#how they never wanted children and decided to abandon him with his grandmother and fuck off back to Poland

[dannybobany]

Its become a life goal of mine to make an omori mod one day all about Basil- I have so many ideas about him that I want to make a reality

:( but I literally don’t have access to a computer so while I’d love to write for a mod and draw art for a mod, making it playable would be impossible for me to do

But if I ever had the chance I would do it so so fast man, I think Basil deserves a backstory and I have a really good idea of what I would want it to be- listen if anyone out there is thinking of making an omori mod about Basil I want to help so bad you don’t even get it i want there to be more content about him so bad :(

I think about my hypothetical Basil mod all the time I want it to be real so bad

I might go draw some portraits…

[rvllybllply2014]

I can see why! Really starting to enjoy her too =) I love her considering the Blackwoods to be dumber than horses, an opinion most Brackends share I bet! XD And good to see both parents supporting their daughter! You know lady Blackwood's horse is a Bracken bred mare who loves to run and is sweet to little Samwell & Willem.

Also imagine early in their marriage lord Tully had to impress his Bracken wife with his skill on horseback and his treatment of his stallion before she started to warm to him? I imagine they'd go out riding together as he'd show her his favorite places in the Tully land uwu And the two of them loving their sweet little grandson is so precious! But who couldn't love little Samwell? Him stomping his lil feet & snorting! Oh that had to be too cute!

Ooh lady Tully visiting Raventree Hall is the last thing I expected! =O It's so cute how you write little Willem, and her teasing lord Bracken for finally cuddling his son! You know she judges the Blackwood way of parenting pretty harshly..and she'll make up for it by cuddling her grandson enough for both of them! Heh laby Blackwood putting her foot down & snorting at her husband, we love to see it!  Even better if it's the first time she ever snorted at him x3

Oh love the detail of her refusing to prey to the heart tree, she says it's because the old gods have no sway over the Brackens or Tullys, but I wonder if she didn't also worry that the old gods could take offence at being preyed to by her family.. Oof and then her and lord Bracken laying the blame upon each other , if only lord Tully had been there too, maybe as harsh words wouldn't have been spoken, or both could have come to apologize. And him burning her letters!! Omg how would Willem & Samwell have felt if after their father's death they'd meet a few of their Tully cousins again who would mention how their grandmother wrote to them, wondering why they never returned her letters?

Oh it taking Willem a whole year to open up about his Bracken friend to Samwell is a surprise! I wonder how much of it was nervousness & how much was him wanting something just for himself? This secret Bracken friend that's his & his alone? Pff Amos going in hard with the flattery I see ;3 And him calling Willem a dumb Blackwood and pulling him into a heated kiss! My heart!  (why can i see aeron doing the same to davos!) The two of them deciding to wait until their 16 is a surprisingly mature choice!

Oof the fact that marrying their children one day was Amos's idea just makes their brake up hit even harder D= Imagine when he's sunken deep in his bitterness & heartache willem would end up comparing Amos walking away from & abandoning this dream to when the Brackens abandoned the old gods? Just like a Bracken to forget their loyalty..I have a feeling he'd bring it up when he tells Amos he plans to have Daemon make the Bracken their vasel house, how it's only right that the Brackens return their loyalty back to the old gods, just as he's returned to him. Also sharing his plan to wed Raylon to a Blackwood girl and right that wrong as well, just a shame it couldn't be a daughter of his.

I love how you describe their blades! And how sweetly they gift them to each other~

Ooh do you think they both kept their blades? Willem absolutely did I'm sure, but Amos..I think he'd keep his somewhere locked away in his chambers. Unable to bring himself to be rid of it but wanting it out of sight? And Willem could find it after taking Stone Hedge?

Oh bad enough lord Blackwood was this harsh just upon seeing Willem being friendly, imagine what he'd have done if he happened upon his son kissing or fucking Amos? And Amos coming to Willem's defence is super sweet but also also not the smartest, as lord Blackwood could end up wondering why this Bracken cared enough to come to his sons defence =O He could also have stepped between them after the slap and said something like "just like a blackwood to strike first. just like my house says, your as piss poor a father as you are a lord" in an aggressive tone, trying to show himself more as mocking lord Blackwell than defending Willem.. Also what would lord Blackwood have done if Amos met his eyes and dared him to try and discipline him too, "it works so well on your sons after all". He'd be more than willing to take a slap/beating/strapping to keep lord Blackwood's attention on him & off Willem..

Got to love Samwell taking the time to make sure his lil bro & friend have a good first time, honestly it was probably a welcome distraction from the heavy duties of being both the lord & a new father! Love how you write their first time, how the two of them learn what each other likes in bed~ Willem having both a praise kink & enjoying it rough is so fun! I could see Amos enjoying dirty talk too along with gentle touches. Think fake insults, Willem pointing out how filthy Amos looks taking Blackwood cock, like a mare in heat, such like that. And then once he's got Amos as his captive the same talk is used like a dark reflection, full of malice that leaves Amos humiliated in a way Willem had never made him feel before :<

Ooh Aeron being Ser Raylon River's son is a cool twist! Makes him becoming a knight like his father even more special~ And Samwell trying to convince Willem to find love again, just so he won't be alone, poor guy. It must hurt him so much to see Willem sink into his bitterness & pain :( Oh Davos & Aeron, my heart hurts so much for them! It's a bit sad their first time couldn't be as romantic as their uncles, though it does make me wonder just how much forbidden sex that mill has scene, we know it couldn't have started with Willem & Amos! XD

Oh poor Raylon :'( At the very least Davos takes pity on him on his name day, but that he was so cruel to taunt him, while knowing what he's been through.. I wonder if he feels any shame, know how much Aeron would have despised anyone treating his cousin this way? And Amos's claim to hate Willem's roughness, how he never liked it as Willem did falls on deaf ears, with Willem either ignoring it or believing Amos deserves it, as punishment for leaving him and thus putting all of this in motion..

Oscar already being so protective is so sweet~ Ooh does make me wonder though, do you ship Oscar with anyone else? In this idea with Raylon being younger it makes sense, but I think in the show Raylon is either Aeron's age or older, considering he was there with Amos when he met with Daemon, just as willing to die by fire as his father. I could see him being most likely in his early 20's like Aegon. And considering show Oscar is like 14 it's hard to imagine them together there =w= Which is fine because there are plenty other young men to make for Raylon~ As for show Oscar, I think Benjicot would be a fun choice like in "Kiss a man or slit his throat" (awesome fic btw if you haven't read it!) Not only ahould they be closer to the same age, but can you imagine the angst & drama of Benjicot having to deal with what his uncle did under the queen's banners? And that Oscar ordered him beheaded? So much room for mixed emotions & conflict~

Pff Davos having to think about how much he hates the Brackens to keep from getting hard is both sad & amusing. And him & Raylon slowly building a tentative friendship is sweet, imagine Raylon would end up giving Davos the same advice Samwell gave Willem, to try to move on and find happiness elsewhere, not to sink into his sorrow & bitterness like his uncle? That Aeron would have wanted him to be happy?

