akira-13-toriyama

[reiding-writing]

i can totally see Spencer buying tickets for a movie and asking cold!reader to go with him cuz he knows she'd say yes

À BIENTOT— SPENCER REID!

spencer takes an opportunity to get closer to you based on nothing more than a passing comment.

spencer reid x cold!reader | fluff | 2.2k | cold!reader masterlist

a/n— this may be a tiny bit of self projection bc i’m trying to pick up my french again (ça ne marche pas)

main masterlist.

It’s a quiet day in the office. Quieter than usual for a Friday.

Quiet enough in fact, that you actually had time to take the whole hour of lunch that you were technically mandated to have every single day.

Most of it was still spent at your desk, although with a book in your hands instead of a case file. A distraction, maybe, but not a very optimistic one.

It wasn’t long before you had company. Spencer wasn’t really a ‘socialist’ in the physical sense of the word, and once he’d had enough of sitting in the kitchen eye with the group he too had decided to retreat back to the bullpen.

There’s a tinge of curiosity as he spotted you, sat cross-legged in your chair with both elbows leant on your desk and an open book in hand.

“Auschwitz and After?” He had to tilt his head to see the cover, but his ‘question’, his assessment, was confident.

You hum passively, like you’d already known he was coming over despite his quiet footsteps and your eyes trained on the pages. He’s not too surprised, it wasn’t very easy to catch you off guard.

“What drew you to it?” Spencer questioned, his gaze leaving your blank expression as it went back to observing the book in your hands, scanning the words on the pages.

“Practicing my french,”

Simple and to the point, and to your credit it made sense—when Spencer was knee-deep in a book he didn’t want to interrupt that focus either.

“You’ve read it before?” Socialist he may not be, but he wasn’t ready to leave you in your solitude yet.

“In English,” You turn the page with another small hum. “Doesn’t really count,”

Spencer hummed in agreement.

He could go on for hours about why reading a text in its intended language was superior to reading its translation. How much meaning and sub-context is lost in the transition between languages and completely distort the original meaning.

But you didn’t need to hear that. You already knew it.

So he didn’t say anything, instead choosing to focus his gaze on your face for a few more minutes, wondering if he’d be able to read the emotion on your face like he was so used to doing.

There was still nothing though. No facial twitch. No eyebrow raised. Nothing to indicate what you were thinking.

It was almost like your face was carved from marble.

If he thought about it too much he’d probably say your face deserved to be carved into marble, to keep a relic of you perfect and untouched forever.

But that was a bit too much for him to settle with.

Spencer shifted nervously on his feet, trying to think of something else to say to rid of the silence that was leaving him with his own overthinking.

“Hey— uh— There’s this um— If you’re wanting to brush up on your french—”

“Spit it out, Reid,” Your voice isn’t as harsh as it is blunt. You appreciated conciseness, although you’d never cut him out of a tangent unless it was something that was unproductive.

This one definitely was.

“Uh— Right, right,” he stumbled over his words for a moment before finally taking a deep, steadying breath. “There’s this movie coming out in a few weeks— well technically it came out in France back in May but—”

Spencer’s words came out so fast in his rush to just get to the point, that, for a moment, he was worried that you would only understand half of what he was saying.

“Reid,” You hold up your hand towards him as an indication for him to stop, before moving your hand in a single spiral as a non-verbal instruction for him to breathe.

His rambling stopped almost immediately, and if he had the conscience to be embarrassed, he most definitely would be at how readily he follows your order to take a second to calm down.

Especially considering you still hadn’t even turned your eyes up from your reading in the process.

Still, he follows you with no hesitation, and once you signal for him to continue, he starts back up again, slower this time.

“‘L’armée du crime’, uh, ‘The Army of Crime’, it’s only being shown in a few select theatres here in DC, but—”

The words came out slightly more measured this time, although that little hint of the usual rambling was still, very much present.

“It’s in the original French,” he continued after a beat, his previous hesitation slowly disappearing under the knowledge you weren’t put off by him just yet.

“With subtitles, of course— but still, the entire— dialogue is in— is in French.”

He exhales heavily.

“I was thinking of going to see it.”

He paused again, the hesitation creeping back into his voice.

“What’s it about?”

He swears the whole office can hear his sigh of relief.

“Um, it’s a war-movie,” he said after a few, silent moments, pointing lamely towards your book.

“Set during the Second World War, it talks a lot about the French Resistance, and how it’s not only the people who were fighting in the trenches who made it possible for the Allies to win…”

The start of his explanation is seemingly enough to grasp your full attention, echoed by the way you shut your book with no effort to remember your placement and leave it on your desk to look at him instead, eyebrow raised.

That little gesture, the almost unnoticeable quirk of your eyebrow, was all that Spencer needed to know that he didn’t need to summary the entire movie.

You were interested, but you didn’t want to know the entire plot ahead of the time.

He chuckled lightly at that, before biting his lower lip slightly. The next words that came out of him were almost just breaths.

“… Do you want to come with me?”

It’s enough for your eyebrow to raise more noticeably, enough that Spencer wouldn’t have to be standing less than five feet away to notice it.

“When?”

“Friday night—” It felt like the words were tumbling out of his mouth, like if he didn’t get them out fast enough he’d loose your attention and go back to square one.

But when he actually said the words out loud, he realised how much they sounded like he was asking you out on a date.

He was worried that you would reject him if you thought it was a date.

“…Unless you have other plans?”

There’s a small moment of silence, and Spencer feels like he might vomit from the anticipation.

“Friday’s fine,”

That’s it took for a small, satisfied smile to pull at Spencer’s lips. Those two words, combined with the small nod you throw in his direction, was all the reassurance that he needed to take you at your word.

“Great. That’s uh, that’s— that’s great,” he fumbled over his words, just barely reeling himself in from another ramble of him over-explaining his appreciation for your company.

“Friday’s fine for what?”

He doesn’t really have to worry about that.

Morgan walks over with a mug of coffee in his hand, eyebrow raised in amusement. “A hot date?”

“If you consider watching a french re-enactment of world war two as ‘hot’, then sure,” There isn’t a single ounce of sincerity in your tone, and Morgan glances between the two of you with a barely hidden smile, a chuckle bubbling in his throat.

Spencer, meanwhile, was just staring at Morgan with an indignant expression, silently begging him to not make this into a ‘thing’.

Unfortunately for Spencer though, Morgan was, well, Morgan.

He took one sip of the coffee in his hand, his eyes drifting between the two of you once more.

“French reinactment of the Second World War, huh?” he repeated, his smile turning into a cheeky smirk. “Why am I not surprised?”

There it was, that smirk.

It was the same one he always had on his face when it came to you two.

“It’s- it’s not like that” Spencer mumbled, his tongue quickly flickering out to lick at his suddenly dry lips.

“Sure, it’s not.” Morgan chuckled, enjoying every moment of this as he took another sip of his coffee. “The two of you are just gonna be sitting in a dark room… all alone… together…”

“Watching people get tortured…” You mimic the song-like drawl of Morgan’s voice to throw his ‘joking’ back onto him, rolling your eyes. “So romantic,”

A smirk remained fixed on Morgan’s face as he leaned over your desk until he was looking Spencer directly in the eye.

“I don’t know, you’re both nerds. This sounds like a perfect date to me”, he teased, causing Spencer to scoff in response.

“If that’s your idea of a ‘perfect date’ then I pray for whoever has the unfortunate circumstance of ending up with you,”

“Nah, don’t worry about me, Snowflake,” he chuckled, lifting the mug of coffee to his lips once more. “I’m not the one who’s gonna be sitting in a dark, lonely movie theatre with Doctor Genius here,”

“I don’t need to be ‘prayed for’, Reid is perfectly fine company,” You give Morgan another roll of your eyes, although whether at his comment or his ‘nickname’ Morgan is unsure.

“Sure, sure” he murmured, before pushing himself up off your desk with a smirk. “Enjoy the movie, lovebirds.”

He leaves the bullpen with a blown kiss in your directions, throwing the two of you a wink as he catches up to Garcia walking into the conference room.

You re-open your book once he’s out of sight, letting out a soft groan in lieu of Morgan’s tormenting.

You didn’t really hate it per se , but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t get on your nerves.

Spencer wasn’t unalike in his reaction, a breath of relief leaving his lips once Morgan’s back was turned.

‘Lovebirds’.

Spencer tried to mentally scoff the thought away, and tried not to blush at the thought either.

He glanced back at you, praying that hopefully you didn’t notice that small, involuntary flush that seemed to be crawling across his cheeks.

He continued to be frozen on the spot, eyes locked on your relaxed expression as you scanned the pages to see if you recognised certain parts of the text.

“Page 212...” His voice came out quiet as he spoke.

“What?” You take a second to divert your attention from the pages, eyebrows furrowed curiously in his direction.

Spencer swallowed, hoping that he at least looked composed despite feeling like the exact opposite.

“You were on page 212,” he explained, a small smile pulling at his lips as he caught your gaze.

“Right,” You don’t question his recollection as you skip to page 212, throwing him a dismissive “Thanks,” once you confirm you’re in the right place.

“You’re welcome,”

Spencer’s voice was quieter once more, not as anxious as before but still quiet. He watched you as you returned your gaze back to the pages of the hardback copy, and he was torn between the urge to just stand there and keep looking at you reading the book, or heading back to his desk to work on one of the many case files that had stacked themselves there.

Deciding that it would probably be a little creepy for him to just stand there watching you read, even if you didn’t seem to particularly mind it, he forced himself to look away.

Just as he turned to head around to his desk, he found himself blurting out something without even realising.

“You look nice today,”

Your eyes flicker back upwards from your book through furrowed eyebrows. “Thanks,”

You hadn’t actually changed anything about your appearance, the outfit you were wearing was practically identical to the one you wore most days, your hair was done the same, you hadn’t even showered that morning.

He quickly realised that he must’ve looked like a complete idiot and, for a moment, was wondering if he could rewind time to not say what he had just said.

“Uh, I mean—” he tried to backpedal, hoping that his awkward rambling could save him from this situation. “Not that you don’t usually look nice! I meant-!”

As he fumbled over his words, he mentally slapped himself. Why couldn’t he just be normal and not blurt out something so stupid at such a random time.

God he hoped this wouldn’t make you change your mind about wanting to spend time with him one on one.

Thankfully, the universe seemed to have a little mercy on him.

“Team, I need you in the conference room.”

So much for a full lunch break.

[little-emerald-snake]

Blackmail - Ominis Gaunt X F!MC

🔥 NSFW 🔞 MDNI

scene is f!mc during the shadow of friendship quest where she needs to talk Ominis out of telling on Sebastian to be committed to Azkaban BUT instead of the soft reaction we get in-game what if Ominis has actually harbored deep desires for the mc until now and since he's aware that she has feelings for Sebastian instead, uses this opportunity to "blackmail" the mc into convincing him to not put Sebastian away. so really a non-con scene of dark!ominis x f!mc if you will requested by @moongurl95 via dms

Genuinely so sorry this took me like three weeks but my life is in shambles literally setting this up to post while sheltering from a tornado 💀 but don’t worry I’m fine. Anyway I hope this is what you’re looking for 🫶🏻

Warnings: blackmail, threats, dirty talk, non-con, Dominis, stolen virginity, unprotected sex, creampie

2.4k words

She stood beside Sebastian who paced the stone floor beside his blonde companion. The air in the undercroft hung heavier than ever around them. Ominis was being brutally honest, telling Sebastian that his twin, Anne, couldn’t bear the thought of turning him in. Sebastian was a bit shocked, pacing back and forth while trying to defend himself before Ominis finally gave a sigh, saying he’d give Sebastian some time to think.

As he walked away Sebastian resumed his nervous pacing and she approached him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “I can’t believe he’s gone. How did things go so wrong? I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to-“ He shook his head in dismay. “Oh Anne. I was only trying to help. I can’t leave now. Anne needs me more than ever.”

She nodded, her head felt full of confusion and worry but she’d grown to care for Sebastian and couldn’t imagine that he’d truly wanted to hurt anyone. She knew the lengths he was willing to go for Anne. That kind of love and devotion spoke to her. “Don't worry Sebastian. I shall speak with Ominis.”

Sebastian breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. You’re a real friend, truly. No matter what happens from here, I’m glad we met.” With that he turned and walked to the exit of the Undercroft. She waited till the doors chimed and she heard him exit before she turned with a sigh toward Ominis.

She could practically sense the dark cloud looming over the other side of the undercroft and a sort of unease rolled over her. This wasn’t going to be an easy conversation. Ominis had sensed her approach and decided to tell her what had happened after they’d spoken last. He’d run back to Hogwarts and before he’d been able to speak to the headmaster Anne had contacted him. He’d rushed to Feldcroft and found Anne with Solomon’s body. How deeply stricken with grief she was. “I don’t want to lose Sebastian but I don’t think we have a choice.”

She chewed her bottom lip with a worried expression. “Ominis…we do have a choice. What good would it do now to turn him in? He clearly regrets everything. He’s not going to do anything like this again.”

Ominis’ eyes darkened. “What makes you so sure? You’ve said that about nearly everything else thus far? You said letting him into the scriptorium wasn’t going to end badly yet he casted Crucio on you without a moment's hesitation. You promised the relic wouldn't cause harm yet he was ready to throw our entire friendship away just to take it with him.”

She looked down. He was right. Everything he’d said had been true. Yet she had grown fond of Sebastian both as a friend and maybe more over the span of their year. “Ominis I know how this seems but Sebastian isn’t like this. He made a mistake…it was for Anne’s life.”

Ominis’ tone turned angry, the same scowl that first day she’d come from the Undercroft painted his features as he took a step toward her. “He’s got you wrapped around his finger…he used you…and you don’t even seem to care?! You’d rather blindly ignore the damage he’d caused to make him the hero in your book because you’ve begun to harbor feelings for him haven’t you?”

She was about to deny it but what was the point? Ominis had so clearly seen through everything and while she hated to admit it, he wasn’t wrong. “I…suppose I have. I just want the best for him and Anne…it makes no sense to send him away now when Anne will be needing her brother the most.”

Ominis’ scowl darkened. “I see. So are you willing to accept the punishment for his actions? You’re an accomplice to murder if you choose to continue down this path. If he continues on the way he is I will not hesitate to turn you both in for these crimes.”

She blinked, honestly shocked about what he’d said. But she truly believed that Sebastian was good deep down. He just let this get away from him. “Yes. I understand. I promise. He won’t cause anymore trouble. Just don’t take him from Anne.”

He agreed begrudgingly, taking another step forward. She backed up a step, bumping into a stack of crates with a gasp. His voice came out dark and low. “So you are the kind of girl who falls for the villain then?”

Her eyes widened in surprise as her head whipped back around, his tone dark and a bit husky. His palm came up to rest on the crate right beside her face, his body pushing closer. “What are you willing to give up to ensure I don’t turn you and Sebastian in? What price would you pay for a life that’s already been stained in blood?”

The knot in her throat solidified and it felt like she had mouthfuls of sawdust she had to swallow in order to form words. “Ominis, w-what are you talking about…we don’t have to give up anything…we just don’t tell anyone…”

Ominis chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “I’m well aware darling. I asked what you were willing to give up in order to keep me quiet. This deal has nothing in it for me. You and Sebastian get away with murder and I’m stuck holding the truth for nothing while you both run off and fall in love. Hardly fair if you ask me.”

Her eyes widened and she suddenly understood what was happening. She moved to run but his hand, much stronger than she’d imagined, came up to hold her wrist, wrenching and pinning it above her head, shortly joined by her other. “Now now, no running away from your problems anymore. You need to come up with a solution I’ll accept or you won’t be leaving here. You better get thinking before I decide for you.”

Her mind reeled over what she could offer him. What did he want? She thought and thought but nothing came to mind. He grinned darkly. “My choice then. I can work with that.”

He moved quickly, spinning her and bending her over a crate. She gasped, surprised by the suddenness as the wood bit into her hip bones. His surprisingly strong body pinned her down with ease, one hand holding her wrists above her head while the other worked at pulling up her school skirts. “Tell me darling, are you currently taking contraceptive potions?”

Her heart pounded in her chest. Her body had the choice of fight or flight and for some bloody reason it had chosen to freeze. “I-I no…why would I-?”

He’d laughed, cutting her off while pulling her underwear to the side. “Well you better start my dear. Because if you manage to conceive I’ll ruin your pathetic life. As a Gaunt I refuse to carry forward the bloodline.”

She listened to the sound of his belt being undone and blood whooshed in her ears. She knew the time to speak up was now but she was still at a loss for words. She couldn’t very well deny him after he’d made the threat to turn her and Sebastian in. She had to stay quiet and take it, if not for herself and Sebastian’s innocence than for Anne still having a relative to care for her.

She pressed her face to the crate, tears welling in her eyes. “O-okay. I-I won’t let that happen.” She listened to him as he hummed in satisfaction and she listened to the shuffle of his pants as he pushed them down. She felt the blunt tip of him at her opening and she sniffled, stiffening up with nerves wound tight.

Ominis huffed, trying to push forward but her tense body wouldn’t allow his entrance. “For Merlin’s sake you need to relax. Just imagine it’s Sebastian like always and it’ll be over before you know it.”

She sniffled again as he released her hands and they immediately went to the edge of the crate, gripping so tightly her knuckles turned white. “S-Sebastian has never…I’ve never…”

His eyes widened in recognition and he pulled back, voice coming a bit softer this time. “You’ve never…not once?”

She nodded and his hand came to swipe away the tears, his other hand coming to slide her hair behind her ear. “It feels good after the initial bit you know…if you could survive the pain of Crucio you can make it through this and it’ll start to feel good. You don’t even have to imagine it’s me...”

She sniffled and nodded carefully, he brushed her cheek and his other hand dipped between them to rub the blunt tip up and down between her slit. The sensations were all new but the feel of him stimulating that bundle of nerves between her legs had small spikes of pleasure shooting up through her. She hated it.

She tried to fight it, her body may be wanting this but he was good at pushing the right buttons. She didn’t want Ominis. She was still stuck, she had to do this for Anne and Sebastian to be a family. She sucked in a shaky breath that turned into a whimper as he slid over her clit again.

His warm breath ghosted over her neck. His chest, which was pressed against her back, rumbled. “That’s right dear. Relax and let your body take over. Turn that brilliant brain off for a bit and put yourself somewhere happy. It’ll be over soon.”

He notched himself at her entrance and she let another few tears slip, rolling down her cheeks. She tried to imagine that this was Sebastian above her, that it was after the ball and he’d asked her to go somewhere private. Just then, slim fingers slid between her folds and rubbed small circles around that bundle of nerves.

She moaned out softly and his hips slid forward, his tip kissing that barrier within her that she knew would end this pleasure. She pushed the thought away, trying to imagine those fingers a bit thicker and rougher against her body. She tried to imagine what breathy sounds he’d make or what encouragement he’d whisper against her skin.

A moan from between her lips and Ominis’ body sank forward, pushing past that barrier and sending spikes of discomfort through her body. But as quickly as the discomfort started his fingers redoubled with the pleasurable circles and she was arching into it and whimpering in pleasure. His breath came gently across the back of her neck as he slid her hair out of the way. “That’s right Darling, just like that.”

She moaned low as he praised her, his hips slowly moving back and forth inside of her but he focused most of his intentions on her clit. She was at the very least thankful he didn’t want her to be in pain.

