#and last time she saw you she used your fathers blood for magic!! is that really a parent you want to introduce to your friends??

[daddy-dins-girl]

Playdate - Chapter Ten

Main Masterlist Series Masterlist

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pairing: Marcus Pike x f! Reader x Dave York

Word Count: 7.4k

Chapter Summary: Of all the ways you managed to dream up in your head about seeing Dave again, this was never how you would have imagined it actually playing out.

Chapter Warnings: 18+ MDNI. (SPOILERS IN THE TAGS!) Angst. Alcohol consumption. Brief violence and mentions of blood. Dave's feelings deserve their own warning 🫠. Dave's idiocy also deserves its own warning (we're working on him okay?). Dave gets a little pushy/forceful/needy with Reader but there's no actual threat or non-con, but figured I should mention it (you are held against a wall at one point but never physically hurt or threatened). Mentioned smut (including sex toys, anal play, light bondage, etc.).

HUGE thank you to @janaispunk for beta'ing and just being amazing in general 💜

Notes: This chapter starts off with Dave's POV and switches to Reader, I just figured we could use a little insight into Dave.

~ DAVE ~

Knelt down on one knee on the lawn of his ex-wife’s house, Dave could give a shit about the wet grass stain he could feel seeping into the denim of his jeans as he wrapped his arms a little tighter around both his girls, giving them one final goodbye hug. He pulls back slightly, frowning when he sees their wet faces staring back at him. He has to swallow the hard lump in his throat to hold back his own tears that want to fall so he can be strong for them so instead he plasters on the best smile he can manage and brings both hands up to ruffle the hair on both their heads.

“Don’t be sad Angels, I’ll see you again in two weeks okay?” he assures them and they both slowly nod their heads. He knew it would be hard dropping them off today after having them for the entire summer, not only for them but for him as well. It was going to be difficult to go from seeing them every day back to once every two weeks. Not to mention he was now saying goodbye to the only distraction in his life that was holding him together these past couple of months.

“I miss you already Daddy,” his youngest, Alice pouts before her chubby little arms wrap around his neck once more and squeeze. Dave lets out a little chuckle and hugs her back tightly before pressing a kiss into her hair.

“I miss you too, babies,” he sighs.

“Why don’t you girls go inside and wash up now,” his ex-wife Carol finally speaks up from up on the porch at the front door. “Dinner’s almost ready. Steve’s making your favorite,” she announces and both girls' faces light up like kids at Christmas as they finally pull away from their father.

“Sketti and meatballs!” Alice shouts excitedly.

“Bye Daddy,” his oldest, Molly, says one final time, pressing a kiss to his cheek before she takes her younger sister by the hand and leads her up the porch steps and they disappear into the house.

“Said the magic words huh?” Dave chuckles, standing up to his feet and dusting off his jeans.

“Sketti and meatballs” Carol shrugs, a fond smile on her lips. “You look good,” she says after a moment. “Better than the last time I saw you.”

“Yeah, well…” Dave trails off, not wanting to get into why he came to her all but desperate a couple of months ago to let him take their children for an extended summer vacation. “Thanks again, I had a really great time with them.”

“Of course,” she nods. “Did you want to stay for dinner? I’m sure Steve made enough to feed an army. God knows I love him but that man can’t measure pasta to save his life,” she jokes of her new husband and Dave lets out a small chuckle but shakes his head.

“I should probably get going, let you guys have your family dinner.”

“Ok well… the usual time then? Two Saturdays from now?” she asks and Dave nods.

“I’ll be here.”

“Okay. And Dave?” she says just as he turns to head back to the driveway.

“Yeah?” he answers, turning back to face her.

“Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Sure,” he smiles, unconvincing even to himself before he heads down the driveway and gets into his car.

He hadn’t been very candid with her about why he suddenly needed to “get away” and wanted to take his kids on an impromptu summer vacation, but she read him like a book anyway. “What’s her name?” is all she’d asked when he’d shown up on her doorstep a couple of months ago looking tired and distracted. “Doesn’t matter” he’d carelessly shrugged back, not meeting her gaze. Carol had pursed her lips and hummed her agreement but otherwise didn’t push. She knew better. Dave wasn’t exactly one for expressing his feelings, even when they’d been married.

The weeks that follow since bringing his kids back to their mother seem to pass by in a blur as he throws himself full force back into his work, even working on the weekends that he’s not with his kids, mostly as a distraction rather than a necessity. He doesn’t want to be reminded of what his Saturday nights used to be, before. And despite his ex-wife’s wishes he knows he’s not taking proper care of himself. He’s working too much, drinking too much (apart from the days when he has his children of course) and certainly not eating enough. He feels pathetic. Like some lovesick puppy and it’s definitely not a feeling he’s used to. Hell, he didn’t even feel like this when he got divorced or when his now ex-wife got remarried. He bought them a damn wedding present and danced with his daughters standing on his feet at the reception hall. Not that he was thrilled to be a divorced Dad or anything, but he couldn’t argue with Carol when she told him he wasn’t giving her enough of himself. He did feel like shit for months after the separation but after a while it faded and he was able to carve out a new life for himself and he was fine. Happy might have been a stretch, but he was existing just fine.

He of course hadn’t expected you and your husband to turn up barely a year later and turn his whole life upside for several months. It had started out as just fun. Blowing off steam, getting his dick wet, he was far from complaining about any of it. He loved how obedient you both were to him immediately, filling a void in him that he hadn’t engaged in nearly as much as he wanted to. Sure he’d had some rough fucks in his day but that was different than what he had with you. Having a partner - partners - that you built a trust with just brought everything to a new, heightened level and that, well, he hadn’t quite experienced before. But along with trust, of course other feelings start to emerge, feelings Dave had long since given up on expecting to have at this point in his life. And having these feelings for a fucking already married couple did not help his situation any. It was a mistake, he realizes in hindsight, spending your birthday with you both. An entire weekend wrapped up with you, spending the night together, waking up together, having meals together, it was… well, for Dave, it was everything. Everything he never even knew he was looking for and of fucking course he had to find it with two people who already had each other.

And now? Now what the fuck was he doing? Drowning his sorrows in the bottom of a bottle of overpriced bourbon at a bar, by himself, on a Friday night. Just like he’s found himself the past countless Friday nights, hoping he’d wake up the next morning and be able to forget about the two people who had apparently taken up permanent residence in the tight cavity of his chest, refusing to be let go.

He was fucking pathetic. And probably needed to get laid, too. That was one thing he could surely do something about easily enough. He’s been coming to this same bar every Friday night for a month now and one cute waitress in particular never seemed to stray very far from his table and he wasn’t that great of a tipper. He’d barely managed a second glance in her direction his past few visits but maybe tonight he should change that. The drinking wasn’t enough of a distraction anymore and this week was his off-week from seeing his kids so he didn’t have that to keep himself occupied either.

Mind made up he signals the waitress over to his table - whatever her name was. She’d told him probably a dozen times but fuck if he could remember it. It didn’t matter, after tonight he doesn’t plan on seeing her again and he’ll make sure she understands that before he actually leaves with her. For now, what’s the harm in a little fun? A decent pair of tits and a tight pussy is all he needs to get his head back on straight he thinks. And judging by the way the waitress basically comes bouncing over to him the moment he waves her over, it isn’t going to be much of a challenge. The only challenge for Dave will be when he closes his eyes as he sinks inside her, hoping, praying that it’s no longer the image of you that’s emblazoned on the backs of his eyelids.

~ YOU ~

It’s been nearly four months since your birthday. Since you last saw him.

In the time since that first weekend after Dave had disappeared from your lives, you and Marcus had found your rhythm again. Your lives are back to normal and, realistically, maybe even better than they’ve ever been. You were communicating so much more now and your physical relationship (which, you’d never had much of an issue with to begin with) was definitely thriving. Due to the increased communication, the two of you were always not only willing, but eager to talk more while in bed about anything you were particularly craving and put in the effort together for each other. It had really started the night Marcus had taken charge (a week after your birthday) and fully blossomed from there. There was one Sunday morning back a few months ago where the two of you laid in bed together with your laptop in front of you and were online shopping for fun new sex toys you both might enjoy. You filled your cart without judgment or shame and Marcus hastily typed in his credit card information when you were done browsing. The moment you heard the ‘swish’ of the order confirmation being sent, Marcus snapped the laptop closed, tossed it to the far corner of the bed and then all but pounced on you.

Early on when the two of you were still navigating your post-Dave waters Marcus had even asked you if you still wanted someone else in your lives. The role Dave was meant to (and had initially) played, you assume he meant (before it had gone and gotten complicated). You could tell by the way he asked you, his voice unsure and hesitant sounding, that it wasn’t something he wanted. And in all honesty, you didn’t want it anymore either and you were quick to assure him of that. Not only was Marcus indulging and fulfilling anything you desired, but whoever it was, they’d never be Dave anyway. It didn’t have to be said out loud that he was the only extra piece you’d both ever want in your marriage, you both knew it already.

Sunday mornings seemed to be when you’d find yourself thinking of and missing Dave the most, when you’d look around your bedroom in the aftermath of what your Saturday night had been. Saturday nights had become your routinely scheduled evenings where you and Marcus would get extra adventurous in bed, typically breaking in more of your new toys you’d purchased and just letting loose and taking out all your stresses of the week on one another.

One particular Sunday morning you remember lying next to Marcus who had just opened his beautiful sleepy eyes and you brushed his hair back from his forehead and then let out a little giggle followed by a sad sigh when your gaze caught site of the black fuzzy handcuffs that were still looped around one of the spokes in the headboard.

“He would’ve loved to see you like that,” you murmur, eyebrow raised playfully and you actually see Marcus’ ears turn pink and he bashfully hides his face in the pillow for a quick moment and laughs.

“You think so?”

“I know so baby. God you were so hot, at my mercy like that.”

Your blood begins to run hot just thinking about it again now. How he’d submitted to you. He’d laid down on his stomach, arms stretched above his head where you’d cuffed him to the bed and then you sat back on his thighs, massaging his ass with one hand while the other prepared the lube and the plug that the two of you had picked out together on your impromptu online shopping adventure a couple of weeks earlier in the other. It was the first time he’d ever let you do anything like that to him, though you’d discussed it a few times beforehand, and you were both pleasantly surprised how hot you found it.

You’d slowly fed him the plug, all the while gently rubbing his back with your free hand, soothing him and telling him how well he was doing for you. You still can’t erase from memory the way your breath hitched when he replied in a low, quivering voice, “yeah, I’m being a good boy?” God, the way the arousal instantly flooded you it was a miracle you were able to continue what you were doing and not abandon it all together to take care of yourself.

“Fuck, you’re such a good boy,” you assured him, hand leaving his back to smoothing across the globes of his ass instead

Once you’d gotten it all the way inside and ensured he was comfortable you’d began to slowly maneuver it partially out and then back in, over and over again until it got to feeling so good for him that you’d gotten off his legs and let him get up on his knees when he’d begged you to let him fuck you.

You slid underneath his body, never uncuffing him, wriggling up the bed until you were face to face and left the plug seated deep in his ass as you helped guide his leaking tip to your entrance and he pushed inside. His hands were able to grip the spokes in the headboard so he had some leverage while still held captive in his position and he railed into you deep and hard, moaning like you’d never heard him before for the entire time, like he was on an entirely different plane of pleasure he hadn’t yet experienced.

Afterwards when you both lay spent and chests heaving with exhaustion you’d uncuffed him, gently removed the plug and gathered him in your arms, letting him cling to you with his head resting on your chest. You kissed and played with his hair, murmuring into the top of his head what a good boy he was for you and he just held you tighter until you’d both fallen asleep.

You loved your playful, risque and experimental Saturday nights, but you also loved the quieter, more intimate times as well. You loved waking up on a Sunday morning and lazily making love for hours, refusing to leave the comfort of your marital bed for most of the day. You loved weeknights sprawled out on the sofa relaxing after dinner and watching TV when you’d start necking like teenagers until he’d shove your pants down and slip inside of you, fucking you slow and deep until you both came and then he’d carry you up the stairs to bed. You loved nights when you were both too exhausted from your work days to do much of anything but still wanted to be close so you’d make out a little until he got hard and he would push inside your warm heat and then just wrap his arms around you and hold you until you’d both fall asleep with him inside you.

At the end of the day, well and truly, this had been what you both had wanted, originally. Dave was meant to come in, spice up your love life a little bit, teach you both a couple of things and then leave you to your lives with your newfound sexual knowledge. He’d done that, and yet, there was no denying that you still felt like a piece was just missing now.

A Dave York shaped piece.

You didn’t like to bring him up often to each other anymore. All it did was cause sadness for you both. You’d talked a lot early on and had eventually both admitted out loud your feelings you had for Dave but now there was no use bringing up his name anymore. He was gone and you had to accept it. It didn’t mean you couldn’t miss him, because oh, you missed him. All the time. But there was no use dwelling on something you had no control over, you had to move on. And you had, for the most part.

Or so you thought, until one Friday evening when your work colleagues managed to drag you out with them to a bar and there in the flesh, across the room of the dimly lit tavern, sat the one and only Dave fucking York.

You’d nearly spilled your drink on yourself when your head had turned and you saw him in your peripheral. He looked handsome as ever, wearing dark jeans and a white button up shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, top couple of buttons undone showing a teasing amount of perfect sun-kissed skin. Wherever his “emergency sabbatical” took him, it was apparently somewhere spent mostly outdoors in the sun you presume. His face looked a little thinner as well, his features more sharp and refined and you have to wonder if he’s been hitting the gym a lot more recently.

The only thing, frankly, that didn’t look good on him right now was the tiny blonde currently seated in his lap holding up a tray of shots you assume were meant for another table before Dave had intervened when something pretty caught his eye. You could practically feel your blood boiling at the sight before you, those deft fingers that knew your body all too well pulling and teasing at the belt loops of the tiny denim shorts the waitress was wearing while she threw her head back in laughter at something he’d said, eating up whatever attention he was willing to give her and you can’t say you blamed the girl. When the sly, sexy grin crossed his lips and he buried his face in her hair to undoubtedly whisper something absolutely filthy next to her ear and you saw her bite her lip in response, it felt like a hard slap across the face and everything happening around you instantly turned to white noise as you focused all your attention on the man across the room who, far as you could tell, hadn’t noticed you yet.

Before you do anything you quickly dig into your purse hanging on your chair for your phone and send a text to Marcus letting him know that Dave is here. His reply of ‘holy shit’ comes back near instantly but before you have a chance to type anything further you hear a loud voice bellowing from behind you for service, waiting for their shots apparently, and the tiny blonde regretfully starts to peel herself off of Dave’s lap to attend to her duties. Unfortunately Dave’s eyeline drifts to where the voice comes from, which you happen to be right in the cross hairs of. You see the tiniest flicker of shock etch across his features before his carefully crafted mask slips perfectly back into place and he gives you a small shit-eating grin that you wish you had the courage to slap right off of him. Eyes not leaving yours he simply picks up his beer and pulls another sip from it before he reaches out, grabs the hand of the waitress about to walk away and tugs her back into his lap, wrapping a possessive arm around her. His gaze never leaves you, even as his head tilts down to press his lips to the girl's shoulder.

Asshole.

Tears well in your eyes before you can stop them. He’s being a prick on purpose and you simply hate him in this moment. Dave York was a lot of things, but you’d never known him to be mean. Until now.

Not able to look at him another second you hastily push back from the table, your chair screeching across the hardwood loud enough to stop the idle chit-chat amongst your table of coworkers as they all stop to stare at you, having no clue what’s going on.

“I’ll be right back, just… need some air,” you explain curtly, not offering anything further or waiting for anyone to offer to accompany you.

You vaguely hear one of them calling your name questioningly as you stand up from the table and storm off towards the exit, passing Dave who’s now downing the entire tray of shots like they’re water.

Good, drink yourself half to death, you fucking idiot.

When the cool evening air hits you the moment you step outside it's like a brief reprieve and you take a deep breath, tears freely spilling down your cheeks now that you hastily try wiping away with the back of your hand. There’s a small crowd standing outside the front doors smoking cigarettes and vape pens but the chatter amongst them halts to a dead silence when the door slams shut behind you in your haste to get outside. Not in the mood for any onlookers, you quickly head off in the opposite direction and take the left turn down the alley at the side of the building for some privacy until you can catch your breath and, god willing, get your body to stop trembling. You realize too that you’d left your purse and your phone inside and you can’t possibly go back in there right now, not like this.

“Fuck,” you sigh into the desolate alley, stopping to lean your back against the cool brick and hanging your head, burying your face in your hands. The emotions of it all, of seeing him again, hits you like a ton of bricks and you let out a loud sob, your legs practically buckling from underneath you causing you to slide down the wall and squat down, elbows resting on your knees and face still buried in your hands as the now quieter sobs continue to rack your body.

You’re feeling just about every emotion under the sun right now and they’re all pouring out of you at once. You’re angry, jealous, sad, irritated, but maybe worst of all you’re reminded of just how fucking badly you still miss him. How badly you weren’t over him. And you hate yourself for it.

“Gotta light?”

That voice… of course you recognize it the second you hear it, even with his words slightly slurred and your face practically buried between your knees, and of course he had to follow you out here. The moment your head raises to look at his smug smirk with the cigarette dangling between his perfect lips you scowl, quickly rising to your feet and taking the two short strides over to where he stands in the middle of the alley and you snatch white stick from his mouth and immediately snap it in two, tossing it carelessly to the ground between you.

“Hey!” Dave barks at you, his voice sharp and loud as it echoes off the walls of the tight alleyway.

As if he has any right to be the one pissed off right now.

“Oh you don’t even smoke,” you argue back immediately, not in any type of mood to be taking shit from this man.

“I’m a social smoker,” he shrugs and you doubt even that’s the truth, he just wanted a reason to follow after you.

“You’re an asshole,” you bite back, not missing a beat.

He scoffs. “Somebody’s in a mood. Maybe you need that cigarette more than I do.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

He’s on you before the last syllable even leaves your lips, both his large hands on your shoulders shoving you backwards until your back hits the wall and he’s crowding your space, leaving barely an inch of space between your two bodies that are now breathing heavily with adrenaline. You can smell the alcohol on him and you know he’s had a lot to drink. If you weren’t half buzzed already you could probably get there just by the smell wafting off of him.

“Think you’d rather I fuck you, hmm? That where all this attitude is coming from Baby?”

His hips force yours further into the unforgiving brick behind you as his hands leave your shoulders to grip your waist instead and you can feel the hard outline of his obvious desire pressing against you. You bite your lip to suppress the moan that’s begging to escape your throat but it slips through anyway; barely registering but he hears it. Of course he does. You can see the way the corner of his lip turns upward into a sly grin.

“There’s my girl.”

“I’m not your anything! You fucking left Dave. You left!” You raise your hands up to shove hard at his chest but he’s like an immovable wall.

“I know.”

His voice is suddenly soft, dare you say, remorseful sounding. You hate how your resolve and anger instantly starts to wane the moment he lets his guard down even the slightest bit.

“I know,” he repeats it again, softer, quieter, his forehead coming down to rest against yours where he slightly shakes his head back and forth. One hand lets go of the grip on your waist and he gently rubs the back of his knuckles up and down the top of your arm, just a barely-there touch that’s already causing goosebumps to raise on your flesh.

“What do you want?” you ask, trying to sound stronger than what you know you’re actually capable of right now. “Why did you follow me out here?”

“I want what you want”. His voice is suddenly at your ear and an involuntary shiver runs through your entire body. “Come home with me,” he tries, his voice slurring just slightly and you roll your eyes and attempt to put space between the two of you again. This time he’s not expecting it and you do manage to push him back a few inches and he wobbles on his feet.

“A drunk fuck so you can disappear again the minute it’s over, you think that’s what I want?” You’re practically screaming at him now, but you don’t care, he deserves it.

“C’mon,” he huffs, sounding annoyed as he quickly crowds your space once more, this time he manages to grab your hands and hoist them above your head, pressing them into the wall so you can’t push him off you again. “One last time for old times sake, huh? Let me fuck this attitude right out of you”

“I’m married, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Hasn’t exactly stopped us before,” he smirks and then lowers his face down so he can nuzzle into you, his nose grazing your ear and his smooth cheek brushing against yours and for a moment you feel yourself melting into his soft touch.

