#commissioned writing

[lipstickghoulie]

This amazing piece of Al and Cooper Howard by the always lovely @xenterra and voiced again by Ambrose Kincaid was inspired by a wonderful fic that I commissioned from @ghoulfuckersincorporated! They wrote such amazing dialogue that I NEEDED to hear it brought to life.

The fic is here and I’m so happy to be able to hire and interact with such talented creatives for my couple. 🥹💛 So thank you to you all again and to anyone who enjoys my silly ship!

[saphstories]

The Harmony of an Everlasting Dawn

The legends that surround the Soleanna Opera House whisper tales of warning and mystery, of a Phantom that enacts horrendous retribution against all that enter there. He is a demon from the coldest depths of Hell, he is the evil that lurks in the darkness… He is Aurora's Angel, and she is his Muse. He speaks life to her dreams, and she sings healing to his broken soul. Theirs is a love that chases away the darkness of an eternal night… A Harmony of an Everlasting Dawn. Commission for @e-vay!

A golden flame danced on the thin black wick; white wax dribbled down the tall candle to the base, and soft emerald green eyes watched the procession without a hint of interest for the wax droplet's journey. Illuminated by the gentle light, Aurora let out a sigh and reached to unpin the pearls and diamonds from her shining pink quills. She smoothed her hands down the delicate ornamented bodice of her evergreen gown… much more elaborate and grander than any of the costumes she had ever worn before as a simple ballerina in the operas.

Aurora still didn't understand how she had been selected as the lead for tonight's show. The managers of the Opera House had interrupted her practice, demanded she sing, and named her the lead as soon as she'd finished. Aurora had tried to protest, but had fallen silent with one look from them and graciously accepted the position… a position she never dreamed she could achieve.

Knock knock knock.

Aurora looked away from her vanity, the last pearl pin dangling in her fingers, as her dressing room door swung open before a word could fall from her lips. A large bouquet of yellow roses and bright buttercups twined with a gaudy red ribbon hid her visitor's face from her, and Aurora tilted her head, reaching in her vanity for the thick silver quill brush hidden in the drawer. "Hello?" She called.

The ostentatious bouquet shifted, revealing an attractive and startlingly familiar face: Orange-red quills and fur, deep violet eyes… Eyes that had once made Aurora's heart flutter when they gazed at her. A ghost of a smirk flickered on a beige muzzle, and an unimpressed brow raised, darker toned red ears shifting forward. "Is that any way to greet an old friend, Aurora?" He drawled, setting down the bouquet on her vanity and smoothing down the sleek black jacket of his glossy suit.

"Kyle." Aurora smiled and shifted into a more welcoming position. "It's so good to see you again; it's been years!"

Kyle snorted and sat on the edge of the vanity, that familiar expression of cold boredom sliding into place on his face. "Yes, ever since you ran off to join the Solennian Opera." He noted. Aurora's smile faltered slightly. "But I suppose it wasn't an entirely foolish path; you performed much better than that crow ever thought of doing, but it isn't that hard of an accomplishment."

Aurora resisted the urge to bristle at that, struggled to keep the smile on her face. "Thank you; I'm honored."

Kyle glanced around the dressing room, crinkling his nose, though his eyes never hinted any emotion other than intense apathy. "Come." He finally stood and marched for the door.

"Pardon?" Aurora asked, puzzled.

Kyle sighed, as if Aurora had asked why she needed to breathe. "Come, we are having dinner together."

Aurora blinked… then blinked again, and shook her head. "Kyle, I'm flattered, but I'll have to refuse."

Kyle frowned. It was the most expressive he had been thus far. "Aurora, I don't exactly have the evening to waste."

"Then do not waste it." Aurora waved him off and turned back towards her vanity. "Thank you for the flowers, and for the kind words, but I won't be going to dine with you tonight."

Her heart dropped when Kyle stepped up behind her, standing over her. Discomfort prickled under Aurora's fur at the dark expression twisting his once attractive face… had she truly admired this hedgehog as a child? It seemed so laughable now. Fear bubbled in her stomach when his hand clapped down on her shoulder, harsh and crushing. "Aurora-,"

"I said no!" A burst of deep emerald light flew from Aurora as she shoved Kyle away; it exploded against his chest and he staggered back from the force, colliding with the doorframe. Sharp violet eyes stared at Aurora with a sneer on a beige muzzle, but Aurora did not cow. She stood tall, emerald eyes narrowed down her nose at Kyle, and she raised her hand to point at the door behind him. "I think it would be in your best interest if you leave now." She coldly informed him, and the slightest smirks quirked the corner of her lips. "Surely you have heard the stories of what becomes of men that refuse to show basic manners towards a lady here."

Kyle's cheeks paled for the slightest fraction of a second, and Aurora bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning outright. Kyle narrowed his eyes, straightening himself up. "Is that a threat, Miss Hedgehog, towards a patron of the Soleanna Opera House?" Kyle sneered.

"I haven't a clue what you could mean, sir. I only wished to warn an old friend of some alarming accidents that seem to befall the men that think it proper action to mishandle a woman within these walls." Aurora cordially replied.

Kyle's face twitched towards outrage, before he inhaled sharply, smoothed his quills back into place, and his apathetic, disdainful expression returned. "I shouldn't have expected any sort of refinement from a common urchin. My mistake." Heat flooded Aurora's cheeks as Kyle strode from her dressing room, and she hurried to latch the door behind him, letting out a breath of relief and heading behind her privacy partition to change out of her gown.

Stepping out behind the partition, Aurora wrapped herself snugly in the white lace of her dressing gown, but paused before she could reach her vanity. That obnoxious yellow bouquet was nowhere to be found, and instead, lying in front of the mirror was a single pink star lily, ornamented with a simple sleek black ribbon tied in a small bow. Aurora gingerly picked up the lily in trembling fingers, the sweet, heady scent filling her nose and fluttering her eyes.

The candles flickered out; little wisps of smoke rising unseen from the extinguished wicks, and a soft, lilting melody with no source filled the air. Aurora gasped quietly, her heart increasing its tempo, but raised her hand, and a small star of green light twinkled to life in her palm. The music seemed to sweetly caress and swirl around her, and guided her towards the ornate full-length golden mirror just beyond her vanity… towards the figure within the glass.

Shrouded completely in shadow, he watched her silently, considerately, and Aurora dared not speak, lest he vanish and never return as quickly as he appeared. Her emerald eyes drank him in, wonder and curiosity compelling her to study this illustrious hedgehog that many in the Opera House called demon. Called Phantom, and if Aurora were honest with herself, it was a rather apt moniker. Adorned completely in silken black—aside from the gleaming white mask that covered the entire right half of his face—from the sleek up-curve of his ebony quills, to the shimmery folds of his inky waistcoat and cloak, the only color to be found on this specter was the sharp crimson of the stripes in his quills, a perfect match to the luminous, consuming garnet hue of his eyes. Heat rose in Aurora's cheeks, tinting them a gentle pink, and a hint of a smirk appeared on his tanned muzzle.

"Phantom," the management sneered as they tossed his masterpieces and dictates for the theater away in disdain.

"Demon!" the male staff and patrons cried in the night as they suffered his swift and merciless punishments for daring to lay hands on the young women of the House.

"Angel of vengeance," the Matron explained in a hushed voice as she dried the tears of her frightened wards and tucked them back into their beds.

"Angel of music," Aurora breathed as she drifted ever closer to the mirror, unable to look away from her guardian angel, her mentor for the past several months. Always out of sight, yet always there in the dead of night, quietly coaching her singing and offering instruction to improve her abilities.

The Phantom smiled. "Hello, Aurora." His voice, a deep timber that sent shivers down Aurora's spine, was soft as a whisper, yet caressed her name with warmth, affection, and pride. "My Angel of Music… you performed so well." Delight bloomed in Aurora's chest, her eyes shining. "Both onstage and off… I had been prepared to deal with that insolent boy myself, and yet there was no need." The Phantom's ruby eyes dimmed to an avenging crimson, his lip curling back over glinting canines. "I still have half a mind to."

"He is gone, angel." Aurora quickly, desperately pointed out. If her angel left now, would he show himself to her again? It was a risk she did not want, not for anyone, least of all Kyle.

The Phantom's eyes brightened, and he regarded her with an expression of gentle fondness that stole Aurora's breath. "He is." Her angel agreed. "And you are here." He extended his hand to her, covered in sleek black leather, and Aurora barely dared to breathe. "Come?"

"Angel?" Aurora faintly questioned, blinking awed green eyes to meet amused pools of ruby.

"My muse has performed wonderfully tonight, and has earned a great reward." The Phantom explained. "Though she can refuse it if she so desires."

Aurora stared at the invitation, reached for it with fingers trembling not of fear, but barely contained exhilaration. The Phantom's ruby gaze held such intoxicating heat that her heart threatened to burst… He was her angel; how could she refuse him? Her fingers slipped into his grasp, and she willingly followed his pull through the mirror. The Phantom smiled, raising her knuckles to his lips and pressing a delicate kiss to her fingers, then picked up a torch with his free hand. Brilliant red sparks ignited the torch with a bright orange flame. "Come," He squeezed her hand and led Aurora deeper into the shadows, away from the mirror. Aurora glanced about the pale stone walls and cement floors of the passageway, illuminated only by the torch, descending deeper and deeper down into the dark. The Phantom paid no mind to the winding openings they passed along the way, simply pulled Aurora close to him as they walked. Aurora hid a smile behind her hand. "What?" He asked.

"I've discovered the Phantom's secret." Aurora gestured to the narrow paths that she knew would lead to various entry points throughout the Opera House.

The Phantom raised a brow at her, a smirk decorating his muzzle, his eyes glinting behind the mask. "There are many more than that, Aurora." Aurora's breath caught, and the Phantom chuckled. He guided her towards a murky canal, with only a small black gondola with enough room for two tied to a cement post. "Watch your step, angel." Carefully, the Phantom aided Aurora into the tiny seat, then hopped aboard behind her and cast off with a long pole-like oar. Aurora shivered against the chill off the canal, but stilled when heavy, warm silk was tucked around her shoulders. "I should have forethought you would find the canals cold; forgive me." His voice brushed against her ear, remorseful and pained.

Aurora turned, her breath catching to find herself nose-to-nose with her angel, his surprised ruby eyes overwhelming her enchanted green. Warmth sang through her fur, and it had nothing to do with the Phantom's cloak draped over her. "I'm alright." She whispered.

The Phantom gazed at her with that gentle fondness once more. "We're nearly there." He promised, resuming the gondola's steady drift down the waterway. Aurora wrapped the cloak snug around her, the faint but heady fragrance of lavender filling her nose. The Phantom guided the gondola down the canal, towards a rising grate that separated a spacious cove from the waterway. Aurora tilted her head and gasped at the golden light of many candelabras that illuminated the cove. The Phantom hopped out of the gondola and tied it off, carefully aiding Aurora out beside him, his expression almost bashful. Aurora didn't need to ask where they were, where he had brought her. With the assortment of different instruments in one section that included a polished black organ and stacks upon stacks of sheet music, a low stone alcove that housed a comfortable velvet seat and was surrounded by stuffed bookshelves, and a long table laden with papers, fabrics, and even a small model of the opera stage. Biting her lip, Aurora half-stepped towards it with a glance towards the Phantom, who nodded encouragingly.

The model was beautifully crafted, a perfect replica of the real theater, with shimmering golden paint and velvet scarlet curtains; Aurora's breath caught, her mouth dry, at the tiny figurine standing center stage with glossy pink quills and a beautiful emerald gown. Tearing her gaze away from the model opera, Aurora picked up one of the sheets of parchment, a script currently in revision… with her name repeatedly listed as one of the roles.

The Phantom frowned when Aurora turned back to face him, worry twisting his visible features at the confusion on her lovely face. "Is it too much, angel?" He fretted. "I just wanted-If you are overwhelmed, I can-,"

"Why?" Aurora whispered. Her angel paused, tilting his head at her. "Why me? Why choose me? There are so many others—greater, with greater talent, greater skill, so why choose me, a nothing-,"

"You are not nothing, Aurora." His growl echoed through the cove, and Aurora was frozen in place by the ferocious gleam in his eyes… but she felt no fear. Even as he stepped closer, even as the warm leather of his fingertips lightly brushed against her cheeks, her eyes fluttered, and she leaned into his near-imperceptible touch. His voice dropped to a reverent whisper. "You are magnificent... a true Angel of Music. I knew it the first time I heard you all those months ago; all you needed was technique, something I could teach you." His hands slipped down to take hers, his thumbs stroking her knuckles reverently. "And you have excelled past any expectations I had for you… There are none more worthy than you, and you have proved it so tonight. That's why I've brought you here; I wish you to be my muse, my star, my Angel of Music, because you alone can make my song take flight, Aurora."

Tears blurred Aurora's vision, but she blinked them away, enraptured by the earnest and hopeful expression on her angel's face. If it weren't for the gentle grip of his hands surrounding hers, the sweet heady lavender that intoxicated her senses, Aurora would be certain this was nothing but a dream. Her angel wanted her. Her! Out of every other woman in the Opera House, he'd chosen her. He'd heard something—seen something—in her, and had taken her under his wing, refining her until a unremarkable stone was a stunning diamond, fanned her spark until it was a consuming fire… A bashful smile spread across her lips. "It would be my honor to be my angel's muse." Aurora murmured. The grin that came upon his face outshone any star, magnificent and beautiful.

Neither noticed the dwindling hours of the night as the Phantom eagerly showcased each of his masterpieces for Aurora, even taking to his organ or other instruments when a particular piece captured her interest; performances that earned her praise and appreciation that she made sure to show equal fervor towards the gorgeous sculpted pieces of his scripts. In turn, Aurora graced him with a repertoire of songs, some of her childhood before coming to the Opera House as an orphan, some of her favorites from the operas she had heard over the years. For some, she tugged him up with her for a dance, laughing delightedly when he indulged her, but for many, she sat at his side on the organ bench and allowed her song to swell and surround the both of them.

"Think of me… Think of me fondly," Aurora trilled with a smile, giggling quietly when her angel closed his eyes with a serene smile, his fingers lightly dancing across the organ's keys. The white frigidity of his mask was such a stark contrast to the beautiful expressiveness of her angel's face… Aurora's curiosity rose along with her hand towards the mask. She wanted to see her angel as he's seen her…

Just as her fingertips brush the cool porcelain, his hand shot up and curled firmly around her wrist, and disapproving scarlet eyes burned into her startled emerald ones. "No, Aurora." He reprimanded sternly.

"Why do you wear it?" Aurora took her hand back from him, but did not reach for the mask again. "Why hide here in this lonely cove? Why create such beautiful music in such a dark place? Why resort to secrecy and sabotage to share your creations with the world?"

The Phantom bowed his head, his gaze refusing to leave the ivory keys of the organ even as he finally answered in a soft, aching whisper. "I do not belong in the world above. The mask, the darkness… they keep the evil I am contained… the monster hidden. If you were to see what lay beneath the mask, you would see nothing but the monster."

"No!" Aurora's protest rang through the cove, her hand shot out to take his, her stance shifting so she could peer stubbornly into his startled face. "I do not accept that, not for a moment! What monster could write such beautiful music? What evil could defend the honor of innocent women from horrific men?" She reached for him, cupped his cheek and gingerly turned her angel to meet her eyes. Emerald orbs shining with such determination the Phantom faltered under it… glowing with such devotion his heart ached with yearning. "Trust me, my angel, trust in my love to banish the darkness that clings to you." She pleaded.

The Phantom leaned his forehead against hers, closing his eyes and letting out a shaky exhale. The greatest desire of his heart warred ferociously against the desperate need of his self-preservation… To show her would be to lose her, and to lose her would be to lose the few sparks of light she'd sewn into his fragmented soul. He opened his eyes, the sorrow and heartache in his gaze like a knife in her heart. "The darkness is part of me, Aurora." He breathed, lowering his eyes and clenching his fist. "You may call me angel, but in truth, that is the furthest thing that I am."

Anger scorched through her stomach and raced up her throat, spewing words of venom that Aurora couldn't halt even if she tried. "If you truly believe that, then nothing I give you—my love, my voice, my heart—will be enough for you! If you are so insistent to wallow in your own darkness, then at least release me so one of us may be free of it!"

The Phantom stared at her with such pain, such hollowness, that Aurora almost took her words back, begged his forgiveness… he was her angel, could she bear to lose him? He held her heart, ignited her soul, to lose him would certainly kill her! Could she ever sing again, knowing it had been her angel to encourage her voice? Aurora had been alone for so long, could she bear the loss of the only one that stood at her side? Aurora blinked back tears and opened her mouth. "I shall escort you back." The Phantom agreed, pushing himself to his feet. "I must, or else those imbeciles will gather search parties for you."

Aurora's heart shattered in her chest, but she forced herself to nod and follow him to the gondola with dragging feet. She accepted his hand of aid, but this time, his cloak and lavender fragrance did nothing to alleviate the chill that seeped though her skin and into her bones, her heart, as they traveled through the canal and up the passageway. The Phantom hesitated before a heavy wooden door, his hand clenching around the heavy brass handle. Hope rose in Aurora's chest. "Beyond this door is the hall that leads to the ladies' quarters." He informed her softly, his ears tipped back, eyes downcast. "But, if I may have one last request of my angel before she leaves me?"

