involuntarily, Shiro raised an eyebrow at the sound. He was proving his brother right, that there was something there to be worried about “If he’s...” Keith trailed off, not sure what he wanted to say. If he was in pain why hadn’t he told him? “...He’s been out of it” That wasn’t terribly descriptive, nor did it fill Shiro in on what was going on with him or with Lance “What do you mean?” “I... it’s complicated. His back’s been bothering him, and... he... he doesn’t usually wake up and just leave me... if he’s in pain, I want him to tell me. I’ve told him he’s not a burden, but the moment you two come back he’s... with Curtis” “Ah... did you remember to tell him we were coming? He seemed pretty surprised to see us both” Keith nodded “Yeah... that’s... he keeps forgetting things. I’m worried that he’s... that he’s going to go for a walk and forget where he is... I told him more than once you were coming...” “Baby brain is common. He’s got a lot on his mind right now” “I know... I know that... but... he’s been weird in other ways. He keeps putting more and more blankets on our bed. He keeps taking the cushions from the lounge room, then gets upset if I move things around. He’s... he’s over being pregnant, but I don’t think he remembers that we’re supposed to be leaving here soon” Shiro nudged him with his elbow, Keith not sure what that was supposed to mean. His brother didn’t seem as worried as he was, which annoyed his instincts “I’m here now. When he wakes up, we can talk” “Yeah, good luck with that” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “That he’s been constantly tired. He’s up at least half a dozen times before he finally falls asleep. He’s been... affectionate, then all he wants to do is sleep. When you try to hold his attention, he starts to doze off” “It does take a lot of energy to grow a baby” Energy... that reminded him “Did you get him to eat? He wouldn’t eat dinner last night” “No. He asked for some paracetamol then went to sleep” “So he hasn’t eaten in the last twelve hours...” Outside the cabin the thunder boomed so loud the windows shook. Keith wasn’t surprised when Lance woke with a scared cry. Taking his coffee mug before he could drop it, Shiro laughed at the way Keith rushed over to his husband as if they hadn’t been mid-conversation. Sitting hunched forward with his hands on his belly, Lance seemed pained. Knowing his instincts were messed up, Curtis climbed over the back of the sofa to give Keith his seat. Keith felt bad over the gesture for all of half a second before he was claiming his spot and cuddling into his husband. Whimpering softly, Lance’s hands went from his stomach to his ears as the thunder boomed again. As much as he wished Lance wasn’t scared of the thunder, he found it adorable the way he covered his ears and scrunched his eyes up. Looping his arm around his waist, Keith held him tight, nuzzling and kissing his hair until his husband lowered his hands and turned his gaze to him “Keith?” “I’m here, babe. It’s just a little bit of thunder” “I don’t feel very good” Lance didn’t look particularly well either. His scent smelt funny in a way Keith couldn’t put his finger on, while his brow was dotted with beads of sweat “Do you feel sick in the stomach?” “Hurts” “Your stomach hurts?” Lance nodded, then buried his face against Keith’s neck. His husband’s hands weakly gripping his shirt, as he shook “And my back...” “Should we get up and move a bit?” “Hurts” “Did you want to take a shower then?” “I did last night” “You has a shower last night? While I was sleeping?” “I felt gross last night... they hurt” “What hurts, baby? The twins?” “Feels... like fake contractions but these hurt...” Keith furrowed his brow. He had to keep his husband calm. Lance wasn’t due yet, so they couldn’t be actual contractions. He’d had false contractions. Some had been painful, though the mostly seemed to be “annoying” more than anything. Lance conveniently not telling him then telling him as if he already had. The jury was still out on whether Lance had “forgotten” or forgotten as in actually unintentionally forgotten. He had mentioned them before so maybe they lingered? He didn’t know how this worked! He was still busy being quietly mad that he missed out on his cuddles “It’s probably the pain from your back. I know it hurts, but we need to get the pressure off your back for now. You’re probably not feeling great from not eating either, you’ve got to try and eat for me this morning” “I feel gross... my stomach feels gross” “I know. Even if it’s only a ration bar, you need something in your stomach” “I don’t want to eat...” “Babe, you need to eat. Just a little bit, please, for me?” Lance wouldn’t deny him, not if it was for him, no matter how badly he felt “But it’s hurts...” “I know... I know. Here, babe. Here, come on... up you get” Leaning heavily against him, Lance had his right arm slung over his shoulder with his left on his stomach. Curtis and Shiro were hovering behind the kitchen counter watching them. Shiro was trying to ask him what they were doing, but it’s not like Keith had any idea. His hands were on Lance’s hips as they swayed. Lance had his face against his shoulder, and this whole moving thing didn’t seem to be helping. Curtis was the one who designed their rehabilitation plan. He didn’t know these movement exercises. He couldn’t dance. He didn’t know how to dance... and this kind of felt a lot like dancing. For last minute he’d been trying to tap out an “S.O.S” on Lance’s hip, only he didn’t know Morse code by heart so had no idea if he was calling for help or simply tapping on Lance’s hip to some invisible tune in time with this slow dance. Whatever it was, it wasn’t working. He was seriously starting to freak out... He couldn’t freak out with Lance in his arms. Lance would smell his panic, and that’d spur his panic... quiznak... he’d have to try mouthing and hope they didn’t think he was swearing. Mouthing at Curtis and Shiro, it was then that Keith decided the pair of them were as dense as the trees that made the walls of the cabin. Lance seemed to notice something was wrong. His husband whimpering as he stopped moving “I know. Curtis is going to swap with me. I’m going to get you something for the pain” “Don’t... let me go...” “I’m not. Hey, I’m not... Curtis!” Hissing Curtis’s name, Curtis got his shit together. Striding over to them he was in time for Lance’s eyes to widen, his husband’s hands flying up to grab his shoulders. Keith had hit a new level of confusion. Something was wrong with his husband. Lance had lost all the colour in his face, and his wide eyes were actually scary... His marks were glowing brighter than Keith remembered, his lips had formed a silent “oh”. Shiro seemed to know something was up though. Unlike his boyfriend, Shiro jumped the counter, coming up behind Lance and taking him by the hips “Lance...” Someone had to tell him what the hell was going on here. Looking down then back up, the back down, then back up, Lance’s eyes were still wide as he locked eyes with Keith “I think my water just broke... It can’t... it... I...” As Lance’s knees buckled in shock, Shiro held him up. Keith blinking rapidly as he didn’t know what to do, blurting out “Are you sure you didn’t wet yourself?” “Keith, nows not the time. Lance, are you sure?” Keith shot Shiro a glare. Why was it fine for him to ask that, but not Keith? “Felt it...” Interjecting rather loudly and with a squeaky pitch, Curtis’s tone kind of sounded how Keith’s heart felt... absolutely quiznakking scared out of his mind “Bathroom? You should take him to the bathroom. We should take him to the bathroom. Keith... we should take him to the bathroom. Lance... bathroom. I mean. We bathroom should go. No. That’s... Shiro?” Curtis couldn’t panic! He needed... he needed a more adult adult! Lance wasn’t supposed to be in labour... nope. No... his husband had to have it wrong. All this pain... and all this contraction like pain. Nope. Not contractions. No. No. He wasn’t due. Babies came... they were supposed to come when they’re due. His husband wasn’t due “Keith and I will take Lance to the bathroom. You check the weather. If it’s like this morning, we might not be able to get him out of here safely” It was then that Keith’s eyes rolled back, the half-Galra unconscious before Curtis could catch him. Keith landing on the floor with a hard thud, Lance screaming his name. Shiro stopping him from falling with Keith and Curtis’s foot was trapped under Keith’s back with his hands still out. * Shiro was lucky to still have his testicles. Lance wasn’t feeling particularly loving towards anyone. Not his husband who’d fainted. Not Shiro who insisted he needed to check the symptoms of labour, then tick them off with him... after he insisted on checking his underwear because apparently mucus plugs were a thing, and Shiro needed to check his underwear in case there was blood or gunk. There’d been blood in the night. He’d been up way too many times after Keith fell asleep. He assumed the blobby gunk was from constipation seeing he’d been back and forth after he’d finally gone. Had he know it was labour pains, he would have said something. He thought the quiznakking cramps were simply from the twins moving into place and over indulging in his husband. Stripped down to his black boxer briefs and bra under an ill fitting bathrobe, Lance was waddle-pacing the living area cursing Keith and cursing the powers that be that created contractions. Curtis had tried to suggest that he woke through some exercises until they could sort out some way of leaving the cabin. No one was going to venture flying when there was a hurricane right outside the door. Not that he actually knew if it was a hurricane, and not a fleet of Glara ships firing down on their tiny position, because that was what it felt like. The whole cabin was shaking. The lights had begun flickering. Rain was lashing the windows so hard it seemed they’d shatter. The wind sounded as if it was screaming out his internal discomfort. And he was honestly scared as quiznak over it all. When Shiro had tried to touch him, his fear level pushed him to the point of vomiting though his stomach was empty from not having eaten before his water broke. Mami had told him that it wasn’t always a gush, sometimes it was slow trickle, or sometimes it didn’t happen until just before the baby came out. Lance didn’t know what to call the feeling. Saying it felt like a very small balloon popping in his butt was kind of what was happening. There’d been no real pressure then a great bursting. No, he supposed it was more like popping a pimple. One of those kind of pimples where the gunk shot out as it made a tiny noise. Whatever it was, he wasn’t impressed. He wasn’t supposed to be in labour. He was supposed to be on Erathus. He was supposed to be in an operating room. He wasn’t supposed to be watching as Shiro and Curtis became more and more agitated. Lance had moved to leaning against the sofa, when Keith decided to wake his arse up. His arms were crossed with his head resting on them. Keith woke himself up with a start. Feeling not particularly sympathetic, there was a slight urge to maim him, or at least shoot him in the foot for what his husband and his monsterous dick had done to him. His contractions were only getting worse as his underwear grew wetter. His breasts were killing him with the feeling of pressure in his chest, as was the effect of gravity on his stomach. Having found a position that didn’t send pain radiating down his legs, he was hesitant to move as he concentrated on his breathing. Breathing could go fuck it’s self too... everything below his breasts hurt... He didn’t want to be touched. He didn’t want to keep standing. He didn’t want to sit down and he didn’t want to be in labour. “Babe?” Staring up at him, Keith could take that concerned expression and stuff it where the sun didn’t shine. So why was it the moment their gaze me that he wanted Keith to get his arse off the sofa and hold him. Grunting as another contraction hit, he was thoroughly done with them as his the noise warbled off into a pained whine. This was third in the last hour and he was over it. He was over all of it. Shiro and Curtis weren’t even trying to help. No. They were standing off there whispering annoyingly “K-Keith...” Keith moved his left hand to rub the back of his head “What happened?” “You fucking fainted!” How could the arsehole not remember fainting on him? He wasn’t the one in labour! What did he have to faint about?! “Did I?” “Yes, you douche!” Too bad if Keith didn’t understand why he was cranky, he had no right to faint when he needed him “Babe...” Keith pushed himself up with a groan, his husband looking pale. Climbing up to his feet, Kosmo trotted to his side, nosing at his hand. Keith staggering as if drunk “You’re... you... are you?” His husband was still trying to do the comprehend. Not that Lance knew how to comprehend. He didn’t know what he wanted. He didn’t know what he didn’t want. He didn’t know what he was thinking... He didn’t know... He was scared and Keith had finally woken up. He was livid, snapping then immediately regretting it “Try to touch me and I will rip your fucking dick off... I’m sorry. I don’t mean that... Keith...” Gasping his husband’s name, Keith finally did what Lance wanted. His husband finally wrapped his arms around him, with Lance caving into the touch “How bad?” Worse than that time they all came down with food poisoning. Worse than that time he’d miscarried before he even knew he actually carrying. His body pains receptors seemed all kinds of fucked up. He wanted to say all that but the words didn’t quite want to work for him “Worse than... when I... I don’t know how to describe it...” Kissing his hair, Keith made a soft trilling noise as if to soothe him. His body deciding that now would be the perfect time for arousal to start snaking it’s unwanted tendrils through his groin, Keith misinterpreting his groan of annoyance “I’m here. I’m here... You’re doing so good for me, babe. So good. Shiro, what’s the ETA on getting out of here” Thank quiznak Keith had the bravery to ask that. All Lance’s bravery seemed to have deserted him the moment Shiro decided he needed no privacy. “About that...” Lance’s stomach dropped. “About that...” never went well when he needed it to “I got through to the Garrison, but the storm’s caused issues in town, so they have teams working there to prevent more accidents and linedowns... they’ve grounded their ships until it lessens” “You mean we’re stuck here” “For the next 4 hours at least. I’ve been reading on how to lessen the labour pains. They recommend squatting” Not keeping with the script another contraction decided to roll through his belly, as if to remind him they’d still be here in another four hours. Clutching Keith with a bruising force, he let himself sob out the pain “I don’t think that’s going to work, Shiro. He’s... he’s in so much pain that I can taste it in his scent” “They also said you can try orgasming to loosen the muscles. Massing you lower back. A warm shower... Nipple stimulation will speed the labour up... moving and taking your mind off it. Maybe doing something else to distract yourself... We should check to see how dilated he is...” Shiro could take his “orgasm and dilation” and stick up his own arse, preferably with his robotic arm. Maybe then he’d understand how fucking miserably Lance currently felt. His body wasn’t born for this. It didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to do... “Babe, what do you want to do?” If those were his options, he’d take showering... and maybe a massage. Shiro was clearly reading off some site he’d found. But he didn’t want to shower too soon and have nothing to do... “Massage? I don’t know... it wasn’t supposed to be like this” Kissing his hair again, Keith was completely unaware how much things more bearable things were now he was awake. The anger he’d felt had ebbed away. Keith... Keith wouldn’t have made him strip and show him his underwear. He would have let him do only what he was comfortable doing. He would have let him do it himself. He wouldn’t have forced comfort on him trying to hide his panic, nor made him feel like he had to accept their concern “I know. I know... but we’ll get through this until we get a lift out of here. Let’s go to the bathroom, it’s not much but I can use some of the moisturiser. Can you guys heat up some heat packs for his back?” Curtis called out something that must have been yes, because the next thing he knew he was being supported by Keith away from the comfort of the sofa and off to the bathroom. * Keith would swear to anyone who asked that he had the purest of intentions when led Lance into the bathroom. His husband was scared to quiznak over being in labour, and he wasn’t that far away from him. This wasn’t there birth plan. Not that they had a solid birth plan in place, but if they had, it definitely wasn’t Lance being in labour in the middle of nowhere with no idea how his husband was going to give birth. The lame excuse that the Garrison had given Shiro showed they couldn’t care less for Lance and his pregnancy, Keith feeling a particularly strong urge to rob Iverson of whatever sight was left in his other eye. Rutting between his husband’s legs, Keith’s hands worked Lance’s breasts, with Lance a weeping mess as Keith fucked between his squeezed together thighs. The massage had started innocently enough. Keith clumsy as he squeezed too much moisturiser into his hands then dropped the tube on the floor. The feel of his hands against his back had his husband screaming with the initial contact, too tender to take more than fingertips across the small stretch marks, as his love tried to be strong. The massage hadn’t relaxed him as much as Keith had hoped it would. That wasn’t to say he hadn’t given Lance the most thorough massage of his life, as he worked from fingertips through to the heels of his palms. It was all to do with the fact he couldn’t relax due to the pain and fear. When his husband had finally given him permission to check to see if he was indeed dilated, Keith had cringed at the twitching of the taunt ring of muscle. His husband’s body was preparing to give birth through his arse, his entrance wet and slick, loose as he’d already opened Lance slowly with his fingers and tongue. Trying to keep a cool head went out the window, his finger sliding up from Lance’s taint, gathering wetness before he pushed the tip in, a second finger fitting with ease, as his husband let out a long string of Spanish. Keith just wanted to help in any way possible, even if that meant non-penetrative sex when they were both freaking the fuck out over him being in labour. The pressure baring down on his prostate had his husband stuck in a state of arousal that was only upsetting Lance because he felt he was supposed to be ashamed of being aroused. That he was doing something dirty and wrong by letting himself be touched. Loving Lance’s body had worked far better than words when it came to reassurance. His husband didn’t have to say “he felt like a freak” for Keith to know that every bit of self-consciousness over his current state had reared it’s ugly head. He’d blushed so hard admitting his chest hurt from the pressure build up there, unable to meet Keith’s eyes as he mumbled the confession. He could see the shame and guilt in Lance’s blue eyes, in the way he’d bitten the corner of his lip bloody as he tried to stop himself from whimpering, or groaning, through each contraction. There was no need for Lance to be quiet. Curtis already thought they were banging in the bathroom from the amount of moaning Lance had done during the massage, if Shiro was making those kind of pained noises, the sound akin to what you’d expect from wounded animal slowly dying in a horrific trap, then his brother and his boyfriend were definitely not doing it right. Keith had told him it was safe, Lance still wearing his underwear and the robe he’d been lent, yet Curtis had still thrown the heat pads on to the bathroom counter as he peaked between the fingers covering his eyes. The worst he would have seen was Lance’s bra unclipped at the front, with Keith’s hands on his lower back. Moaning out his name, the wetness between Lance’s legs nearly drowned the sound out with the wet slapping of skin meeting skin. Sweat beads rolled down Keith’s forehead from his damp fringe. It was wonderfully warm, wet and tight between Lance’s thighs, but they’d been going at it for longer than it’d take if they’d had normal sex “I’m here, baby. Let it go... let it go” Lance shook his head, Keith releasing his left breast to grip Lance’s erection. If he wasn’t exhausted enough for a nap after this, it was going to be a long four hour wait. Pumping him in time with his thrusts, Lance cried out “I...I... ugh... Keith!” “That’s it, babe. Come for me” Lance went boneless as he came down the bathroom counter and Keith’s hand. His scent flooding with relief and giddiness, triggering Keith’s own orgasm. Holding his husband flush up against him, his cum ran in thick pulses down between Lance’s legs. His husband’s full weight in his hold as he milked every drop of cum from him, pressing kisses to his shoulder, Keith babbled out words of praise. Now that he’d finally found release, he hoped his husband’s pains wouldn’t be as severe... Showering with his husband, Lance was next to useless. His release had left him crying softly, allowing him to let out some of those pent up emotions he couldn’t name. He wanted to help clean himself up, but he was nearly next to useless when it came to even attempting to be coordinated, or anything that didn’t involve on heavily leaning against Keith. Keith didn’t mind. By fussing over his lover he kept his mind busy. By fussing over Lance he was able to push down his panic over their current situation. Things could worse. A tree could easily have fallen on the cabin with how severe the gale outside was howling, but they’d so far been spared. They could have been stranded on some strange planet, but instead they were in the safety of a familiar environment. They could have been alone, but instead they had both Shiro and Curtis to help. They’re comms could have been down, leaving them to face this alone, but they had a line to the outside world. Washing him carefully, Keith made sure to check how wide his husband was now. Lance crying out in shock as he slipped three fingers in to the base with relative ease. His lovers insides were smoother and softer than he remembered them ever being. The way he rippled around him sent his mind straight to the gutter. His instincts were haywire, like a compass over a magnetic field. He wanted to sink his teeth in Lance’s nape and make him cry out, while simultaneously locking him away from the world so he could give birth in peace. He wanted to take Lance from the presence of Shiro and Curtis, despite knowing that was quiznakking stupid. The half-Galra wasn’t sure he’d be able to control his second side if Curtis or Shiro were to touch his husband, not when Lance didn’t want their touch either. Keith wasn’t sure if what he was doing was what he was supposed to be doing, he only knew he wanted to do the right thing by Lance, no matter how things progressed.

