Kindled ASHes

A catch-all repository for drabbles I've written over the years

[kindled-ashes]

Schooling Father

Title: Schooling Father Author: Me (@kindled-ashes / @ashallter ) Fandom: Fallout 4 Synopsis: Minor Canon Divergence - Sole Survivor (Fran) decides that she doesn't like the idea of making a cold, impersonal, pre-recoded speech about the Institute's presence over the radio and instead decides to make an announcement about it, the Brotherhood of Steel, and the Railroad's fates all in one speech in Diamond City and broadcast it live over Diamond City Radio after having already increased Travis' broadcast strength- in part because she feels she owes it to the people of the Commonwealth, and in part to teach her wayward son how a Real Leader makes a speech.

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Rumors circulate through the settlements one at a time; slowly, at first, before steadily gaining speed. The Railroad was wiped out by the Institute! The Brotherhood’s base at the Boston Airport was razed to the ground- even their mighty airship! Soon after came the announcement that the General of the Minutemen would be giving a speech in Diamond City regarding the rumors.People flocked from all over the Commonwealth to attend. Those who could not gathered in their homes and the common buildings built by the General herself in the various settlements around their radius to listen in on the radio, Travis of Diamond City Radio having announced that he would be broadcasting the whole thing for those who couldn’t make the trip with his new, increased, range (courtesy of the very same General).

Untold numbers swarmed Diamond City, prompting the Minutemen to help bolster Diamond City Security as they hadn’t since the initial defense of the city in years past. A small group clustered on the stage, hidden under trench coats and hats pulled down low on one side and dressed in Minutemen’s garb on the other. Off to the side of the stage stood the General herself with the Mayor, Preston Garvey, and Travis. At what seemed to be a previously agreed-upon signal, Travis ducked back into his trailer and the remaining three made their way onto the stage. The mayor first made his way to the front, lifting his hands and clearing his throat loudly to signal everyone to be quiet. Once the chatter died down, he lowered them and spoke, raising his voice to be certain to be heard. Even with the radios scattered throughout the area and the microphone he had to speak into to make sure he could be heard by everyone, he was a practiced public speaker and old habits died hard.

“Good people of the Commonwealth! Welcome to our beautiful Diamond City! For those of you in need of shelter before returning to your homes, the infinitely generous General has paid for rooms in every establishment in town and has turned her personal abode into communal housing for the night! Isn’t she wonderful?” he boomed, applauding the woman and prompting the crowds to do the same- who all too happily did. As long as money was spent, he was all too happy to play the happy public servant- all the moreso considering recent events concerning the woman. After a moment, he held his hands up to encourage the quiet to resume.

“Now, I’m sure you’ve all heard those depressing and dreary rumors recently. Your beloved General has come before you today to address them. So, without further ado, The General of the Minutemen, Madam Francine Stein!” he continued before stepping aside and gesturing for the woman in question to step forward.

The woman in question stepped forward, her white hair tucked into a tight, severe, bun and tucked under a tricorn hat (not dissimilar from the one sported by another city’s mayor). Scars testifying to the difficulty of her life in the Commonwealth- and her life before the war- adorned her face while a blue overcoat, worn open over a white shirt and combat armor chest piece adorned her torso. Leather boots and gloves were all anyone else could see for the folds of the coats. She raised a hand to quiet the applause that had erupted as the mayor stepped aside, waiting for it to quiet before beginning to speak, herself.

“Thank you for coming, everyone. I appreciate the effort it took for you all to make the trip. If any of you experienced any trouble along the way, be sure to let one of my people know and we’ll see to it as soon as possible.” she began, linking her hands behind her back and shifting to a parade rest stance.

“On to business, then. I’m sure you’ve all heard the rumors about the Boston Airport and the Brotherhood of Steel. I’m sorry to say that those rumors are true. The Brotherhood, that branch, at least, is no more. They picked a fight they could not win and paid the price for their unfortunate misjudgement of their opponent. The loss of life is unfortunate and regrettable, and I grieve with those of you who had family members who had joined with them and have now lost them. If there is anything I can do for those of you, do not hesitate to ask it of me. I will do anything within my power to do what can be done.” she continued, closing her eyes and giving a moment’s silence before giving a quiet sigh and continuing.

“Regarding the destruction of the group known as the Railroad, however; I am pleased to say that reports of their destruction have been exaggerated.” she said, turning to the group in trench coats who removed their coats to reveal armor emblazoned with the railroad symbol, though all save for one kept their hats in place. Deacon stepped forward with his trademark cocky grin, removing the hat with a wink as he gave a dramatic bow.

“We gave them one hell of a performance, kiddos.” the synth cracked with his usual humor before stepping back with the rest of his group, who were shaking their heads at him as the General allowed herself a grin and a chuckle of her own.

“Certain elements had to be made to believe they had been eradicated for certain plans to be enacted. Which leads me to the third matter of discussion- and why you were all asked to surrender your weapons upon your entry to the city. Your boogyman…The Institute.” she started, prompting a ripple or fearful and angry murmurs and causing her to lift her hand once more.

“Please, hear me to the end. I have something prepared if you’ll indulge me. I promise you, I will answer every question you have at the end. As I read this, I ask you to keep in mind everything that the Minutemen and I have done for the Commonwealth and that I would never do anything to betray the trust you all have put in me- in all of us.” she soothed, reaching for a paper that Preston held out to her, his expression uncharacteristically tense and serious. She took it from him and offered him a smile and a pat on the shoulder, taking a deep breath before turning back to the crowd and beginning to read.

“For years, now, you have suspected that the Institute still exists; that we are amoung you. It is true, but it is not the whole truth. We are here, and we are here to help. Our superior technology represents the future of the Commonwealth. Today, we activate our Nuclear Reactor, ensuring that we will persevere long after the world above ground ceases to exist. Ensuring that mankind has a future. We have no desire to interfere in the unimportant details of your personal freedoms. We simply ask that you do not interfere with Institute operations. To do so would result in unnecessary difficulties for all parties. Rest easy, knowing that the future is looking bright and that mankind will thrive under our guidance.” she continued, taking further, deep breath, and closing her eyes and swallowing as she folded the paper before wetting her lips.

“I remain yours, in service, Francine Elaine Stein, General of the Minutemen, walker of the Freedom Trail, friend of the Railroad…Director of the Institute.” she finished as she bowed her head, the crowd before her sitting in dead silence for a few moments before erupting into chaotic cries of shock, alarm, outrage, and- surprisingly to many, after the fact- cheers.

It took the Minutemen and Diamond City Security nearly an hour to calm everyone, and many hours more for everyone to feel their concerns and questions had been addressed. Apologies were given, reparations were promised, families were reunited- or arrangements were made for the reunions- where such things were possible. She gave her word that no further incidents like the tragedy of the first attempt at a united Commonwealth government would happen, again.

Hours later, nearly a full day later, when she finally returned to the Institute, she trudged, exhausted, past her son to the quarters she’d been gifted when she first arrived, pausing only momentarily.