"Of course." Aurora immediately agreed. Perhaps this was her one last chance to convince her angel, to prove she was trustworthy, prove she was still worth his love.

The Phantom smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes, and he guided her away from the door and back through the catacombs, until he came to a small ladder under a thick iron hatch. Aurora shivered at the sudden burst of fresh but icy air, and the Phantom climbed through, reaching for her to aid her ascent.

Aurora blinked against the brightness of the early morning after spending so long in the dark with only the candlelight, drawing the Phantom's cloak tighter around her to ward off the cold. The heavens still gleamed with fading constellations in a pearly gray sky, the rooftops of Soleanna covered in a fresh layer of glittering white, and the Phantom took Aurora's hand and guided her towards the edge of the Opera House roof, clearing away the snow and sitting to face the East, patting the empty spot beside him invitingly. Ensuring the cloak would barricade against the cold stone, Aurora carefully settled herself on the ledge beside him.

"Ever since I first came to Soleanna, I've avoided the daylight." The Phantom whispered, his gaze intently watching the horizon beyond the city. "I would like to watch my first and last sunrise with my angel, while she is still mine… I've heard the sunrises in Soleanna are the most beautiful in the world." Aurora swallowed the ache in her throat, her heart screaming with longing and loss, but her heavy tongue unable to form the words to beg him to change his mind. Tears blurred her vision and stung her cheeks, until gentle fingertips brushed them away. "Aurora," Her angel sounded so pained, so broken, that she immediately looked to him, and her tears fell faster at the pure anguish in his features. "My angel of light… please do not cry." He begged.

"How can I not?" Aurora wept, ducking her head. She couldn't bear to look at him any longer, knowing he wasn't hers like she was his. "My angel does not love me as I love him… not enough to trust or want me to remain with him. How can I not mourn the loss of my love?"

"Aurora," His hands cupped her cheeks, gently forced her head up so her damp green eyes met his desperate ruby eyes, so full of distress and adoration that Aurora stilled, barely able to breathe. "Whatever you think of me, I beg of you, don't presume I do not love you, my muse, my angel. I love you with all my soul, I've loved you since I first heard you sing, and I will love you beyond my last breath."

"Then why?" Aurora demanded, fresh tears trailing down her cheeks. "Why push me away? How can you say you love me and not want me at your side?"

The Phantom swallowed, averting his eyes, his ears flattening against his head. "Because I am afraid." He let his hands fall from her face to grip her hands tightly and bring one up to brush against his mask. "I am afraid that, if you see me, I will lose you as I've lost everything else, and I-I cannot bear it. To see you look at me with hatred, with scorn and fear as others have, when you once loved me… It would surely destroy what broken shards remain of me now."

Aurora stared at him, at his eyes that refused to look up at her, the withdrawn shoulders to prepare for a blow, his ears pinned to his quills to soften the horrible words he was certain would come, his hand trembling against hers as he holds it to his mask. If Aurora thought her heart had broken before, it crumbled to dust in the wake of her angel's fear. She lifted her other hand to cup his other cheek, biting back the tears when he flinched minutely at her touch. "My angel, how can I do anything but love you?" She murmured, smiling softly when his shocked ruby gaze snapped to her damp emeralds. "No more talk of darkness, my love, forget these fears. I'm here with you, here beside you, and I will not leave you. Let me be your freedom from this nightmare you've known, let my love be your light."

"Aurora…" The Phantom breathed; his ruby eyes glistened with awe, his expression so full of wonder. He swallowed, his voice vulnerable and small. "All I've ever wanted is to be free of this endless night, and you at my side." He held her hands against his chest, so she could feel the tremulous beat of his heart. "If you love me as you say, then say you will love me every waking moment. Say you need me with you, now and always. Promise me all you say is true."

Aurora squeezed his hands, resting her forehead against his, her vow gleaming in the light of the rising sun. "I promise. Anywhere you go, let me go, too. You are my angel, and to love me is all I ask of you."

"You know I do." A smile twitched on his lips. "And I am not your angel, my love… but your Shadow." Shadow guided her hand back to his face, to the edge of his mask, and closed his eyes. He held back the instinctual flinch when the porcelain was peeled away, and couldn't open his eyes again. Shadow trusted her, of course he did, he loved her, but her gasp of horror-he couldn't make himself face it-he knew what she would see-the remnants of hellfire and blood that marred his face-Shadow flinched at the featherlight touch-

"Oh my love," Shadow's eyes flew open, stunned at the sight of tears in his beloved's st ricken gaze, flooding her pale cheeks as she gazed at him. "How cruel has this world been to you?" Aurora whimpered, sickened at the sight of truly horrific scars that stretched from the base of his right ear down to the edge of his jaw; rough, angry red skin highlighted by the lack of fur that had yet to grow back, and possibly never would. "Who could do something so-so monstrous to my beautiful Shadow?"

Something wet and warm flowed down Shadow's cheeks, but he didn't care to find out what it was. None of it mattered-not his scars, not his demons, not his darkness-none of it held power in the wake of Aurora's love. Her words soothed the agony his soul had been lost in, gathered the broken shards and sewed them with threads of pure light until he no longer resembled the monster he'd once seen in the mirror. Warmth bloomed across Shadow's body, golden light surrounded Aurora; pure wonder shone in bright ruby eyes. Aurora nuzzled into his palm, a sweet smile on her lips, and Shadow could no longer resist the pull towards her. He moved slowly, cautiously, but she only tilted her face to meet him eagerly.

Warmth and light that had nothing to do with the rising sun in the East flooded the rooftop of the Soleanna Opera House. As two lovers shared their first kiss, two souls sang in joy as darkness and fear fled in the face of love and light. In the harmony of an everlasting dawn.

Thanks so much to @e-vay for commissioning me for this fic! I had so much fun with this one; it's so different than anything I've done before! Aurora the Hedgehog belongs to @e-vay. Want more Shadora? Check out @e-vay's Tumblr here. Commissions will be closing on November 1st!

[witchthewriter]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑻𝒓𝒖𝒆 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑵𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝑫𝒊𝒅 𝑹𝒖𝒏 𝑺𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒉

Pairing: Happy x OC/Commissioned

Word Count: 1k

@a-kayy47.

ANNIE.

The bar was a sticky place, with a sign out the front that said ‘Frank’s.’

   It wasn’t as if Frank was ever at his own bar. He was too busy doing … something else. Not that he would tell you. Your relationship with your boss was strictly professional. Not like he hadn’t tried anything. But you shut that shit down immediately.

Your legs ached. Feet feeling like they were made of blisters. A headache had been forming for a good two hours and you knew you needed sleep. You had no idea how many times you’d heard the playlist. Metallica, Black Sabbath, Led Zepplin. The clientele had a particular taste.

This was your fourth shift in a row. Hours on your feet, serving assholes (and some relatively nice assholes). Pouring drink after drink. You had had worse jobs than this, but you were on track to start a career. Well, you were hopeful.

   So yes, this isn’t your ideal job, but you had to pay the bills somehow in this little fairytale town of Charming.

You moved here two years ago, and seemed to be stuck here since. There was something about the town that you liked. Some things that you didn’t.

     You looked at the clock on the wall, then checked your watch; 1:55 am. You had five more minutes till your shift ended.

 “Thank fuck,” you sighed, picking up stray glasses from the counter.

     Looking around at the people in the bar, your heart ached as you thought about your daughter. Your sweet, feisty little girl. Kayleigh. Only eight years old and ready to conquer the world.

She was the reason you did all of this. Worked so hard, endured blisters and cranky assholes. Smiled when you really wanted to scream.

Being a single mother wasn’t easy. But you wouldn’t change it. Not for the world.

   You were brought back to the present when the bell on the door jingled. In came three men, three bikers: with their kuttes and heavy boots. Usually, you could hear if bikers were coming to the bar. Their bikes were so loud you could hear them a mile away.

And yet, you knew who they were, the Sons of Anarchy. The real power in this town.

Your other job, as a stylist, loosely connected you to them. Gemma Teller-Morrow has been your client for a year now. Doing her hair and makeup. She rarely talks about the club, but lets you vent whenever you need to.

You couldn’t see the men’s faces at first. The lighting was so low.

There was the sound of pool balls being knocked together, a heated conversation on one of the circular tables. Even though you had been in the bar for hours, you could still smell the strong stench of alcohol.

   As the three men sat down at the bar, you hadn’t noticed but one couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.  

HAPPY.

Happy was a man of few words. Often keeping to himself yet possessing an observant eye. That’s how easily he saw you. With your long black, blonde hair, curvy body and spectacular green eyes.

Oh, those eyes.  

He had seen you around before. In town. The grocers. Sometimes when he picked Gemma up, he saw you in the window of the beauty store.

  You were something else.

A person like you didn’t seem to belong in Charming. It was too corrupt. And you seemed too good for this life.

It’s why he suggested this bar after the night the boys had had. It was a deal gone south and he needed a pick me up. As did the others. But his wasn’t about a drink.

He just wanted to see you.

     “Three beers, any beers, honey,” Tig said. The tiredness in his body echoing through his words. Happy and Chibs nodded, their arms resting on the bar’s surface.

“Coming right up,” you said with a quick smile. They’ll be your last customers. And then you can leave.

Turning around, you opened the fridge door and got out three bottles. Popping the caps, you placed them down. And someone caught your eye.

 “Um, enjoy,” you said and looked at your watch. Time to clock off. Time to see your daughter. To get off your feet and … possibly relax. You took another peek at the stranger and saw him already looking at you.

    Your cheeks burned.

But before you could even leave the main bar area, there was a loud crash behind you. The shattering of glass, shouts, and as you swiftly turned around, an outright brawl had started.

The three bikers had stood up and faced the chaos. With chairs now involved, you couldn’t believe your eyes. Especially as your shift ended.

Fuck.

The owner of the bar wasn’t the most decent man, but he did have safety measures in place…like a gun in the back office and a metal bat underneath the bar. But he told you to never call the police.

Opting for the bat, you turned off the music and screamed at the top of your lungs.

     “STOP THIS FUCKING SHIT AND GET THE FUCK OUT!”

It was quiet for a heartbeat. Then another. On the third, you thought you were out of the woods. But then an idiot just had to throw another punch.

Within seconds the brawl started again. Fists swinging, jaws crunching, eyes swelling. You were too tired to deal with this.

That was, until there were three-gun shots and everyone, but the three bikers crouched down.

    “Listen to the lady,” was all the bald man said as he tucked his gun away.

The men went silent, their eyes wide like an owl’s and they ran. The door opening and closing constantly. Incessant squeaking until it was you and the three men.

  A small grin was fighting its’ way onto your face. No one had helped you like that. Not even the other employees when things got too much. Everyone just thought you had it handled.

   “Thank you,” was all you said as they sat back down. “These are on the house.”

[bakuthedeku]

their everyday game

Read on AO3

Words: 3,000

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

Things Midoriya Izuku is: A student, a sugar baby, a boyfriend, a brat.

Things Midoriya Izuku is not: Patient.

Or: Izuku wants attention from Kacchan and he is going to get it.

A commissioned fic for @insinirate !

Clack clack clack. The room is silent but for the steady breaths of its occupants and the rhythmic beat of fingers on plastic. Clear, wall-to-ceiling windows wash the sun’s gentle light into the room, and reveal a picturesque view of the sparkling city, looking like something straight out of a magazine.

Izuku glares at the extravagant view. He bets Kacchan is writing another one of those stupid reports of his.

Buzz. The clacking halts and Kacchan glances at his work phone for but a moment before the typing resumes.

Izuku takes a deep breath. Holds it. Puffs out his cheeks.

He slumps over in his seat and sighs obnoxiously.

God, he’s so damn bored.

Kacchan said he had to get one more hour of work done, and then he’d take a break. That had been almost three hours ago. ‘One hour’ had turned into two when Izuku left Kacchan to get ready for their lunch date and had foolishly gone straight to the cafe instead of meeting up with Kacchan at the office first. He’d waited all of ten minutes at their usual table before calling a company car and returning to find Kacchan still working in his office.

If not for Kacchan’s genuine surprise at the time and his gruff, yet sweet apologies, he would be a dead man already.

But Izuku still isn’t satisfied. Kacchan needs a break, and Izuku needs attention, stat. There’s only one solution: Izuku’s gonna annoy the shit out of Kacchan. So Izuku sucks in another breath and pouts at the ceiling. “Kacchaaaaan!”

Kacchan sighs, but he doesn’t respond. The silence in the room grows thick with expectation; Izuku’s long-perfect attention-seeking tone signals the start of the game they play every day.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the clack of keys and occasional buzz from Kacchan’s work phone. Izuku wriggles against his plush seat, making the leather squeak obnoxiously, and clears his throat daintily, earning himself a glance. “Kacchan, I’m hungry…” Izuku peaks at Kacchan from beneath fluttering eyelashes.

Kacchan shifts his eyes back to his computer and types another line, pointedly loud against the room’s still silence.

When they play this game, whoever breaks first (or whoever wants whatever they’re after more) will relent and go to the other, so this can go one of two ways; Izuku will pull himself from his lounging position to drape himself over Kacchan, or Kacchan will pull himself from his work and lavish Izuku with the attention he deserves.

Today, Izuku takes it upon himself to move things forward—Kacchan is in one of those moods where it could take hours to break him down, and Izuku needs results now.

So with an impatient, gusty sigh pulled deep from his lungs, Izuku heaves himself up and slinks over to Kacchan’s grand desk, stalking up from behind him. When Kacchan makes the mistake of glancing at Izuku from the corner of his eye, Izuku pounces.

Izuku wrenches Kacchan’s chair around and jumps into his lap, laying himself over Kacchan as well as the plush arms of his chair. Kacchan grunts out a quiet oof at the sudden weight but wraps an arm around his waist nonetheless.

“I’m working, Deku,” Kacchan says dryly.

“Actually, Kacchan, I think you’ll find that you’re cuddling me and giving me attention right now, and I can’t imagine why you’d want to stop.”

Kacchan exhales quietly and wrestles down the corners of his lips—it’s not quite a smile, but it’s a good enough start for Izuku. “I have a lot to do, so as much as I’d love to keep giving you all the attention you desire, I really do have to get back to work.”

Izuku wraps an arm around Kacchan’s neck and pretends to think, then shakes his head solemnly. “Unfortunately, it’s a no from me. I’m hungry and I want lunch.”

“Then go get lunch.”

Izuku gives Kacchan a look for being deliberately obtuse.

“I’ll order in for you, then,” Kacchan offers.

Izuku huffs and pushes himself away from his comfortable spot against Kacchan’s broad chest. “Not good enough, Kacchan! We organised a lunch date, so I am getting a lunch date. Now.” Izuku sticks out his chin and dares Kacchan to say no.

Eyes lock. Izuku stares with determination, burying his will into impenetrable crystal red and steadfastly ignoring their alluring pull. Kacchan makes an aborted noise in the back of his throat, as if he was about to say something stupid but thought better of it, and finally sighs.

“Half an hour.”

Izuku smiles sweetly. “Two. You’re late, so you’ve accrued interest.”

Kacchan decides to focus on their negotiations over Izuku’s mockingly business-like tone: “Forty-five is the best you’re going to get from me.”

“An hour, not including travel time, or I’ll get our contract from your room and tear it up myself.” Izuku juts out a petulant lip. He’d never do it, but it gets his point across—Izuku isn’t budging on this.

Kacchan stares hard for a moment, then sags and rests his head in the crook of Izuku’s neck. “You’re such an annoying little shit,” he murmurs, warm against Izuku’s skin.

Izuku hides his smile in Kacchan’s hair and holds him tight. Another victory secured.

/-/

The cafe is a relaxing, familiar space for Izuku. He’s been a regular since before his arrangement with Kacchan began, and when it breached the confines of Kacchan’s highrise office, it was only natural Izuku would drag Kacchan to his favourite little spot.

After enough of their regular visits, the staff have stopped staring at Kacchan and his crisp suits and shiny Rolex watches, and they interact more or less normally with the pair when they stop by.

They place their orders, as usual, and Kacchan pays, as usual, before they settle in their favourite corner, waiting for drinks and food.

Izuku relaxes into his plush chair. He breathes in happiness, the scent of sugar and coffee and Kacchan’s handsome cologne, and breathes out his worries. He’s already plotting ways to extend the hour he was so graciously granted.

On the table before him is a generous slice of cake, which is ‘not a meal,’ according to Kacchan, but Izuku wanted it and he doesn’t care what Kacchan has to say about it. Kacchan is still waiting on his own food; some kind of salmon dish, which is about the fanciest thing he might be able to get his hands on at a casual place like this.

Before Kacchan can grouse at Izuku further, Izuku digs into his treat with no regard for manners, or as Kacchan calls them, “basic fucking social etiquette.” Whenever Kacchan attempts to spout this particular kind of bullshit, Izuku rather enjoys pointing out the hypocrisy of Kacchan of all people criticising other people’s social graces.