Ooh Raylon is actually already a knight in the show, it says so on his wiki page! Which just hits at his older age! If he didn't get knighted before Aeron then I could see them having been knighted together :) I do love how sweetly you write Oscar though~

1A) Hehe oh I love this~ Aeron teasing Davos this way is just perfect, you know he teases him while he's over his knees too! And Davos teasses Aeron a bit the first time he has him over his own knees, that his tender Bracken arse clearly wasn't made for roughness..but he dosn't spank him long, knowing Aeron dosn't enjoy it. He's more than happy to simply be on the receiving end. ;)

1B) At least Willem promises to be more gentle??  Like the the only reason he didn't get punched in the face is because Amos is too tired/hungry/sore to fight and just wants to escape as fast as possible, but he still agrees if only to see if Willem will keep his word.  The ride back is more painful & embarrassing then Amos would admit and he's trying very hard not to think of Willem's spend, cause you know he didn't pull out to come... Poor Amos! XD Ah also thank you for including warnings on these replied btw! It's a very sweet thing to do for those who read them :)

Let’s see if I finish this in decent amount of time. It took three days and a late night to finish this.

Also really glad you like the blades, it almost acts like engagement rings/maiden cloaks. Also just picture a chubby little toddler for Samwell.

Yeah honestly after being in fandom spaces for close to 18 years I figure it’s best to just warn. You never know what someone is going through or even how their headspace can change throughout the day. Someone might be okay with it earlier but then have to leave and now they can’t handle it.

Oscar x Ben is probably my go to for him with show ages.

Non con somnophilia, knife play briefly with no blood,brief discussion about sexual assault and consensual spanking, fucking without prep, child hitting, psychological trauma. Take care of your mental health and read at your own risk.

Also this mainly about older brackenwood with some davron thrown in.

Lady Tully heard it from every single Bracken family member and even the household staff that the Blackwoods are dumber than their horses. Even after she becomes lady Tully she’ll even remind lord Tully of that fact. She also has him on his horse a lot more, even when they were courting. Her house is known for riding so her husband better be able to ride. She doesn’t expect lord Tully to be as a good as a Bracken, because according to her Brackens are the best ever.

After witnessing his betrothed run and jump onto her moving mare lord Tully doesn’t disagree. He does show her all of his favorite places on Tully lands. And he’ll even show her his favorite meadow that has a gentle stream running through it. A month before their wedding lady Tully will tease him and say she’s not sure she can marry him yet, his skills on his horse aren’t where she needs them to be. That’s when lord Tully teases her about her swimming abilities, since she’s going to be marrying into house Tully she needs to learn to swim better.

They get married the following month. And true to his word lord Tully has his new bride swimming in the meadow with the gentle stream. Lady Tully swimming abilities get better just like lord Tullys riding skills get better. One of the only times that they argue, besides the time that lord Tully says their daughter will marry a Blackwood, is after she’s given birth to their daughter.

Two days after she gave birth, she strapped her baby to her chest and took her for a ride to the meadow where she first started to fall in love with lord Tully. But she had neglected to tell lord Tully, her plans so he was distressed when he went to the nursery to find his baby gone along with his wife. What if she fell? What if someone had hurt them, taken her mare? There’s so much that could’ve happened to them, she really needs to think before she does something so recklessly stupid.

Lady Tully doesn’t apologize, well at first at least, she questions lord Tully asking if she has not shown that she more than capable of taking care of herself and daughter. That she has complete control of her mare? Did he forget that she’s still a Bracken, that she was riding a horse as soon as she could walk? How dare he question her and her judgement, their daughter is a Bracken baby that just happens to have Tully as her last name. She says all of this while barely managing to keep herself from stomping her foot, she did roll her eyes and snort. It’s only after they’ve both cooled off, do they both apologize to each other.

As the years pass lord and lady Tullys daughter grows into a charming young woman, she’s an amazing horse rider thanks to her mother and an amazing swimmer thanks to her father. Eventually she’s married off to lord Blackwood and it will be two years before she can visit Riverrun again. She brings Samwell, he needs to meet his Tully cousins and grandparents. His grandparents are almost always there when he wakes up from naps. Lady Tully also takes him riding on her mare. Lord Tully teaches him how to swim. His cousins play tag with him and also listen to stories that his mom reads to them.

Deep down lady Blackwood also didn’t want to leave Riverrun, so she understood why Samwell refused to get into her carriage. Everyone barely held in their laughter as Samwell channeled his inner Bracken and stomped his foot, snorted and rolled his eyes.

As soon as lady Tully heard about the difficult birth of Willem, she was ready to head to Raven Tree Hall but thankfully lord Tully was able to reason with her. In the week before she leaves for Raven Tree Hall, lord Tully sends a message saying that lady Tully will be there soon. It’s definitely a warning for lord Blackwood, he better do what ever lady Tully tells him.

Once she gets settled and her daughter settled, she has the opportunity to observe lord Blackwood and his parenting style. She absolutely hates it, it was bad enough that he used Willems birth as an excuse to cuddle Samwell for the first time in over a year. But to see lord Blackwood not want to touch baby Willem or hold Samwell, she pulls him aside to tell him that showing some affection wouldn’t kill him or the children. Yes the Blackwoods came from the north but they’ve been in the river lands for generations now, it’s time to show some love. She’ll prove her point by always having Samwell or baby Willem in her arms, and listening to everything Samwell has to say. Lord Blackwood accuses her of trying to make his sons soft like the Brackens.

For months lord Blackwood constantly asks when lady Tully will leave. Doesn’t lord Tully miss her? Lady Tully says she’ll leave after Willems first name day, her lord husband is competent enough to rule without her being at river run, because once again Tullys are smarter than the smartest Blackwood, who is dumber than a horse. The day after Willems name day is the day that she leaves, she promises Samwell that she’ll write to him, and his mother can read her letters to him. She also tells him to write to her, it will be good for him to practice his writing skills.

Four years have passed before lady Blackwood writes to tell her mother that she’s still very ill and that she needs her to come back. As soon as lady Tully reads the letter, she’s packing her trunks and jumping onto her mare. She instructs her men to follow with her trunks and wagon, she only needs one to keep up with her to guard her. But she will not wait for him to catch up, her daughter needs her.

She once again basically takes over the care of her grandsons. Lady Tully takes Samwell and Willem for rides on her mare, when she’s not busy praying in the sept. She also allows Samwell to tell her how he feels and his fears for his mother. Samwell prays equally with his grandmother and father, one day it’s in the sept the next it’s in front of the heart tree. Willem when he can be bothered to pray, prays at the heart tree.