She tried to force herself to think about Sebastian again but the way Ominis’ breathing picked up and his slender body slid against hers as he began to thrust deeper dragged her out of the daydream. She hated how her body reacted, her stomach flipping and swirling and tightening as she listened to the small puffs of air and panting that left his lips.

The pinching discomfort between her legs slowly morphed into hot pleasure that rippled through her in waves. She gripped the crate tighter and his thrusts grew longer and deeper. “Great Merlin you’re so fucking tight, I’ve never had a witch who was a sweet little virgin. I don’t think I can go back after this. Or if this is all just you we may have to convince Sebastian to share your brilliant little body.”

His words sent shocks of pleasure through her and she moaned, pushing her hips back. This felt so good, she struggled to maintain her fantasy of Sebastian ravaging her when Ominis was the one here making her feel so incredible. Pleasure swirled deep in her stomach and she tightened, forcing him to groan behind her. “You better be careful squeezing around me like that. Might just get the idea you actually like this with me or something.”

She whimpered, unable to hold another ripple of pleasure from surging through her. His fingers moved faster, making her arch into his touch for more. “Fuck yes, darling. That’s it. Make me cum, pretty girl.”

His hips slammed deeper till their bodies had no space between, his thrusts growing faster. Her poor hips were going to be bruised and sore from being slammed forward into the crate. The head of him nudged against a spot inside of her that had her seeing stars. She hadn’t even realized how loudly she’d cried out.

He chuckled darkly, angling her hips so he’d hit that spot with every single thrust. “That’s it, come on love, you know you want to cum all over my cock after I took your sweet innocence.”

She made a pitiful sound, the pleasure was too much and the emotions swirling inside of her caused tears to form in the corner of her eyes. His fingers rolling deft circles and him nudging into that spot was all too much for her.

She heard him groan in what sounded like sweet agony as her body stilled, her traitorous body tightening around him. He tensed, holding onto her hips for deer life as he pumped into her. She grew slick and sticky between her legs and she pressed her forehead against the crate, letting her tears fall as she composed her breathing.

Instead of staying to comfort her, he pulled out, casting a cleansing charm on himself before tucking himself away and fixing his attire. She stayed there, quietly crying as his seed and her blood mixed and dripped down her thighs.

He cleared his throat and she finally stood up, not bothering with a cleaning charm and just righting her clothing. She wouldn’t feel clean till she soaked in a boiling hot bath for several hours. But she turned to find him standing there as if nothing had ever happened. “I’ll take this into consideration when I talk to Anne about how best to break the news to the Headmaster. For now you can tell Sebastian I’ve chosen not to turn you both in. But this only lasts as long as you both stay away from the Dark Arts. Understood?”

She nodded, quickly feeling like an idiot before giving him a shaky verbal response. She wouldn’t let her sacrifice be for nothing. She’d make sure the fluffy haired brunette would stay in line no matter the cost.

[callsign-rogueone]

i wish i hated you - x.r.

Xaden Riorson x reader words: 268 -- just a little thought. 🏷: reader in established relationship with X. angst, breakup, no happy ending. no book spoilers but I hope it's obvious what this is about / why it's happening. inspired by the ariana grande song of the same title. I’ll probably never turn this into a full one-shot because I have too many other wips, but I like it too much to throw it out or bury it forever, so into the warm black void of the internet it goes, in hope that it makes someone feel something. 

You can’t bear it another second — you need to know. “Tell me, Xaden, which one of us is the other woman?”

“That’s not-” Garrick begins, coming to his friend’s defense, but he falls silent upon seeing the resigned look on both of your faces.

Xaden isn’t saying anything, but the profound sadness and guilt in those beautiful nearly-black irises tells you that he’s already made his choice, and that it isn’t you.

You’d known deep down, but you just had to see it for yourself, rip the bandage off and get it over with instead of enduring another day, another hour, of that insincere, obligatory affection, cold distance and sickening silence.

The confirmation you’d been looking for doesn’t make it feel any better, but you’ve always been too curious for your own good; it’s what led you into this trap in the first place — you’d been too intrigued by the scars and the relic and the shadows that radiated from his presence even before he’d developed his signet, that tragic, dark beauty and the heart of gold underneath it, which has no room for you anymore.

“Take care of yourself,” you offer instead of a goodbye — he’d always hated that word. “I hope it works out for you both. You deserve to be happy, after everything you’ve been through.”

He doesn’t try to stop you as you walk away, doesn’t run to catch up with you or spin you around to trap you in a warm embrace and apologize — he lets you walk away, because he knows you mean every word, and that makes it hurt so much worse.

[bloodiedrogue]

GUARD DOG (11)

SUMMARY: During the aftermath of your confession, you and Astarion navigate your feelings.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,982

WARNINGS: Spoilers for Act 2, canon typical violence, brief mentions of past abuse.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, I made my Saturday schedule with a few hours to spare. :') Also, update: I'm going to be closing my tag list on Monday. I have a lot of people signed up and it's becoming a bit overwhelming to keep track of over time so if you've been thinking about joining do it while you still can!

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

-

You feel like a ghost, drifting from one experience to the next —your body moving as needed while your mind wanders, failing to grasp the fact that you’re already rooted inside of Moonrise Towers.

Blinking hard at such a realization, you find yourself scanning the secluded office you and the party suddenly occupy, feeling the fog of your mind slowly begin to lift, remembering why you’re here. Why Ketheric Thorm has somehow allowed you to explore the contents of his subject’s office. 

He needs you to get the relic. Not that you know exactly what that is. Considering he doesn’t trust you yet, all you know is that after you’ve gathered supplies you’re meant to go to the mausoleum to find it. Along with a man named Balthazar who’s gone missing. The same man whose office you now find yourself looting. 

Moving through the space as quietly as possible, you notice quickly that all around there are stacks of books, creating this sort of claustrophobic space you have to steady your breath against. Deep within your chest, you can feel the past anxiety of the day bubbling up within your throat as you take it all in, threatening to spill just as Wyll clears his throat, telling you to hurry up so that Z’rell doesn’t get suspicious.

At the mention of Ketheric’s disciple —an orc woman you met earlier— you swallow hard and nod, allowing the fog to resurface as you wander towards a nearby desk, exploring the contents of the tabletop with narrowed eyes. Across it, all the usual items sit: various notebooks, an ink bottle with a well-used quill, a couple of decorative knick knacks here and there. However, there’s also a skull that sits at the top right edge, piquing your interest enough to reach out and grab it, testing out the weight.

“Death enthusiast or necromancer?” 

As if on cue, Astarion slithers up to your side, pulling out various tools from his pocket before kneeling on the ground, turning his attention to the desk drawer. 

Almost immediately you reply with necromancer, but unlike him, there isn’t a flirtatious tone that coats your words. Instead, there’s just exhaustive sadness, prompting his eyes to flicker up momentarily as he pushes the hook into the keyhole. 

“Care to elaborate?”

You shrug and run your finger around the eye socket of the skull, tracing the edge with distraction —feeling your mind continue to distance itself from the task at hand as your gaze grows fuzzy.

It’s a sensation that suddenly makes you remember the events of earlier. The ones where you foolishly confessed your feelings only to receive no such reciprocation. A feeling that weighs you down without warning, covering you in a layer of anxious smog that sticks to your skin, reminding you that you’re mad at him. Frustrated and disappointed —a version of yourself that makes you wish you could be anywhere else so that you could process your feelings.

Because you haven’t had time to, yet. Thanks to Shadowheart’s interruption, all you’ve been left with is questions. Inquiries so intense that between fighting the convoy for the lantern and arriving at the steps of Moonrise, you’ve managed to drive yourself over the edge. 

Breathing in, you can feel how heavy it’s made you. How, as Astarion remains knelt beside you, trying his best to avoid your gaze but ultimately failing to do so, makes you want to plummet into the earth in a heap of tears.

“I’m going to take a look in the other room,” you tell him then, giving yourself a moment of reprieve as you place the skull back onto the desk and make your way to the door. Once there, you reach for the handle and freeze in place, releasing a shaky plume of air before you swallow hard and push it open, allowing it to close until Astarion’s hand shoots out to grab it. 

“I’ll give you a hand.”

Standing near the entrance, you open your mouth to respond but ultimately fail to come up with anything that isn’t mean-spirited, prompting you to instead frown and turn on your heel, moving towards the farthest bookcase you can find. Immediately after that, you attempt to tune out his presence completely, opting to sift through the catalogue of books before you, searching for some sort of clue. Perhaps a book on the Shadowlands themselves or something to do with the undead —anything to distract your mind from Astarion’s movements as he explores the room, eventually turning to face you. 

“I assume you want to talk about earlier.”

You do but not right now, so instead of responding you roll your eyes and grab the first book you see, opening it up to find a series of familiar-looking symbols gracing the page.

At first, they merely look like some sort of intricate design. The way each figure curls in odd ways, drawing your eye to the complicated graph in the centre. Then your mind clicks into place and you’re suddenly blinking back the fog, forcing your mind to focus on the translations written below each image, realizing what they are. 

They’re Infernal letters. The language of the Hells clearly displayed in front of you, reminding you of Astarion’s scars as you look up to scan him, watching him reach for a nearby book. 

“Listen, darling, I know you’re angry with me but—“

Without even thinking, you shush him loudly, moving towards his frame. “Take off your shirt.”

He drops his jaw open in shock, laughing in slight confusion. “I beg your pardon? Take off my shirt?” His eyes are wide as he continues to stare, quickly discovering that you’re serious as he tosses the aforementioned book aside. “You’re aware our compatriots are just beyond this door, correct? Or have you suddenly gone mad with lust and failed to remember?” 

You scrunch up your face, shaking your head. “Ew, Astarion. No, not like that.”

He shoots you a look of relief before quickly backtracking and narrowing his eyes. “I’m sorry —what d’you mean ew?” 

His sudden offence makes you scoff and motion to the open page in front of you, forcing him to notice the symbols. “These look like your scars, don’t they? The ones on your back.” 

There’s a moment of silence that stirs between you then. As Astarion reaches for the page, gently brushing his fingers over yours while leaning in, you swallow hard and try not to think of before. Of the unrequited statement that still lingers between you, ripping you apart while he somehow remains fine. 

Standing there, drinking in the great interest that befalls his face, you find it incredibly hard not to reach out and shake him in that moment. To grip him by the collar and demand answers despite knowing there are far more important things at hand. For example, the fact that, on top of the already complicated infiltration mission, you’re now required to go on this little treasure hunt. One that will most likely have dangerous consequences if you manage to fail. 

Meaning, the last thing you should be thinking about is how Astarion still hasn’t bothered to respond to your confession.

“Did that bastard seriously carve Infernal into my flesh?” He looks disgusted as he glances up at you, his brows knitted towards the centre of his face while you offer your sympathies. 

“I guess so.” 

Swearing under his breath, he takes a step back, immediately moving his hands to pop open the leathers of his armour, ignoring the way you press your lips together nervously. 

“You know he spent the entire night doing it,” he says then, moving his hands across the many fastenings, shaking his head at the memory. “For hours I laid bare beneath him, enduring the pain of his blasted knife —and for what? So he could further brand me as his own? Make even more claim to a helpless slave.” 

You frown at his words, hearing the ache of his voice crack inside your ears as you take a step forward, listening to him huff and toss his leathers onto the floor before taking off his undershirt.

“Wasn’t it enough to merely strip me of my rights? To starve me as I filled him up each night.” 

A part of you wants to tell him no. That nothing Cazador did to him would ever be enough. But then you hear the breath that escapes his chest —the tremors of its wake hitting your fingers as you tentatively grip his shoulder, feeling the strain of his muscles tense beneath your touch. 

“We don’t have to do this right now,” you tell him, forcing your thumb further into his flesh with careful precision, feeling him melt. “We can take the book and come back to it.”  

Immediately, he scoffs in response, craning his neck towards you just as the door creaks open, revealing a very shocked looking Gale who freezes at the doorway. 

“I uh… I recognize that I’m interrupting something. However, might I suggest the two of you perhaps don’t do this right now?”

Releasing Astarion from your grasp, you take a step back and close the book in your hand. “May I suggest knocking, maybe?” 

Gale snorts and raises his hands in innocence. “Perhaps you’re right. My apologies. I promise I’m not here to make a fuss. Just here to remind you that while you’re attempting to bed one another in quite literally the worst location we’ve experienced thus far, the rest of us are out here dealing with the constant reminder of our impending doom.” 

Smiling sarcastically, Gale then motions to Astarion who smiles back and reaches for his clothes. “And here I was thinking of inviting you to our little party.”

“Appreciate it. I’ll have to decline though on account of the fact that both of you frighten me and frankly, I’m not one for sharing.” 

“Hm. Too bad.” Astarion pouts, prompting you to sigh in embarrassment, pressing the book in your hands against your forehead.

“Yes, well, anyway. The rest of us are going to split up and take a look around. Feel free to join us?”

His last sentence is phrased as a question but you know deep down it’s more of a command, telling you to stop, so you do. Nodding your head in response, the two of you then watch him leave before turning to the other, releasing shared heavy breaths as Astarion continues to redress. 

“Stupid wizard.” 

Despite the grin that erupts across your face, you realize then that focusing on anything other than the task at hand is dangerous. That, even though you want the answers to all the questions floating inside your head, the only thing you should be focusing on is Ketheric Thorm and the hidden relic that Balthazar failed to collect.

You shouldn’t be thinking of yourselves. At least, not in the way your mind wants to. Instead of emotions, it should be focused on survival. On the steps needed to ensure your safety to get to all the parts you actually want.

“He’s right you know —about doing this another time.” You tap the cover of the book and see Astarion roll his eyes, moving his hands to readjust the top layer of his armour with a sigh. 

“I understand that but—“

Before he can finish, your hand finds his chest, pressing it softly. “We’ll figure it out, okay? I promise. Just give it time.”

Deep down you know it’s a difficult thing to ask. Considering Astarion’s spent the majority of his life waiting already, you’re well aware of the lack of patience he’s developed. How, his sliver of freedom thanks to the Illithid has granted him the ability to become easily irritated by time. 

Unsurprisingly, since you’ve known him, he’s always been prone to bouts of restlessness. Whenever he’s forced to wait there’s often a scowl that presents itself across his face, growing with each passing moment until he eventually explodes. Because of this, when you look at him with desperate eyes, watching the way he twitches and shifts, you’re more than anxious. You’re downright terrified. Lost to a grouping of thoughts that tell you he most likely hates you for asking. 

“I promise the moment we have time, I’ll spend every waking hour trying to translate this for you,” you tell him. Hoping and praying that just this once he’ll understand that waiting is the right thing to do and not a lie you tell him to gain his trust. 

“Can we even afford to wait, though?”

You look at him like you don’t know the answer, sliding your hand upwards to play with his collar. “At this rate, we might just have to take that chance. You heard so yourself, Gale and the others are already planning to depart. We can’t fall behind and further risk our chance of surviving this.” 

He knows you're right. You can tell by the way his jaw clenches and he looks away, trying to suppress the frustrations. 

“I know I already said it before but I do love you. Truly. I’d do anything to make you happy but right now keeping you safe is my number one priority and if that means delaying said happiness, so be it.” 

After that, there’s a moment of silence that hits. One that’s filled with avoided glances and heavy sighs —all of which come from Astarion as he struggles to accept your words. 

At first, it fills you with regret, realizing the way you phrased yourself probably sounds a bit insensitive. But then you see that familiar smirk begin to curl across his lips, pulling upwards with a scoff as he playfully shoves you away. 

“Fine. I’ll wait. But not because you told me to.”

“Of course.” 

“I’m serious. You’re not the boss of me. I can do whatever I please. You just happen to make an effective argument. Plus, you’re rather convincing when you’re professing your undying love for me.” 

“Shut up.” Pushing him back in annoyance, you shake your head and step through the doorway, moving through the office until you’re out in the hall again, glancing around as you pack away the book. “What supplies do we need anyway?”

“Potions, definitely. Perhaps some arrows or elixirs. I know Gale wanted some spell scrolls but after the stunt he pulled earlier I refuse to get him any.”

You fake pout in his direction as you both begin to walk with no destination in mind. “Aw, is somebody sad that the wizard didn’t accept his sexual invitation?”

“Hardly. That man wouldn’t know an orgasm from a sneeze.”

Suppressing the urge to laugh, you offer an unknowing shrug. “I don’t know. You don’t bed a goddess and not have the dexterity to please a woman.”

Scoffing, Astarion turns towards a random doorway, giving you a curious look before you nod your head, prompting him to open the door. “Please, the man pales in dexterous endeavours compared to me.” 

“Hm. Maybe. Perhaps I’ll ask him for a hand one day. Maybe do a little experimentation?”

As you smirk in his direction there’s a feeling of normalcy that hits. Slowly but surely it fills you up with that familiar warmth, reminding you of the reason you first fell for Astarion in the first place. Somehow he has this unwavering ability to make you grin through the darkness. To distract you from the hellish fear that nips at your feet each time you step into dangerous territory. 

Compared to everyone else he’s the closest thing you’ve had to a friend. And now that you’re joking back and forth, grinning as he stares at you in fake shock thanks to your statement, you begin to accept that his response no longer matters. That you’ve made your peace with it, knowing he’s still there, comforting you in all the ways you need as you walk further into the room, noticing a white-haired woman standing in the corner.  

Upon taking another step she turns from the worktable in front of her, raising a brow at the two of you before fully turning around with a grin. “Ah, the True Soul.” Moving forward, she then extends her hand towards you but fails to meet your gaze once she notices Astarion’s nose begin to turn up, causing you to frown. “I’m Araj Oblodra, trader in blood and the sanguineous arts.” 

Taking her hand, you feel an unwanted heat hit your palm, making you look down as you peel away, offering your name before motioning to Astarion. “This is—“

“A vampire spawn,” she interrupts with interest, leaning towards him with crossed arms and curious eyes. “What an absolute pleasure.”

Both of you share an awkward glance that doesn’t go unnoticed. Despite that though, she barely bats an eye as she offers her hand again, this time to Astarion who clears his throat and shakes his head. “Astarion… sorry I don’t… touch.”

At first, she seems a bit disappointed but then such feelings are quickly erased when she turns her attention back to you, revealing another grin as she drops her hand. “I assume you’re faring well around Moonrise?”

“If by fairing you mean struggling to find a decent potion seller then yes.” 

She clicks her tongue in understanding, turning towards the worktable behind her to grab a vial unprompted. “Perhaps I could be of service then? As long as you’re willing, of course.”

“Willing?” You raise your brow, watching her twist the vile between her fingers with a smirk. 

“I happen to trade in blood,” she explains. “And the potions that can be wrung from it. Obviously considering such details it’s ideal that I earn the consent of my customers. Otherwise who knows what kind of havoc might occur. Hence the willingness.”

“Hm, now nice of you to offer the bare minimum,” Astarion comments, making you narrow your eyes in confusion, wondering what’s suddenly got him so on edge.

“Yes well, if you’d humour me with a drop or two of your blood I could whip up something truly potent for the both of us.”

Immediately there’s a wariness that sets in at the mention of sharing. Overall, it feels as if there’s something off about her. Maybe it’s the way she carries herself or the instant distrust you sense from Astarion as he stands beside you, tensing up with every passing moment you spend talking to her. Either or, you take both as a sign of caution, taking a moment to collect your thoughts as you glance around to view her workspace, noticing various needles and vials, haphazardly filled with liquids you can only assume to be her customer’s blood. 