Your voice lacks the conviction you know it should when you rasp out a quiet "Dave, stop”. You won’t go home with him, you know you won’t. You’d never hurt Marcus like that (again), but the smell of his familiar cologne on his shirt collar, the way his warm skin feels pressed against yours and how your body seemingly just fits into the contours of his own you can’t find it in you to immediately try and push him away again either. It’s been so long, you want to just feel him. Just for a moment.

“Kiss me,” he tries, voice suddenly at your ear before he moves just slightly until his lips hover on yours. He doesn’t force it on you, waiting for you to make that final move and close the distance between you. It takes everything in you, but you manage to turn your face away and you hear his desolate sigh in response, hot breath fanning your cheek.

“Take a hint buddy,” a deep voice suddenly interrupts and both your heads snap to the side where you see an enormous man standing at the opening of the alley, an unlit cigarette between his lips. He must be a good six inches shorter than Dave but easily has over 100lbs on him. He’s a very wide, stocky man with a long ponytail and a studded leather vest over top of a faded t-shirt and covered in tattoos, looking like he belongs in some type of biker gang. You immediately recognize him as the man from earlier who tried to summon the waitress from Dave.

He fishes a lighter from his pocket and brings the flame up to light the cigarette and takes a long drag before breathing a large cloud of smoke out.

“She’s not interested,” he repeats when Dave doesn’t loosen his hold on you. “And you’re paying for those six shots by the way, prick.”

“What, you think she’s saving herself for you?” Dave laughs, incredulous. His hands suddenly leave yours, allowing your arms to drop down to your sides and he takes a step back from you, fully turning towards the man who’s now taken a few tentative steps into the alley. Dave reaches a hand into his back pocket fishing out his wallet. He pulls what looks to be a fifty from the bill fold, scrunches it up to a ball and throws it in the direction of the man standing in front of him before closing his wallet and returning it to his pants.

“There, now fuck off.”

“What’s your problem man?” The bystander asks, flicking his cigarette away and taking two long strides forward, the fifty note left crumpled and forgotten on the ground.

“My problem? My problem is fucking assholes who can’t mind their own business. Go fuck off and get your micro dick sucked somewhere else.”

Your brow furrows as you listen to Dave seemingly intentionally picking a fight with this complete stranger. This was not the calm, cool, collected Dave that you’re used to.

You didn’t like whoever this Dave was.

“Wanna try saying that to my face, shithead?” The shorter man challenges, taking another step towards Dave.

“Dave, just leave it,” you try but he waves a flippant hand at you, not even bothering to look in your direction.

“How bout I get you a stepstool and you say it to mine, small fry.”

“Don’t need a stool to lay you out right here on the pavement,” he challenges right back, taking yet another step closer until they’re just inches apart, the shorter man apparently not intimidated whatsoever and likely rather comfortable in a fight, you assume. What he doesn’t know, however, and what you do, is Dave’s extensive military training. Even drunk you have no doubt he could easily kill this man and barely break a sweat, if he wanted to.

“Leave it alone Dave, c’mon, I mean it!” You try again but you might as well be talking to the wall behind you, as neither of the men are paying you any attention any longer. Ironic, since you’re half the reason the fight started in the first place. Men.

“Tell you what,” Dave begins, voice smug. “First one’s free,” he finishes, raising his arms up in the air, defenseless.

Before you even have a chance to plead with them once more the other man swings, clocking Dave right in the gut that has him doubling over for a few brief seconds before he quickly rights himself again, and, to your astonishment, starts laughing.

“That it?” Dave laughs, back to his full height again. “C’mon, again,” he goads.

This time the stranger's fist connects with Dave’s face, causing his head to swing left with the impact he puts behind it. You quickly scramble over to Dave who lets out another chuckle as he wipes the blood from his lip with the back of his hand and turns back to face his foe.

“Pussy,” Dave taunts before spitting blood to the ground at the man's feet. “Why don’t we call the waitress out from inside, she probably hits harder than you do.”

“Dave!”

You watch it happening like it’s in slow motion, how the man grabs Dave’s head with both hands and smashes it into the brick wall and Dave, for whatever reason, doesn’t even fight it. It makes you think of those videos you had to watch in Drivers Ed as a teenager, how the drunk driver in the scenario is typically the one to survive a collision because their response time is so slow their body just lets go and goes with the flow rather than bracing for impact. The part that really tears you up inside though is you don’t even think it’s the alcohol, you think he’s doing it on purpose, wanting to get hurt. You hear the loud smack as his forehead hits the brick and you instantly surge forward, taking the brunt of his weight as he collapses into you and you both slowly slide down to the ground with him in your arms because you can’t hold his weight.

“Get up, you piece of shit!” the stranger yells, furious, and you scream, covering Dave’s body with your own where he lays in your lap as the man winds up to kick Dave while he’s down.

“Enough!” A third man’s voice shouts and relief floods your whole system as you recognize it’s Marcus. In a flash he’s crossing the alley, grabbing the stranger by his shirt and shoving him into the brick and holding him there. Marcus was definitely ‘a lover not a fighter’, but he could certainly hold his own when it came down to it if need be. You’re not scared any longer.

“You alright Honey?” he asks, quickly chancing a glance over to where you’re kneeled on the ground with Dave’s head in your lap, surveying the laceration above his eyebrow.

The man in Marcus’ grasp looks at the two of you confused, then when he notices Marcus’ wedding ring where his fists are cuffed in his shirt, his eyes widen in disbelief.

“Holy shit, is this your wife? I just did you a favour pal,” he scoffs, lightly shoving at Marcus and Marcus backs off just slightly, letting go but staying close in case the man wants to go at Dave again who’s practically unconscious at this point.

“Look it's fine just… go back inside please,” Marcus huffs before he turns back to you and frowns. “Think we can get him up?”

Between the two of you and Dave’s slight cooperation (as much as he can manage with not only how intoxicated he is but how he surely just got few screws knocked loose thanks to that brick wall) you manage to get him up and he looks around a little disoriented, shaking his head while you and Marcus flank either side of him and hold him up.

“Marcus? You’re here,” Dave slurs and then turns his entire body into him and practically collapses into his arms in what you think was meant to be a hug. Marcus manages to hold Dave upright, both his arms holding under Dave’s armpits to keep him on his feet.

“I’m here,” Marcus croaks out. “I’ve got you.”

“The fuck?” the stranger mutters, shaking his head as he watches what must surely be a very strange reaction to a husband finding another man hitting on his wife in a dark alley. “Good luck with… well, all of that pal,” he says with a wave of his hand in the direction of the three of you before he turns on his heel, bends down to pick up the discarded fifty and heads back out of the alley and presumably back toward the bar.

“I’m drunk,” Dave suddenly breaks the silence, pushing back slightly from Marcus and wavering on his feet. His brows furrow in confusion and he wipes at his forehead. When his hand comes into his eyeline and he sees blood smeared on it, his features scrunch up again. “And I think I hit my head?”

“It’s ok, do you think you can help us get you to the car? It’s close,” Marcus tries to explain to Dave who manages a small nod. You get behind Dave and lift one of his arms up and turn him slightly, draping his arm over your shoulders as you move with him to stand at his side, Marcus now holding up the other. Thankfully Marcus had hastily just parked the car in a loading zone directly in front of the bar after you failed to answer any of his texts or calls so the walk was quick and you managed to get Dave shoved into the front passenger seat. You quickly run back inside to grab your purse and phone and say a quick goodnight to your coworkers and then hurry back out to the car. Dave mumbles off his address once Marcus slides into the driver’s seat and Marcus gives a non-commital grunt of acknowledgement before he pulls away from the curb and drives away. Barely two minutes later Dave’s head is tilted all the way back into the headrest and he’s passed out. You lean forward from the backseat to address Marcus.

“We can’t take him home like that. What if he has a concussion or something?”

“I’m not taking him home” Marcus quickly responds, shaking his head.

With a satisfied sigh you lean back into your seat.

What a fucking disaster.

Barely ten minutes later Marcus pulls into your driveway, hitting the button clipped to the sun visor to open the garage. The last thing he needs is for his neighbors to see the two of you dragging a bloodied half unconscious man into your home in the middle of the night.

You only manage to get him as far as the couch on the main floor, an upstairs bedroom too harrowing of a feat to attempt you presume with Dave’s inability to offer much of his own assistance. With a loud grunt you manage to drop him down to a seated position on the sofa and he immediately falls back into the soft cushions.

“Stay with him, I’ll get some water and something for his head,” Marcus says and you nod your head.

He’s only gone a minute or so, taking a little longer because he couldn’t find the Aspirin bottle right away, but when he returns with two extra strength tablets and a full glass of water he stops in his tracks just inside the living room.

Dave is flopped on his side, face resting on your lap facing where Marcus stands while your hands delicately card through his hair.

He’s murmuring quiet little ramblings with his eyes closed, something about “fucked up” and “so sorry” and you just gently hush him, running your fingers through his sweat damp hair.

“We need to clean him up” you tell Marcus when you notice him standing there. There’s blood still smeared across his forehead but thankfully not very much, he hadn’t been actively bleeding for very long. At least you know he doesn’t require any stitches.

Marcus sighs and crosses the room, getting down on his haunches in front of the couch in Dave’s direct eye line.

“Hey Buddy,” he tries softly. “Need you to sit up for me, have some water and take these.”

Dave grunts, noncommittally, but ultimately does try and push himself up. You both help until he’s back into a seated position and Marcus hands him the two white tablets. Dave stares at them for several seconds before tossing them back into his throat and swallowing without water. You tisk at him and shove the water glass into his hand.

“Drink,” you order. He does. He finishes near the entire glass in one go and your eyes widen in surprise.

“There,” he sighs, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Can I go now?”

You’re so frustrated you could smack him. One second he’s being a total asshole, the next he’s trying to kiss you, then he’s purposely getting the shit beat out of him, then practically crying in your lap, and now he’s back to being obstinate again.

He was right about one thing. He is fucked up. And you don’t think it’s just the booze.

“I’m sorry, no,” you shake your head, trying to sound less angry than you feel. The last thing you need is to pick another fight with this unpredictable man right now. “Baby, you’re bleeding”

The endearment slips out completely by accident. You don’t even notice you’ve said it but both Dave and Marcus do, their widened gazes turning to you at the exact same moment.

“Dave,” you quickly try to correct, shaking your head.

He lets out a little snort and nods his head, like he’s willing to let you get away with your little slip up.

“You hit your head really hard, you can’t be alone tonight. If you can make it upstairs you can have the guest room, if not, we can make up the couch. In the morning you’re free to go, I promise.”

“Fine,” he relents, shoulders dropping.

“Think you can help us get you upstairs?” you ask and he nods his head. Both you and Marcus throw one of his arms around your shoulders and help him up, taking each of the steps up the staircase slowly. Dave seems to be somewhat coming out of his fog and much more helpful this time, thankfully. You’re pretty sure it’s just the alcohol working against him now, his brain mostly cleared from the fog of the head trauma. Once you reach the top of the stairs you go to turn towards the guest room but Dave plants his feet and attempts to twist his body away from it, toward the direction he knows your and Marcus’ master bedroom is instead. You and Marcus both share a look behind Dave’s back where you’re holding him and after a moment Marcus gives you one solitary nod, acquiescing to Dave's wishes.

Once inside the room you unravel yourself from Dave as Marcus sits down on the edge of the mattress, bringing Dave with him to sit next to him. You head off to the bathroom to wet a washcloth and come back into the room to gently wipe away the blood and dirt at Dave’s forehead.

“What the fuck were you thinking,” you mutter as you clean him up best you can, shaking your head slightly. He doesn’t answer and you don’t expect him to, nor do you really even want him to in his condition. He needs to sleep it off, maybe you’ll get some clarity in the morning.

Once he’s cleaned up Marcus lifts Dave’s arm off of him and puts it into his lap. He isn’t sure what to do next so he leaves Dave there and wanders off to the bathroom to find you where you’re rinsing off the washcloth in the sink.

“What do we do with him?” he asks quietly.

“Well… honestly it’s probably better we’re in the same room anyway, that way if something happens in the middle of the night we’re there,” you reason and Marcus nods.

“Ok…” he sighs, following after you as you exit the bathroom and flick off its light.

You stop just outside the bathroom when you see Dave passed out in the middle of your bed, all his clothes - including his shoes - still on and you sigh.

“I got it,” Marcus says, going to the end of the bed and untying the laces of Dave’s shoes before placing them on the ground. That’s all you undress of him though, he’ll be fine sleeping in the rest of his clothes. Marcus was already in sweats and a t-shirt but you were still in work clothes so go over to your dresser and fish out a pair of pajamas and quickly change. Once you’re ready for bed you turn out the lights and both you and Marcus crawl in on either side of Dave. You can’t help but reach a hand out and brush it through his hair as his light snores fill the quiet, darkened room.

Fuck, you really missed him.

Taglist (if you want to be added - or removed!, lmk!) @senaar-ika @suzdin @boliv-jenta @prolix-yuy @vabeachazn @seasonalobession @pedroshotwifey @nerdieforpedro @chronically-ghosted @macabremads @survivingandenduring @theywhowriteandknowthings @axshadows @iamasaddie @vickywallace @lincolndjarin @its-nebuleuse @janaispunk @missladym1981 @heareball @staywildflowahchild @guelyury @anotherpedrolover @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @runningmom94 @yorksgirl @harrington-thedad @missyorkswhore @disassociation-daydreams

[pearlsdiamondsandvodka]

nooo why contact the cannibal stepmother when you could have tried to speak to gepetto or cinderella or elodie!!

[rie-092]

FATHER, CAN I DIE?

✶﹒ platonic yandere! manhwa fathers x suicidal/overworked daughter! reader.

tw : suicide attempt, neglect, blood, etc.

erno etam

erno is a psychopath, or atleast— that's how you see him. at first, this guy pay no attention to you at all. but he doesn't neglected you (or atleast that's what your maids were saying to make you feel better). he still gives you whatever you want and needed, give you clothings, house and foods. but affection? nah, there's no way he will love someone boring as you.

erno sees everyone as chess pieces, and yes, unfortunately you were also one of those chess pieces. yes, you were an important piece because of your abilities when it comes on magic and military tactics. but it doesn't changed the fact that he can dispose of you whenever he wanted.

and maybe because of his treatment to you and how everyone ridicule you because of erno's treatment. became the last straw to make you do that thing. and damn, the maid who saw your half dead body laying on your research lab and with your slashed throat— got traumatized. to the point that after she saw you like that and called the doctor and the other members of the etam family, she resigned and unfortunately a year after become crazy.

but it wasn't the same for erno. because the time that he saw that sight— he became interested. he remembered when he saw you for the first time as a baby. how you held his finger as if it was your own way to say that you wants to live.

when you woken up, you were disappointed to see the face of your younger siblings as well as your grandfather who scolded you to the point that your ears were about to burst. but what caught your attention was erno who started acting like a proper father for the first time. and seeing that glint on his eyes, the excitement that you felt for the first time started to disappear when you realized that— ah, damn. this is another game for erno's perspective.

nevertheless, you still gave him what he wanted. a perfect oldest daughter who will never disappoint him. you showed him a façade that he wanted. and with the months where he acted like a proper and perfect father who adores his daughter. you realized one thing and you couldn't help but to scoff as your hand traced the bandage around your neck. this guy, he finds you interesting for the first time— he finds the fact that his daughter almost killed herself, he finds the sight of his daughter half dead and bleeding— interesting.

it makes your stomach churn, it was disgusting— he is disgusting. you couldn't help but to wonder why in the are you so desperate to have his attention before? damn it.

but since this is what he wanted, you couldn't help but to think— why can't you give what he wanted? the sight of you dying and bleeding to death? and that's how your suicide attempts started. at first, it was simple such as poisoning yourself, drowning, etc. at first you used the methods where you were sure that it wouldn't hurt you that much.

and erno doesn't know why— he only spent few months acting like a proper father to you. but the sight of you unconscious in your bed was enough to make his hand shook. was it because of fear? why is he scared in the first place?

he spent a week trying to think about the reason. but then, while he was on the palace— he got a message from home saying that you jumped from the castle inside the etam estate. and now, he realized why the hell is he scared. hurrying to get back home, the only thing that erno has inside his mind was his daughter.

those times you tried to impress him, those times that you tried to get his attention, those times that you crave for his affection. and those times when he carried you as a newborn for the first time. erno realized that he fucked up— to the point that he couldn't do anything to change it anymore.

and after once he got home, he was welcomed by the sight of his daughter— sitting down on her bed with bandage around your head and those lifeless eyes of yours. erno felt as if he wanted to cry. and by the time he heard that you got amnesia because of what happened. erno was delighted— delighted by the fact that he was given another chance to fix your relationship. a chance to redeem his self.

but maybe, because of what he did before— no matter what he do. you became obsessed on dying. and your how do we quote it? "turning in new leaf" father got scared that you might succeed in doing that.

and that was the time he resorted onto something that he knew will affect your life, but he doesn't care. you have him, he will take care of you— you don't have to worry. your father got your back.

the only thing that you remembered before erno broke your legs and arms was the series of apologies that he whispered on your ear. and now, you become dependent to him just like what he wanted. don't worry, your father won't disappoint you this time.

“ i know it hurts, little cupcake. but this is what happens when you don't listen to father's requests!"

[hollygracesworld]

Falling into your ocean eyes 🌊 | Orm Marius x Fem!Reader

part 2 🌊

Warning ⚠️ : enemies to lovers, Fights to each other, Orm attacks y/n (choke), harsh words.

for the next part ➡️ masterlist

Y/N's brown hair turned slightly golden in the sea. She couldn't stop looking at how beautiful the view was from under the sea, the coral reefs and all the plants on the seabed that were lit up colorfully. She really wanted to get out of this transportation and enjoy directly the beauty she saw behind the glass, but creatures like sea aliens were really serious watching her, making her sick.

There is like a large and majestic gate, the road to enter Atlantis. What she saw was really like a myth, or being in a dream that you don't want to wake up from. everything is so sophisticated, advanced civilization, no less than the surface.

But the worst part had come, she had to face King Orm.

“Lady Y/N is already here, Your Highness.” Vulko said.

Orm turned around, his hand still holding his trident. He looked into Y/N's eyes sharply, then a few seconds later he smiled, “Welcome to Atlantis, my future sister-in-law.”

Y/N dived closer to Orm, then responded with a sinister smile, “This place is so beautiful, I almost thought it wasn't real. But sadly, its beauty becomes gloomy because you block it.”

“Is that really?” Orm dived around Y/N, his ocean eyes met her brown eyes. He smiled sarcastically, “because as far as I thought, you always presented yourself as my mistress. It’s impossible that behind that hateful face you show, there is a very deep feeling of attraction to your King.”

“I already know how evil you are, and your jealousy of your brother. You know that he is the one who deserved the throne. And as for Mera, I don’t feel any love growing for you.” Y/N spoke with so much confident.

“I’m the true King, you stupid witch.” Orm raised his tone for the first time towards Y/N. Arthur ran away with his fiancée Mera, which made him quite frustrated. Y/N's words were enough to make his blood boil.

“It's not my fault if I'm telling the truth—“

“Take her.” Orm said to the guards, then they immediately surrounded Y/N.

“No, no… you can’t do this, I need to see my father.”

Orm glared, “And I need you to shut your fucking half-blood mouth. Obey me, so I will give you to King Nereus.”

Y/N smiling, “Oh I will not obey anyone.” Her eyes turned bright red, a red flash struck the room so that the guards were thrown into the corner of the room because of the magic that had just come out of her hands.

Orm immediately attacked her by using her trudent, but before the attack hit her skin, she threw Orm using her chaos magic.

Attack after attack, shots continued to be fired at Y/N, but she avoided the shots very well. Her magic works very well on the seabed, making her unstoppable.

“Your Highness, this madness has to stop. King Nereus will be here soon.” said Vulko.

“It won’t.” Orm didn't launch another attack this time, he dived very quickly to choke Y/N's neck making it difficult for her to breathe.

Orm smiled with satisfaction seeing Y/N's face red and struggling to breathe. He tightened his choke to Y/N's neck, “You know, I hate it when someone says that someone is more worthy of being King than me. A surface witch like you has no right to have that opinion but to brazenly entered my mind to seduce me.”

“I’ve…..seen it….all,” Y/N said with her breath starting to run out, “future.”

“See what, surface witch?” Orm said with disdain, “Our relationship?”

“You…wish.” Y/N said one last time before she fainted from running out of breath.

“Take her away.” Orm ordered his guards, then they took Y/N's body which was lying on the floor.

He looked at Y/N who had fainted and was being carried by her bodyguards. It occurred to him to do something that was the opposite of what he had just done.