Izuku glances at Kacchan and licks his lips before he fills his mouth with fluffy, sugary goodness, making eye-contact with him as he lets out an exaggerated moan. “So good,” Izuku takes care to lick his lips and smiles, warm and sweet like molten honey.

Kacchan rolls his eyes, but he swallows like his mouth is dry. “You’re a damn menace, you little brat,” he says hoarsely, despite the way his eyes have been stuck on Izuku’s lips since he licked them.

“Hey!” Izuku kicks out with all the gentleness of a fussy toddler, landing a solid kick on Kacchan’s shin. “Don’t be mean. You would’ve missed our lunch date altogether if I hadn’t dragged you here.” Izuku tilts his head and gives an Oscar-worthy kicked-puppy pout.

“Deku…” Kacchan obviously misses the point of his pouting by a mile, because now he just looks sad, and that is not what Izuku was going for! “I’m sorry I forgot, baby. It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with you, it’s just...”

“You’re busy,” Izuku finishes for him, and leans across the table to (affectionately) swat his dumb boyfriend’s head. “I know. I’m not mad, but I do want your attention right now, so cut out the sadness and shower me with compliments like you’re supposed to.”

This earns a snort of laughter from Kacchan, who finally catches on and plays along with their usual game. His whole face brightens with his smile. “Ah yes, of course, dear. How could I spend even a second not overwhelming you with compliments?”

Izuku nods seriously. “Exactly. I’m just so shocked. You should know better than to neglect me by now,” Izuku winks, “Daddy.”

Kacchan makes a point of rolling his eyes, but he’s smiling broadly now, all teeth and crinkled eyes. “Alright, you’ve made your point, asshole. Eat your stupid cake already.”

/-/

Once they’ve eaten, and the redundant alarm Kacchan had set goes off, they return to the car. It’s time for Izuku to execute his plan.

Before Kacchan can put his belt on like the square he is, Izuku swings a leg over his lap and wraps himself around his boyfriend. Kacchan raises a questioning eyebrow before Izuku makes his demand: “Take me shopping.”

Kacchan smacks his head back against the headrest dramatically. “You have my card. I’ll have the driver drop you off wherever you want to go, okay?”

“I said take me shopping, not send me. You have to be there or there’s no use! Kacchan needs to come with me.”

Kacchan looks sad, then, and the stupid man has apparently learnt a thing or two from Izuku, because he’s got the bestest, heart-wrenchingest puppy-dog eyes without even trying. Resting his forehead against Izuku’s, Kacchan sighs softly against his lips. “You know I spend as much time as I can with you, baby. I can only ignore my work for so long, for you.”

Izuku aches, sudden and raw. “Oh, Kacchan… I know you’re busy, you work so hard! Kacchan really is amazing. But sometimes I want to be selfish and snatch up more of your time. You put too much pressure on yourself at work. You have so many employees so you don’t have to run yourself in the ground.”

“There are things my employees can’t do-”

“Like stopping you from working yourself to death? Right, that’s my job.” Izuku wiggles in Kacchan’s lap and captures his lips in a whisper-soft kiss. “So let me take care of you.” Izuku flutters his eyelashes and pulls his trump card. “Please, Daddy?” he asks, words sugar-sweet on his lips.

Cheeks glowing a suspicious strawberry red, Kacchan huffs and grabs Izuku by the waist, easily picking him up off his lap and depositing him on the seat next to him. He waits patiently for Kacchan to break, all the while butterflies dance in Izuku’s belly at his Daddy’s casual display of strength.

“The hell do you need so badly anyway?”

Truthfully, Izuku has no idea what he would wish to buy. Spoiled as he is, there are few things he’s wanted through life that he doesn’t now own, thanks to Kacchan. “I saw this gorgeous lingerie set and I just have to try it on before I buy it. And I need you there to tell me how good it looks,” Izuku states matter-of-factly.

Kacchan clears his throat and pinches Izuku’s cheek. “Fine. Let’s go look at this lingerie, then, baby.”

/-/

Izuku drags Kacchan out of the car by his hand and refuses to let go even after they’ve made it inside the shopping center.

“Come on, come on, I wanna see what this store has!” With Kacchan in tow, Izuku makes a beeline for his favourite lingerie store.

Izuku chatters away as he makes his way up and down the store, fluttering about pretty displays and shiny, luxurious lingerie sets hung up on the walls. He semi-consciously gives Kacchan a consistent stream of observations, rhetorical questions and mumbled postulations about what Kacchan might like best. He picks out half a dozen sets in just a few minutes, handing each one over to Kacchan for him to judge and/or hold like a handsome sentient display rack.

Soon enough, Kacchan flags down someone from the store to do the grunt work for him as he follows Izuku around the store like a loyal dog, face warring between fondness and annoyance.

Izuku is quite certain that the fondness far outweighs the annoyance, though. Izuku is, after all, impossible to hate.

After completing one circuit of the store, Kacchan interrupts Izuku before he can begin on a second. “What happened to the ‘one’ set you wanted, huh?” The man crosses his arms like a brute, biceps flexing handsomely as he pours disapproval into the question.

Izuku tuts at him. “There’s nothing wrong with browsing. Just look at how pretty this one is!” Izuku pulls out the dainty belt and harness set he was looking at, wiggling it around for Kacchan’s judgment.

“Mm,” Kacchan acknowledges, carefully collected as he judges the set. With his nod of approval, Izuku gleefully adds it to his soon-to-be-towering pile of things to try on, heedless of the fact that Kacchan immediately passes it off to the poor retail worker trailing after them.

Kacchan crosses his arms. “Don’t think I don’t realise what you’re doing, baby boy.”

Izuku ought to feel sheepish at being caught out so easily, but it’s to be expected when he’s trying to con Kacchan. Instead, he tilts his head and bats his big, round eyes, the perfect picture of innocence. “But Daddy, what exactly are you going to do about it?”

Kacchan crosses his arms, but Izuku’s got him there. Kacchan wants to see Izuku in this lingerie just as much as Izuku wants to try them on. And if all of this has the bonus of Izuku keeping Kacchan to himself for a little longer, then they don’t need to talk about that, really.

“I don’t know why I put up with you,” Kacchan says, and Izuku giggles, wrapping his arms around his Daddy’s neck.

“I can think of a few reasons,” he laughs. “Now come tell me how pretty I look in these!”

/-/

The driver has to help them get everything into the car. As soon as they’re in, Kacchan orders the driver to start the car and get them back to his work quickly.

It’s cute that Kacchan thinks they’d be going anywhere near his office if not for Izuku allowing it.

“Are you satisfied now, brat?” Kacchan asks, pulling on his seatbelt only after the car has started moving (ooh, rebellious).

Izuku hums. He takes a long few moments to rearrange the copious amount of bags around him, just because he can. He pretends to think very hard about it before nodding exaggeratedly. “Yes, I think I am. For today, at least.”

When Kacchan groans, Izuku shuts him up with a kiss, and they smile like kids in love against each other’s lips.

/-/

Deku seems to have tuckered himself out during their shopping trip, which is understandable considering the sheer amount of clothes he insisted he try on before making Katsuki buy everything for him. He spends the car ride back draped over Katsuki’s side, giving a docile little mumble every now and then when he sees a dog on the sidewalk or a pretty flower that apparently reminds him of Katsuki’s eyes.

(How can the fucker get even cuter than usual just because he tired himself out being a whiny brat all day? How is that fair at all to Katsuki’s heart? Not to mention his wallet...)

(It’s not like Katsuki can’t afford it, but damn, lingerie is surprisingly fucking expensive.)

Katsuki carefully shakes Deku awake when they arrive, because he has learnt the hard way that if he leaves Deku to doze or wakes him too quickly, there will be hell to pay. So he accepts Deku’s blindly groping hand into his own and leads him into the building, where Izuku says something vague about harassing his friend in reception and stumbles off, bleary-eyed.

Katsuki has some interns come down and transfer Deku’s things into his private car so he can attempt to get some work done before Deku makes it upstairs. Deku usually settles down after a few hours of monopolising Katsuki’s time and attention, but with the mood he’s in today, Katsuki doesn’t like his chances of getting anything else done.

He’s gotten as far as opening up an email from a partner company when the door clicks open and Deku sashays in like he owns the place.

And, okay. Katsuki owns the place, and Deku has him wrapped around his pinky finger, so he does own the place in every way but name. But only Katsuki is allowed to know that, god damn it.

“You look like a bumbling fawn like that,” Katsuki informs him, just to see Deku’s sleepy eyes flash with indignation, and watch his cheeks glow a pretty, flustered pink.

Deku’s response doesn’t disappoint, and his nose even scrunches up like a disgruntled bunny, but Katsuki’s gone and shot himself in the foot because now Deku is stomping up to him in a way that says he means business. Deku collapses heavily and claims the space of Katsuki’s lap, steadfast in the fact that it is his and his alone.

Deku slaps him petulantly on the chest. “Meanie,” he mumbles, and curls up on Katsuki’s lap, nestling his head beneath his chin and settling against him, a puzzle piece slotted perfectly in its place. “I’m tired,” Deku says, as if that isn’t obvious already.

Kastuki huffs, presses a feather-soft kiss to the crown of his head. “Just rest, idiot.”

“‘Mkay Daddy…”

Katsuki strokes his fingers through the softness of Izuku’s hair and cradles him as Deku’s body relaxes into Katsuki’s own. “Good boy,” he murmurs.

Pressed tenderly together, Deku continues babbling quietly to fill the peaceful sunset air. Katsuki nods along and holds his baby securely in his arms until he floats off into sleep.

Clack clack clack. With a watchful eye on Deku, lovely and sleep-soft against his chest, Katsuki quietly gets back to work.

[starswornoaths]

Not Right, but Better - Commission!

Commission for the wonderful @sarenhale, who was such a genuine treat to work for! Featuring her Warrior of Light, Aydee, and an exploration of Heavensward through Estinien's perspective!

sfw Estinien x WoL, Heavensward spoilers!

content warning: vague violence/gore, canonical character deaths

word count: 14,322

~*~

Though only in the Seat for some few summers, the presiding Lord Commander made a point to connect with those he worked with the closest, that he might learn to lead them in the way that was most effective, for that particular officer. Estinien had been no exception, though perhaps had required the least questioning, to get there: they had known each other for long enough that a matter of how he preferred to be communicated with, need not be discussed.

Orders handed to Estinien, for instance, were always brief, oft little more than a folded up note, for all their formality. In this, he was standout from others: Aymeric understood how to reach the people in his command the most effectively, and had never wasted Estinien’s time where work was concerned. All the same, even he felt that there should have been more, to a message that read: “report to Camp Dragonhead, we meet with the Warrior of Light,” with the appointed hour writ on a slip of paper Certainly more than a bell’s warning would have been preferable, if only because there was something of an ongoing rivalry only recently ignited betwixt them.

Estinien had managed to be a few minutes late, because of course he did, and so ducked through the back entrance of Camp Dragonhead, through the armory, toward the main hall.

He lingered at the door, straining his hearing to try and make sense of the murmuring voice on the other side. It was Aymeric talking, he could tell, but the words were indistinct.

No sense in delaying the inevitable, Estinien realized with a groan, and cracked the door with a nudge of his shoulder. Not enough to reveal himself sooner than he absolutely needed to, but enough that he saw the subtle twitch of Aymeric’s hand, curled over the bend of his elbow; he had heard him.

With the door thusly opened, Aymeric’s voice was clearer: “On the contrary, Master Alphinaud—I think it more important than ever that this meeting take place. Rest assured, I shall return to my post on Ishgard’s walls the moment our business is concluded.”

Estinien wanted to snort at that. Typical of Aymeric, workaholic as he ever was.

“Before we move on to the subject of reinforcements, however, I would introduce you to a close friend and stalwart ally. Estinien!”

Taking his cue, he shouldered the door the rest of the way open and stepped into the Intercessory proper. 

Aydee looked like a completely different person than the dragoon that had forcibly fended him off at his most manic. Her posture had been slack—alert, for a certainty, but calm. 

That was, until the name that had been called caught up with her. When their eyes met.

Were it not for the band of sunset orange across her eyes and the bright shock of her soft green hair, he might not have recognized her at all.

Now that he was not looking at her in flashes of combat, and against the sun glare off of the snow, he realized, with a start, that her eyes did not match. One, a deep green, deeper than her hair. The other, a dark color that he could not immediately identify from this distance. It felt like a warm shadow, when it settled on him.

He couldn’t help but stiffen at the look of recognition that sparked in those mismatched eyes of earth and shadow.

Immediately, Aydee’s posture shifted—not outwardly hostile, but cautionary. Waiting. Perceiving him as an immediate threat. 

Little wonder. Had she any other reaction for how things ended last they met, Estinien would think her a fool.

“May I present to you Ishgard’s Azure Dragoon.” Aymeric said, his hands returning to his sides.

It seemed as though he were trying to soften his own presence in an effort to put Aydee at ease. Estinien had been...vague, on the details of their last encounter as Azure Dragoons, when reluctantly reporting in, at the Lord Commander’s behest. 

Estinien did not doubt that Aymeric obtained the rest of the tale from Alberic, as the other solitary witness; enough to keep Estinien from being arrested. Enough to placate the law, at least.

The sniveling, silver haired boy was gawping, Estinien realized distantly. Evidently, he had not realized just how secretive Ishgard was, with regard to its military prowess. 

Aymeric, however, was ever eager to take an opportunity to flatter Estinien. Unfortunately, as was his wont, he continued, “They are formidable warriors, all. Yet, even among such masters of the lance, Estinien is without equal.”

On that point, they had come to disagree, of late. 

“...You flatter me over much, Lord Commander.” Estinien said, with a glance over his shoulder at Aymeric before settling his gaze back on Aydee. “If I was without equal, I am no longer. Be at ease, Aydee. I have not come to quarrel with you this day.”

It was hardly an olive branch, he knew. But it seemed to be enough for Aydee, in that moment.

Enough, at least, to let Aymeric steer the conversation back to the matter at hand: their next steps in dealing with Iceheart, and the encroaching assault the Dravanians aimed to lead on the Steps of Faith.

Knowing that they would be stepping upon the battlefield again, this time as allies, compelled Estinien to seek Aydee out again after the meeting had concluded. It would not do to have the two Azure Dragoons in a place of discontent before they were to fight side by side, he reasoned.

When Estinien called for her, she stopped and turned her attention to him. For a blessing, he’d only just caught her as the last of the group filed out of the Intercessory; their privacy was all but guaranteed as the door shut behind Lucia, leaving them alone.

Almost immediately, she squared her shoulders, visibly bristling at him. Unsurprising, all things considered.

“Easy,” he said, hands held up, placating. “I understand your reluctance, but ‘tis as I said: I’m not looking for a fight—more, I want to ensure there will not be one, as it were.”

Aydee’s posture slackened with a slow, careful exhale. Wordlessly, she nodded.

“Good.” he said, through a sigh of relief. “You have my word, as Azure Dragoon, I will be naught but an ally to you.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Esti,” she answered around a fanged, bright grin. “I bet you’ll even be almost fond of me before you know it!”

Ire rose up in his throat, too quickly for him to smother the growl it pushed out. Better that than a sarcastic response; however much it might have given him some immediate catharsis.

“Doubtless.” he managed to ground out through his teeth.

~*~

Given Aydee’s...particular peculiarities when compared to even their fellow knights dragoon, Estinien felt his skepticism in her ability well placed; it was rarely a cheerful person who endured what was necessary to earn their soul crystal, in his experience.

And yet, he came to understand the Warrior of Light, beyond any name, title, or countenance, when she was at her most unreserved: on the field of battle.

Defending the Steps of Faith had been but the start, though it had been the catalyst, for Estinien to doubt his initial dismissal of Aydee: when attacking the lesser swarms of the horde that nipped at Vishap’s heels, she was a blur of blood and a blaze of fury. Were it not for the gleam of her spear, and the carnage in her wake, he might have missed her entirely.

Even still, she was not so drunk on the bloodshed, that she did not heed Lucia’s commands for manning the machinery that would win them the day; even when she could not get to it herself, she would ensure one of her comrades managed, and guarded their path there. If there was something she was not confident in operating, she had the presence of mind enough not to cease in fighting, to attempt it, instead working off of the faith that one of her comrades would handle it.

That sense of synergy was not withheld from him, either—when he struck, she was at his shoulder, covering his flank. When she struck, she did not flinch, did not question that he would return that same protection, knowing that he would.

Even seeing this early example of her abilities, and aptitude, Estinien could admit that, perhaps, his wounded pride had made him hunt for fault in her.

A belief more and more reaffirmed, once she, along with her remaining Scion comrades, were taken in as wards of House Fortemps. With their ushering beyond the Arc of the Worthy—a gate she had bled defending, no less—there was yet more work foisted upon the Warrior of Light. Doubtless, some noble, somewhere, figured it was her earning her keep.

Estinien spat onto the cobblestone.

It had been a morbid sort of catharsis, watching Aydee beat the Fury out of two of the Heaven’s Ward, acting as her comrade’s champion, in a trial of heresy. 