“Not sure I like the idea of weaponizing my blood, to be honest.” Offering her a polite smile, you see her kindness falter in response, replacing it with an air of curiosity. 

“I can assure you it’s safe,” she says. “Nothing more than a pinprick but obviously if you aren’t keen perhaps we can discuss other matters.” 

As she speaks her gaze focuses on Astarion once again, her lids half-closing in such a lusty way you find your chest brimming with something bordering between anger and jealousy —enveloping you in hatred.  

“Your spawn, for example.”

The way she says it feels like she’s insinuating a sense of ownership. As if Astarion’s your pet or something equally disgusting. Angrily, it makes you scrunch up your face and turn towards him, sharing a look of displeasure before ultimately turning back to scowl. “You’re aware he’s his own person, right?” 

She laughs dryly. “I’m sure he believes that.” 

“Yes, he does. Because it’s true.”

After that she’s silent for a moment, taking in your words. Allowing them to sift within the air as each of you stare at one another, trying to figure out how to proceed even though you know you’re already done. 

Unable to entertain the lack of sense, you move your hand to Astarion’s arm, feeling him tense beneath your grasp. Then you awaken your tadpole to contact his, feeling the creature shift against the corner of your eye. 

Can we leave, please?

Before he can make the effort to listen to your words, Araj is already speaking again, telling you stories of her childhood and how, even then, she wished to be bitten by a vampire, prompting the two of you to stop.

“I’m sorry. You want to be bitten?” Astarion says in disbelief, watching her nod and take a step closer, sharing her interest further. 

“To feel your life’s blood slipping away? To dance on the edge between life and death?

She looks at him longingly as she speaks, telling him then that she’d want nothing more than to feel the icy sting of his teeth against her flesh, making you scoff in disgust even though you know all too well what it feels like. How addictive it can be to let your mind drift away as you're sucked dry. 

“I’ll even compensate you if you like.”

“Compensate me?” Astarion laughs. “Darling, I’m sorry but my talents cannot be bought.”

“Not even for a potion of legendary power?” she muses. 

Immediately, he shakes his head. “Hm, afraid not.”

Her tone shifts then, frustrations filling her every pore as she looks towards you but motions to him. “You might want to talk some sense into your spawn, you know. I don’t offer such rarities lightly.”

You catch Astarion open his mouth to respond, but before he can you’re already stepping forward, inserting yourself into Araj’s space with such powerful aggression, pressing your knife to her throat. 

“Are you always this dense?”

Suddenly aware of the consequences of her actions, she lets out a shaky breath and eyes Astarion, her expression filling with desperation as you press the blade further into her flesh, using your other hand to force her to look at you. “You’re aware of the meaning, yes? Of the word no?”

Instead of answering she just groans at you, angling her head upwards to try and distance herself from the knife, forcing you to tighten your hold. “Oh, you don’t? Well, allow me to enlighten you then.” 

For a moment you pause, grinning wickedly at the fear within her eyes. Taking in the change of demeanour as you twist the edge of your blade away, huffing as you release her all at once, watching her gasp. 

“It means he doesn’t want to suck your fucking throat. Just as I don’t want to kill you… at least, not here.” 

Sensing the truth within your words, Araj gives you a careful nod and retreats, reaching to grip her tender neck as you put away your blade and scowl one final time. 

As you do Astarion looks at you with wide eyes, barely responding when you grab his arm and lead him back out of the room, swearing angrily under your breath when you slam the door behind you. 

“Well, that was an eventual moment.” 

You can’t help but laugh and lean forward once you realize you’re alone again, resting your forehead against his shoulder in slight embarrassment. “Sorry. I just…”

His hand loops around your shoulders before you can even think to pull away, forcing you into his chest as he laughs and kisses your head, granting you a moment of peace within his hold. “Don’t be. It’s quite enjoyable seeing you like that.”

“All deranged?” you mumble against his chest. 

“Protective,” he corrects. “In fact, I find it quite flattering seeing you puffed up, ready to kill for me.”

You snort and wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him even closer. “Like I said, it’s because I love you.” 

“Yes, well…” Pausing to clear his throat, you feel his hand stroke the top of your head, slowly moving down towards the back of your neck before repeating the process —doing it several times before he ultimately releases a heavy breath. “I love you too, darling. Thank you.”  

-

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[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi! I'm a big fan of your blog and love reading all of your posts. You always have such interesting perspectives and incredibly thoughtful points to add! I'm not quite sure if you're open to answering questions like this right now, and if not, feel free to ignore! But I was wondering if you have any information about the Island of Woe and what life is like there? Like do they ever have to import or export things, do they have more there than just S.T.Y.X to keep them occupied/entertained, etc.? I was trying to figure it out myself and all that I learned was that most people live on the upper walls in the Oceanus section. Do the Shrouds live there too, or do they live within the S.T.Y.X. headquarters? And do they ever have to travel for their jobs, beyond the little mishap that happened in Book 6?

Anyways, again, totally disregard this if you don't want to answer! Thank you for even reading this. I look forward to seeing more of your posts and enjoying your writing and input!

Aaaah, thank you!! ^^ Glad you enjoy my content, whatever it may be!

The bulk of lore for the Isle/Island of Woe comes to us from 6-40 of the main story. We (comparatively) have more information about Styx and how it is run, so I had to isolate what lore is about the island itself + life on the island and what lore is about the organization.

To begin with, here is a map of the area:

Most of the island residents don’t live in Ancient City at the seabed level. Instead, people tend to live in the residential block of Oceanus, which is the outer wall which covers the island. (This is how Ortho describes it to us in game, but it’s sort of confusing what exactly he’s referring to since we don’t see land above the water; based on Epel’s dialogue, the “outer wall” may refer to the upper levels. This means that technically all of the Island of Woe is underwater.)

Ancient City refers to the seabed level of the Island of Woe: It seems to be the community that surrounds Styx HQ, which lies at the center.

The giant pillar in the middle of the city connects to Oceanus Gate, the entrance at the surface of the water, and ends in Tartarus at the other end.

Trains, elevators, and Styx-made technomantic flying vehicles called Chariots are used for transportation. (I assume that only Styx agents are allowed to use Chariots, but this isn’t made clear.)

There is an artificial sky over the isle. This is because natural light provides mental and physical benefits to humans.

Styx makes efforts to use advanced technologies to emulate life on land. This results in the Island of Woe having seasons, weather, forests, and rivers even at the bottom of the sea.

Idia’s post-OB flashback implies that there may be strong security systems in place not only in Styx HQ, but also around the entire island (since he talks about wanting to leave the island and having to disarm the security in order to achieve that; Styx is also shown to control the Oceanus Gate and therefore controls entry to and from the isle).

Going hand-in-hand with the previous bullet point, Ortho states that it’s dangerous to wander the area.

The architecture is a remainder of the Island of Woe’s olden days as part of the Kingdom of Heroes. The buildings are relics there have been well-preserved.

The entire isle used to be spoken of by the common man as like… some kind of superstition or boogeyman?? Lilia tells us that “People believed the Island of Woe would punish any wizard who abandoned their principles and went mad with power.” This is attributed to the isle’s origins as being the place where the Jupiter family sentenced the Phantoms in the Age of the Gods (a period of time in which mages were feared and the relationship between magic and blot was not yet established). Since Styx is not an organization that the general public knows about, it’s possible that the public assumed residents of the isle themselves were vigilante agents of justice against mad mages.

Idia describes the Island of Woe as "filled with the lamentations of give billion people [...] It's dark and gloomy 365 days a year." He also refers to the island as his hometown.

The Island of Woe has bugs, but different kinds than what you would see in the outside world.

To address your specific questions (and please keep in mind that these points are not directly answered in TWST and instead relies on inferencing):

Do they have to import or export things?

While the island does receive sunlight and have seasons + varied weather, I don’t think they’d be entirely self-sufficient depending on the population size and its needs. Styx seems to run the show, but I’d imagine they need to focus their efforts on research and not food production or something. This could easily be automated with tech, I guess??? But some things they just couldn’t get, even with automation. They may have to import some stuff from the outside, though I imagine there are multiple security measures in place to convolute the supply chain and to keep the location of the Island of Woe hidden.

I’m not sure about exports since the island isn’t noted to produce anything significant (other than Styx tech, which I’d imagine they want to keep confidential).

Do they have more there than just S.T.Y.X to keep them occupied/entertained, etc.?

Being that there’s an entire city down there, yes, I’d have to think that the people don’t just work all day. Idia himself is one huge example; how did he get into anime, games, idols, etc. if no entertainment exists in the isle? We even see him as a child playing his beloved Star Rogue in his post-OB flashback scene—and his childhood bedroom is also littered with other signs of his hobbies and interests. Ortho has also mentioned that their family celebrates birthdays and go on outings to parks and such. This implies to me that there are definitely recreational activities around on the isle.

Do the Shrouds live there too, or do they live within the S.T.Y.X. headquarters?

I believe the implication is that the Shrouds technically live in Styx HQ. (A researcher remarks that “Idia hasn’t come out of his room for over two years now” while the background shows the Styx interior.) I’m not sure if this is true of the entire Shroud family, but I think it would make sense if they did since it would add to their vibes of isolation and gloom.

Additionally, it’s stated that it benefits the Shrouds to reside in a blot-dense area like Styx HQ so that their hereditary curse burns through blot in their immediate surroundings rather than burning through their own magic (and potentially life force). I don’t think the Shrouds are forced to stay IN Styx HQ all the time though; they clearly leave and explore the seabed city since Ortho says their family used to go on trips like that.

Do they ever have to travel for their jobs, beyond the little mishap that happened in Book 6?

I don’t know how often travel for work occurs, but it does happen. Styx agents are deployed as needed to secure Phantoms, as well as to speak with important figures. Leona, for example, mentions seeing Ferrymen lurking at the palace of the Sunset Savanna.

[angstywaifu]

Black Dahlia - 16. Mares In His Stable

With Threshing over for another year, it's time for everyone to celebrate.

Set Pre Fourth Wing/Books

Garrick Tavis x OC (Dahlia Aetos)

Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist

The dining hall is loud as everyone celebrates. Well those of us now classified as riders celebrate. As I scan the room, those who did not manage to bond a dragon today are absent. And I don’t blame them. This was essentially rubbing in their face that they weren’t worthy of being a rider.

As my eyes continue to scan the room I note how many of us new riders had forgone our jackets, many showing off their new relics. I was one of the few who had not opted to show off my new relic. Especially not while my brother was around.

When we’d been gifted our dragon relics in the flight field, I had to fight back a smirk as the heat that engulfed me wrapped around my right arm. The blue and black relic wrapping around my arm and shoulder. Reminding me very much of the relics the marked ones bared. I’d angered my father enough for one day, so I’d decided to keep it hidden for another time My brother no doubt delivering the news himself once he saw the marking for himself. As if sensing my gaze Dain turns, our eyes meeting across the room.

“I can’t tell if he wants to kill you or fuck you with how he’s staring at you right now,” Imogen says loudly as she takes the empty seat across from me.

I choke on the drink I’d been taking, Bodhi quick to start thumping me on the back to help the coughing fit I’m caught in by Imogen’s words as I tear my gaze from Dain’s.

”P-please tell me you are not talking about my brother.” I say once my coughing fit has passed, the rest of our group bursting into laughter at my words as I gasp for air.

Imogen smirks and shakes her head while laughing at me, “Fuck no. Though if incest is your thing-”

”Fuck no. Now please tell me who the hell you’re talking about.”

Bodhi turns his head, scanning the room as we wait for Imogen to reply. He must find the person in question, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smirk that reminds me too much of his older cousin. “Definitely the second one,” He teases as Imogen nods in agreement.

I turn my head as I follow Bodhi’s gaze, my eyes landing on Garrick as he leans up against a wall on the other side of the room. Our eyes lock for a brief second before he averts his gaze to another rider who starts walking up to him. The way she sways her hips as she walks up to me tells me exactly what she wants. As she steps into his reach, he grasps her by the waist and pulls her against him before leaning down and pulling her into a kiss. A kiss that quickly turns heated, and there's no doubt in my mind at what those two will be doing tonight.

”Hate to burst your bubble, but looks like you’re wrong Bodhi,” I say as I pat him on the back sympathetically. “Looks like he just wants to murder me and the feeling is mutual.”

”He’s really not-”

”I swear to the gods if you say he’s really not that bad I will pour this entire drink over your head.” I warn him, holding my drink above his head.

Bodhi looks between me and the drink, debating if to finish his sentence. After a few seconds his shoulders sagas he sighs in defeat. Clearly deciding it was not worth having a drink poured over his head for.

”Do I want to know why you’re holding a drink over my cousins head like that?” Xaden drawls from next to me, his voice startling me causing the drink to slosh over the edge of the cup and a few drops landing on Bodhi’s head.

”Your cousin thought it would be a good idea to try tell her Garrick isn’t that bad.” Austin chimes in.

I turn and narrow my gaze at her, and all she does is smile sweetly at me. She was no longer affected by any glares I sent her way. Always seeing past them now she knew me too well. I hear her giggle as I roll my eyes and turn my attention back to Xaden.

”Which I might believe if he didn’t act like I was the worse thing to happen in his life.” I say venomously, earning a few chuckles from our group.

”At the risk of getting a drink poured over my own head. He might surprise you Aetos.” He drawls, my eyes narrowing as he uses my last name.

”I highly doubt that given how he’s treated me so far.” I snap back, Xaden’s brow furrowing at my words. “And on that note I will see you all tomorrow as I’ve had enough of this Garrick talk.”

After months of sleeping in the crowded barracks, I’d had the best nights sleep since I’d gotten here. It felt weird to have my own space again, no Austin and Liz to talk with before bed. But I had missed my alone time. Missed having my own space. Though somehow I knew with having my own room now, I still wouldn’t get as much alone time as I would like. I could already imagine Bodhi knocking on my door and barging in whenever he got the chance. I was going to have to learn to ward my door as soon as I could, even if it wasn’t something I would learn for a while, I would find a way.

I grab my jacket from the back of the chair where I had thrown it last night before walking into the hallway and closing the door. I hear the sound of a door opening behind me, and I turn to see Garrick walking out of the room across from mine. He goes to walk off, but as I lean against the doorway and cross my arms cross my chest, his head turns to look at me as he stops.

For the first time since I’d gotten here, he doesn't glare at me when our eyes meet. And I hated to say it was a nice change to not see his face in a glare at the sight of me. His gaze travels over me before snagging on the relic that now adorned my arm and was on full display due to not putting my jacket on yet. His eyes go wide as he takes it in, clearly having the same thoughts I did when I’d looked at it after Threshing.

”For someone that hates me so much, you sure seem to like starting at me. Maybe I should paint you a picture.” My words snapping him out of whatever trance he was in, his hazel eyes meeting mine again.

”Thanks, but I politely decline that offer.” He huffs at me, folding his own arms over his chest.

”You, do something politely? That would be a first.” I snap back as I smirk at him, his brow furrowing slightly, but not into its usual glare.

”I can do many things politely.” He says with a smirk, slowly walking over to me. “Maybe if you didn’t act they way you do, you might get some of the benefits like your fellow rider did last night.”

My laughter echoes off the walls of the empty hall, Garrick’s smirk dropping at my reaction as he stops in front of me, having to crane my neck to look up at him. “If there was anyone I want to reap those benefits from, you would be the last one on my list. Don’t want to catch a disease from one of the many mares you keep in your stable on rotation.”

I expected his usual glare to return, but it doesn’t. The lumbering oaf just smirks down at me as he leans closer. My heart rate picks up at the close proximity, a slight heat rising up my neck. Shit. I was not reacting to this bastard.

”Oh don’t worry little Aetos, I keep the mares in my stable quite clean if you ever change your mind.” His voice dropping to an octave which does not help the way my body was reacting. I might find him attractive, but that was it.

I open my mouth to reply before a door bangs open next to us, Bodhi bounding out into the hallway before coming to a halt as he notices Garrick and I. Garrick is quick to respond, turning my head to watch as he storms out of the hallway towards the stairs. A chuckle draws my attention back to Bodhi, still standing where he had halted in the hallway with a wide grin on his face.

”Not a fucking word. I do not want to hear it.” I snap at him before shrugging my jacket on and storming off.

”I wasn’t going to say anything!”

@imtoanonymousforyou @simplyme-fornow @omalmal @lalaluch @wolfbc97 @leptitlu @fullmoon-94 @the-fandom-ness @fan-of-many-bands

[wordsarelife]

—the prophecy

pairing: isaac lahey x fem!stilinski!reader

summary: isaac tries to fight for your life while something he isn’t able to stop sets a terrible prophecy into motion

warnings: canon typical violence, mentions of death, blood, angst

notes: completely made up villain and storyline, reader is a witch

you had laughed at isaac's suggestion at first, sure it was a dumb joke with which he was trying to light the mood. stiles had started laughing with you and it was only then that you realized that isaac hadn't been joking.

"wait, you really mean it, don't you?" you asked, brows furrowed and an irritated look on your face.

"of course i mean it" isaac nodded, looking between you and stiles, who looked less happy and more annoyed now.

"well, you have no power to decide this for us" you crossed your arms, exchanging a look with your brother, who nodded.

"you have been a werewolf for all of five minutes, okay?" stiles muttered "but we, we've been doing this for years. your hear what i'm saying? years, isaac, plural"

"i just want to help"

"just like we do" you said, tone a bit softer than before as you noticed the worry on the blondes face. "we're risking lives if we stay home"

"i know, i just—"

"you heard her" stiles interrupted, before he walked around isaac, opening the front door. "either you come with us or you stay here"

isaac sighed, taking one last look at you, before he walked through the door first.

the mission was unevenful and much different for what you had expected. you didn't need any outstanding powers, just a bit of light magic, resulting in you having more energy than usual when you came back home.

isaac hadn't left yours and stiles' side for the enterity you were there, making sure that both of you were save at all times. you appreciated his protectiveness, but it made you wonder why he was suddenly acting like this. he had never had any distrust in your abilities. not even in stiles, although he was a human and had no powers.

the next day you all sat together at lunch. lydia and stiles were discussing a plothole in the star wars prequels, scott was studying an ancient looking book and isaac was staring at you, while you read your emails.

"is there something i can help you with?" you asked in a low voice to not to disturb your friends conversation.

"no" isaac shook his head and quickly averted his eyes, acting like he hadn't been focused on you for almost an hour.

"here" scott said louder than necessary to catch the attention around him. "it mentions something about a lost relic, derek told me about it before. maybe it's that what he's searching for"

gallaghan had been plaguing the town for the past few months, keeping the pack on edge about where he would show up next. it wasn't unsual for him to cause chaos and destruction wherever he went and until now you hadn't been able to find out what he was after.

"we might put an end to it if we find it first" lydia noted.

stiles nodded, always agreeable with whatever she said. "maybe we can even use it against him"

"where could it be hidden?" you asked, leaning over the table and trying to gather a look at the pages in scott's book.

"i think malia saw it before" scott muttered, unsurely. "she saw where it was hidden"

"great!" stiles stood up, his tray in hand. "let's go!"

before either of you could agree and stand up as well, isaac interjected. "i don't think we all need to go, right?" he asked, voice only above a whisper. "scott and lydia could go alone"

"why us?" lydia asked exchanging a glance with scott.

isaac shrugged.

"i say you go ask malia, while stiles, isaac and i go and get everything we could possibly need to fetch the relic" you suggested to keep the peace.