Lord Blackwood insists that lady Tully needs to pray to the old gods, her daughter is now a Blackwood. Lady Tully says that maybe the case but she is also a Bracken and Tully. Both those houses pray in the sept, not to a tree. In heart tho she is very worried that if she were to pray at the heart tree, that the old gods wouldn’t be pleased to see her. She knows her family worshiped them in the days of the first men, but switched to the faith of the seven when the andals came. It worries her that if she were to pray the old gods might decide to take their vengeance by taking her daughter.

In the end it doesn’t matter which gods got prayed to, lady Blackwood takes her last breath a month after Willems sixth name day. Lord Tully was supposed to be there for his daughter’s funeral, but couldn’t make it, a petty argument between two houses caused him to have to stay at River run. He did write to tell his wife to let her cooler head prevail, to not lay blame at lord Blackwoods feet. She had intended to heed his advice, but when lord Blackwood said that if she had only prayed to the old gods then lady Blackwood would still be here. She lost her temper, she once again pointed out that her daughter had Bracken and Tully blood, and both those houses pray to the new gods. Maybe she was cursed when she married a Blackwood and had Blackwood flowing through her during her pregnancy.

Lord Blackwood tells her it’s the Bracken blood that is cursed, they gave up the old gods too easily. And the Brackens supposedly killed almost all of their weirwood trees, an act that the old gods likely haven’t forgotten. The funeral happens, lady Tully leaves a crying Samwell and Willem while also encouraging them to write and she’ll also write to them. After lady Tully has left Willem asks about when his mother will wake up and he gets slapped. Samwell holds him telling him that father loved mother, but she’s left to be with the gods, so he’s hurting and he didn’t mean to hurt Willem. She keeps her promise to send ravens once a month. And every month lord Blackwood burns them, if Samwell asks about receiving letters from grandmother lord Blackwood tells him that she decided not to after all, she’s just a liar.

Three more years pass before lord Tully sends a letter requesting Samwell and Willem come say goodbye to their grandmother. Lord Blackwood doesn’t want them to go to River run, but he’ll allow it knowing that the Tully’s are house Blackwoods overlords. So he sends them while telling them that they need to be on their best behavior they’re representing house Blackwood. They are too late to have a final goodbye with their grandmother, but lord Tully and the Tully cousins are happy to see them.

After the funeral, the Tully cousins are finally able to ask Samwell and Willem about the lack of letters back to their grandmother. She had written to them every month, asking about them and wishing them well, did they think that they were too good for the Tully side of their family? Samwell explains that they never received the letters and if they had they would’ve responded to them. He tells them that he thinks their father got rid of them, he also feels horrible about not being able to write to her. Willem doesn’t disagree publicly, but privately he tells Samwell that their grandmother was a Bracken and therefore a dirty liar, just ask their father. Samwell tells him to hush, to never mention that they know about the letters and to remember that their mother was half Bracken, and that they have Bracken blood.

Samwell goes back to guarding the boundary stones. While there he takes a young Amos under his wing, he sees so much of his brother in him. So he gives him the advice about treating Willem as a horse, a scared prideful horse that needs loving gentle words and praise. Amos follows that advice and gaslights himself into believing it. His brother Raylon might tease him about the flattery he’s giving to someone, Amos practiced the hands and arms flattery in front of his mirror trying so hard not to blush. And Raylon had happened to walk by Amos’s room during that, Raylon asks him if there’s someone special that Amos is practicing for? Amos tells him no, he doesn’t want to explain Willem to anyone.

Willem takes time to open up about his friend mainly because it’s the first time that he’s had someone all to himself. He’s also afraid that lord Blackwood could over hear them talking about his friend and making him give him up. They get together at fourteen, after Samwell tells Willem that Amos is flirting with him, and Amos pulled him into a heated kiss while calling him stupid, but at least he’s his stupid Blackwood. Both agree that having sex is an important part of expanding their intimacy in the relationship but at the same time, they have plenty of time. Amos was fifteen when he mentioned kids and how they could get married, Willem thinks it’s a great idea that way they’ll both be able to stay in each other’s lives. It was also when they were fifteen that they almost got caught by lord Blackwood Willem was leaning into kiss Amos when lord Blackwood rode up, he slaps Willem in front of Amos. Amos yells at lord Blackwood, he’s never been hit for no reason so Willem shouldn’t be either. Lord Blackwood tells Amos that he’s lucky that he can’t spill highborn blood without causing trouble. Willem tells lord Blackwood to leave Amos alone, he’s just a dumb Bracken.

When they turn sixteen, Willems father dies and Samwell takes over as lord of Raven Tree hall, he’s also fathered a bastard named Davos. He’ll still help with setting everything up. He also warns Willem to wait for the special knock to open the door in the mill. Every thing went smoothly that night and they both fall more in love. Until the ultimate argument where Willem reveals that he killed Jerrel Amos’s older brother. Amos can forgive a lot but he can’t forgive that. Samwell still writes to Amos apologizing for not knowing and for Willems temper, he hopes their houses can be friendly in the future but understands if they can’t.

In the years after the breakup Willem constantly tells Samwell that he should’ve known better than to love a Bracken. They’re a craven house and they turned their backs on the old gods so who’s to say that he wouldn’t turn his back on him. Samwell points out that Willem still wears the blade that Amos had made for him, so he must still care about him deep down. Willem tries to deny it, he says that it’s a well made blade that it shouldn’t go to waste and that’s the only reason he’s kept it on him. Willem might fool himself but Samwell knows it because he still loves Amos.

Immediately after the breakup, Amos takes his blade and locks in a box underneath his bed. He keeps the key on a necklace close to his heart, so it’s always there and if he constantly fiddles with it then nobody knows that the key also represents the fact that it’s the literal key to his heart.

The battle of the burning mill happens, Aeron manages to tell Davos that he’s a stupid Blackwood but he’s his stupid Blackwood with his dying breath. Davos held him for a long time, and then to make sure that Aerons body would be found staked him through his neck.

Willem gets the orders from Daemon to cause havoc in the riverlands and sees his opportunity to finally have Amos again. He tells his men that they attack Stone Hedge and the surrounding lands first. It’s only because Stone Hedge is closest to them. The battle to take stone hedge is a hard fought one, but the Blackwoods are victorious and Willem has Amos chained up, he also demands that Amos takes him to his chambers they’ll both sleep there.

Amos asks that Raylon be kept in his rooms, he shouldn’t be held captive in the dungeons at least not until they make it to where they are to be held. Willem agrees, he wants to show some mercy to Amos at this point. But he’ll regret it when he inspects the room to see if there’s any hidden weapons. Willem finds the box with the blade under the bed and demands that Amos open it. Amos refuses, he’d already noticed that Willem kept his blade on his person. Unfortunately for Amos Willem notices the chain around his neck and pulls it off, to find the key.