Not long afterward, he had lingered near Aydee and her compatriots—there was little telling what sort of nonsense the Holy See would attempt to cook up, to try and rid themselves of what they clearly—and correctly, by his estimation—perceived as a threat.

It was less that he lacked confidence in Aydee’s skill; after witnessing the fight he just did, even had he never seen her in action before, would have done enough to dispel those thoughts. Moreover, he had every confidence that the Holy See would attempt to catch her off guard, when she thought herself safest.

For a blessing, it would seem their machinations did not extend beyond their initial, blundering attempt to snuff out the last of the Scions: despite his concerns, they had made the journey back to House Fortemps without further incident.

His initial suspicions, however, had led him to an accidental discovery: the boy, Alphinaud, had a plan, as it turned out.

To treat with the Iceheart, in an effort to get to Nidhogg. Estinien struggled to know whether to laugh or scream at the Fury for how she toyed with him.

Every initial instinct that plucked at his nerves told him to leave, right then and there. Whatever pretty little ideas concocted from that little dreamer would doubtless be half-baked and reckless: the boy’s precocious disregard for the lives he risked with his every plot rankled Estinien down to his marrow.

But then Aydee cosigned the idea, and positioned herself as Alphinaud’s protector for such a journey.

Knowing that she would be backing it forced Estinien to reluctantly reconsider. It elevated the idea from some far flung impossibility to a tempting risk. The notion that Nidhogg would even entertain peace was laughable, but the attempt would get Estinien close enough to end this godforsaken war, once and for all, were he to throw his lot in with them.

And that had been, ultimately, what had convinced him that the boy Scion’s crackpot idea had any merit to it; at the very least, there was someone there behind the words that had the strength to back them.

~*~

It might have been that strength that she possessed that inspired him to join their effort to recruit Iceheart, but it was that same cheerful demeanor that he had so judged Aydee for that ultimately thawed Ysayle’s heart, just enough for her to agree to their cause.

In truth, it was little else but Aydee and Alphinaud that had permitted any sort of accord, between Ysayle and himself. Estinien wasn’t too proud to admit that, even if he was too angry and bitter to entertain the notion of calling the Iceheart a comrade, let alone a friend.

Already, the plan had been made into something a bit more reasonable—and a good bit further from Nidhogg than he had originally accounted for. Much as he did not want to admit that it made more sense to attempt to treat with Hraesvelgr rather than Nidhogg, it did not necessarily mean that he had to like that he would be delayed in having his opportunity for revenge. 

Estinien misliked lingering in Dravanian territory. All the more, with how the Eye so stirred the nearer they drew to Nidhogg’s domain. It took the bulk of his focus just to keep his sense of self split from the great wyrm’s influence. Even still, he knew that should he bear it, he would be rewarded with his vengeance—even if it cost him his life. It was enough to rally his reserves of energy, to keep his tongue in check—mostly, at least.

At the sound of footsteps approaching, Estinien turned his head to see Alphinaud returning to the spot they had picked to set up camp, his arms resembling the twigs and thin bits of wood he cradled within them. In a way, it reminded Estinien of his young brother, when they were tasked with busywork around the farm.

But such thoughts had no place on the eve of their entreatment of Hraesvelgr. Even less place in the shadow of the great wyrm’s domain. As it was, he barely tolerated giving it his indifference.

Barely tolerated, aye, but the low murmur of Aydee chatting with their companions was a balm on his fraying nerves. He was far from a conversationalist—he could scarce stand his own company, half the time—but her voice was soft, as it was, and the distance between them made her words indistinct. That low din, if he pushed his focus away from it, almost sounded like music, to his ears. It was enough to keep his calm when having to sleep so close to the brother of his mortal enemy.

Admittedly, her presence warmed him more than the fire they managed to build at the center of their camp, even when he reluctantly drew nearer once the night had settled in and brought with it, its chill. 

Not enough to thaw him, not in quite the same way that Iceheart had given to Aydee’s charms, mind. He still bristled at even the notion that there could ever be peace between man and dragon. 

But when Aydee joined him at the far edge of the fire’s light, he found that he did not mind his solitude being intruded upon.

“Are you cold, standing over here?” she asked, once she had moved close enough to talk.

“Do you forget where I come from?” Estinien snorted before he could stop himself. 

With a wince, he tried again, gentler, “I am well. Thank you.”

His efforts were rewarded with a beaming smile, and a swish of her tail. At the sight, some of the tension in his shoulders unwound—just enough to remind him of their ache, at least.

“I’m glad to hear it.” she said, in a tone that implied that she had more to say.

Thus, Estinien waited, and stared, until she caught on that he was not going to prompt her with further conversation.

Her ears perked up in time with the squeak of her startled realization, before she composed herself and elaborated, “Even if I don’t have the same experiences, I understand that it’s hard for you, to be so close to the enemy—two of them, I guess.” 

Estinien grunted in acknowledgment. In truth, he wasn’t certain there were words he had that would not get him chastised. 

“And you stood up for me back there. With Ravana.” she said, and fidgeted. “What I mean is: I see you. Thank you, for trying so hard.”

Something warm unfurled in his chest, calming and quiet. As with most things surrounding Aydee, it caught him unawares.

“You make it bearable. Something I did not expect, from you.” he said, in a tone he hoped sounded more teasing than crass.

Crude as it may have been, his teasing got the intended result: she laughed brightly, smothering the noise behind her hands to keep it from traveling beyond their camp.

“You flatter me over much! I’m just here to help.” Aydee replied with a shake of her head.

“You sell yourself short. You fight for a place that is not your own, and your conduct is without reproach.” he said, fumbling for the right words. “So, err. My thanks.”

She laughed again, more of a hum of noise, than anything else. 

“Let’s swear to never stop trying, yeah?” she asked.

It was endearing, the way her eyes crinkled with her smile. Not as immune to her charm as he might have liked to think, Estinien could not contain the errant twitch of his lip, in the suggestion of a smile, when he saw it.

“If you insist,” he said softly, though smiled fully when her own grin turned toothy.

“And I do! But come, the stew should be bubbling. Can’t hurt to see if there’s any help needed.”

She did not take his hand, did not press, but turned back toward camp, and looked at him expectantly over her shoulder.

At the prospect of their own little quiet being interrupted, Estinien could not bite back a groan. 

“Must we?” he groused.

Stifling a laugh, she reminded him: “We just promised to never stop trying, Estinien.”

In the flattest voice he could manage, he retorted, “Mine own words, being used against me? Fiend. I thought we were comrades.”

Even through his grumbling, he could not stop smiling, for all his effort. All the more when Aydee readily gave as good as she got, as they meandered away from the shadows together.

~*~

It was hardly a surprise that their entreaty of Hraesvelgr ended as poorly as it did. In truth, it was all but preordained, even before their feet left the cobbled stone of Ishgard. Perhaps even before that. 

Still, the attempt, and what fruit it had borne, had been enough to convince the Lord Commander to buy them time in the city, while they struck at the horde in ways that mattered to its maestros: Nidhogg’s brood, and Nidhogg himself.

Finally. Finally.

Like quicklevin, anticipation buzzed just beneath the surface of his skin. He couldn’t help but compare the feeling to the angry hum of an agitated nest of hornets. 

Never before had his vengeance been so close at hand. 

Alas, they were made to wait within the city, as comrades of the Scions prepared manacutters for their mission, carried out away from the eyes of the church. Though he was not a patient man by nature, he was content to take this crucial time to prepare.

For how much he could prepare for such a thing, at least.

But Estinien was nothing, if not efficient, and he found himself with nothing left to occupy his time, as their ships were being readied. At first, he had tried to otherwise preoccupy himself with rechecking his gear, but he could only pack his equipment, unpack it, and then repeat the cycle so many times before he would snap.

Thus, to preserve his sanity, he dropped his equipment in the manacutter designated for him and stepped out into the late evening air to try and clear his head.

His meandering eventually led him to the Pillars—it seemed that his feet had fallen into old habits without his say-so, and he had fallen into an old patrol pattern that had taken him past the High Houses, toward the Astrologicum. Awareness did not inspire him to change his course; he had no true destination in mind. Thus, his wanderings need no direct path.

The familiar path set a tempo for the low din of the horde’s roaring. It filled his ears, clouded his thoughts; the dragons were reaching a fever pitch. 

They were running out of time.

As he crested the hill, the airship landing loomed beyond. Estinien’s eye was drawn to the gleam of sunlight caught on the blade of a lance. 

He froze mid-step, as his mind caught up with the familiar silhouette of a dragoon, sat curled in on themselves, atop the railing around the back of the airship landing. At a glance, she could have been mistaken for one of the towering spires that decorated the gate beside her. 

But Estinien would know Aydee anywhere. 

Before he could think on it, his feet had rerouted, and made their way toward her. Some part of him should have been worried, that he was so naturally drawn to her when his focus was not on his actions. As though he were some starved plant, desperate for a ray of sunshine. The nearer he drew himself to her, the discordant roaring in his ears eased, and fell into a sort of song. As if he had tuned his every ilm to her.

Eugh. Aymeric’s poetic waxing was getting to him.

“As eager to leave as I am, I see.” Estinien called as he drew near.

Aydee hardly reacted to the sound of his voice. In truth, he doubted he truly needed to announce his presence; like as not, she was just as attuned to the way their blood sang, when they were near one another. 

“The horde is growing antsy.” she said softly. “As am I.”

Her voice was a low melody all its own. It fell in perfect harmony with the dragon’s song. As if she were their needed cue, the wyrms quieted in his mind.

Estinien wondered, in a distant sort of way, whether this was a reason why there had only ever been one Azure Dragoon at any given point. Was this symphony a boon, or a burden? 

If a curse, would that truth be enough to make their song end? Would he even want it to?

Not something for him to consider. Not with Nidhogg’s persistent whispering in the back of his mind. His focus needed to remain on his resistance, or all of his struggles would be for naught.

He would not falter. Not at the hour of his vengeance.

“You feel it, then?” he asked her in a low, hesitant rumble. “The hunger?”

A constant gnawing at the base of his gut. As if he could sense the horde’s eager appetite for his blood from within the cage of his own ribs. His enemies' bottomless gluttony echoed back to him, born within him by fire and blood. A droning, angry song that buzzed in his ears and consumed his senses in moments of weakness.

“All the time.” Aydee answered in a whisper.

While his mental focus remained, Estinien permitted himself a moment to lean his hands on the railing beside her, and heave a heavy sigh.

With a start, he realized that for the first time since he rose from the ashes of Ferndale, he had someone that he could ask, reliably, for their perspective. Not as some retired mentor who distracts himself with penance who had not partaken of the dragon’s power in years, but a fellow active Azure Dragoon. One whose watch had not yet ended.

A comrade, not a mentor. A friend, dare he say, not a guilt-ridden warden.

“...What helps you?” he asked, with great reluctance.

“It depends. Sometimes, conversation helps. Didn’t want to even try it when I felt like the walls were closing in, though.” she replied, shrugging. “So I left to get some fresh air. I don’t like sitting still in one place for too long, even in the best of times.”

No less restless than he, then. 

Through his years of training as a knight dragoon, he’d been silent as his comrades had taken turns sharing bawdy stories in low murmurs, anything to get the group to laugh as they marched through hellish terrain, anything to calm them down for the night when they made camp in the shadow of the horde. At the time, he’d dismissed it as pointless folly, the sort of thing that those less focused succumbed to, in a petty attempt to distract themselves from their fear.

Now, he wondered if they were much like Aydee, and needed to fill the quiet not out of fear, but restlessness. If it had kept them occupied in a way that little else could, when they were not otherwise occupied with their given task.

Estinien knew not whether it would do him any good. But having an ally— a friend— approaching the battlefield in peace, of a surety, would.

“Have you run into Ser Alaimbert, in your service to House Fortemps?” he asked.

“The dragoon? In the highlands, a time or two.” Aydee answered, in that startled sort of way that suggested she had not anticipated the subject change.

In truth, it almost surprised Estinien; he had not even thought about whether he wanted to talk to her. That it would help her had been knowledge enough for him to make the choice to, it seemed.

“Did he ever get around to telling you how he got that title of his?” 

He imagined not; dense as the man was, Alaimbert was only aware enough to introduce himself half the time, never mind explaining himself in any sort of detail. Idly, he wondered if the madman had introduced himself to Aydee lance first, as was sometimes his wont.

There it was—that fanged grin of hers. Just as he had hoped to see. Whether she was intrigued on the merit of the tale itself or because it was enough of a tale to quiet the song in their blood mattered little. She was interested, and distracted, and for Estinien, that was enough.

When she laughed at the dry wit he would try to work into his recounting, it felt as though he had already claimed a different sort of victory.

~*~

Estinien had spent most of his life chasing the hour that he could drink deep of his vengeance. So many years wandering the desert of denial, and it was only then, when he had at last sunk his lance into the oasis of Nidhogg’s heart, that he wondered what it was meant to taste like.

He had presumed it would be bittersweet. Like burned chocolate on his tongue and the tang of blood between his teeth. That it would linger on his tongue for the rest of his life, would taint the taste of anything he consumed forevermore as penance for not dying with his family. That it would taste at all.

But there was nothing. No matter how much he glutted on the sight of Nidhogg’s eye, it all still tasted of nothing.

“You gifted my people a thousand years of suffering.” he called out through the heaving of his chest, his voice a guttural roar. “Now I gift you an eternity in darkness!”

He’d half planned that he would say something, at the hour of Nidhogg’s death, and half said it just to tempt out some sort of emotion other than adrenaline fueled apathy.

Starved for aught but disappointment and exhaustion, Estinien all but crumpled to the ground when his battered armor slipped on the blood-slick facets of the crystalline floor. Were it not for Aydee’s timely assistance, bracing his arm over her shoulders, he might have toppled over again, on his boneless attempt to stand on his own.

Trembling though his limbs were, the sharpest points on his clawed gauntlets dug into the Eye, lest it slip from his grip entirely for his blunder. 

Unsatiated thirst left his throat dry. The want to speak startled him for how rarely it occurred, though his chest heaved too heavily, for several long moments, to even make the attempt. Even then, it took effort to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth, all the more to force his throat to work.

When he could scrape enough of his voice together to speak, he could only rasp her name before the effort of doing so forced his lungs to give out. If she was concerned for his condition, she hid it well, clucking her tongue in admonishment as though he were a misbehaved child.

“Easy, easy!” Aydee chided with a grunt, as she shifted both of their weight. “I’ve got you.”

The world was swaying—starved though Estinien may have been, his senses were drunk on battle high and the scent of her hair in his nose.

If there were injuries that he sustained, he could not feel them. Though he felt hyper attuned to his surroundings, trying to listen to his body over the hammering of his blood in his ears reminded him of the murmur of conversation while submerged in water, muddled and indistinct. 

Point of fact, it was only the buckling of his legs, as he attempted to get them back underneath him, that informed him of the level of his exhaustion. Beneath the bulk of his torso, he could feel how Aydee trembled with the effort of helping him stay upright.

Yet, when she grunted out a determined, “I’ve got you!” again as she adjusted her grip, Estinien believed her.

Once Estinien could keep his feet under him, he turned his attention to the Eye again. Prized from the point of his lance, fresh from the killing blow, it peered back at him. That hawkish gold, unblinking eye, now the only remaining trace of Nidhogg’s body—but that dark, oppressive weight of his aether remained. It pressed in on Estinien from all sides, and threatened to crush his chest in.

The blood that had soaked into his armor during Nidhogg’s wild death throes—and the aether that stained his mail with that blood, permanently corrupting it—served as a dowsing rod against that onslaught, just as he hoped it would. It was enough to clutch at the threads of his sense of self, amid the torrent of that roiling rage.

Nidhogg was dead—but not gone.

I have not forgotten thee, dragoon! Mine essence claimed thee once...and shall do so again! The wyrm roared in his mind.

“The Eye—” he croaked.

It had to be dealt with, one way or another. No traces. Nothing left.

Aydee’s eyes flashed with understanding. With a few stumbling steps, she encouraged him to lean against the jagged wall of Nidhogg An. Reluctant though she was to let him go, with a reassuring nod, she stepped back, just a bit.

“I know.” she said softly. “Just take a few breaths. Let me—”

Her hands hadn’t ventured far from him, hovering in the space between them. Thus, it was nothing for her to bend and reach for the Eye yet in his iron grip.

Exhaustion demanded that he slump over, hang his head, and focus on gulping down air. Demanded that he give in, just a little, and let her relieve him of his burden. Demanded that he do to her exactly as was done to every soul who took up their lance for the cause, and pass off Nidhogg’s fury and hatred to another Azure Dragoon.

Just as Alberic had done to him.

Estinien did not relinquish it—nor did he feel guilt for the warning snarl he gave her, to dissuade her advance.

“I am well enough.” he ground out.

Aydee’s mismatched eyes widened in alarm. The sharp intake of her gasp was quiet, but it pierced through the fog of Nidhogg’s lingering aether, and struck at his heart in a way he had not been prepared for. 