"sounds good" scott smiled, before he nodded behind him, in the direction of the hallway in which malia was studying in a classroom right now. lydia followed the alpha without another word, but you could see the look of confusion she send you.

"what's going on?" stiles asked isaac, as soon as your friends were out of ear shot.

"nothing" isaac insisted.

"you can tell us" your voice was soft and you laid your hand on top of his, despite stiles narrowing his eyes at your movement. isaac was ready to break, before he remembered what telling you could lead to.

"i swear it's nothing" he said again. "i just want to keep the both of you save"

"really romantic, thank you" stiles pushed a hand against his chest, a sarcastic smile on his face as he fluttered his eyelashes at the blonde boy across from him.

"let's get ready then, huh?" you suggested, squeezing isaac's hand to assure him. "you can stand next to us the entire time if that helps, yeah?"

isaac nodded reluctantely, before he took his own tray and followed you out of the cafeteria and to stiles jeep.

"we have to keep this on the down low" stiles announced to both of you, as he reversed the car and drove off the school parking lot. "dad's gonna kill us if he finds out"

"well, i'm not gonna tell him, you can bet your ass on that" you laughed from next to your brother. "you won't either, right isaac?" you asked jokingly, looking into the mirror.

isaac nodded, of course, but there was a dark thought in his head. a thought that would make both stiles and you extremely angry at him, but would keep you safe.

you prepared the whole afternoon for what you planned to do that evening. scott and lydia called throughout, telling you that malia still knew where the relic was hidden and that all of you would meet at scott's house at midnight.

isaac had gone home after a while, which you found weird, considering he had not let you out of his sight since the beginning of the week.

isaac hadn't been able to stay any longer as the same thought kept on repeating in his head. anytime he looked at you, he felt like a piece of his heart was breaking off.

a terrible headache only added to the pain his body was experiencing. he sat down on the couch in derek's loft, eyes fluttering close, as sleep took over.

in his dream he was back in the cave. the cave below the church, which the pack had discovered a few weeks ago. they had been searching for something isaac was now not even able to remember, but it had been important enough for all of you to come along.

he had walked into the cave on his own, the small space not allowing company, as he searched through a desk that was cramped into the corner.

that's when he found it. the prophecy.

in the time of shadows and light, when the balance teeters on the edge of ruin, the one who stands closest to the alpha—akin to his sister in heart though not in blood—shall meet her final fate. as the heavens weep, and three lightning strikes herald her doom, her end shall not be in vain, for her soul will be the price for another, a life dearer than her own. in the moment of her greatest sacrifice, she will choose love over life, and in doing so, her death shall render her eternal, for her legacy will live long after her mortal body has perished.

isaac woke up startled, the familiar words repeating in his head over and over again. he had known almost immediately that it was you the ancient text was talking about. and it was obvious you would give your life to save stiles.

it had been eating away at him since he had found out. he could not imagine his life without you. even a day without your laughter was too much for him to bare. he had loved you for way too long to never get a chance to tell you.

isaac knew that there was a way to change what was promised, to not make you decide and trade your life to spare stiles'. he just had to make sure both of you were safe.

but how could he do that?

"isaac, what are you doing here?" sheriff stilinski smiled, when officer parrish walked isaac into the formers office.

"good evening, sheriff" isaac greeted. "i think there is something you should know"

stiles and you had been ready for half an hour and were now standing in stiles' room, studying his wall of a million red strings, that almost made your eyes burn.

"that's a lot of red" you noted.

"i know"

"red means unssolved, right?" you stepped forward, moving along one of the strings with your finger. "there's a lot of unsolved things then"

"i'm aware, y/n" stiles slapped your hand away. "you're gonna ruin it"

"gonna ruin what exactly?" you tested "the unanswered questions you know nothing about?"

"haha, very funny" stiles smiled sarcastically. "you have no sense for real detective work"

"calm down, columbo" you rolled your eyes "i think you need to solve a case before you earn the right to call yourself a detective."

"oh sorry, i didn't know i was talking to nancy drew" he crossed his arms. "i'm sure she would appreciate this work of a genius"

you raised an eyebrow. "genius? looks more like a kindergarten art project gone wrong."

stiles scoffed, leaning in. "well, if by 'gone wrong' you mean 'brilliantly unraveling mysteries,' then yeah, sure, kindergarten. but guess what—this 'art project' is probably going to save our butts, again."

you smirked, crossing your arms. "right, because nothing says 'life-saving genius' like a wall of yarn."

"whatever" stiles shrugged, taking a quick look at his phone. "ten minutes until midnight, we better get going"

you nodded, grabbing your bag from his bed, before you both walked out of his room and down the stairs. you took the keys out of the little bowl near the door, just as stiles opened it.

"scott said—whoa, dad!" his voice called out in surprise.

you narrowed your eyes at the figure standing in the door. your father was still wearing his uniform and looked at both of you disapprovingly.

"didn't you have the night shift?" stiles wondered and you wanted to elbow him deep into the ribs, as your father's face darkened even more.

"where do you think you're going?" he asked, stepping into the house and shutting the door behind him. "and you skipped school? again? we talked about this"

"how do you—"

you interrupted stiles. "—it was an emergency"

"didn't sound like that" sheriff stilinski shook his head, disappointment crossing his face, before he sighed. "go to bed, both of you. it's a school night"

"but dad—" stiles and you tried to protest at the same time.

"you heard me"

you walked up the stairs defeated and followed stiles back into his room.

"i bet isaac snitched" stiles accused almost immediately after you had closed the door. "he's been acting strange. stranger than usual"

"i don't think isaac would do that"

stiles crossed his arms and send you a pointed look.

"okay, maybe" you admitted, "it doesn't matter anyway. we have to find a way to get out and meet up with the others"

"we can't leave until he's gone to sleep" stiles sighed. "shit!"

"did you hear anything from stiles and y/n?" lydia asked over at scotts house. the rest of the pack, isaac, malia, derek and scott were sitting around her.

"yeah" scott nodded. "stiles just texted that they won't be able to make it on time, but they'll try to come"

"what do we do?" malia asked, looking between her friends.

"i say we go anyway" isaac muttered. "we can't wait for gallaghan to find the relic first"

"isaac's right" derek said.

"alright" scott nodded. "i tell them to meet us there as soon as they're able to come"

isaac desperately hoped that they would never make it.

due to him not being used to the quiet of the night, it took your dad an unnaturally short time to fall asleep. stiles and you had checked on him at one thirty, being out the house at one fourty.

the drive was shorter than expected. and it seemed that you were arriving just on time, as all hell had broken lose. you understood quickly that you hadn't been the only ones to come and search for the relic.

gallaghan was there too and he had brought company in the form of hunters.

"shit" you muttered to stiles, while both of you tried to make out where you could help best. you decided to split up, you walking right and him left, bat in hand.

isaac was busy fighting against two hunters, who looked anything but friendly. it didn't look good for him if you were honest. you quickly raised your hands, throwing both men back and knocking them out through the action.

isaac turned around in susprise. "y/n!" he breathed, shock evident on his face. "what the hell are you doing here?"

the expression on your face changed, spotting a look of betrayal. "so it was you who talked to dad"

"that's beside the point" isaac shook his head looking between you and the fight a few feet away. "you can't be here!" he gripped your arm.

"the hell i can" you tried to break free from his grip but it was to no use.

"just wait" he pleaded, fiddeling with his phone, before he held it in your direction. "i didn't want to tell you, because i didn't want to scare you"

your eyes flew over the words on the photo. the writing was old, almost ancient and not easy to read, but perfectly clear to understand once you got it. "meet her final fate?" you muttered, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"yes" he paused. "that's why i told your dad, i was sure he wouldn't let you come and i was right. so please, go back home y/n"

"okay" you nodded and isaac sighed.

"but we have to find stiles first" he muttered, as he thought back to the words in the prophecy. "you're going to sacrifice yourself for love and stiles is the most plausible option"

before either of you could say anything else, a flash of lightning momentarily sounded in the air, bathing the sky in a bright light. you both jumped at the same time.

"that was the first" isaac exclaimed with a look of horror.

"the first?" you repeated carefully.

"as the heavens weep, and three lightning strikes herald her doom" he quoted. "three strikes. that was the first. we have to hurry"

"yeah-yeah" you nodded, the fear growing inside you as you realized that whatever isaac had found was actually slowly becoming true.

"it's better you wait here" isaac announced finally. "i'll go and find stiles"

"are you sure?"

"i don’t want you going in there as long as it's dangerous" he pointed at the building behind him. "it's even more dangerous for you if stiles is in there"

"okay" you nodded, tears spilling from your eyes. "please be safe, isaac" you said a he looked at you with pain in his eyes. "and thank you" he nodded, before he turned around and began to run. you pushed your back against the wall, hiding yourself from anyone coming close.

it felt like an eternity to wait for him. you debated if you should follow him to make sure he was safe. you were scared, so deeply scared that him saving your life meant ultimately sacrificing his own in the process.

another lightning broke through the sky and made you unvoluntarily duck, as your heart began to beat faster.

"y/n!" stiles' voice called. the relief that flushed you almost made you stumble to the ground.

"stiles" you breathed, turning the corner and sinking into your brother's arms. "where is isaac?"

stiles turned around as if there was something to find. "he was right behind me, he was—"

you gripped his shoulders, as loud footsteps interrupted his rambling, isaac running out of the building. "go! go!" he screamed loudly. they were following him, three hunters, ready to kill.

you raised your hand, pushing the first back. he flew against the nearest tree, losing his conciousness immediately. the second wasn't as easy. he managed to swerve around your magic a few times, before it eventually gripped him, pulling him back and leaving him laying in the middle of the street.

you pushed stiles behind you as you tried to take on the last of them. isaac was now running directly in your direction, the hunter right behind him, which made it harder for you to hex the right person.

your tries kept relentlessly failing, as you realized too late what kept the man safe. it was something so simple, but you had never encountered it. like vampires could be contained with garlic, or werewolves with wolfsbane, witches could be repelled with ivy and his whole jacket was decorated in the green plant. somehow he had known about you and your powers.

the man threw a rope, catching isaac's foot and quickly snatching him back, making the boy tumble to the ground.

"isaac!" you called loudly, voice in an unsteady rhythm as your tears broke through. you quickly managed to the let the rope vanish.

isaac scrambled to his feet, but the hunter was relentless, closing the distance once more. panic surged through you as you saw the desperation in isaac’s eyes. you couldn’t let him die. not now. not after everything.

"y/n!" stiles shouted, but you barely heard him over the pounding in your ears, over the roaring of your heart.

isaac stumbled, still trying to stand, but the hunter was already upon him, pulling out a silver blade meant to kill.

you closed your eyes, time stopping to flow around you. isaac and the hunter stayed unmoving, you felt stiles' fingers cling to the hem of your shirt. but you couldn't think about that.

the concentration you had to muster felt unbearable. but you could not let him die. you would rather get hurt yourself than watch him get killed.

with a surge of adrenaline, you stepped forward, raising your hands as you prepared to use your magic again. but this time, something felt different. the power inside you was building faster than you’d ever felt before—wild, uncontrollable, a force you could barely contain.

"get away from him!" you screamed, your voice hoarse from the terror that gripped your heart. the hunter raised the blade, preparing to strike down on isaac.

the magic swelled inside you, overwhelming, tearing through your body with searing heat. you had one chance. one spell. but it would cost you everything.

you made the choice.

with a cry of pain, you unleashed the full force of your magic, every ounce of power you had. it erupted from you in a blinding wave of light, surging toward the hunter. but this wasn’t just a simple spell. It was something more, something ancient and powerful—something that demanded a sacrifice.

you could feel the magic ripple through the barrier of the ivy, breaking apart like a twig in it's way.

the hunter sank to the ground, falling down like a sack of potatoes, the dagger clastering to the side.

you didn't have long to be happy about your win. just as your power dried out, you felt a flash of pain errupt inside your chest and then, like it was bound to happen, the third strike of lightning broke through the sky, painting your face in horror as you fell to the ground.

stiles was barely fast enough to catch you, breath hitching as he stared down at you in worry.

you looked past him and into the bright sky, like it was a mirror of your sould that was burning.

"y/n" isaac stumbled onto his feet and sank to the ground next to you. "what did you do?"

"i saved you" you whispered. you could feel your teech being drenched in liquid. blood, you thought.

"but—" isaac paused, looking up in the sky. "the third" he muttered then.

"what?" stiles asked from behind you. isaac looked at your brother, who was looking so worried and scared. it took him a second to realize what had happened.

"the prophecy wasn't about stiles" he concluded.

you managed to nod your head. you hadn't know immediately, but at the moment that danger threatened to end isaac's life. he had been so sure, so set on it being about stiles that you hadn't questioned his theory.

but everything he had done to prevent your fate, had actually set it in motion.

"prophecy? what prophecy? could someone please talk to me?" stiles pleaded, teary-eyed.

as if they knew that something had happened, the rest of your friends came running.

"we have the relic, gallaghan is—" scott said, before he saw what was going on.

"what prophecy?" stiles tried again.

isaac took out his phone with trembling hands, holding it in your brothers direction.

"in the time of shadows and light, when the balance teeters on the edge of ruin, the one who stands closest to the alpha—akin to his sister in heart though not in blood—" stiles read, voice unsteady, as he pressed his other hand against your body, making sure you were still there. "shall meet her final fate. as the heavens weep, and three lightning strikes herald her doom, her end shall not be in vain, for her soul will be the price for another, a life dearer than her own." he looked between you and isaac.

"it didn't mean platonic love" you concluded, blood seeping from your mouth as you spoke. you could hear a cry come from lydia, as she buried her head in scott's shoulder, who looked down at you in pain.

derek had clasped a hand around isaac's shoulder as if to give his beta strength. even malia, who normally was not fazed by anthing, watched you in horror.

isaac touched your cheek. "i was wrong" he cried. "i was so determined to save you i did not even properly think"

"she doesn't have to die" stiles shook his head. "i mean we can do something, right? we always do something. if she would die you would know, right lydia?" he looked up at the strawberry blonde with pleading eyes and and unfair amount of hope.

lydia shook her head softly and stiles slumped down.

"stiles" you muttered. "it has been prophesied"

"i don't care about the stupid prophecy, okay?" he pushed a few tears away from his cheeks. "you won't die tonight. dad's gonna kill me if he finds out"

you smiled at his blind optimism and his disbelief of the situation.

"i'm sorry" isaac cried. "this is all my fault"

"yes it is" stiles pushed a finger into the blondes chest. "you knew about it and you didn't even try to tell us"

"i thought it was safer" isaac tried to defend.

"i'm her brother, i deserved to know" stiles shook his head. "i could've found a way"

"not with all those red strings" you muttered, trying to light the mood.

"what about decan?" scott asked. "can't we bring her to him?"

"it's a difference if someone's life is threatened by an outer force like a dagger or poison or by an inner force" derek explained and if you weren't mistaken, he was crying too.

"inner force?" malia repeated.

"her powers are slowly turning against her" he concluded. "they're killing her from the inside. she's bleeding out internally"

"so what?" stiles asked, "we just let her die? we won't even try to do something?"

"we can't do anything, stiles"

stiles turned his head back to look at isaac, deep anger spilling from his features. "she's dying, because of you! because you were so selfish that you didn't want to tell us what you knew!" he spat. "she should've let you die!"

isaac sank down, stiles' words hitting him like a dagger. he knew that he was at fault, that he had not done enough, that he should've acted differently. he shouldn't have been so scared to share his knowledge, not so fast to make assumptions.

"enough!" you called loudly, interrupting your brother's screaming, as you tried your best to sit up against him. "i don't want to go like this. you don't get to make this out to be isaac’s fault, stiles!" you turned back around to the blonde. "and you don't get to think it is, isaac! i make my own decisions and i will not die in vain because of you idiots"

"y/n" isaac muttered.

"no, isaac" you swept the blood from your mouth in a desperate try to free your lungs and breathe in the clean air. you could feel your time run out, it was only the parts of you that weren't human that had given you more time, before your final fate would come. "i chose to save you, because i love you"

"i tried to save you because of the same reason" isaac muttered, voice just above a whisper. "now look where love has gotten us"

a small, sad smile tugged at the corner of your lips. "i don’t feel like i’m at the wrong place," you said softly, shaking your head. "i feel like i was at the right place, at the right time. and i did what i had to do."

"love shouldn't take your life" he disagreed, clearly not accepting of what you had done.

"there's no better thing to die for, isaac" you took his hand in yours. "i just regret that i didn't tell you sooner"

it was just devastating to see the pain on his face and know that you were the reason for it.

stiles, who had been silent, his face streaked with tears, sobbed quietly beside you. his hand rested on your shoulder, his body shaking as the reality of your fading life hit him.

your friends stood nearby, faces pale and stricken with sadness, as if they were watching the world unravel before their eyes. they were crying like the night had stolen the very light from the world, as if everything had been lost.

"i'm sorry" isaac said once again, clinging to your hand like it was a lifeline.

"don't be sorry" you shook your head, a peaceful smile unraveling on your features. "i always thought i would be alone, you know?"

you searched his eyes for some sign of recognition of the conversation you had once had about your final moments. "i remember" he said, his mind wandering back to the night on your roof.

"i'm not alone" you whispered, before you looked at everyone individually, taking them in to remember.

eyes are most beautiful when they’re filled with tears, you thought to yourself. it wasn’t something you had ever said out loud, but it was how you felt now—seeing the raw emotion, the love, the pain all mixed together. It was devastating, but it was real.

you touched isaac's cheeck, catching one of his tears. they fell from his ocean-blue eyes, like the water had risen too high for the shore to contain. "it might sound selfish" you whispered softly, as you watched the tear run down your fingers, "but isn't it somewhat soothing to know, that i was loved to the point of tears?"

isaac smiled at you and you could read the undeniable love from his face. you looked around you once more, into the faces of your friends and brother.

"loved enough to be grieved" you muttered, like a sudden realisation. "not everyone can say that. so… thank you." your breath hitched, as if to finalize your fate.

"y/n?" stiles muttered as he noticed the glossy look in your eyes. almost like you were fading away.

"y/n" isaac repeated when no answer rang out. he shook you softly.

you smiled. "i wish i could've seen the sun" your eyes fell close as death set into your features, but still leaving the smile on your face, like it wanted to grant you with something, a final piece of happiness in a moment of despair.

"no!" stiles voice rung out first. in a desperate attempt to bring you back to life he began to shake you, hoping for some kind of movement. "no!"

"stiles" scott muttered, taking his friend into his arms and letting him sob against his shoulder as they cried simultaenously.

isaac sat across from them, slumped down and heartbroken. derek gripped the shoulder of his beta even harder. lydia sank next to isaac reluctantly, first stretching out her hand slowly, but finally taking him into her arms and letting him sob against her warm embrace.

none of them said anything, but they all stayed where they were, ultimately knowing what to do without speaking about it.

they sat down around you, as if to spend you company.

as the clock struck 5:17 a.m., the first rays of sunlight bathed your still form in a soft, golden light, marking the quiet end of a day and the beginning of a new one without you.

it was almost as if you could feel the warmth of the light on your face. your smile being a constant reminder that you had thought about something good in your final moment, like the first sign of sunrise at the beginning of a day, or the feeling of blowing out candles on your birthday. running through grass barefoot and feeling the earths touch beneath your feet.

smelling snow for the first time at the beginning of december, growing taller than your older brother at the age of seven, falling in love for the first time and getting your heart broken. falling in love again, despite remembering how much it hurt when it ended.

dancing with your friends after a few too many shots, swimming in the lake during the hottest day of summer. rainy days in the library, ice cream in the summer, cookies at the beginning of autumn, peace at the end of your life.

you had missed the sun by a few hours, but had met it in your life more times than anyone could’ve been able to remember.