“Stop there, let me carry her.”

****

[hereforreadandwrite]

Chapter Four

Masterlist

You haven't been back to Sindri's house since Tire was liberated. You didn't want to face him. Thinking about this man always made you uncomfortable and tugged at your scars. You placed your hand against your shoulder. You didn't like it. You sighed, running your hands over your face. Have the Norns decided to challenge you? If so, they were really cruel to you. Although they told you once, they were just spectators of the spectacle that the Aesir Gods and mortals gave them.

So that was your life. A spectacle of tragedy that entertained the Norns.

“What a shitty life,” you muttered, slamming your knife into the belly of the deer you hunted.

You opened the poor beast's belly, removing its organs so you could harvest the meat. You were going to be able to last a few weeks with that. You froze as you felt a divine and threatening presence. You groaned as you approached the bucket full of water to clean your hands. You looked closely at your hands soaking in blood. The last time you had this much blood on your hands was when you took out your anger on a troll who had broken into the Valkyrie council. The creature didn't stand a chance against your rage and sadness. You remembered being covered in his blood from head to toe. You didn't get any satisfaction from this confrontation. You dipped your hands in the cold water, removing the blood from your hands.

You couldn't help but feel uncomfortable thinking about what happened in Svartalfheim. The liberation of Tyr did not bring you the relief and joy you hoped for. You dreamed so much of his return and you were disappointed by the reaction and behavior of the one who was your husband. No, this man was not your husband. Your husband was dead when he left your home for Asgard.

You grabbed your knife, moving closer to your game when you felt your hair stand up at the base of your neck. You saw a strange shape crossing the sky at full speed.

Had you dreamed or had you just seen Vanadís?

You dropped your work, rushing to the Mystique door. You walked through the door. You knew where she was going. You had heard the little boy talking about her with his father. If she was in such a hurry, that meant that Kratos and Atreus weren't far away. What could they have done to upset Vanadís? You passed the door arriving in front of a house. You heard the sound of weapons clashing when you heard Atreus screaming and bear howls. You rushed into the backyard to see Kratos holding back a grizzly bear.

"Atreus! You do not want this! Calm your mind. Control it!" he said holding the bear down. “She was our friend.”

Freya turned her back on the father and son. She was conflicted. Atreus returned to his human form. Kratos helped him up, asking if he was hurt. The Vanir Goddess felt rage invade her, her breathing accelerated. Freya screamed, turning to face Kratos. She used her Vanir magic, conjuring up a vine that wrapped itself around the rock next to the Spartan's head. The vine squeezed the rock until it exploded. Kratos protected Atreus from the flying stones. Freya faced them. Her rage was palpable. But she didn't always seem capable of killing someone. Was she still cursed or did she not have the courage?

"Maybe… for the moment… you're of no more use to me… alive," she said, putting away her sword.

Kratos stood up, grabbing Atreus' arm, forcing him to do the same. The Spartan ordered the teenager to return to Sindri's house. Which, obviously, Atreus didn't like. Not surprisingly, Sindri and Brok came out from behind a rock. You rolled your eyes as you saw Atreus' sidekick say they were taking him home and saw him bow to Freya. Kratos pushed Atreus towards the dwarves, telling them not to lose sight of him. You watched Sindri and the teenager pass not far from you. Atreus looked at you surprised to see you there, but Sindri made him understand that this was not the time to upset his father. The two headed towards the mystic gate, leaving Midgard. Something interesting seemed to have happened while you were gone. You returned your attention to the deities who were getting dangerously closer, sizing each other up with their eyes.

“What is it you want?” Kratos asked.

"I refuse to remain bound to this Realm. We travel to Vanaheim," Freya announced.

Vanaheim?

Wasn't that where Sköll and Hati were? Was it a Norn trick? But the dream you had. Did Tyr plan all this?

“(Y/N)?” Freya asked, looking at you in surprise.

You were brought out of your thoughts when you heard the Goddess. She was looking at you as if she had just seen a ghost. You looked at Kratos. The Spartan moved closer to your person, eyeing you severely.

"What are you doing here?"

"I saw a furious Goddess speeding past my house. Only Vanadís was in such a hurry. And it was only you she could fight," you said. while looking at Kratos. “You lost sight of your little boy again, didn’t you?”

“That’s none of your business,” he said, moving next to you.

"Of course. But your little one set something in motion. And there are some things I need to check out. I'm coming with it to Vanaheim. Your brother is still there right?" you asked, turning your attention back to Freya. “I have a few questions to ask him.”

"What do you want to know?" asked Kratos who was near Brok.

"I imagine you haven't been idle since… Tyr was freed. Am I wrong? I need to know what you found and what happened."

"For what?" asked Freya perplexed.

"Ragnarok is almost here. There are some things I need to know."

"Would you have a role to play during Ragnarok, daughter?" Mimir asked uneasily.

"I… I don't know. But in Vanaheim… there's one thing I have to see."

"What?" Kratos asked.

"I just need to go check something out. Without Tyr being around."

“You still don’t trust him?” asked Mimir.

"No."

“Tyr is alive?” asked Freya in surprise.

“Not really,” you replied, heading towards the mystical door. “This man is not Tyr.”

Freya gave Kratos a look that said they were going to have to discuss this. Brok finished opening the passage, allowing the group to travel to Vanaheim.

Vanaheim.

This Realm was a huge jungle, filled with dangerous vegetation that attacked any outsiders. The smell of humidity and plants invaded your nostrils. It was strange. The last time you came to this Realm was for Freya and Odin's wedding. Like everyone else, you had bitter memories of it. Everyone was angry with Freya and with Mimir. Freyr had caused a scandal during the ceremony.

"Oh no. Something's wrong," Freya said, snapping you out of your thoughts. "My spell. I can feel it slipping."

"Well. That's Fimbulvetr for ya!" Brok said.

"You don't understand. I'll be torn from the Realm."

“What can be done?” Kratos asked, looking at Freya who was muttering under her breath.

"Something I was hoping to avoid… Seems I have much choice."

Before everyone's eyes, Freya transformed into a hawk. Mimir asked her if she could circumvent Odin's spell from the beginning, to which the Goddess replied that she discovered it when they opened the passage between the realms. It was not a solution and this form was extremely restrictive for her. In this form, she couldn't fight.

The journey took place under Brok's stupid jokes and Mimir's answers. Kratos, Brok and you killed every plant that had become more aggressive with the humidity and creatures that emerged from the shadows to stop them.

Everything here was in ruins. Nothing has been rebuilt. Which saddened Freya.

Was it also surprising?

“Whare has everyone gone, I wonder…?” Mimir began, perplexed.

“They must have withdrawn. Hidden themselves out in the wilds, and covered their tracks with magic,” Freya replied. “No way of knowing how many are left, or how to reach them.”

“Aesir ran cockshod all over this place, huh?” Brok commented.

“You can thank Mimir for that,” Freya commented sarcastically.

“War with the Vanir was NEVER my idea!” exclaimed Mimir. “MY idea was brokering the marriage to end it!”

“A great success that was!”

“Like many of his ideas,” you said darkly.

"Darling. I assure you it was to protect you."

"Of course. Keep convincing yourself," you said with a chuckle.

"Enough! Let's keep moving," Kratos growled.

The rest of the trip was done in silence. The trio followed Freya through the Vanaheim jungle until Brok was caught by a trap that dragged him to an unknown location. You glanced at Kratos, who did the same. You and him were going to have to save Brok's blue butt. Kratos went first, telling you to be careful. You arrived in a deserted place. Brok hung in midair, grunting as he tried to free himself from the trap. Kratos told him to shut up. It was way too quiet.

"Now what do we have here? Ol' One-Eye send another God and to a little girl to do dirty work?"

You and Kratos turned towards a man who lit a torch, allowing you to see his face better. You recognized him as Freyr, Freya's brother.

“Thor too busy?”

"We do not serve Odin," Kratos said.

“No?” Freyr asked, moving closer. “Picked a dangerous place for sightseeing, then. Am I right?”

Freyr's men emerged from the shadows, surrounding the two coming. You made your sword appear, revealing your nightmarish form. You were ready to fight.

“This form and this sword,” Freyr said, eyeing you carefully. "Little Valkyrie. I never thought I'd see you again, kiddo."

“There are two of us, Freyr,” you said, getting into a fighting stance.

“Now, now,” said Mimir. "No need for threats."

"Oh. I know that voice…," Freyr said as Kratos unhooked Mimir from his belt so he could see him. "You know, I'd cut off your head… but it seems somebody beat me to it."

"Aye. Oh, quit watching, brother," the head replied.

"No, you're no brother of mine. You sold my sister to that… prick!"

“We brokered a peace!”

"Oh! Did you now? Where is it? Hmm? And where is my sister? Some dungeon in Asgard? Is she even alive? ANSWER ME!"

Freyr got too close to Mimir, Kratos pointed his ax at the Vanir God, making him understand that he was too close. Freyr laughed, backing away from the trap that held Brok. He took his weapon from his belt, saying that blood would flow. At that moment, Freya yelled for her brother to stop. She landed on a perch, looking down at Freyr who was looking at her perplexed.

"What is that? Why do you speak in her voice?" he asked without looking away from the hawk.

"It's me, Yngvi. There's no time to explain. Just listen. These person are in my service. I'm here to reclaim what's been taken from me."

"It's too late. You can't' undo what's been done," Freyr replied.

"I can. I will. Now let them pass."

Freya took off from her perch, leaving the camp. Freyr didn't take his eyes off her. He didn't seem to believe that his sister had returned to him. The Vanir God turned to the duo, asking if they served his sister. Kratos growled in response as you transformed back into your normal form, vanishing your sword. Freyr sneered, commenting that they were all serving her. He turned to Lunda, ordering her to free Brok from this trap. The dwarf brought her knife down on the rope, cutting it cleanly. Brok fell heavily to the ground. Kratos hooked Mimir back onto his belt. You approached Brok, helping him up while Kratos approached Freyr.

“Nothing broken?” you asked, helping Brok up.

"I'm fine. I've seen worse than that fall," he said, turning to Lunda. "What's with leaving me hanging like that, ya crusty hag?"

"Oh can it, Blábr! C'mere…," she said before giving Brok a hug.

"Well! Found who I was lookin' for. Think I'm gonna stay and catch up," Brok said before following Lunda to her forge.

“Oh, are you now?”

“Do as you wish,” you replied, watching the two dwarves walk away.

You sighed, going to join the Elves of Alfheim and a man dressed in armor and armed with a huge sword. You took a seat on a log, glancing at Freyr's henchmen. The man named Birgir told you that they wanted the camp to remain secret. You replied that it would stay that way. You weren't going to leave camp anyway. You didn't care what Freya was looking for. You just had to know something.

"Are Sköll and Hati in Vanaheim?" you asked, looking at Birgir.

"Why this question?"

"I just need to know if they are here and if there was any strange phenomenon. Wasn't there a solar eclipse?"

“It’s been several centuries since there was one,” Beyla replied, catching your attention. "The wolves continue to chase the Sun and the Moon. They are fine."

"I need to go check on them. I need to make sure they're okay. Where is their lair?"

“Whose lair?”

You jumped, turning to Freyr who was holding Mimir. The Vanir God settled down next to you, giving you back what was left of your father. You looked at Mimir uncertainly. You reached out your hand, taking the rope to place him at your side.

“I have to go see Sköll and Hati,” you said, looking at Freyr.

"For what?"

"I have to make sure they're okay and that nothing bad happens to them."

Freyr looked at Birgir, Beyla and Byggvir. The camp leader sighed and stood up, gesturing for you to follow him to the table. You grabbed Mimir, following Freyr who showed you a map. He explained to you which path you had to take to get to the wolves' den. Freyr looked at you intently. You took off your cloak, putting it in a corner, so you could tie Mimir to your waist. Your wings. No doubt a move from Odin. He remembered you. After all, you have always been the pride of the Valkyries and Mimir. Everyone knew you. He had seen you as a child. He even played with you and learned some pranks to play on your father. Until Heimdal decided to burn it and leave Asgard.

“Why do you want to make sure the wolves are okay?” Freyr asked, folding the map.

"I know they were imprisoned by Odin. I just need to make sure nothing curious happens," you said, heading towards the portal.

“Wait!” Freyr exclaimed, following you. "Are you sure it's a good idea to go alone? How long has it been since you last came to Vanaheim?"

“Do you think I’m that weak, Freyr?” you asked, stopping near the gate.

"I didn't say you're weak, little Valkyrie. I'm just saying it's not a good idea to go alone. Fimbulvetr hasn't spared this Kingdom and there are many Einharjes who is swarming around."

"You don't have to worry. After the Valkyries, someone else taught me some techniques," you said as you passed through the portal. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

You moved away from Freyr's camp, deep into the jungle of Vanaheim. You took the path indicated by Freyr. According to him, Sköll and Hati were not far away. Mimir glanced at you a few times. Should he speak or not? You were still mad at him. Well Named.

"Honey… I know you don't want to talk to me, but I wish you would listen to me. Your mother and I… we really thought we were protecting you by sending you back to Midgard. We wanted to keep you away from Odin and his madness. But… it didn't go as we hoped. I don't know what he did or how he was able to find you, but… I'm sorry. I couldn't protect you the way I wanted. The day he imprisoned me and cursed the Valkyries… they brought us your wings. Daughter… please. I want you to know, I'm sorry. This pain will torment me all my life. The only thing that calms me is knowing that you are alive."

You stopped when you heard Mimir's apology. He asked you for forgiveness? He wanted you to forgive him for abandoning you? You unhooked your head from your belt, placing it on a rock. Mimir could see from your expression that you were not happy with this request. You turned your back on Mimir, taking a few steps away. You ran your hands over your face, running them through your hair. Did he dare to ask you for forgiveness? He dared to make such a request to you?

“You and Mother forced me to return to Midgard,” you began softly, turning to Mimir. “You and Mother never came to see me. Never! You and Mother failed me! You You gave up without the slightest remorse! I was all alone! I had no one… do you know what I did when I found out that mother was locked up? I protected her. I did the only one that you and her didn't do. I stayed with her and protected that damn breach at the risk of my life! So no! No. I could never forgive you. Or her ."

Mimir sighed, dejected. Everything you just told him was true. It was normal that you refused to forgive him. With their statue as Sigrun's Queen of the Valkyries and Odin's role as advisor, they never had time to make sure you were well established in Midgard. He had been busy making sure the marriage between Odin and Freya worked to ensure some semblance of peace. Which has always been a big joke.

“That’s what I told myself when he took my wings and in Tyr when he found me,” you said with a sigh.

“I… I beg your pardon?” Mimir asked, looking at you surprised.

You approached the rock where you had placed Mimir. You sat down in front of him, looking him over. Mimir was struck by your state. Since he was able to see you again, this was the first time he was able to see you properly. Your eyes were watery, you had dark bags under your eyes, that sparkle of mischief that you had as a child was gone. You have become a woman tired of this miserable life. You sighed, running your hands over your face.

"I obeyed. I returned to Midgard. I knew that you and mother wanted to protect me from Odin. But that wasn't enough. Do you want to know what he did? He pretended to be you. He took on your appearance and I let my guard down. That's how he managed to take my wings. When he did… I called. . You and mother… I called for someone to come and help me…"

“But no one came…”

“No… no one,” you said, sighing. "I found Mother's breach. I tried to ignore her, but… I kept coming back to her. I couldn't… get used to the idea to left her alone and helpless. Until Tyr found me and helped me. He trained me. He loved me. He saved me. I was happy again. But so was he, he abandoned me. That man at Sindri's… he's not my Tyr. He's not my husband."

"But… that doesn't explain why you want to see Sköll and Hati."

"I had a dream not long ago. I was with Tyr. We were going hunting and then… he disappeared. At that moment, a lightning bolt tore through the sky and everything became red. The moon was hiding the Sun. Then I saw two pairs of eyes and some growling noises and in the end, Tyr appeared and asked me to help him."

"It's strange. A premonitory dream perhaps," replied Mimir perplexed. "You helped Tyr, in a way, and we're going to see the wolves. But an eclipse? That's strange. I'll think about it, darling."

“Thank you,” you said, smiling at Mimir. “Father.”

"I'll make it up to you (Y/N). I promise."

"No offense. You're just a head," you said, getting up and picking up Mimir.

"Ah! It doesn't just take brawn to succeed, Darling. I thought I taught you that."

“Yes, but from time to time, you have to know how to hit.”

“Okay, you’re right about that.”

You let out a light laugh as you attached Mimir to your waist. You set off again, finally reaching the wolves' den. You saw the wolf Hati who was sleeping. Sköll was still chasing the Sun. You slowly approached Hati. The wolf's ears twitched as he heard you approach. You kneeled in front of him. Hati raised his head, looking at you perplexed. At first glance, he seemed fine. You sat down, sighing in relief. Maybe the dream you had was nothing more than a dream. You held out your hand towards him. The giant wolf brought its snout closer, sniffing a little before standing up. You did the same, following him to the edge of the cliff. Hati sat up, looking at you with his red eyes. He began to scream before chasing the moon, giving way to the Sun. Sköll will run towards you, landing next to you. The wolf looked at you perplexed as you offered him your hand. He sniffed for a few seconds before going to lie down in his den, waiting for his brother to finish his endless chase.

“They are fine,” Mimir said. "It seems your dream is just a dream, daughter."

“Maybe,” you said, looking at Sköll.

"It's been a while since you've been away from camp. It's better to go back before they worry."

“Yes.”

You looked at Sköll one last time before leaving their lair to return to Freyr's camp. You were relieved to know that the wolves were okay. So why did you have this dream? It did not make sense. No, you didn't have to think about it anymore. You walked through the camp gate to see Freya and Freyr hugging. Apparently you missed something. You moved closer to Kratos, unhooking Mimir from your waist to return him to the Spartan.

"You finished?" you asked, looking at Kratos.

“Yes.”

“What’s the verdict?” Mimir asked.

“She will help us,” Kratos replied, looking at Mimir. “Did everything go well?”

“Oh yes,” the head replied. "Very well even. Now what? What do we do?"

"We're going back," Kratos replied, hanging Mimir back on his belt. "And you?"

"I'm coming. I have to do something," you replied uncomfortably.

"You want to talk to him? Are you sure?" asked Mimir worried.

“Yes, you have to.”

"I'm ready to go," Freya announced, approaching the group. "(Y/N)? Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Yes. I have nothing more to do here."

"We're going back," Kratos said as he headed towards the entrance to the camp.

"Hey little Valkyrie! Come back and see us soon!" Freyr exclaimed.

"Yes, Freyr. I'll think about it," you replied before catching up with Freya and Kratos.

You liked Freyr, but he was always so loud and exhausting. At least it seemed that he and Freya had reconciled, and she and Kratos seemed to have put their differences aside. It was a good thing. At least, you hoped so. Now there was one thing left for you to do.

Talk to Tyr.

Just thinking about it made you uncomfortable. You felt your stomach twist and your hands become sweaty. It was so strange that you felt this way when thinking about your husband. You had to stay focused on your goal. But there was also another problem. According to Mimir, Atreus had disappeared for two days and he refused to say where he had been. This did not please the Spartan who announced that the boy was going to tell him everything and that there was nothing to add. Mimir looked at you, commenting that this was the famous Spartan diplomacy. But Freya's question sent shivers down your spine.

"Wait… did you say Odin invited him to Asgard and then he disappeared for two days?" asked the Goddess worriedly.

"What? Are you kidding?!" you exclaimed. "Odin invited the little boy to Asgard?!"

"Aye… but surely the lad's got more sense than to-" Mimir began before being cut off by Freya.

"Don't underestimate Odin's powers of persuasion. He filled my son's head with lies. Why wouldn't he do the same with yours?"

“It’s not just persuasion,” you said darkly. "If he feels that your little one is an obstacle to his plans, he will not hesitate to make him disappear. He has no limits."

“That too,” Freya replied softly, watching you struggle.

You preferred to ignore the look Freya gave you. You didn't need his pity. Not after all this time. You walked through the door, arriving in front of Sindri's house. Brok was arguing with Bitter Squirrel, one of Ratatoskr's alteregos. Kratos ignored the argument and entered the house. You followed the Spartan, with Brok and Freya. Kratos wasted no time entering his son's room. Sindri left the room, visibly upset. You went to sit at the table when Atreus came out of his room insulting his father. You heard Mimir exclaim that this was not how he was going to change his father's mind.

It looked bad.