Face to Face in the Broad Daylight: Chapter Two

(Once again, it took me a bit longer than a week, so I do apologize for leaving you hanging on the cliffie from last chapter.  Hope you enjoy this one!

And once again, thanks SO MUCH to @branlovestowrite for this amazing story banner!!)

~chapter two: lying in wait

Though in wolf form Ruby could have loped away in seconds with her long legs and left them in the dust, she paced herself anxiously, clearly determined to lead them along with her further into the pathless woods. Emma didn’t know just what had happened; there were no sounds of battle or distress, Ruby didn’t appear injured, but she was clearly upset, as her low whines if they lagged behind her even slightly made clear. However, her lupine form couldn’t speak to explain, and so they simply had to follow to see for themselves and hope they were in time to help. Every so often, Ruby’s snout rose to deftly scent the air blowing through the dense trees, making sure she hadn’t lost her way, and Emma supposed that needing to be sure of her way back had to be why Ruby hadn’t transformed into her human self again yet. Well, that and the speed at which she could travel, Emma’s mind supplied ruefully as she huffed for air, pressed her hand against the stitch in her side and tried to keep going. Those tawny, golden eyes within the pointed, grey-flecked face searched hers pleadingly for a moment, though unnaturally beguiling, there was a very human urgency in their depths that pushed the two deputies just a little further. She was nearly at the end of her endurance; Emma sensed her lupine friend knew it too, but she gritted her teeth and kept putting one foot in front of the other.

Killian was fairing much better; his were-strength and endurance aiding him greatly, even if he didn’t possess the same speed as a man that he did as a wolf. Still, even he looked a bit winded and confused, possibly because he didn’t have the impetus Ruby did to reach their goal. Emma was just wondering that they didn’t have some sort of pack telepathy for communication as she might have thought, or if it just didn’t work since Killian hadn’t shifted, when they burst from the dense trees into a rough clearing of sorts and her heart leapt into her throat for an entirely different reason.

Just to their left, as Ruby skidded to a halt and threw back her head to release a mournful, chilling howl before finally dashing over to the large tree they were all staring at. Her clothes lay in a pile by the motionless form, sitting leaned up against the trunk as if the person had merely stopped there for a rest, except for the ugly reality of the rapidly blooming dark bruise at the unresponsive older woman’s temple and stretching down the side of her face, and the crossbow still clutched in her frozen hands ready to fight.

Ruby lowered to the ground, stretching and elongating so fluidly Emma felt that if she had blinked she would have missed her change into the leggy human bombshell she knew. This was a Ruby she’d never seen though, tears smeared down her cheeks along with her mascara, twigs caught in her long, red-streaked dark hair as she haphazardly threw on her clothes, all the while calling her Grandmother’s name.

“Granny, wake up!” she urged, placing her hand on the stout matron’s arm and shaking as much as she dared. “Please!”

Snapping into motion again, Emma hurried over to kneel at the diner owner’s other side. Granny Lucas was tough, having supported herself and her granddaughter alone for years once widowed, both in their homeland and there in Storybrooke; she wouldn’t have gone down without a fight, that much Emma knew for sure. Checking for a pulse, which she found easily - strong, if a bit more sluggish than she would have liked - she nodded to both her friend and her mate encouragingly before pulling out her phone to call for an ambulance, then Graham at the station, and her father at home. They were going to need all hands on deck if whatever sort of attacker had struck was still prowling in the forest.

Even as she repeatedly explained the situation over her cell, she could see Killian directing Ruby to gently ease her Granny away from the tree to lie flat and hopefully more comfortably, though they didn’t dare move her further without knowing what was wrong. Even as she hung up with her father, after assuring him they would be on guard, they they had things under control until backup arrived, she could hear Killian’s soothing lilt, speaking to Ruby in low tones, calming her from the shock of seeing her indomitable, tough guardian in such a state.

Emma turned her attention back to them fully, her calls completed, just in time to see Killian place his hands bracingly on his fellow wolf’s forearms, even as her now large brown eyes turned up to them plaintively and she squared her shoulders, bringing her sniffling under control. “Listen to me, Lass,” Killian was saying. “There’s no sign of a scuffle here besides your grandmother lying unconscious. You found her this way? You didn’t see anything?”

Ruby nodded forlornly, clutching her grandmother’s hand even as she met first Killian’s, and then Emma’s, eyes steadily. She was out here wild mushroom hunting - told me that was where was going this morning after the rush. We usually have a lull between breakfast and lunch when she runs a few errands. I got worried when she wasn’t back for the noon crush. Once things calmed down again, I decided maybe I ought to go looking. B-but she...she was already like this when I got here. I figured I could get back to town and help more quickly if I shifted, and well - you know the rest.”

Both of them listened wordlessly, not doubting their friend, but not sure what to make of the scene before them either. Someone - or something - had struck the Widow Lucas down, but had left little trace behind. The old bird would have left a dent of her own, no doubt, so why was there no sign of the skirmish, or the damage she was capable of inflicting with her formidable temper and bow? The ground was even and dry, not terrain that would have caused the woman to slip or fall easily on her own either. And that bruise on the side of her head looked awfully large and nasty to be from a simple fall. Yet, no blood, no tracks, no torn up earth gave them anything to lead them to the perpetrator of foul play. Something simply didn’t add up.

Killian’s blue eyes met Emma’s over Granny’s prone form, even as they heard the ambulance sirens wailing toward them from the road. They’d had a nice little break, but once again something evil had found its way to Storybrooke. Just what were they in for now?

~~***~~***~~

The woman in deep midnight blue stood looking placidly out over the lake, seeming as if nothing ruffled her gentle expression or pensive bearing in the slightest. The gathering dusk made her rather shrouded from the casual eye at a glance, quiet possibly how she intended it. Her dark, luxuriant hair, and pale complexion was further hidden by the cloak draped over her head and shoulders of the same indigo hue as her rather old-fashioned dress, a robe hanging all the way down to her silent, slippered feet. If one had noticed her at all, they would have quickly passed on without disturbing her placid reflection. Even at a glance, there seemed to be something forbidding, warning others to keep their distance and refrain from interrupting her contemplation of the still, deep waters.

When the darkness around her deepened into the shadows of full night, the mysterious woman still didn’t budge, clearly bothered neither by the absence of daylight nor the passage of time, patient to wait for her expected meeting. When the popping sound of the air at her back announced the sudden appearance of a magical being, the stranger never flinched, merely turned with an amused smirk and arched brow to her newly arrived compatriot.

“You haven’t changed a bit, have you?” she purred, taking a step forward without hesitation or concern. “Still making it clear you work for no other, on no time table but your own.” She came to stand face-to-face with the similarly dark-clothed newcomer, pausing in her speech as she looked the other up and down, before adding in a smugly pleased tone, “And yet, for all your power plays, I was the one called upon to help you.” She let out a titter of a laugh, eyes sparking in her falsely attractive heart-shaped face with a calculating mirth. “Isn’t that right, Dark One?”

For a moment, the moon overhead drifted free clear of the covering clouds and the thin, sharp face of Mr. Gold, Rumplestiltskin - the Dark One - was revealed in its eerie glow. His voice was soft as he leaned into his visitor’s space, until they were nearly brushing noses, the same sort of frighteningly playful malice laced through his own words as he reached out to pat her alabaster cheek with an uncomfortably gentle hand. “Come now, Dearie,” he admonished, tutting as he did it with condescension. “You know you wanted to prove yourself useful to me. You always have… Morgana.”

~~***~~***~~

That same night, Graham looked up from the phone call he was just ending with Ruby as Belle slipped through the door of his little cottage amidst the trees further inland at the other edge of the large woods surrounding Storybrooke. His adoptive sister had called to update him on Granny from the hospital, where they were keeping the older woman for observation. He had asked his love to come out to the more secluded spot for certain privacy as he tried to fill her in on the mysterious and disturbing events of the day. None of them had seen any further traces of whatever had given Granny the frightening knock on the head and resulting unconsciousness, but seeing as how Ruby had just informed him that the woman who’d taken them both in was now sitting up in her hospital bed haranguing nurses who urged her to keep still and demanding to know who was running the diner if they were both absent, Graham felt safely assured that Granny would soon be right as rain again. In fact, Ruby had exasperatedly related, in a tone that made Graham shake his head and chuckle at the picture it evoked, the woman hadn’t stopped shoving away her stilling hand and trying to yank out monitors and clamber out of bed until she’d convinced her that Snow and David had the business well in hand until closing, and that Ashley Hermann had volunteered to close her fledgling Mommy and Me daycare for the following morning to help Snow open and handle the breakfast rush.

He stood to greet Belle eagerly, glad to see her again and to have her there safe as well. A part of him had worried if it were smart to have her driving out to his place alone after the attack, but Belle was determined that she wanted to be kept in the loop and able to help if she could, and was not about to be coddled. “I had enough of that with Rumple,” she’d warned him tartly when he had offered to come and pick her up or to meet her before work the next morning. “He would always claim to be protecting me, doing what was best, when really all he needed was me out of the way and in the dark, so he could do his damage that caused the danger in the first place. I’m not made of glass, and I’m not going to shatter. I can help,” she’d finished bluntly.

And Graham really couldn’t argue with that. Still, he was infinitely relieved as he crossed the room to gather her into a tight embrace. Making sure the door was carefully barred and the curtains drawn over all the windows, he then just stood breathing in her clean, simple fragrance of chamomile tea, lilac soap, and the ever-present hint of old book pages where his nose was buried in her hair, swaying gently from side to side. Possibly he was holding on a bit tightly, he reflected after a few minutes while neither of them spoke, merely leaned into each other and drank in the other’s warmth. Reluctantly, he released Belle just long enough to take her hand and lead her over to the large, overstuffed chair in the corner by the fireplace and then gently pulled her down to sit with him, curled up half in his lap.

Giggling lightly, Belle brushed back a few errant honey-colored curls off his forehead and playfully teased, “Missed me, did you?” She bit her lower lip delicately afterwards, tracing fingers down his face to rest her hand on his shoulder, as if not wanting to break contract any more than he.

Offering a crooked smile and nod at his own expense, Graham still spoke with full sincerity when he answered, “You know that I did.”

Both of them settled more comfortably into the wide seat, wrapped up in each other and neither one feeling any desire to move. Graham felt his pulse begin to hammer more rapidly as Belle played with his shirt’s buttons beneath the trim waistcoat he often favored on work days, deftly slipping her small hand beneath the chambray fabric to rest on the warm skin over his heart. Breathing in through his nose deeply, the sheriff schooled his body’s immediate reaction, seeing that she was seeking comfort rather than to set him aflame as she rested her head on his shoulder lightly and asked, “Did your canvas find anything? Any trace of who or what might have hurt Granny?”

He shook his head, releasing a heavy sigh as well. “No,” was the lowly murmured answer. “There really was very little left behind at the scene. All we have to go on is how Ruby found her and the strike to the head. Granny doesn’t remember anything.”

“Wait...nothing?” Belle interrupted, pulling back to look up into Graham’s face more fully. “How is that possible? She must have seen something.”

Graham’s gaze was equally puzzled and concerned as he stared back into her own searching expression. Shrugging as if at a loss, he finally replied wearily. “I know it doesn’t make much sense, but all Granny seems able to tell us is that she remembers going out there to pick mushrooms for that Swiss Melt burger of hers - she’s got some secret spot. Then the next thing she knew, she was coming to in the ambulance with Emma and Ruby both hovering over her along with the EMT. Everything else in between is a blank.”

“Almost as though someone cast a memory curse and wiped her mind clean,” Belle filled in darkly, knowing well that little else would explain such a complete void, and that in Storybrooke such an affliction could be all too common.

“Aye,” Graham agreed, knowing that she was right. It was something they had already discussed - he, Emma, Killian, and David - after trudging back to the station empty handed to reconvene before going their separate ways for the night. It was most likely some sort of memory curse, leading to the more sinister question of who had cast it and why? What was the culprit plotting that needed to be covered up? It hadn’t escaped any of them either that it could very well lead right back to Gold. True, Emma’s order with the dagger prevented him from harming them directly, but none of them were naive enough to think that he had forgotten his grudges, nor that he would simply simmer quietly forever without finding a way around their safeguards. Either he was already making his first strike, or he had found someone willing to make it for him in one of his notorious deals. There was no proof yet, or reason why Granny had borne the brunt of whatever the move was, but Gold was clever enough to hide his true motives, and it put Graham more on edge than ever. Especially for the woman in his arms who had already suffered more than enough. It was why he hadn’t wanted to go to her in the library this evening or to stay with her in her cozy apartment above it. Gold knew those places too well, was too familiar with any location in the town itself. He had magic, he could be lurking anywhere and overhearing them, watching them at any time…

He was just telling himself that he was perhaps getting a bit paranoid when Belle burrowed her nose into his chest adorably, squeezing her arms around him affectionately, before sitting up to look at him straight on. “All of you believe this is tied to Rumple somehow, don’t you?” she asked quietly, a bit of regretful sadness coloring her tone, but - Graham was pleased to note - not nearly the depth of heartache such a certainty would once have caused.

He merely nodded, covering her hand on his chest with his own and squeezing it in reassurance.