With the key in his hand Willem finally opens the box to find the blade that he’d had made for Amos. It’s ironic isn’t it? Amos fought so hard to keep the chain but he’s fighting so hard to get out of Willems chains. But doesn’t he realize that by keeping the key on his neck he’s still chained to Willem. He’d give the blade back but Amos broke his promise, just like his house broke the promise to the old gods to worship them. He’ll also keep his promise to let his son Raylon stay in his rooms, a Blackwood never goes against their promise.

Willem starts his torture of Amos that night. He runs Amos’s blade across his chest, not with enough pressure to draw blood but as a warning to Amos that he’s in control of this situation. He also starts to praise Amos just like Amos had back when they were younger. It’s on the way back to Raven Tree hall that Willem starts to touch Amos. Amos is asleep when he wakes up to Willem gently stroking his dick, Willem starts to say it’s okay he knows how much Amos misses this and him. He doesn’t have to pretend to be asleep to enjoy it. If Amos tries to deny it then Willem increases the pressure until Amos is crying out in pain.

Willem tells him it’s okay, the pain will feel good if he just lets it. He knows that Amos secretly loved it rough just like he did. Amos tries to remind him that he never did, he’d only fuck Willem rough but asked to be fucked gentler than what Willem likes.

Once they’re back at Raven Tree hall, Willem finally decides to fuck Amos again. The first night Willem mounts Amos with little prep, like a mare in heat. He constantly whispers in his ear that he’s taking Blackwood cock so well, he’s so beautiful when he’s back where he belongs. He’s so good at taking him, his cries are music to his ears, it’s okay he’ll eventually remember how much he loves Willem and his cock. Willem also whispers that he plans on being the overlords of the Brackens and Amos will never be far away from, he’ll always be touching Willem. He’ll keep his Bracken safe from everyone. Oh if he refuse then Raylon will be taken in front of all the Blackwoods and Brackens. He’s broken in after all by now. Amos is ready to kill Willem, his son wasn’t a mare to be constantly mounted by Blackwoods.

So it’s a relief to all involved when Willem is executed. It’s a relief that the Brackens know that Amos and Raylon didn’t ask or go willingly into the Blackwoods beds.

Raylon gets settled with Davos, they have the heart to heart. Raylon also explains how excited Aeron had been to become a knight just like his father, he’d worked really hard, it took him a little longer to become a knight and his father got to witness it before he died. Davos feels guilty knowing that even though he wasn’t a knight like Raylon or Aeron but he did allow his love’s cousin to be assaulted multiple times. Davos promises to protect Raylon, that is if he’ll allow it, he knows Raylon is a knight and can take care of himself but he wants to make it up to Aeron. Raylon agrees for the sake of Aeron. Raylon also tells Davos that Aeron would want him to be happy, to try and find happiness with someone else. It doesn’t have to be in the first year but he should keep his heart open to the possibility or he’ll end up just like Willem bitter and alone.

Oscar will be surprised when he finally gets to meet back up with Davos and Raylon. Raylon being friends with someone who let those horrible things happen to him. Davos also asks Oscar to bring Ben to River run, to protect him, he’s just a child after all who needs the protection of house Tully. Oscar agrees mainly because Raylon tells him it would be a good idea to keep the newest Blackwood lord away from the poisonous words of his house telling him that Brackens aren’t to be trusted. If they can keep him away from that, then he won’t have to worry about as many future problems between those two houses.

1A): Every time Aeron is spanked Davos reminds him that he should be able to take it. He’s a Bracken after all and they sit in the saddle for hours so their ass should be able to take it. Aeron tells him to shut up, just because his ass is made for riding doesn’t mean he wants to be spanked. Besides he’s not a mare that needs to swatted. But Davos is the mare that needs to be swatted to get him to do the things he wants him to.

2B): Amos has the most painful uncomfortable ride back to Stone Hedge, Willems down had trickled down his thighs and cooled off. Plus he can’t sit comfortable enough with all the bruises on his ass and his hole definitely doesn’t like all the jostling from the ride. It takes a month for Amos to finally write Willem telling him to meet him at the mill at the end of the week. Amos returns the favor of taking Willem like a mare, but is still gentler than Willem was. He actually preps him and shows Willem how to be gentle and rough.

[omiriice]

Projecting some family stuff onto Steve is better than therapy yknow. I’ll just put like the outline here while I think how to put it together.

Grandmother was not a kind woman not to her husband (those two were horrible) and not to her daughters but the best thing she could’ve done after a fire broke out taking all her documents burning them to a crisp, was to take her shit and flee.

She flees the country leaving behind family and her name deciding to take up a new one. Grandmother meets a man she loves (oh she does love him she just never knew how to express it) but he is taken from her years later.

A couple of years later, Steve’s mother finding herself pregnant decides to follow after Grandmother hoping praying to not be kicked to the curb.

Grandmother may have not be a kind woman but she did understand the need to leave a place that would’ve held them back force them to continue breeding children in a family that saw motherhood as a blessing. Mother works hard to pay grandmother back for her stay stashing money to live separately once the baby is born knowing this hospitality will not last long.

Mother saves for months and meets a man she believes to be the one (she was young naive why did she believe in this older man hunting down a vulnerable woman). She takes that opportunity moving in.. marrying him soon after Steve is born taking the last name Harrington releasing the hold Grandmother kept on the family even countries away.

Steve is raised in a family that is not kind but really what did mother expect marrying a man 10 years older (a man who probably only wanted to take the vulnerable girl to trap her). He only sees his grandmother young and she is never warm to Steve but she does not say cruel things (warns him that Harrington would ruin his Mother ruin Him).

Grandmother dies. Steve does not feel sad when he did not know the woman but he will ache for what she represented, a way back to his family grounds (a place his mom doesn’t speak of, Won’t speak if to him.. it’s fine he can wait). In his teens he realizes what Grandmother meant with Harrington ruining him (his mother).

It takes monsters and alternative dimensions to help him realize this but once he does Steve abandons all he has know all that has raised him because if he turns out like that man then how would he become more (more than his parents more than his fucking grandmother who ran away at the nearest sign of trouble).

[lebenspurpur]

What about how would slashers propose their s/o? :3

How would the slashers propose:

Michael Myers

Michael wouldn't.

As funny as that sounds, I'm pretty sure Michael doesn't understand marriage and its concept at all.

After all.. who'd marry you? A deranged serial killer and his spouse.. pretty difficult to find a priest for that kind of couple.

If anything, he'd propose to show that he cares. Michael isn't the best at showing emotions and a proposal would be his personal way of showing that he does adore you.