"He doesn't have any faith in me! It's fine of he keeps secrets. It's fine is Mom did," exclaimed Atreus who came to sit at the table.

“It is NOT fine,” Kraots replied harshly as he followed his son. “Her secrets haunt every step of this path.”

"Oh, okay. So you don't believe in her anymore either?"

“His is not about your mother!” Kratos exclaimed, placing Mimir on the table. “What you have done is lie.”

“Wonder where I learned that?” the boy replied sarcastically.

“That’s quite enough!” exclaimed Mimir.

“Since when do you away take his side?” Atreus asked, looking at his angry head.

"Since he became the one making sense."

In the meantime, Tyr had approached the table. A pot full of stew in his hands.

"Look… I was only thinking about going to Odin. But I swear it's for a good reason…," explained the young man.

“There is no good reason to go to Odin,” Freya replied, approaching.

“He’ll only cloud your mind,” Tyr continued.

"But I'd be going for us. I gotta stop something bad from happening."

“Something bad did happen!” exclaimed Mimir, attracting the attention of the dwarves who approached in turn. "LOOK AT ME! At Freya. At Tyr. At (Y/N)! Odin did this to us!"

"What's got everyone caterwaulin' all a sudden?" Brok asked as he approached Atreus.

“Atreus wants to go Asgard,” Sindri replied.

"Asgard? Did he get kicked in the head or something?"

"Great. I guess everyone's against me now," Atreus growled, glaring at his father.

"You must choose who you are going to be," Kratos replied, approaching his son. "Are you going to continue to lie and keep things from me? Or are you my son?"

As he spoke, Kratos placed his hand on Atreus' shoulder. Hoping that his words finally reach him. But it didn't seem to have any impact on the boy. If anything, it seemed to upset him even more.

"Choose? I never get to choose. Just leave me alone."

Atreus wanted to walk away and end this discussion. But Kratos didn't think so. He grabbed the boy's arm, ordering him to listen. Atreus yelled at him to let go. He violently pushed Kratos away, but with his rage, he transformed into a bear. Freya rushed to Kratos, helping him up. Tyr had dropped the pot, grabbing your arm to pull you towards him. Unluckily for Sindri, Atreus was standing in front of him. The dwarf tried to reason with the boy. Without success. Atreus violently pushed him away with his paw before fleeing and breaking down the door of the house. He was running away. Kratos rushed to the door as Freya and Brok rushed to Sindri's side. You tried to break away from Tyr's hold, but he refused to let you go.

"He might come back," he said nervously.

"Let go of me!" you cried, pushing him away and watching him get annoyed. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

You quickly moved away from Tyr, approaching Sindri, Freya and Brok. According to the Goddess, there was nothing serious about the dwarf. Just scratches. Which was a relief in care. Your attention landed on the door. Kratos stood in the doorway. His fists were clenched and you seemed to see sparks flying. The Spartan slammed his fist against the doorway, making the house shake. You looked from Kratos, to Freya healing Sindri, to Brok who was cursing, and to Tyr who was standing nervously in the back of the room. You sighed, massaging your temples which were becoming sore.

And now what would happen?

Tag: @ladycrowsworld

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

It’s important that the first revelation of Nissa Nissa is accompanied by some level of skepticism from Salladhor Saan and aversion on Davos’ part. It doesn’t sound right that Azor Ahai chose to sacrifice his wife for a magic sword. It shouldn’t sound right.

“A hundred days and a hundred nights he labored on the third blade, and as it glowed white-hot in the sacred fires, he summoned his wife. ‘Nissa Nissa,’ he said to her, for that was her name, ‘bare your breast, and know that I love you best of all that is in this world.’ She did this thing, why I cannot say, and Azor Ahai thrust the smoking sword through her living heart. It is said that her cry of anguish and ecstasy left a crack across the face of the moon, but her blood and her soul and her strength and her courage all went into the steel. Such is the tale of the forging of Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes.

“Now do you see my meaning? Be glad that it is just a burnt sword that His Grace pulled from that fire. Too much light can hurt the eyes, my friend, and fire burns.” Salladhor Saan finished the last grape and smacked his lips. “When do you think the king will bid us sail, good ser?”

[…] A true sword of fire, now, that would be a wonder to behold. Yet at such a cost … When he thought of Nissa Nissa, it was his own Marya he pictured, a good-natured plump woman with sagging breasts and a kindly smile, the best woman in the world. He tried to picture himself driving a sword through her, and shuddered. I am not made of the stuff of heroes, he decided. If that was the price of a magic sword, it was more than he cared to pay.

Not only does it not make sense that Nissa Nissa would agree to her husband’s request, it’s also telling how Salladhor Saan expresses relief in knowing that King Stannis didn’t actually forge Lightbringer. Because forging Lightbringer means human sacrifice. And why should one be deprived of their life, even if it’s for a magic sword? Davos is very right to be creeped out by it.

The theme of sacrifice shows up quite a bit in ASOIAF and Davos I isn’t the first or last time. The very first chapter in the series, Bran I, tackles this idea with Jon and the direwolves.

“Lord Stark,” Jon said. It was strange to hear him call Father that, so formal. Bran looked at him with desperate hope. “There are five pups,” he told Father. “Three male, two female.”

“What of it, Jon?”

“You have five trueborn children,” Jon said. “Three sons, two daughters. The direwolf is the sigil of your House. Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord.”

Bran saw his father’s face change, saw the other men exchange glances. He loved Jon with all his heart at that moment. Even at seven, Bran understood what his brother had done. The count had come right only because Jon had omitted himself. He had included the girls, included even Rickon, the baby, but not the bastard who bore the surname Snow, the name that custom decreed be given to all those in the north unlucky enough to be born with no name of their own.

Their father understood as well. “You want no pup for yourself, Jon?” he asked softly.

“The direwolf graces the banners of House Stark,” Jon pointed out. “I am no Stark, Father.”

Jon, though he may desperately desire to have his own piece of magic, would not sacrifice his siblings for it. He wouldn’t dare to deprave the girls, Arya and Sansa, of their own magic even when it might be very easy to do so. This is a pretty stark contrast (pun intended) to Azor Ahai and his Nissa Nissa. Azor Ahai’s first line of thought was to sacrifice his wife whereas Jon’s was to sacrifice himself. Sure Azor Ahai got his magic sword, but Jon’s self-sacrifice is not in vain either because he later earns his own wolf, who turns out to be even more special than the rest in the pack.

Bran IV kind of alludes to the idea of self sacrifice through Old Nan’s retelling of the last hero:

So as cold and death filled the earth, the last hero determined to seek out the children, in the hopes that their ancient magics could win back what the armies of men had lost. He set out into the dead lands with a sword, a horse, a dog, and a dozen companions. For years he searched, until he despaired of ever finding the children of the forest in their secret cities. One by one his friends died, and his horse, and finally even his dog, and his sword froze so hard the blade snapped when he tried to use it. And the Others smelled the hot blood in him, and came silent on his trail, stalking him with packs of pale white spiders big as hounds—”

Though the one we know is called the “last hero”, notice that it’s not a title but a mere descriptor; there were many heroes before him who died and he was the last one standing. There is a human toll in this legend, but it’s implied to be self sacrifice. It’s also interesting that though there is mention of a blade, it is the children of the forest’s magic that is key. This does kind of bleed into what we know about the Night’s Watch and its relation to the long night. The Night’s Watch victory was a group effort, rather than the actions of any one man.

We have several legends surrounding the long night that work, but only one involves the cost of sacrificing someone else (that we know of). This might be where GRRM is headed with Stannis and his creation of Lightbringer. Sure Azor Ahai did get his magic sword, but it doesn’t negate the steep human cost. GRRM has lowkey confirmed that Stannis is sure to burn Shireen. And rather than this sacrifice not working, I think it’s more likely that it does work. Stannis does indeed create the flaming sword. But this will be directly weighed by other (self) sacrifices made for the same purpose. Stannis’ sacrifice of his daughter won’t work any better than other characters who choose to sacrifice themselves even when knowing that they are not going to go down as individual legends; I think Jon Snow will once again be the prime example of this, as he has already resigned himself to being a shadow in history despite initially wanting the opposite. Maester Aemon was right in saying that

[…] all deceive ourselves, when we want to believe. Melisandre most of all, I think. The sword is wrong, she has to know that … light without heat … an empty glamor … the sword is wrong, and the false light can only lead us deeper into darkness, Sam

The sword is wrong. Azor Ahai is NOT one to be emulated. Rather, he should be a cautionary tale. He is not any more special for his sacrifice than what the last hero or the men of the Night’s Watch did, even though we know his name but don’t know theirs. GRRM answered the question regarding sacrifice before he even posed it. To make someone else pay the price is flat out wrong. The only true and worthy sacrifice is really that of the self.

[illarian-rambling]

By popular demand!

Villain Introduction: Vermir Nadvalsib, the Mage Eater

“I don’t think you know the opportunity that’s being given to you, girl,” Vermir addressed. “I’m working towards a better world, ruled by gods who know what it’s like to be mortal. There will be no disease, no hunger, no tyrants…. Or no selfish ones, at least. It’s going to take a strong hand to bring this about, and that hand needs fingers to work with. I’m offering you a place at my side.”

Fana looked down at the woman’s outstretched eikodoro hand and spat in it. The girl’s tawny eyes flashed as they caught the pale light of Vermir’s runes.

“You’re one of those crazy book mages, aren’t you?” She barked a laugh. “Go fuck yourself. My father will be here soon and you’d better pray it’s him who gets here first, because if Aunt Tw—”

Fana’s threats broke off with a sucking gasp as Vermir’s dagger found her heart. All at once, reality stilled the girl’s fiery tongue. It was shocking—bad things could happen, even if your family had all the power in the world.

Gently, Vermir laid the spasming girl down, Twelve and Ten stepping to the side. “Don’t worry, sweet Fana, this’ll be over soon,” she whispered. “You’re going to become something great. You’ll be the newest of a new order. You’ll save the world.”

Blood coated the girl’s teeth as she stared up at the silver faceplate that would be the last thing those eyes would ever see. Vermir kept one ocular rune on her arcane signature—a swirl of molten, particolored glass. It faded, growing dimmer and dimmer as the life leaked from her breast.

“I’ll k— kill you,” Fana breathed, eyes wide and glassy. “My family… save me….”

Vermir saw the exact moment little Fana Devaris died. To her magical senses, it seemed as if the girl’s arcane signature exploded, a million glowing particles spitting out like sparks from a forge.

From her pocket, the mage drew a vial of black ichor. The spirit blood was the key—the biocomponent—that allowed her to suck magic from a sorcerer, just as that sorcerer’s blood was the biocomponent that allowed some fragment of their mind to survive in a metallic body.

"This will all be over soon," Vermir whispered, though the girl could hear her no longer. "This will be over and, oh sweet thing, you'll be something better."

Spoilers for Mystery of the Mortal God below

Vermir Nadvalsib was born on the Janazi island of Laben, about five hundred years before the plot of The Mystery of the Mortal God takes place. She lived there peacefully, serving as their village mage. It was a good life, and she loved her community like nothing else, treating their sickness and improving their infrastructure. Unfortunately, there eventually came one problem she couldn't fix.

Aderin flu is all but eradicated in modern-day Janaz. However, five hundred years ago, it killed islanders by the thousands. When the disease came to Laben, Vermir worked tirelessly to find a cure. She was never successful. In time, she felt the claws of the disease curl around her lungs as well, and so she turned to darker sources. She just needed more time to work out a cure. She just needed the right magic.

Vermir knew that Chosen, those blessed by the gods and given the power to work miracles, were capable of healing the sick. She also knew that no god has more than one Chosen, and that all the Illarian gods were taken. So, she sought this power from an alternative source.

In an ancient Araunian tablet passed down to her by her predecessor, Vermir read about a spirit of antiquity, feared by the long-dead desert people. They called it only the 'dark beyond.' Vermir thought she would be able to ask this old god to make her its Chosen, and thus use its power to make herself immortal so she'd have the time to make a cure to save her people.

Unfortunately, the being she called upon was no god.

End, though Vermir never learned its name, tore through Laben out of the portal she opened. It devoured the divine souls of the townsfolk and grafted their echoes onto Vermir before the ritual failed and it was pulled back into outer space. This rendered her semi-immortal and nearly broke her mind. The whispers of the people she inadvertently killed hiss through her skull in a constant murmur.

The Chosen of the Illarian church, deployed because of the End influx, found her all but comatose. The power flowing through her was too raw at the time for the Chosen to kill her, so they tossed her in the Trench. She didn't need air anymore, after all.

For five hundred years, she languished in the ocean floor prison. She came to blame the gods for her failed ritual. Why had they sent the Aderin flu if they cared for mortality at all? Why had the Chosen come to arrest her, but not to cure her people? Why was there cruelty in the world at all if the gods could prevent it?

Her hate calcified into a grand plan. First, Vermir would find herself a perfect, unkillable form, finally finishing her trip towards immortality. Second, she would find a way to steal sorcery and give herself a godly amount of power. To do all this, she would capture a spirit and use its divine knowledge and alchemically powerful ichor to fuel her plans. It took her many centuries to work all of this out.

She escaped the Trench by causing a magic blackout, using the tooth of a 'beast blessed by the dark beyond' she managed to find in there. (Not that Vermir would know, but that tooth would be none other than Izjik Meautammera's, which she lost by hitting her head on a rock) (The magic blackout she caused also allowed Sepo and Izjik to escape). She waited until the gods sent a spirit to investigate the surge of strange magic, then captured that spirit and pulled it into a mobile demiplane she spent her time in the Trench constructing.

After that, she just needed to find some sorcerers whose magic she could steal, and who she could put into robotic bodies as a test run for her own perfect form. It's just a little unfortunate for her that the sixth experimental subject she chose was a little more... willful than the others.

And the rest is history!

As a person, Vermir really believes that usurping the gods to rule in their stead is the right thing to do. She thinks that mortals deserve to be ruled by a mortal, and once her utopian empire is solidified and all disease and war are eradicated, she really does intend to step down to let people rule themselves. The one thing that she doesn't care about is how many people she needs to kill to get to this point. A mass slaughter of sorcerers is just the price that must be paid to give her the power to save the rest of the world. She's giving those sorcerers immortality, after all, in the form of metal bodies. Why should they be upset?

Her main weakness is her temper. Vermir likes to see herself as above such petty things, but when someone pushes her buttons, she loses her cool incredibly fast. This makes her sloppy.

Her main strength is that she's a legitimately good god-queen. At the current point in the story, she's taken over a city and executed its ruler. The people love her because she distributes food fairly, runs a judicial system that cares about more than money, gives free medicine to the sick, and provided heating runes to defend against the frigid climate to an extent that the old regime never did. Apart from her transfer for sorcerers into brainwashed metal bodies and stealing of their magic, all of which she keeps secret from the masses, she's an incredibly benevolent tyrant.

As for what she looks like, as she first appears, Vermir is a shriveled bog mummy of a woman. Her face is leathery and she has no hair. Her brown eyes are adjusted to the Trench's darkness. Later, she finds herself in a towering metal form made of pale silver eikodoro - the siren god-metal. No matter if she wears flesh or metal, Vermir is wreathed by a cowl of shadows, which are the chattering remnants of Laben's populous. She doesn't have the heart to get rid of the last echo of her people, no matter how annoying they might get.

Now for fun facts, I guess?

Vermir, for all the grief she's caused him, doesn't know Mashal's name. She just calls him Six, because he was her sixth subject.

She has some serious beef with Astra because the witch stole her notes, even though she sees a lot of herself in the younger woman.

Her first round of experiments (One through Seven) were done to perfect the transfer process of putting a mind in a metal body. The rest of the sorcerers she kills and stuffs into metal bodies are brainwashed into serving as her soldiers.

At this point in the story, after conquering a city known for its sorcerous university, she has the power of upwards of 15,000 sorcerers at her disposal. This would make her more powerful in sheer destructive capabilities than many minor spirits.

She has canonically used the words "ran through" to describe a library.

I imagine her with a New Jersey accent because it's funny.

She intends to find a way to put her metal soldiers back into fleshy bodies should they want it once her conquestest of the world and usurpation of the gods is over.

Frankly, Vermir is one of my favorite villains because she just has so much personality. Also, if someone showed up, killed the president on live TV, then declared that they were the predisent now and healthcare, food, and rent were now free, I'd probably get behind them too if that's all I knew. Lmk if you have any questions and I hope you enjoy my cunty little Glados ripoff <3

Have a bitchin day!

@amandacanwrite @elsie-writes @riveriafalll @kosmic-kore @kaylinalexanderbooks @bard-coded @carrotsinnovember @patternwelded-quill @somethingclevermahogony @whatwewrotepodcast @goldxdarkness @the-angriest-author @mk-writes-stuff @frostedlemonwriter @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling

[nadinebrooks]

Here is the link to my masterlist.

Ron Weasley x Reader: Can We Start Over?

Warnings: I just wanna say I don’t condone cheating, but I wanted this to have a happy ending.

"Mum. Are you in here?" Ginny Weasley called out to her mother while walking into the kitchen of the Burrow.

"Yes, Ginny?" Molly Weasley called back to her youngest child. Molly was frantically running around the kitchen trying to make sure that every single thing was perfect for (y/n).

(y/n) and Ginny had become best friends during their first year at Hogwarts. Ron had kicked Ginny out of his compartment and (y/n)'s older brother kicked her out as well. Ginny found (y/n) sitting alone and practically begged her to sit with her. The last thing she wanted was to ride all the way to Hogwarts alone.

"(y/n) just sent me a letter. She's getting ready to leave her house in about thirty minutes."

"Thirty minutes?" If it was even possible, Molly was moving even faster than before. There were knives, plates, glasses, spoons, and a couple of plates flying around the kitchen. A knife came flying at Ginny, but she easily dodged it since she was so used to the kitchen being like this.

"Your favorite sons are finally home." George poked his head into the kitchen while making sure that he kept his eyes on everything that was flying around. He and Fred had closed down the shop early so they could come home to enjoy this huge dinner that they had heard about. "You know that this isn't the first time that (y/n) has met us. She knows all of us pretty well besides Charlie."

"That is all true," Fred added poking his head in beside his twin, "Just because you don't make this fantastic dinner for (y/n) isn't going to make her like us any less."

"I know that Fred and George, but it's the first time that she's coming to our house. I know that it may not be what a family like hers is used to. I just want to make a good impression on her. I can't believe that Ginny has known her for six years, and this is the first time she's come over."

"Wait." George scratched his head as if he was in deep thought. "Is (y/n) pureblood."

"Nope." Ginny shook her head, bright red hair swaying all down her back. "She's half. But her father is very well known in the Ministry."

"He's very high up in the Ministry," Fred said. "Mr.Malfoy is even okay with (y/n)'s mom coming over to the Manor for the extravagant balls and dinners. Yet, she doesn't have a drop of magical blood in her." And with that note, the twins had just left the kitchen to head up to their bedrooms to get changed into something comfier.

"What about (y/n)?" It was Ron who had just come down after hearing all the commotion. He was followed by Harry who caused Ginny's cheeks to flush a light pink. Even though Ginny had been seeing Harry all this time, he never failed to cause certain emotions to go through her.

"She's coming over," Ginny smirked at him watching him blush. She knew exactly how Ron felt about (y/n).

He had the biggest crush on her and Ginny actually thought it was adorable. (y/n) told Ginny that she thought he was cute, but she never thought about any feelings for him. She said that if Ron ever made the first move then she would gladly accept it and see where their relationship would go.

"(y/n)-" he stammered. "Like your friend (y/n)." Ron's face was slowly approaching the same color as his hair. Ron hit the deck as a knife flew over. If he hadn't ducked, that knife might have found a home in the side of his neck. "When is she going to be here?" And right as he said that there was a knock at the door.

"That should be her," Harry smirked looking at his best friend. Over the course of the years, Harry and (y/n) had become very close. They weren't as close as Ron and Harry, but they were pretty close to that.

"(y/n)!" Ginny yelled pulling open the door. She pulled her into a hug which she gladly returned. And there stood the most beautiful girl Ron had ever seen in his life.

It seemed as if every time he saw her, she got more and more beautiful. Ron didn't hear a word that she was saying, but he sure was focused on her lips. He was wondering what it was like to kiss her.

She was talking to his mom, Ginny, Harry, and the twins. But he didn't engage in the conversations because he was trying to figure out how someone so beautiful could be in his presence.

"Close your mouth," Harry snickered and patted his back. "You'll catch flies."