“That, son, is how you make a speech.” she said with a weary grin, patting her elderly son on the shoulder before shuffling off to collapse on her bed, leaving him huffing to himself.

[kindled-ashes]

We Need To Talk

“Dorian...I need to...tell you-” the Inquisitor began between ragged gasps, fighting against the exhaustion threatening to knock him from the Dracolisk they were both precariously perched upon.

“Later, Amatus.” the Tevinter cut him off, struggling to keep the pair of them righted as the party pushed for Skyhold. “You can tell me when you've rested.”

A mildly irritated, if resigned, grunt was given in reply as he curled closer to his lover, shivering against the hollow feeling within him.

------

It had not been a kind day for the Inquisitor and his friends. The four of them; Uriel, Dorian, Cassandra, and Cole; had set out to find a missing scouting party between Skyhold and Haven, one Uriel insisted on tracking down himself despite Dorian's protests regarding the cold. They'd found the party, beset by a group of Red Templars, which had apparently been attempting to locate the Inquisition's new base for Corypheus.

The party had leaped into the fray, Uriel himself charging in to lash out with a Spirit Blade when he saw one coming toward himself and Dorian.

“INQUISITOR!” came the cry from Cassandra as Cole gave a cry of alarm, hurling a dagger toward the warrior's retreating back to no avail. It hit a gap in the armor perfectly, but he kept plowing through the snow.

Unfortunately for them, this particular Red Templar was apparently new enough that he could still access his original Templar talents. One moment Uriel had formed the Blade and was coiling his muscles to swing it, the next he was on his knees, gasping for breath as his blood felt like ice in his veins, from the effect of the Smite that he'd been hit with.

A roar of rage came from the Tevinter behind him as the enemy raised his blade, poised to cleave the Marcher's head from his shoulders. Time almost seemed to slow, or perhaps he was moving faster, as he launched first a Horror and then a Walking Bomb spell at the warrior, a Barrier thrown around the Inquisitor for good measure. It would hit him later that he'd cast Haste before the other trio of spells.

The afflicted warrior promptly ran screaming, right toward the other remaining Red Templars. Luckily, there had been a pair of mages in the scouting group who recognized the spells that had been cast and frantically threw a series of Barriers around their allies just before the Walking Bomb took effect. The warrior exploded into a shower of Red Lyrium and blood, causing a chain reaction in the non-protected enemies, bringing them to the same fate.

When the rain of gore was finished and the Barriers faded, the entire group rushed toward the mages, Dorian already at the Inquisitor's side. Cole made it to his other side almost immediately.

“What were you thinking!?” Dorian hissed, hands running frantically over him to check him for injuries.

“Cold, aching, hollow and twisted and dark. Gone. Alone. Haven't felt this since I got to the Circle. He is not hurt, but he can't use his magic, and-” Cole commented, tilting his head to the side as he 'listened'.

“That's enough, Cole.” The spirit's whispy voice was cut off by a rasp from the mage in question, his tone rough and harried, exhausted. He stayed hunched, eyes squeezed shut. “Is...everyone alright?”

“We are fine, Inquisitor. Some injuries, but all will live if we return to Skyhold quickly.” Cassandra answered. “I am surprised that he was still capable of using a Smite.”

“You're...not the only one.” Uriel managed in a weak laugh. “I'll...need to ride with someone...too weak to-”

“You'll ride with me.” Dorian cut him off. “Cole, help me get him on that bloody beast of his.”

“We can double up so that the wounded do not have to walk.” Cassandra said before setting about directing everyone else as the spirit did as he was asked. One of the Inquisitor's arms was slung over his shoulders, the other over Dorian's, as the pair helped their weakened leader onto his Dracolisk.

------

It took them the better portion of a day to return to Skyhold, the party greeted with a flurry of mixed concern and relief at their arrival. With the help of the Iron Bull the Inquisitor was carried up to his room, Dorian being left with instructions to make certain that he got as much rest as possible and assurances that they would not be disturbed the following day. Once they were alone the younger of the two stripped them both of their armor before depositing his exhausted lover onto the bed. After a brief trip around the room to close two out of the three balcony doors and feeding the fire before clambering into the bed beside him, curling up beside the already slumbering other- purely for warmth, he told himself. He was still angry at him for risking his neck.

------

Uriel didn't wake until nearly the midpoint of the following day. Prying his eyes open he found Dorian reclining beside him in the bed, propped up on the pillows as he read one of the many books he'd found on the Inquisitor's personal shelves. With a quiet groan he stretched, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“Avanna. Finally awake, I see.” Dorian commented without looking up from the book. He was answered with a noise of affirmation as the other rolled to his side, curling himself around the Tevinter's waist and legs.

“How long have I been asleep?” he questioned through a yawn.

“Twelve hours roughly. It's not quite midday, yet. One of the servants brought a tray of breakfast up earlier for when you woke.” came the distracted response as a page was turned in the book. After a moment the book was clapped shut, his next words coming out clipped and irritated. “What were you thinking, Amatus!? Yes, you've been learning the Knight-Enchanter's arts, but you've not mastered them, yet! You could have been killed!”

“I couldn't let him get near you...that was the only thought in my mind.” Uriel sighed, keeping his eyes closed as he sluggishly sat up, pulling one leg up to his chest and wrapping his arms around it.

“Vishante kaffas, I can handle myself, Uriel! I am a grown man and a perfectly capable mage.” he snapped, turning to glare at the other. “You don't need to risk your neck on my account! You're not the replaceable one out of the two of us.”

“Don't say that, don't ever say that! You're not replaceable! There's only one you, Dorian!” came the instant admonition as the Inquisitor tugged his leg tighter to himself. A string of muttered Tevene was hissed through the younger's teeth before he snorted. They'd had this argument frequently.

“Eat something before you make yourself ill.” he said, shaking his head.

“...where is the tray?” he questioned quietly after a moment's silence.

“Tsk. In plain view, right there on your desk, of course. Where else would it be?” His brow furrowed after a moment when the other made no move to get up.

“Dorian, we need to talk. It's...it's rather important.” He would never admit it, but Dorian's heart clenched in his chest, a knot growing in his belly, at those words. He was going to tell him he didn't want to see him anymore. Of course he was; the Inquisitor couldn't very well be distracted and left liable to make such rash actions in battle because of them, after all- and over the 'evil Tevinter magister' of all people. His usual impassive mask slipped into place as he put the book he'd been holding down toward the foot of the bed.

“Oh? I am, as you say, all ears.” he commented, hoping his voice was steadier than he felt.

“I...haven't told you quite everything about myself. I haven't told anyone about this, actually- not even my family knows.” he began, swallowing roughly against his suddenly-dry throat. “You know I was an Enchanter at the Ostwick Circle... Roughly a year before the Conclave, I was attempting to teach an Apprentice how to cast a Lightning Bolt; the spell misfired...struck me square in the face, and knocked me clear across the room. From the time the spell struck me until I hit the wall, all I recall is darkness and searing pain in my eyes. I was unconscious for three days, they tell me. When I awoke, I couldn't see. The best healer in the tower did everything he could, but said it was possible I would never see, again.”