[justastrugglinghotchocolate]

So like a year ago, I made a post asking why Dorian confessed to murdering Basil in the 1891 edition of the book, but not the 1890. For the last few months, while working on tlg and the comic, I’ve on and off again worked on a small animatic for the ending of TPODG. Because of this I’ve had to reread the ending conversation with Henry again and again. And a thought occurred to me:

Is Dorian’s ‘desire to be good’ actually an attempt to stop being objectified?

Dorian’s ‘desire to be good’ is obviously horseshit, even to himself, but why does he do it? "To feel something new" is a lazy explanation especially when the book literally says that “[h]e felt a wild longing for the unstained purity of his boyhood”. He doesn’t want something new, he wants what he had before. But it’s not the innocence of his youth, nor something material he desires—it’s the way people treated him before Henry and Basil.

The thing that always stood out to me was this exchange (occuring after Dorian’s confession): 

“There is someone at White’s who wants immensely to know you—young Lord Poole, Bournemouth’s eldest son. He has already copied your neckties, and has begged me to introduce him to you. He is quite delightful and rather reminds me of you.”

“I hope not,” said Dorian with a sad look in his eyes.”

While many modern adaptations either forget this line or give a charitable reading, to me it reads as though Dorian realizes he’s replaceable. Even though he has a magic portrait and eternal youth, he still is a dying relic of a changing world. He will never be anything more than the innocent, youthful doll society and Henry treated him as.

His confession, to Henry of all people, was a final plea to be seen as more than the dumb youth, as an innocent angel—he is begging Henry to look at him and see that Dorian Gray is a person. That he feels more than youth, or beauty, or idolatry. That he is capable of great violence and even greater crime, like any other man and through that can be capable of evolving with the time like any other. He doesn't want to live as a passing fancy of perverts and naive young people.

But Henry breaks all of that in one simple line:

“You and I are what we are, and will be what we will be.”

But, Lord Henry was never going to see Dorian as a real person. Because Henry himself isn’t real. ‘Lord Henry’ is a role he plays, one that consumed him far before the first chapter. In many ways, his cynical philosophy is his own defective portrait. He hides any semblance of a person in his role of ‘cynical hedonist’ and denies any change. He too is a dying relic of a changing world.

When Henry denies his attempt to change, Dorian seeks Basil’s portrait of him. I think it's quite telling that even after he murder him, Dorian seeks implicit comfort from the man who had idolized his rose-white purity. Basil was the only relationship that was closest to what he had before. But the sad truth is laid bare:

No one ever saw Dorian Gray as a real person. 

He was always a role being played. 

And he dies tragically discarded.

[coelii]

let’s talk Castlevania lore~

so it occurred to me that, within the game material (I haven’t watched the TV show or anything like that so that’s not personally interesting to me for this discussion, sry sry), we don’t have all THAT clear an idea of why Dracula is A Bad Guy Who Must Be Stopped At All Costs, do we? I kinda feel like it’s mostly just treated as “c’mon, it’s Dracula, let’s go vampire killin’”

I mean we’ve got the accusation that he “steals men’s souls and makes them [his] slaves,” and, okay, if true (do we ever, like, see that?) I guess that’s pretty not great. And I’m willing to accept just a priori that he is A Vampire and therefore, okay, presumably there’s some drinking of innocent blood or something, not ideal. (Again, not sure that ever occurs on-screen?) I guess he also cursed Simon to have some pretty horrible nights? That’s not rad, i guess.

But like, fundamentally, do we ever have actual word in the games/game material of what exactly Dracula’s menace really IS? Just what kind of fate is the Belmont clan (et al.*) supposedly protecting us from? I guess I probably don’t want to live next door to an Active Vampire, but honestly it’s pretty amusing to me that I can’t actually think of what Dracula supposedly, like, wants.

(*from the Latin “et Alucard”)

So if we’re strictly looking at game material (and specifically main game and not the Lords of Shadow reboot) in my opinion there’s two origin games that have made a case for Dracula’s desires.

Castlevania Lament of Innocence

As covered in another recent ask, this is the official first game in the timeline

Here you play as Leon Belmont whose betrothed Sara is kidnapped by an ancient vampire named Walter Bernhard. Leon’s close friend Mathias Cronqvist, an alchemist who is grief stricken over the loss of his wife Elisabetha (who died of an illness while he was away), informs Leon that Walter was the one who kidnapped Sara and Leon goes to save her. Over the course of the game you learn that there are two powerful vampire relics and Walter is in possession of one: the Ebony Stone that produces darkness and makes Walter effectively invulnerable (as he is strongest in the darkness the stone produces).

You also create the Vampire Killer whip during the game which has the power to break the Ebony Stone and make Walter susceptible to damage. At the game’s climax, when Walter is close to Death (both metaphorically and physically) it’s revealed that Leon’s buddy Mathias had the other vampire relic, the Crimson Stone, the whole time. This relic absorbs the souls and power of other vampires (kind of a Ghostbuster situation).

Walter’s soul is captured in the stone, but Mathias uses it for his own dark purposes - to become a vampire himself and take revenge against God (whom he curses for taking his wife from him). Mathias eventually gives up his name and adopts the name Dracula instead and is canonically the Dracula in all Castlevania Games.

This origin story unfortunately leaves a lot to be desired in Dracula’s motivations because it basically amounts to Dracula being a man who’s just mad that God took his wife from him and uses another Vampire’s power (Walter) as his own. He isn’t noble or powerful without the stone (which is this red thing he wears in much of the official artwork apparently)

But I guess “stick it to the man” is technically a motivation…

Castlevania Legends

Now I’m a Lament of Innocence denier personally and would prefer to use the older games as the source to answer this question.

According to the Legend’s instruction book the story is:

IT WAS THE MIDDLE AGES IN TRANSYLVANIA. ONE MAN CAME INTO POSSESSION OF AN EVIL POWER, AND THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS WAS BORN. BEFORE LONG, THIS BEING HAD USED HIS NEW-FOUND SUPERNATURAL POWERS AND THE MAGIC POWERS OF HIS FOLLOWERS TO SPREAD HIS PLAGUE OF DARKNESS AND DESPAIR THROUGHOUT THE EUROPEAN CONTINENT, HE WAS COUNT DRACULA. EVEN TO MENTION THE NAME OF THIS PRINCE OF DARKNESS WAS TO CAST FEAR INTO THE HEARTS OF THE PEOPLE IN THE LAND, WHO WERE POWERLESS TO DO ANYTHING SAVE VOICE THEIR CONCERN. HOWEVER, AT ABOUT THE SAME TIME A BABY GIRL POSSESSING SPECIAL POWERS WAS BORN TO A FAMILY LIVING IN A REMOTE AREA OF THE COUNTRY. "YOUR POWERS ARE MEANT FOR A HIGHER PURPOSE AND NOT ONLY FOR YOURSELF” SHE WAS OFTEN REMINDED AS SHE WAS GROWING UP. THE PLOT OF THIS GIRL'S FATE BEGAN TO DEVELOP ONE NIGHT IN HER SEVENTEENTH YEAR WHEN SHE MET UP WITH THE YOUNG ENIGMATIC ALUCARD, WHO WAS ON A JOURNEY TO SEARCH FOR THE FATHER THAT HAD DESERTED HIM. THE YOUNG GIRL'S NAME WAS SONIA BELMONT, AND SHE WAS THE FIRST OF THE VAMPIRE HUNTERS IN THE BELMONT FAMILY TO BECOME LEGENDARY.

Now unfortunately this doesn’t tell us too much. In this origin Dracula exists already, obtained his power by coming “into possession” of it, and his motivation is simply “spread his plague of darkness and despair throughout the European continent” (Africa, Asia, the Americas, and Australia are all safe apparently).

Now I don’t want to theorycraft too far off the actual game material here, but I do know that Vampire Hunter D was heavily inspirational to the development of Castlevania. Many people know the anime films, but Vampire Hunter is a series of novels first published in 1983 (three years before the first CV game was released) and in these novels the being known as the “Sacred Ancestor” is the progenitor of all the other vampires and the oldest among them. He is known as the Vampire King or God and D is the Sacred Ancestor’s son (so to speak). This was the inspiration for Alucard, who we know in Castlevania lore to be Dracula’s direct descendant.

The VH novels present vampires as a race unto themselves, not the traditional mythos of humans given vampiric power (although they can still create vampires from humans).

Novel #17: White Devil Mountain (published 2014) is more explicit in this stating that vampires predate humans by possibly millions of years. The Sacred Ancestor, as the oldest among them, felt it was his duty to watch over his people and did many experiments over the years to try and save his race from eventual extermination (not necessarily by the hands of Hunters, but through a variety of circumstances). Some experiments included inventions that could block out the sun and give eternal darkness (a common theme in vampire lore).

The Dracula of Castlevania seems as much inspired by Bram Stoker’s creation and the historical Vlad Tepes as he was by Vampire Hunter’s Sacred Ancestor.

If the Sacred Ancestor’s motivation was as ward and protector of his race, acting in various ways to save them and ensure their continued reign and existence then I would say Dracula’s motivation is similar: “spread his plague of darkness” by ensuring that the curse of night spreads and his people can remain powerful and eternal.

In Short

Both games present Dracula as a man who obtained power through unholy means. Walter Bernhard’s origins aren’t necessarily explained in the game and it’s possible that like Vampire Hunter D he is of a race of vampires older than humanity and Dracula simply is just a man using his power as his own. However I feel Dracula’s motivation may still be similar to that of the Sacred Ancestor from VH: with great power comes great responsibility (thanks Ben!) and his duty is to protect and allow his people to thrive in a world hellbent on destroying them.

[namiusedbubble]

When they have a crush on you

SEBASTIAN SALLOW:

☠️  Sebastian is not the type to hide his crush. Even before he figures it out, everyone around him will know because of how differently he’ll treat you compared to everyone else.

☠️  He’s charming and friendly towards you, which happens to be his biggest tell as he can be quite snappy and temperamental to anyone who interrupts him.

☠️  He tends to become hyper-focused on things, whether it be spending hours with his head buried in a book or diligently searching spider-infested catacombs for a dark relic, there is no stopping him until he gets what he wants. That naturally extends to wooing you.

☠️  Suddenly he’ll find any and all reasons to spend time with you. Oh, you’re good at Herbology? It just so happens that Sebastian is in desperate need of a tutor! Oh, you’re a good duelist? Please help me take down this goblin camp real quick before meeting my family Why don’t you join this exclusive little dueling club I’m in? 

☠️  Not only does he want to spend as much time with you as possible, he also wants to be as close as physically possible without crossing any of your boundaries. He’ll push you behind him when facing enemies, he’ll constantly lean against things with his arm next to your head, and he’ll offer his hand to help you up and down ledges or off your broom.  

☠️  He has a jealous streak, so if he sees you becoming particularly close with anyone he deems a potential romantic threat, he’ll insert himself into the situation and either make an excuse to pull you away or pout and glare until the other person becomes uncomfortable enough that they’ll excuse themselves just to get away from him.

☠️  In any case, I don’t imagine you’ll remain in the “crush zone” for very long. Sebastian can hardly go five minutes around you without saying too much or revealing his or someone else’s secrets, let alone try to keep his feelings hidden when they grow every day you spend with each other.

OMINS GAUNT:

🐍  Ominis is a bit more subtle in his affections than Sebastian. It will take him a while before he approaches you, just so he can be sure he actually wants to pursue you and it isn’t just a fleeting crush. 🐍  He’ll sit near you, but not next to you, in classes and at meal times. He likes hearing your voice as you chat to your friends or make snide remarks about the professors when you think nobody is listening. Sebastian will often catch him smiling at seemingly nothing whenever you’re around. 🐍  You’re both desperately trying to keep yourselves awake in History of Magic one day when Ominis makes a witty comment at the expense of Binns, and he’s floored when you laugh next to him, quietly leaning over to share your own comments about the professor’s riveting tale about another centuries old wizarding war. 🐍  From that day on, Ominis went out of his way to make you laugh. Whenever he’d find you in-between classes, he would sit next to you on the bench and make passing remarks about the other students. It seemed he knew everything about everyone and had something to say about all of it, and you found his little quips absolutely hilarious. You’d always thought Ominis Gaunt was a refined, quiet gentleman, yet here he was tearing into Leander Prewett with no remorse and telling first years that the giant squid liked to feast on children walking too close to the lake. 🐍  He would be so sweet to you, doting, even. If you’d had a particularly stressful week catching up on assignments or running errands for everyone and their dog, Ominis would offer to keep breakfast for you so you could sleep for just a few minutes longer. When he notices you rushing about the castle, he’d stop you to ask if you’d taken a break that day and if you’d like to accompany him to the library for a spot of light reading. On the various occasions you’d come back injured, he would offer you his arm as a way to keep you steady. Eventually, offering you his hand or arm becomes second nature and you’ll find yourselves walking like that even when there’s no need to support you physically. 🐍  I think it would take a long time before Ominis admits his feelings. He enjoys the safety of the courting stage because his family are less likely to involve themselves. He’s also afraid you’ll reject a serious relationship with him because of their reputation and behaviour. He might huff and puff about how it’s a gentleman’s responsibility, but he’d secretly appreciate if you were the one to make the next move.

GARRETH WEASLEY:

🧪  I imagine Garreth would have to be friends with someone before he develops a crush on them. 🧪  While this social butterfly could easily make friends with a wall, that doesn’t mean he knows how to flirt with one. He’s so subtle with his intentions that it’s easy to assume he’s just being his regular, friendly self.

🧪  He would take a break from his experiments to brew you an endless supply of Wiggenweld potions for your adventures. He knew you were capable of handling yourself, but he worries about you and wants to help in any way he can.

🧪  He’d make it a point to accompany you around the castle, offering to carry your books or help with extra assignments. He’d refrain from using you as a guinea pig, but he would ask you to help him find ingredients for various potions, sometimes even at strange hours of the night. Most of the time, he has no use for the things he is asking for, he just wants to spend time with you.

🧪  Despite the Weasleys not having a lot of money, Garreth would always offer to treat you to a butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks. He often buys (and occasionally swipes) bags of your favourite sweets from Honeydukes, even though he isn’t partial to them himself. He thinks he’s being subtle by asking you to share, but it doesn’t escape your notice that he never takes a single one, instead leaving them all to you.

🧪  Garreth eventually confesses his feelings to you while drunk on the effects of Felix Felicius. He had been trying to brew it for you, knowing you had a particularly difficult mission ahead, but he had to try it first to make sure it wouldn’t turn you purple or make you break out in boils.

AMIT THAKKAR:

⭐  This poor boy somehow manages to be both a stuttering and word vomiting mess around you.  

⭐  One minute he is telling you all about the great tales he plans to write, how Binns will be assigning his books to every student at Hogwarts by the end of the decade, and then you’ll give him that smile and he’s suddenly blushing and stuttering uncontrollably.  

⭐  He’s most comfortable around you at night, when the stars are there to calm his nerves. This is when you’ll get to see the true Amit, the cute, gentle boy who will point constellations out to you for hours if you’re interested. Although he’d much prefer to find real constellations and their associated imagery, you can occasionally rope him into a silly game of ‘connect the stars’, only because he loves the way your face brightens when you vaguely recognise a mooncalf or niffler dotted in the sky. 

⭐  He is incredibly intelligent, so if you ever need help with a subject, you can rest assured that Amit is more than willing to offer you (and only you) his tutoring services, free of charge! ⭐  Amit is 100% going to support you in all of your endeavors, regardless of how much interest he has in them himself. You play on the Quidditch team? He’ll be at every single practice session to cheer you on. You enjoy ballroom dancing in a room full of dead people? He’s now practicing in his common room every night so he won’t step on your feet (Go to sleep Amit, it’s three in the morning!). You name it, he’ll be there, probably reading a theory book about the history of the hobby. ⭐  It might take him ages, but he will 100% confess to you in the cheesiest way possible. Maybe it will be through an original poem personally delivered to you by owl, or maybe it will be through spelling “I  ❤️ U” in the stars. Regardless, he’ll make sure you’ll be melted into a puddle by his sweetness.

[faerievampling]

Killing Time

Chapter 9: Power

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Spawn Female Tav

Summary: After months apart, Tav and Astarion fight to be in each other's arms once more.

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: 18+. PiV. M/M/F threesome. graphic violence. angst.

Link to Ao3

Masterlist

Last Chapter | Next Chapter

Seven concubines, each unique in their own way: three dragonborn, a tiefling, two humans, and a drow. The others were hardly remarkable, but the drow caught your eye in particular: a male. You hadn’t seen a male drow in many years, and you had forgotten their beauty: his skin was the color of moonlight, his hair white and long, pooling around his taut waist. He was rather tall for an elf, his shoulders wide and hairless.

Each of the concubines were dressed in a similar fashion as you, only the men had their chests exposed. Each concubine was as gorgeous as the last, but the years of being a toy for an evil master was apparent on their bodies: many of them had visible scars. The drow had taken the most damage, yet his beauty far surpassed the rest. 

“These are my favorites. The others are kept elsewhere,” Moth looks over to you, his hand draped around the back of your neck, pushing your head down only slightly. You understood why he called you ‘little one’ now, despite your old age: you were clearly the shortest and smallest one here, given that most of his favorites were rather tall men, the only other women in the group being two of the three dragonborn.

“Women have too much…mental constitution. Men are easier,” Moth vaguely explains to you.“There is power in taking another man. But women are too smart, too small. You are the exception.”

Creep. Also, you think he may have been calling you stupid. 

“The drow will join us later. Come now, they are restless from your lingering odor. You still don’t quite smell like us.” You never would. There was no way this lord didn’t know that. “Let me show you my collection, Tav.”

Moth guides you out of the day room, down to a staircase that takes you down towards the inner chambers, where the favored and the other spawn lie. The museum was just across the hall from another stairway descent, and you wondered how far down the palace actually went. Moth kept the entire estate dark and damp, its tackiness could never amount to the decadence and good sensibilities of the Ancunín estates.

“There are a certain number of cursed objects down here, unsavory things. Do not touch anything.”

The room is large: filled with various objects, statues, some encased in glass. As you inch closer to the first table you see, you feel your stomach flop down to your core, and you’re already baring your fangs. The relics of the past were here to haunt you. A statue of you, even your old armor. A circular relic with jagged edges and so many books. One in particular catches your eye, you are gravitating to it because of its scent…the musk. the faint smell of bergamot even after so many years.

You bring your face close to the pages, gathering as much of Astarion’s scent as you could. The artifacts outside glass had been magically protected since their discovery, Moth tells you, and the spell book must have been found shortly after the fall of the brain, because your husband’s scent is strong, almost fresh. It makes your eyes water, your gut twist and turn, your dead heart nearly thumping in your chest – it almost feels biological, your body craving him, a spawn desperate for the touch of her Master. You think maybe Astarion was right to have called you spawn…it’s what you are, isn’t it?

You close your eyes. Your thoughts turn ever to the dark, but you don’t know how to remedy this. Astarion did everything for you; your husband fixed any problem you ever had. He wasn’t here now to ease your pain or uplift you. But instead of making you feel empowered, you just feel so lonely.