***

"I don't ever want to see you again Ronald Weasley." (y/n) screamed at Ron in the Gryffindor common room. Everyone instantly stopped what they were doing and turned to focus on the scene that was unfolding before them.

People claim to hate drama, but whenever some drama goes down, they were the first ones there.

Ron wasn't sure what to do. Hermione and Ginny were standing over to the side eye wide. They wanted to help (y/n), but they didn't know what to say. They couldn't think of anything that would make her feel better. Ginny was starting to feel her blood boil. How could her brother do that to her best friend?

Harry had just walked into the common room from getting some more butterbeer and fire whiskey. He was still holding the snitch from the match earlier, but he could tell something was off.

The atmosphere in the room just didn't feel right. He let out a mental sigh, all he wanted to do was enjoy this party after this Quidditch match that the Gryffindor had won. Then he noticed what was wrong.

Ron had his arm tightly wrapped around Lavender and she was smirking. Hermione and Ginny were both glaring at the two of them, and (y/n) was standing over to the side with silent tears streaming down her cheeks.

But all you needed was one glance at Lavender to tell that she was clearly enjoying the attention. She had her eye on Ron for a while, and when she saw the opportunity to take out her threat. She snatched it like a shark that smelled blood in the water.

"Shows over." Harry snapped at the rest of the Gryffindor house. After what had just happened, it would be hard to go back to partying. Luckily it was 2 in the morning, so most of the younger students decided they would head up to bed.

The older ones passed glances of empathy at (y/n) before heading to bed or just to play a couple of games of wizard chess before turning in for the evening.

Lavender sent one last smirk at (y/n), blew a kiss to Ron, and headed up to her dorms. Ginny made a lunge at her, but Hermione managed to hold her back.

"What happened?" Harry asked his friends even though he knew exactly what happened. He was feeling mixed emotions about the whole situation because Ron was his best mate, but he did have slight feeling for (y/n).

Because Ron liked her, he decided to keep those feelings pushed down and just see (y/n) as a younger sister. Some days were better than others.

"I honestly don't know-" Ron ran his hand through his hair making it even messier from Lavender's roaming fingers.

"You made out with Lavender," Hermione simply stated crossing her arms. "Don't act like you don't know what happened."

"That's what happened?" He looked down at his shoes not wanting to meet anyone's eyes.

"Yes, that's exactly what happened. Don't play dumb." Ginny snapped, "I saw you, Hermione saw you, (y/n) saw you. The whole Gryffindor house saw you, Ron Weasley."

"You were all over Lavender," Hermione said her mouth in a straight line.

"And it was disgusting." Ginny added on. "I cannot believe you right now. I stick my neck out so that you can have at least a chance with (y/n) and you go make out with some slut who's had half the Gryffindor house's tongue shoved down her throat."

"Is this true?" Harry turned toward Ron with his green eyes wide.

"Alright. I did it." Ron threw his hands up in the air, "I wasn't thinking straight. I've had way too many drinks and Lavender was right there and I don't know what happened. It just happened. I don't have an excuse."

Harry looked completely disappointed with his friend. He shook his head and walked over to one of the sofas to take a seat.

A small sob escaped from (y/n), and she tried to cover her mouth before it slipped out, but it didn't work. Ron instinctively reached for her, but she took a step back and ran out of the portrait hall. Harry got up from the couch and followed behind her.

"Harry, where are you going?" Ginny questioned.

"Even though he may be my best mate," Harry jabbed a finger at Ron, "you hurt her for no good reason. Ron, she loves you. And like Ginny said, you ruined a perfectly good relationship for her. She needs someone to comfort her."

"I'm so sorry." Ron looked at his sister and his other best friend, but they didn't look like they wanted to accept his apology.

"Why are you apologizing to us?" Ginny sneered.

"You should really be out there looking for (y/n) and trying to apologize to her." Hermione nodded.

"I would, but I really don't think she wants to see me right now." Ron sighed and lowered himself onto the sofa Harry was sitting on moments before. How could he have ruined a relationship like that?

Sometimes it seemed as if (y/n) was the only one that was on his side. The only one that believed he should keep trying at Quidditch even though he thought he was horrible. Even though pretty much the whole school thought he was horrible. (y/n) was always in his corner. And this is how he relayed her?

***

It had been a couple of weeks since (y/n) and Ron's relationship was over. They thought that time would heal the wounds, but as the days went by, it seemed to get worse.

To cover up how he was feeling, Ron started spending more and more time with Lavender. (y/n) wanted to cry every single time she saw or thought about them News traveled around the school fast and pretty much everyone had heard what was going on.

Even Draco had tried to come and comfort (y/n), but all she wanted was Ron back. She wouldn't ever admit that though. Draco told her that she was too good for him and that he didn't deserve her.

"I was thinking about going out to Hogsmeade tonight." Harry sat down beside (y/n) at a table in the library. She had devoted herself to doing the best she could in all of her classes to take her mind off Ron. Which meant spending just about every moment in this library with her nose shoved into some textbook.

"Why?"

"What do you mean why? It's the weekend, you should get out and do something fun. We miss you (y/n) and Ron won't be there so don't worry about it. Just be ready at 7 and dress nice, okay?" And with that Harry left (y/n) wondering what he had planned.

Later that evening they headed with a couple of the other students to a little pub. Ginny went up to order the drinks while everyone else went to look for the table. After sitting and talking with her, Hermione, and Harry, everything started to feel normal again. Like maybe (y/n) could actually get over Ron. Well, that's what she was thinking until he entered the pub.

He found their table and quickly walked over there. (y/n) was looking for Lavender, but she was nowhere to be found which was weird because they went everywhere together. (y/n) then looked down studying her napkin as if it was the most intresting napkin in the world and not the same ones that they used back in the Great Hall.

(y/n) was glad that she actually decided to throw on some last-minute makeup before she came down here. The night seemed to drag on forever. (y/n) and Ron didn't talk directly to each other, they just gave their input here and there never talking to the other.

"I need to make a run to the ladies' room." (y/n) had become a little tipsy from the couple of shots of fire whiskey she had. Harry was sitting on the outside and she was just going to crawl over him so he didn't have to put himself in the middle of this crowded pub, "I'm just going to squeeze over you." She giggled and attempted to crawl over the raven-haired boy. (y/n) slipped and fell right onto Harry's lap. Harry felt his cheeks heat up, but he gently pushed (y/n) off of him and steadied her on the ground. "Sorry." She giggled one last time before scampering off.

Ron didn't know what had come over, but he was furious with Harry. He was just yelling at him and really starting to cause a scene so Hermione made them take their argument outside.

When (y/n) came back she looked around the table confused, and a sweet boy in Hufflepuff told them that they had gone outside. Hermione and Ginny were just standing there watching them back and forth like a tennis match. A large crowd had even gathered around to watch and see what all the fuss was about.

"You hurt her." Harry roared, "She loved you Ron and you threw all that away for some kiss? Some girl that just happened to be there at the moment? You couldn't stand Lavender last year."

"I know Harry." He roared back, "You don't think that those thoughts cross my mind every single moment that I'm awake and they haunt my dreams."

"I could treat her better than you can." Harry mumbled looking down at the snowy ground. (y/n)'s eyes grew wide and she couldn't help but think if she had been with Harry would she have gotten hurt like this?

"Harry you don't deserve her." Ron looked down and shook his head.

"And you do?" Harry shot back.

"No," Ron mumbled and that surprised everyone. "That's the thing. None of us do. She's too good for this earth Harry, don't you understand that? Not only is she beautiful on the outside, but she is just as stunning on the inside. She thinks everyone deserves a second chance no matter how horrible what they did. But she gave me a chance Harry. She could have anyone but she gave me a chance that I ruined. And if I was her, I wouldn't give myself a second chance either. I messed it up for some girl that isn't half as amazing as her." Tears spilled from both Ron's and (y/n)'s eyes. Hermione even looked as if she was on the verge of tears. "She's too good for me Harry, but if you think you can do a better chance, go ahead. Just once you get her, don't ever do anything to let her go."

"Ron." (y/n) whispered stepping out of the darkness and under a streetlamp.

"I am so sorry." Was all he could say before (y/n) had ran into his arms. "If you gave me another chance, I would never hurt you."

"I guess everyone deserves a second chance."

"So that means I can start over?" Ron asked and (y/n) nodded.

"Sure." She whispered.

"Hi, I'm Ron Weasley."

"And I'm (y/n) (l/n)."

[archaiclumina]

nonsense - for the random word generator prompt!

Tysm for this prompt, Sea!! Sorry it took me such a long time to finish with it. But I had a lot of fun with it! I decided to have a crack at writing an in-game version of Revelations with a distinctly Zodiark spin! The passage numbers are of course, wholly arbitrary c': but I kept them for the bible study feel haha. Seemed nonsense-y enough c:

The Book of Lingering Dark; Revelations: 1-14

1 And as I looked upon the spheres in the heavens above me, a voice cried out from everywhere, and all at one.

The one who stands upon the source of the split. Untouched by spirit and light, by darkness and salvation. You, who is from those who is and who was, and who is to come. Listen well and I will tell you how it came to pass. 2 From the fourteen spirits before my throne. Some shall remain faithful witness, the others reborn from the dead. The rulers and guardians of the first. 3 To those who love us and will free us from our sins by their blood. They have made us a kingdom, and become servant and rector to the one true source.

4 Look, she is come with the clouds, every eye will see her and all peoples on all earths will weep because of her. So shall it be. But I am the first and the last. Who is, who was, who is to come. I am he who is both alive and dead. I hold the keys of salvation.

5 Then I saw him. Like one carved from obsidian and ebony and from his eyes shone rainbows and constellations. His throne was a chasm where the moon once burned bright. 6 And surrounding his throne were fourteen, all garbed in dark robes with masks of crimson burning upon their faces and in chorus each intoned the prayer:

"Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of the lingering Dark, who was, and is, and will yet return."

7 And in front of the throne was what looked like a sea of flowers turned to glass, clear as crystal, and behind the glass were living creatures. 8 Shades that wept and clawed, and sang and caroused.

And the fourteen ushered others from the shadows forward, and each was given a robe of white and told to wait with patience until the full number of their servants, their sisters and mothers, brothers and fathers, had come to stand. 9 And the fourteen asked thus:

“Is this the number that will return our salvation?”

And the number waited and bleated their fears, like lambs unto slaughter, just as the shades before.

10 Then a voice called out loudly:

“How long? Sovereign of the Dark? How many? Until the truth can be borne?”

And as I turned toward it, I saw the glass was but a mirror. The frozen flowers a reflection of a field of blooms alight behind me. And from out its gleaming circle rose a woman, holding high aloft a sword.

And thus she spoke:

“I birth a world of suffering.”

14 I looked, and there before me, a pale star, burst to life and soared skyward, and behind it followed the threads of time. And each of the fourteen clung to one as to a rope and followed with them. And each of them was given power over a fourth of the stars, to kill by sword and magics, wild beasts and cataclysms.

11 And as she brought down her sword, all the world and all its heavens and hells shook with a great tremble. The sky turned blackened pale with ash and stars fell from the sky like tears. Then the sky itself vanished, every burning sun and milk-white moon become a blot of blackest ink. 12 And every plot of earth and each mountain peak withdrew so that nothing remained but the song from the clouds and mankind stood upon nothing but oblivion. 13 Then the kings and the priests, the rich and the poor, the weak and the mighty, the living and the dead, all cried out to be saved:

“Shelter us, return us to your bounty. Hide us from the face of suffering and her song of culmination. For the great day of her wrath will come, and who among us could withstand it?”

[luverofralts]

Arkhelios Adventures

Weeks had passed since Adam had last seen his boyfriend or visited the room where they'd been separated. So many times, Adam had walked down the hallway, intent on revisiting the room, only to chicken out at the last second. It was still too fresh to confront. No matter how much Adam wanted to be okay with what had happened, his brain just refused to move on.

But today was the day. Adam was going to go touch the crystal that he'd been working on when the incident happened. He wouldn't try to activate it or anything complex. Just touching it would be enough. Touching it would make the memories in his head go away permanently. It had to.

"Okay. You can do this. It's just a rock. It's just a room. Nothing bad will happen. Nothing bad will happen."

Adam took a hesitant step, but faltered. Entering the room would make it all real. It would mean that his life had changed, that Theo had been ripped away from him, that all the warnings adults had been throwing at him were real and could happen at any time. He could die at any time.

The doctors had told him repeatedly that he was lucky to be alive. Most people in his situation did die. The survival rate for what he'd been through was incredibly low. He was likely only alive because as Remy liked to point out, Theo had desperately tried to protect him from the demonic magic tearing through him. Adam never thought he'd hear his sister defend Theo and advocate for them to stay together. What she had seen that day must have been powerfully seared into her mind for her to be so adamant that Theo had done whatever he could to save him.

Adam wished that he could remember Theo helping him or anything else that might help him move on, but he couldn't recall much. Just the blinding pain and the feel of wings pass over his skin as he burned from the inside out.

Adam dropped to his knees, too overcome with fear to carry out his mission. He couldn't do it. It was too soon and he was too weak and the fear was too strong. What would happen now that Theo was gone? Could the crystal still be attuned to the nearly lethal energy it had absorbed weeks prior? What if he was injured again now that Theo wasn't around to help?

"Adam? Honey, are you alright? Have the headaches come back?"

Ewan Maricourt rushed to his son's side, only to be waved away by the teen. Truthfully, he'd been watching Adam from afar, waiting to see if his son was ready to confront what had happened. Seeing Adam try to enter the room had filled his father with hope that Adam was starting to heal emotionally from the accident. This set back didn't mean anything; the fact that Adam was willing to try was good enough for Ewan.

Adam sobbed, finally allowing his father to approach him. His pride didn't matter now that his brain was rebelling against doing the one thing Adam wanted it to. Who cared if anyone saw him crying with his dad? He couldn't even enter a stupid room.

"It's okay, you're safe," Ewan promised, pulling his son as close to him as he could. "You're doing so well and I couldn't be prouder of you. Things will change in time. You've got to give yourself both time and space to process your feelings. No one heals after just a couple of weeks. It takes time."

"Do...do you think I made a mistake dating Theo?" Adam asked, sobbing into his father's shirt. "I love him Dad, but-but"

"But you ignored the guidance of your elders," Ewan finished. "Us parents tell you things that you may not like, but they're usually from a place of experience. You'll understand it one day when you have children of your own. Do I like watching you disregard my advice and getting hurt in the process? Of course not, but I was once your age and I know, at least a little bit, how it feels to have young love. I'm not thrilled to hear how far your physical relationship with Theo has progressed or that you disregarded all warnings about blood magic and sex, but I understand. Your sister likes to tease me about my apparent inability to settle down with someone, but I was young once. I had boyfriends and girlfriends and one night stands. I dated people I thought I'd marry someday and lost them all. If you love this boy and you're meant to be together, then it will work out. I promised Evren that I would completely wipe this incident from my mind if Theo came back to us in control of himself and I intend to keep that promise. Granted, you won't be sharing a bedroom again in the future, but I will try my hardest to give Theo a second chance."

Adam's tears were slowing and Ewan slowly steered his son away from the crystal room.

"Of course, you don't have to keep dating him if you can't move past this. I support whatever decision you make. Take your time and rest, Adam. No one expects you to sort through all of this in an afternoon. Why don't you go to your room and take the afternoon off from class? You look tired."

Resting in the room he'd once shared with Theo seemed impossible. Theo's stuff was still there, as if he could come back at any minute. Evren had refused to pick up any of Theo's belongings despite Abe and Roman's wish to have them close to them while he was gone. Evren knew that the second Theo's things vanished, Edana would try to interfere and make it harder for Theo to return. Leaving his things in the room was a statement, one that declared that Theo would not be erased from the school. Theo was coming back to be reunited with his possessions, whether Edana liked it or not.

It was hard for Adam to concentrate in their shared room. Half of him wanted nothing more than for Theo to walk through that door right then, while the other half was afraid. The dull ache in his chest that had started the day Theo left was strongest in this room, surrounded by memories. It hurt to breathe with that ache weighing down his chest.

Adam closed his eyes, only to be startled when he opened them. Impossibly, another rip exposing the Void had opened, flashing maliciously in front of him.

"This isn't real. This isn't happening," Adam chanted to himself. "It's just a hallucination. If it was real, you could feel it. It's not real. It's not real."

Hallucinations were an unfortunate side effect of some of the medicinal potions he'd been prescribed to help him heal. It was yet another reason that Adam kept himself away from other people outside of class. There was always a chance that a hallucination could pop up at any time, exposing just how broken Adam had become.

"Hey, Adam. I've missed you."

To Adam's horror, an image of Theo appeared before him. Not Theo, but the Theo he last remembered seeing. A monster with golden eyes that were as piercing as they were haunting.

"No. No, you're not real. You're not Theo. Leave me alone."

The illusion shimmered slightly before it dissolved into a thousand pieces that disintegrated before Adam's eyes.

He may have been injured, but Adam still had his instincts. He knew how Theo felt in his arms, and no illusion could ever match that. The hallucinations were getting less frequent now that he had reduced the amount of potions he had to take. They weren't as strong as they had been when he'd first woken up after the incident. In those early days, Adam couldn't distinguish his mother from a nurse in the hospital and would frequently be found talking to someone only he could see. Edana had been livid at this and was sure to mention her feelings at every opportunity to staff. Remy told her twin that it was only through some smooth talking on their father's part that Edana had been allowed to stay.

Several people had asked about his connection to Theo, and Adam had lied to every one of them. It wasn't any of their business, even if they were treating him for a Theo related problem. If he closed his eyes and looked deep within himself, he could feel the familiar, but weak warmth of Theo's presence out there somewhere. It was too weak to glean anything about how Theo felt or where he was, but feeling the real Theo was helpful for identifying the hallucinations.

Eventually though, Theo would come back, and Adam needed to know how he felt about that before Theo walked in the front door.

Adam sighed heavily and climbed into his bed, trying to ignore the world around him. That was a problem for the future. For now, Adam was going to try to sleep, hoping that when he woke up, he'd be a step closer to figuring out what he was going to do about his boyfriend.

[rie-092]

FATHER, CAN I DIE?

✶﹒ platonic yandere! manhwa fathers x suicidal/overworked daughter! reader

summary : maybe they should just lock you in your room to make sure that you won't do something dangerous.

a.n : i plan to make this a series, what do you think?

abel heilon

let's start with the most chill platonic yandere! out of the guys that i will feature in this post! abel heilon, the duke of the north with a simple mindset of 'if you mess with me then i'll mess with ya' we all know how protective he is with fiona and siegren. but just imagine, what if— just what if he has an illegitimate child who's related to him by blood that he hid from the public's eyes.

anyways, the first time he met you. he became sure of one thing. damn, you were indeed his child. with that silver hair, blue eyes and personality of yours— you were indeed his child. he can't deny that because you looked like a kid version of him. well, it's not like he is denying it tho— but what the fuck is wrong with your brain anyways?!

he doesn't know if you were abused before he met you. but why in the hell are you so obsessed with suicide anyways?! why the fuck are you even throwing yourself in battles when you were a support mage?! for the fuck sake! stop! yes, you have above average amount of mana! but the hell?! you're not as strong as fiona nor siegren! stop it!

if it's not for siegren then he wouldn't know the fact that you happily greeted the assassin that was sent by the imperial family. according to him, before siegren saved you from the assassin you even have the guts to propose to that damn assassin about committing suicide together since according to you, you have fallen in love with him— hearing that story, abel couldn't help but facepalm. (first name), you're thirteen! and that assassin is already thirty-six or worse, older!

maybe because of the stress of managing the north and keeping you safe from your suicide attempts. abel finally snapped.

look, abel likes watching you enjoying your freedom. but damn, if he doesn't do anything about this— he might end up burying you before you even reach the age of 18. he won't hurt you, he swears. that was the last thing that he will do to you. but that doesn't mean that he can't take preventive measures to make sure that you were safe.

platonic yandere! abel heilon was one of the chillest platonic yandere that existed. he will let you do anything that you want, he won't take away your freedom nor hurt you. he isn't also overbearing to the point that it was suffocating. but don't make him snap, because he can be the most suffocating and controlling parent existed.

now, on your sixteenth birthday— to celebrate it. you decided to jump onto the freezing river near the manor. you expected that you'll wake up inside your room— but no. when you opened your eyes, you were inside an unfamiliar room that has no windows. seeing that you can't use your magic, you were sure that there's a magic restricting device placed around here. what the hell is happening?

the door had opened, you looked at who it was and saw abel looking at you with a smug grin. you tried to ask him what is going on but instead of replying— abel only ruffled your hair saying that it will be only him and you from now on. and that was when you realized one thing— abel had taken your freedom away from you.

but abel didn't care. cry until you have no tears left, he doesn't care. the only thing that he cared about was keeping you alive. and this is the only thing that he know to achieve his goal. but don't worry, he will visit you everyday and give you books to make sure that you won't get bored. so, can you stop being a btch and appreciate his efforts?

he doesn't care if your eyes lost its usual enthusiasm and spark. he doesn't care if you stop eating at some point— because abel can shove the food inside your mouth to make sure that you stay alive.

oh, by the way— fiona was the one who made the room where you were staying now. she just wanted to make sure that you were safe! and the only place where you can be safe is the place where you can't use magic! so, forgive them, will ya?