Dorian listened silently, his brow furrowing as the tale went on. Something even his family didn't know? Perhaps he wasn't going to tell him that they needed to end things between them, after all. When the older paused to take a breath, he spoke, voice laden with confusion. “While I do enjoy learning more about you, Amatus, what, precisely, are you trying to tell me?”

Uriel took a deep breath, attempting to quell his trembling limbs as he lifted his head, opening his eyes once he was facing the direction that his lover's voice came from, (hopefully) meeting the gaze of the younger with his own glazed, white, eyes. “... He was right. I'm blind, Dorian. I've not been able to see since that accident.”

“Well...that wasn't what I was expecting, I'll admit. How in the Maker's name can you fight if you can't see? Also, I know I may be a bit easily distracted by your other fine features, but aren't your eyes generally blue?” he questioned after a moment's silence.

“I'm getting to that.” He fell silent himself, listening to the faint sounds of the Brothers and Sisters in the courtyard below filter up through the open window. His flinched as he heard one of the most quoted portions of the Canticle of Transfigurations. He'd never liked that particular verse of the Chant, even less so since being appointed Inquisitor. Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children. They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world or beyond. “Promise me one thing, first? Promise you won't go running for Cullen or Cassandra...or tell anyone...”

“Of course, Amatus.” Now Dorian was well and truly puzzled, and more than a little concerned. Why would he feel the need to go to Cullen or Cassandra? Another moment of silence passed before Uriel spoke again, terrified of what the other's reaction would be.

“… At some point during the week after I first awoke, a Spirit I came to me as I slept; yes, I am positive it was a Spirit. It was a Spirit of Wisdom, similar to Solas' friend, that we rescued- at least attempted to rescue. We had spoken before, many times, while I slept. My friend took pity on me when it learned of what had happened and offered its assistance. It would be my eyes in return for the knowledge I would gather by being able to see. I agreed on prevision that it would return to the Fade as I slept and we might discuss the day's events and any new knowledge we might have found.” he explained, hesitantly. When Dorian's eyes grew wide and his posture stiffened, given away by a curse in Tevene, Uriel's expression turned frantic. “It's not a demon, nor is it possessing me, I promise, Dorian! It's not even here right now! The Smite...wounded it...and forced it back to the Fade! It won't be able to come back for another day or more!”

Despite the assurances, the Tevinter pushed off of the bed, pacing around the room as he ranted in his native tongue. The Inquisitor's other leg was pulled up to his chest alongside the other, both of them hugged to his chest as he curled in on himself as if to try to sink into the mattress.

“Do you even realize how dangerous that is?! I know that Spirit Healers get help with their healing from Spirits, but that's temporary! The Spirit doesn't stay with them! You saw what happened to that Spirit when it was made to fight! If you'd seen half of the things I've seen, Amatus!” he railed, gesturing vehemently- for all that the other couldn't see it at the moment. When he finally paused for a breath and turned to look at the older male, seeing the state his lover was in, Dorian deflated. He heaved a sigh and went back to the bed, sitting on it and pulling him into a hug as he lightly pulled his fingers through the long, brunet, hair that was normally pulled up into a tight knot. “Fasta Vass. I can't stay angry at you when you look like someone kicked your Mabari.”

“... I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier.” he murmured, leaning his head against the other's shoulder as sightless eyes fluttered closed. “I know it's dangerous...we agreed that I would never ask it to help- nor would it offer to help- with anything other than my eyes...”

“You ought to let Cassandra know, at least. You take her with you more often than not, and-” Dorian was cut off when Uriel gave a firm shake of his head. “Cullen, then?”

“Cass has enough to worry about, and you know how she feels. Cullen is even more out of the question after what he went through in Kinloch Hold. No. No one else. Please, Dorian...” he insisted, shifting to stretch his legs out and wrap his arms around him.

“Festis bei umo canavarum. Very well, Amatus, but I am going with you when you must leave. Someone has to keep an eye on you.” he agreed, giving a rather put-upon sigh. Uriel was about to speak again when he was interrupted from a rather loud, and undignified, growl from his stomach.

After a moment of silence the pair could not help but laugh at the absurd timing of it. Dorian pried himself from his lover's grasp long enough to retrieve the tray of food, settling it on the bed between them. They continued talking as they ate until a servant brought them lunch and, later, supper. The next morning, sooner than Uriel had anticipated, eyes blue with the hue of his Spirit friend slid open to land on the sight of the other mage, still sound asleep beside him.

[kindled-ashes]

Pranking The Prankster

A lone figure leaned over a terminal tucked into a dark corner of a room. In the chair beside him slumped a body, the former operator of the terminal in question. The figure hunched over the terminal shifted, his gold armor making surprisingly little noise as he did so. His eye scanned over the lines of code as he tapped away at the keyboard, searching for patterns, looking for his way in.

After a few moments, the silence was broken by a stifled snort, lips pressed into a thin line behind his helmet’s visor as he studiously tried not to laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.

A few moments later, another snort escaped the man.

Is something the matter? came question from his companion, the voice quiet and cool in his mind. He didn’t answer, simply shaking his head as he continued working.

Another handful of minutes passed before he snorted, again- this time a bit louder.

Laughter is counter productive. You will give away your position. his partner chided. Again, he simply shook his head, attempting to cough silently and make himself concentrate, again.

More minutes passed before he snorted aloud, this time, shaking his head in amusement.

You must refrain from making noise. You will be compromised. Another shake of his head in dismissal before he took in a deep breath, picking up the task, yet again.

This time, it finally seemed like he was going to make it without incident.

Until a long series of symbols was interjected into the code.

The hacker broke down laughing, standing up as he threw back his head in a bubble of amused laughter.

The lights came on, revealing a large room as the holographic surroundings of before faded away while a small, green, hologram of a man appeared at his shoulder, frowning in disapproval.

Session failed. chimed a female voice from above.

Were this a situation in the field, Agent York, you would be in a great deal of trouble. the figure at his shoulder protested. The man, York, pulled his helmet off as he continued laughing, wiping at the tears in his eyes as he gave a mocking glare at the pair of blond men standing up behind the observation window, grinning at him and laughing, as well.

“D, if we were in the field, I wouldn’t have two knuckleheads feeding me breasts, cat faces, and emojis in the code.” he countered, shaking his head as he started laughing all over again.

Behind the window, the two blonds, North and Washington, clapped their hands together in a victory high five.

[kindled-ashes]

It’s Always The Quiet Ones

Agents York and Florida were the biggest pranksters on the ship. This was a well known fact. When someone stumbled into a prank, it was a fifty-fifty tossup of who to blame. Occasionally, someone else would join in on their fun; sometimes it was Wash, other times it was one of the crew members or another Freelancer. They had to keep their lives grounded somehow, after all.

The one prank no one wanted to own up to, however, was the one staring at all of them over every screen in the ship at the moment. The Director stood rigid and red raced, visibly struggling not to twitch or scratch at any number of itches as he lectured the crew of his ship about pranking and the importance of their work. When the message shut off, the group gathered in the mess hall erupted into a chattering chaos as they tried to discover who’d pulled the ultimate prank and just how they’d gotten into the Director’s private quarters, the most securely locked room on the entire ship.