“I’m sure you’re probably right,” she added after a pause. “He never will learn.” She stood, almost as if to square her shoulders and go back to her beloved collection of books and get started even yet that night, ready to throw herself into research in an effort to be useful - despite them not even knowing a direction in which to point her. “Our work’s cut out for us then,” she added firmly. “If you stop by tomorrow on your way to the station, I might have some possible accomplices he has history with, or some memory spells that could indicate the one used on Granny, if I burn the midnight oil. Maybe I could even do a bit of poking around at the shop or spy on him carefully in the next few days. I doubt it would take much to convince him that I still wish to at least be friends...” Her chin was jutting out in determination, but her last statement had her voice quavering as her words trailed off.

But Graham was already lurching to his feet as well, reaching out for her anxiously as though he feared she might be about to dash out the door into the night. “Belle,” he pled, taking both her hands and bringing each to his mouth one by one, unfurling the fingers she had clenched into trembling fists to place a tender kiss into the center of each palm. “Please don’t go. It isn’t safe. We don’t know who is out there. Even if they’re working with Gold or not. I intended for you to stay here…” he hesitated, eyes wide and hopeful, “if you want. You know I wake before sunrise to sneak in a wolf run.”

At that at least Belle’s mouth lifted into a tentative smile at one corner, giving him the nerve to go on. 

“But stay here tonight, where I can know that you’re safe,” he pressed. “I won’t tell you what to do. You’re free to do as you see fit… but please don’t put yourself at risk or engage with him. He wants you back, and he would only hurt you again. I do not know if I would survive you… a-and our pup… being taken from me by that monster. Just… please… stay…”

His voice broke then, making Belle’s breath catch at just how much she and their unborn child meant to him. Graham’s calloused but careful touch swept an escaped strand of hair out of her face as she gazed up at him, more than a little bit awestruck, until she nodded wordlessly in acquiescence.

“Thank you,” he whispered bending to kiss her, drawing her close into an embrace that swept her up so fully she found herself standing on her tiptoes to get nearer still. 

“No, thank you,” she finally gasped when they separated for air, “for caring - for both of us - so dearly.” She placed her hand over her stomach, knowing it still appeared mostly flat, but something in her heart convinced her she already felt the little being there all the same.

“Always, my darling,” he promised in a raspy voice, emotion still on raw display. 

Then she gently slipped her fingers through his and let him lead her up the wooden staircase to bed. Right then she wanted nothing more than to curl into his side, let the man she loved surround her and hold her until morning. There was another battle for them to face and fight, but it would just have to wait until the new day dawned.

Tagging: @cssns @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @searchingwardrobes @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @resident-of-storybrooke @whimsicallyenchantedrose @spartanguard @branlovestowrite @bmbbcs4evr @laschatzi @gingerchangeling @blackwidownat2814 

Hey I updated Shadows of Envy

Chapter One 

Tagged on my blog as either Shadows of Envy or ekau 3!

Contains no romantic pairings aside from Pixane and hinted Geode (esp here)

The living room was still alive with the sounds of discussion, though mostly from Jay and Cole’s playful banter. Lloyd had seemingly just finished his comic book, and with a quick goodbye to the boys on the couch, he left for bed. It was late, anyways, probably around 10 or 11 at night. Perfect for bedtime.

Footsteps made their way to the living room, drawing their attention. Cole glanced over to investigate only to see Kai making his way through the living room to the bedrooms. He seemed to stare at them all oddly, yet when he met Cole’s gaze, it melted back normal.

“Oh, hey Kai!” Jay leaned back towards him, “where were you all day?”

The red ninja shrugged. “Just doing some late night training,” he replied. “Can’t get out of shape, y’know?” He looked around the room. “Where’s Llo- I mean, everyone else? Are they all asleep?”

“Yea, they’re all actually getting sleep,” Jay chuckled, “unlike us.” Telltale shadows showed under his eyes, but they were to be expected since he, well, never sleeps. He can stay up all night without issue and be fine all day. How Arid boiled with envy.

“And I, uh, can’t really sleep all that well anymore?” Cole said. “Since, uh, I’m kinda dead?” Lucky.

“Well, you two night owls stay up as looooong as you want, but I’m gonna hit the hay,” ‘Kai’ began to leave to the bedrooms. “Crashed myself completely during training, gotta relax a tad.” He easily sauntered out of the room. “Night, losers.” “Night!” “Nighto, Kai!” As he left the living room, he heard the farewells of his friends. They’re only saying that to pretend they don’t hate me, Arid’s internal monologue interjected, but I know they do. They’re just trying to not show it. He scoffed to himself. In the room they all shared on the Bounty was darkness. The lights were off and Nya, Zane, and now Lloyd were asleep in their beds.

Lloyd. The Green Ninja. The Golden Ninja. Everyone loved him. He saved the world many times and everyone praised him for it. I should’ve been the green ninja. I trained for it so much and got nothing out of it when he, a child, got to save the world and be rewarded for it. If anyone in the room was still awake, they’d probably be terrified of the cold, vengeful glare on Kai’s face, marred by red eyes glowing black from the shadows surrounding them.

What no one had noticed was that ‘Kai’ no longer had a shadow.

Kai’s shadow, or more appropriately, the real Kai, was still down in the forest, stewing in the shades of the trees. How DARE Arid just… walk off with his body like that!? That was so wrong of him to do, and Kai was going to get it back.

“But how?” he wondered aloud. He clearly couldn’t leave the shadows, since the light would hurt him. Kai plopped down into a criss-cross position, although it wasn’t entirely visible to even himself. His legs were almost gone, just a slight shade darker than the forest floor.

Suddenly, a thought crossed Kai’s mind. He had escaped from Arid once. How did he do that? One moment he was affixed to his body’s legs, the next he was in the trees. All he did was want to leave the proximity…

Maybe that was it. Standing back up, he stared at the opposite side of the clearing. The trees there gave as much shadowy coverage as anything else here, so if Kai just… thought… himself to the other side, maybe it would work? He closed his eyes, imagined the shade, and thought ‘I want to go there.’

A strange sensation overtook his body, or whatever his form was right now. A rushing feeling, almost as if the particles of his body were rearranging to another location without him walking there. He opened his eyes and found himself staring at the side of the clearing he had just been, marked by a few mushrooms at the trees’ base.

“YEA BABY!!” Kai pumped his fist excitedly into the air. He thought of something… and for once, it actually worked! Well would you look at that! With this newfound knowledge, Kai closed his eyes again and imagined the storage closet of the Bounty, knowing that it would more than likely be closed and dark. After a few minutes, it was clear he wasn’t going anywhere.

Opening his eyes, he found himself nowhere near the closet, or the Bounty, for that matter. He was still in the forest, and still alone. Glaring up at the floating ship he now calls home, he tried to reason with himself as to what went wrong. Was he too far away? Could he not… teleport like that, and he could only do it to nearby places, or was it…

Kai looked back up the the Bounty. It floated like any other flying ship, with a long anchor tying it to the ground. Onboard, however, he saw something that might help. A barrel holding lots of spare swords for training that was usually uncovered. He focused really hard on that barrel, feeling his particles again flutter. Everything went dark for a split second, and the next thing he knew, he was in the barrel with about five swords slicing cleanly through his form. He yelped, then shut his mouth immediately. What if someone heard? Oh, who was he kidding, of course someone heard that.

Strangely enough, the swords didn’t hurt. His limbs seemed to warp around them, not allowing them to attach themselves to his arms. Kai waved his arm through a sword curiously, which simply ghosted through it, leaving wisps of slightly darker shadow in its wake.

Enough with swords and barrels; Kai needed to get out. Once again he tried to poof to the closet, only for it to not work again. The hypothesis proved true: he can only teleport to what he can see directly, or move around freely in darkness. Thankfully, the barrel seemed to be in a shaded part of the training deck, so he carefully poked his head out to check for moonlight, before the rest of his body followed. All the lights inside were out aside from the living room light, where Jay, Cole, and Lloyd probably still were.

Picking the closest dark room he saw through the windows, Kai found himself in the kitchen. Here he walked around freely, staying clear of the windows showing light in. The burning really hurt and he wasn’t stupid enough to try it again. He followed his route from earlier, where he was practicing his sword tricks, until he came across the storage closet. Kai sent it a murderous glance, or at least what he thought was one. Did he even have a face anymore?

Past the storage closet he saw light. The living room. Kai walked up closer to it, as close as he dared to go, to investigate. There he saw Cole floating lazily in the air, all alone. Perfect.

“Hey! Hey Cole!! Look over here!!!” Kai yelled at him. “Cole!!! I’m! Over! Here!” With each word he moved his arms and jumped around, tried to make noise so that the ghost would look over and see him. Tried to being the key word. Cole didn’t notice him in the slightest and instead of making noise when his feet met the floor, he was as silent as a feather. Pounding the wall did nothing; it made the same sound as hitting a mattress.

Now Kai was getting frustrated. “COLE!!! OVER HERE!!!!!!! LOOK!!!!!!!!!!!!” He yelled as loud as he could, because what if Arid was here and could hear? Still, he was impatient, and impatience waits not for caution. He poofed to random shadowy points of the room to try and grab his attention, but nothing worked. Back in the doorway, he tried a last ditch resort. He stuck his hand into the artificial light.

The searing pain that danced across his fingers was horrible, Kai could almost hear them hiss and fizzle. He drew them back gingerly, already regretting his decision as he hissed himself.

Somehow, this worked. Cole’s head abruptly snapped up, and he was on his feet and levitating a pillow in his hands as best as he could. “Who’s there?!” Cole yelled out. As he scanned the room, his eyes met Kai’s. Yet as relief filled the red ninja’s eyes, the black ninja wasn’t satiated. “Who- what the- what the fuck is that?!?” He tossed the pillow at Kai with surprising force, who ducked out of the way.

“AHH- COLE STOP!” At this, Cole froze. He walked over to Kai, who straightened back up and stared at the ghost.

“How do you know my name?” He asked in an even tone. Kai gave a nervous chuckle.

“Do you not recognize me? Dude, I’ve been trying to get your attention for the past, like, 5 minutes maybe? Do your ears need to be cleaned?”

Cole just looked even more confused. “How should I recognize uh… whatever you are? WHOever you are?”

Kai frowned. “Dude it’s me, Kai.” Doubt seeped into Cole’s face, to which Kai quickly raised his hands in confusion. “Do I not look like myself or something? I mean, I KNOW I’m like, a shadow right now or something like that, but don’t you recognize me at all?”

The black ninja squinted at him. “You’re literally a slightly darker silhouette with two glowing red dots on your face. I don’t think Kai looks, or ever looked, like that. Plus,” he jerked his thumb over to the corridor to the bedrooms, “I just saw Kai go bed. Seemed pretty tired from training on his own.”

“That wasn’t me,” the real Kai protested, “That was NOT me, Cole.” “Then explain who that was, if you’re the real Kai.” “That’s my shadow possessing me.” A raised eyebrow. “Look, I don’t know how else to tell you that you guys are probably in danger, because that. Was. Not. Me.” His voice took on a dangerous note at the end, and Cole seemed visually disturbed.

After a bit, Cole glared up at Kai. “Ok then, if you’re the real Kai, then tell me.” He leaned in closer. “What is… my favorite ice cream flavor.”

“Usually whatever Jay picks-” Kai muttered under his breath, “-I mean, uh, you usually go for, uh…” Was this a trick question? Cole either picked rocky road or whatever Jay had whenever they went out for ice cream, but as for what his actual favorite was…

“You never chose one, I don’t think, so you went with the, insert sarcasm here, oh so amazing choice of ice cream cake. Even though ice cream cake is like, many different flavors-” “But I chose it because it was cake and I love cake more than ice cream! Well, loved…” Cole’s gaze turned melancholy before he looked back at Kai. “But that was the right answer, so I guess I’ll take your word for it. Now Cole looked at him more, bewildered than anything. “What the hell happened to you, Kai?”

“It’s uh,” the shadow laughed nervously, “a long story. You’re gonna have to turn off the lights for this.”

this 2am crack is all @buttsonthebeach’s fault. ariala x solas, solas accidentally gets high and appreciates the tiddies. mildly nsfw bc of those aforementioned tiddies. || tip jar

The dragon takes them all by surprise in the Hissing Wastes; they hadn’t even meant to find her, they just... ran into her. They end up having to run for their lives, naturally. Cassandra simply kneels in front of a bleeding, half-unconscious Solas and lifts him up and over her shoulders like the stronger hunters carry a deer carcass. Cole disappears into the ether while helping Ariala carry their gear through the sand, which, honestly? Typical. She loves him, but typical.

They find refuge in a shallow cave in a ravine, too hidden for the dragon’s fire to hurt them, but not too hidden that they can escape the heat of the desert. The deepest part of the cave is home to an absurd amount of deep mushrooms, though, so that’s a plus. Ariala and Cassandra work together to stabilize Solas, working until they are almost out of health potions. Only then do they focus on healing themselves: Cassandra’s like a battering ram anyway, and Ariala had kept to the shadows and the peripheries, following Cole’s cues to hit vulnerable chinks in the dragon’s scales. Not that it had done a whole lot of good.

An hour later, Cassandra leaves the cave in search of water. Ariala sighs, peeling off her armor and her tunic, until she is left kneeling beside Solas in nothing but her leathers and breastband. She uses her damp tunic to wipe away the sweat on her brow and tosses it aside, turning toward Solas’s backpack and rifling through it until she finds what she’d been looking for: Sera’s cookies, wrapped in linen, each one the size of her cupped palms. Most of them are broken or crumbled, but there is one cookie left intact, and it’s also the only one that is not burnt at the bottom.

Solas groans beside her and she turns at once, blowing aside a piece of hair that falls into her eyes. “Hey, sleepyhead,” she says, smiling. “You had me worried for a second there.”

He grimaces in greeting, propping himself on his elbows, staring down at his bandage-wrapped chest, still unstained as yet. She reaches out, brushing her knuckles down the sweat-shined skin of his temple, and he leans into her touch, slowly lowering himself back to the stone with a grunt. Once he’s settled, he takes her hand in his, squeezing it.

“The dragon?” he asks.

“Alive,” she says. “Once you fell, we had to fall back. It was amazing, actually. Cass carried you all the way here like a champ. I don’t think she would’ve even broken a sweat if we’d been anywhere but the desert.”

“Ah. I shall have to thank her, then.” His expression twists in pain, and she checks his bandages again. When she looks up, Solas lifts his hand, brushing sweat-plastered hair out of her eyes. “You are not hurt?”

She shakes her head, turning to kiss his palm before sitting back. “You want my cookie?” she asks. “Sera’s. They’re really good, usually. This one’s not even burnt. I figured you deserve it since you took the most damage from the dragon.”

“Sera’s?” he asks, eyes narrowing slightly.

“She made them for me,” Ariala says, defensive. “I trust her. We’re friends. And she’s getting better at making them.”

Solas squints at her, equally if not moreso suspicious than before. She sighs, eyebrows raising, and moves to take the cookie back from him, but he snatches his hand away before she can. He breaks off a large chunk of the cookie, half of its chocolate chips a melted mess in the heat, and eats it. A low note of pleasure escapes his mouth, and his eyes close.

“This is delicious,” he says, looking pained to admit it.

“Told you,” Ariala sing-songs, grinning. She kisses his forehead. “I’m glad you’re all right, arasha. You had me worried there for a second.”

His expression goes soft, like it always does whenever she calls him that, and he reaches for her with his free hand, guiding her down so he may kiss her without putting a strain on his stomach injury. When she pulls back, making sure to kiss the corner of his mouth before she goes, he laces their fingers together as he polishes off the last of the cookie. “Do you have any more?” he asks, sounding hopeful.

“Yeah, but they’re burnt.”

“Ah.” He looks disappointed, and she laughs. “Well, I shall still try them.”

She nods, handing him the linen square full of cookie crumbles, and leaves him to his post-battle meal. She gets up to retrieve her discarded shirt, using it once again to wipe the sweat that’s beaded at her sides and her brow and her collarbones, then tosses it on top of the rest of her gear. She kneels down, retrieving her herb pouch and a knife, before wandering off to collect the deep mushrooms at the end of the cave.

When she gets back, Solas is lying unnaturally still, the cookies half-eaten in his lap. He turns his head, and his pupils are dilated, almost swallowing up his irises. When he sees her, he licks his lips and leaves his mouth open as his gaze trails from her face to linger openly on her breasts.

“Am I dying?” he asks, sounding only mildly confused.

Oh.

Oh, no.