It would probably be nothing big though. He'd just hand you a stolen ring and then march off, leaving you alone with your confusion.

Are you ever getting married? Probably not but he'll wear a ring similar to yours if you'd like.

Vincent Sinclair

Oh, Vincent will try his hardest to be as romantic as he can be.

Dozen of candles, hundreds of roses, and he'll actually wear an old suit he found in Bo's wardrobe!

His brothers will be out of town, driven out by your big lover.

He'll make dinner for you. It might taste a little interesting, considering his below-average cooking skills, but hey the idea alone is so adorable.

After dinner, he'll sink down on one knee and you just freeze.

He's super nervous too! What if you don't want to marry him? What if he's too fast and you're not ready for that commitment yet?

The ring will be from a victim but he polished and perfected it himself. He'll design it like his knives, dragons wrapping around the gemstone in the middle.

As soon as that "yes" leaves your lips, he inflates, probably ready to pass out.

Bo Sinclair

Bo.. doesn't necessarily want to marry.

But he wants to spend the rest of his life with you, that's for sure.

You're something he doesn't deserve and yet you're here, with him.

Bo won't be as romantic as his twin, that's not really his strategy.

He'll most likely blurt out his proposal while he's watching TV and make it seem like the most normal thing ever, even though he's frightened on the inside.

If you ask him what he said, he'll repeat it real quietly and you swear he's turning red.

Say yes and Bo will actually flash a big grin, a real one, not his usual smirk, finally pulling you closer to seal his lips with yours.

He can't believe someone would marry him but you wanted to, and he'd always deem that a miracle.

Lester Sinclair

Oh god, Lester will be so nervous.

He has everything: the ring, a nice suit, a romantic dinner but what if he fucks it up?

He even wrote a note containing a few words of his "speech" so he won't forget it.

So it's after dinner and he kneels down, nearly tripping on his open shoelace, and.. uh fuck what'd he want to say???

He can't find his note! Lester is now panicking.

Your reassuring smile grounds him again and he somehow manages to finish his proposal without fainting. How? Lester doesn't know, he has no recollection of what happened.

The ring will be from a victim but he got Vincent to make it prettier. He feels really bad about it as well, please tell him that that's okay!

Baby Firefly

Oh, Marriage? A big, pretty white dress? Sign her the fuck up.

Okay, being with you for the rest of her life is really nice as well.

She's probably talking to Mama when the subject first emerges and she just freezes in excitement.

She's soon skipping down the stairs, calling out your name.

"Y/N LET'S GET MARRIED!"

You don't even have a choice, she will marry you whether you like it or not.

I doubt that she'll even ask you the question, it'll just be a determined "We're getting married." and she's gone again, probably planning for the wedding.

A ring will be there though. She probably stole it but oh well.

Otis Driftwood

Marriage? *Insert him scoffing.*

Yeah no, he's too edgy for that.

However, he is down to invent his own kind of marriage for you.

But you're not getting a ring, oh no.

Otis is showing up with a collar. And it has his name on it.

After he's given it to you, he'll just hold a 15-minute speech about how you belong to him and how this collar will show everyone.

If you say yes afterward he'll be confused. This wasn't a question.

Billy Loomis

Oh Billy has it all planned out... and it can go both ways.

It's either a super romantic, high-school sweetheart-like proposal with flowers, a cute ring, balloons, and all that boring stuff or...

He dresses up as Michael Myers and jumps out at you, scaring you to death, just to hold a ring and propose to you.

I can see him totally scaring the shit out of you the whole evening just to make your proposal a special one.

Stu also helps him which makes you question which of the two you're really marrying.

Stu Macher

Stu will propose in his own way, to be frank, everything he does is done in his own way.

He'll be quite sweet actually, taking you out on a Ferris wheel to ask the question.

He's serious about the whole thing but he doesn't quite show it.

He makes it seem as if this whole thing does nothing to him so you can't see how nervous he is.

After you say yes he'll still act cool but the shake in his voice gives him away.

If you cry, he'll tease you for years so be careful.

Brahms Heelshire

The only idea Brahms has of proposal and marriage is from the books he's read. And those are either porn magazines or some old romance novels from way before our time.

He'll wear a suit. You don't even know where he got it from, it's astonishingly old.

There's no dinner or anything, Brahms can't cook and after all, that's your job.

He'll give you flowers though!

And his grandmother's proposal ring that he found somewhere in the mansion. He just can't buy his own so he has to improvise.

If you say yes he'll smile excitedly and jump into your arms. He's not getting off too, you have to carry him now.

Sometimes he forgets how tall he is.

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas will marry you pretty early into the relationship.

After all, his family is very religious and you know what they say, no sex before marriage kids. I doubt that Thomas will obey that rule but let's pretend-

Luda will help him with everything he needs, she'll even get Hoyt and Monty to leave the house with her for a night so you two have some privacy!

Thomas will be very nervous and you very confused. Thomas never stopped working unless it was something important.

You'll eat and have a nice time, you can finally spend some time with your lover and this time, not in the basement. He even takes his mask off, just for you.

After dinner he'll clear his throat and actually say the whole proposal out loud. This is important and Thomas doesn't want to ruin this just because he doesn't want to talk.

He could never ruin anything but he's insecure like that.

If you say yes he's going to grin brightly and just pick you up, spinning you around until he actually kisses you, once again feeling so grateful for you in his life.

Josef

Marriage isn't that important to him so he takes a while to even think about that idea.

Of course, a life filled with you is absolutely amazing in his opinion but he trusts that you won't leave him, with or without a promise binding you to him.

After a bit of thinking, he decides to do it just for the gesture.

He'll buy a ring that he thinks fits and then plan a nice dinner with a few candles, red wine, expensive food, all that shit.

Josef is an amazing cook so that food will be to die for.

After eating, he'll intertwine your hands with his and look into your eyes, quietly bringing up the whole idea of marriage.

If you seem interested and I mean positively interested, he'll pull out the ring, surprising you like always.

Say yes and Josef will get quite emotional, never did he think someone would actually marry him.

He might cry but one word about that and you'll get the silent treatment.

you'll get a gif, as a treat

Amanda Young

Marriage? Uh, not for her.

Amanda hates the whole idea of marriage, stupid love-sick couples marrying just to break up and divorce a year later, leaving children to grow up in an environment that's shaped by isolation and abandonment.

However, she's not against a ring to show that she's never going to leave you.

Amanda will make one for you, yes you heard me, make.

It's so important to her, anyone else but her would fail her.

It takes a while but seeing your happy tears after she gave and explained it to you makes everything worth it.

She'll often admire it, sitting so perfect on your finger.

You're hers and hers alone.

You can't see it but she's smiling.