“Goodness, no~. It wasn’t me.” insisted Florida, shaking his head and sending his long braid swinging behind him.

“I wish it was me. Whoever got that lock has got some serious bragging rights.” York chimed in, his face flicking between amusement and jealousy.

“It wasn’t me!” Wash insisted, his voice cracking as it raised an octave or two out of panic when the others looked to him.

“If it wasn’t one of us, and it wasn’t one of you guys, then...who was it?” questioned the crew member who’d approached the table where Alpha squad had gathered. The entire group gave a clueless shrug, a few of them tossing out suggestions that were, one by one, discounted as not having done it.

Finally, whether out of boredom or sarcasm no one really knew, South suggested her own brother. The table slowly turned as one to look at North, who was quietly reading over a data pad and sipping on a mug of coffee, seemingly utterly ignoring the conversation. After a moment, York scoffed and shook head.

“Northy? I don’t think so, South. Your brother doesn’t have an ounce of a prankster in him.” the security specialist disagreed, shaking his head.

“Besides, he doesn’t pick locks!” he added to a table of agreeing murmurs.

“I’m telling you guys; he’s not the squeaky clean fucker you think he is.” South said, rolling her eyes as she gave a shake of her own head.

“I must agree with York. The old chap just doesn’t have it in him.” Wyoming piped up as Maine gave an agreeing grumble of a growl and shook his head as well. South just scoffed and leaned back in her chair.

“Whatever, assholes. I know my brother.” she said simply, huffing.

While outwardly oblivious to the conversation, internally was another story for the sniper in question. He didn’t have a reputation for the ship’s best poker face for nothing. Privately, in his mind, he and Theta were snickering with glee at their success, glancing out the window just in time to see the evidence head into the nearest star with the rest of the previous day’s garbage...a shipping box with his name on it, and an empty package of itching powder. No one ever suspected Team Dad of being the biggest kid of them all, and that was just the way he liked it.

[kindled-ashes]

Doyle Day

Vanessa Kimball, leader of the remaining citizens of Chorus, stands on a platform on the edge of the habitable area of Armonia’s remains. In front of her, on the other side of a podium, stands those remaining citizens- the former soldiers of both the Federal Army of Chorus and the New Republic, as well as some new arrivals. Behind her sit her advisors- the Red and Blue soldiers, Carolina, and Washington. Behind them, behind the platform, stands a single building, painstakingly repaired and restored. The front of the building is covered by a large cloth. She takes a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh as she steps toward the podium and it’s microphone.

“Thank you all for coming today. I know it’s not easy for any of us to be here. For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Vanessa Kimball, former General of the New Republic and, now, the elected leader of the United Federal Republic of Chorus.” she begins, pausing for a moment and taking another deep breath to steady her nerves before continuing.

“Today marks the One Year anniversary of General Donald Doyle’s sacrifice and the destruction of Armonia to take out the forces of our enemy, Malcom Hargrove. It also marks the anniversary of end of hostilities between the Federal Army and the New Republic. Peace had been brokered before then, but it was a shaky peace until the moment that General Doyle gave his life to save us all. He understood, better than I did, that to survive, we just stand together as one.”

The crowed before her murmurs slightly, nodding in agreement.

“Today, we honor the sacrifice, not just of General Doyle, but of all of those who gave their lives to bring us to this point. Today, we begin rebuilding, retaking our city- our home. That begins here, with the dedication of this building, in their memory. This building is the first of many, the first step in the long healing process.” she continues, gesturing to the building behind her before she links her hands behind her back as Carolina and Washington stand, each moving to grasp a rope at opposite ends of the cloth.

“By the power vested in me, by you, the people of Chorus, I declare today the first national General Doyle Remembrance Day and, in honor of him and every other fallen brother and sister of Chorus, dedicate this building…” she begins, nodding once to cue the former Freelancers to pull the banner down. As they do so, and as the cloth falls to reveal the front of the building, Kimball lifts one arm to gesture to it.

“The Donald Doyle Memorial. Inscribed on the walls of the main room, behind the statue of General Doyle, are the names of every son and daughter of Chorus who fell in the fighting. Any and all donations to the memorial will go to a fund to help those of us who weren’t so lucky as the rest of us to come through the fighting as able as when they began and any of the families left behind of those who fell. Please, enjoy the memorial and look over the displays and memorials as you enjoy the rest of the day’s festivities. There will be a fireworks display later this evening.” she finishes, bowing her head briefly at the applause from the crowd before they behind filtering inside the building.

As the crowd makes their way into the building, Washington and Carolina make their way to her, the Reds and Blues also standing and gathering around her whilst a small group separates from the crowd and joins them, as well.

“That was a great speech, Kimball.” Wash says, offering the woman a smile.

“Thank you, Agent Washington. We couldn’t have done all of this without all of you helping us. You’re just as much to thank as our own soldiers are.” she answers, returning the smile.

“That is why, with the blessing of the Council, I’ve decided to name you all honorary citizens of Chorus. No matter where you go, or how long you’re gone, you all will always have a home here. That does, of course, extend to your families and fellow Agents, as well.” she says, nodding to Carolina as she’s joined by a man with a child perched on his shoulders and chuckling slightly at the expressions ranging from shocked to touched. Tucker is the first to speak, draping an arm around her shoulders.

“You just can’t bear to get rid of me, Kimball, admit it.” he teases, laughing. She rolls her eyes and slips out from under his arm, giving him a friendly shove.

“Not on your life, Captain Tucker.” she retorts to a chorus of laughter from the others. Amid the laughter and friendly jabs from the others, she thinks that maybe, just maybe, she can finally let herself begin to heal, as well... and that, in her own way, that was how she could best honor Doyle’s sacrifice. With this ragtag group, all of her friends, both old and and new, she thinks that sounds like a damn good idea.

[kindled-ashes]

A Coward’s Bravery

"But to tell the truth...I don't think he said it..."

A bright light flashed and Donald squinted his eyes shut. He expected...he wasn’t certain what he’d been expecting. Pain, perhaps? Nothingness? What the reluctant General hadn’t been expecting was a sudden sensation of floating and someone’s arms around him.

Up they flew, over the smoking remnants of what used to be Armonia. He craned his head, trying to see who held him, and gave a gasp of surprise to see an armor clad woman bearing him aloft with a pair of large, white, wings. An angel, perhaps? Though, he’d never heard of an armored angel. She smiled at him, but said nothing as she continued higher.

Up, out of the atmosphere, they flew. Was that...the pelican? It was; there was Lopez in the pilot’s seat. He knew no one was terribly upset at the loss of such a pathetic excuse for a soldier. They still had Miss Kimball, after all. They would be just fine.

Donald lost track of how long they flew. Eventually, they passed into a bright light of some sort and all sensation and thought fled him. When he came to, once more, he found himself laying on what felt like solid ground in the midst of an encompassing white fog.