She is going to kill Sera.

“No,” she says, rounding his makeshift cot and kneeling beside him, her back to the cave entrance. He reaches for her and licks his lips again, but she grabs his hand and lowers it to her knee. She takes one of the cookie chunks and rolls it between her fingers until it crumbles to dust. She can smell the royal elfroot, so potent her nose wrinkles.

She’d joked to Sera about never being able to relax in the desert once. Months ago. And, sure enough, buried under the cookie crumbs, there’s a note accompanied by an unskilled drawing of several winking faces: Quizzy, hope this helps you... RELAX. ;) ;) ;)

Honestly.

Ariala sighs, wiping her hand on her pants and reaching out to feel for his pulse. His heart is racing. Not too worrisome, since the healing potions had closed all of his wounds, but she’s not sure if healing potions are meant to go with royal elfroot-drugged cookies. They probably shouldn’t be mixed.

His gaze is still on her chest, as blank as when he stares at a wall lost in thought, and his eyes are nearly black.

“Still with me, arasha?” she asks.

“Vhenan,” he says, faintly, “you have the most beautiful breasts I’ve ever seen.”

Ariala snorts, despite herself. “I doubt that,” she says. She’s not exactly, well, gifted in that area. But he keeps staring, licking his lips every so often, and she rolls her eyes, checking over her shoulder to make sure Cassandra isn’t anywhere near within earshot of this conversation. She turns back to Solas. 

“You know, this would be funnier if we were actually having sex,” she tells him. He nods, sagely, just like when he’s listening to the Inquisition’s various scholars debate theories with him, and doesn’t look away from her chest. “I’m still not opposed to that, by the way. In case you ever change your mind when you’re not addled with Sera’s stash of royal elfroot.”

“Mm. Mhmm.” He blinks, languidly, looking like he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. She glances down at the linen square, trying to think of how many cookies he could’ve had, when he asks, distant and dreamy, “Can I touch them?”

She rolls her eyes so hard they hurt. “I’ll make you a sleeping potion. You’re not going to remember any of this when you wake up.”

“Please,” he says, softer, still sounding far away. “You’re so beautiful.”

It would be a sweeter sentiment if he wasn’t looking at her breasts like some abstract art whose meaning he can’t puzzle out. Still, the whole situation is so ridiculous she can’t help but smile. Sera would have a fit once she found out, which she will, the moment Ariala gets back. “You’re lucky I like you so much.”

She checks over her shoulder one last time, just to make certain Cassandra won’t walk into anything awkward, and takes one of Solas’s hands in both of hers, lifting it up to press it against her breast. “Boom. A breast. A natural baby-feeder and strange obsession of men. Happy?”

“Yes,” he sighs, a dreamy smile flitting over his face. Yet he doesn’t even move his hand; he doesn’t do anything, really, but keep his hand where she had put it. When Ariala pulls her hand away, a few moments later, his hand drops to his side, and his gaze roves languidly up her chest, to her collarbone, to her throat, and finally to her face. His own eyes are glazed, pupils dilated, nearly swallowing the iris.

Ariala shakes her head, fondly. “You’re not going to remember any of this, are you?” she asks.

He smiles, toothy and boyish and far too endearing, and promptly passes out.

Telanadas [8/19]

Cover Page & Disclaimer

first chapter

They spend the next half hour in silence, focussed on her injury. 

Luckily for both, the bone implement has not caught on anything, and Sasuke is able to pull it free without trouble. Blood fills in the wound at once, but it is not the wet gush of a clipped blood vessel or ruptured organ. Sakura talks him through stitching it closed. Liberal applications of her “little elfroot and deep mushroom” knit the flesh back together as he goes.

She dozes for a little while as he puts away the supplies, carefully erasing any trace of what was done here. Kakashi has sharp eyes, and even a fleck of blood might have him asking questions.

Sakura was right about one thing: they cannot afford him expending more magic than he must.

Just as he clears away the last of the soiled bandages, he hears a low, lyrical hum behind him. Slowly, he turns around and notes Sakura, eyes still closed in slumber and barely breathing even as her throat moves around the notes of a wordless song. Normally, she is as tone deaf as a mabari howling at the moon. He knows this because she tried to teach Sai, another of their companions, the words to a dwarven drinking song not long after he joined the outfit.

The memory itself makes him wince.

But this tune she hums under her breath is different. It makes the hairs on the back of his arms and neck stand on end, but not because it is unpleasant.

It is because it is not.

“Sakura,” he says, something in his gut telling him he needs her to stop that.

Her body startles a little, the way one might when woken suddenly from a dream, but considering she never fully dropped off to sleep he doubts that it is. Still, the noise stops, and her breathing suddenly evens out.

“Something about this place…it calls to me,” she tells him after a moment, eyes still closed, and face still relaxed. “It almost feels like lyrium, but…different.”

“Different?” he echoes.

“Like a voice on the wind…just out of earshot, words garbled…and you know they’re speaking to you, but can’t for the life of you make out the meaning…” She opens her eyes and notices his concerned expression, and quickly straightens. With a sheepish grin, she says, “Sorry. I think I’m just getting ahead of myself. We’re almost to the top of the mountain which means we’re closer to ending this journey. I can see the end in sight, and then we get a nice long deserved rest.”

“Until the next errand of overblown importance is thrust upon us,” he replies, still frowning at her behaviour. He wonders if this is another one of those Warden quirks, hearing music no one else does. “And the next.”

“Until we stop the Blight, that’s the job,” she agrees. “But still, the prospect of a moment’s peace, however short, that’s valuable—don’t you think?”

“I would not know.”

“Oh, come on! You’ve had to have at least a little downtime!” she protests, pulling herself stiffly to her feet. He makes a move to help her, but she waves him away. “Don’t the Crows give days off?”

“There is time between contracts, if that is what you are asking.”

She shoots him an unimpressed look as if to say she knows he is deliberately not answering her question. “And what do you do in your spare time?”

“Prepare for the next assignment.”

“That’s it?” she deadpans. “Seriously? Isn’t there anything you do for fun?”

“No.”

“That’s…” Sakura sighs then. “I’m sorry.”

This brings him up short, and he stares at her. He can see her finding his lifestyle distasteful or boring, but he never would have expected pity from her. “Sorry for what?”

“For whatever made your life so joyless that you spend every waking moment doing sensible stuff,” she tells him, offering a comforting touch just above his elbow.

It is not pity, he realises in amazement. It sounds like…regret? On my behalf?

But that makes no sense to him.

He does not have time to ponder this development in his study of her character because at this moment, Naruto and Kakashi return.

“There is nothing between this village and the ruins up ahead,” the mage informs them without wasting time on a greeting.

“He means nothing,” Naruto adds, a hint of complaint in his voice. “No people, no shelter, no supplies…”

“We checked the temple door, but it is locked by an odd mechanism. Apparently, it needs a key to get in: big, round, sort of the size of a fist?”

“That must be what the medallion is for,” Sakura suggests, digging into her pocket for the disc she was given earlier.

“I thought so, too.”

“Then we are going in blind,” Sasuke says in irritation.

“Looks like,” Naruto shrugs, before a jeering grin appears on his face. “Don’t worry, elf. If you’re scared, I’ll let you hide behind me while I take out the nasty, possessed cultists.”

“Will that be before or after you run for cover, demanding I take out the enemy trying to set you on fire?” Sasuke returns crisply.

“Oi, that happened once, and in case you didn’t notice, that was a rage demon that came out of the damn floor!”

“I am confident we will manage somehow,” Kakashi says, intervening before Naruto punctuates his complaint with a flying fist.

“Are you ready to go?” Sasuke asks Sakura, carefully avoiding looking anywhere near where her wound is. Still, she knows what he is really asking.

“Never better,” she chirps, and grabs her supplies.

Kakashi notices something in the byplay, judging by how his eyes rove between Sasuke and Sakura, but if he suspects anything concrete, he does not address it. At least, not until Naruto has followed Sakura and is safely out of earshot.

“If you two needed a moment, you did not need to send us on an arse-freezing wild-goose chase in the mountains,” the older man says dryly. “All you had to do was ask…”

“Shut up, mage,” Sasuke replies. “Or I will find a better place for that stick than your hand.”

“Well, if that is the sort of thing you are into…”

Sasuke snarls a wordless curse at him and stalks after the other two. He knows there is no point in stooping to Kakashi’s level. Unlike Naruto, who will shout and scream and throw a few punches, and then forget the matter Sasuke does not wish to talk about, Kakashi is more patient. He will refuse to engage with any threat, but make sly, would-be-innocent comments over a matter of days. It is amusing to watch him bait others in this way—in particular Obito; it is not so entertaining when Sasuke is the one on the receiving end.

The party makes their way up the next section of the mountain together, hobbled against the wind and the incline.

Kakashi was not making light of the temperature for dramatic effect.

They were wrong about the place being completely empty, because even with the howling din of the wind, Sasuke can hear the distant roars of a dragon. He only hopes that they get to shelter before the thing makes a pass above this part of the mountain.

As they amble onward, Sasuke keeps a careful eye on the figure at the head of their procession. Sakura tramps through the snow with her usual determination and uncomplaining nature. He would never have known she had been gravely wounded earlier from the way she moves. It seems her healing skills and balms are far more powerful than he imagined.

Eventually, the four of them arrive at the giant, ridged stone door, and Sasuke sees the lock-seal Kakashi and Naruto mentioned.

Sakura brings out the medallion and presses it into the slot. There is a hissing noise and the ensign glows green, shooting a light into the crevices and cracks of the door. A moment later, the sound of creaking, shifting gears fills the air, and the door pulls open before them.

Sasuke enters first, bow raised in case there is anything lurking that may jump out at them, but this entry passage is empty. The walls and hallways are made of stone, covered with such a thick layer of ice that it is as if the place is built from glass. It is cold in here, too; not quite the knife-sharp frost of the mountain air, but still as frigid as a tomb.

“This will be fun,” Naruto whispers excitedly as they proceed up the corridor.

Despite his game face, they are all careful in their explorations, investigating every corner of the passages in a slow, methodical manner. Sasuke leaves discreet markers in room corners and by doorposts to find their way back should this place be as cavernous as the countless elven ruins he has explored. Snow has tumbled through the walls and ceilings of the temple, casting dark shadows across the corners and making the floor more slippery than it might be under normal circumstances. At one time, this building might even have been a comfortable living space.

They slip through close passages and well-built chambers, rooms with ancient books and scrolls that have Kakashi’s fingers twitching and Sakura’s eyes coveting. There are at least two armouries with discarded weaponry and armour that is ancient, but well-made.

“Ooh, swords!” Naruto declares, gleefully going to check the balance and sharpness of the blades, while the others look for more useful supplies. Sasuke finds several quivers of arrows—some spelled with magic runes to bewitch their targets. He does not like magic, but in this place, using it might be necessary. He adds these to his own supply.

That turns out to be a good idea.

Entering a large, vaulted chamber that seems trapped by time and thick snow, the shadows are suddenly alive with more blade-brandishing figures. These men are not dressed like villagers, but in billowing red robes and burned bone armour.

“More cultists,” Sakura murmurs, hoisting her axe.

Sasuke can see right away that they have the high ground, perched upon the grand staircases up ahead. They send down volley upon volley of arrows, interspersed with blasts of fire that suggest the presence of mages as well.

The party divides, Sasuke claiming the left side of the hall and Kakashi the right, both of them aiming to destroy the ranged fighters in the distance. Naruto and Sakura take the more direct approach, dealing with the incoming wave of close-combat attackers.

Once Sasuke and Kakashi reach the edge of the staircase, most of the archers and at least one mage are dead. Then, they climb upward together, moving around and behind one another in a slow rotation that allows them to divert any incoming projectiles.

Once, Sasuke even snatches an arrow from the air right before it pierces Kakashi’s temple.

The mage repays the favour by turning a wall of icy projectiles into a spray of rain using a fireball. It is a massive blast of flame that grows larger as it travels through the air and immolates the last mage. Sasuke inclines his head in thanks.

Times may have changed, but he is not about to stoop to thanking a mage of all people.

Down on the landing, Sakura and Naruto’s opponents are less feeble. The hulking, bone-wielding warriors appear immune to pain, forcing Naruto and Sakura to hack away at them. Limb by limb and inch by inch until nothing but pulp and bone surround them on the floor.

Sasuke’s stomach rebels a little.

There is a difference between a quick kill and this carnage.

“It is a type of fugue state,” Kakashi explains once the last body drops. “They do not realise they are mortally wounded until all the nerves in their body have been severed. Dwarves have an ability like this, yes?”

Sakura shakes her head, pale. “No…not like this. Dwarven berserkers can ignore pain, yes, but that’s because they’re’re fueled by battle rage and blood lust. They still feel. This…” She swallows. “This was like fighting those corpses we encountered in the Circle of Magi when we met you, Kakashi-sensei.”

“Except these guys weren’t walking corpses, they were actually alive,” Naruto adds with a shudder. “Look, there’s the blood to prove it.”

“Alive may not be the right word,” Kakashi muses. “After the amount of brain damage, hypnosis and blood magic they have been subjected to, I doubt you could really call it living.”

“Pity,” Sasuke says, staring down at one of the discarded arrows broken upon the ice-encrusted stone floor. It is the broken arm bone of a child, “That would mean we are putting them out of their misery.”

“Let’s keep going,” Sakura says, heading for the grand staircase. “We don’t know how big this place is, and there could be more of them. I’d like to get rid of as many as possible be before we lose the last natural light.”

There is a distant rumbling, and once again Sasuke hears the keen of a dragon. The others do as well, and Naruto shifts uncomfortably.

“Maybe after we do that we can set up camp?” he suggests. “I have this bad feeling we’re not getting off the mountain without coming face to face with that. And I’d really rather do it with the sun overhead than stumbling around in the dark…”

It is a sentiment none of them can argue with.

Comments and concrit are much appreciated, and very motivating! For information about supporting my original, non-fandom related works, you’re welcome to check out my ko-fi tip jar, or my patreon page. 

栗

Next Chapter

Data Madre

Chapter 5 Below Underground

Cap notes:

Sorry for the delays, I had not been able to publish before, anyway, I hope that this fic can be published with more speed (now that it is complete in my other accounts) by the way ... a small detail. Here I take 2 theories apart XP lol ... in short, the thing is, one is that they say that under the earth there are living beings and another, well, first they would have to see the cap to see what I mean ...

I hope you like this cute cap XD is not much (as usual) but hey ... hope you like it XD

To read!

Chapter 5 Below Underground

He followed that dog closely, until they reached a cliff, Sans looked far away, in the distance, surrounded by forests, you could see the village of Snowdin, it was just getting dark, so he assumed that his brother was not It would come later, he felt a chill run through his body and hugged himself as he turned to see the dog that had stopped in a kind of cave

He raised an eyebrow but entered immediately, he did not want anyone to see him and knowing that Alphys is not someone who exactly overlooks the small details, it must be quick before someone else noticed his absence ... hard drink and followed the dog until finally reaching a narrow path, just for one person, at his sides, bright and crystalline water accumulated, even seemed that the cold disappeared as he continued forward ...

Confused, he could see later a large door, too big, perhaps the same size as that door that separates the ruins, he denied softly as he watched and saw the dog stop in front of it, Sans allowed himself a few moments to observe the cave as such ... it was barely illuminated like Waterfall, even those phosphorescent mushrooms glowed quietly giving a calmer environment

-What are we doing here? - I can not stand it and I ask, the dog only barks and waves its tail effusively

-behind this door, this is your salvation- Sans could only raise an eyebrow in the form of disbelief, the dog sat down and observed the opposite

-The Data Mother has its own protection systems, but I found this data saved, apparently, there is a way beyond here, but I do not have hands and it is necessary that the Data Mother or the Backup Data open this door, I find it impossible ... but, I was able to investigate and it's a place quite far from here ... it's even lower than Underground

His explanation seemed a bit confusing to him, but if the annoying dog was right, it would very likely be his own salvation ... and if what he thought was true ... ... ...