[cowboy-eddie]

Tumblr Exclusive: Hen, Eddie and Get to Know You

It hits Hen at 1am in the morning, randomly, laying next to Karen, that she wouldn’t rely on Eddie to save her life. Not because he isn’t reliable, not because he isn’t skilled, but just because... she doesn’t know him very well. Sure, their kids have play dates and they work together in the field sometimes on medical cases, but other than that what does she know about him, and what does he know about her?

Rolling on to her side, away from Karen so she doesn’t wake her, she shoots a text to Chim because he’s probably the only person she could talk to about this.

Hen: what’s Eddie’s favourite colour?

Chim: what the fuck kinda question is that?

Chim: and it’s 1am

Chim: ask Buck

But that’s just the thing; Hen doesn’t want to ask Buck and dismiss it. She wants to know for herself. Endeavouring to ask him the next time he’s on shift, she put her phone down and rolled over. As sleep came to her, she tried to think about what she wanted to ask Eddie. Maybe he had a favourite TV show, or a favourite sport. Did Buck mention baseball? He definitely mentioned baseball...

~~~

“Hey, Eddie, what’s your favourite colour?”

His brows furrowed in confusion as he put down his fork.

“My favourite... colour?”

Everyone else was suddenly intrigued too, Chim leaning over to Buck who turned to whisper back.

“Well, yeah. I know Buck’s is red, Chim thinks it’s stupid to have a favourite colour, and Bobby-“

“-leave Bobby out of this conversation,” Bobby said, mid-mouthful of pancake. Eddie shrugged.

“I dunno... I don’t have one, I guess. Christopher’s is green, so... green?”

“Dude, it’s blue. You literally always gravitate toward blue,” Buck said and Eddie cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Okay, so I guess it’s blue.”

“What about your favourite sport? Is it baseball?”

“No, Hen, he’s a Hockey guy.”

Buck butted in again and Bobby was suddenly interested. Glancing between Hen and Eddie, he cocked an eyebrow.

“Why the interrogation, Hen?”

“I just... feel like I don’t know Eddie very well.”

“Yeah, well, the feeling’s mutual,” he huffed, clearly uncomfortable with being questioned, and Hen immediately back off.

“I’m sorry, Eddie, I didn’t mean to-“

“-no, it’s... it’s fine.”

And they leave it at that, Bobby frowning at Hen as if to say “did you break him?” Before turning back to his pancakes.

~~~

Later, on a call, Hen watched Eddie roll out a hose. He was methodical and efficient, but his knee on his left side was a little weak and if he leaned on that side he almost missed his step. Buck, of course, was glued to his side as usual and seemed to be working the hose as well, or maybe flirting. Whatever.

“Hen. Put Eddie down.”

“What?”

Hen turned toward Chim and he took the blood pressure cuff off his patient, patting his shoulder.

“Looks good. Probably just a panic-induced reaction. I do want to get you to hospital just in case.”

“Yes sir.”

The guy let Chim lie him on the gurney inside the ambulance and shut the door. Chimney, hands on his hips, cocked an eyebrow.

“Why the sudden obsession with Eddie? You in love with him?”

“I’m married, to a woman, with two beautiful children. Or did you forget, Chimney?”

“My bad. But seriously, you need to stop staring at him. You’re gonna make him take stress leave.”

“I told you! I feel like I don’t know him. How stupid is that; this guy is one of our best and I feel like I barely know him past Christopher.”

Chimney shrugged.

“It’s always been you and me, Buck and Eddie, and Bobby. It’s just the way things worked out.”

“I can still talk to Buck, though, and ask him how therapy’s going, ask him personal things. Can you imagine what would happen if I asked Eddie something like that?”

“Oh, I can, and I can tell you right now it would not end well. How about we stop staring him down, and take this poor guy to the hospital before he thinks we forgot?”

“Fine.”

Hen climbed into the ambulance, radioing into dispatch to alert the hospital they were on their way there.

~~~

“Hey, Eddie, what happened to your knee? If you don’t mind me asking?”

Eddie sighed, putting down the clipboard he’d just pried off Buck.

“I dislocated it a few years ago. Went to physical therapy and everything but it never quite bounced back.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks for telling me.”

Hen went to walk away, when Eddie called out.

“Hey, Hen- what’s your mom’s name?”

And Hen smiled. Of course Eddie got it.

“It’s Antonia- Toni, if you want to be on her good side.”

“I better stick with Toni then.”

He disappeared into the locker room then, and Hen blinked before heading back upstairs.

~~~

It carried on like this for the rest of shift- Hen would ask Eddie a random question, and then an hour or so later he would approach with one of his own. It got to the point that they were asking about each other’s families as well now; Hen knew Eddie had sisters, but she hadn’t known he was the youngest of the three of them. Eddie was aware Hen didn’t have siblings, but he had no idea her father abandoned her so young. She finds out his favourite food is his grandmother’s Tamales, and he discovered that she loved cheeseburgers but only when Buck orders them, because he always remembers to double the ketchup.

Meanwhile, the other three watched this go on between calls. Buck crossed his arms, but he wasn’t pissed- if anything he was pleased.

“Fucking finally,” he murmured, Chim and Bobby looking to him with confusion. Buck shrugged.

“I always felt like those two just didn’t quite click, not in a mean way or anything, but more along the lines of no shared interests.”

“They’re bonding over their love of hockey I think,” Chim said, watching over the rail into the truck bays. Bobby just shrugged.

“As long as they’re getting along. It’s good to see Eddie opening up a little.”

“Amen,” Chim and Buck said simultaneously. The alarm began blaring and everyone leapt into action.

~~~

“Hey, Hen, can I ask you something?”

“If it’s my favourite cheese, you can bribe me easily with Brie,” Hen joked, head in the ambulance as she restocked it. Eddie shifted.

“No, it’s a little more, uh- why today?”

“What do you mean- oh. Oh!”

Hen stopped throwing things in the cupboards, taking a seat on the edge of the ambulance. Eddie sat too and she realised he was trying to trust her.

“Well, it’s kind of- kind of stupid, actually. I was lying in bed and it was 1am and apparently I was kind of delirious, because I- for half a second... I felt like I couldn’t trust you with my life.”

Eddie’s face hardened, walls going up, but Hen darted to grab his arm.

“I was wrong! I was wrong. You’re a skilled firefighter, and you’re unstoppable on scene, but I just- I felt like I didn’t know you very well. I decided to change that. I wanted to change that.”

His face screwed up, like he’d eaten something bad, before he shrugged.

“Cool.”

And that was it. Off he went, probably to find Buck. Those two were inseparable in the best of times, let alone when either of them were feeling vulnerable.

~~~

The next call they were on, Chim was tied down with a patient and Hen could tell she needed help. She turned her head, about to yell when she felt Eddie appeared behind her like he’d known and she grinned at him.