“H-hello? Is anyone there?” he called hesitantly into the emptiness. No voice answered him. He strained, hoping to hear...anything. After a moment he caught the slightest hint of noise. After a moment’s hesitation (What else could anything do to him? He was already dead, after all.) he headed toward the noise.

The sounds grew louder as he drew nearer, becoming easier to identify. Sounds of laughter, of celebration, of singing. Louder they grew as he continued. Eventually, a shape began to emerge from the fog- something resembling a large, wooden, building.

Just as he drew close enough to see the doors, they swung open with a heavy thud. He yelped in surprise and  alarm, jumping back nearly a foot. In the doorway- illuminated by the light from within- stood a large man, larger than any Donald had ever seen, draped in animal furs and grasping a sturdy staff in one hand. With an exuberant burst of laughter he extended his arms, smiling broadly.

“Welcome, Donald Doyle, to the Halls of Odin! Welcome home, to Valhalla!” he declared boisterously.

[thefullmetaledwardelric-moved]

My muse is about to be hung for a crime they didn’t commit. How does your muse intervene?

Murder, they said. As if such a thing were possible. His Major would sooner let himself be killed than take a life. They even claimed to have a witness! He wanted to break him out of that cell and flee with him, but Edward wouldn’t hear of it. ‘Find the one responsible’ he’d said. He didn’t want to spend his life running, and he had people who needed him where he was. Reluctantly, he’d set off to do as his lover said, promising he’d be back as soon as he could.

It took nearly a week from the time he’d snuck into the morgue to scent the corpse of the victim then rifling through the case files to find the scene of the crime before sneaking around there to try to match scents. At first it seemed as if there were too many scents from the investigating officers to separate them, but then he found one he recognized…the secondary smell from the body. Bingo.

He scoured the city, going as long as he possibly could without rest and searching every possibly place until he finally found them early one morning, all the way down in Dublinth. At first he confronted them in his human guise, only to be met with defiance and threats if he didn’t go away. He snorted, rolling his eyes. It was clear he’d have to resort to other methods to get them to confess. He was about to walk away and come back at night when he saw the newspaper.

Major Edward Elric found guilty of murder. Sentenced to death by hanging. Sentence to be carried out at dusk today.

With a growl he grabbed the man by his shirt, his eyes flashing their true green-red colour with anger, as he declared that whether he liked it or not, he was coming with him now. The man’s hired guards attacked, attempting to free him. A screeching roar issued from his throat as his body exploded into it’s true form. The mercenaries took one look at him and promptly passed out from fear. He was going to get royally chewed out by his father for this, but right now…he couldn’t care less.

Grasping the murderer in one forefoot, he launched into the air and flew toward Central as fast as he possibly could, pushing himself to the limit. It was bordering on dusk as he approached the city, his uncanny vision catching a large gathering of people in front of Central Command, directly in front of a gallows. When he saw a familiar blond shock of hair being lead toward the wooden structure, he let out the loudest roar he could muster as he dove toward the building.

“H̨̨̢A̢̕͜͞R̢̀͜͟͠M҉̧ ̨̛͡Ò͟͠Ņ͜҉͝É̴̵͝ ́͢͜H͠҉͜҉͠A͘͞͏͟I̸̵̢̕͢R̴ ҉͏Ò͏N͞͞ ̢H҉̵͢I҉̴͠͡S̷͜҉ ̷̧̀͞͞H̴̢̧͝͞E̸̢͟Á̸̢̛D̀҉ ͘͢͝A͏̸͠N̵̛D̵̕͝͡ ҉̢̀͢Į̴̴͢͠ ̢͡W̛͜͜I̸͟͡L̕͏͘͞Ĺ̷̢̧̨ ̸̧̧̕͝Ḑ͘҉͝E͢͢V͏͘Ò̶̷Ú͝R̛̀͠ ̨͘͠Y̴͢͏͠Ó̷͜͟͜Ù̵̴͢ ̡͢͝͞A҉͢͠L̶̢L̴͢͠͡͠!̴̶̶͜͝!̴͠҉̕͝” he snarled as he landed with a heavy thud, smashing the gallows with his tail as he did so, the forefoot clutching the true criminal held off the ground. Someone ordered the alchemists present to attach, but they were all too frozen in shock and terror to respond. He ‘threw’ the man in his grasp at those restraining his mate, a gravely sound rumbling through his chest. “HE̛R̡E ̴is y̴our t̀ŗue͜ ͘kil̴l̕eŗ!̵ ̵Hi̡s ͏s͝c̕ent͟ ̡w͡as ͢all ͘o͠v̡ęr ̴t͏h̷e ͠body ̢a̛s͞ we͡l͟l as ̡w͏her̶e your m̀a͝ǹ ̀w͟a҉s kiļle̶d, a͘nd҉ ͜he͝ S͝T̶IL̨L̸ h͢as̴ tḩe ͜w̵ea͡pon̶ ̕òn͜ ͏h͏im̨, t̡h͟e͡ f̵ǫo͞l!”

The man looked disturbingly similar to the Major, at least from behind. Once he realized he was free, he promptly drew the knife, still coated with blood, and brandished it at anyone who came near him. Thankfully, one person in the crowd had a head on her shoulders. Hawkeye drew her pistol faster than most could blink and fired a shot straight through his hand, causing him to scream in pain and clutch his hand to his chest.

The dragon grunted his approval as she locked eyes with him, staring intently. A small grin curled one corner of his mouth. Of course she knew. She was no fool. The faintest of smiles briefly touched her lips before she nodded once, moving toward the restrained Major and loosing his bonds. With a hesitant look toward her, receiving a nod in return, he ran to his dragon, latching on to him as he reclaimed his typical human form.

“I told you I’d be back…” he rumbled, holding his lover tightly as the criminal was restrained and carted off to the medical wing. There would be questions, of course…but for now…Ed was safe…and that was all that mattered.

//And this, my friends, is why you do not mess with Dragons… or the ones they love. Remember, you are crunchy and go well with ketchup…

This is AWESOME Al! Thank you! <3

[bronzeguardian]

Al/Suki ficlet

A little thing for Suki-warrior-princess

Keep reading

[bronzeguardian]

Okay, so not my Blue Exorcist (AnE) fic...

Cause that one really IS garbage, but here…have something I wrote for Al and Suki…

—————————

Keep reading

[bronzeguardian]

Christmas Surprise

An Ed/Win drabble I did as a present for my Niisan’s Ed and his Winry a while back.

Keep reading

[bronzeguardian]

PH34R the F3315!!!

(Fear the Feels)

And my crappy writing…

[bronzeguardian]

Lost

The dragon lay curled in his home…

No…he didn’t even deserve to call himself a dragon, anymore.

Eltanin was right.

He’d sold out his blood…his family’s blood…centuries worth of heritage…

For what?

So he wouldn’t have to keep paying Rumpelstiltskin to be able to mingle with humans- to be able to spend time with his human mates?

What right did he have to do that?

None…and he knew it.

He curled into a tighter ball, wrapping his arms up over his head and digging his fingers into the base of his skull.

He should have demanded he come up with another price.

He should have tried to find another way.