He exhaled loudly as he saw the door, lowering his shoulders for a moment as a sign of defeat, took a quick breath and closed his eyes. At the moment of opening them, his right eye shone with the same crimson as always, took a couple of steps to finally be in front of the door, the annoying dog had immediately removed and now, watching with some amazement and joy that Sans had managed to really open the door; Although really, that door, like an optical illusion, had disappeared completely, revealing something confused, its interior. Therefore, Sans turns his crimson gaze to the dog who, seeing the interior only shrinks slightly diverting the look for a couple of followed to see it again

-only go ahead ... you can escape here ... the door will return after you pass, so you will be the only one who can enter or leave -explained, Sans remained silent, observing what seemed to be a very narrow, just an opening, the skeleton gently denies and returns his gaze to the white dog, bending down to be "at his level" gently caresses his head and looks at him another bit

-seems to be that from now on, we can not see each other again ... - she says calmly, the dog just barks and rubs more with the bony hand of the opponent, giving himself a final farewell -cuídate ... and thank you- ends, taking off the backpack and beginning to spend carefully, barely has enough space to pass

-cuídate- he listens to the dog, a couple of steps ahead, the dim light that helped him to disappear, turning his gaze back, the door has disappeared ... sighs a little and continues, activating his crimson eye, manages to see just where it's going

He has to walk sideways, like a crab thinks for a few moments, but it can not happen otherwise, it starts to tire him having to walk like that, but, as if the same mountain had heard him, the narrowness of the road disappears leaving him in a cave completely dark, swallows hard and carefully gropes the ground, guided by the stone that feels wet and rocky, continues walking, taking care not to trip over the stones you feel but can not see exactly

When you follow another little way, the reddish magic of your eye disappears to see with amazement as even in that darkness, little by little begins to see tiny flashes of light, even, it could be said that it reminds you in a certain way to Waterfall. Follow carefully, the darkness disappears gradually the further you go, but what helps you to light your way, in a faint way, is a kind of fluorescent moss, really, in Sans's eyes, it allows you to remember those pleasant nights where you can see the stars illuminating their path; now that he can walk without problems and at ease, he takes his time to observe the majestic place he goes through, he can even see the eco flowers and those fluorescent mushrooms alike ...

Although it is pleasing to his eyes, the cave that resembles the nocturnal mantle finally ends, however, and to his own surprise, his path is cut off when he finally sees the end of the cave next to a gigantic door, very similar to the one that saw at the beginning, carved in wood, with gold and silver finishes for the little light that I could see, with flowery details, vines and even small birds and underneath, an equal field full of flowers, Sans raised a somewhat confused eyebrow, but just take another step and touch the door with the palm of your hand, that door opens

Giant and heavy, you hear the screech when it opens slowly, but even so, you can feel it, only "he" can open such a door, it seems curious, even the Data Mother has its "secrets" inside the same ... it seems interesting, but he prefers not to pay more attention to it. The door finally ends up opening and Sans only then takes the opportunity to pass, noticing that, just a little away from it, it begins to close automatically; Just as surprised, observe how it closes behind you, giving a loud "click", the door has finally closed. He refuses slightly, even surprised that there may be such a place, he returns his face to the front, seeing only a thick vine, can barely distinguish that it is flowers and leaves; he stretches his hand carefully, noticing the softness and freshness of it, blinking confused and finally, step between them, taking care not to break them so that their presence is not noticed, their eyes open in surprise ...

-But what the fuck ... - he whispers surprised, he has found a tiny paradise

As far as Sans himself knows, it has been going down, he is even sure that it is even lower than where Underground is ... and even then, confused, he can observe as if it were a gigantic dome ... a little paradise. Since in front of you, you can only see a gigantic green field, so big, that even it seems difficult to see its end, the green pastures are adorned with flowers of various and vivid colors and some trees with large crowns and extensive shadows ...

At this point, the cold seems to have completely disappeared, because, even to his surprise, he gets to perceive the warm sun, although, although Sans looks at the sky, he can not see a blue sky, rather, only the end of the cave barely noticeable ... several meters away from the "roof" of that paradise and the skeleton takes a moment to wonder how the hell there can be sunlight in that place if it is even below the same Underground

Sighs something tired of so many "nice things" he prefers to be able to reach a quick point, but the more he walks away from the place he came from, he finds a small stream of crystalline waters, stops just a moment to drink a little, its waters are fresh and sweet, it stops for a while to observe the place, sitting in that place, looks at the vacuum, tries to see where it has come from and feels a slight sigh to be born from its chest next to a boring calm that begins to please ...

He still feels uncomfortable ... after all, he remembers that he only left his brother ... ... "boss" a simple note where he said he would never return to his side ... now he wonders if it was a good idea, after all, although he has treated him like a garbage without feelings and others, he feels ... he really loves him, beyond that feeling of "brotherhood" he really loves him as something else ... but he had a mind as sick and twisted as his own brother's ... Well, how was it possible that he loved someone who did not even treat him for a good while? How was it possible that he wanted someone who only knew how to hurt him and who has done him even more harm than all his enemies together? No matter how many laps he turns the matter over, he always ends up with the same idea ... "he's as sick as his brother" and well, not only does it depress him, he's also amused by the irony of the situation

He laughs at his own thoughts, closing his eyes and releasing some burlesque words to both ... but in the end, raising his gaze to the distant ceiling, for a few moments, he allows himself the doubt ... Papyrus will be fine if he leaves on his side ? After all, it is he who does all the duties of the house ... but, it is also he who supports his irksome brother, who endures humiliations, ridicule, beatings and ... currently, even violations ...

-nha, it was time to leave that aside- says standing up and seeing everywhere -Now to where I'm supposed to go? - he asks, following his path, passes that stream and continues straight ahead, as straight as he can ... finding another door, he stays silent for a few moments, thinking about whether it is a good idea, in the worst case, you can return to the same place and finally have to stay to live in seclusion in that place full of green pastures ... but, if there is something more besides that, likewise, I wanted to see it

So, determined to keep moving forward, he opens the door, going from that place, he only meets a thick forest, with green and bright leaves, there is no snow and it is something that relieves him, gives him the idea that he is not in Snowdin ... goes on his way, soon, to his confused surprise he finds in the distance of what looks like a hill, a very strange town ... of course, between his confusion he looks at the sky, he can see in the barely perceptible darkness the same stone roof ... is still part of the earth, but there is light that comes from lamps and that, in turn, allow us to see perfectly downwards, the small "town" that there is

-Was there more under us? - he wonders with surprise, hanging his backpack over his shoulder, begins to walk carefully, down the hill, he takes his time, his body feels tired ... How long has he been walking since he left his home? Now remember that he was not completely cured ... he hoped that nothing bad would happen because he would be in serious trouble ...

It took a long time even for his own taste, but he was already under the hill, on the skirts of entering the town that was seen with great space like Snowdin, he even dared to say barely, a little more populated than the previous one. Confused, I walk holding his backpack tightly, placing his hood over his head, he begins to walk slowly, feeling the looks of everyone, he is surprised to see, that ... from what he could reach to see, those people were ...

* Monsters and humans? * Wondered confused, there were beings very similar to humans, although they wore certain animal traits like them, even, there were monsters ... so he felt really confused, breathed deeply ... Where the hell he went to get ?

-haaaaaaaaaa !! - Surprised, I hear a big cry in front of him, so, I quickly look up, finding a small, confused child, you could call him that he was similar to a human child, with dark skin, silver hair and big green eyes, but I saw at that moment with fear to the front, then, in a corner of what looked like a house, a corner was beginning to collapse

-shit! - Reacted more by mere instinct than pleasure, his left eye was active, stretched his hand and created a high red bone, holding the debris, his eye shone again with strength, with his hand manipulates the soul of that little one, only to take him a little away from those landslides, but as a precaution, he knows that nothing else will happen after that, although he prefers not to take risks ...

The moment calms down, slowly approaches while looking for one of the fallen beams, putting it back in its place, the collapse of the house ceases, its eye returns to normality and turns its gaze to see the "human" child finding the little one that, even with his brown skin looked somewhat pale, he soon changed his face to one surprised and full of emotion

- You should not be playing around with these things ... brat- mocked the minor, but this one just took a big leap and with a look full of emotion and happiness approached dangerously Sans, noticing the skeleton that barely reached the chest ... for a few moments he has remembered his human "Frisk" and feels a knot in his stomach as he immediately remembers his own brother

- that was amazing! - the little boy shouted out of his past, Sans takes a step back observing that the boy looks at him with eyes full of giant stars, his fists on his chest and an enthusiastic look, silence invades him, he has even forgotten to tell him some insult, just look at those eyes, feeling for a few moments that reminds him of the sweet look that he once saw his little Papyrus ... look down more calmly

- Are you hurt? - Asked, the boy looks at him confused and refuses effusively with a gigantic smile

-thanks to you I do not pass anything thank you very much sir! - Said the very effusive little boy, Sans let out a slight giggle and looked away

-Sans, Sans the skeleton, that's my name ... brat- he said funny, the little one showed even more emotion and started to jump with a lot of happiness, Sans could only slightly raise one of his eyes to see his happiness, even, he could feel the happiness of the little one

-this young person except the little one- I hear the whispering began, he looked away expecting an attack, but in his place he could only watch as people began to accumulate, seeing him happily, with admiration and some others, they began to thank him for to have saved the little boy who, happily began to shout about "his savior" ... and for Sans, the only thing that was a pleasant warm feeling that he had not really felt ...

* this place ... it could be my new home * he said smiling at last in an honest way, noticing that the little one jumped into his arms and rubbed himself with happiness giving endless thanks for having helped him

Final notes:

Well, I know that it is not very likely to say that something like this happens, but I needed a "place" for Sans to stay while it was not another dimension or to leave the underground, in addition to keeping well hidden from his brother ... in short ... in case there were doubts ...

Even more under Underground is this place, a place where it is supposed, humans and monsters coexist in complete peace ... although eye, to be both, the races of both have mixed so much that they are all human and monsters at the same time ... hybrids so to speak, in the end, this will be better explained in the next chapter ...

Did you like it? Have a nice day Comment!

Chapter 1

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Annals of the Cata

In these pages are the accounts of the few people I managed to come across in the wastes that were not trying to kill me, at least not outright. My journey throughout the midwest seemed to be an endless task, however it only took thirty years for me to complete my travels and come to a place I could finally call my own. It is here I began to reread through my notes and journal entries I had written in years past.  I noticed as I poured back over my pages that there were many inconsistencies in the dates, locations, and names of things, as a historian of sorts, I feel it my duty to correct these, but as a writer and someone who experienced the Cata first hand, I ultimately have decided to leave the errors in as originally written because at the time, these were not errors but simply what I knew or what I perceived, and thus they were reality at one point and time to me. Perhaps as the time comes, if there is any real interest in these dusty pages of mine, an annotation can be arranged and pressed, but as the wastes have very few who can read, and even less who can print or write, I find that an annotated copy of this work to be a far too lofty goal and ultimately a dream. 

One further note as I begin this project, my time wandering and writing in the midwest, I saw many a great things, however writing implements, and writing mediums were often far and in between as such much of my work was composed upon what scrap I could locate at the time and not in a finely bound book as they would have had before the Cata. I have done my best to enter into these pages to the best of my knowledge the order I had written each entry, however as I lost some pages, others were damaged, and yet still, others simply fell out and scattered in the wind before I could gather all of the pages, the time line presented here may be out of order as it is known to other historians and current writers of the wastes, but by no means should such a trivial matter cast any shadow of doubt upon the truths told in this book. 

As It Began

Atop the pillar was the orb, its polished sheen could be seen for miles. Late in the night as bright as the moon the orb shone over the entire town. This night was unlike any other except for one small fact, this night, Selena sat on the fence outside her families home and she stared at the night sky watching the stars. In a flash of light a star shot across the sky. Amazed Selena watched as this star slowed down and came to rest directly above the orb. The pillar lit up in a cascade of glowing blue and flickering red light that seemed to streak down from the tip to the earth in strange lightening like patterns. The ground began to shake and the fence upon which Selena sat began to tremble.

Her pink hair glowing in the soft light of the candle dimly flickering on the writing desk, she studied her tome intently. Every few moments she would turn a page and her dainty hand would rise up and push back the strands of hair that continued to fall forward as she continued reading. So intently she studied her tome she barely recognized the sound of footsteps approaching her. "Madam Anna, we have found the ledgers you have requested" Anna waved her hand and motioned for the scribe to place the books behind her on an already towering stack of dusty tomes. 

Tasked by the high restorative council with protecting the last of the known books in the wastes, Amy had spent more time than she would admit pouring over the tattered pages of the dust covered and partially burnt copies of books that the scrounging parties had brought back from their journeys. The tome safe, as the council called their small compound, was surrounded by thick concrete walls and had access to its own ground water table, luckily for the inhabitsnts, it was deep enough to not be completely fouled by the background radiation of the wastes. The council was composed of four major groups, the preservers, the travelers, the high council, and the laborers, each group was charged with a task that benefited the group in the best way possible. The restorers were those who demonstrated a gentle touch and high reading comprehension. It was their task to rewrite each book that was returned to the compound by the travelers.

The night air was chill and the scent of a long forgotten camp fire floated through the trees of the forest. The full moon shone bright and light the forest floor even through the thick canopy. Tonight was the night of rest for the pack. Every full moon the pack would return from their hunts and their prowls and lay on the stone that overhung the deeper parts of the forest. There in the middle of the pack, lit by a beam of glowing moonlight that punctured through the tree tops sat a woman. Long black hair fell gracefully down upon her shoulders and a set of geometric wings, black as the space between stars protruded from her back. Upon the woman's lap lay the alpha male's head, his head to the side, eyes closed and ears at rest. There, the pack was perfect, the pack was happy.

The lightening flashed across the sky, and there riding over head on a stallion made from the clouds themselves she rode. Her dread locks waving behind her head in the forceful storm winds. In her left hand she held the reigns of fierce blue eyed mount, and in her right hand she held the scepter of Queens.

It was the strangest thing the scientist noted. "I was standing in the field observing the tree line and how the birds would perch upon the limbs as they flew at high speeds, when all of a sudden the birds all took off of the trees and flew over my head, I thought it to be one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. That is until I returned my gaze back to the tree lines." Almost as if he was back in the scene the scientist looked down into the black coffee stained mug and continued. "There she was, this tiny girl, hair pink like flowers, eyes wide and beautiful, even from where I was I could see their glistening color in the light of the morning sun. She was barefoot and her skin porcelain as she stepped, no almost... floated across the meadow. But that wasn't the weird part, that came next... Its as if she was a flower and they longed for her nectar... all of them, I don't mean a lot, I mean all of them, she had to have had every single moth, butterfly and other little flying insect in the whole damned forest flying near her. It was something I could never forget. She was wearing clothes made of butterflies. When one would lift off another would land perfectly covering the spot left open." The scientist sighed. "It was the strangest thing. It was like she was their goddess and they catered to her every whim. She wasn't mean, nor heavy handed, in fact even from where I stood her gentleness could be felt, she would let the moths land on her finger as she kissed their heads and then lift her hand to the sky and they would all fly away, and with them, as they obscured her in their flight, she was gone."

The highway felt longer than he remembered, but then again he had never walked down it before, it was always driven. The asphalt beneath his feet was warm to the touch after baking all day in the summer sun, but since the sun had fallen beneath the horizon, it was a comfortable warmth that kept the soles of his feet warm as he walked. His back felt the ache of the all day walk with his pack upon it that he was all to familiar with, but the pack carried things he needed to survive. The hatchet on his hip dug into his thigh with ever step but without it he would have no way to get his fire for the night prepared, but from the clouds in the distance, fire would be the least of his issues he worried. Price still remembered what life was like before the defiled ruled the cities of the US, he chuckled to himself as he remembered how many nights he took for granted having a roof keeping rain off his head. He still had a little light left of the evening, and he had to keep going, the rad storms were going to reach him soon.

What could he do? The rain pounded on the tin roof of the shed he found. He had barely managed to get a fire to light before he was forced to take shelter from the rad storm that blew in from the west. No one expected the west to be the first hit, all the projections and analysts claimed the bombs would hit the east US first. Take out the command centers and leaders they said. Chris scoffed at the thought, "If only they knew." The fire sputtered as a particularly strong gust of wind snuck under the rickety door of the shed. Chris gathered his pack and laid down his rolled up sleeping bag. Before he laid down to sleep for the night, he took one last look at the fire and wondered if his friends were still alive. It had been months since they parted ways outside of Old Cloud village. Then he slept.

It was perhaps by her own sheer willpower she made it down the old 94. Losing her family to a herd of Infected Stags, she had two choices, Give up or keep pushing forward. No one knows if she chose to move forward on her own, some say too many days and late nights of video games had affected her mind and when the mushrooms finally came to cleanse the land, that was all it took. Those who became briefly close to her would often tell of her prowess as a gunslinger, and a lucky few were able to recount tales of her skills with a knife. Sam spent much of her early days of the Cata wandering the old 94, and while many saw her, few were able to talk with her, she seemed determined in her mission, keep the old highway clean and cleansed of all four legged beasts.