“Grab the stethoscope.”

“Got it.”

And they worked in unison. For the first time she felt like he had her back and she had his. They smiled at each other, focusing on helping their patient. When the patient had been loaded into the ambulance, Eddie cleared his throat and looked to Hen.

“Hey, uh, I think we know each other better than we think.”

“I think you should go and kiss Buck, but I hope to god you already know that.”

“Oh my god, Hen,” Eddie choked, but he was laughing so Hen figured he wasn’t pissed and about to close off to her. Nudging his shoulder, she gestured to their patient.

“Ride with me? I might need you to stay in the back.”

“Sure thing.”

Hen turned and yelled to Chim that she had to get to the hospital and he went to climb into the ambulance when Eddie beat him and Chim pouted. Buck appeared beside him, a frown on his face.

“Did they just-“

“Eddie stole my best friend,” Chim huffed. Buck snorted.

“If it makes you feel any better, Hen stole my boyfriend.”

“Buck.”

[xxlovendreamsxx]

Tomato Apocalypse

A/N: Commission for @iminnerdvana who wanted a non-massacre story! She allowed me to share with everyone else, so I hope you all enjoy!

.

.

In all of his twenty-six years, Sasuke has never—even for a second—had any doubt that his family would be unfit to care for another living being. Never since he was a moody teenager, never since he left home, never since he started wanting a family with Sakura, or since their daughter was born.

That is, until tonight.

He and Sakura had only been gone for a little over twenty minutes, fetching soba noodles, brown rice, and a few other items Sarada had requested. They were only supposed to have been gone for ten minutes, what with how close the grocery store was to Mother and Father’s house, but Sasuke found that ever since he married Sakura, such was usually never the case; his wife was a window-shopper at heart, and liked to stroll down every grocery store alley regardless of what they came for.

Sasuke was sure that everything would be fine. His daughter was more behaved than he had ever been at that age, and his parents had still raised both him and Itachi into fine young men. There was no reason to worry.

Which is why it comes to him as such a shock when he and Sakura step back inside his parents’ home with two handfuls of grocery bags that night, greeted by none other than their precious daughter barreling into his waist with loud sobs. The sight alerts him instantly, and he starts sensing his surroundings for any danger, fearing that the worst has happened. He doesn’t feel anything out of sorts; Mother, Father and Itachi’s chakras are all calm and undisturbed.

“Sarada? What’s going on? Why are you so upset?” he asks, immediately kneeling down to pick his little peanut up and hug her safely. Sarada merely wraps her arms around him and cries harder, which worries even his wife judging by the look on her face.

They abandon their bags and decide to seek out answers first, heading to the kitchen towards Mother and Itachi. His shoulders relax as he finds them chatting and smiling, prepping vegetables together, but he also finds his anger rising even more. Why is no one attending to Sarada when she is obviously incredibly upset?

“Why is Sarada crying?” his wife asks them, before he can. It was probably for the best that she did. In the state that he’s in right now, Sasuke’s pretty sure he would have snapped at them—and Mother wouldn’t have liked that at all.

But he’s not quite sure he would have minded that, now, after seeing the way Mother smiles and shrugs like this is all no big deal. Sarada is crying and terribly upset. This is a big deal.

Itachi starts to crack up, and Sasuke scowls. Whatever he is finding funny in this situation, Sasuke isn’t seeing it at all.

There is nothing funny about Sarada being this upset, he thinks with gritted teeth, pulling his crying daughter closer and rubbing her back. He kisses the side of her head.

Mother sees the look on his face, and she sighs dramatically. “Oh, Sasuke, lighten up. She overreacted a little, that’s all. We were making dinner, and she was helping us—well, you know, ‘helping’ us,” —she uses quotation marks, here, to emphasize that his daughter had no doubt only hung around them and chatted her little heart out, because she was too young to truly do anything yet— “while we were prepping everything. But then when she noticed Itachi adding tomatoes in the frying pan, she got very upset.” She rolls her shoulders into one of her rare shrugs, going back to the chopping of her green onions. “She ran off before we could explain to her that this was only our dinner, and that she didn’t have to have any of it because we were making a special-no-tomato version just for her.”

“You are?” Sarada blubbers, wiping her very wet, very red eyes to look at her grandmother. 

The latter grins at her in return, and abandons her work to lovingly pinch her cheek and pepper kisses all over her face. “Of course we are. We didn’t forget about you. In fact, we love you so much that you’re getting a special dinner all to yourself. And your uncle Itachi and I were just talking about making you your favorite dessert, too. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“Yes…” Sarada whimpers, rubbing her wet cheeks dry, though tears continue to roll. 

But when Itachi holds his arms out, inviting her to go with him instead, Sarada turns her face away and into Sasuke’s neck once more.

“Ouch, that hurt my heart a little. Are you still upset at your favorite uncle, Sarada? I’m sorry if I didn’t tell you first about the tomatoes.”

“Want to stay with Papa…” she sniffles, hugging him tightly.

Rubbing her back still, Sasuke hugs her back, and murmurs soothing words.

“I don’t understand why she would be so upset about you adding tomatoes,” Sakura whispers, no doubt so their daughter wouldn’t overhear. “She never cries about it when we’re at home. Maybe she’s tired?”

“Well, honestly, she wasn’t crying when she ran off,” Mother admits, sighing. “She went to see Fugaku in the living room, and five minutes later, well…”

Sasuke stiffens, and he just about growls. “Father made her cry?” he snaps, quieting his voice as his rising anger seems to upset Sarada again. “Where is he?” he hisses.

Itachi takes his turn to sigh, now; Sasuke hates it, because it sounds downright patronizing. “Sasuke, she’s a child. Children get upset every now and then. I’m sure Father wasn’t being a monster.”

And it is downright patronizing. He grits his teeth. “Where. Is. He? I want to talk to him.”

Mother makes an exasperated noise, and she props a hand on her hip, her dark eyes narrowed admonishingly at him. It still builds a swirl of anxiety in Sasuke’s stomach even now, but this is his daughter who’s crying, and his daughter that no one is taking seriously, and he can’t let his mother step down from the importance of this matter. 

“Sasuke, is that really necessary?” Mother asks, shaking her head. “Honestly, I’m sure this was all a big misunderstanding. You know how much your father loves Sarada.”

“Then he won’t mind clearing it all up to me, will he?” Sasuke snarls, because he is getting tired of Sarada’s feelings being trivialized, and being brushed off merely because she’s a child.

His father is not a cruel man, but he can be callous and cold without realizing, Sasuke remembers. And he won’t tolerate him playing the same mind tricks on his own granddaughter. 