“should i just cut off your arms? so that you won't be able to use your magic again?”

gallahan lombardy

okay, as far as you know— you are not really a suicidal type of person. but for your father, gallahan lombardy you are. because for gallahan, overworking is another way to try to kill yourself after all.

gallahan is a sweet person, i swear. he won't hurt you at all and isolating you? no, no, no, gallahan won't do that! but he still couldn't help but become paranoid when it came to you. you were way too focused on studying— maybe because of the pressure that you were getting from the other people.

your sleep only lasted for two or four hours, you always isolate yourself inside the library. and gallahan didn't like it at all— look, you need to take it easy and rest. the only time you leave the library was when gallahan and tia drag you outside to eat in a cafe or buy new clothes.

platonic yandere! gallahan loves to spoil you. you wanted to buy books? here you go. want to try home-cooked foods? sure, he'll cook it for you. do you want to go to the festival with tia? alright! as long as he will go with you two.

but then, a certain event made gallahan snap. it was a normal day and gallahan entered the library to drag you outside so that you could socialize with the family. but then, he saw you unconscious on the floor, buried in the books and your nose was bleeding. gallahan was panicking, he didn't know what to do. what if you don't wake up? what if something bad happens to you? or worse— what if you die? if it wasn't for shananet who saw her younger brother's panicked face and her niece's condition. then gallahan won't be able to calm down and call the family doctor.

and what is the doctor's diagnosis? you were overworked. and after hearing that, rulac lombardi, your grandfather along with your auntie and uncles saw how your father's face darkened while looking at you who was peacefully sleeping on the bed.

and then, after that incident. you couldn't help but become confused when gallahan didn't scold you— instead, when you woke up. you saw him smiling softly at you. he didn't even ask you to take it easy. he just lets you do what you want.

but what you found odd was your father started giving you foods and drinks everytime and after consuming those things. you started feeling tired and before you knew it, you always ends up asleep. and once you woken up, you were already on your room. with tia cuddling with you while your father was asleep while sitting on the chair next to your bed also asleep.

knowing how innocent your father was, you never suspect a thing. you just kept on eating and drinking the things that he was giving to you. and you never questioned why you always get tired after it. your father loves you so much, so he wouldn't do anything— right?

plot twist, gallahan actually puts drug on your food and drinks to make sure that you will take a rest and never overwork yourself again. but a year later, you started losing your sense of sight because of it. but gallahan and tia don't care when you have them? oh, just thinking about their sweet (first name) being dependent on them was enough to make them very happy.

“sorry, honey! this is just a precaution, okay?”

[misguidedasgardian]

The Lovely Hallows

Prologue

MASTERLIST

Pairings: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader (platonic), future Aemond Targaryen x Slytherin!Fem!Reader

Reader is a reader insert EXCEPT FOR her last name, I need something to call her by, except for that, she is an un-described, ambiguous looking reader. Also, I will try to diminish the use of (y/n), so I will use pet names, nicknames and such

Warnings: Cursing, magical objects, Mugglephobia (?), that is what I’m going to call racism against muggles 😂😂with Draco we are going to have a lot of that, they are children so it’s pretty mild so far. 

Wordcount: 1.3k

You always liked coming to Malfoy Manor, not because Draco was your friend since you were born, but because it was beautifully built, details in every corner, statues, old paintings, it was very fun to play in, and you also liked visiting Draco specially when his mother Narcissa celebrated these huge parties.

Not because of the pure blooded wizards and witches… But because of the immense tables served with desserts and snacks, and all the butterbeer you could drink. 

You knew you were few weeks short of starting school, so that was the reason for the Malfoys to throw a huge celebration in honor of Draco, you also knew that amongst the guest list was going to be a huge number if not all of Hogwarts’ faculty

It is something uncle Lucious and aunt Narcissa would do.

But you didn’t care about that either

“Remember dear, smile and… be polite”, reminded your godmother as she fixed the bow that kept your dressing robe together, you whimpered when she did the knot too tight, “many important people will be there tonight”, she said with that cringing smile 

“I know”, you whispered, and smiled at her, she smiled back, grabbed your hand, and you aparated right before the huge gates of Malfoy Manor

“Be in your best behavior”, she said one last time before you were greeted by servants and house elves. Once inside, it was easy for you to sneak away from your aunt, you already knew where Draco might be… right in the center, meeting everyone with his parents. The ball room was exquisitely decorated, dark green everywhere, with silver plates and cutlery serving a feast in one side of the room, the 

“You are late Basilik”, he said quickly as he saw you

“Don’t be mean Draco, tell her how nice she looks”, invited Narcissa 

“You look like a Brussel’s pastry”, he mocked your dark green puffy dress, you pouted

“And you look like a Grindylow licked your hair off”, you said back, mocking his silvery stands always combed back tightly

“Children”, said Lucius, with that creepy smile that looked like he wanted to go to the bathroom, uncle and aunt greeted your godmother as Draco grabbed your hand and took you out of the multitude and towards the table which had big jars of butterbeer being sere by themselves 

You drank the yellow brew slowly, when you took the cup down Draco giggled at you, pointing at your creamy lips and foamy mustache, in turn he took a sip of sweetscotch

“Tomorrow we are going to Diagon Alley to buy all the things for school”, he told you with his sneaky smile, “my father already pre-ordered the Nimbus 2000 for Quidditch”

“You know they don’t take first years into the Quidditch team”, you reminded him, “even though our abilities with a broom are pretty sick”, you winked 

“They will accept us once my father gifts the entire team the new brooms, and you will enter with me”, you giggled

“Buying our way in, I love that”, and he smiled, and you clink your glasses in a small agreement

But you wiped your smile off your face when you saw uncle Lucius walking towards you, accompanied by a tall man, all dressed in black robes

“Draco, little one, this is Professor Severus Snape, head of Slytherin house, and teacher of Potions”, he presented and you both looked up to the black haired man, you knew since this moment he demanded respect, it made your skin crawl

“I trust I’ll see both of you in Slytherin?”, he asked, his voice was deep and slow, he looked at the both of you, you were always at Draco’s side anyways

“Severus, it has never been a Malfoy that hasn't been in Slytherin”, said Lucious, proudly, placing his hands on Draco’s shoulders. Your friend smiled as he used to

“How about you?”, he asked, then looking right at you

“I hope so”, you seemed to notice he drew a small smile, but it could have been easily your own imagination

Even if they had taught you the sorting hat looked inside your head, inside your mind and inside your souls for your virtues and abilities… you knew that didn’t apply to people like you, for Draco, for the Crabbes, Goyles, Perkins… it was already written for you, you were going to Slytherin, and there was no more to it. 

Your family on your mother’s side was one of 30 pure blooded families, just like Draco, and Crabbe, and Goyle, and Parkinson, and all of those who were in the party tonight, you had met them all, you knew them since you were born.

All pure blooded families ended up in Slytherin, it was some sort of birthright, and all of you knew each other

It was your birthright too, Slytherin house

More children approached Draco, as the music played by itself sounded in the background, you recognized Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crebbe, you didn’t really liked them, but they were friends with Draco, so you guessed they had to be yours too 

But the music came to a stop, and all the chatter and conversations died, you looked instinctively to the entrance of the dancing hall and you gasped. The Targaryen Family

They were easily recognizable, their silver hair, their purple eyes… their… majesty

“I didn’t know those were coming”, Draco said with a disgusted tone in his voice

They were one of the most prominent families in the Wizarding World, but for some reason, they didn’t get along with other important families, like the Malfoys

“Did you hear? they used to practice incest”

“You don’t even know what that means!”, you mocked

“Yes I do!”, said Draco back

“Shush it!”, you mocked, “they can hear you!”

“I don’t care, I don’t even know why my father invited them”, you followed with your eyes as a silver haired man reached uncle Lucius to shake his hand, he was accompanied by an auburn haired woman, and four kids, two of them about your own age. 

“Those are Aegon, Helaena…”, numbered Blaise Zabini as he joined your little group, “and then there is Aemond, and Daeron”, he introduced. The boy he named as Aemond was looking everywhere with twisted lips and a frown, like he didn’t even want to be here.

“The Aemond one is supposed to be in our year”, said Draco, but you couldn’t care more, he and another 60 kids. 

The party continued without fuss, you stuck with Draco, and the others stayed by you as well, all talking about how cool it was going to be to go to Hogwarts, the things they were going to buy for the school year, and the familiars they were going to get

Of course Narcissa had planned everything for you and Draco. Of course your godmother said yes to everything she proposed, because, who was she to come between Narcissa and what she wanted?. You giggled at the thought

Your godmother had been in charge of you since your parents died when you were a baby, it was the only parental figure you’ve ever met. She took care of you properly, but she was… eccentric… 

More concerned about the way you looked than the way you were feeling, but she did what she could, you guessed.

You took another sip of your sixth butterbeer and smiled at Draco, tomorrow you were going to Diagon Alley to buy your things, and the day after tomorrow… you were going to go to the most prestigious school of Witchcraft and Wizardry 

[anamelessfool]

GEN, Original Characters (AO3 Link)

There is one major High Holy Day in the Satanic Church of the Void that corresponds to her counterpart. The Origin of the Void (685 words)

Tags: Dark Magic, Animal Slaughter (non-descriptive, somewhat off-screen), Ancient History, Curses, I'm Testing Your Bible Story Knowledge

“I shall tell you one last story before we depart. My Church was created from Peter’s betrayal. From Peter’s very human fear for his life. We forgive him, of course. We thank him. Without that honesty, we would not exist. And you would not be blessed with this lovely evening with me."-- Mater Emerita Jocasta

The servant girl stepped out of the house, biting her lip to hold back nervous tears. Mistress was furious. She wouldn’t wait for the man, she had said to her girl. She needed to feed these guests, and feed them now.

The sky lightened over the olive trees in the back garden while the rooster continued to crow. He flailed around the trees, bobbing his head and flapping, daring anyone to cross him. The girl was afraid of him, but not enough to pity him. She feared her mistress’ sandal more than his claws.

She managed to grab the old bird mid-crow, and he flapped angrily but soon settled into his fate. She carried him by his legs over to the usual spot where the man came and slaughtered their chickens. But they couldn’t wait for him today. Or, rather, her mistress wouldn’t wait for him.

She pulled the tie from her hair and trussed his legs, hanging him from the pole suspended between two trees. She pulled a little knife from her apron, hesitating. She’d seen the man do this so many times, waiting for him to be done so she could pluck the wretched things.

The girl grabbed his head, tripping over the words that she half remembered the man uttering, and drew the knife. She dispatched the bird with little effort, and now waited for the blood to drain, just like every time.

She heard a noise of distress. A man stumbled weakly out of the house, pulling at his hair and beard. She recognized him immediately. He was with the one the soldiers took away. He had told the soldier that she was lying. She flushed with fear, shaking her head. But he truly was there! Why would she lie?

The man fell to his knees by an olive tree, grabbing fistfuls of earth. He shook and wept. Earlier that morning he was so sure, he was so taken with the lie that he did not know his friend. That she was the dishonest one. She was powerless against him. Against most things.

She huffed, holding back tears herself. Every day was a new fear. Every day she wished to grow up, but every day she knew that she would instead become smaller. She sniffed, wiping her eyes on her sleeve, and turned back towards the bird to inspect him.

Something had changed.

The pool of blood was a hole. A velvety blackness had replaced the glisten of fresh blood. She saw how the light nearby stretched and softened, as if being sucked into the earth. Terrified, she kicked a little pebble at the shape. It rolled and inexplicably fell, the pool was now a well. How deep, she did not know. Terror dragged at her bones.

We should have waited. We should have waited for him. And now…

The girl swallowed. Behind her, the bearded man in the dirt continued his racking sobs. She inched forward. Some sand from her feet slid into the darkness before her, hissing. She lowered her gaze and looked. Down, down, down into the nothing. Her eyebrows raised. Her face twisted. Her body convulsed like a dying insect.

Her shrieks of pain were drawn into the hole, echoing forever in some unseen chasm, heard by millions of eldritch ears not yet known to man. And her left eye burned.

Satanas our Infernal Father, deliver us into our truth, burn away the lies of this earthly society and bring us into your illuminated awareness forever and ever!

“Satanas, Satanas, Glory Be."

Our Dearest Dark Mother Imperator, through blood and blackened feathers birthed the Void into existence, may she nurture us in her poisoned womb and bring about the infinite endlessness, so say us, her children!

“Satanas, Satanas, Glory Be.”

Precious Void, Unholy Nothingness, through you we see past the flesh and blood of this world, and the hellish glory of realms beyond of our mortal existence, our eyes are open to you and our bones call out for our union!

"Satanas, Satanas, Glory Be!"

My Fic List | "Scenes from the Void" Eldritch Horror AU (AO3)

[dreamersinthedaylightinspo]

A New Song of Spring

Tamlin was conceived on the eve of battle, under a dawn as red as blood. Centuries later, he reflects on his fraught upbringing while he awaits the birth of his first child.

Notes: This fic was written sort of for Tamlin week, though it doesn't quite follow any prompts! It also contains my OCs because I'm just that person. Please enjoy!

Tamlin remembered - that year, the last year of the War, the air itself seemed frozen solid. It rarely snowed in Spring, but a persistent frost coated the gardens, making the roses seem like they'd been encased in diamonds.

Back then, "War" was just a thing that his father was doing, and his father was just a face in the gallery, a golden portrait that stared down at Tamlin with cold and imperious eyes. The humans who had once haunted Rosehall were long-gone, as were the rough, wild men who had once made the bulk of Father's armies. The remaining sentries were older, seasoned - and less prone to rash acts of cruelty, though Tamlin didn't know this yet. He was seven years old, and his entire world consisted of his mother, his tutor (a gnome called Islay), a priestess (Muriel) who was employed to give him music lessons, and Andras and Ianthe, who sometimes came to visit.

There were also the pixies in the garden.

Tamlin felt like he had always known about them - the tiny little faeries, barely the size of his littlest finger, who lived inside of the roses, and the other flowers that normally filled Rosehall's gardens. They wore little gowns of grass and petals, their pollen-dusted cheeks bright, pearlescent wings fluttering like hummingbirds. But, as they had explained on that fateful winter's morning, Tamlin must never reveal their existence to anyone.

"Not even your lady mother," they insisted, in voices like the chiming of so many sweet bells. "Promise us, dear little prince."

"But why?" Tamlin couldn't imagine his mother being upset about the pixies.

"It is because your father planted these roses," the pixies explained. "And if he learns that we are living here, he will be very, very cross. We will be banished - or worse."

Tamlin did not understand, but the fear in their beetle-black eyes made his stomach turn over, an unpleasant heat rising in him despite the frigid air. He shook his head.

"But I want you to stay. I'll miss you."

The pixies murmured and hummed sympathetically. One or two fluttered around his shoulder, gently patting his cheek. Another brushed a quick kiss against his forehead.

"There, there, dear little prince," said the pixie in his palms. "We won't be far away. Your lord father is a mighty king, but we have our ways, too. So long as you do not tell, we shall stay here in the gardens forever."

Tamlin understood that they were speaking of magic. His father, the High Lord, had the power to banish the pixies, but only if Tamlin broke his word. He nodded.

"Okay," he said, a bit miserably. "I promise I won't tell."

"Dear little prince," said the pixies. "Thank you."

The sentiment was echoed in the air around him. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

"In thanks for your goodness," said the pixies, "and your friendship - we will teach you a song."

And so they did. Tamlin spent all morning in the rosebushes, and came stumbling in, red-cheeked and sneezing from the cold. His mother murmured her astonishment as she practically dunked him into a bath - but all the while, Tamlin was humming along to the pixie's melody.

But after that year, his father returned from the War. And after that, Tamlin never saw the pixies again - not even if he sneaked out alone, and whispered their names, or sang their song for them.

And by the time he'd learned to swing a sword, he'd forgotten the words to that song entirely.

///////////////////////

Present Day

They were having a late lunch, just the two of them, when Nomi suddenly winced.

"What is it?" Tamlin's eyes automatically went to her swollen belly - a miracle that she was still walking around normally, in her condition. Their child was due any day, and Tamlin couldn't forget it no matter how much Nomi insisted on carrying on as normal.

Normally, in this situation, Nomi would brush him aside. But not today. She frowned - brows furrowing, mouth pressed thin, in the way she sometimes did when something puzzled her unexpectedly - and put two hands over her womb.

"Nomi," said Tamlin, louder, as if she hadn't heard the first time.

She didn't respond, and very slowly pushed back her chair. She stood, hands clasped tight over herself, and very deliberately cast her eyes on the floor.

Tamlin looked, too - and realized that water was running down her legs.

Ah.

The pair of them looked at each other.

In a very calm, but forceful voice, Nomi said, "I think you should go and fetch the healer now."

Tamlin did so immediately.

////////////////////////////////////

The healer was called Nahida. At first, Tamlin had managed to feel slightly annoyed that Nomi insisted on bringing her own healer all the way from the Day Court - as if the healers of Spring were somehow deficient or untrustworthy - but now, he was glad for the sight of her long, black braid swinging as she stormed into the dining room. Nahida was tall and limber, her dark brown hands steady and gentle as she laid them over Nomi's stomach, examining her with some unseen but sweet-scented magic.

Three of the new sentries were crouched in the doorway, their youthful faces stark with naked terror as Nahida nodded briskly, and declared, "Call for Brighid. Its time."

Brighid was the name of a midwife - a plump Spring fae who always wore a kerchief over her copper curls. A room had already been chosen. Tamlin began to feel fuzzy around the edges, like his grasp on time was slipping quite literally through his fingertips. Nomi was in labor. He had been watching their child grow inside of her body all these months and they'd known this day would come but it was so soon, it felt too soon, he was not ready, it was not -

"High Lord?" Nahida's face was polite, but her voice was firm.

"Sorry?" said Tamlin, who realized that she'd been addressing him while his adrenaline spiked. His hands itched, magic crackling like static in his veins.

"You're welcome to sit in the room," said Nahida. "To be present for your child's birth."

Nomi was glaring at him. He could imagine how he must look to her in this moment - hunched over his half eaten food, slackjawed, pale and clammy. He didn't even want to think about what would happen if he started to smell life-blood, and that was a given.

"I will." He cleared his throat. "I will wait outside."

"A wise decision," said Nomi, and winced, as another contraction wracked her body.

Nahida put a hand on Nomi's back, and clasped her shaking hands, and led her out of the dining room.

Tamlin had the good sense to remain standing until they had gone from his sight. He looked at the sentries - couldn't remember their names, the state he was in - and ordered, "One of you go and get Fiacha."

Then, he sank to the floor, and put his head between his knees.

/////////////////////////////////////////

Bronn and Hart were on leave, but Fiacha and Rosheen were merely down by the stables, working with the horses. Within an hour, Donatella had arrived from the temple, bearing a letter from Lucien which contained a number of pressed flowers and a promise to arrive promptly after the baby was born. Nobody commented when Tamlin spent several minutes fluently and viciously cursing Elain Archeron in response to this.

When Tamlin finally took pause to breathe, Rosheen interjected without heat: "Pull yourself together, now, my lord. Keeper Eunomia is currently bringing your child into this world, and you owe it to the pair of them to at least keep your head on straight."

She was right, of course. Tamlin breathed deeply through his mouth, feeling some of the anxious heat leaving his body in puffs of steam.

"Well, look on the bright side," said Fiacha, reasonably. "She hasn't had any sickness or pain. Perhaps the birth will be easy as well!"

The look on Dona's face could have frozen the deepest fires of Hell. Fiacha's mouth immediately snapped shut, and he averted his eyes.