"T'was such a strange sight, no, a strange sound", Brett remembered thinking. His trusty walking stick that in times of need doubled as a rod for fighting was gripped tightly in his left hand. His knuckles white as he continued following the alluring yet eerie sound that caught his attention about a mile and half back. The town he had wandered into seemed desolate and empty, the prairie sands had covered most of the houses that were still standing, although few buildings could be classified as still standing. On edge, Brett continued to walk forward following the haunting melody that seemed to be growing louder with every step. The sand beneath his feet gave slightly with every step, but yet he was still compelled to move forward. There, at the center of town, a seemingly untouched church, steeple in place, paint clean and white, and door wide open, stood. Before the church lay thousands of broken pieces of glass. As Brett bent down to inspect a piece, he realized they were all mirrors. Etched into each piece were the cryptic words, Shadows begin to sing. pulling his attention away from the shards of glass and back to the open doors of the church, Brett peered forward only to find that the church was devoid of life. Walking further forward he stood in front of the door to the pristine, yet empty church. As he crossed the threshold of the sanctuary, the moment his foot touched the wooden floorboards, the singing stopped.

The glitter of the gold could be seen across the arid plains whenever the sun was high in the afternoon sky. Many wanderers even the defiled were drawn in by the strange lights. The prospect of a curiosity or of some long lost treasure seemed too much to resist for the folks caught in the glint of the giant golden throne. From miles away the sound of hundreds of footsteps could be heard pounding away on the pavement of the wastes, and the groans of those serving the queen served as a reminder to all who would gaze upon the green haired beauty, that their servitude was mandatory. With her own personal army composed of every creature who was caught by her gaze, Siren continued being carried upon her golden throne by her servants across the desolate lands in search of more slaves.

Prior to the fall of the sky and the terrible visions of those fire filled clouds, Josh had enjoyed life in Minnesota. The land was lush with a diverse number of animals and plant life. The sport of hunting had always brought him joy, even in his youth, but he never thought one day he would need to use those skills learned as a means to survive. The initial bomb blasts had little effect on the amount of animals in the region, it was the fallout and the years of background radiation that killed them. It was slow at first, but over the past decade, they had all but disappeared. With the drying up and unexplained disappearance of most of the lakes and the irradiated waters flowing through the rest, the flora and fauna of the previously lush state had been devastated. Hunting was no longer a sport, but a game of survival. Josh knew the deer before him was not just a meal, but a ticket to better trade goods as well as a means to survive the harsh nuclear winter season.

What a day, first the mubear that was running amok in Cillieatown, then having to run from a raider party, and now as she travelled through the glades, she came across a body on the ground. Giving a wide berth to the lump of human flesh on the ground, Clara heard the groan of a man followed by a shallow broken cry for help. Pausing in her soft steps, Clara turned to see the body she thought dead, shifting along the dusty ground. Taking a short step back she reached for her trusty .38 she kept in case of emergency. Almost as if the man heard the sound of the hammer cocking back he stopped his weak crawl. "Please, I....I was attacked by raiders... they took my... my daughter... please... get her back..."

For most, the Cata was unkind. The world tranformed into a desolate wasteland where rival groups faught bloody battles over the few remaining areas of farmland or un radiated water. Once great sprawling cities mow reduced to ashes or graveyards of twisted metal beams surrounded by dilapidated and blackened buildings barely recognizable. Even small rural towns didn't manage to survive the destructive powers of the hellfire that the bombs cast upon humanity. But among all this destruction, there was a woman who despite her previously kind demeenor, seemed to fit right into this terrible world. No one who knew Olivia in the old world would have expected her to now rule over the CagedCreeturs, one of the wastelands most brutal gangs. All across their territories you could see where the members had been. Bodies of their victims would be ripped apart and hung from the twisted metal power poles that still remained. Any one unlucky enough go survive being beaten or shot would be found trapped into a cage that was welded shut after they were forced in. Their bodies covered in the burns from the welding and their remains withered, dehydrated, and starved to death.

The wastes were home to oddities of all kinds, in the far east US territories, tales of men more machine than man could be heard, but on the west coast where the bombs hit the hardest, the tales and oddities that could be heard of were of a far stranger nature. Somewhere in the old world California, now the separate states of god's coast, the tale of the gecko woman were commonly known. Its said that somewhere, where the trees still grow, but the land died, a woman, short, with stunningly beautiful eyes lived. It is said that the radiation gives her an eternal youth and since the bombs fell, she hasn't aged a day, and while this would be the strangest part of any other story, hers is one of much more. There where the Redwoods cry their black irradiated sap that pollutes whatever it touches, lives Maddie, the gecko rancher. Her house, more of a hut than anything is fiercely protected by a band of massive eight foot tall geckos. They run as fast as dogs on two legs and have an acidic bite that melts through Kevlar and metal armors. Attacking everything that wanders too close to Maddie's home, they can be seen chewing on the corpses of the latest traveler unlucky enough to get caught in their gaze.

The ticking of the strange mechanisms were the only sound resonating from within the old mine in the west Virginian hills. Smoke poured from the cave entrance and from old rusted stacks that once supplied the mine with fresh air. It had been years since any soul had been seen this deep in the mountains, but for Frank, this meant this area was perfect. From a distance, no one would even know someone lived here, the decade of running the oil boilers and machines of the mine created a low hanging smog that obscured the entrance to his workshop from view by anyone farther than a half mile out. Inside the cave was an elaborate set of tunnels cared into the granite and limestone that had spent the past few million years undisturbed, however at the center of all this was the emporia as Frank liked to call it. This was his toy shop. The wastes provided plenty of mutated or deformed creatures which Frank would trap, experiment on, and study. When he was done, each of those creatures found themselves bottled in some sort of fluid and stored on the endless shelves of the chamber. At the far end however was the most interesting and terrifying of his collection, more machine than animal, Frank spent the vast amount of his time here bringing the dead back to life with the use of mechanisms and electrical pulses. These strange things were his pets, and each of them were lethal loyal to him.

Before the bombs fell, the land surrounding the old 169 was fertile and held farms for as far as the eyes could see. The land was known for its lush tree lines, cornfields, and green meadows, what happened after however, was stark in contract. The miles upon miles of the concrete and asphalt of the 169 now were overgrown by weeds and sun weathered trunks of trees that fell over the decades of winds and radstorms. The cracked and pitted path still saw much foot traffic just as the 169 did in the past. It remained to be the only road that could be used effectively as a trade route to the northern state and through the great radiated seas of The Vermilion Shores. The Town of Princes lay upon this road. A once thriving community that was nestled upon a wide river, now a series of shacks and crumpled buildings, and no one save for the traders heading north dared go near the polluted waters of the River Rummer. This time of year, when the snows would have fallen in the past, but now nothing but ash falls from the great grey clouds over head, was ripe for gathering meat. The Radogs that roamed the western lands around the Town of Princes migrated east to follow the River Rummer to some unknown destination. During this annual migration, the pickings for meat was simple and easy. Ivana spent much of her days out in the old ash forests gathering the days harvest of Mudberries and if lucky, any Radog that was daft enough to fall into the clutches of one of the hunter's traps.

My @feastoffortuna2017 gift for @feanor-no. Hope you like it :) It’s also on AO3.

If Given A Chance Word Count: 2453 Nico takes Will to the Underworld to officially meet his father. Things do not go according to plan. Or: The one where Will goes to meet Hades and meets Persephone instead. Will is wonderful, Persephone is surprised and Nico needs a hug (and a mother).

Just for the record, this was not Nico’s idea.

Standing outside the gates of Hades’ palace, he glanced over at the boy standing beside him. Children of Apollo really didn’t fit in down here, he thought. Will looked entirely too sunny for the underworld, with his golden hair and the cheerful sparkle in his sky-blue eyes. Even his clothes looked summery; a camp t-shirt and shorts. He looked ready to head to the beach, and not at all like he was about to meet the Lord of the Underworld.

Nico shoved his hands into the pockets of his aviator jacket. “I thought Meet The Parents was supposed to be the nerve-wrecking stage of the relationship.”

Will laughed. “Oh I’m nervous all right. I’m just taking a moment to take in the scenery.”

“Seriously?”

“I’ve never been to the Underworld before,” Will shrugged. “I’ve been curious.”

“You can sight-see later,” Nico grumbled, setting forward for the palace gates. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Falling into step beside him, Will glanced over curiously. “You really think it’ll go that badly?”

Sighing, Nico shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, I doubt he’ll blast you into smithereens or anything, and he’s been trying to be a better dad recently, but he’s not exactly a people person.”

Will grinned, nudging his boyfriend with his shoulder. “No mystery where you get it from, then?”

Nico rolled his eyes and nudged him back, but otherwise ignored his comment.

They passed through the gates and into the garden beyond. Will’s eyes widened with wonder, and Nico smiled slightly. Awed Will was cute, not that Nico had any intention of telling him that.

He probably should have figured Will would like the garden. True, he probably would have preferred sunshine and fresh air, but the Garden of Persephone was more than beautiful enough to make up for it. It was like something out of a mortal fairy tale. Silver bushes gleamed in the dim light, luminescent mushrooms of every shape and colour lighting up the gloom. Precious gems the size of watermelons glittered in the flower beds and the orange flowers of the pomegranate trees glowed, almost flame-like, in the darkness.

Turning his thoughts back to his father, Nico frowned. “Maybe I should have sent word ahead, let him know I was bringing you with me on my visit this time.”

“Why didn’t you? You had time.”

“You make it sound like this was planned. You convinced me to bring you along literally yesterday.”

“Still.”

Nico sighed. “I don’t know. I guess because he isn’t exactly a normal dad, even by demigod standards. But, besides Hazel, he’s the only family I have. I’m just…nervous, I guess. I want him to like you.”

“I want him to like me too,” Will grinned, trying for levity as they ascended the palace steps. “I mean, it would be kind of awkward if your boyfriend’s godly dad hated your guts. Besides, my dad seemed to like you enough.”

The skeleton guards by the doors stood firmly at attention as they walked past, heading for the throne room. Nico snorted. “Your dad was in the body of a mortal teenager. Besides, Apollo has always been one of the friendlier gods. Hades is not.”

The black marble doors to the throne room swung open as they approached. As they entered, Nico’s eyes went straight to the balcony overlooking the Fields of Asphodel, upon which sat the thrones of the Lord and Lady of the Underworld. Immediately, he stiffened.

The larger throne made of fused bones, where his father usually sat, was empty. The throne beside it, however, was not.

Upon her black, flower-shaped throne, Persephone looked as though she’d rather be just about anywhere else. Her eyes narrowed as they landed on him. “Nico.”

She clearly hadn’t been in the underworld long. As the autumn and winter months wore on, she tended to grow pale, her colour fading away. At the moment, though, she was vibrant, her ebony hair lustrous and her dress flooded with the shifting colours and shapes of various summer-bright flowers. Her brown eyes, which might seem warm to some, were stone-hard as she surveyed her stepson.

Nico gritted his teeth. Of all the people to run into down here, his stepmother was the one he least hoped to see. “Lady Persephone. You’re back early.”

Irritation tightened the corners of her mouth. “Yes, I am. My mother has been rather busy this time around, and the harvest season seems to have started somewhat early this year. So I have returned. And so have you.”

“I’m just visiting,” Nico ground out. “Where is my father?”

“Called away for the moment. There’s been a re-structuring of the Asphodel overpass system, or so I’m told. He should be back by the end of the day.” She turned her gaze towards Will, eyeing him curiously. “I see you’ve brought a companion. Welcome to the Palace of Hades, son of Apollo.”

Will bowed slightly. “Lady Persephone.”

Nico smiled tightly. “This is my boyfriend, Will Solace.” He turned to Will. “Come on, I’ll show you around a bit. I can have one of the servants notify us when my father returns.”

Will glanced between his boyfriend and the goddess before nodding. “Okay.” He offered a respectful nod to Persephone, “My Lady,” before allowing Nico to lead him out of the room.

They’d made down three consecutive black marble hallways before Will ventured, “I guess you two are always like that.” Nico had told him about his strained relationship with his stepmother, but it was one thing to hear about it and another to see it himself.

Nico nodded tersely. “She doesn’t like me much, and the feeling has been pretty mutual ever since she turned me into a dandelion.”

“You never did tell me why-”

“Nope.”

“Okay.”

After a long moment, Nico sighed. “I was nervous, you know, the first time I met her. I was… I guess I was resentful, because, I mean… She wasn’t my mother. But at the same time, I couldn’t really remember my mother much…and I wondered what it was like, you know, to have one. Guess I’m still wondering,” he shrugged.

They walked on in silence for a minute or two. Nico’s shoulders seemed to sag, weary and worn in that way that reminded Will just how much his boyfriend had suffered in his short life.

He made the decision without a second thought. “This winter, I’m taking you to meet my mother.”

Nico stopped dead, staring at Will with a wide-eyed expression that was somewhere between shock, awe and terror. “And I can promise,” Will continued, “that she will love you. She kind of already does; I tell her about you all the time,” he admitted sheepishly.

For a long moment, Nico was frozen. Then his expression melted into the tiniest of smiles and he wrapped his arms around Will and hugged him tight. “I love you.”

Will grinned and hugged back. “I love you, too.”

When they pulled apart, Will glanced around. “By the way, where are we going?”

Nico blinked and glanced down the hall. “Oh. Right. I was supposed to be giving you a tour.”

Will frowned as Nico shook his head as if to clear it. “You’re tired.”

His boyfriend sighed. “I didn’t sleep much last night. Too busy worrying about,” he gestured wordlessly back in the general direction of the throne room. “The shadow travel didn’t help.”

Will laid a hand on his shoulder. “You should go take a nap before your father gets back.”

Nico frowned. “But-”

“I can look around on my own. I’ll probably just end up back in the garden anyway.” Will smiled. “Go get some rest.”

With a last, searching glance, Nico nodded. He leaned in to peck Will softly on the lips before heading off down the hall.

Once he’d turned the corner and vanished from sight, Will stuck his hands in his pockets and began to amble back the way they’d come. He took his time, stopping to peer into every room he passed. Finally, as he’d expected, he stepped back out into the garden.

He moved slowly through the flower beds, just taking it in all over again. It really was incredible, that all of this existed so far away from the sun’s warmth. He followed the side paths as they wound away from the palace doors. He lost track of time as he meandered, stopping to look at every new kind of plant that he came across.

Some time later, he rounded a dense cluster of gold-leafed bushes and found himself in a small clearing, a round garden table at its centre with a chair on either side.

In one of those chairs sat Persephone, contemplating the garden around her with a small frown, a quartered pomegranate on a plate at her elbow. Without looking at him, she asked, “How do you like my garden, Will Solace?”

“It’s amazing,” he answered honestly. “One of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.” Right next to the view from Half-Blood Hill at sunset and Nico laughing in the sun.

The goddess smiled slightly. “Yes, it is truly lovely. It was a gift from my husband, originally. It has grown since then, of course, but it was one of the first things that won Hades my heart. It is something of a sanctuary of mine, now, a reminder that there are some things that I love down here.”

She gestured to the seat across from her. “Please, join me.”

Will took his seat obediently, watching the goddess warily. She noticed his look and smiled slightly. “I feel it would be remiss of me as a hostess not to offer you some refreshment.” She indicated the pomegranate, her smile turning wry.

Respectfully, he shook his head. He was perfectly aware of what that would mean. Much as he loved Nico, he had no desire to spend the rest of his life down here. “Thank you, My Lady, but I’m fine.”

She chucked softly and took a dainty bite for herself. After a moment, she said, “I have always liked Apollo’s children. They tend to appreciate nature more than some.”

“Most of us do love the outdoors, I suppose,” Will said with a polite smile.

“And yet, here you are,” she said, regarding him contemplatively. “For the sake of that boy.”

Will regarded her carefully. Then he ventured, “Lady Persephone, I mean no disrespect, but… Why do you dislike Nico so much? I understand that he’s your husband’s son, and not yours, but…”

The goddess straightened in her chair, eyes cold as she glared at him. “He is a product of my husband’s infidelity.”

“I understand that, but… That’s not Nico’s fault. He didn’t ask for it.” He really, really, didn’t ask for it.