He had little and less time to dwell on the feeling before a brilliant, red light emanated from Aydee’s chest with a suddenness that seemed to startle even her, though her shock morphed almost instantly into pain. With a gasp, she doubled over, a hand clutching at the armor over that fiery star that had sparked in her sternum. 

Estinien had spent all of his energy clinging to Nidhogg’s back in his last desperate thrashes of his fading life, and delivering the killing blow. He had felt, down to the marrow, utterly spent, even before he had fully processed that it had ended. 

But when he watched Aydee begin to sway in place, he moved almost as quickly as he had in his blows against the great wyrm, to brace her, just as she had done for him. Suddenly, he had all the strength in the world for her.

Mindful of the Eye yet in his grip, he did not unmake the distance between them entirely—but moved close enough to give her aid, were it needed.

A raw sort of agony poured in through the newfound crack in his defenses, and drowned his tell tale heart.

Likely, when that swaying got worse, she did not need him to catch her, and brace her against his chest with his free arm. Very likely, she could have recovered on her own, even, without his interference. That knowledge—that faith—was not enough to restrain him from doing just that. Even as he swung the Eye out behind him, holding it as far away from Aydee as possible, even as he curled protectively over her, he had moved without even thinking.

After a few moments of tense quiet, where her legs buckled and her hand squeezed at her chest, she at last unwound herself. When she lifted her head and found his eyes from under the hinge on his helm, he could only describe the way that she looked as having just returned to herself.

“What ails you, Aydee?! Are you wounded?” Estinien asked, once he saw her eyes adjust, and her mind caught up with her.

She seemed flustered—given how disoriented whatever just happened had left her, he could hardly fault her, her graceless scramble to get to her feet.

There were a few tense moments where Aydee struggled to find a response, cradling her head in her hands as she let herself gulp down a few breaths.

Her explanation of the visions that assailed her was as stumbling as her movements, but far from inarticulate. Enunciating her words, she worked through the stammer of her thoughts getting ahead of her, hands moving in front of her as if to propel her through the tale.

That ‘twas Ishgard who struck the betraying blow, that orchestrated the opening measures of the Dragonsong War, under the guide of Haldrath—who then vanished, in his shame, and left the five remaining knights to lead the nation.

Five, then four, as one of them had hung his shield, loyal to his king to the last, and none other. A forgotten knight. Unnamed, even in this pull through time.

Voice low with wonder and worry both, Estinien said, “You have borne witness to history...to the culmination of the first battle with Nidhogg.”

The Echo was incongruous with Ishgard’s founding legends. Still waiting to feel something in the wake of his draining adrenaline, he recounts the tale of valiant King Thordan’s leadership guiding their ancestors to the land of Coerthas. How the goodly king was slain by Nidhogg—who was blinded in the ensuing battle by the good king’s son, Haldrath, in noble combat.

“A rousing tale, is it not?” he groused bitterly. “Would that I could still believe it.”

Alas, it had been a comfort to him, that far flung tale of Ishgard’s noble foundings. A comfort that Haldrath was a supreme Azure Dragoon, a dragon hunter unparalleled. 

Estinien had never truly put much stock in the words of those who had told him that tale, however. Not in a way that mattered.

Not in the way he did with Aydee’s.

“Your vision, which we must accept as immutable truth, leaves no room for doubt—save on one point: if Haldrath took both of Nidhogg’s eyes, then how came this eye to be lodged in the wyrm’s skull?”

He could certainly guess. Between the faint golden gleam to this new eye when compared to the Eye that had been in his possession, even on the surface level, this power felt strangely different. Not so different as to imply it was from a lesser wyrm, however, which limited the likely suspects.

“There is one we can ask.” Aydee spoke his thoughts aloud to him. 

That there was. It would behoove them to piece together the full story ere they returned to Ishgard. He could not present his oldest friend with a half-truth.

The Theocracy had clearly done that to the both of them enough as it was. To them all.

“Beneath every answer we unearth, another question lies buried…” he grumbled bitterly.

So distracted by this tumultuous feeling roiling in his chest, he had nearly missed Aydee reaching one of her hands out, expectant.

“It’s better we plan further once we’re out of here. Let me take one of the eyes, while we’re travelling.” she said, meeting his gaze evenly.

It was not that Estinien snatched his hand away, but it was a near enough thing. A move that she seemed to anticipate, as she chased the motion, and caught his wrist.

Though he did not pull away from her grip, he frowned at the way it tightened.

“We have our burdens, the both of us. This is mine to carry.” he murmured. 

“Estinien—”

His rasp came out softer this time, when he repeated, “I am well enough.”

“I trust that.” Aydee said softly. Her free hand joined the one that yet held his wrist. “I trust you. Trust me enough to help.”

That was enough to make Estinien waver. Were it anyone else, he would have scoffed at the notion. 

Even still...could he do to her, what had been done to him? What had been done to every Dragoon that had come before them?

“How can I force—” he tried to ask around the lump in his throat.

“You can’t force the willing.” she parried him gently.

Her grip shifted, and took hold of the Eye. There was no force there; she held it, but did not attempt to pry it from his hand. She left it his choice.

Instead, she quietly implored him: “trust me.”

Hesitation slowed him, but when he ultimately handed over the newly acquired Eye to her, he did so without doubt in her ability.

“Alright,” Estinien said, in a tone much like hers. “Alright.”

Even as the strain on his will eased for half of its pressure being passed, guilt was quick to take its place. Hardly a reprieve, but there was relief to be had, in finding someone he could trust so. Reminded of his exhaustion, the strength he had roused to push himself to her side bled from him in a rush. It was all he could do, to keep his legs from buckling again.

“Let us quit this place.” he finally said, half slumped over.

To keep them both upright, Aydee slumped into him, in kind.

It was well that his stomach was steeled against the sickening, wet noise of wyrm viscera being displaced, else the sound of their footfalls slipping on the crags of Nidhogg An’s floor would have surely upended what scarce contents were in it. He could only imagine how Aydee was faring.

“What glorious victory we have achieved.” he joked flatly, as they stumbled together.

For a blessing, she laughed. It made the path winding down seem far less daunting, even as they meandered back toward their Manacutters.

“I never think about the dismount after the fight, if I’m being honest.” Aydee mumbled. “Not beyond checking on those I’m with, at least. When they’re with me.”

“This one was supposed to be different.” he said before he could stop himself. He was supposed to feel relieved. Supposed to feel something.

~*~

They shambled in silence for a long stretch of their journey from Nidhogg An. Not so long that they were near the manacutters, but enough that they had descended back through the Aery’s Apex, and were approaching the midway point to their initial landing spot.

“Sure didn’t think about the walk back, during the fight.” Aydee broke the silence, and wheezed a laugh. “My legs feel thrashed. I can only imagine how yours must feel.”

In truth, it was something of a miracle that Estinien had not fully collapsed, at that point. What energy he was regaining in the wake of their battle seemed incapable of being routed to his legs. Despite being able to get them properly beneath him, they trembled enough to warrant his continued leaning against his fellow Azure Dragoon.

“Boneless and awkward as a newborn doe.” he muttered, disgruntled at his exhaustion.

Aydee coughed out another laugh. Doubtless, she was hardly faring any better, no matter how she made light of it. Even one as effervescent and energetic as she had their limits.

“You’re right.” she said softly, when the silence stretched on further.

For a moment, Estinien thought she had somehow read his mind—or that he had said his thought aloud. But then, she added, in an even quieter voice, “it should feel different. It should feel…”

“Finished?” he offered.

“...Yeah.” she whispered.

He had been avoiding giving words to that feeling, but with their need to confront Hraesvelgr with this historical discrepancy, it was hard to feel as though there was any true accomplishment. 

It was a familiar sort of bitter victory: the feeling of accomplishment at climbing a mountain, when there are several more to scale on the horizon. A small victory, in a seemingly endless war.

Except, this mountain was meant to be the last. This was supposed to lead to the prairie, all rolling fields and gentle slopes. It was supposed to lead to something.

Worse than dark chocolate and the tang of blood between his teeth—worse than nothing, this victory was as ashes in his mouth. Everything felt wrong.

“Then we keep trying. Until it’s over.” Aydee spoke up again, a little louder.

So he had promised. He hoped his grunt of acknowledgement would suffice, in lieu of repeating it.

The mere thought of more droning silence for Nidhogg’s echoing screams to fill was enough for Estinien to permit himself a pained groan. 

Mistaking it for a response to something physical, Aydee fretted, “you’re sure we don’t need to stop?”

“Aye.” he grunted, stubbornly tugging with the arm she had slung over her shoulders, in a weak effort to encourage her to keep moving. “The sooner we quit this place, the better.”

In his peripheral vision, Aydee nodded in agreement.

Their footsteps were all that punctuated the roaring in his blood, for a time. It was little but a metronome for the discordant, agitated choir.

“I mislike this quiet.” she admitted softly.

“...I believe you owe me a story.” Estinien mused, once they had maneuvered around one of the deeper crags in the stone floor. “If it would help you to tell it.”

“Would it help you to hear it?” Aydee asked. 

He felt her eyes on him, gauging his reaction. 

When he laughed, it felt like it had been punched out of him. “Yours is a voice I would prefer to hear, over the Song.” he said plainly. “All the more if it would help you, to tell it.”

Doubtless, she heard it, too. The way that it grew disorganized, less a dirge to the horde’s enemies and more the enraged, indignant howling of beasts set to melody. 

Estinien could not begin to fathom how much worse it would get, with the death of Nidhogg. Already, the chords were fraying apart without a conductor to control them.

Another mess to consider. A tangle of noise and violence for him to parse when there was naught left but to wait for the next step in their plan. 

Aydee let out a tired wheeze of laughter. “Think I know just the one. Did I ever tell you how my fathers met?”

They had at least another half malm of stumbling ahead of them before they reached their manacutters, at that point. Just thinking about it was enough to inspire marrow-deep exhaustion.

That was not Estinien’s immediate focus, however. 

Hobbling out of the Aery was made more bearable for the melody of Aydee’s murmuring. It was not enough to quiet the song in his veins, but it was enough for it to hush, and fall into momentary harmony with her tale. 

Between shambling steps, Aydee spoke of a long walk on a desperate night. A tale of a father who caught the ire of the wrong group of bandits. Of his little girl, whose delicate life he feared for, as his ability to cover his tracks failed to keep their pursuers from following them. 

Of a hunter native to the woods they had run to, whose kindness permitted them to see another day. A hunter that would come to be a husband and father. A fateful night of desperate fear that changed the lives of those who ran, desperate in the dark.

It felt familiar, in a way, as their limping eased to walking, once their limbs had stopped trembling. When their hearts settled, their bodies remembered how to be at ease even as exhaustion painted their footfalls. Not fully righted, but better than before.

Listening to her share this story with him did not make his victory feel less hollow. In truth, it changed very little. The connection he could sense forming—something beyond the might of the horde, free of its influence entirely and all the more significant for it—was a balm on his raw and aching heart. That it formed at all was something of a miracle, but that it had to be forged in such conflict tinged its sweetness with the bitterness of war.

Like dark chocolate, and the taste of blood in his mouth. Not correct, but right all the same.

~*~

Their dismount from the manacutters seemed to be the only moment their feet were truly beneath them, after that. Following the long, tangled web of history and all the intrigue that came with it sent them into freefall: one revelation after another, it was a long line of running, running, running—

The eye that Estinien had ripped from Nidhogg’s skull was not his own, but that of his brother. As they had suspected. Another Echo vision from Aydee confirmed what Hraesvelgr’s reticence would see left in the past. 

Estinien did not fight her, when she returned the eye to the great wyrm. Such power had no business in their possession—he tasted the sort of might and influence born down upon someone with two eyes in their possession. It was not a strain he would wish on anyone, least of all one of them.

Hraesvelgr was not moved to aid them, however. Only into maintained indolence, as was his wont. 

Estinien was content to let him wallow: Ishgard was being attacked by opportunistic heretics. Some of the more ambitious within Iceheart’s order, who did not act on her command but instead in her absence. 

Another bittersweet boon: Ysayle accompanied them back to the city, and routed her followers from assailing the gates.

Not content to let Ishgard’s people be saved, she gave them a warning: all of the Brume would know of the truth of the Dragonsong War, and they would know it tonight.

From there, everything spiraled. 

Under an unforeseen timer and a crisis of faith, Aymeric resolved to confront his father, martyr himself in an effort to legitimize Iceheart’s claims, and make of her their new rallying force. A plan that relied on the belief that all present would find the trade-off of his life agreeable.

Rallied at the gates of the Vault with those faithful to the Lord Commander after news of his arrest, himself and Aydee among them, the two Azure Dragoons exchanged few words, but still made the effort to exchange them all the same.

“You will likely encounter the bulk of the Heaven’s Ward, on your path to the Archbishop.” Estinien grunted, in a brief moment of privacy between them as everyone began to rally at the doors to the Vault. “Push through them anyway. Never stop.”

“I won’t if you won’t.” she answered.

As if he would ever stop trying to fight his way back, knowing that she would be there.

“We promised, did we not?” he grunted.

And that had been enough—at the time. In truth, it was the last bit of stability. The last time the ground was truly beneath their feet. 

The less he thought about the way things spiraled after that, the better. The longer he thought on how the Theocracy demanded its pound of flesh—from Aymeric, from Haurchefant—and all for the crime of trying to do what was right—for trying at all—the more red swam in his vision.

Were it not for the latter of the two men, the church would have taken from Aydee that very price. A complicated sort of relief churned in Estinien’s stomach that she was still standing there, in the aftermath of it.

Tracking her down once he had ensured that Aymeric’s wounds were tended to had been hard, but not unexpectedly so. It only stood to reason that she would try to distance herself from the site of their loss—and defeat, besides. From the pinnacle of the heavens to the very depths of the Brume, he descended. 

Despite the thick coat he wrapped around his person, Estinien felt no less exposed without his armor. Though he was promised he would have it back within the bell, the armory was examining what Nidhogg’s blood had done to the set, and if it was at all salvageable. 

He sincerely doubted it, but if there was a chance that at least some minor repair could be made before they set off after the Archbishop, then it was a necessary step to take, while they all licked their wounds.

Once more, it was the setting sun glinting off of her lance that betrayed her position to Estinien. Curled up near the crumbling foundation of the wall facing the Highlands and still armored to the teeth as she was, she resembled a gaunt gargoyle more than Azure Dragoon for how still she was. He would have missed her altogether, were it not for her weapon.

But that was not his most immediate observation, in that moment. It startled him that he had forgotten how small Aydee truly was. The thought was foolish, even to him, but her pauldrons had lent a certain broadness to her frame, and the gravitas she carried herself with made her appear as though she were greater than her mortal form. 

The conviction with which she carried herself, though, was what gave her a sense of might that made her seem as a giant. All the more, on the battlefield. Her tenacity was her shield, her righteousness, her spear. The Fury incarnate, were he of a more steadfast faith.

But Estinien believed in Aydee more than he ever believed in a god that had done nothing to protect his family, and even less, for her more faithful. Though this was a black day for them all, his faith in her remained unshaken.

He was no less rattled for how diminutive she looked in that moment. How she looked as though she were trying to make herself smaller by the moment, as if hoping to disappear into herself entirely.

When Estinien joined her, and leaned his forearms against the wall to mirror her posture, she did not react to his presence. For a moment, he thought she might have lost herself to her own thoughts, and not noticed, until she sheepishly leaned toward him.

It felt...not right, but better, flattening his palm against the cold, aquamarine mail draped over the small of her back.  The thin robe draped over the armor itself did little to buffer the sting on his bare palm. The armor’s chill was familiar—preferable, even—to letting himself thaw against even a fraction of her warmth. 

As if he had not already.

They way she tensed, however, rankled him to the marrow. He was surely the cause.

When he moved to withdraw his hand, however, Aydee whispered, “Don’t.”

In an instant, Estinien froze. If that bothered her, she did not show it, instead scooting to fill the scant gap between them, and pressed herself to his side.

“I’m sorry.” she said softly.

“What on earth for?” he asked, in a voice more gruff than he had intended.

At her flinch, his breath caught in his lungs. Gently, in a poor effort to soothe her, he attempted to squeeze her in a hug, with one arm wrapped around her. Or at least, the closest approximation that her armor would allow—and as much as the rust in the motion could permit, for how little he had done it.

She fit against him all the same—fit herself, when she squirmed to adjust for her armor and his winter coat. Not correct, but right.

“Because I’ve gotten this far on the backs of others.” she whispered despondently. 

Such a declaration startled Estinien. By his estimation, limited though it may be, it was through her own toiling that she had managed to not only survive, but thrive. All that she had accomplished, she had done so by her own strength, and the strength of her character.

But then, he recalled the praises Aymeric was so fond of heaping onto him. How they never felt as though they fit properly—fit the title he wore, but not the man beneath. How the whispers that he was Haldrath’s second coming had always felt less as a medal of honor around his neck, and more as a wrought chain—even before he had known the truth of what it means to follow Haldrath’s bloody footsteps.