Knowing that you are a spawn so far from her beloved Master, reminds you, once again, that being around this other lord is wrong. He smells wrong, he is wrong, like his body is inherently incompatible with your own. Why doesn’t he sense it? Even the other concubines had.

You touch the pages, thinking about how Astarion’s hands had once held this book, had once held you. You can’t read the words anymore. Written in a language that had changed a lot in two millennia, and you could hardly remember the symbols of centuries past. They looked like strange characters, prompting you to gingerly trace them with your fingers. Astarion loved reading all sorts of genres, and you wondered what this one was about. Was it something he was studying? Maybe something for pleasure? A mystery? A romance? Smut?

“I have collected for a very long time, as you can see,” Moth says as he admires a plate of what was labeled as ‘infernal iron’. You think you could stay nestled in the scent of Astarion forever, the only comfort your weary mind has found in months. But you move on–you can cry later, in the daylight, when you are safe. Keep your head high.

You wander the expansive museum, finding your way to the statue of yourself located in the center of the room. You can’t help but think how much Astarion and Lae’zel would hate this: some insane vampire lord hoarding the things from your party, your adventure. It was like a creepy shrine with you in the center: and everything was beginning to make a little more sense.

‘It’s simple. He’s insane, has no true consort, and treats his spawn like slaves.’ You say this to your inner voice, the one inside your head that contains your inner monster, the one that threatened to lunge at Moth with every movement he made. 

You study the statue of yourself; your expression the artist gave the statue was curious to you, not what you expected, but you can’t pinpoint it. What is it? Confidence? Heroics? Maybe your outfit just looked really good on you, which was certainly true.

A thump of a heartbeat approaches. Silky fur moves through your legs, the cat’s tail wrapping around your calf as it already saunters away. You look back at the statue, admiring yourself in some sort of jealous awe. Was this statue commissioned before you were turned? Maybe that slightly dumb, arrogant expression of yours was that of humanity. Whatever the artist saw in you was something you didn’t see in yourself – you wonder if you ever really had.

Walking your way through the large room, you spot a collection of scrolls. They have a lovely scent, one familiar to you but you can’t quite pin down the owner. Your eyes sweep over the scrolls as you lock in on one in particular: arcane lock. You swipe it, stuffing it in your robes as Moth admires his collection; he is swept up in the history, in his interest, nearly forgetting about you, the most priceless relic of all. 

You continue to make your way throughout the room, gawking at the various instruments encased. There is a long silence before Moth’s cold, deep voice breaks through the stale air.

“You know, Tav,” Your name on his lips was grating. You grit your teeth. “There are several details and events that have been lost to time. But one in particular has been on my mind for two thousand years.”

He has your attention now. 

“Did you know that there are almost no records about the disappearance of the Szarr family?”

You have to take a minute to absorb his question. “…Cazador. You’re talking about Cazador.” 

“Yes. You really should try to keep up.” Moth grumbles. “Tell me how you did it. How you killed him.”

You huff, your posture challenging as you bring your arms down to your side from where they had once clasped together. “Tell me how you got all this stuff.” The artifacts in here were yours: Lae’zel’s stuff. Your old friends' stuff – your husband’s possessions. These didn’t belong to this mad lord.

A long silence. “I stole it. Bought it. Found it. Bargained for it. Your turn.”

You gather what you can from your own distant memory, and anything else Astarion had told you about the event. 

“We sacrificed him. But before that, my party and I…” You think Lae’zel had been with you, but part of you thinks your mind is creating this memory with Lae’zel, because she was at the forefront. Wasn’t that large wood elf with you? Who was the one who begged you and Astarion to stop? “We snuck up on him. His spawn was incapacitated so we only had to fight his wolves and ghouls.”

“Hmm. And do you happen to know why Mephistopheles refuses to enter into another deal like the one he had with Cazador and Astarion?” His question is cold, calculated. Your gut twisted at the sound of your husband’s name on Moth’s lips. Before you can answer, he chuckles as he walks up to you, his large hand snaking around your neck. His hold on you is forceful, far tighter than a lover should ever hold their other. 

“You do not know much of anything, do you? Maybe I should have taken Astarion instead,” He pauses after this, long enough to make you shutter. “He is more my type. But you were the one I wanted, despite that small, stupid little brain of yours, my doll.” 

His hold on you relaxes, allowing you to speak. Your voice comes out weakly. “Surely you can’t remember everything that’s happened in two millennia. Only my…” my husband. “...my old master can do that. There isn’t another vampire out there who can remember their whole lives.” 

“You have settled for something so close to greatness, you and Astarion both,”Moth rasps; you stifle a whimper at hearing his name again. You know he only does this to hurt you. 

Moth releases you, and you are a bit dramatic with the way you clutch your throat; seeing your pain made him smile, and he might be keen to hurt you less later on. 

The conversation ends here, but the way Moth looks at you confirms that he has far more secrets than he lets on. To your surprise, he doesn’t notice the missing scroll, leading you back to the boudoir in silence. You carefully place it in your wardrobe, deep within the clothes that you were hardly allowed to wear, and you begged to the gods that he wouldn’t find it.

~

Astarion has you in his arms. He’s standing up, the back of your knees resting in the crook of his arms as hands support your back, fucking up into you with such ferocity that you’re jelly in his arms. The tip of his cock bullies your gummy walls, reaching deep within you to meet your delicious g-spot. Every thrust, slick, hot and squelching as skin slaps skin, sends you into utter ecstasy. Your husband knew your body so flawlessly, every in and out of your holes, your tender spots. He nipped at your neck, drawing blood as he tasted you. There are no words between the two of you, caught up entirely in each other's passion – your beautiful connection ensured you knew his every move, all his pleasure, what he felt in his heart. You are both entirely known to each other. 

You hold the man’s cheeks between your palms: his kisses are light, far more gentle than Moth’s. His lips are soft, tender, and it almost feels good the way his hands roam your body. If Moth wasn’t watching you, you think you could have lost yourself in the drow. 

As your hand slides down his hairless chest, you can’t help but note his soft skin– there is something familiar about it, trudging up thoughts of silver curls and elegant ears. The drow looks surprised when you pull away from him, inspecting his face for just a moment. He doesn’t look like Astarion, not really; but the way he carries himself, his strong, lean body, and his white hair reminds you of your amour.

Geldon Moth sat in a chair, fully clothed in a resplendent white and gold garb. He stares coldly at you as you shift away from the man on the bed. 

“What is it, woman? Was this not the one you wanted?” Moth asks; he may have been surprised, you think, but his face didn’t show it.

“I-it’s nothing,” You say, gritting your teeth as you carefully prepare your next words. “Why must I share a bed with anyone but you, Master?”

“It is simple, little one. You are mine to be shared. I shall do what I want with you, and I want to watch you be ravaged.” Moth sits back, his hands resting on his knees. “I expect you will lie with all my concubines after some time, maybe the other spawn too. The pretty ones, anyway. You really are my special one.” A shift in his eyes, a turn in your gut; you feel the lips of the drow on you as he puts his hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You turn your attention back to the drow, bodies joining as you try to keep your composure: you know Moth only means to degrade you, and crying would only make it worse. Moth joined the fray only after the two of you reached your climax. The way the drow’s cock responds to Moth’s touch makes you realize just how much control Moth maintains over his spawn.

The drow hadn’t spoken at all, muttering only half-hearted praises, hardly letting whimpers escape his pretty lips. And the way his body became aroused by his Master was clearly unnatural. When the drow looks over at you, his hand reaching for your ankle, his broken spirit is all you see. Haunted by years of torment, abuse, perversion – a shell of a man. They ignore you when tears start to leak from your eyes: it was involuntary, almost, and you want to go home so desperately. 

Afterwards, you lie between the two men, their arms wrapped around you, caging the animal that you know you are, you try your best to relax. There was something comforting about the drow’s touch, and you find yourself mindlessly running your fingers through his hair. Moth sits up, crossing his legs on the bed as he watches the two of you lay in each other's arms. 

“Moments that I live for…” Moth says, which surprises you: his tone is surprisingly tender. “I knew you would like him. I promise I won’t take him from you. I will not be so cruel as Astarion.”

The hairs on your neck prick up, a shiver of anxiety and general distaste filling your gut; you can even taste it on your tongue. “What are you talking about?”

You push your way off the drow, bringing yourself to a seat, your attention on the dragonborn. He’s smiling at you. “Do not tell me you have forgotten the lovers you and your Master once shared. There were several who met rather tragic, untimely, strange demises. Do you not remember them? Maybe one in particular sticks out to you.”

You gulp. You can't recall his name any longer, but you know in your heart and mind who he was. “Why would I ever want to think of him when the two of you are right here, in front of me?” Your words are like knives in your own heart. 

Moth smile fades as he moves toward you, his body shifting atop of you as his tongue crashes between your lips, meaning to take you again. What happens next is hardly important, the lewd sounds of squelching and breathless whispers, your mind moving so far away from yourself as you focus solely on the pleasure of your body: it was all you could do except silently beg for your husband’s forgiveness, knowing that your pleas went unheard and unanswered.

Your freedom hadn’t been earned. You were nothing more than an object to use and parade around, kept naked and hungry in the boudoir. 

~

There is one evening where Moth is particularly rough with you, leaving you covered in bites and bruises. You felt quite broken this evening, your memories of your husband and the friends you made at the Crystalline Spire filling your memory despite your feeble attempts at pushing them away. You missed Lae’zel, and Ziir’o, Marg’o and Quinel, Joss, even Chae and the others. You even found yourself thinking of the pretty Kith’rak Elan, the one with the skin like a peach, and King Orpheus, in his resplendent garb and brutally elegant mannerisms. 

You thought about the Astral Sea, your dreams being filled with images of you and Astarion riding a dragon, Lae’zel and your other Githyanki friends next to you atop their own. Astarion had reminded you of your time in the Astral Plane, and you wondered about the expanded universe, what was beyond that small pocket you had experienced.

You wipe away Moth’s seed and blood from your chin as his cruel voice breaks the silence in the boudoir.

“I will be leaving for a few days.” Moth states as he dresses himself. “I shall leave this evening, while the night is still young.”

You didn’t ask any questions. You didn’t have it in you tonight, and Moth didn’t seem to care if you answered or not. You merely stare at the floor until you hear the click of the door. You had been left alone in this room many times, often bumbling around in the daylight, searching for a way out. 

“But there isn’t one, is there?” A soft, eerily sweet voice came from behind you, making you jump, twisting around in the bed to identify the intruder. You bare your fangs, but the entity merely laughs.

It is a man, so beautiful, his facial features chiseled and angular. His almond shaped eyes gleamed a gorgeous gold, his hair black as night, silky and pushed behind his ears. His body is muscular, built and large, his skin lightly tanned, almost a cream color. He’s taller than you, his nakedness entirely exposed. He has beautiful wings, white and elegant, and you know he must be an Aasimir: an angel. He was glowing.

“Tav Ancunín! How are ya?” He smiled, his teeth so white it nearly blinds you. “That’s right. I’m here to save you, girl.”

Your eyes are wide when he comes to you, arms outstretched, pulling you into a bear hug. You can hardly flinch away, your eyes still adjusting to his bright aura. His energy is warm, so light and fluffy, and it makes you feel some level of hope.

“Ugh, you’re even prettier in person,” He drawls, his voice almost tender.

“Who are you?” You ask, your hands moving to the angel’s shoulders to push yourself away. 

He relents, smiling as he speaks. “Someone who is here to help you. So long as you help me.”

You sit up now, not bothering to cover your own nakedness. You quickly notice this man has no heartbeat, no scent, nothing that would cause a vampire to notice them, other than their otherworldly presence, of course.

“Yeah, I can hide those things. Wouldn’t want to be attacked by some monster, would I?” His smile doesn’t falter, never leaving his eyes. He can read your undead thoughts – rare, you think, and very annoying. “Let’s cut to the chase, beautiful. You’re in very dire straits. I can get one of those silver bands off of you. I predict it would give you just enough advantage to escape this awful place. Enter into a contract with me and I’ll remove a band, give you some new powers and a boost to that little ‘psychic’ ability you have.”

You blink, mulling this over in your head. This was a lot to take in, especially without Astarion’s guided hand. Your husband was the one who dealt with the money, the dealings, all of that – you knew nothing of this. 

“Gah, vampires take so long to decide. So patient. It’s annoying~” His voice nearly twinkles. 

“Well, hold on!” You exclaim, your voice more desperate than you ever wished to hear. “I just don’t know…I don’t know what to ask.” You shake your head, trying to gather your thoughts. “What in the hells are you proposing in return? What do you want from me?” 

He flashes his perfect teeth. “I’ll be your patron. So…I’ll have you do things for me, sometimes.”

You frown. “I hardly want to be bound to you for eternity.”

“But you need to get back to your Master.” 

“My husband. I need to get back to my family.” You can’t think of all the things you need to say. You know you’re missing something.

“Haha! Whatever~”Angel puts his hands on his hips, his abdomen flexing slightly. 

“And you’re only offering to get one band off. Why? And what could I possibly give you anyways? I’m a vampire, my soul is already claimed.”

“I only have the power right now to get one off! Duh. That’s why I need your help, beautiful.” Angel takes your hands, joining you on the bed as you are bathed in a warmth that feels like the sun. It’s so lovely, you want to cry. “I just need your service. Don’t you want out of here?”

You do. So badly. “Yes. I miss the sun. I miss feeling beautiful. I miss my husband. Gods, I miss him so much.” You sob. Angel brings you into his chest, patting your head as you cry. His flesh is warm, and he smells like fresh grass and an ocean breeze. 

“We can put that in the contract, girl. I’ll get you back to your man. I’ll do what I can to help you escape, but I need you to serve me. I won’t ask you to do anything that will harm you or those you care for. But I have enemies, and Moth is one of them. I’ll just have you do some favors for me, that’s all. Normal patron and payee stuff, you know. And I promise I’ll treat you really good. I’ll only fuck you if you ask~”

Well, you couldn’t help but be relieved about that last bit. Still, there are so many questions left unanswered. “What kind of favors?”

“Killing Geldon Moth, for starters. I’m bound to an item in this very palace, you see, and I can’t leave. So that’ll be your first mission. Besides, if you plan on going to the Astral Sea, you need all the help you can get.”

You close your eyes for a moment; just how deep was he able to go in your head? “Tell me who you are.”

Angel’s smile doesn't waver, but there is a new wrinkle in his brow. “Ugh. I’m the son of Lastai, the goddess of modest enjoyment of pleasure or whatever. You don’t need to know my name for now. I liked to play too much, that’s why I’m here in Toril. What I want doesn’t matter: what you need does.”

He was right, maybe it didn’t matter anymore; what truly mattered was being free. Your rational mind is leaving you the longer you think about eating Moth’s heart.

“Alright. What must I do?” You hoped this wouldn’t be a mistake.

Angel’s smile somehow gets even brighter. He was so lovely. “Amazing, wonderful. I already know you’re going to be my favorite girl.” 

With two fingers, Angel gently tilts your chin up to him. Your noses are almost touching, his lips so close to yours. Everything around you becomes white, and it nearly blinds you. You’re wrapped in his wings. 

“All you gotta do is kiss me. I promise to get you back to your husband and I promise not to bother you too much!”

You pause, knowing it’s far too late to back down now. “I know there’s things you aren’t telling me. It can’t be this easy.”

Angel chuckles, his voice uplifting your spirit with every note.

“Kiss me, Mrs. Ancunín, and find out.” You can’t wait any longer, and so you do. Wanting to take your own agency in your hands, even though it was entirely faux, you bring your lips to his. The moment of impact, you feel a burst of light searing through your left eye, causing you to wince, but Angel only draws you in deeper to him, slipping his tongue between your lips. Just as quickly as the pain came, it leaves, and you sigh a breath of relief as you feel yourself slip back to reality.

Angel is already gone, and you think it was some sort of psychosis induced dream, but you note how different your body feels: you’re stronger, more rejuvenated. Your body still aches, but you certainly feel better than before: looking down at your ankles, seeing your left leg free of any silver, you confirm to yourself that this was real. 

This is it. Moth would certainly notice the band gone. Hurriedly, you run to the basin to splash yourself with water, to steel yourself for whatever is to come, before catching your reflection in the mirror: the first thing you notice is your bright golden eye, having replaced your left one. That searing pain…that lying fucking Angel. What the fuck did he do to me?

“What in the hells, Angel!?” You say aloud, nearly hoping for a response, but there is none. You can’t wait around for too long – the sun is approaching, meaning that all the other vampires in the castle would be resting, going into an undead slumber to waste away the day. How many could you kill in their sleep? How big was the palace? How many servants would be running around? There were too many unknowns, and you only hoped whatever the hell you agreed to would be worth it. There was no turning back now, unless you want to be the Rat-Catcher Queen for the rest of eternity. 

You feel yourself glance to the door, something nudging your sight over it. The door to the boudoir functioned similarly to the balcony door, and you find yourself using a scroll of arcane lock, the door creaking open.

You slide out of the boudoir, finding yourself at the level of the house you had seen when you met the other concubines. You run down the hallway, as fast as you can go, and the moment you catch a whiff of a mortal, they are beneath you, your fangs ripping into their skin as you feast on their blood. You think nothing of reason, humanity, nothing of life and the value of it. You aren’t even alive, because you feel like an empty vessel of bloodlust and desire for carnage. 

You want to shroud the world in darkness. 

Your rational mind comes back to you once the servant is far beyond saving. This would do no good – this vessel wouldn’t be fit to fight alongside you. You move on, finding yourself drawn to a door, which opens to the lavish garden. Crashing through it, you soak up the sun. It feels so good, you laugh as you raise your arms above your head, bringing your palms up to face the star. You enjoy this for only a moment before you sense someone near. 

You need to make sure this one will be fit enough to suit your needs.

This one is a woman; you cover her mouth with your palm as you drink from her, her thrashes beneath you being no different than wrestling a calf. When she is close to death, you carry her bridal style, running around the garden until you find a suitable place to bury her.

You claw your way through the dirt, digging as fast as you can, making a shallow grave to toss her in. You think twice about this, placing her gently in the dirt. 

“I’m…I’m only a little sorry. If I’m taking you away from someone you love, then I guess I’ll be even more sorry. Lae’zel would want me to be sorry. My other friends would want me to be sorry. But you’re mine now, because my husband is more important.” You don’t even know why you announce this, maybe to feel something, maybe to evoke something within you that reminds you that you’re still human, because you simply feel like a monster. Even hearing your own voice helped you recognize the human inside because you didn’t think you even looked like one anymore. You are scarred, mismatched, covered in blood with only a nightgown to cover your body. You were barefoot, your hair is wild, already tangled from your motions. 

“So fucking unfair…” You say to your feet, no longer focused on the woman gasping in her grave. Others are coming, and they are only subject to the same treatment as the last woman. But the others only alert everyone else, and it becomes something of a bloodbath, leveling the estates servants in just a few minutes. You bury four of them before losing your patience, your bloodlust overwhelming you as you gorged yourself on their life essence.

You know your spawn would rise sometime mid-afternoon, before the sun set, but the moment you killed any of Moth’s concubines, he would be aroused to suspicion, and you had to make sure your spawn were ready by that point. Once you’ve had your fill, you scope out the entire palace, ensuring there were no others around: everyone else had retired to the crypts below, which was precisely where you were to go next.

Your eye is influencing your vision over towards the door to the museum in the palace. This must be where Angel is bound.