Persephone’s voice was frigid when she replied. “You would do well not to question a goddess, boy.”

Will hesitated, wary, then persisted. “My Lady, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, it’s just that, well… Nico doesn’t have much in the way of family. And he was separated from his mother too soon, something I think you can relate to.”

Persephone seemed to soften slightly at that. Will pressed on. “Nico never got to see his mother again. And he hasn’t had a mother figure since. Some kindness from you might help him more than you realise. He can’t help that he was born, and he’s not a bad person. At all. He might surprise you, if given the chance.”

Persephone considered him for a long moment. Then, she spoke, slowly, as though she were tasting every word carefully before letting it fall. “You are bold, Will Solace. Few would dare presume to convince a goddess to change her mind.”

Will’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smile. “Maybe not as few as you’d think.”

“Hmm, yes, you demigods do tend to be a troublesomely strong-willed lot, don’t you.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Most gods would have turned you into some form of plant or animal for daring to question them. I’m sure Nico has told you about his brief tenure as a dandelion.”

“He has, but he hasn’t told me why you turned him into one.”

“No, I suppose he wouldn’t. Perhaps that shall remain a family secret.”

At that moment, a skeleton appeared around the corner and approached the goddess. Bowing, it clacked its jaws together rapidly before straightening and awaiting a response.

“It seems my husband has returned.” Persephone stood, the picture of elegance and poise. Addressing the skeleton, she said, “You may go.” It bowed and turned on its heel, disappearing back into the garden.

Will got to his feet, smoothing out his shirt nervously. Persephone turned to him. “I will consider your words, Will Solace. I will guarantee you nothing, but I shall consider them.”

The sound of running footsteps approached from the path. Then Nico burst into the clearing, breathing heavily. He froze upon seeing the goddess. “Lady Persephone,” he said, eyeing her cautiously.

“Nico.” She stared at him for a long moment, tilting her head pensively. Then, “I would like you to join me for breakfast here tomorrow. My mother left behind a vast assortment of cereals on her last visit that will be suitable for you to eat.”

With that she swept past him, pausing at the edge of the clearing to add, “You are fortunate to have a significant other who cares for you so. You have chosen well.” Then she turned the corner and vanished from sight.

Nico gaped after her, then whirled to face Will with the expression of a fish who had just been slapped across the face. “What did you say to her?!”

Will smiled. “Just that you’re not a bad person.”

“You convinced her to invite me to breakfast?”

Will held up both hands helplessly. “I had nothing to do with breakfast, I just asked her to give you a chance.”

“You…” Nico shook his head, still unable to believe what he’d just heard. Persephone had just complimented him. He was tempted to look up and check whether the underworld ceiling had started falling on his head.

Unable to find the words he needed, he fell back to the reason he’d come running in the first place. “My father’s back.”

“I know.” Will grinned. “Let’s finally do this, shall we?”

Nico stared at him for a moment longer. “I love you.”

Will’s grin widened. “I know.” He stepped in and kissed his boyfriend gently. “I love you too.”

Then he grabbed Nico’s hand and started leading him back towards the palace. “Now come on. Let’s not leave the King of the Underworld waiting.”

After Blackrock - part 1

Here’s the link to the so called “prequel”. I suggest reading if you’re confused

(I have no problem with swear words)

- Oh, Rythian. What a pleasant surprise...

- Same here, Sjin.

Rythian was at the Sips co doorstep. He’s been visiting the place every now and then for his own purposes.

- What’s your business here..? You’ve been so persistent for... six months.

- I’ve been meaning to ask you something.

- Ask... me?

- Specifically you.

That was the last thing Sjin was expecting. The first was a death threat.

- O - okay... Come in...

He led Rythian to their main building. When invited to take a seat, the mage politely declined.

- So... What did you want to ask me?

- Do you have any idea where Duncan lives?

Another surprise. Sjin was expecting something along the lines of “when is a comfortable time for you to be killed?”

- Last I saw him i - it was at the jaffa cake factory. He has a lab nearby that’s-

- I know about the lab and the factory. It’s finished, if you didn’t know and the lab is abandoned. I need to find his new location. I thought maybe you knew.

- Why am I supposed to know that?

- Well, you both fought and destroyed the world together...

- Exactly! We fought!

- So you don’t know where your partner in crime resides?

- He’s not my partner! And no!

- Hmm...

Rythian drifted off with his thoughts.

- You do know where he lives. Deny it all you want. But answer me this - is Duncan afraid of me?

Sjin thought for a moment.

- He is.

- He has no reason to. Unless he’s planning something...

- You... think what you’re thinking.

- Sjin, is there any way you can tell me where he is?

- I’m not sure...

Rythian had to take a different aproach. No one trusted him enough to tell him anything.

- Sjin, do you remember the days of the old world? When we were all friends?

- Where are you going with this?

- How was I supposed to know that it would all come crashing down?

Sjin was skeptical.

- You had your feud with Duncan and no one knew. You killed everyone. Why am I wrong when I say I can’t forgive you or him for that?

- What do you seek, Rythian?

He was already cheering inside.

- I know most people are against me for unexplained anger. That’s why I wasnt to make amends. I just want to talk.

Sjin went silent for a moment.

- Go to our flooded quarry and take the minecart along the railway there. At the end, follow directions to his base.

- Thank you, Sjin.

- Don’t mention it.

He led Rythian to the quarry and showed him the railway.

- Seriously, don’t mention it.

Rythian spent several hours in the cart, just heading forward. A turn here and there helped him to stay awake. “Although, at this point, that may not be such a bad idea”. But the moment he thought about that it was too late - he was turning every few meters. “Confusing. Duncan’s a smart bastard, I have to admit. But I will find a path above ground”. That’s when the railway went down hill and Rythian lost track of how many rights and lefts he took. But in front he saw daylight and he genuinely felt happy.

Where the railway ended stood a huge castle made out of marble. Four corners, each turned to towers, all built differently with a certain theme - as if to resemble the four realms, they stood miles above the above the walls that were as thick as five men. The gate, four times the size of Rythian, offered no entry.

“Thank god for flying“

From a bird’s eye view. the courtyard and the towers looked even more impressive. A massive fountain in the middle poured out water and lava, with a telescope made of gold stood at the top of the structure.

“How do you hide something like this?“

The towers definitely were meant to show off the four realms (and the mass amounts of time spent on them) in the world. The Nether one was made of red bricks and decorated glowstone. Pouring lava helped the live pig men to defend against any threat. To the right was the End. The two most dangerous and unwelcoming realms were set to intimidate at the gate. With obsidian and end stone to hold it and a dragon egg at the top (gold one, obviously) really makes you wonder if any endermen call this place home. Behind the Nether tower, a thick and long wall away, was the realm they all lived in. With a tiny river on top and a waterfall leading to a desert, it’s amazing how the two opposites work to create simple beauty. To the right of that and behind the End was the Twilight tower. The building representing it was made to look like a tree with massive branches reaching all the way to each tower and connecting each realm. What caught Rythian’s eye was mushrooms all across the branches and some even hiding in the shade under and above the trees arms. He lost count of how many of the plants were “living” there while heading to the top of the tower, using the clever stairs carved in the trunk.

“How long did it take for him to build this?“

A very long time.

“Well, yeah, that’s obvious. I’m asking if he built this in a year... Why would he need to do this anyway?“

Either he’s hiding or he’s afraid of you... for some reason.

“He’s afraid because he’s up to no good“

Or... he saw you coming out of the ender portal crushed and realized you’re very vengeful at these times.

“Possibly... Or I’m just going insane“

That’s more likely.

Rythian snapped and realized that he argued with himself.

“I’m going insane“

Definitely.

The long ride back home Rythian tried to remember every curve and turn so he could fly back to the castle for... recon reasons. After that failed, he marked the path on a map he stole, but got carried away - it turned to a labyrinth. “How the hell do I find it now?!.. Why do I complicate everything?!”

Silently raging at himself, he headed for his tower. Eventually he solved his own puzzle and had a path to follow. While pacing back and forth around his red themed tower, memorizing the map, he noticed something unusual. There was a ladder leading from the top floor of his tower to the bottom. Rythian didn’t visit the bottom floor very often - other than to collect the red matter from his power flowers. Even without that, he flew from one floor to another from outside - the wide balconies helped. “Someone was here... Someone who doesn’t know magic or science...”

He went outside and saw exactly what he expected to - one of his walls was blown up. Someone broke in.

“When I find out who it is... There will be blood”

Among the ruins he found a piece of paper. Not wondering how it survived, he read the note on it:

“Search where Shadow was found“

“What kind of sick shit is this?!“

Rythian tried not to blame everything on Duncan. There’s no way he could have known what happened at Blackrock manor. And even if he did, why attack him in this way?

“Never mind... Shadow is a code name that Zoey thought of. I found that in her secret lab or... under it... Did he really dare?..”

The ladder led underneath his tower and answered his question.

“Again, did Duncan do this, or was it someone else?“

Without thinking about it too much again, he descended down the ladder.

It went quite deep and Rythian was tempted to fly down, but then he saw the bottom. He touched the cobblestone that covered something and decided to look into it later. He went the only way possible and walked into a cave full of “Machinery,,, Computers... SCIENCE...” All doubts about this being Duncan’s work faded away.

“That son of a...“

Before he could finish his thought, the main computer’s screen lit up and a message appeared on it.

“Hello?“

“Rythian?“

“Can you see this?“

Out of rage, he typed:

- Duncan, if you think you can just break into my place and come out clean, I’m telling you right now, you can’t”

“Oh, I’m sorry if he destroyed something - I put him up to it. Breaking in“

Rythian wasn’t expecting a reply like that.

“He was probably in a hurry to set everything up since he finally caught you leaving your tower for the first time in months...“

Rythian was extrememly confused.

- Who... ARE you?

“Right! You probably have no idea!“

A tense second passed.

“Since you don’t know this may be a shock to you“

Another moment...

“Rythian, I’m... Zoey. The one and only.“

His jaw dropped.

16

Words turned in Simra’s mind. Words turned and worked themselves over.

The gait of his shaggy-maned mud-brown pony almost made a poem of them. The gentle jolt through the hips, the floor of his body, and out into travel-vexed thighs. An abdomen sick of bending to keep sitting a saddle. The muffled knocking that beat through his spine and set his neck to aching. That was its metre. It was also three-fifths of what he hated about riding.

No denying though, it had halved the second half of their journey. This leg of it, at the least. They had ridden along the nameless stream til it paid out into the Dathan. A wide pale-watered river, but it sat shallow and flowed slow between its deeper sloping banks. That was one thing for which they could thank the coming Winter. Mountain headwaters, back to the west — they’d be lying cold and lazy now, in mountains already gone bleak with frost, bleached with snow.

Simra was wary of river-crossings. Had any number of reasons to be, and most of them good ones too. But crossing the Dathan at the ford they found was scarce enough to wet Simra’s boots, or wash against the ribs of his pony. No great trial, he told himself, as his heart clenched and the eyes behind his eyes remembered. And then they were over.

They dismounted to let the guar bask a moment in the cool bright sun, and the pony roll dry in the grass and the dust. They ate mouthfuls of wood-dark bark-stiff jerky from the saddlebags of the dead Vereansu.

Simra’s stomach still took uneasy to treating meat as a staple not a luxury. It growled and fidgetted, unquiet as they rode on.

In the nights, the mornings, and what stops they took to water and rest their mounts, Simra found time to write. He’d folded the parchment he bought in Bodram til he could see pages in each crumpled gather. Not a book nor quite a scroll, but he numbered each page as he wrote, planning for the day when he’d refold and cut and stitch the whole mess together — make it what it was meant to be.

Sixteenth months with no way to write, then thirteen more with scarce any time to do so — not like this, not for himself. The habit came back hard – harder on some days than others – but the one thing more bitter than writing badly was not writing at all. And all the rest was a chaos of peaks and pits, and misbegot conclusions. One day it would seem that, in silence, he’d somehow gotten better. The next, it seemed neglect had lost him whatever scraps of skill or talent he’d once had.

But the habit was there now, at root and at work. Even without paper or ink, in empty times, some part of his mind would start writing. Words turned. Words turned and worked themselves over.

Simra rode with Tammunei to his left.

His was a hunched shape, low and sloped in the saddle, contrasting the long straight spear slung across his back.

He’d taken the spear from among the fallen Vereansu, who had used it for both a lance and bannerpole. A shaft of reddish-dark wood with a strange and twisting grain, a little longer than Simra was tall, wrapped in leather at the middle and bored with holes at either end to take a carrying strap. Its point was a narrow taper of iron with a second straight spike hooking backwards off from it.

It rattled against his saddle, shoulders, and side as he went. A blighted inconvenience and a sly cruel reminder. Useful, no doubting that, but he’d told himself that he’d never rely on another blighted spear again as long as he lived. Not after all he’d done for the chance to make it so. So don’t rely on it, he told himself now. Use it when it suits you, and don’t when it doesn’t. Sell it when you get the chance for all you give a shit. Still, it felt like an indignity. Another piss poor joke the world was playing at his expense.

Noor went ahead of Simra and Tammunei on her grey and tan guar, the ambling point to their formation. She’d taken a bow from the Vereansu dead and it nestled unstrung, like a little horned moon, at rest in a sheathe by her saddle. Arrows rattled in a nearby quiver. Short and light and softish-spoken, fletched to bring down prey. Longer and heavy, fewer in number, three war-arrows grumbled in their separate compartment. Her long hair streamed idle behind, more wind than speed in its motion.

She sat her saddle upright. Flowed somehow with the jerking two-foot gait of her guar. Flowed somehow with the way its walk veered side to side with every step, as much as it rambled forward.

All motion on two legs is falling, Simra decided. Falling and catching, falling and catching. The kind of thing that if you ever thought about, instead of doing it thoughtless, you’d fail or falter in it — fail the fall, miss the catch.

A steppe-pony was a smoother ride – a more familiar one for Simra – but that didn’t make it a far cry better. Noor was maddening-perfect in the way she rode. Tammunei, natural and smooth, clicking and cooing to their guar all the while. Simra found it easier to slouch. He’d never be mistaken for a good rider. The next best thing was to be a poor but comfortable one, he reckoned. Not that there was any blighted danger of that. He could urge a fair smooth Riftfolk tolt from a horse like this, but any pace slower or faster would jar him. Most of their journey went on at a grating walk, while Simra fought to keep a mouthful of complaints behind his teeth.

The shadow of something winged hung black in the sky.

“One of yours?” Simra pointed it out to Tammunei. “Hired on to catch us dinner?” He’d seen Tammunei sing a hawk from off its glide and down to catch them a hare. Hoped this might be the same.

Tammunei gave a vague smile and shook their head. “I’m listening to the ground, not asking favours of the sky.”

“Alright…”

For all the haze and mystery when Tammunei talked of their magic, the aim was often practical, the goal a fish or scrib or marmot for the pot, or some sense of nearby water. Simra waited for Tammunei to explain.

“I can hear mushrooms,” they said. “Not far. Hiding in the tall grass. We might have missed them otherwise…”

“What does a mushroom sound like?”

“One mushroom? Don’t know. Too quiet. But lots? It’s… Hm… One thing, lots of voices, lots of senses, all talking to each other, but — No. Talking to itself. Like — Like if a spider’s web could talk, strand to strand, corner to join, then…it might talk like this.”

Simra raised his brows, slackened his jaw. He was never sure whether to be amazed or appalled.

“But…you don’t know? Because you’ve never heard a cobweb before?”

Tammunei smiled again. Remembered to nod.

“Fucking Princes…” Simra breathed. A soft curse that turned into a laugh. “Swear, if I could write like you talk…” Even after the laugh had ended, Simra felt a lingering smile twist his scarred lips.

The mushrooms weren’t far, only hidden.

Tammunei made a cooing noise and turned off their course, leaving Simra unsure if the sound had been for their guar or meant for Noor and him. Any case, they followed.

Slinging one leg over the guar’s big sad-smiling face, over the horn of their saddle, Tammunei slipped down onto the plain. Nothing to see. Only the grasses, almost an ordinary green here and hushing high against Tammunei’s shoulders.

Noor curled her legs under her, coming to sit her saddle cross-legged. Frustrating ease, unlimited patience.

Simra kissed his teeth and followed Tammunei. A clumsy mimic of how they’d dismounted, and Simra’s boots hit the ground. Landing, falling, at least, he could do. “Stay,” he told his horse, turning his head back to fix it with a stern frown. “Stay.” Again, sterner, in the closest thing his tongue would come to Deshaan Velothis.