“And your own toiling.” he added, in lieu of a correction. “You had to be there to fight beside—”

“But they’re not here.” Aydee cut him off in a watery voice. Still, she did not look at him. “They’re not here, and I am. And it’s because I didn’t do enough. I relied on others to handle the harder parts of war—all this time—I could look away from it all, because there was always someone there—”

“Aydee—” he tried, poorly, to console her.

When he awkwardly tried to squeeze her side in another hug, she jolted back some few ilms, enough to whir toward him, eyes swimming in tears.

“I didn’t even look behind me!” she sobbed.

At her mournful confession—as if it were some cardinal sin, as if he would judge her—those tears that she had withheld began to escape her. When her face scrunched with the effort not to sob, her eyes squeezed out veritable streams of them. 

Sorrow mounted upon her shoulders with such a weight that she curled into herself and buckled, just a little.

Not enough that she was close to toppling. Certainly not enough to warrant the way he dashed forward to stabilize her. Somehow, it still felt the right thing to do, all the same. 

“They are not here, Aydee. But I am!” he urged her, with a slight shake of her shoulders. 

With his lungs heaving, and his chest feeling as though it were about to burst, he wheezed again, “I am.”

Estinien rarely cared about his appearance, beyond cleanliness and keeping his gear in good repair. But even he could concede that he must have looked like a manic mess, lunging at her in his rumpled winter wear, eyes wild and wide. 

Aydee seemed not to mind, however, and surprised him when she hauled herself into his chest, wrapped her arms as tightly around his torso as she could, and trembled against him. 

Much as he might have thought her small in stature when he had first found her, there was something about the way that she fitted against him that felt almost right. 

Her face crashing into the front of his coat seemed to be the last bit of pressure that broke Aydee—or perhaps she merely needed somewhere soft to land, as she broke herself down, just a little. 

How she wound up weeping into his coat did not matter. Estinien did not care.

It had been years since he had last held someone. Decades, since he had done so regularly enough to be good at it. The motions were not entirely forgotten to him, but his arms moved with the sort of rust and reluctance that came with years of being starved of that sort of contact. 

If the awkwardness of his return embrace bothered her—if he squeezed too tightly, if his arms were placed all wrong, Aydee seemed not to mind. She wept all the same.

Distantly, Estinien knew that holding her tighter was only going to bruise him, for her pauldrons prodding him, but he paid it no mind; it almost felt as though he were all that was holding her together.

“I’m tired of people sacrificing themselves.” Aydee cried into his chest. “I can’t lose anyone else. Not you, not—”

Another sob rocked her. Not eager to let her grief pull her from him, he cinched his arm tighter around her shoulders.

“No more.” she whimpered. “No more.”

For several long moments, he quietly held her, and let her tears soak through the front of his coat. When her breathing evened out, he held her shoulders, and implored her to look at him.

“You cannot hope to save everyone,” he said slowly. Though his heart ached at the fresh tears that welled in her eyes, he continued, “that you continue to try all the same is why you were given the mantle of the Warrior of Light.”

Though he had hoped that it would help, it was clear that it was not what would chase away her tears. 

Little wonder, impressing her titles upon her so.

“The people who rally to your cause do not do so merely because of you. It is because they believe in the same things that you do.”

A truth that Aydee likely already knew. All the same, it was clear that she was in need of the reminder, as the worst of the tension in her shoulders bled out of her. 

“I swore to you that I would never stop trying.” he said, with no small amount of difficulty. 

It was a different sort of vulnerability, to admit something like that. To her, most of all. But if anyone was worth trying for, it would be Aydee.

“I promised you that because I believe it to be the right thing—but you made me want to try for a kinder option. A better path.” he said.

“But we didn’t.” she argued weakly.

“Not for lack of trying on our part.” he countered. “You help me see the difference that makes.”

“Haurchefa—” 

Aydee couldn’t even say his name, without the tears threatening to return. Estinien couldn’t fault her that.

Swallowing around the tightness in his own throat, he gave her arms a careful squeeze, even knowing that she could hardly feel it through her armor.

“People die for their causes. Even when they do everything right—when there even is a right. Even when things are simple.” he said—and measured the cadence of his words, to ensure they did not come across as cruel.

His effort did not go unnoticed: Aydee’s countenance softened, in response to him. As if rewarding his gentleness with more of her own.

“Such is the way of war.” he continued in that same carefully meandering way. “But people like you make people like me try to do better, even knowing that. People like you keep that death toll from climbing, in ways that you cannot even see.”

When she leaned forward again, Estinien let her. It was less that she collapsed into his chest again, and more that she had drifted into him, like a ship with its anchor removed in harbor.

Wrapping his arms around her this time felt more purposeful. The technique was still a lost art, as far as he was concerned, but the slow choice of a clear-headed hug felt different. Less a desperate collision of stars in supernova bursting in the indifferent void, and more akin to logs in a hearth.

They were burned out, and burning to keep those around them warm, but at least when they leaned on one another, the flames consumed them slower. They burned together.

A morbid description, perhaps. It was the only one that came to mind, for the thousand-fold ways that his heart was left raw and aching. For how the weariness had sunk beyond some physical border, down to his soul.

“I won’t stop trying if you won’t.” he reminded her, words half murmured into her meadow-green hair.

If his lips brushed her head in the faintest suggestion of affection, they did so without his conscious thought. If her bunting her head into him was done to encourage the touch, he dared not to dwell on it.

“You better not.” Aydee grumbled. “You promised.”

“Aye.” he agreed, and wished desperately that it would help to heal the hollow in their chests. “That I did.”

~*~

Making it to Azys Lla was enough of a trial unto itself, that Estinien almost doubted that he would live to see Thordan and his whoresons answer for their crimes. 

Almost, but then, he was fighting beside Aydee. If anyone would get them there, it would be her—

—Ysayle, too. Would that the bloody Empire had not chosen such a time to attempt to intervene. Would that there had been a less desperate battle to even get into the massive Allagan structure.

Enemies though they may have been, they did not part as such. Estinien sent a silent prayer, the softest he could manage, on the Lady Iceheart’s behalf.

It tore at something soul deep within him, to leave the struggle against Thordan and his Knights Twelve entirely to Aydee. That he had entrusted the eye of Nidhogg to her, that it might grant her strength where his lance could not strike, did little to assuage the feeling that he was leaving her to her fate. That she was bringing a contingent of fellow Echo-bearing comrades to fight alongside her did little to ease his fears, his guilt, as he quit the Singularity Reactor and stole back outside to hurl himself into a different fray altogether.

Adrenaline and panic had replaced the blood in his veins. At least, that was how it felt for the roaring in his ears, for the sparks that buzzed beneath his skin. Pacing in the hall outside the Reactor, hearing the muffled din of combat and knowing that he could do nothing but wait would only further agitate the hornets needling at his nerves. He was not a patient man in the best of times, and these were the farthest from that he could fathom, short of utter defeat.

So Estinien chose to make his excess energy the Empire’s problem. Anything to try to calm his blood. Anything but the waiting.

The discordant voices of the dragons was a distant, reverberating echo. His armor, still utterly corrupted with Nidhogg’s aether, had the unexpected blessing of dampening the directness of the horde’s howling. It acted as a grounding rod for the strongest of Nidhogg’s lingering influence, and in fact, had likely been the reason that he had been able to hold the eyes of two great wyrms and yet possess his mind. The way it rang distantly in his ears felt like the distant clanging of broken church bells. It pulsed against his skull with a pressure worse than a migraine.

Better that Estinien keep his focus outside of himself, for the moment, and instead expand it out to the battlefield. It kept the song’s screeching from overriding the roar of blood in his ears.

There was only so much he could do, mind, in keeping the bulk of them from encroaching on the area that Aydee had contained Thordan and the Heaven’s Ward to, for their clash. He was only one man, and even then, there were only so many of the Imperials that were close enough for him to contend with, without risking his manacutter to move about the area. 

After all, Estinien had to think beyond how they fared in this battle—he had to focus on how best to ensure they got out as well. 

To even think on after brought the sort of fear that facing Imperial fleets could not touch. All the more, considering the last of Ysayle’s wintry aether yet hung in the air like Coerthan mist. And yet, it hardly seemed a daunting task at all, to think of facing it with Aydee. 

Not now. Not yet. He reminded himself, when he barely avoided an explosive round from a particularly persistent magitek armor pilot connecting with his shoulder. 

There was work to be done. One last push, before he could dare consider the way that his heart fluttered at the thought of living again. When he thought of living, specifically, in a world where he could learn to love Aydee.

Another all consuming, thrilling fear, such purpose. It propelled him onward in a way that it had not in decades.

~*~

Eventually, the Imperials must have caught wise to the conflict within the heart of Azys Lla—or at least, had determined that whatever they were there for had either been acquired elsewhere, or was less important than the threat present—as they withdrew with as much preamble as they had arrived with. 

Their hail of missile fire had pinned Estinien in an alcove away from the entrance they had taken to the Singularity Reactor, slowing his return. 

But he would not be denied: he needed to see Aydee with his own two eyes, to know that she was safe. That they had made it. 

Approaching the Reactor again made the song in his veins reach fever pitch. It felt as though every step was another beat to its wardrum. The proximity to Nidhogg’s second, true eye made the pressure he felt on his bones close in all the more. With every ilm of distance closed between them, Estinien felt as though his armor would turn into his coffin, for how compressing it felt.

He had the utmost faith in Aydee. From almost the first, truth be told. Relief flooded him all the same, when he entered the Reactor again, just as Thordan had collapsed in a miserable heap in front of her. 

The bodies of the Heaven’s Ward lay strewn about the Reactor’s floor. All dead and dissipating aether, rapidly vanishing without a trace. They had given their last—down to their very essence—for a cause they had once thought righteous. A cause that had rewarded them with tempering and death.

Pity reverberated distantly in his mind as he moved carefully around their fading forms, but then he would remember the wounds Aymeric was left to tend to, inflicted during his imprisonment at their hand, and he could not find even the faintest echo of forgiveness.

They were not his concern, besides. 

Estinien did not stop moving until he was beside Aydee again—though he did not close that distance entirely.

For a moment, they stood in silence, both catching their breaths.

Finally, he spoke first. “...It is over, then?” Between wheezing breaths, he laughed. “I had hoped that mine would be the hand to end it...but knowing you, there was little chance of that.”

She laughed in that same breathless way. “You helped me, remember? If my hand ended it, then I was wielding your spear to do so.” 

With a glance at the Eye in her hand, she amended, “Well. You get what I was going for.”

At last, the fire in his lungs had banked, somewhat. Breathing became easier, as his heart ceased its hammering. He nodded, and laughed again, easier this time.

Wordlessly, Aydee passed the eye back to him. Estinien accepted it, and held it out in front of him for a moment. 

That weight resettled over his bones. His skin felt tight, as if it were stretched too thin across his form. 

That exhaustion, ever present, bore down on him with newfound strength. Nidhogg’s reverberating roars rattled in his ribcage. 

Nevertheless, he forced himself forward, toward the last discarded relic of Thordan’s dark work. The King’s blade, with Nidhogg’s second eye embedded within its hilt, loomed ahead of him. Even lying impotently on the ground as it was, the thrumming power from within that faceted eye was enough to inspire caution in his approach.

Aydee fell into step not far behind him—far enough to be sensible, but close enough to bolster him. Estinien was grateful for her presence—relieved, even, if he dared to admit it.

Her battle with Thordan had been fierce, indeed; he had hardly needed to tug, to rip the eye from its faceting. It must have taken some damage during the fight, to keep the eye itself intact. 

Estinien had known that the strain on his will would only increase, the moment he touched the second eye. That he would feel his chest being metaphorically crushed in was not a surprise, only the intensity of it, the moment he held the second eye in his other hand.

“Its twin…” he rasped. “At long last…”

When he felt the way that his very soul buckled for a moment under the strain, he turned to look back at Aydee again. She met his gaze evenly, though her eyes were sharp, honed in on him for any sign of something going wrong.

He had noticed it ever since the Vault, but even had such tragedy not befallen them, he could not fault her for such concern, considering. In truth, he was not without his own worries, about this next, crucial step in his journey.

But it was almost over. Finally, finally, it was almost over.

“All that remains is to take them beyond the reach of man and dragon both. With this task accomplished, my toils shall finally be at an end.”

And after that...god, after that, he could almost dare to examine the way that Aydee made his heart flutter. Made him want to live beyond this conflict, made him want anything at all, beyond his revenge.

There was so much he had yet to even say, but talking was rapidly becoming strenuous—in more than just an emotional way, for a change. That pressure on his chest creeped upward, squeezed at his throat like something with fangs sizing up their catch. Moved further up his neck still, to grip at his skull. 

Aydee was in front of him. Estinien knew that. He did. But his splintering focus had closed in, his vision a pulsating red blur, as the rest of the world faded away.

That grip on his skull flexed, as if to test how resistant his head was to being crushed. His brain lurched—and then his body followed, even as he could not force his hands to open, to let go—  

Panic-laced dread sunk his heart into his stomach, as he realized that it was not fear that froze his hands: it was that they were no longer his to move.

Thou hadst done well to resist mine influence, bathed in my power and blood as thou wert. 

Shadows were creeping in, deep as the abyss itself. From within that darkness and through the ruby red pulse that encroached on the edges of his vision, he could see that same, slithering form that had so haunted his every nightmare for decades. The faintest suggestion of horns he had seen decimate people he had known and loved all his life.

All around him, the booming voice of the thing that had taken everything from him.

Alas, in thine anticipation of comfort, thou hast lowered thy guard!

If there was a weakness to wanting, it was that he had only let himself be lost to the mere thought of it, however partially, however momentarily. That he wanted was not a burden. Even facing what was to happen, what he could feel happening, he would never forsake wanting to love Aydee, only curse himself for not keeping his focus long enough for the chance to.

The keening of my fallen kindred..their smoldering desire for vengeance...Mine eyes have partaken of a thousand years of pain—a pain which I shall bestow upon thee. Drink deep of my rage, mortal...AND BECOME ME!

Estinien could have fought it. Could have burned himself out to the last, and it would have been for nothing. He understood that—he could feel that, in the way that his nerves began to alight with the sparks of Nidhogg’s aether from beneath his skin.

But to do so would be to break his promise to Aydee. To fight needlessly, and sacrifice needlessly, where he might otherwise at least help her slay him. He need not be Nidhogg’s kindling, when he could instead plant himself as an explosive charge, awaiting a strike of fire.

Thus, when Estinien felt his body being seized by Nidhogg, in a bid to create himself a new host, he did not fight the way that the dragon had taken control. It felt as though the great wyrm had settled his claws firmly onto the cross braces, eager to pluck at Estinien’s strings. 

It was everything that Estinien feared it would be.

What strength he had left, he spent on insulating his fraying sense of self. Scraping together his defenses, meager and crumbling as they might have been. Anything to keep himself together, and bide his time. Anything to give Aydee an opening to end this, once and for all.

Because Estinien did not believe in anything more than he believed in Aydee. So he had to keep trying. He promised, he promised, he promised…

~*~

Estinien’s awareness had been such that it had only floated back toward the surface of the roiling tide of Nidhogg’s rage every so often—though in such times that he had begun to wonder if Nidhogg had any control over that, too.

Aymeric had defended one of Hraesvelgr’s children against Nidhogg’s onslaught, protected those of their fellow Ishgardians that had been present, when he had loosed that arrow at Estinien’s heart. He had known that. He had been proud of that, even.

Things became hazy again, not long after that. For how long, he could not begin to fathom. Days, weeks, perhaps even longer than that. Time had little meaning, barely conscious of himself as he was.

But then, the tumultuous seas of Nidhogg’s aether had begun to shift—the currents pushed him down to a trickling stream of consciousness, closer to awareness than he had been since he had first lost himself. 

It was not that he had simply floated back to the surface of his conscious mind again—it was that Nidhogg was dying.

That opportunity that Estinien had been waiting for.

That alertness was not enough for him to attempt to seize the reins on his body during Nidhogg’s last desperate struggle with Aydee. Only in the aftermath—when the great wyrm’s aether had been spent on shifting Estinien’s body between different forms of itself, to attempt to hurt her.

Estinien remembered what his body was meant to look like. Mostly, at least. There had been undeniable change in the form that he took back for himself, the form that he forced to let go of its weapon. The form that he forced to stay still long enough to be killed. He could feel the wrongness on his skin, likely could have parsed out the particulars, if he had focused on it, but the details mattered little: he was himself. This body was his.

“That is not your hand, wyrm!” he bellowed, trembling like a leaf, as he struggled against Nidhogg’s last, desperate clawing at his nerve endings. 

Even in death, Nidhogg demanded more blood. Even in defeat, he craved Aydee’s blood.

But Estinien would not permit such a transgression. Already, Aydee had been hurt too much in too many ways for all of Nidhogg’s machinations. 

No more. No more.

Nidhogg’s frustration swelled like the tide on a full moon, away from the shores of Estinien’s mind. It crashed back with sudden force, when his own hand lunged for his throat, and began to strangle him.

But the wyrm was counting on Estinien wanting to live, no matter the consequences. Had dared to hope that he would survive his possession. 

The battle over his limbs forced him to his knees. Through the armor, his armored hand squeezed his throat with enough force to send him into a wheezing cough. 