He should have done something, anything, but what he had done.

He’d betrayed his family, even though they would likely never know it.

He’d betrayed his mentor.

He’d betrayed his race.

He had no right to claim he belonged to that race…not now…and never again.

He was a blood thief…a magic thief…

He was less than worthless.

And now he’d cost himself the best mentor he could have ever hoped to find…

For the first time in a long time, he felt truly…lost…

[bronzeguardian]

Promise of Vengence (the drabble itself)

Reposting as a drabble and editing a few things.

Keep reading

[bronzeguardian]

Empty Chairs at Empty Tables (Closed)

The dragon settled to the ground on the hill over his front door, bottle of scotch in one hand. After a moment he looked up toward the sky, shifting just enough to allow his inner eyelids to cover his eyes so he could look at the sun. He sighed, pulling the bottle open and taking a swig from it.

“There’s a grief that can’t be spoken. There’s a pain goes on and on. Empty chairs at empty tables. Now my friends are dead and gone...” he murmured, his tone sad, as he looked at the bottle before lifting his gaze to stare straight at the sun.

“…Dad said you’re up there this month, Uncle…I don’t know if you can hear me or not, but…I miss you. I still can’t believe he did that…banished you guys like that… You know he drank himself into a stupor over it? Yeah…Dad…the guy who refused to touch booze…got so drunk he passed out and I had to carry his ass here so he didn’t bleed to death… The darned fool didn’t even let his wounds heal before he started drinking. I let him have it for that…you’d have been proud of some of the curses I threw at him for being so stupid.”

He gave a mirthless laugh, shaking his head as he took another drink, then sighed. “I wish you could have been here for the wedding…it was amazing. Did you know what he had planned? Sneaky old sot…enchanting our rings to extend Justin’s life and making that Pact with him… It wouldn’t surprise me if you knew. You’re just as sneaky and crafty as Dad…probably more so in some ways..” He took another pull from the bottle, staying silent for a moment before speaking again.

“We went to the Vatican for our honeymoon. We got to see the Sistine Chapel and St Peter’s Basilica…even got to catch a glimpse of the Pope himself. Justin was so excited about that. We almost went to see the bone chapel, too, but we decided to hold off on that until our next vacation.” He fell silent, visibly struggling to keep his composure as he took another drink.

“I really miss you Uncle Reg…I was looking forward to getting to spend time with you and even let you hang around our kid when we’re finally ready for them. I can’t remember if you were still here for that part of not… Dad gave us a way to have a kid that’s from both of us. heh I actually fainted when he told me what that egg was for. I wish there was some way to undo that…let you guys come back…but Dad says there’s nothing that can reverse it. If anyone would know, it would be him, I suppose…” he sighed again.

With an audible swallow as he choked down the tears that threatened to overwhelm him, he hefted the bottle into the air in the direction of the sun. “Here’s to you, Uncle… Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll live long enough to be able to see you again some day…” he said, voice trembling slightly, before bringing the bottle to his lips and downing the remainder of the bottle in long pull.

After a moment he shifted into his draconic form, curling up around the now-empty bottle and dozed off, soaking in the warmth of the sunlight. Just before he drifted into slumber, he could have sworn he felt a pair of strong arms wrapping around his neck in a hug…but, of course, there was no one there…those arms wound never hug him again. A single tear rolled down his scaled cheek as he sighed, passing into unconsciousness.

[bronzeguardian]

For once, the Mad dragon was in his human form- more accurately, a twisted version of it. His hair had become tendrils of black shadow, almost liquid, that seemed to drip down his back and along his body. His eyes were solid black orbs that seemed to shine a sickening deep green at the same time. His fingers were tipped with black claws, at least half again the length of his fingers.

He sat perched atop a street light on the outer edge of a populated area that bordered the desert, almost like a feline in his posture, as he crooned a haunting tune. Through out the village, children slowly stirred. 

Ć̷̢om̵͠e҉͟ Lit͝͡tl̡e ̢C̵h͝i͝l̴̢͢d̴r̶̛e̵ņ͢ I̸'ll̛ Ţą̛̛ke̵͜͢ ̵͡T̵̵h̡͘҉e͡e̷̢̕ ̸A̢w̡̧͡a҉y̴̧,҉̶ ͏͜Iǹ̨̧to͡ ͜A̵ ͜͏̸La̷͘n̴̨͜ḑ O͞f̡̕ ̷́͠E͘͜͠n҉҉c͝h̛͟͡an҉tm̀e͘͡n̷ţ̸̀ ̀͢ ͜C͜o͏̀m̀͞e҉͜ ́L̛̀i͢t̡͝t͞͡l̀e҉ ̧̕C̢̛h̵̕i̕l͞҉d̀͠͡r̸͡e͝n̷͘͞ T̨̀h̀͘͞e̴̴ ̵T͝i͟m͞͝e̛̛͡'͘ş ̕͘C̡o̴͢m͜e̡͏ T͏͢o̶̶ P͏͘l̸͜͢a̸y ̛͠Ḩ͢͡e͟r̸̀͠e ̀́͠I͠ǹ̸̡ ̕͢M̧͞y͘ ̶G͘҉a͠͞r͡͠d̡͏en ͟O͝f͢͏ ͞͠Ma͜gi̧͝c͘͘͞

They all grumbled and tossed in their beds as the black that seemed to drip from the dragon’s hair turned to a mist and crept through the town, swirling above the bed of every youth for a moment before flowing into their systems as they breathed. Some whimpered, some moaned, some flat out cried, some didn’t make a peep.

F̢o͡ll̴͠ò̢w̧ ̴̸̕S͝w̸̨͝é҉è̶̢t҉ ̧̢̛C̕͠h̸i̧͞͝l҉͘҉d̵r̛èǹ͜ ̵҉͢I̵'͞l̵̶̨l̴ ̡S̶͞h͘o̵̵̢w̴ ̴̨Th̴͟e̡̢̢ȩ͘͠ ̵̶̧T̢͜hè͜ Ẁ̸a̢y ̨͜͠T͠h̶̡r̶o͠ư͢g̡͠h̶ ̴Á͢l͠ĺ̶̀ ̡T̵͜h͡͝e̴͟ P̕ąi͠n̸͘͟ ͘A̵̢ń̷̢ḑ͜ ̶T́͝h̨̢e͝ ̵͟S̕or͢͝ŗ̷o͜͡͝w̧s ̴̶ ҉̡W̵e̡͜è͠p̧͝ ̀͠Ņ̷ot̶ P̡̀͡o̕o͢r͘͞ Ch̨͟ì͠l̵͜͢d̴͟͝re͝n̛͏͟ ̢͜F̛̕o͞r̀́͘ ́͝L̕i̧̛͜f̷e̵͢ ҉҉I̧̛s̷ ̧̨Ţ҉̡h̛i͟s̨̢̀ ̷̧Ẃ̸͟aỳ̷ M̵̡ųrd̶͘er̴̕i̴̛͢n̸̴g͘ ̴̧Be̴a͡u͟͝͞t̵̨͟ỳ ̨́͏A̸̸͘n̛͝d ́P̡a̕͞s̵s҉io͡ņ̶s

One by one, the children opened their eyes, the formerly vibrantly coloured eyes now solid black orbs. They sat up in their beds, by all appearances simply sleep walking, and padded toward the kitchens of their homes. The largest knife in the house was retrieved, grasped in tiny fingers as the children made their way into their parents’ bedrooms.