There was no comprehension in the way it stared back. A single sidelong preybeast’s eye. Eerie how it put him in mind of talking to Tammunei sometimes. Same opaque angled look. Same hard time telling if they’d really understood.

The horse stayed, but more from its own will than Simra’s command, he reckoned. It dropped its head to champ at something on the ground, disappearing into the grass save the peak of its saddle and height of its withers.

Simra kissed his teeth again, planted his spear in the dirt with its blunt iron buttspike, and followed Tammunei a short ways into the overgrowth.

With a careful hand, Tammunei parted a wall of grass. Beyond it, the growth was shorter. Between the blades, a ragged circle of fungus grew, in yellow-white and spotted scab-red and the occasional tall spire of blue. Like soapbubbles, heaping over each other. Like a Telvanni town, sprawled in miniature.

“How many of those are any good to eat?” Simra peered through the parted curtain of grass, hesitant to step inside. He’d read stories about forest spirits, marking their sanctums with spirals or circles of small smooth stones, or else with rings of toadstools. Cradletales, but they still put an apprehension in him.

“The white parasols,” Tammunei said.

“The pale frilly ones? Good. That’s most of them!”

“The red spotted ones too. Only the stems though, and only if you plan to sleep soon.” Tammunei crouched, brought out a small sicklebladed knife, and set to harvesting the white mushrooms from off their stubby jaundiced stalks.

From behind them, Simra heard Noor begin to sing. A low quiet drone of noise, familiar by now as the moaning wind or whispering grass.

“What about the blue ones?” Simra asked.

“Bad to eat. Slack muscles, swollen ankles and wrists. A stronger extract locks the joints if you mix it with hackle-lo tea, boil it down…”

“And the reds if you eat the caps?”

“Bleeding gums. Bad dreams. There’s no virtue in them.”

“Less you’re cooking for someone you don’t like, or you need to play ill…”

“The second — why would you..?” Tammunei looked up, some small dismay on their face.

Simra shrugged. “Don’t know. Never know what you’ll need to do. Not til it’ll help to do it.”

Tammunei didn’t respond, but must have understood. Red spots and blue spires, they picked a little of both.

Simra brought out his notebook. Purple, clothbound, pretty, seldom used except to cram full of sidelined thoughts and things to remember. Not since he’d bought the parchment and started thinking bigger. He took out a twisted charcoal pencil and started to scribble down what Tammunei had told him.

“What are you writing?”

“Notes. What you’ve just said, mostly. About them.” Simra pointed with his pencil down at the mushrooms.

“Why?”

“So I don’t forget. So next time I’m hungry and have my choice of mushrooms, I’ll know which way to choose.”

“But why write? Might you forget if you do? Your mind won’t have as much need to remember.”

“Might do. Then I’ll have my notes to look back at, right?” Might do, Simra thought again to himself. Might do, but probably not. For one thing, the notes let him pretend it was otherwise. “Best to have them. Just in case.”

“What about the other writing?”

“What?”

“On the other paper, with the pen. That’s different? Different tools for different tasks.”

“That’s different.” Simra nodded though his gut sank, like being a child again, caught out in some secret mischief. “Kind of. That’s for remembering too, but for other people. Just in case.”

“Other people? To help others remember what?”

“Me, I reckon… Y’know, for if they need to.”

“Oh.” A sad thoughtful pause. “Can I read it?”

Simra had known that was coming. It brought a further sinking  with it. Colour burnt up hot across his cheekbones. “Maybe.” He forced calm into his voice. Attempted an easy smile. “Maybe when it’s done. Or if I don’t finish it. Maybe then.” The smile faltered. “Didn’t know you could read. Just assumed… After what Noor said…”

“Only slowly. Loudly. If I try to read your secret just-in-case memory-papers, you’ll hear of it.”

Simra’s lips parted. His throat choked up a laugh, catching the fact that Tammunei had made a joke a moment before his mind. Laughter was good. It hid the fear he felt for what he’d already written. How it was for everyone and no-one at all; strangers but perhaps never friends; for Tammunei, yes, but not for them to read themself. It was a book braver than he was. In that moment, braver than he felt by far, and off to the point of foolishness.

A thought came. He could burn it, every page, leave no trace. No thought had ever been so tempting or so unbearable both at once. He couldn’t.

When they sat later at their cookfire, cloaked to the night by magic and eating a fry of soft tart-tasting white mushrooms, Simra didn’t. Though the thought came back and the fire beckoned all the same.

Eyes of Light

Dear Good Netizen:

The music blares, heavy beats sending vibrations through my sweaty body.  It’s dark, and I’m surrounded by mostly strangers. The few friends I dragged with me have long gone.  There’s some recognizable faces here and there – party friends, I say– or those souls who you wouldn’t recognize in daylight.  Red cups sprout everywhere around the empty bottles like a fresh growth of those mushrooms from Mario Kart.   My nose then twitches, and I smell the clouds of thick smoke wafting through the room like a silent specter, sticky yet sweet.  

This is the shit we live for, I think.

“Hey – is everything ok?” says a voice.

I look up to meet the droopy gaze of an acquaintance named Alex, the one playing host tonight.

“Hey yea I’m fine – just a little tiered all of a sudden”.

“Sacrilege! We need to turn up! As the host I insist you come into the lion’s den”

“I guess some goodies would be welcome”.

Twenty minutes later I return from Alex’s room to the swingin’ party.  I twist and turn to the music mindlessly, trying to shake off the looming guilt of my decisions. I feel ready to leave yet embarrassed at the prospect of doing so alone.  Eventually I find my way back to the living room couch for a breather next to a girl passed out on her friend.  

I turn to my right upon hearing the sound of a bottle dropping, and that’s when I see him.  Lounging by the liquor table, tall and slim, stands the most beautiful boy I have ever seen.  He is alone, sipping from a red cup gingerly with his lips pursed, observing the crowd.  His hair is wavy and slicked back near shoulder length, black as a raven’s and soft as downy.  With pale skin, he does not look sickly, but glowing in the hazy room.  My stomach clenches upon finally beholding his eyes.  

It can’t be … must be a trick of the light.

Doubtful, I peer closer.  

Well yes, I muse, they are indeed real … shit.

Like a pair of fresh ink dots, the boy’s irises are completely black.  Rather than looking eerie and cold as one would assume, they sparkle in the dark room, like two beacons of extraordinary in a sea of ordinary.  

They flicker to my direction.  

I jerk my head immediately the other way, feeling flushed and childish.  

He noticed me … no – he can’t have.  I’m far too ordinary.

I turn my head slowly back, trying to look inconspicuous.  

Instead I jump in fright, knocking a red cup out of one girl’s hand, for the beautiful boy has suddenly found the seat right next to me.

“Hello,” he coos, his voice intoxicatingly raspy.

“Um – hi … what’s good”.

“Well … nothing at this party, I suppose”.

“Yea – I’m kinda over it too”.

We connect eyes.  

Holy shit.

Staring into the boy’s eyes I see only swirling wisps and twinkling lights in the place of pupils.  I blink, yet they remain the same.  I can’t help but continue to stare deeper and deeper into them, feeling myself floating in a sea of clouds, weightless.  

“Would you care for some fresh air?” asks the boy, shattering my gaze.  

Flustered, I nod, not even aware of what I’m agreeing to.

The boy leads me through the sea of people and out an open door into a humid, summer night.  A deck creaks beneath my sneakers.  I feel the sweat begin to prickle on my skin already, like stepping into fresh morning dew.  The boy stops beneath the foliage of a large apple tree, caressing one of its mid-blossom buds.  Surrounding him are the intermittent flashes of fireflies, like flickering candles in the night.

“I love fresh apples,” says the boy, turning to face me.

He reaches out a delicate hand to reveal one bright red apple, as if it were spring rather than summer.  I stare at the apple, more luminescent in the low glow of the outdoor lights.  

I guess I have the munchies, I think, already decided.

I then reach out to grab the apple, my tongue salivating.

“Ahh ah – I didn’t say this was for your consumption”, the boy breathes, a smile flashing briefly across his chiseled face.  

“Didn’t you ever learn how to share?”

“Hmm -  you know the ancients used to believe apples contained the secret to immortality – one bite of an apple on a full moon’s night and poof!  You can live forever”.

I gaze up at the night sky.  A full moon is out with not a cloud in sight, floating lazily like an anchored ship at port.  I snort in derision.

“Is that the line you use on everyone?  And no – I have never heard that before”.

The boy, seemingly ignoring me, then bites into the apple.  Fresh juice glistens on his pouty lips, but does not drip down to his chin.  

I shiver, despite the heat.

“I guess the sheep weren’t that great of teachers”, he says between munching teeth, “Now … tell me – do you want a bite?”

“Sure, Adam”.

The boy chuckles, sending another shiver down my spine.  

“More like Snow White, but whatever tickles your fancy … here you go”.

He finally hands me the apple, brushing his fingers against mine.  When I grip the crimson fruit, I look up only to realize that I’m now below standing in front of the apple tree’s base.  

That’s strange - weren’t we just on the deck … or am I more fucked up than I thought?

“Is something weighing you down?” asks the boy, staring at me intently, “I promise I’m no rager danger”.

Calm down - the apple tree, yes – there was an apple tree before.

“No it – it’s fine … this apple looks really delicious.”

Closing my eyes, I plunge my teeth deep into the apple, biting down.  An immediate sensation of intermingling flavors collides with my taste buds.  I taste sweet honey and cinnamon, then a woody flavor that reminds me of walnuts, and finally fresh lavender.  Savoring the moment of sensory bliss for one second longer, I slowly open my eyes.

Gone is the apple tree and in its place stands an enormous elder tree.  Its dark berries look like red Christmas lights strung out in an irregular pattern.  Behind the dark elder tree sits a lagoon, bluebird in color and peppered with fairy moss patches.  I see fish jumping out of the water, sunlight reflecting off of their colorful scales (weird – last time I noticed it was nighttime) while dragonflies stream across the surface like bullets.  And there’s what I finally believe to be figures across the lagoon - or dancing shadows – but I can’t be sure.

“Where are we?” I mutter, covering my eyes from the bright sunlight, “It feels like there’s a solar flare here”.

“Where d’ya feel you currently are?” answers the boy, who is now at my side, holding my hand with the apple.

“Am I tripping right now?  Where the hell are we?”

“If it concerns your brain so, we are neither here nor there, and when certainly doesn’t beg the question”.

“Shit - I am tripping”.

“Whatever you wish to call it, tis fine by me. It has had many names over time. Call it Jupiter for all I care”.

I look closer at the boy, taking a slight step forward.  There is something subtly different about his appearance that (even beneath the sun) I can’t deduce.  His hair is the same, flowing like black silk, and his skin even more translucent in the light.  I can’t remember if he was wearing a black tunic before (were we at a toga party?) and barefoot.  However upon closer inspection, I am more perplexed by his ears, which I now notice come to a catlike point.  

“Are you an alien? You definitely are not ordinary”, I say.

The boy laughs, reaching out a hand to dip into the lagoon.

“Is there not something ordinary in being extraordinary?”

“Not really”.

“Then I guess you haven’t realized that there’s something extraordinary in the ordinary as well. Let’s just say it’s something electromagnetic”.

He cups a handful of water and downs it one, fluid gulp.  

“Take this water for example”, continues the boy, “It is much more than it seems.  Would you like a taste?”

“Water isn’t that extraordinary”.

“Just try it – you may I dare say just like it. Do you not trust me?”

The boy looks once more into my eyes.  When I blink, I’m leaning down next to the edge of the lush lagoon, my feet squelching next to a pair of blue water lilies.  

“Sure, why not” I respond, reaching out my hand to graze the surface.

I cup the water, crystal clear, in my clenched hands.  I then drink.  The liquid that rushes down my throat tastes nothing like any water I’ve ever consumed.  Tangy yet sweet, it reminds me of honeysuckle.  A soothing sensation of warmth shoots through my core, and I immediately want more.  

I cup another handful, gulping it down without hesitation.  

“This tastes amazing,” I whisper between handfuls, “I feel – I feel like I could swim across the entire lagoon a hundred times … like for … forever”.

“Oh that is very much a possibility, depending on your concept of time,” responds the boy, smiling.

“I feel fucking incredible.  How - how did I exist back home without this?”

“You can go back home, you know”, the boy responds.

I whip my head around, ready to chastise him for even suggesting such nonsense.  Instead I find myself transfixed as the boy reaches up to the elder tree branches and plucks a single berry.

“All you have to do,” he continues, “is eat one of these elder berries”.

“Well there is no way I want to go back to that party,” I insist, “Let alone my life. So what the hell …”

“And why is that?”

“Because I hate my life.  I hate my fake friends, I hate my bitch work job and – above all - I hate student loan debt.  Why would I ever want to leave this place?”

“I’m not telling you to leave, just simply informing you that you have a choice … your kind are fond of attachments and such, after all.  However also know this – if you do choose to go back, you may never return … as in forever - standard protocol, I guess”.

I stop gulping down the lagoon water momentarily, hung up on the boy’s words.  My mind flashes to the trivial and mundane moments of that day, the past week, the past month, the past year, and finally my entire life.  

I wonder …

Do I really want to return to the daily grind?

Do I really want to return to being a capitalist slave?

Do I really want to return to commitments and responsibilities?

“How much time do I have to decide?” I inquire, returning my attention to the boy.

Twirling the elder berry between his fingers, the boy does not meet my gaze.

“Well in a place where time does not exist, you amusingly have very little time at all … close your eyes and count to five – then you must decide”.

Blinking, I survey the lagoon one final time, committing every fantastical sight to memory.  

Then I close my eyes.

One.  

I remember the feeling of wind brushing against my cheek.

Two.

I remember the smell of brewing coffee in the morning.

Three.

I remember how it felt the first time I swam in the ocean.

Four.

I remember the excitement one feels upon meeting a new person, unexpectedly.

Five.

I open my eyes.

The boy is no longer standing in front of the elder tree.  I breathe in, looking left, and then right, yet he is nowhere in sight.   In fact, I cannot see much as it is now twilight.  Hanging in the sky are three moons – one crescent, one half, and one full – each increasing in size.  With the low visibility my ears begin to tune into eerie sounds that I cannot recognize – like a lyrical crying mixed with a slight electrical humming – which make the hairs on my arm prickle.  The only thing in direct sight that I can make out is the enormous elder tree.  

“Hello?”  I call.

I count to five again.

“Hello? “

Still nothing.  

I begin to feel sick as the boy’s voice replays in my mind:

“… all you have to do is eat one of these berries …”.

I hurriedly approach the elder tree.  On the ground resting upon a leaf is a single berry, as if on a platter.  I bend down to collect it.  Once in my hand, I pop the berry into my mouth without hesitation, and bite down.

Instinctively, my eyes shut in response to its bitter taste.  

When I reopen my two little eyes, it feels less dark than before.  Looking left again, and then right, I can see at first only stars.  They seem so close, almost tangible, like a sea of soap bubbles.  Looking down, I see by starlight that I am casually floating above the ground.  Directly below lies the thick foliage of what I believe to be a tree, beneath which I can hear chitter chatter.  I concentrate closer and recognize distinct patterns of speech.  Slowly the voices’ words reach me, at first only intermittent whispers.

“… the music was …”

“ … I’m starving …”

“ … nice teamwork … you sir are the king!”

“ … Where’s my crown then? They always fall for it – you know what I mean …”

“… hurry up, we don’t have all night – well actually – we do!  But all the same …”

I can sense the figures stop beneath the tree, and their voices lower to inaudible tones.  I try to move closer in order to see through the tree’s foliage, but I remain still.  Willing myself to move, I can feel nothing.  

I look down where I believe my feet to be and only see the outlines of leaves, twigs, and branches.  I look at where I believe my hands to be and see only stars.  I then search for my elbows, shoulders, neck, face, nose, mouth, and chest before – too scared to continue - allowing the world to dim.

The sensation of falling greets me like an old friend.  As I plummet, everything is pitch black, but I hear one voice clear as day.  The voice reminds me of someone I know, and so I concentrate with all of the being I have left, trying to make out the words.

“Another blackout … hurry up, we have a party to get back to …”

Stay Trippy, Treille #ALIENDANCEMUSIC

P.S. *deep breath* Do re mi fa sol la tiiiiiii

P.S.S. Play nice, the aliens are watching. Also check out the accompanying LP4 here: http://bit.ly/EyesoflightLP4