Just before Nidhogg ripped control of his jaw from him, he spat blood on the stone. He felt his mouth move, and heard his voice roar out in time with Nidhogg’s, “Thou...wilt...obey!”

It nearly dislocated his jaw, to force himself to speak his own words, but they were necessary.

“I would ask one last favor of you, Warrior of Light...finish me—now, while I have the beast subdued!”

The use of her title was deliberate: if Estinien lied to himself enough, he could almost pretend that he was not asking something so horrid of Aydee. Not after she had wept at the thought of losing more people.

But it was a thought that Aydee was too kind to have. Aydee, and Alphinaud both, as they both attempted in vain to pry the eyes of Nidhogg off of his body. 

The ache in his chest was bittersweet: a shame that he could at last know what it was to be loved enough to fight for, at the last hour of his life, but at least he could die feeling something warm. Could die himself.

“You waste your time. Kill me! It is the only way! Ending Nidhogg...will be my final duty…”

Alphinaud was yelling—more insistence that he could not do this. More hope wasted, on top of time.

But then, Aydee’s voice rose up, where the boy’s faltered. 

“You promised to never stop trying! As long as I did, too!” she screamed, over the howling aether that pulsed from him, that demanded to be unleashed. “And I’m still trying! So keep your promise, Estinien!”

Aye, he had promised, at that. 

When the eyes were torn from him—from hands seen and unseen alike—it was enough for him to remember how to breathe again. Enough to think with a mind unclouded, for the first time in what felt like decades.

Likely was, in truth.

When the skies calmed, and Nidhogg’s aether was a distant memory—as Aymeric had carried him, had spoken in a low, comforting murmur, Estinien remembered. He made the conscious effort to remember.

Because he had his end of their promise to keep. It was the least that he could do. In his present condition, it was also the most he could do. He prayed that it would be enough.

~*~

That Aydee had all but stationed herself at his bedside was not a surprise to Estinien; more, it worried him, that it felt as though she were always there, regardless of the hour of day it was when next he opened his eyes. 

To wit, the only clue to Estinien that time passed at all, apart from the position of the sunlight streaming through the window—or its absence altogether—was when others joined Aydee, in her vigil.

He could count on one hand the number of times he had woken without her sitting beside his bed. After the first sennight, he finally started snarling and snapping at her to step out to take her meals, to get fresh air, to give her time to just breathe. Any opportunity he could give her to escape that, meagre though his means may be while hospitalized, he took them.

Hardly enough, he knew. But he had a promise to keep.

Even stuck in this room as he was for the time being, Estinien had managed to hear all about the gossip, through both the chirurgeons and Aymeric’s own worrying, that Aydee was receiving no shortage of overwhelming demand for her time. Be it in the form of well wishers, or those who intended to take advantage.

Often, such groups overlapped greatly, in his experience.

Eventually, Aydee admitted that she felt better when she was with him—and that no one dared to disturb her unduly, when she was with him. Point of fact, they were often turned away at the door to the Congregation, as she told it.

“The Lord Commander’s doing, no doubt.” Estinien sniffed.

“He’s worried—for both of us, really.” she tutted, though she was smiling.

Estinien could imagine. In truth, he shared that concern.

“How fare you?” he asked in a low murmur.

Her answer stalled on her tongue when he shifted to sit up against the pillows with a grunt. Once he had sufficiently waved off her concern, she settled back into her seat.

“Well enough.” she reassured him. “I was cleared by the chirurgeons—I promise, I’m alright.”

But he knew her well enough, to know when she was lying—or at least, not being entirely truthful.

And she knew him well enough to know that he was not going to prompt her further with words, but with the weight of his glare. 

With a huff, she asked, “Can you blame me for worrying about you?”

He could. He should. He should blame her, and Alphinaud, and Aymeric, and everyone who ever dared to waste their effort and their love on him, when he had been so set on dying for his hateful cause. 

But where did all that hatred—towards Nidhogg, towards himself—ultimately leave him? Where had it left them?

“I suppose not.” he said softly. “So long as you do not blame me, in kind.”

“Never.”

And he believed her. He had never believed in anyone more than he believed in her.

All the same, he could tell that was not all that she was withholding, though he could not guess at what remained.

Taking pity on her, he noted, “There is more you would say.”

Aydee’s eyes lowered—an answer all its own, where she was otherwise reticent. Pearly fangs gnawed at her bottom lip. His eyes traced the creases where the pressure beneath her teeth was greatest, transfixed.

So distracted by the sight, he nearly missed her fidgeting in her seat.

Finally, she spoke, “I’m—it’s just—are you sure you’re alright?” she asked again in a whisper.

Before he could answer her, she continued, “it’s just that...I felt how Nidhogg’s aether raged during that battle—how did you manage to fight through all of that? How did you stay yourself?”

How indeed. Betimes, Estinien had certainly feared that he would lose himself to the roiling sea of Nidhogg’s rage, that such a stifling torrent of aether would sweep him away in its storm, and he would exist in memory only, the last of a name he had forsaken for vengeance, twisted into the thing that had stolen his family from him.

But then, he would remind himself. He would remember. Meadow green hair catching the breeze. A larksong voice speaking to him softly, the words wrapped around a fanged grin. Mismatched eyes meeting his, seeing him in a way that he could not see himself. How he wanted to know what it was she saw, when she looked at him.

Before he could think better on it, he was reaching for her. Before he could fear that his touch would be unwelcome, she met it, her hands wrapping around his wrist, bracing the back of his hand, guiding it the rest of the way to cup her cheek in his palm. 

Just as he thought, Aydee was warm as springtime in his hand. Ears perking toward him in anticipation of his answer, she leaned bodily into his hand. Amidst her soft trembling against his palm he realized, with a start, that he had never answered her. Little wonder she looked fit to burst into tears.

“Tell me, did you always have such a terrible memory, or is this the brain damage from our clash on the Steps of Faith?” Estinien asked, half to dispel her tension.

He got the reaction he was hoping for, as Aydee huffed against his palm. The pad of his thumb smoothed her pout away. 

“Do you not recall the oath we swore?” he asked her, softer this time.

When his thumb stroked her cheekbone, her eyes slipped shut. When she finally answered, her voice came out as a dreamy rasp.

“To never stop trying.” she murmured into his skin.

“Just so. It would not do for me to break that promise. Not to you.” he said, and hoped she would understand.

Despite his wounds, he shivered at the feather light touch of Aydee’s fingertips tracing up the length of his arm, her hands wrapping around his, yet holding her face. He watched, transfixed, as she curled herself into his hand.

When her eyes found his in a slow, affectionate blink, he knew that she had seen his heart. 

If Estinien harbored any doubts on whether her heart beat in time with his, they were dispelled when, with a barely restrained whimper, she curled herself over his chest with a careful sort of desperation that spoke of her need to feel him, and her fear that doing so would cause him pain.

Let it, he thought.

The moment she had begun to move, his other hand shot out to mirror its twin yet holding her face, to pull her to him. It was hard to parse how much of them colliding was his pull, and her push— but once he felt the petal soft press of her lips against his, the details ceased to matter entirely. 

As they moved, her hair slipped between his fingers. The whisper fine touch of it reminded him of younger years, of the touch of wheatgrass tickling his hands as he sprinted through it as fast as he could. In his hands, she felt warm but not burning—like sunning on a flat rock on a balmy summer evening.

To him, Aydee felt like home.

Their kiss didn’t last long—and it had been long enough that Estinien could admit that he was out of practice enough that it lacked technique—but it was enough for the both of them.

Not correct, but right.

[dragon-tamer-1]

Color (Error x Cross)

Error was usually pretty good at keeping track of AU’s. Which ones were new, which ones were unstable, etc. That’s why this one was so confusing to him. He didn’t remember ever seeing one like it before but he knew it wasn’t new. It was completely blank, no color, and it seemed empty if not just mostly empty.

Error started by just keeping extra attention on it. He tried to see if anyone was around and he just couldn’t see. He never heard or saw anything from it. After a few weeks he decided it was time to go into the au to check.

Error looked around the empty au. It really was just a world of baren whiteness as far as the eye could see. He didn’t see the person behind him.

“You’re so colorful…” the sound of a broken voice whispered behind him and he turned in an instant, grasping his wrist.

“What did you just say!?”

Cross had been trapped for who knows how long. He had screamed at first, thinking maybe someone would help. He’d scream and beg and cry but he soon lost his voice. Despite that he started again once his voice was back. He went through that cycle again and again until he gave up, crying until he had no more tears. And then he just stopped speaking.

So seeing this new skeleton, a stark difference from his home of pure white, was a shock he hadn’t expected.

“You’re so colorful.” He barely managed to get out. His throat hurt so much and talking was a pain but he needed to let the stranger know he was there. He jumped as the stranger turned quickly, grabbing their wrist, the wrist the words would have been on.

“What did you just say!?” The stranger snapped and his eyes widened.

“Those words…” his voice was raspy and broken. He stood a bit, his legs wobbly, and moved towards the stranger.

“The words on my wrist.” Cross coughed a bit and the stranger, after hesitating quite a bit, grabbed onto Cross as he stumbled.

“Yea… my wrist said the same thing, that’s why I got so surprised…” the strangers voice glitched violently as they held Cross stable.

“So…” the quiet person whispered as Error held him. Error definitely was shaken about holding his arms but this was his soulmate. Haphephobia or not, he had to grow used to touching this one person, despite his fears.

“My soulmate… and I’m yours.” Error whispered and the person started to cry.

“Oh…” he fell down to the ground and Error couldn’t hold him stable.

“I’ve been alone so long…” they cried out and Error sighed, kneeling next to him.

“Well you aren’t alone anymore… I’m Error, your soulmate I guess. What’s your name?” He asked quietly and the person he held started to cry more.

“I’m not alone… not alone…” he repeated. Error rubbed his back, unsure of what to do.

“Yea… and your name?” Error whispered quietly. His soulmate laughed a bit before closing his eyes.

“Well… I was sans but recently I’ve started to think of myself as Cross… I’m not sans anymore.” He whispered. Error nodded more and sighed.

“Well then Cross… let’s get you out of here,” Error explained. Cross seemed surprised.

“There is a way to escape!?” His voice raised in pitch and Error let out a quiet laugh, almost thinking Cross was joking. Error stood up again, brushing off his pants.

“Of course there is. How else do you think I got in?” Error asked jokingly, laughing, although went silent when he looked at Cross and realized the other had been serious. The black and white skeleton had spent who knows how long trapped and alone, believing that would be his fate forever.

“Come on… let’s get you out of here.” Error extended his hand. Cross nodded and grabbed Errors hand, watching Error glitch a bit at the physical contact. Error seemed to ignore that feeling and helped Cross stand. Error reminded himself that he needed to grow used to it, he wanted to grow used to it. This was his soulmate, his life partner, he needed to grow used to Cross’ touch.

“Why do you do that?” Cross whispered, having let go of Error's hand once he was standing. He now watched as Error opened a portal.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” Error whispered as he turned to grab Cross’s hand again. Cross noticed, yet again, how Error's hand glitched and the other skeleton shivered through his whole body as he started through the portal. Cross frowned at his observation, a bit worried about what Error was keeping secret.

“Are you okay?” Cross asked, barely noticing the world that Error had led them too.

“Of course I am Cross…” Error smiled a bit and turned to try and show Cross the AU they had portaled too. Error frowned when he noticed that Cross was staring at the ground and zoning out.

“Cross?” Error grabbed Cross’ shoulder and felt a shiver roll through his body. He ignored it in favor of getting his soulmates attention.

“Huh?” Cross looked up at Error in confusion.

“Let’s get going Cross.” He smiled and the other nodded. Error grabbed Cross’s hand and started to walk him through the portal.

“Hey… you don’t have to hold my hand if it’s too much for you.” Cross assured him and Error gently released his hand as they arrived in Outertale. Cross seemed to take a moment to realize they were somewhere new but when he did, it was like his eyes were tricking him, like they couldn’t adjust to the world of color.

“Wow!” Cross laughed. Error looked back at him with a soft smile.

“This is Outertale, my favorite au…” Error explained.

“I can see why,” Cross commented and leaned against Error lightly. Error shifted and smiled down at him for a moment.

“Yea…” Error looked up at the stars. He seemed unaffected, at that moment, by the touch of his soulmate. They just stood there, happily, and looked out at the beautiful au in front of them.

By the next week, Error took Cross out on a picnic in outertale. It was their first actual date. He was excited to show Cross so much more about the world.

“Error? What are we doing?” Cross laughed as Error opened a portal into Outertale, he had kept his idea a secret.

“Going to outertale.” Error said, ignoring how his soulmate raised a brow bone.

“Okay…” Cross whispered, suspicious of his soulmate as the other was acting way too excited for a normal outertale trip. They took one of those trips almost every day. He tried not to think too much about it though when he saw his soulmates excited and shy face. He was doing some sort of surprise and he wasn’t willing to ruin that for his soulmate, he’d be patient for his new surprise.

When they got there, Cross’s eyes widened. A picnic basket was laid out and Error was staring at him expectantly with excited eyes.

“So?” He whispered.

“It’s awesome!” Cross laughed and hugged Error. Error seemed shocked but happy and, for the first time, his body didn’t start to glitch violently, although it still glitched and he still had to cut the hug rather short.

“That’s the longest you’ve held a hug.” Cross laughed happily and Error grinned softly at his soulmate.

“Yea… I think I’m getting used to it. Eventually you’ll be trapped by cuddles all the time.” Error laughed maniacally, but still in a joking manner, and Cross rolled his eyes.

“Let’s just eat, you goof.” Cross huffed and it was obvious Error was about to laugh again as Cross moved to sit on the picnic blanket, pulling Error down next to him. Error spent a few minutes just watching Cross. The monochromatic skeleton seemed so happy with his surprise, especially the chocolate Error had packed which was meant to be a dessert. After a bit, Cross realized he was being watched by his soulmate and retaliated by shoving a bite of chocolate in the others mouth.

“Stop. Eat.” Cross said simply before turning his attention back to his food. Error just laughed and started eating.

After a month Error felt confident in his growth but he had realized rather quickly that his haphephobia couldn’t change that quickly. Even a month seemed to be too little, although he seemed a lot more adjusted.

“Error? Can we go out?” Cross asked from the couch. Well, it was a couch error stolen and brought into the anti-void. He tried to add more color to his home so Cross would be so much more comfortable, so it wouldn’t remind him too much of the place he was basically trapped in for a long time. Error still didn’t know how long he had been trapped and Cross had lost sense of time as there was no night or day.

“Of course.” Error smiled at Cross, grabbing his hand before heading out. They walked around for a while, letting banter continue as they shopped in some random au. Anyone who recognized Error, said nothing as they shopped.

“Error! Let’s get a cake!” Cross stared at one cake in particular, a triple chocolate, tiered, cake.

“Okay, okay!” Error laughed and pulled his hand away from Cross finally.

“No need to yank me across the courtyard for the bakery, we were gonna go there anyways.” Error smiled at Cross before entering the tiny bakery. The small shop smelt greatly of baked goods and chocolate. If Error lived in an au, he’d open some sorta shop, and they’d visit the bakery every morning. He had spent so long dreaming of those ideas and when Cross came, his dreams grew bigger, but it just wasn’t a reasonable thing to achieve. Error had his job and he couldn’t leave it, but that didn’t stop him from still visiting this bakery often.

Error held Cross’s hand as they walked home, talking happily about their cake and their day out. They seemed happy and Error hardly noticed that they were touching for the first hour or so. Error was happy about that, Cross was too, cause that very thing meant progress.

Error has adjusted well to life with Cross after months had passed, but he still couldn’t escape his ‘job’. He tried to hide it from Cross, and he was doing good at that, until one day. After that, Cross would always know what he did for a ‘job’.

Error had been ‘working’, which meant destroying any au’s that were glitchy or just wouldn’t work. He didn’t destroy anything he didn’t have to but it still usually meant that he destroyed a lot. He was feeling rather proud of himself. Cross was none the wiser about his job and Ink hadn’t come to argue with him about it for a while. He thought things were working out great. That is until Ink came barreling into the au where Error was, screaming and flinging paint at him, normal angry Ink stuff.

“Ink!?” Error still seemed surprised although he wasn’t actually.

“Why. Do. You. Keep. Doing. This.” Ink hissed. Error sighed and continued to dodge, not really in the mood to actually fight. He just wanted to finish up this final au and go home to Cross.

“It’s my job Ink, we’ve discussed this.” Error sighed and Ink groaned, but stopped his attack. Ink knew it was Error's job, he just didn’t like it.

“Well, why do you keep doing this!? I mean, it’s insanity. I woke up to five more gone. You’re doing it all way too fast.” Ink hissed, barely noticing that he’d cut Error, although the darker skeleton didn’t notice either.

Error came home later that night, after another fight with ink, and flopped on the couch, barely noticing his injuries.

“Error!” Cross laughed as he ran in although froze when he saw his soulmates injuries.

“Error… you’re hurt…” Cross whispered and Error looked up.