"H-have you chosen names yet, my lord?" asked Fiacha.

They had, but damned if he remembered them. They didn't know whether or not it was a boy or a girl. Nomi had decided it should be a surprise, but of course, Tamlin had wondered. There was an appeal to having a son, of course - but also, a pressure. A huge, prickling terror, a long shadow, a ghostly hand at his back. And if it were a daughter? Tamlin could scarcely imagine that.

Regardless of all that - he hoped beyond hope that it wasn't an heir. He prayed that not a single drop of his power was passed on. Neither hair nor claw of it, not a single solitary iota of light would flow in those brand new veins -

"Oh, dear," said Fiacha, alarmed. "He's gone pale. I think he's going to be sick."

"He won't," said Dona, in a voice that strongly implied, "If he knows what's good for him."

Tamlin let out a frustrated growl, his teeth feeling sharp and long against his cheek, his lip as he ground out, "I'll be fine."

And to prove it to them, Tamlin stood up. Blood immediately rushed through his body, and it took several deep breaths before he felt fully steady on his feet. Nobody commented on this, but Rosheen nodded her approval.

"Dona, why don't you go? I'm sure that our Nomi could use your support." Dona nodded, and as she strode out, Rosheen turned to the men left behind. "Let's take a walk, shall we?"

//////////////////////////////////////////////

So, they walked the grounds of Rosehall. Tamlin said very little, and was glad that nobody pushed him to respond. Once his replies faded into grunts of acknowledgment, the three lapsed into pensive silence. The servants of Rosehall were mostly departing, as the day wound on. The birth of a fae child was a precious thing, but it was bad luck to celebrate anything before the child was actually born, and so this would be treated just as any other day.

Tamlin regarded the garden path, recalling the bright summer day when his father had come home from the War. The faeries who had been his companions and allies went the way of the wind, replaced with sullen-looking and stern High Fae. There was a tremendous fanfare, a feast - but the atmosphere was morose, because Father had lost the War.

In truth, Tamlin was excited to meet them. His mother had long filled his bedtime stories with tales of their bravery and valor as warriors. And seeing them in real life for the first time - they'd come up this very path on their twin black horses, their shields polished to a mirror's shine, helmets crowned in white and crimson flowers. Ronan, empty-eyed, so fair he was nearly silver, the Lily-of-the-valley that was his crest displayed prominently; Eadric, broad and boarish, his smile easy and cruel despite the somber atmosphere. They seemed like heroes of myth come to life, and Tamlin was awed by his father most of all. The High Lord rode atop a glorious snow-white stallion, and his armor was gilded, the chest carved with the insignia of the stag, it's thorny antlers curling into spiked pauldrons. His long hair swept down his back, tied with a red ribbon - a gift, a token from his wife and mate that he had not removed even once, in all the days of the War.

His mother smiled to see it, and his father bent down from his horse to kiss her - full on the lips - and for that moment, Tamlin earnestly believed that all his bedtime stories were true.

Then, his father had noticed Tamlin, and frowned.

"Tamlin," said his mother, joyous with the reunion. "Come and greet your father."

Tamlin proudly did so. "Welcome home, Father. We missed you."

He'd practiced those words in front of a mirror for days, to make sure he didn't stutter or stumble. But his father didn't look pleased in the slightest. The High Lord regarded his youngest child, and the scent of ozone and roses thickened in the air.

"I thought I told you to get rid of it."

The world seemed to freeze, and it was the dead of winter all over again. His mother's smile thinned, her brows furrowing slightly.

"My love, I was -"

"Don't bother." The High Lord sighed. "Mother's tits but I'm exhausted. We'll talk about it later, won't we?"

His wife also sighed. "Of course, my love. Whatever you wish."

And then, the procession moved on, leaving Tamlin to try and process what had just happened. He had the distinct sense that something bad and wrong had just occurred - he felt the discomfort deep in his belly - but his mother merely said that Father was tired from his long journey, sad and disappointed that he'd lost his war.

"We must be patient with him," said Eseld to her son, as she tucked him into bed that night. "Remember, your father loves us very much. Everything he does is for our sake."

Tamlin had believed her, of course.

In the days after that, his parents were more interested in one another than in explaining the situation to him. The old guard of Spring lingered like decay around the manor, musing out loud about what they'd do now that their human slaves were free. Even his brothers.

Tamlin learned quickly what a slave was, what War and violence were, then. Tamlin learned quickly that his father had been quite satisfied with two sons - Eadric and Ronan, an heir and a spare, groomed just to his specifications - and had little interest in a third except as a convenient punching bag. Within a month of the Treaty, the High Lord put a sword into Tamlin's hands - how they'd trembled, how frightened and confused he'd been. How sad his mother and the old sentries were, the first time Tamlin was beaten for his failure in the training ring.

"Your father loves you," his mother assured him afterwards. "He's only worried about you - that's why he seems so harsh. You must be patient with him."

Fiacha's voice broke through the train of his thoughts.

"What was that?"

The youthful sentry stared out at a particularly large and bright rosebush, the blossoms full and soft under the sinking afternoon sunlight. Tamlin shook himself out of his thoughts.

"What is it?"

"I saw something," said Fiacha, frowning curiously. "In the roses - it looked like..."

He trailed off, thinking.

"Perhaps a rabbit," suggested Rosheen. "Or a mouse?"

"Maybe a bird. It had wings."

Tamlin said nothing but stared hard at the garden, at the endless sea petals and the thorns. A thought occured to him but - did he dare to hope?

"Hmm. Well it's getting rather late. Shall we return? Perhaps fetch something to eat?"

Rosheen addressed her question to Tamlin, who nodded.

They went back inside.

/////////////////////////////////////////////

Looking at the corpse of his two brothers, which were strewn about the path to their manor, all Tamlin felt was relief. He'd always been a heavy sleeper - Rhys used to make a game out of how much noise it would take to draw Tamlin from slumber when they were camping - and it was daunting to realize just how close he'd come to dying in complete ignorance. Pain came only when he wondered if Rhys would have cast the final blow himself, or if he would have let his father do it.

His brothers had suffered mightly. Their wounds were extensive, the clear end result of a fierce battle.

Good, thought Tamlin. Serve you right.

This house had always been full up with monsters, predators. Now that Tamlin had this power - his father's power - he understood properly just how much danger he'd always been in.

Tamlin put the High Lord of Night's body next to his brothers'. He had a feeling that Rhys would not ask for it. Lord Cadogan had been an awful bastard, of course. But Tamlin had once tried to explain to Rhys how he'd rather endure a father whose manipulations and cruelties were predictable, as opposed to a beast who lashed out at small things and struck at random, and Rhys had merely stared at him in confusion.

Then, Tamlin went back for his father.

The High Lord of Night was like a god of sleep. Tamlin stepped over the broken-down door into his parents' suite, and gazed at his father. The blood-soaked sheets pooled onto the floor - but despite the tremendous violence of the scene, it was likely that Tamlin's father had never awoken. Lord Cadogan would have made him suffer in other ways before he finally died. The sentries were gone - likely compelled to leave with Rhysand's gifts, or put into enchanted sleeps by his father. So, none had sounded the alarm. No one had called for help.

It was only a sense of dread that had awoken Tamlin. Just a bad feeling - followed by his mother's final, dying scream.

Pain laced his entire being, piercing him like so many knives. Lady Eseld had no enemies; nobody disliked her. Even the haughty ladies of Night had nothing bad to say, not really. The Lady of Spring was a peacekeeper down to the depths of her soul. She was kind and knew a thousand songs. So how could Rhysand stand by while she was killed so brutally, in her own bed? Which one had held her down, and which one had tortured her?

Lightning cracked, the wind rose, and thunder rumbled, and Tamlin had no idea if there was a storm coming, or if this was just the magic in him reacting to the pain he felt - striking out, trying to eliminate the source of danger.

Tamlin put his father's body on the path.

Then, he went to his father's study and pulled two pairs of Illyrian wings from the walls.

Just looking at them made him feel ill - but touching them? An Illyrian's wings were sacred, the most sensitive and important parts of them. Addie had once let him put his hands over the clawed tip of her bat's wings, and she'd nearly jumped out of her skin.

Tamlin forced himself not to vomit as he pulled both sets from the study, biting the inside of his cheek until his mouth filled with blood. He owed it to Aderyn and Lady Igraine to give them some of the dignity they'd been denied in their deaths.

When his brothers returned with their trophies, smiles sick and serene, his father had forced Tamlin to watch as the wings were put up.

"And if I ever here a whisper of you cavorting with the demons from that Court again," said Lord Arnau, "then it'll be your head that goes here next, and damn what your mother says about it. You understand?"

He had understood. Of course. He'd always, instinctively, understood. His father was the worst sort of monster, a vain creature who truly loved no one but himself. Tamlin was only alive, really, to please his mother, because she had wanted another child, and had him in defiance of her beloved mate's wishes.

After all that, his father had him whipped anyway.

The wounds were still raw, even now, three days later.

Tamlin felt each stroke of the whip as he carried Aderyn's wings down to the gardens. And then, her mother's, after her. Lady Igraine had always complained of him coming to visit, but never ordered Rhys to stop bringing Tamlin around. Her dark eyes had been bright and full of understanding, and she'd seemed sad when she looked at him.

"Its my fault," he said, to the empty air. "I'm sorry. I couldn't save you. I should have tried harder."

The wind was wailing by the time Tamlin had arranged a pyre. Illyrians burned their dead, and so Tamlin did his best to make that sort of funeral for Addie and her mother. He built a pyre from fresh green wood, and laid two of his own Illyrian blades across it. A gift, returned. When he lit the flames, he remained standing, letting the heat sear and scorch him, letting it sting his eyes until tears streaked his face again.

"Addie, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

The garden itself seemed to moan, pain cracking the earth.

The wings burned quickly.

In Spring, the dead were buried. But Tamlin felt that his father and brothers did not deserve proper funerals, after what they'd done. So he simply doused the bodies with salt and oil, and lit the torch, and let them burn. Ugly black smoke rose.

Tamlin waited until the fire was nearly gone. The magic in him hungered, urged for more blood, begged to gorge itself.

But Tamlin was tired. He asked the wind to cool the flames, and it did. The charred corpses became ashes, which were carried away.

At last, Tamlin prepared to bury his mother.

They had a plot - a proper tomb, where all the High Lords of Spring and their consorts were buried. But it felt wrong to put his mother there, with the empty faces of his long-gone ancestors. His mother was a daughter of Hybern, of Clan Skye, who dwelled on the pale cliffs of the north, overlooking the stormy seas.

He carried his mother into the forest, until he found a clear spot, and dug the grave as dawn rose. He was sweating, and weeping, by the time he lowered his mother down into it.

And when she was buried, as the sun was rising, Tamlin knelt over the grave. He meant to say something. To pray, perhaps. His fingers creaked and sharpened, slicing his palms. Red blood splashed over the grave. Hair rose on his arms and pain shot through his bones as they lengthened, as his body shuddered and transformed into the beast that was all animals, and like no other animal in the world.

He howled and howled

And then, his mind went blank, and though the beast was awake, Tamlin slept.

//////////////////////////////////////

Present Day

It was taking quite a long time for the baby to come. Brighid had mostly taken over the work of birthing now, but Nahida explained that this was quite normal, especially because it was Nomi's first child.

"Her body is prepared for this," said the healer. "We don't need to rush her. I expect it will be another handful of hours, at most. Be patient, my lord."

Patient? Tamlin wanted to tear his hair out. Talking of patience - the scent of life-blood clung to Nahida's hands even if she'd done a very thorough job washing up. He had to remind himself that she was merely doing her job.

"If you'll excuse me," she murmured. "I must return."

As the door closed behind her, Nomi let out a cry of pain, and all of them winced. Tamlin covered his ears, feeling as stupid and useless as he'd ever been.

Night fell properly as they waited. Fiacha got a bottle of whiskey from the kitchens and offered to make a toast, but no one took him up on it, and he sat, deflated, in the hall outside the birthing room with his High Lord and his captain.

"I suppose there's not much to be done now," said Rosheen, calm as ever. "Strange. The children in my family are long grown. It might be a century before they have children of their own - I'd forgotten what this was like."

Fiacha mumbled something that Tamlin didn't fully listen to, to which Rosheen smiled.

"Well, perhaps you're right. A High Lord's child is certainly an event. There have been no children in this since our Tamlin."

"That's not true," Tamlin corrected, automatically. "Alis had her boys here. And there was Una."

Rosheen smiled, remembering the misbegotten daughter of one of the manor cooks. "Ah, right. Dear Una. I was just a green thing when she was here. A terror."

Tamlin nodded. The memory was a happy one, but he couldn't bring himself to smile. That had been only a few short years before his father had died. Una and her father had fled from Rosehall in terror, though Tamlin had asked them to stay on if they could.

"No offense, now, High Lord but you must see - it isn't safe here. Even with you."

That man was more right than he knew. The horrors that came in the centuries after - wrought with Tamlin's own hands. Now, he was nearly six hundred years old. The walls of this house had been stained with blood so many times that Tamlin could still smell it in certain rooms.

"What do you think?" Tamlin asked Rosheen. "Do you think that this child will be happy here?"

"I do," said Rosheen, surprising him. It was not like her to lie or give false hope.

"Me too!" Fiacha added, of course. "I'm sure you're going to be an excellent father. Even Lady Elain herself gave you that prophecy - about the house full of music. Do you remember?"

Of course he did. Nomi had begged Elain not to reveal any secrets about the child's future to her, so naturally, the most meddlesome Archeron merely remarked that she envisioned a house full of music, or something vague like that. Nomi, rattled with pregnancy hormones, had burst into tears anyway, which seemed to teach Elain a lesson if nothing else. Tamlin was surprised that Fiacha recalled the event. Well, that kid always had too much faith in him anyways, Tamlin thought. He frowned, thinking.

"I remember," he said, "the way this house was, before my father returned from the War."

Both Fiacha and Rosheen fell silent, expressions rapt.

"It was quiet," Tamlin recalled. "I had music lessons. My teacher was some priestess - my father threw her out of the house. Said that no son of his would waste his time on rhymes, when there was a war to be won."

Never mind that the War had been decided. With Lord Arnau, everything was a war. Absolutely everything.

"I didn't want my life to change," said Tamlin. "I didn't understand why all this was happening. My mother said that my father loved his family but - he never should have had children. And I couldn't understand why the stories weren't matching up with reality."

His mother had encouraged her son to love the monster who roared and frightened and beat him. It had taken Tamlin so long - far too long - to realize that this was not the natural course of love. That flowers do not always grow back after you've trampled over them.

"What if it's the same now?" For the first time, Tamlin gave his fear a voice. "The same old story. What if it happens all over again?"

Rosheen treated this question with the gravity it deserved, but the ever optimistic Fiacha said, "It won't be the same story. After all, there are completely different characters in it now. Isn't that right?"

And even Rosheen smiled faintly at that. "That's quite right. None of us will let the past repeat itself. This child will have a house full of music, even if I have to sing all the songs myself."

"But Captain, you're completely tone-deaf!"

Tamlin choked on his laugh at this. It was true, but so like Fiacha to just blurt it out to Rosheen's face.

Undeterred, Rosheen said, "Then I will drum the beat. Lord Tamlin, you can sing."

"I don't play any instruments," Fiacha said sadly. "But I suppose the High Lord's child does need bodyguards."

Tamlin decided that he was going to drop the surprise later - that he and Nomi had decided to appointment Fiacha as one of their child's official guardians. He stiffled a smile, imagining the look on Fiacha's face when he learned.

"You'll still be here," Rosheen assured him. "All of us will work together to raise the child."

Tamlin felt better, imagining this, remembering this. A house full of well-meaning people, who raised their children with all the same tenderness with which they cultivated their gardens.

It was dark now, and a pale, fat moon lent beams of silvery light through the windows. Rosheen opened one, clicking the latches, and let the faint summery breeze waft in, cooling them.

"Its awfully quiet in there now," said Fiacha.

That was true. And Tamlin was feeling much better - at least like he wouldn't faint, and cause more problems for the healers. With a grunt, he pushed himself to his feet and headed for the doors - only to find them opening wide.

Donatella stood there in the warm golden light, beaming.

"Your daughter is ready to see you now."

Tamlin stood there, blinking, utterly flabbergasted. A daughter.

They had a daughter.

"Dona!" said Brighid's voice, warm with laughter. "You've ruined the surprise!"

"Oh, that's alright. We've waited long enough," said Nomi, sounding sleepy. "Come, see."

He took the scene in in fragments. The room was well lit, clean and comfortable. A pile of sheets and rags were tossed in the corner, but Nomi was sitting upright on the bed, a quilt across her legs. She was - glowing. Her skin dewy with the remnants of sweat, but the sweet scent of Nahida's healing magic clung to her skin. The healers were washing up in a basin - but they were smiling. All of them, smiling.

Tamlin's feet carried him across the room without so much as a single conscious thought. There was a chair at Nomi’s bedside, but he missed it, and sank to his knees at the side of the bed. His cheeks felt wet - but Nomi grinned at him, and shifted herself gingerly to show him a little bundle of blankets in her arms.

A shock of dark hair. A little scrunched up face - fast asleep.

"Semele," he said. The name they'd chosen. Tamlin's voice was coarse and rough over the syllables, but Nomi merely sighed.

"She's a little stubborn, as we suspected," said Nomi. "But the good news is - she's an easy sleeper. I saw that she has green eyes."

Tamlin put his head down in the blanket so that no one would see him crying. Nomi gently carded her fingers through his hair.

"Congratulations, Lord Tamlin," said Fiacha. "And you, Keeper Eunomia! You did well."

The sentiments were echoed and Nomi let out another, sleepy little sigh.

"Thank you, everyone. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to sleep for a thousand years."

"Certainly," said Nahida. "You've earned a good rest."

"High Lord," Brighid interjected. "Would you like to hold her?"

Tamlin looked up, mouth agape. Before he could pull himself together enough to protest, both healers had swarmed him and pulled him to his feet again.

"Like this - be sure to support her head. There you are!"

Brighid beamed at him as she passed the little bundle from Nomi to Tamlin, who had never been more terrified in his life than at this exact moment. Semele was too little, too small and precious, and he was sure that he'd drop her, or claw her, or scar her in some imperceptible way -

But she merely fussed quietly, her tiny nose wrinkling, her little fingers curling into fists by her chin. She was heavier than Tamlin expected - or perhaps that was just the weight of expectation. Several tense seconds passed and nothing happened. Nothing changed. Semele merely slept in his arms.

"You see?" said Nomi. "A heavy sleeper, just like you."

Tamlin's heart shattered into a million pieces. His anxiety had not disappeared, but it had burst, and he felt suddenly like he might float into the sky and be lost forever.

"Let's move outside," suggested Nahida. "Keeper Eunomia has been in labor for over half a day - she could use a few hours of peace and quiet."

It occurred to Tamlin that nobody was going to snatch his daughter away from him - that they all believed that this tiny, newborn creature was perfectly safe in her father's arms. Nomi was nestling herself down into her quilts, already preparing to sleep.

"Go on," she said to Tamlin. "I'll be awake in a few hours. You should spend some time with Mely before I come to take her back."

Tamlin said, "You've already nicknamed her? She's not even an hour old."

"Of course I did. I couldn't afford to wait to see what you would come up with."

Tamlin huffed a laugh. "Mely is fine. It suits her."

"It does, doesn't it? Now will you let me sleep?"

"Sweet dreams, love."

Nomi smiled, and tucked herself in, and Tamlin allowed the healers to take him out into the hallway.

"Now, there are a few things you should all be aware of," Nahida said, addressing the group. "Keeper Eunomia responded well to the healing, and she should be up and walking around within a day. However, pregnancy is a long and difficult endeavor, and there are many other factors to consider before she can be considered fully recovered. There is also, now, a child to consider."

That there was. Tamlin let the healer's words wash over him as he regarded the baby in his arms. Everything else seemed unimportant; now that he'd started to believe that no one was going to take her away from him, Semele was fascinating to observe, and became more and more interesting the longer he looked.

There was her hair - interesting, because Tamlin was under the impression that most babies were bald. Her ears showed points, but they were so gentle that her ears almost appeared rounded, like a human's. He decided that her nose must have come from Nomi, as it was already the most prominent part of her face. He counted her eyelashes, observed the way her little hands curled into fists beneath her chin. He wondered if her eyes would stay green; he'd heard that a baby's eyes often darkened after birth. He wanted to see her eyes for himself, but she was so peaceful in sleep, and he didn't want to disturb her.