When you open the door, you can’t help but flit back to the book, your nose so close to the pages that you can feel the parchment. Taking in Astarion’s scent one last time, because part of you thinks you might actually die, but the other part of you begs to differ. 

“I love you, Star.”

You turn, looking around until your eyes focus on a strange object in the corner. When you approach the object, you feel desperate to flee, but you don’t. You aren’t too keen on breaking that contract.

With a swift motion, you smash the case, removing the container inside. It’s a wooden box, square and delicate, fitting in your palm. Something is telling you to open it, and you can’t tear your eyes away. With your index finger and thumb, you slowly pry the lid open. A swirl of light comes from the box, procuring Angel behind you, who merely smiles. “Thanks, girl! Okay, bye!✩”

“Wait, are you really–“

“Yep, gotta bounce. Got shit to do. Don’t worry, you’ll be hearing from me. Later, beautiful.” And with that, Angel was gone once more, teleported away to who knows where. You hadn’t exactly expected him to stay and help once he was freed, but you thought he’d do more than this.

Thinking about the seven favorites and gods only knows how many other spawn, you’re starting to think maybe four spawn wasn’t enough. You didn’t even really know much about fledgling vampires, it had been so long since you were around them. You know they need direction and blood.

You take your time cleaning yourself off, brushing your hair, throwing it in a braid for the fight to come. You find the most secure dress you could find, even finding some cotton panties to wear underneath them. You wished you had some shoes, simply because of your right foot, which still burned with every movement. If you got injured running around, it would probably take longer to heal on that side, you suspect. 

You’re absolutely buzzing. You’re filled with energy, bloodlust, and you highly anticipate the rising…they are screaming. They are screaming for you. But you are ready.

‘You will not scream. You will not think. You will think nothing but of me. Rise, hide from the sun, rejuvenate, and join me in battle.’

The spawn are silent apart from the slight sizzling of their skin. One woman and three men: all merely the most convenient choices at the time. They don’t really need to eat, and you think they’ll probably be killed by the favored, but they would buy you enough time. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

You can almost hear Astarion’s voice in your head: Hurry up, my love, and come to me. I need you.

You haven’t felt this awake in a while. Something was rising within you, something that you’ve been missing. ‘Follow.’ The five of you flit down, tearing at the walls and the doors to the favored spawn quarters, where the seven peacefully slept. The first one to go was the one closest to you, who takes a simple plummet to the head, the smell of blood and spinal fluid filling your senses, invigorating you further, and you seemingly forget why you’re here at all. Your body flies around the room, tearing and thrashing body parts around as you destroy Moth’s precious spawn just as he’s destroyed you. Your spawn are ravenous and terrified, attacking randomly and relentlessly, feeding off the sheer energy of terror and violence their Master imposed on them; but they are strong, far stronger than you anticipated, and you find they fare well in battle.

”Hahaha!” Your laugh rings out as you slice into a man’s jugular, blood pooling down your chin, puddles on the carpet. “I invented talent, beauty, and the art of warfare, you know!”

You can hear the slapping of your feet on the ancient wood, slick with blood and other gore, their bodies becoming indistinguishable to you as even more spawn pour into the room. Your mind almost goes quiet, you drown out the sounds of screams, struggles, hisses and cries; even the burning in your leg has subsided, and all you know is bloodshed.

All you know is bloodshed. Should you make more spawn? It feels really good to control so many bodies at once. “I am so fucking awesome. I am the most powerful vampire in the fucking world. Fuck you!” 

One of your spawn knows magic: “Ha. Throw some fireballs, stupid spawn.” Your stomach is roiling in excitement as you hear ‘ignis’ repeated over and over. You transform into a bat, squeaking over the screams, stumbling as you transform back. One of the female dragonborn grabs at your dress, tearing it as she pulls you to you. Your arm goes through her chest, your muscles numb to whatever damage they are taking. 

A rumble behind you. Something is coming. Wolves, ghouls, Moth himself, you know. You turn, “Goodmorning!”, but as you lay eyes on this man, the one that has raped you and assaulted you and ruined you, you suddenly aren’t enjoying yourself anymore. You’re angry, so fucking angry.

Your spawn are fast, but not fast enough: but you are. One by one, you tear through his defenses, before he comes to you, grabbing your throat and throwing you across the room. You jump, your fangs bared and hissing, and he dodges away before running back to you as he grabs you again, slamming you to the ground. Your bones crack, but you can’t even yelp, your hand clutching at his jaw, and using all your strength, you dislocate it, causing a loud crack sound to reverberate throughout the hall. Moth jumps back, screaming as he clutches his face, and you jump stop him, your fists pummeling him into the ground, his face becoming broken and beaten with every swing.

”Arrr, kaaahhh-hnng,“ You had clearly damaged his brain, his words coming out a stutter. His eye widened in panic, and it was delicious to you. His face was crushed in, one of his eyes was dislocated, and the sight would be rather horrifying to you if you had this been a different situation. But seeing him broken and beaten beneath you makes you feel big again.

“Did someone go a bit stupid?” You laugh at him, but you realize that tears are streaming down your face. They fall into the Dragonborn’s mouth, and he licks his lips; and you just start screaming. You scream so loud your throat hurts, your fists beating down on the man’s large chest. With every pound, Moth starts to scream along with you, and you think it’s less from the pain and more from your maniacal cries, which are all Moth can hear: you’re sure of it.

His cock is hard beneath you. Whether that be from something biological, as he is on the fringes of death, or if he truly was that much of a sadist and masochist, you would never know, but in this moment, it disgusts you more than anything he had ever done to you. Tearing through his throat, the dragonborn’s screams devolve to gurgles as your hand reaches for his vocal cords, tearing them out with such tremendous ferocity that they scrape together, creating a sound so unnatural you know you won’t ever forget it. 

You haven’t stopped screaming even after you wretch off his head, your battle cries still no match for that sweet sound of his last whimper, your fingers in the meat of his stupid neck stump as you bring it up to your own, planting a gentle kiss on his cheek. Your teeth violently chatter against themselves. 

“Now, Geldon Moth, you are mine.”

But that’s the last of whatever you had left in you. The palace war was still raging on, but with the Master dead, the other spawn would surely run off or stop fighting if they could. You take a deep breath, Moth’s head still in your hand. You make your way back down to the museum, and you grab two things: Astarion’s book and that old githyanki relic. They are now bloodied, the pages of the book now stained, the metal on the contraption slick with crimson. 

You don't care. You wander around the palace for a while until you find the portal room, which has all been discontinued due to Moth’s death. You merely stare before turning around, walking towards the front door of the palace. The moment you open the door, you spot the silky cat dart out of the palace, running off into the wilderness. 

You walk out rather slowly into the sun. Your spawn follow in toe, and as you keep walking into the expanse of a forest, they fall one by one, commanded not to speak or think. You walk until the sun sets, and you’re finally in the dark, alone in the woods. You’re covered in dried blood and dirt, your fingers are stiff from clutching the head of Moth, and you drop to your knees.

It’s over. The pain and suffering. Your capture. But right now, you hardly feel anything at all. You can smell the smoke and charred flesh as the Moth estate goes up in flames, creating a vibrant light through the trees. You focus on it, your vision blurry, your stomach rumbling, your eyes still wet and puffy. You didn’t know it was possible for a vampire to have so many tears.

You hear the whirring of something behind you, the light breeze feeling nice on your skin. Your tears haven't stopped, and as you turn around, you gasp as you see silver curls and crimson eyes step out of a portal, eyes red and teary. You hold out your hand, the one with Moth’s head. 

“I-I brought this for you, love,” Your words come out shaky, your voice trembling, and you can barely hold yourself up. Astarion is already crying, and he’s on his knees in front of you, taking the head from your grasp and throwing it off into the woods. His strong arms coil around your waist, his forehead resting between your breasts as his sobs ring out through the dead of night. There is a buzzing in your head, and you can’t hear his words, but you know he speaks of love as you collapse in his arms. 

Masterlist

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #20 – Foundryside by Robert Jackson Bennett

I’ve in theory been a big fan of Bennett for a couple years now, having adored American Elsewhere when I read it. I say ‘in theory’ because I had not actually followed that up by reading any of his other stuff until I happened to see him doing an AMA on r/fantasy and was jolted to go put something of his on hold. The most convenient option was Foundryside so, here we are.

The story follows Sancia, a former slave-turned-magical-experiment who now uses her rather inconveniently always-on sort of object empathy to be a really excellent thief for hire in the hopes of earning enough cash to pay some black market surgeon to make her normal again and then stay quiet about it. That price tag lures her into accepting a job for an eye-watering amount of money from what it clearly one of the merchant houses who rule the city – which she discovers to be an ancient relic, a key that can open any lock. And talk to her. And revolutionize the entire industry of enchanting upon which the city’s fortune and empire are built. She correctly assumes that there’s no way they’re planning to let her live after turning it (him) over, and things spiral out of control from there.

It’s fundamentally a heist story, with all the main action setpieces being about breaking into places and stealing things. And like all good heist stories, the protagonists are totally incapable of winning through anything like brute force, and have to be clever bastards about it – sneaking past guards, not slaughtering them in the night. Those heist sequences are all vividly described and just a lot of fun, almost worth the price of admission on their own.

So this is the rare story where calling it ‘magipunk’ is both accurate and helpful. Which is to say, it is almost literally a cyberpunk story translated into the idiom of vaguely-early-modern fantasy city states instead of corporate arcologies. Scheming oligarchs, overmighty corporate states, miraculous technologies that are only felt by the underclass as news ways of being oppressed and objectified, the works. The most triumphant and hopeful part of the ending involves the founding of a worker’s coop that doesn’t get immoderately crushed. Notably useful and plot-relevant enchanted items include a listening device, trackers, and a powered gliding rig. It’s only when you really get into it that the magic starts feeling at all magical, is what I’m saying – you could translate almost all of this into Cyberpunk 2020 terms in a couple of hours. I think it’s quite fun.

Sancia’s whole backstory – a slave on one of the plantations supplying the city with food and spices, taken as a subject for bloody experimentation in creating perfectly obedient magical cyborgs, surviving and escaping because they got sloppy with occult grammar and reality interpreted ‘be like object’ as ‘be like [INSERT NEAREST OBJECT HERE]’ – is fun on a few different levels. The story definitely leans into a running theme of the reduction of the powerless and subordinate to literal objects and tools wielded by those who control them, both metaphorically and literally. But also there’s an absolutely great beat where she’s explaining her story to the rest of the main cast who are all horrified and disgusted that anyone would do such a thing. To which she reacts very angrily and goes ‘you know that isn’t, like, worse than the whole rest of the chattel slave economy, right? More people get horribly tortured to death as part of everyday operations than creepy magical experiments?”

Sancia as a character is just a lot of fun to spend time in the head of, honestly. Her relationship with Clef (the magical key, the more literal example of being objectified and insturmentalized by one’s masters) is the core dynamic of the first ~half of the book, and it absolutely carries it. Though in the final act it then runs into the very common action/adventure story issue where she starts talking about this guy she’d known for barely a week like a life-long friend she’s shared more good times than she could count with. Entirely forgivable but like, it does stand out.

There’s this whole subtheme of, like, futile misogyny running through the text? It’s never explicitly brought up, and the only character whose actually vocally sexist on the page is the asshole philistine moneygrubbing abusive husband wannabe-coupist you’re clearly supposed to hate. But it’s a repeatedly mentioned point that the culture of enchanting grew significantly more patriarchal in the previous generation (for unstated reasons, possibly just the one epoch-defining genius being a misogynistic ass) and that this was very bad for the career prospects of several major characters. Despite this, important women in the story include a) half the main cast, b) the only competent and attentive head of any of the four merchant houses and c) the enchanting-prodigy wife of aforementioned sexist asshole who turns out to have been feeding him every useful idea he ever had until she could kill him and scoop up everything he’s gathered. This is one of those things that amuses me because it’s clearly deliberate but is never directly mentioned.

This is also one of those books that’s queer rep not in the revolutionary groundbreaking it’s-a-core-part-of-the-tezt way, but in the ‘wow isn’t it great how normal and unremarkable queer representation is now?’ way. Like, Sancia is gay, which is one of remarkably few things about herself she never expresses a single moment of angst, anger or self-doubt about, and she has the sort of C-plot romance subplot every adventure story is obligated to (right down to agreeing to go out for a drink if she survives the last big heist), but with a woman. Her sexuality otherwise basically doesn’t matter. When people ask for queer SFF book recommendations I’m never sure if offering stuff like this is missing the point or exactly what’s desired.

As mentioned, the only other book of Bennett’s I’ve read is American Elsewhere. Which was an absolutely horrible way to set my expectations going into this. Foundryside is fun adventure fantasy, but it has far fewer literary pretensions. The prose is incredibly readable – it’s absolutely a page turner – but that’s basically all it aspires to be. Elsewhere had several different passages I stopped and reread just for the pleasure of it, Foundryside I went back and reread only when I skimmed past some important detail and got confused.

But it’s a really fun fantasy heist story, and the sequel promises to be about a rampant artificial intelligence clockwork djinn which turned against the ancients who made her. So I’m sure I’ll get to it sooner rather than latter.

[callsign-rogueone]

fireproof - b.s.

cadet!Brennan Sorrengail x cadet!reader (young Brennan and Duchess!) words: 1.4k 🏷: no book spoilers because this happens before the events of fourth wing hehe. more of bb bren and bb duchess. set soon after the events of allies, so read that first! near-death situation / mortal peril, but no actual injury happens. I promise these two will communicate their feelings soon lol

You come to a stop in front of Brennan’s door, heart pounding. You hadn’t thought about this part, and you’re not sure what to do; you don’t want to knock, don’t want to wake up any of the other cadets -- it’s still very much four in the morning, and you’re not supposed to be out of your room.

You’re not supposed to be talking to a second dragon, either, but here you are.

Brennan pulls the door open, sparing you the decision -- Marbh must have woken him up. He’s quick to usher you inside, scanning you for injury. 

“This is going to sound absolutely insane,” you breathe, “but Marbh is in my head right now.”

He blinks the sleep from his eyes, still not fully awake. “What?”

“Marbh is talking to me. I have no idea why or how, and for some reason, I can’t reach Ban to ask.”

You both hear the orange daggertail’s response at once. “She is otherwise occupied, so she sent me.”

“That’s not vague at all,” Brennan says aloud, exasperated.

“If you must know, she is defending herself to the Empyrean right now.”

Your eyes widen. “The dragon council? Why?”

“That is for her to explain to you.”

Brennan notices you’re fully dressed, your longsword sheathed across your back and a thick cloak covering your shoulders. “If you’re going to find her, I’m coming too.”

He turns to open the closet, digging through it for a clean pair of flight leathers.

Your eyes catch the dark orange of the relic spanning his back, your cheeks warming as you realize he isn’t wearing a shirt. You whirl around, averting your eyes, but the sight is already burned into your brain.

You’d never realized how toned he is.

Focus, you tell yourself, shaking the thought from your head. Ban could be in mortal danger right now. 

“Ready,” Brennan says, shouldering his sword.

It’s absolutely freezing out, still the thick of winter, though there’s been a break in the snow this week, so you don’t need to worry about leaving footprints as you cross the courtyard.

Brennan leads the way, taking a shortcut through a door you’ve never even noticed before. 

Making it out of the fortress is the easy part. You step into the wet grass, and you realize you have no idea where to go.

“Marbh?” 

Silence. Literal crickets. Great.

You gather the slack of the black string connecting you to Ban and pull gently, seeing where it leads. Northeast, to the flight field and the vale. You make the climb silently, worried that if you speak, you’ll somehow alert whoever is threatening Ban to your presence, or that you won’t hear them coming.

You’ve never been out here, never been allowed to -- you still aren’t, and you probably never will be, but you push the thought aside as you continue. It’s surprisingly deserted out here, which is as equally concerning as it is relieving.

It’s so dark out that you almost mistake the orange daggertail ahead of you for Marbh. Almost. 

Marbh isn’t missing an eye; this is Melgren’s dragon, Solas.

His jaws open, and you know there’s no time to run, to fight, to beg for your life.

You yank Brennan behind you, praying to whatever gods will answer that your body will be enough to shield him from the fire.

It is.

You hear the roar, feel the heat, see the grass on either side of you catch, but you’re protected by an invisible wall that extends from your outstretched hands, keeping back the flame.

You plant your feet, fighting to stay upright and to keep doing whatever this is. It feels like you’re pushing a thousand pounds uphill, but if you stop, if you falter for even a second, or it will cost both you and Brennan your lives.

The blast stops, leaving a wall of flickering orange fire in front of you that fades after a split second.

You nearly collapse as you step backward. You’re exhausted, soaked in sweat and overheated despite the chill of the night air, your heart pounding and lungs burning like you’ve been running for miles.

Brennan holds you up, undoing the clasp of your cloak to help cool you off.

The ground shakes with the landing of multiple dragons. If they’re as mad as Solas is, you’re absolutely cooked. You have no idea how to do that again, or if you even can.

You want to tell him how sorry you are that you’d dragged him into this, that you shouldn’t have knocked on his door to tell him, you should have just gone alone, that when you die together, you'll spend the rest of your afterlife making it up to him, that your biggest regret in life will be not telling him how you felt about him, that you--

“Sorry I’m late, noble one.”

You whip your head up to see a black leg next to you. Ban. She’s brought company — Marbh, and a giant brown swordtail that you’ve never seen before. Brennan’s eyes widen in shock, but he stays silent, his arms still wrapped around you.

Marbh does not greet you, instead stalking past you toward the other orange dragon and baring his teeth in warning.

Oh, gods, are they going to fight? If Solas kills Marbh, it’ll kill Brennan too.

The brown steps forward, cutting Marbh off and stepping dangerously close to Solas. They lock eyes for a moment, and Solas backs up, but the other takes a step forward, forcing him to retreat. Solas quits while he’s behind, taking flight and disappearing over the ridge.

The brown dragon looks back at you, satisfied with his work.

“Thank you,” you whisper to him, still terrified. If he could scare off Solas, he must be even nastier — or he must have said something to him that made a difference.

He nods his head at you in acknowledgment before he takes off.

The sun is starting to rise over the mountains, casting the scorched ground in gold. 

Brennan’s hands are on you instantly, checking you over for injury, but you’re more focused on the perfect half-circle of green grass beneath you that hadn’t been burned.

“You’re a fire wielder,” Ban answers, sensing your confusion. 

You breathe a sigh of relief. Finally.

It had taken Brennan just over two weeks to discover that he was a mender, the rest of your class following suit quickly. You're the only first-year who is yet to attend Professor Carr’s lectures. 

You were beginning to think you might not have been going to get a signet at all.

“We never doubted you for a second,” another voice purrs -- not Ban or Marbh.

You startle. “What?”

A different one replies, a gruff male who sounds absolutely terrifying. “We’ve been watching you with great interest. I now understand what she saw in you on conscription day.”

This has to be a dream. There’s no way that four dragons are in your head right now.

“You’ll get used to it,” yet another adds. Five? 

“How many of you are there?” you ask aloud, eyes widening.

Another answers. “A dozen, for now. I am sure that many others will come to accept you in time.”

“Accept me? What?”

“As a human ambassador,” Marbh replies, as if it’s obvious. “We haven’t had one in nearly a century. It was about time.”

You notice a new string now sits beside the one you share with Ban, multiple threads of different colors twisted together into a thick rope.