“Huh? Oh yea… it happens sometimes at work.” Error sighed and pulled off his now cut up and stained jacket.

“What is your job Error?” Cross asked with a frown.

“It’s nothing Cross, don’t worry about it.” Error sighed. Cross narrowed his eyes and stood up.

“It’s not nothing. Error, you’re injured,” Cross hissed, “no job that’s’nothing’ ends up with someone injured. I’m not a little kid. You shouldn’t lie when it’s obvious your job puts you in danger.”

“I'm not claiming that you’re a little kid, it’s nothing.” Error sighed but Cross continued to push him until Error gave in and told him. The look on Cross’s face made Error scared, maybe that Cross would hate him for what he did, but soon he was hugged close by his soulmate who was in tears.

“Idiot…” Cross whispered and Error leaned against him.

“I’m sorry Cross… you’re right. I was an idiot.” He admitted as he relaxed more.

Error didn’t know when he fell asleep but when he awoke, he was still clinging to his soulmate and, for the first time, his haphephobia seemed unbothered. For the first time, he felt unbothered and he was very happy as he nuzzled more against Cross.

This writing was from @star-gamerxox, who I commissioned for this writing. Thank you again for this! I absolutely love it! 💖💖💖💖💖

[starry-knight-skies]

Title: Are You Gonna Kiss Me Or Not? Summary: Winter is upon them and while Roman normally loves the season, he doesn’t much care for his female classmates wanting a kiss from him. So he takes to hiding in the woods at recess, enjoying the alone time until Virgil comes to find him. Virgil, whom he has a massive crush on, and would definitely not mind getting a kiss from if the chance came up. -Kid Prinxiety- Words: 1114 Part 1 of 4 Part 2

Commission piece I did for @space-captain-lars Commission info If you like what you read, consider supporting me on Ko-fi

There was always something magical about wintertime, when the weather grows colder and snow starts to fall from the sky. Roman loved watching the first flakes fall, loved going outside and seeing if he could catch any on his tongue. And once the snow started piling up, he loved bundling up and building snowmen, have snowball fights with his friends and Remus, to go sledding on the big hill by the school. It was a time of Christmas and giving, cookies and hot coco, Christmas movies and mistletoe. 

Mistletoe wasn’t something he’s ever really given much thought to before, not until the girls in his class decided he was the cutest in the class and therefore, they all had some sort of competition on who got to kiss him first using this tiny little plant. He would have been fine if it was just a kiss on the cheek, but for a bunch of eleven year olds, they sure were insistent on a ‘proper’ kiss. He knew they’d lose interest by the end of the day, so he’d just have to avoid them for now.

Which is how he found himself where he was now, hiding behind a bush in the small woods by the school, waiting for the bell to ring to signal the end of recess. Snow was falling slowly and he was entertaining himself by making little snow people as he waited. He had forgotten his gloves on his desk though and his fingers were starting to go numb, but he didn’t mind all that much. It was only just a matter of time until -

“What are you doing?”

A voice behind him made him jump and he spun to see the newcomer. He could feel his heart speed up in his chest as he took in mismatched eyes and cheeks slightly pink from the cold. Virgil Storm, also known as the real cutest boy in class. Roman can still remember the day he had stolen his heart, and it was only a couple of months ago. Virgil had come to class wearing a skirt for the first time despite being a little self-conscious about it, and Roman thought he had looked great. Patton Baker had worn one too to show him support and everything was fine. Or it was until Dorian Richards decided he was going to start making fun of them. Virgil was fine until they turned his attention to Patton, and then he punched him in the face. It was a beautiful moment, seeing that bully get what he deserved. And from that moment on, Roman’s heart had been stolen and he didn’t mind it one bit.

“I’m just having some alone time.” Roman said with a little shrug, turning his attention back to his creations and trying to appear like Virgil hadn’t completely captured his attention. It was hard to remain nonchalant though when he had moved to sit next to him, his body warm where they were touching and it definitely wasn’t distracting at all.

Virgil made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, shifting slightly to a more comfortable position. He leaned forward slightly to help Roman with his little snow-people, their fingers brushing occasionally. They had a nice little line up before Virgil nudged Roman gently to prompt him to turn and look at him again. “So are you going to tell me what you’re really doing out here all alone?” There was a knowing look in those eyes and Roman had to look away lest he blurted out the truth.

“I told you! I just wanted to be alone for a little while. Having a brother like Remus makes it hard sometimes you know!” Roman wasn’t pouting, he wasn’t! He was just concentrating very hard on his little piles of snow.

“Oh? So it has nothing to do with the group of girls looking for you with mistletoe in their hands?” There was an amused undertone to Virgil’s voice and Roman let out a little huff.

“How did you -”

“Know? They asked me if I’d seen you.” Virgil gave a little shrug, laing back against the tree behind them and letting his head hit the wood with a dull thunk. A comfortable silence settled between them again for several long moments before Virgil let out an amused huff. “You’re lucky none of them found you out here.”

“Oh yeah? And why’s that?” Roman asked, turning to look at Virgil curiously. He watched him tilt his chin up and Roman followed suit to see what he was looking at. What it was was a tiny green plant hanging over their heads. A tiny, familiar looking plant. He could feel his face heating up at the sight, and he turned to look at Virgil cautiously. He cleared his throat, drawing upon every ounce of his courage for what he was about to do and praying it didn’t blow up in his face. “Well then?”

Virgil raised an eyebrow, looking at Roman curiously. “Well what?”

“Are you gonna kiss me or not?” He was proud that his voice remained steady, even though he could feel an embarrassed flush creeping across his face. There was a long stretch of silence between them and panic started to creep in. Had he ruined this easy camaraderie between them? What if Virgil hated him now? What if…

Before he could go on a long inner tangent, and before he could utter out an apology, warm, chapped lips pressed against his cheek. The contact lasted only for a few wonderful moments before Virgil was moving back, his cheeks red. Snow was still falling softly around them, and as the flakes landed gently in Virgil’s soft dark hair, Roman thought he looked absolutely beautiful. 

Virgil cleared his throat, licking his lips and moving back some, pushing himself to stand up. “We should be heading back.” His voice was soft and Roman didn’t mind that they weren’t going to talk about what happened. Talking about it would make it seem less real somehow, so he was fine with holding on to this memory for now. 

“I’m right behind you.” Roman gave Virgil a little smile, heart thrumming happily in his chest when he got one in return. He watched Virgil turn and walk away before standing himself, unable to keep the smile off his face as he made his way back to the school. If anyone asked, he’d say the flush on his cheeks was from the cold in the air. There was no hiding the pep in his step though or the smile on his face, but the reasons for them were for him to hold close to his heart. 

[aelia-likes-monsters]

Dullahan’s Forest

Commissioned by someone who wishes to remain anonymous with a prompt that made me laugh my ass off. (See the working title and summary.)  

Working Title: Wholeass Snacc Characters: Male Dullahan/Female Reader Content: SFW, Implied Violence (offscreen), Dumb Bets Wordcount: ~2200 Summary: Our headless horseman is a lonely, thirsty boi and the reader is a wholeass snacc.

There were rumors, of course, about the woods. About creatures that shouldn’t exist, and events that nobody could explain. But you didn’t put much stock in those stories, so when your friends had dared you to spend the night, you’d asked them to put money where their mouths were. You’d collect that sweet, sweet cash soon. 

Your friends had found you a spot to camp, and helped you setup your tent and campfire. They’d asked you a few more times if you were sure you wanted to do this, and you’d told them to go get your money. You’d collect in the morning. 

That was hours ago now. Once dark had set in, and you’d only had the company of the nighttime creatures, your bravado was harder to find. Every noise was something coming to get you. Every time the chorus of forest animals got quiet, it was a serial killer stalking you. The rational part of your brain knew you were being crazy. The rest of you knew that you were going to die for a stupid bet. 

Just as you were trying to convince yourself to go to bed--after all, the rule was that monsters can’t get you under the blankets, and a sleeping bag surely counted--you heard something large shift in the woods. The sound of a branch snapping in half had your head swiveling on your shoulders as your eyes searched the darkness for signs of movement. Your body was on high alert. 

Something huge lumbered forward with a roar. With a shriek, you were up and away, racing down the gravel road. You weren’t that far from the city, and though your stamina wasn’t great, you weren’t going to wait here to get eaten by whatever that had been. (Nor were you willing to wait and see what was attacking you.) 

It didn’t take long for your sprint of terror to slow into a jog, but despite your ragged breathing and the stitch in your side, you kept going. You didn’t think the creature was chasing you, but you were afraid that slowing down too much could mean death. It was dark, and despite the full moon, you couldn’t see very well. 

Which is how you stumbled upon a huge figure filling the road without noticing until you were upon it. You skidded to a halt, the gravel of the ground sliding under your shoes, sending you tumbling. You stared up, and up, and up, at a cloaked figure on horseback. 

Nothing about it was human.

“Fuck.” You managed to say. “I’m really dead now.” 

“What are you running from?” The horseman asked, as calmly as if it were discussing the weather. You weren’t sure where its voice was coming from, since it didn’t have a head. 

“A creature attacked me at my campsite.” You said. You hesitated to call it monster, since you were staring at a different monster. You didn’t want to insult this one, since it wasn’t killing you (yet) and you were scared to provoke it. 

“I’ve been seeking that beast for months.” The horseman said. He shifted, and you saw his face peering out from under his arm. 

“I’ve gone insane,” you said. He was carrying his head under his arm? This had to be a horrible nightmare. You began to laugh, because there were no other alternatives. 

“No.” He said, looking you over and offering you a smile that would be comforting if his head were on his shoulders. “But on the night of the full moon, the veil is thin, so tonight you can see us.” 

“It’s a veil. Of course it’s thin.” You said, thinking of a post you’d seen on the internet once. “They don’t call it the down comforter between worlds.” 

The horseman snorted. 

“I’ll kill the monster that threatened you, and when it is gone, I’ll escort you back to your camp.” He reached into his cloak, and withdrew a candle. With a wave of his hand, it lit. “If the candle goes out, the creature has defeated me, and you should run far, far away.” 

You eyed the candle suspiciously. This whole situation was crazy. Monsters weren’t real, the headless horseman wasn’t real. These woods weren’t really haunted. And yet… everything you’d seen tonight said otherwise. 

You took the candle, and took a step back, away from him. 

“I will return.” He said, and then he galloped away. 

You’d never admit it later, but you clutched the candle like a lifeline. You watched it, afraid to see it gutter out, but almost equally afraid of the horseman coming back. Was he real? Was he a figment of your imagination? Most importantly, was he dangerous? You had more questions than answers.

It felt like an eternity before you heard the sound of the horseman returning. The clop of the hooves against the gravel was slower, more subdued. But when you saw him, he appeared whole, or… as whole as he had been when he’d left.  

“You’re back.” 

“I told you I would return.” He offered a smile, and this time, though his head was still tucked under one arm, you felt somewhat comforted. 

“Is it dead?” you asked. 

“It is.” He nodded. “Are you grateful enough for my heroism to give me a kiss?” 

Your brows shot up, and you know you gave him an incredulous look, but he didn’t seem insulted. Instead he laughed, and raised a hand as if to fend you off. 

“Apologies. You’re just lovely, and I couldn’t resist teasing you a bit.” He looked around the forest. “We’re far enough from your camp that it will take a while to walk back. Do you trust me enough to accept a ride on the horse?” 

“If I accept, you’re not going to steal me away?” You thought of the stories from fairy tales you’d heard as a kid. Things like Rip van Winkle, or horses that grabbed their riders and took them on wild rides until they were dead. 

“No. I promise you I will return you to your campsite, in the condition you are in now, in just a few minutes.” 

You eyed him suspiciously, but decided that it was worth the risk. All you really had at home was a mountain of student debt, a shitty job, a shitty apartment, and friends who’d left you in the woods overnight. What did you have to lose?

He pulled you onto the horse behind him, and though part of you was surprised by it, you found they were solid where you touched them. You wrapped your arms around the horseman and held on as he urged the horse forward. He was warm, and he smelled good. It wasn’t anything you could describe. Woodsy like the forest but not, but it was nice, and you found yourself resting your cheek against his back and breathing deep as you traveled. 

You were at your campsite too soon for your taste. You wanted to enjoy being close to him a bit longer. As soon as you recognized that thought, you felt pathetic.  Awkwardly you released the horseman and slid down. He seemed to contemplate you for a long time before his free hand reached into his cloak once more. He handed you another candle. 

“If you need me… light this and say my name.” 

“I don’t know your name. I don’t have to guess it, do I? Are you Rumplestiltskin?” 

He laughed. You liked his laugh. 

“No. My name is Owen.” 

In a night full of supernatural events, that was the last straw for you. 

“You’re a headless horseman-”

“Dullahan, actually.” 

You took a deep breath, and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose. Now was not the time to bite his head off--pun intended--for mansplaining this to you. Besides, was it really mansplaining if he was telling you his proper species? And if he wasn’t really a man? This was complicated. You were getting a headache. 

“You’re a Dullahan, which is some kind of magical creature, and you’re named Owen?” He was supposed to have some kind of old timey name, or something magical sounding and hard to pronounce. He wasn’t supposed to be an Owen. 

“Yeah, that’s about the shape of it.” He said.

“This is just too much.” you said. 

“I know, it’s a lot.” He smiled at you. And you realized you were getting used to looking at his face from where it was tucked under his arm. He was handsome, and aside from being some sort of supernatural creature, he seemed a decent sort. “I’ve had a lot of time to get used to it.” 

There was something sad in his voice that made your heart twist. He wasn’t looking at you now, and instead seemed to be staring into space. Perhaps reliving something in his past. You didn’t like the way his sadness already impacted you. You wanted to hug him, to make him feel better, and you’d only known him for a few hours. 

“Thank you for saving me,” you said. “I’m glad I met you, Owen.” 

“I’m glad I met you, too.” he said, and he offered you a sweet smile that still seemed sad. “I’ll let you get some rest. Stay safe, and call me if you ever need me.” 

With that, he turned and galloped away. Your heart ached, though you couldn’t say exactly why. 

A week later, you gave into the urge to summon Owen again. You drove out to the edge of the woods and parked. The sun set behind you, and the shadows in the trees deepened as you watched. You shivered, remembering the creature that had attacked you, but you knew you’d be safe. 

It was the work of a few minutes to setup a thick wool blanket on the grass near the parking lot. You set out a picnic basket with snacks, and a few camping lanterns, setting a mood. You hoped you’d read things right as you overthought everything for the last week. 

You lit the candle. 

“Owen,” you said. 

Within moments you heard hoofbeats approaching. He galloped up, a sword in his hand, obviously looking for signs you were in danger. Seeing none, he seemed confused. You watched closely as his eyes took in everything. He didn’t seem to know how to react as he looked at you. 

“You’re safe?” He finally asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Now that I’m here, you should blow out the candle. Once it’s gone, it’s gone.” He warned. 

You extinguished it and tucked it back into your purse. 

“Can you come sit?” You asked. 

Stiffly, Owen dismounted from his black horse, and moved the few steps over to your blanket. He settled onto the corner of it, sitting cross-legged, with his head in his lap, facing you. It was clear that he didn’t know what to make of any of this. 

“What brings you back?” He asked cautiously. 

“I wanted to see you again.” You kept it simple. You didn’t need to tell him that you’d had dreams about him. 

“I’m glad. I had hoped, of course, that you’d come back.” He smiled, then looked away. “You’re lovely, and you didn’t run screaming from me at first sight.” 

“I almost did.” You reached out and touched his hand. “I’m glad I didn’t.” 

Your touch helped him find his nerve. His fingers wrapped around yours, the calluses on his hands surprising you. He brought his head up to your face level, and looked into your eyes. 

“I’ve thought about you a lot. Is it too much to hope that you’ve thought about me as well?” He asked. 

“I thought about you,” you admitted. You’d looked up what a Dullahan was (honestly, you had some doubts that he really was one; very little of what was going on with him meshed up with the Irish folktales) and you’d dreamed about him a lot in the past week. 

“When I rescued you, I asked for a kiss. You said no then. Would you say no now?” He asked. 

Your response was to lean forward and gently press your lips to his. It wasn’t a deep kiss, just a soft brush of the lips, but it seemed to trigger something. There was a flash of light, and then you found yourself staring at the no-longer-headless Owen. He grinned at you, his head firmly attached to his shoulders.

“Yes!” He pulled you into his arms, and pressed another kiss to your lips. “I knew it! I knew you were the one from the moment I saw you.” 

“What?” You blinked at him. 

“I was cursed.” He said. “Your kiss released me from this forest. I’m still not fully alive; some things can’t be undone. But I’m not cursed, trapped, or headless, so I consider this progress, don’t you?” 

“Were you just using me?” You asked, surprised at how much that idea stung. 

“Absolutely not.” He said, meeting your eyes. “It had to be a true love’s kiss. I love you, and you must love me, too. I’d like to explore that, if you’ll have me?” 

You thought about it. It wouldn’t be easy having an undead boyfriend, but… you glanced at Owen. It’d be worth it, you thought. 

“Okay.” He grinned, and kissed you again. 

Yeah, this would definitely be worth it.

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