H̶̸̀u͡͝s̀͘ḩ̴̷ N̡o̶w̴͟ ͢D̶e͞a͘͢r͡͝҉ ̴̀C̶͟h̀il̶̢dr̡͡e̵҉ń ̵́I̷t̨͟ ̵̵͞M͏̕͝u҉̢s͠҉͢t͘̕͡ ̢͝B͏͢e̢͢͞ T̷̶͠ḩ̴̢ís̶̴ ̀͘Wa͏y͜͠ ͡T҉́o͢ ̸̀W͏͠e͏a̸̡͡r͠y̶͝ ̧͡O͏f͝ ̸҉L̶̛i͡f̴e͡ ̸A̸ǹ͢͝d͢͠ ̵̛Ḑ̵éçep̶t̀͜͞i͟o͘n̛s҉̀ ͟ ͏͜R̷̛e͝ş̸t̵͝͏ ͏N͠o̡w̧҉̷ ̡̢̀M̶y͏͞ ̡̢C̶͠h͠i̕l͢d̴̛re͢n ̀̕For̛ ҉͟͞S͠oơ̴ń͢͜ ̧̧͜W̶͞e͢͝'͜l̴l ̵A̡̕͠w̶a̧͝y̧̨ ͞҉̴į̀͠ǹ̡͞t̷̕o͏͜ T̨͢h̡e̵̴̕ ̶̵͞C̸a҉̕ļm̶͟͞ ̷A̡̨̛n̶̷d̵̀̀ ̛T̴h̶́͞e̛͡ ̵Q̵u̶i͠e̡͝t͝

҉The children stood above their parents’ beds and infant siblings’ cribs, knives poised above the chests of those still slumbering, for a brief moment before- all at once- each child plunged the blade into their torsos, over and over. Screams of pain and terror echoed through the village as every adult and infant was simultaneously slaughtered by their own children and siblings.

C̸̛͡o͢͡m̛̕e̡͢ L̡i҉͢t̛͠t̨̡lè͞ ͜C̷͟h̸ild̴́͠r̢̀͜en ̶͠I̶'̛͟l̸͜͞l͢͡ T̨a̷͠k̨̕e̕ ͡T͟h̶҉e͢è̸̶ ͝A͏wà̷y̡͝,͜ ̡̡̛I̛͟͠n̡t̸o͜͏ ̛A̕͠͝ L̴̢͟ą̛͝n͏d̢ ҉͠Óf̴͡ ҉En̢҉c̴͟ha̸nt̶͘me͜҉n̨͡t̸ ̡̢ C͏om̧̢̨é͢͡ L͢͢i͝҉͟tt̀l̶͘e̛͡ ͝C̕͞hi̴̛l͢҉d̨͝re̸͜҉n͡͞ ͝T̶̶͘h́e͢ ͢͡Ti͜m̷͟é͟'̵̴s ̴̛C̢̀o͜m͝e̕ ̶̕T̕͡ǫ͠ ͠P̢̀͠l̴ay̶ H̴̕e͟͢͡r̶͘͢e̕͠͝ ̛͜I̢̢n ̀M̕y͡҉͟ Ǵa̡r̛̀d̷͜͠e̷͢n҉͜͝ O̸͏̛f̵̧ ̡S͢hád̴ow͢͟͏ś̷

When the air went still and silent and all of the adults and infants were dead, the children turned the knives on themselves without a sound. The instant the blade was pulled from their chests, however, each child ‘woke up’ from their stupors. One by one the children began screaming at the sight before them, screaming even louder as the pain in their chest registered.

Outside the area, the Mad dragon cackled with glee as he hopped down from the street light, pulling open the bag he held in his hands. Singing the song to himself, he slunk through the village, house by house, and gathered the souls as they were released, stuffing them into his bag.

When he was finished, he had roughly one-hundred souls in the sack. He tied it shut, giggling to himself as he resumed his twisted draconic form and took the free end of the rope that held it shut in his mouth. He wriggled with glee as he prepared to launch into the air. Master was going to be so proud of him. Yes, he was. A leap later, the Mad dragon was airborne, heading towards his Master.

It would be three days before anyone came to see why the town had gone silent. The lone survivor, the parish priest, had barricaded himself in his office when he’d heard the song while he’d been up, tending to his chapel’s candles. He was half-starved and bordering on dehydration when they’d finally found him, huddled in a corner of his office. The only thing anyone could get out of him was the song, sung in a terrified tone, as he clutched his legs to his chest and rocked.

Ć̷̢om̵͠e҉͟ Lit͝͡tl̡e ̢C̵h͝i͝l̴̢͢d̴r̶̛e̵ņ͢ I̸'ll̛ Ţą̛̛ke̵͜͢ ̵͡T̵̵h̡͘҉e͡e̷̢̕ ̸A̢w̡̧͡a҉y̴̧,҉̶ ͏͜Iǹ̨̧to͡ ͜A̵ ͜͏̸La̷͘n̴̨͜ḑ O͞f̡̕ ̷́͠E͘͜͠n҉҉c͝h̛͟͡an҉tm̀e͘͡n̷ţ̸̀ ̀͢ ͜C͜o͏̀m̀͞e҉͜ ́L̛̀i͢t̡͝t͞͡l̀e҉ ̧̕C̢̛h̵̕i̕l͞҉d̀͠͡r̸͡e͝n̷͘͞ T̨̀h̀͘͞e̴̴ ̵T͝i͟m͞͝e̛̛͡'͘ş ̕͘C̡o̴͢m͜e̡͏ T͏͢o̶̶ P͏͘l̸͜͢a̸y ̛͠Ḩ͢͡e͟r̸̀͠e ̀́͠I͠ǹ̸̡ ̕͢M̧͞y͘ ̶G͘҉a͠͞r͡͠d̡͏en ͟O͝f͢͏ ͞͠Ma͜gi̧͝c͘͘͞……..

[bronzeguardian]

Guillotine's Lullaby (Drabble)

One particularly, and unusually, stormy night in Death City, the dragon sat out in the living room of his cavern home. He lounged on a pile of pillows near the fire pit, his priest curled up on his legs taking a nap whilst the dragon read yet another of his lore books in hopes of gathering more material for his class.

One hand idly stroked through blond locks as he read, pausing on occasion when a particular passage caught his interest. It was during one of these passages that an especially loud clap of thunder and howl of wind came from outside, startling the various animals slumbering near their humans.

He reached out a hand to give the nearest feline a soothing pet, but before he could reach them, the priest in his lap curled in on himself, a quiet whimper escaping him. The dragon frowned, looking to his mate as his leg was clutched tightly, the younger male’s expressions and noises growing increasingly distressed.