The world sharpened and narrowed, coalescing until Tamlin felt that everything that mattered in all the cosmos between his hands.

Oh. Oh. He had to apologize to Nomi. He'd once told her that he loved her more than anything, but that was a lie. Semele was the most wonderful, perfect creature that existed. His entire chest hurt with the weight of it.

"High Lord?" Brighid's gentle voice prodded at the edge of his consciousness.

"Hmm? Yes, alright." Tamlin nodded. "As you say."

Brighid beamed. "He hasn't listened to a single word we've said, has he?"

"We'll remind him," said Rosheen. "Tomorrow."

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[sage-nebula]

character of your choice + 89!

"I'm looking at you through the glass. Don't know how much time has passed. All I know is that it feels like forever. But no one ever tells you that forever feels like home, sitting all alone inside your head." — "Through Glass" - Stone Sour

"Em ot meht wohs, wodniw laitselec."

As the words fell from Claudia's lips, the blood from the beheaded cuddle monkeys she held in her hands fell into the bucket of water in front of her. For a split second, she saw the blood billow through the water; in the next she felt the surge of their Star energy ripple through her, crackling under her skin like the popping pebbles candy she had invented years ago, and her vision went white.

Every dark primal magic spell felt different. Dark Sun magic made her skin feel like melting wax. Dark Sky magic made her lungs feel fit to burst. But Dark Star magic was on another level entirely. It was as if she could feel every atom of her body, frothing like water left to boil for too long, spilling over so that it filled every inch of the cave she shared with her father's remains.

Claudia released the breath she'd been holding, and scrunched both her face and concentration as she stared hard at the basin in front of her. It was the only aspect of the cave not whited out by her spell. It alone was bright, shining with swirling colors as it sifted through her whims to show her what she wanted — what was it that she wanted? Why had she tried this spell?

Claudia's eyes narrowed. She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood. And with all the strength she could muster, she pulled her mind away from the bubbling under her skin to focus hard on the liquid window she had created. At once, the blur of colors slowed into a single, solid image.

There.

The castle in Katolis.

It was just as she remembered it: bright stone walls with uneven towers, a solid sanctuary under a bright blue sky. The particular view given to her was her favorite courtyard, the one with the bench under the tree that had allegedly been there for a few hundred years. It was the courtyard where Soren trained Callum in swordplay, where Ezran had chipped his tooth when he fell while playing hopscotch.

Claudia took a deep breath through her nose. She didn't want to look at this courtyard. It wasn't the reason for her spell.

She waved her hand over the basin, and the resulting ripples formed a new image for her.

This time, she was looking in on her bedroom, which was exactly how she'd left it. Scattered notes were all over her desk; there was a stack of books on the chair next to it that she swore she would eventually return to the library, but always got distracted before she could. She had made her bed, at least, but had left her closet door ajar; she could just make out the jar of salamander eyeballs she'd been pickling before she left, tucked on a shelf beside her favorite pair of sandals.

She could use those salamander eyeballs. They were probably almost ready. She knew the rotation of the guards at the castle; if only she could find a way there and back that would be fast enough so as not to put her father at risk—

Claudia jumped as her bedroom door opened, and the water in the basin splashed in response to her knee hitting it, threatening to dispel the image. She placed both hands on either side of the basin to calm it, and shifted her view of her room so she could see who entered. Her breath stuck in her throat when she saw him.

Soren.

Her first instinct was indignation. What was he doing in her room? It was her room. And he was messier than she was, and far less careful with magical things—

But as he walked over to her desk, the lump in her throat sidled down into her heart. It had been months since she had last seen him, at least. Months since the battle at the Storm Spire, when he had—when he had—

She clenched her fist on her knee.

It had been months. But there he was, in her room, and he didn't look that different from how she remembered. His hair was a little longer, but it was still the same sandy blond. He had a little stubble around his chin—was he trying to grow a beard? Claudia snorted a laugh. He would like ridiculous with a beard. She hoped he was trying to grow one. She could use something to laugh about.

Soren, of course, couldn't see her. But he was holding something in his hands, and as she watched he set it down on her desk. It was another piece of paper, and it had something written on it that she couldn't make out. A fault more of his handwriting than her spell, she thought; his penmanship was atrocious.

"Wrote another poem for you, Clauds," Soren said, and once more Claudia about jumped out of her skin. His voice was so clear, it was like he was there in the cave with her. "I think you'll like this one. It's about—well, you'll see when you get back."

Claudia stared even more intently at the papers on the desk. Not all of them were her notes, she could see that now. There were at least four others that bore the same scribbles as the one Soren had just delivered.

She swallowed hard, her eyes suddenly stinging.

Soren sucked enough air into his cheeks to make them puff, and released it in a loud exhale. He swung his arms by his sides, looking every bit as awkward as he always had at fancy castle dinners. He stayed there for another second or two, and then knocked his knuckles twice against the back of her chair before he turned and left.

Claudia pressed her lips together tightly, and swiped her sleeve across her eyes. It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. Why was he talking to her? It's not like he had any way of knowing she was using that spell. And he could walk again, so it made no sense that he was writing poetry when that was only something he said he was going to do if he'd remained paralyzed. The whole thing was silly. Silly, sappy Sor-bear.

She sniffed, and scrubbed the last tears from her eyes. Her time was almost up; she could feel the magic she'd consumed fizzling out under her skin, and the image in the basin was becoming blurrier, less distinct. But there was one last place she still wanted to see. She waved her hand over the basin again, and the water rippled, the image reshaping to show her another room: her father's study.

Her father's occupied study.

Claudia sat up straight, staring first in shock, and then fury at the sight of Callum in her father's study. It made no sense—why was he in there? He had no reason to be in there. He wasn't being chased by a moonshadow elf assassin, her father wasn't there to answer any questions. Her father was—for the moment, he was dead. It was only temporary, she was going to fix it, Aaravos had assured her she could fix it and had taught her even this spell, so she knew he wasn't lying—but for the moment, he was dead. Her father was dead, and in this cave, not in his study.

But Callum was in his study. And as she watched, it became clear it was because he had taken the study. He was seated at a desk, pouring over a tome of some kind. He had changed the decor; there were pieces of paper tacked up to the walls that hadn't been there before, he had one of his coats thrown over one of the spare chairs, had kicked off his boots to wear house slippers instead. He had made himself at home. So, what, Callum was the high mage now? Callum? He had broken her primal stone, on purpose. Unless he had somehow found another one, it wasn't like he could even do magic. He couldn't even be a baby mage without magic, much less a high one.

Then again, Claudia supposed Callum had friends in high places now. He had decided to betray she and her father both to side with Xadia. Maybe the dragon queen had seen fit to give him another primal stone. Maybe he had decided to sell out humanity for new toy, because he thought himself too good to use the gifts Aaravos had already given to them.

The gifts that let Claudia spy on him even now, while he was none the wiser.

Callum tapped his pencil against his desk as he read, then glanced at something over his shoulder. He looked back to his book, and then promptly shut it before he pushed away from his desk. As Claudia watched, he strode across the office to an object covered by a large sheet, and then ripped the sheet off with a flourish.

Claudia sucked in a sharp breath.

It was the mirror.

It was Aaravos' mirror.

"There has to be something here," Callum muttered. He tapped his finger against his chin, tilting his head this way and that. "He wouldn't have kept it for no reason. He had to have been using it for something. But what?"

"That's not for you to know," Claudia said, but of course Callum couldn't hear her. He traced his fingers along the runes engraved in the frame, and she squeezed the basin so hard her hands hurt. That wasn't his mirror. That wasn't his office. He had no right to be there. He had no right to have that mirror. He had no right—!

As Callum touched his fingers to the glass, Claudia shoved the basin away from her with a wordless yell. The water splashed against the cave floor, and with the spell broken, a dark void consumed Claudia's vision. She braced herself on her hands and knees, breathing hard, as the fizzle of Dark Star magic under her skin finally seeped away, and her vision slowly but steadily returned to her—fuzzy at first, but then as clear as it ever was.

So that was how things were, then. In the months that she and her father were gone, Callum had made himself cozy in the high mage's office, playing at being one. Ezran was no doubt the king, then—there was no way anyone without a bias would make someone who couldn't do magic a high mage—and Soren . . . Soren was writing her poems, and leaving them on her desk for when she came back. As if she ever could.

Claudia sat back, her hands on her lap. With the spell broken, the cave was so quiet now. Her father's remains were—well, they were being kept fresh. But he couldn't say a word to her, not yet. And Aaravos hadn't spoken to her for days. It was just Claudia, alone in the cave with what was left of her father. Her brother, her home—both of those were a lifetime away, never mind the continent. It didn't matter how many poems left, or how useful those salamander eyeballs were.

Claudia could never go back.

[Send me a character or ship, and a number from 1 - 100, and I'll write a vignette based on the corresponding song on my Spotify wrapped.]

[zafirosreverie]

You were supposed to be mine (Mary x Werewolf!Reader)

a/n: first time writting for Mary, hope she’s not too ooc

________________________________

She always knew that there was something there, hidden among the trees, in the cold wind that caressed her, in the blackness of the night. Something that always knew where she was, something that saw her. But she never really cared for it.

Winnie said they were just stupid hallucinations and nothing could hurt her or Sarah anyway, not while she was there, especially now that her father's beloved book had been passed down to her.

Her older sister could be cruel and rough with them at times, but she was always ready to protect them, especially her, who was always her favorite sister (although they wouldn't tell Sarah). But even Winnie's magical protection couldn't make the feeling of being watched go away.

Mary felt it all the time. Whenever she went to the forest to collect ingredients for potions, something would see her between the trees, or when she was cooking, the feeling that there was someone outside the window would come over her. No matter what she was doing, she knew that she was never alone.

However, she was never able to find traces of anyone...or anything. Over time, she learned to ignore it, to act as if it didn’t affect her at all. She was one of the most powerful witches of all time, not to mention Winifred’s presence, who would be stupid enough to even try to hurt her? 

______________

But you didn’t want to hurt her, not at all. 

Since you were born, you knew there was someone destined to be your mate, someone whose soul was tied to yours even centuries before any of you were born. It was the nature of your kind, how things should be. The pack depended on every werewolf to find their other half, in order to keep growing, protected, and united. 

When you turned 18, your father took you to the forest, where you would finally get the blessing of hunting, a privilege only adult wolves were allowed. You made a promise that night, you promised to find good prey, something big enough to feed the pack all week, and to find the first traces of the bond that tied you to your mate. 

You were successful on both. 

You returned with three male deer and your father greeted you with a proud smile on his face. But you didn’t smile back. After giving the deer to the council, you looked down and whispered to your father the secret you’d carry since then: you were tied…to a witch. 

To say that it was a chaotic night, would be an understatement. The adults tried to keep the children’s attention on the feast that you had brought, but the council was confused and disturbed. For someone to have a mate from a different species wasn’t uncommon, a lot of times, humans had to be converted in order to keep the bond. But to have a bond with another magical creature? Even more, a witch?! Impossible. Witches and werewolves hated each other, more than anything because of the witches’ tendency to kill your kind to use the blood for their spells.

You didn’t know how to feel about it. You guessed having a witch mate was better than not having one at all, but a part of you knew this was big, in case the witch would agree to seal the bond (you weren’t allowed to convert other magical creatures), one of you would have to give up on their nature and be transformed into the other. You dubbed any witch would want to be a werewolf, and you didn’t think you were capable of such a thing.

But in the end, you didn’t have to make any choice. The leader of the pack, Ankor, made it for you. 

“You will not hunt her” he said “You won’t get near her, you won’t even learn her name. You will live as a lonely wolf from now on”

“But the pack-” you tried to argue, shutting up when he fixed his yellow eyes on you

“We will be better off without her, it’s a sacrifice you’ll have to do for the pack, my child” he said. But then, he made a mistake, he gave you her last name “No Sanderson sister will set a foot on our land”

_________________

It took you some time to learn who where the Sandersons. It was as if Ankor had done everything in his power to erase their existence from the pack’s memory. No one wanted to talk about them, the young part was just as confused as you and the elders seemed afraid to even mention them. 

It was strange because no other witch was banned from the pack’s mouths. Elizabeth? Sure! Ask what you want! Bridget, Susannah, Rebecca, anyone you wanted! Except for the Sandersons. It was weird and only made you look like an outcast in your own pack, which hurt a little. But after some time doing your research, you managed to find someone willing to tell you why the Sandersons were special. 

You see, it didn’t even have anything to do with them but their fathers. As far as the elder who talked to you about them knew, there were three sisters, each of them from the same mother but a different father. The eldest was the daughter of a powerful warlock, the younger of a simple human. But the middle one…the middle one was yours. 

Born from a werewolf who broke some laws, rejected his bond, and took a witch for a mate (even if it lasted only one moon), the middle Sanderson sister had the blood of your kind running through her veins, and her soul tied to yours. It took you some time to convince the elder to give you her name.  

Mary Sanderson. Your witch, your mate. And so the hunt began.

______________

You growled as you watched from the shadows how Winifred slapped Mary for the third time that day. You couldn’t understand how could she hurt her own blood, her own sister! But if you had learned anything from the time you had been watching the Sandersons, was that witches didn’t care for anyone but themselves, not even their own families. Maybe that was one of the reasons your kind hated them. Werewolves did everything for their packs, no matter what. 

The redhead was lucky you weren’t allowed to claim your mate, because you would have broken her hands and destroyed her face a long time ago for even daring to treat the black-haired woman like garbage. 

Maybe she didn't bear your mark, and probably never would, but after years of watching her from afar, hidden and silent, you had begun to develop feelings for who should have been your mate by divine right.

It was inevitable, really. Mary was an interesting creature, full of life and cute smiles, in contrast to her older sister, and not lustful like her younger sister. Even her love for food seemed cute to you and a part of you didn't believe that she belonged to the witch kind.

"She belonged with me" you thought

But then she would do things like steal children's souls or damn humans for the sheer joy of doing it and then you would feel divided because such malice was frowned upon by your kind. Werewolves hunted out of necessity, witches killed for fun.

And yet... she had a charm that made you want to protect her from everything, that made you hate Ankor for forbidding you to claim her. Something that took you further from your pack and brought you closer to her.

"You put a spell on me" you thought as you watched the witch run following her sister's orders "but you'll be mine"

____________________

She always knew that she was not alone.

For so many years she felt observed, persecuted, and stalked. No matter how hard she tried to ignore it, how hard she tried to believe Winnie that it was just her imagination, she always knew.

Just like you knew that damned book and her sister's ambition would be her downfall. After nearly getting caught by Ankor while trying to save a child from Sarah's clutches, you learned to stay out of the sisters' affairs.

No matter how many children or adults entered their perdition in the woods, you could not intervene. You had to decide between saving them and losing Mary or staying in the shadows. You didn't even doubt, you knew for years that she would always be your choice, no matter if she knew about you or not.

But not interfering had been costly. It didn't bother you to see her age, she still looked as beautiful as ever, but it hurt to see that she hadn't done it by your side (although technically werewolves stopped doing it at 35). When she rejuvenated after stealing Emily's soul, you weren't even surprised, you didn't have time.

The next blink, your witch was hanging from a tree, her hands tied and her life draining from her chest. You did not pay attention to Winifred's warning, because you doubted that any magic was powerful enough to fight death.

You prepared yourself to feel that huge void that all wolves talk about when they lose their mates, that bittersweet pain of a shared life coming to an abrupt end. You assumed the blow would be slightly weaker for you since you hadn't even marked Mary.

And yet...it never came.

You frowned and not really wanting to face the scene in front of you, slowly opened your eyes. Mary's body hung limp next to her sisters’, but the bond (or what it should be) was still there, beating inside of you.

It didn't make sense, and anyway, you were too heartbroken to try to find an explanation for it. You just walked away from there, fury coursing through your veins.

___________________

Losing the love of your life once was terrible. Wandering the earth broken and alone was martyrdom. In the end, Ankor had found out about it all, about the years you'd spent watching Mary, and even though you'd never marked her, the council voted to call what you'd done hunting anyway, and you were expelled from the pack.

It hurt you to see the disappointment on your father's face, the sadness in your mother, and the fear in the eyes of your brothers. The anger and disgust of the rest were more bearable, and over time you got used to loneliness. But you could never forget your witch.

That's why it was a huge surprise and joy to see her again, alive, breathing, and as beautiful as ever. 300 years. 300 years and a little more, and the bond was still as strong as the first day you felt it. You didn't know how to act.

A part of you wanted to run to her, mark her as it always should have been. You no longer had a pack to protect, there was nothing binding you to prevent it. Nothing, except your own doubts and time. One night wasn't enough to make up your mind, and before you could react, the day had come, the human children and that mangy cat had won, and your witch had slipped through your fingers again.

Your only consolation was that, once again, the bond hadn't broken. You knew at that moment that Mary would return, and you would be patient, it didn’t matter if it took 300 more years, you would be there when she returned and you would not hesitate that time.

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"Who are you and why have you followed me, even after so many years?"

The witch's voice took you by surprise. You didn't expect that she could locate you in the middle of all those people, especially not in the dark. As you expected, the sisters had returned (and you were thankful that it didn’t take them 300 years old, but only 29), and you had dedicated yourself to tracking down your witch from the moment you heard those girls enter your forest with a black flame candle.

You had promised yourself that if you got her in front of you again, you would not lose her again. That you would not doubt and mark her, that you would allow her to meet the person who had silently loved her for almost 400 years... but you had not been able to find your voice or courage.

However, it seemed that your witch did know you, or at least knew of your presence in her life, and had decided that it was enough, that if you were not going to step into the light, she herself would take you out to face you.

"Who are you?" she repeated in a demanding voice

"...someone who loves you very much" you answered, suddenly feeling too small in her presence.

The idea must have seemed silly or funny because she smiled at you sarcastically, even though she still couldn't see your face. Mary looked around her, aware that Winnie would be upset if she found out that she was wasting her time when she would have to be looking for the mayor.

But you'd been an annoying presence for too long and this was a unique chance…okay, maybe not annoying, and she'd put a death hex on herself before she'd admit it out loud, but the truth was, you'd been the only truly constant thing in her life.

Winnie was kind to her one moment and ruthless the next and Sarah could be incredibly dependent on her or fucking cruel by rubbing her many lovers in her face. Her sisters were changeable, but you... you were always the same quiet, comforting presence. You had made her feel less alone for years, though you had also made her doubt her sanity on many occasions.

"What's your name?" she asked, moving closer to where she could feel you.

"...Y/N"

A werewolf wasn't supposed to tell its real name to anyone outside the pack and you knew it, but you hadn't had a pack for years, and this was the woman who should have been yours.

"Y/N" she repeated, sending a shiver down your spine at her way of saying it "...nice name for a shadow"

"I'm not a shadow" you said

"You were to me for years" she countered "who are you and why do you follow me?" she asked again

"I am someone who has loved you for years" you repeated, evading the second question

"Loved?" she laughed "do you love me?"

"More than you can imagine"

"Prove it"

"Excuse me?"

"Prove it"

You looked at her from the night for a moment, analyzing the way she was standing, staring at where she thought you were. Her words and her tone of voice were mocking, but the way she played with the edge of her cloak and her racing pulse told you there was something else.

She really wasn't used to someone saying those words to her, and a feeling of guilt washed over you for not having been brave enough to say them years ago.

"I was there from the beginning" you said "I never approved of any of your plans, but I never intervened. I allowed you to steal lives for years because they were insignificant sacrifices compared to your happiness. I protected you from as many witch hunters as I could, I lost my family for you... I have waited for you for 329 years, I don't know what more proof you need"

Mary frowned for a moment, analyzing your words. Unlike you, she didn't have a face in front of her that she could analyze, so she had to rely only on your voice. Fortunately, you hadn't told a single lie, and she was quick to catch on.

"...And why have you gone to so much trouble?" she asked "I don't even know you to deserve such faithful devotion"

"You're right, you don't" you said "but I still had to do it"

"Why?"

You took a deep breath and slowly stepped out of the shadows, allowing her to finally see you. The witch took a few seconds to admire you, and she gasped silently as she watched your eyes turn yellow. You didn't give her time to react, and you let your wolf take control.

You took her face firmly, but without hurting her, delighting in the sensation of finally being able to touch her, of feeling her skin under your fingers after centuries of silent desires. You leaned over her, smiling as her cheeks flushed with color from your closeness and you whispered in her ear.

"Because you were supposed to be mine, Mary Sanderson"