You laugh in shock, processing. “But why me?”

“Because of this,” Brennan says softly, touching your forehead, “and this,” he rests his fingertips against your chest, keeping them there.

Your eyes meet, and you feel that magnetism you’d felt the day he’d first spoken to you. Your heart races under his hand.

“The boy is correct. You are the first in two human generations with this deep of a respect for our kind.”

You’re still looking at Brennan. You bring a hand up to grasp his, completely forgetting about the soot coating your fingers. It smears against his skin, leaving streaks of black across his knuckles, but neither of you seem to mind.

“Now would be an excellent time,” Ban prods.

You part your lips, working up the courage, but someone else speaks first; a human, that Brennan hears too, and the both of you freeze, turning toward the voice.

“Of all the students that I’d think to find sneaking out, you two were certainly not on the list.”

Professor Kaori. He looks thoroughly unamused, eyeing the four of you and the burned patches on the ground with suspicion.

Brennan looks back to you, and you nod in permission — there’s no lying your way out of this, not when the whole riot will know of the night’s events in a matter of minutes.

“You’re gonna want to hear her out, Professor.”

[lifes-line]

In honor of the Adventure Zone and the suffering game coming out soon I’m gonna talk about the moments in The Adventure Zone that got me the most emotional

Obviously spoilers for the Adventure Zone

5. Johann the Bard’s death

This one I think caught the majority of TAZ fans off guard. Whenever an NPC died.. it was always during the events of recovering a grand relic - never after the mission. It’s like-

Johann was here. And then he wasn’t.

And most people grew very attached to Johann during the episodes and arcs of making fun of him, asking if they’re ok with being forgotten, him and his relationship with the Void Fish— and to include this with my number 5

WHEN MAGNUS AT THE END OF THE PODCAST

NAMES HIS FUCKING DOG AFTER JOHANN

OHMYGODDD

4. Meeting Lup

Now- not when Lup was freed from the Umbra-staff and called out her brother for being gay, while that was a funny as fuck moment, that’s not what I’m referring to.

It’s when we cut back to the Stolen Century and we meet Lup officially for the first time. I just remember hearing her speak for the first time and her antics and I remember being like “god.. she’s just like her brother.”

And we get to know her and it’s like- we also find out she is nothing like Taako. She’s more empathetic to people - to strangers- she’s smarter than him(like book smart) , SHES a nerd, she flamboyant and kindhearted and it’s like also-

We’ve known her forever. She was in every single adventure the boys had- she was this overwhelming presence in the entire podcast - from her name burnt into the wall, to “where’d you get that umbrella?”, to flying to Taako’s aid every time he was in trouble— she had always been a character without a name or face to her and then we she is finally formally introduced you just love her instantly.

That’s amazing writing.

3. Arms outstretched

Now this got everyone.

It was such a powerful moment between brothers and between friends- even Griffin didn’t see it coming.

He fully expect them to just let Magnus float off into the astral plane but then they change the entire plot of the story and saved Magnus and brought him back.

Taako and Merle both using a spell slot to bring back their bestfriend. Also foreshadows to their deeper connection back in their stolen century.

The music behind that scene was also fucking phenomenal it was beautiful and I loved it.

2. “You fucking took everything from me”

Ok SO- THIS ONE IS INCREDIBLE- it starts me on the same tangent every time.

In this moment Taako has fully remembered all of the events that happened before Lucretia erased their memories and he is fucking infuriated.

Because if Lucretia had not done it that day- Taako and Barry would’ve found Lup. THINK ABOUT IT - that day they were going to check Wave Echo cave- they would’ve found Lup’s corse and the red robe and the umbrella - Taako would’ve made the connection and Barry would’ve figured it out instantly and Lup would’ve been set free and back.

But because Lucretia did it they never went to WaveEcho cave and they never found her- until a decade later- Taako found her stupid and unknowing - took her umbrella and watched her skeleton decay- AND NOW HE REMEMBERS THIS

And it’s too late to go back to WaveEcho now, the fucking hunger is here and her corpse is long gone, if she was a lich barry would’ve found her by now, and if she was in Phanadalin- it was all glass now - where could she have gone?

Taako is realizing silently what Barry isn’t aware of- Lup was right there. SHE WAS RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM- and he couldn’t find her, he couldn’t save her.

In this moment of rage Taako realizes his sister is gone. She’s never coming back. Lucretia took his everything from him.

And it’s all her fault.

1. Magnus’s death

Now. The day I finished TAZ Balance edition, at 9:38PM, I cried myself to sleep. OF COURSE I DID

“HOW DOES MAGNUS DIE?”

SURROUNDED BY HIS LOVED ONES

WITH HIS DOGS

AND MAGNUS FINALLY ENDS HIS ULTIMATE QUEST- HE SEES HIS WIFE IN THE AFTERLIFE

Magnus, rushing in to everything because he ultimately wanted to die a crazed hero so he could see his wife again but still feel like he died doing something worth it just for her, who never loved another ever during his years alive, who turned down the temptation of his own relic because if he was going to see his wife again he wanted her to be proud of him, Magnus Burnsides whose ultimate destination and goal was to see the love of his life again.

And he finally did.

Magnus got the happy ending he truly deserved.

Magnus Burnsides is the most relatable character in all of the Adventure Zone(to me at least) I love and cherished him like he was truly my friend- so when he dies at the end of the podcast I cried like I was grieving a real person.

[baddreamsandoldbones]

Hellcheer Week Day 3 - Cursed

@hellcheerweek I reference this particular event in one of my previous Buffy oneshots. I didn't get time to write the whole thing but maybe I can finish it after the event.

“Halloween,” Robin says with relish, as they haul boxes. Although some are managing easier than others - Robin can carry three boxes of books with ease and Chrissy feels like her arms are about to drop off. “My night off.”

“Why is that again?” Eddie asks, saving Chrissy from having to do it. She doesn’t look up, even though she can almost feel the heat of his body from where their elbows are mere inches from each other. 

She hadn’t expected this to happen when Eddie joined their group. 

“The vamps think it’s too commercial,” Steve says, passing by. “Like it’s a cliche if they roam the streets when everyone is out in costume.”

“Huh,” Eddie says, resting a crystal ball in the palm of his hand. “You’d have thought it would be easier to sneak around while everyone else is dressed up.” Robin just shrugs. 

“Who cares why they do it, I just know that I get to relax at home and watch Nightmare on Elm Street,” she says and rips through a cardboard lid to peer inside. “Uh…Murray, where do you want the assortment of chicken feet?” 

“Why exactly are we sorting all of this junk?” Steve asks, and gets swatted around the head for his trouble. 

“A fellow watcher retired and sent me all of his resources,” Murray says, as though he hadn’t just removed a few of Steve’s brain cells with a copy of Common Curses. “He thought I might have a use for them living on the Hellmouth.”

“Okay, but why send them to the school library?” Jonathan asks, sitting on one of the stairs as he sorts through yet another box. “Literally anyone could walk in and see…” He pulls what looks like a shrunken head out of the box with an obvious look of disgust. “Well, they might have some questions.”

“I wasn’t about to have them delivered to my house,” Murray says, pushing Chrissy aside so he can take a look at the contents of her box. “My neighbors are notoriously nosy and I don’t think I should leave ancient spell books and relics out on my porch all day.”

“Are any of them likely to come alive?” Eddie asks with interest, tossing the crystal ball from one hand to another. 

“No, but if that ball gets too hot in the sun it will set my house on fire,” Murray says pointedly and snatches it right out of Eddie’s hands. “Spell books to my private collection in the back, everything else needs to be loaded into my car.”

“Some of these books look like they’re bound in skin,” Steve says doubtfully and Murray groans. 

“It’s Halloween,” he says, gesturing to the orange and black sign above the counter, like they could miss it. Murray makes a minimal effort to decorate the library for the holiday - it’s not Chrissy’s favorite event but even she finds the skeleton wearing a paper hat a little sad. “Don’t you people have plans?”

“Taking my brother trick or treating,” Jonathan says, and judging by his expression, his box contains more shrunken heads. 

“Band practice,” Eddie says. 

“Eating and scary films!” Robin chimes in, lifting the last few boxes over her shoulder to bring them down to the front desk like they weigh nothing at all. 

“Tina’s having a party,” Steve says, throwing himself down into a chair. But much like Chrissy, he doesn’t look to be racing out of the door. It’s been getting harder these days to care - about parties, about homecoming, about all of it. She knows what’s out there now. She’d much rather be with these people, watching Jonathan make faces and Robin be giddy about her night off. 

“Great,” Murray says weakly as Robin puts the last few boxes down. Eddie tugs the nearest one open and lets out a shout of delight. 

“Hey, is this a Viking drinking horn?” 

“Yes, and it’s old,” Murray says, looking disgruntled. “Box, car, now.”

But Eddie only pretends to put it away, waiting until Murray’s back is turned before he whisks it out again. 

“Isn’t it cool?” he says, his eyes bright. Chrissy risks a peek while he’s enraptured, watching his long fingers turn the horn around to admire it. “Look at these markings.”

“It’s nice,” Chrissy says, because she doesn’t really see the appeal. It has elaborate etchings and even she can recognise the symbols near the mouth as runes. “What’s it for?” 

“They used to drink out of these,” Eddie says, still admiring it. “This one looks like it was made out of a real horn…” Chrissy makes a face out of sight of Eddie’s eyeline. 

“Man,” Eddie says ruefully, holding the horn up to the light. For a second the runes look unusually bright, gleaming against the library’s overhead lighting. “If only Murray would let me have it.”

“What would you use it for?” Chrissy asks and he flashes her a grin. 

“Drink Dr Pepper out of it?” he jokes, pretending to raise the horn to his lips. “Would give my D&D sessions a real air of drama.”

“You play while sitting on a throne,” Chrissy says, without thinking. “Don’t they have enough drama already?” Eddie pauses, lowering the horn. 

“How do you know that?” he asks and Chrissy nearly lets the large chunk of amethyst slip from her fingers. Damn. 

She’s kept her crush on Eddie pretty cool so far. Before he was just…Eddie. He was in the cafeteria, in the back of some of her classes, a vague memory from a middle school talent show. It was easy to keep at a distance. 

And then he joined their party and it all got so much harder. Suddenly she’s very aware of him in a way that she hadn’t been before, and she’s picked up a few details about him that she probably shouldn’t know. 

“I’ve been downstairs,” Chrissy fibs, picking up another book rather than looking at Eddie. “I’ve seen the drama storerooms, remember?”

“Ah,” Eddie says and puts down the horn. “You know…you’d be very welcome to come see us sometime. I know you don’t play and we don’t exactly get a lot of girls down there but…I’d like to see you.”

It’s not exactly a date invitation. But it sounds like something. She knows how seriously Eddie takes his role as head of the club and Dungeon master. He doesn’t just invite people to watch their campaigns. 

“I’d like that,” she says, heart pounding in her chest. She might be wrong, and he’s just being polite. He might have no feelings for her at all. 

But his pleased smile says something different. 

She picks up a smaller box to put by the door - they’ve borrowed one of the AV club carts to move most of the boxes out to Murray’s car - when Eddie tenses. When she looks at him, his face is almost unrecognizable, frozen into a strange, stiff mask. 

“Hey,” she says, because there’s something not right about that terrible stillness in his face. When he still doesn’t respond, she reaches out and rests her hand on his arm. “You okay?”

Eddie jerks suddenly, all of the tension easing out of his face. But he still looks pale, and probably not too different from how she looks after a vision.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, raising a hand to his head. Chrissy knows that gesture - she uses it every time she’s had a vision and the pounding in her head is worse than she wants to let on. “Fuck. Sorry. I just felt lightheaded for a second.”

“Maybe you should sit down,” Chrissy says anxiously. But he just smiles at her and shakes his head. 

“I’m good,” he says, dropping the horn back into the box. “Probably just need to hit the vending machine. Let me take that. I’ll stop by one the way back from Murray’s car.”

“Are you sure?” Chrissy asks, as he removes the box from her arms and stacks it on top of his own. 

“Promise. Red Bull and a Mars bar will fix it,” he says. Jonathan stops counting heads long enough to make a face. 

“I doubt that would fix anything,” he says bluntly. “Fuck’s sake, Murray, how many fucking shrunken heads are in here?”

“Are they human?” Robin asks curiously, peering over the bannister. Jonathan shakes his head. 

“Mostly birds,” he says ruefully. Eddie nudges Chrissy with his elbow, still balancing both boxes. 

“Bet you never had conversations like this with your other friends,” he says, eyes bright. He loves all this, even with the blood and fear that they live with every day. A Dungeon Master finding out that monsters and magic really exists? He’d almost been unable to resist the chance to touch real spellbooks, watch real magic being cast. Steve had even offered to teach Eddie some basic magic to his complete delight.

“Not even,” Chrissy says and turns to the next box. They’re nearly done and she’s almost upset about it. She much prefers being here, in the light with her friends, breathing in the smell of old books and wood polish, rather than going home. 

“I’ll be back,” Eddie says, and as he turns something strange reflects in his eyes, like headlights catching something in the glare of a beam on the road. The unearthly glow against the brightness before whatever it was scurries back into the undergrowth - certainly not a trait for anything human. 

When Eddie returns he bought a packet of Twizzlers just for her and she forgets all about it.

[angstywaifu]

The Lost Sister - Part 9

Synopsis: Xaden is known as an only child due to his sister who 'died' during the Rebellion. Little do they know she didn't die and has been so close this entire time.

Garrick Tavis x OC

A/N: From here on out you will see a few things pulled from the books. Especially moments where we have Garrick. Cause lets be honest we have some amazing moments from him where I can slot Ophelia into the scene. So there will be a mix of my stuff, and some dialogue from actual Fourth Wing with some tweaks to make it fit. We have some really good moments coming up, that I am so excited to show you guys to! As per usual requests are open for any one shot or scenarios you may want. And if you want to be on the tag list just let me know! The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

All of our current squad make it up the gauntlet. And now we wait our turn for presentation. And of course Garrick is over seeing the squads before they walk in. He’d been at the top of the gauntlet when I’d climbed up, but he had been dealing with an issue of how Violet had gotten up the end of the gauntlet. I was actually impressed with her idea to use the rope and dagger. I knew Xaden had given her some guidance, but I knew he hadn't told her to do that. But it worked.

This was the closest I’d been to Garrick in a while as we all stood in a single line waiting to go in. Despite me somehow tying for first in Gauntlet time, we aren’t the first group to go in. Slowed down by Violets time. But at least we all made it.

Ahead of us is a clearing lined by dragons, lined up in their own formation. All close enough to pass judgement on us, as well as dispose of us quickly as we walk by.

”Let’s go Second Squad, you’re up next.” Garrick says sternly, beckoning us forward with a wave that makes the rebellion relic on his bared forearm gleam in the sunlight. “Into formation.”

Garrick’s tone is all business, he’s in full leadership mode. It’s one of the first times I had seen it and it reminds me a lot of Xaden’s style of leadership. But Garrick is more mission first, niceties last. And currently his mission is to prepare us for presentation. It is also one of the first times I’ve seen him in full uniform, usually opting to forego his jacket around the grounds. Which I don’t blame him with how warm its been. But winter is starting to set in, and its definitely a fair bit colder up here. I notice the line of patches on his uniform, show casing his as the Flame Section leader, and an abundance of patches advertising his skill with multiple weapons. I wasn’t sure how many patches there were, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there was only a small amount left he didn’t have. I notice daggers isn’t one of them.

We all get into formation as hot air rushes towards us again. Another cadet claimed. Garrick’s hazel eyes skim over our squad before landing on mine. “Hopefully Aetos has done his job.” His eyes flick to Violet at the mention of Dain. “So you know that it’s a straight walk down the meadow. I’d recommend staying at least seven feet apart -”

”In case one of us gets torched,” I hear Ridoc mutter a few places in front of me.

”Correct, Ridoc.” I can’t help but smirk at the slight sass in Garrick’s tone. “Cluster if you want, just know if a dragon finds disfavour with one of you, it’s likely to burn the whole lot to weed one out.” He warns us as he holds our gaze. “Also, remember you are not here to approach them, and if you do, you won’t be making it back to the dormitory tonight.”

”Can I ask a question?” A cadet whose name I can’t quite remember says from the front row.

Garrick nods, but I noticed the tick in his jaw. He’s annoyed. And honestly don’t blame him. I may not remember their name, but I know they annoy me. And have since day one.

”Third Squad, Tail Section of Fourth Wing already went through, and I talked to some of the cadets….”

”That’s not a question.” He states as he lifts his brows. I note another tick in his jaw as he places his hands on his hips. Definitely annoyed now.

”Right. It’s just that they said there’s a feathertail?”

“A f-feathertail?” Someone I think called Tynan sputters. “Who the hell would ever want to bond a feathertail?"

I feel most of our squad roll their eyes or shake their heads. I see Garrick restrain from doing the same.

”Professor Kaori never told us there would be a feathertail.” Sawyer says. “I know because I memorized every single dragon he showed us. All hundred of them.”

”Well, guess there’s a hundred and one now.” Garrick states sternly, clearly wanting to be rid of us and this job. “Relax, feathertails don’t bond. I can’t even remember the last time one has been seen outside the Vale. It’s probably just curious. You’re up. Stay on the path. You walk up, you wait for the entire squad, you walk back down. It really doesn’t get any easier than this from here on out, kids, so if you can’t follow these simple instructions, then you deserve whatever happens in there.”

Kids? We were barely three years younger than him. But with most of our squad not bearing rebellion marks, I could easily see why he would refer to us as kids. He turns and heads over to a path before the canyon wall where the dragons are perched. We follow, breaking away from the crowd of first years.

“They’re all yours.” Garrick says to the quadrants senior Wingleader. A woman I’ve only seen a few times in Battle Brief.

As Garrick turns to walk back, he locks eyes with me as his hand lightly brushes mine, setting my skin on fire where his touch lingers.

“Single file.” She says to us, drawing my eyes back to the front.

We all form a single line, I end up at the very back behind Rhiannon. With the final instructions of talk to each other, she steps aside revealing a dirt path that leads through the centre of the valley, and up ahead, sitting so perfectly still you would almost mistake them for statues are the dragons. We start to move, each of us leaving the suggested seven feet before following the cadet in front.

As I enter the valley the smell of sulphur is thick in the air, and I note multiple black patches on the path.

As instructed we talk amongst each other. But talk is a loose term. Its mostly bickering. Towards the end I nearly have a heart attack as two greens approach Violet. Then I remember the corset she told me about. The one made from the dragons of her sisters green dragon. They can probably smell it As we get towards the end, our squad is down to seven first years.

As we’re about to leave the area I feel something. An extra presence at the back of my mind. I turn around, trying to keep my eyes down as best I can as I look around. At the back amongst the trees I catch a glimpse of…. Was that white? No, dragons aren’t white. I know I saw white though. But I can’t have. Dragon’s aren’t white I tell myself again.

“Ophelia, you ok?” Violet calls from the exit.

I turn to see her looking at me, her eyes also scanning the area I was just looking at. Did she see it to?

“Yeah, just thought I saw something.” I say, trying to pass it off as casually I can.

She nods, seeming content with my answer. But the tall figure just inside the pathway stares at me as if they are not convinced. Garrick’s eyes are narrowed me in almost a glare. Luckily the next group walks up and I’m able to slip past him without him talking to me.

Part 10

@riorgail @going-through-shit @fw-gt @bbkissme99 @xceafh