The book was set aside as the elder straightened his posture, attempting to rouse the other. The whimpers and distress grew louder and greater, still, when he was moved. Hands grasped frantically for the leg he had been gripping as the blond was pried away from his beloved, his distress only growing. Concern knit the dragon’s brow as he coated his lower body and neck with scales before pulling his mate close to him, tucking his head beneath his chin and he called his name, hoping to rouse him.

Eventually, the priest finally startled awake with a fearful shout of the elder’s name, pulling away from him with wide eyes as his mind attempted to catch up with the realization that they were both safe and home. A moment later and the smaller collapsed against his lover, clinging to him as he sobbed.

Hiccuping rambles about a hurricane, shipwrecks, and the dragon escaped him as scaled hands gently stroked along his back in a soothing manner. Gentle murmurs of reassurance were rumbled in his tenor voice as he pressed feather-light kisses to the crest of his beloved’s head, the murmurs slowly giving way to soft singing. This continued for roughly a quarter hour before the younger finally began to calm.

Once he’d calmed, his grip on the priest was gently relaxed so that the other could examine him as he wished in order to assure himself that he was not, in fact, simply imagining the comfort. Finally satisfied, he slumped back against his dragon, burying his face in the elder’s neck with a mumbled apology. The dragon in question clucked his tongue, shaking his head as he assured him that the apology was not necessary, gesturing for their animal companions to come closer.

The cats, lizard, and snake all came closer to the pair, curling up with them to offer their own brand of comfort. The blond grunted, his face flushed with embarrassment, but reached out a hand to give each of them a grateful pet before bringing his head up to offer his beloved a light kiss, promptly burying his face back in the elder’s neck afterward. A quiet chuckle rumbled through the dragon’s chest as he embraced his love, nuzzling the crown of his head as they exchanged a murmured expression of their affection before the entire gathering of them all drifted slowly into much more peaceful slumber.

[bronzeguardian]

A Heartbreaking Discovery (Drabble) (Closed)

The dragon made his way up the mountain his friend had built his home into, grumbling vaguely as it got colder the higher he went. How the other dragon could stand the cold, let alone enjoy it, he had no idea. It had to be the other’s White blood. Ugh, blasted cold. He cursed under his breath as he pulled himself higher up the mountain. Why he had decided he wanted to climb rather than fly, he’d already forgotten. Likely to give the other time to realize someone was coming so he wasn’t taken by surprise.

Finally he reached the cave, pulling himself inside with a grunt. He shook himself, pulling his wings as close to himself as he could as he looked around.

“Oi, Inax!” he called into the cave, listening to the sound echo. He frowned. No stirring, no grumbling, not even a faint hint of breathing. Maybe the other wasn’t home? “Hey! Moxt Isthasy! You here? Haven’t heard from you in a while so I came to check up on ya!” Still nothing.

Growing even more concerned by the moment he drew his scaled brow into a furrow as he hesitantly moved further into the cave, occasionally glancing around. It seemed to be fairly sparsely furnished…he guessed the younger really didn’t care all that much for furniture, at least not any of human size.

Further, still, into the cave he moved, growing more and more worried with every step. To leave his home so unguarded didn’t seem like the other at all…he couldn’t even feel any magical protection around the place. The pit in his stomach only got worse as he got within sight of the younger’s hoard. Something was wrong, very wrong…

As he got closer, he spied something that all but turned his blood to ice in his veins. The hilt of a sword poking out from behind the completely unguarded pile of treasures. He knew that hilt. Inzax would rather die than leave that sword. Oh, no…oh, Ao, please, no…

His limbs felt like lead weights as he crept closer to the pile. When he got to where he could see behind it, his heart dropped in his chest as a sob caught in his throat. No…this couldn’t be possible…no! He’d said he had something in place to keep this from happening!

There, behind the pile, lay the rotting body of Ingeloakastimizax, his own sword buried in his forehead. A sound somewhere between grief and anger wrenched from the dragon’s chest as he forced himself to move. He dropped to his knees, lowering his head to nudge at the other’s head, a keening whine escaping him as he did so.

“Please, Ao, please let him just be screwing with me…please…” he begged internally, though he knew that wasn’t the case. If It were, he’d be able to the feel the magic that held a soul to the corpse in front of him.

“Thric… Nomeno shilta ti qe shinaltir… Ti wux… Wux re kiri versvesh ihk nomeno… Inzax… Isthasy… Petranas, thric… Wux shilta ti qe…” he pleaded, his voice rasping and thick with the tears that tracked down his scaled cheeks. Clawed forefeet slowly came forward to trace over the still-scaled face of what was left of the younger dragon, carefully cradling it as he cried.

After a time, rage slowly replaced grief. The smell of sulphur and brimstone began to permeate the cave as he grit his teeth. He carefully grasping the sword with one forefoot, the other braced against Inzax’s skull, as he pulled the blade from the other. Once it was free, he laid his empty foot over the forehead of what had been his friend.

He growled low in his chest, red overtaking the green in his eyes as the sound deepened and the scent intensified. “Si geou ehtah svaust tira nomeno…vur Si geou xurwk astahi xikin. Si inglata wux, sia thurirl…sia Isthasy…” He drew in a deep breath as he tried to force himself to calm down.

A moment passed before he carefully lay the blade on the floor beside the other’s head, turning to the hoard pile. He wasn’t just going to leave it sit here…not after the effort the other had put into collecting it- some of it had even come from when he’d killed his own mentor.

With a grunt of resolve he proceeded to pack as much of it as he could into his hoard stomach. Whatever was left over that he couldn’t fit, he piled into his portable hole after shifting to his human form. The entirety of it stashed, he turned to the remains of his friend once more.

After a moment’s pause, and with a bit of a cringe at his own morbid thought, he gathered up as many of the scales that had already fallen as he could and put those in with the last of the hoard, cringing once more and forcing back a gag as he gathered the ones that hadn’t fallen, yet, as well.

Once finished, he gave a mildly apologetic glance to the now-mostly-bare remains. He didn’t think the other would want his death to mean nothing…he’d see about having something protective made out of those- perhaps even for Justin…

Another sigh was heaved as he stooped to pick up the sword, pondering it for a moment before pulling his own shirt off and wrapping the blade in it, tucking it between his belt and his pants.

“… Veyet'toon, Inzax…Isthasy… Si geou llewarin wux…” he murmured giving one last pat the muzzle of the other’s remains before heading out of the cave. He hesitated for a moment at the entrance, tucking the sword into his pocket before shifting up to his scaled form. Gathering all of his strength together, he pounded the mountainside above the entrance until it crumbled, collapsing and burying the entrance to the cave- hopefully the majority of the cave, itself, as well.

He’d be damned if he left his friend’s body open to scavengers. Besides…they weren’t supposed to exist to the majority of the population…they’d be in trouble if some random hiker found a dragon’s corpse.

With one, last, mournful look at what had been the other’s home he shoved off from the mountain, heading toward the one his father called home. He had to let him know what he’d found…and ask him if he knew the Duskblade’s ways, as well… He felt he owed it to the younger to not let such a thing die out once more.