Mother and Itachi both protest when he starts trudging away, and even Sakura says something along the lines of, “Sasuke-kun, darling, wait just a minute—” but Sasuke doesn’t listen. He can’t. He stalks angrily around his old home with purpose instead, Sarada hiccuping in his neck still and holding onto him for dear life, which Sasuke isn’t surprised to find isn’t any better than her sobbing. It hurts just the same to listen to.

Father will pay for hurting her.

When he gets to the living room a minute later, Father is sitting on the couch, rubbing a tired hand over his face while he watches the news. Whether that’s because he is truly tired, or feels guilty for hurting Sarada’s feelings, Sasuke doesn’t know—but he does truly hope for the latter, for his father’s sake.

Father looks up, and genuine surprise crosses his features. This doesn’t catch Sasuke off guard; his father’s hearing hasn’t been great ever since a bomb accidentally went off at his police district after it had been presumed harmless due to malfunction. 

(luckily, no one had been hurt.)

Father blinks. “Sasuke? When did you and Sakura get back? I didn’t hear the door—”

“What the hell did you do to Sarada?” Sasuke demands, his tone as icy and threatening as his dagger-glaring eyes. He knows he’s being rude and disrespectful, but he’s too pissed and worried about his daughter to care.

His father startles, but it isn’t long before his lips thin out and his gaze narrows with contained fury. His jaw cinches, and he grits out, “Mind your tone, boy. Your mother and I taught you better than that, and I’ll be damned if—”

“What the fuck did you do to her!” Sasuke yells, which triggers some outraged cries from the kitchen that he ignores, only listening to the way Sarada starts to cry again. He kisses her head and holds her tighter, unable to manage gentle soothing sounds. She only begins to calm when he rubs her back and bounces her a little, though Sasuke is far too focused on the way his father recoils and doubles down with twice the anger to think about doing anything else to pacify her.

But after a few silent seconds boiling with unspoken rage, Father does the unexpected, and forces his fists to unclench at his side. He sighs heavily as he does, as though he thinks that somehow, not fighting makes him the better man.

Or maybe he just doesn’t want to upset Sarada any further, he realizes, as his father’s eyes flicker to his daughter, who is sniffing miserably in his arms.

Sasuke’s anger softens, but not much. He still glares angrily at the man before him, because even if he is right, and his father is sorry, he still shouldn’t have hurt Sarada in the first place.

Father shakes his head, and rubs the back of his neck. “Sasuke… I promise you, I didn’t do or say anything mean to her. I know I wasn’t always the warmest father to you, but I’m trying my hardest to never be anything but warm with Sarada. When she ran over to me, she was half-crying already. She tripped over the carpet and fell down—bumped her forehead in the process. When I came over to help, she started crying on the floor. I started soothing her—and it was working.” He pauses for a few breaths. His throat bobs with a swallow. “Until I forgot that she hated tomatoes, that is.”

A wave of confusion hits Sasuke, wariness replacing some of the fury on his features. A little voice in the back of his mind, which he half-thinks is Sakura’s fault that it’s there as it is often resonating her opinions, scolds him that he should have waited lest he just have overreacted and caused disrespect to his parents for no real reason.

He mulls his lips, and asks with some hesitation, “You… offered her a tomato?”

Father’s lip twitches at a corner, so briefly and faintly Sasuke might have missed it if he blinked. His face remains neutral, but Sasuke can see the glimmers of amusement swimming in his eyes. His father crosses his arms over his chest, huffing. “Close. She had a big red bump on her forehead. I teased that now she had a big tomato there. I thought it would make her smile.” He shakes his head like he’s silently scolding himself and wishing he could turn back time. “It wasn’t until she started bawling and ran off again that I realized I should have picked another red fruit to compare her forehead to.”

Just like that, Sasuke’s anger fades and bleeds into a whirlwind of guilt; it seeps into his stomach, and climbs all the way around his heart. Fuck. He had overreacted. Mother was not going to be happy with him. Or Sakura.

Though in his defense, he had been acting solely for the way he thought his daughter was being mistreated, so maybe that would soften their scowls a bit.

Hopefully.

The thoughts must show on his face, because Father’s features twist with even more amusement as he watches him, so Sasuke looks away and turns his attention towards his daughter instead. Sarada is sniffling into his neck, even now, but she doesn’t seem as sad as she has been since he’d arrived, so there’s some relief in that.

He kisses the top of her head to reassure her, then gently tugs her away and whispers inquisitively if he can take a look at her. Sarada doesn’t put up any complaints, so he takes that as a yes and brushes her damp bangs out of her red face. Her eyes are puffy, wet and glimmering still with tears, and even though she looks more tired now than she does sad, it still breaks his heart into a million pieces.

At least the presence of the big red bump on her forehead that indeed exists is distracting enough that he doesn’t have to think about that, much.

He can’t believe he hadn’t noticed it until now. But he supposes she was hiding her face in his neck for most of the time since he’d arrived from the grocery store, so maybe it isn’t so unbelievable that he didn’t.

His daughter rubs her forehead, eyes growing a little mistier, and she looks at him like it’s the end of the world and like nothing could ever be possibly worse. “Oji-chan said I have a tomato on my forehead…” she whimpers, scrubbing her eye as she often does when she’s exhausted. She sniffles, tears spilling over her cheeks again as she hiccups and fights back sobs. “And uncle ‘tachi and Baba were putting tomatoes in dinner… I hate tomatoes, Papa…” Her last words crack, and her breaths break into little gasps as she buries herself in his neck again and starts crying, which Sasuke doesn’t fight.

He shushes her sweetly and starts rubbing her back while murmuring reassuring words and loving encouragements, letting her snivel and weep against him freely. The more she does, the more she’ll tire herself out, and Sasuke believes a good long nap will do her some good.

When she quiets and is back to her miserable sniffles, Sarada asks him, “Do you think Mama can make the tomato go away, Papa?”

Sasuke’s lips twitch, but he somehow manages to hide his smile. Father struggles as well, it seems, and the guilt Sasuke has over disrespecting him grows twice-fold. Father loves Sarada more than anything in the world, just as he and Sakura do. He wants to be a better grandfather to her than he was a father to him.

Sasuke’s eyes lessen with apology, but he focuses on Sarada for now and pulls her back to give her one of his rare smiles—the ones he solely reserves for her. He brushes her cute bangs away from her soft, round face.

Instead of answering, Sasuke leans in and lays the fondest, lingering kiss on her forehead; not in the middle, but exactly over her big red bump that’s causing her so much distress.

Sarada winces. 

“There,” he murmurs, kissing her nose. “No more tomato on your forehead. Papa ate it.”

His daughter gasps. “Really?” She tries to touch her bump to check it, but Sasuke grasps her hand, peppering sweet kisses all over her hand.

He smiles. “Really.”

She launches her arms around him and hugs him tight, muffling into his neck, “Thank you… I love you, Papa.”

“I love you too, Sarada.” He rubs her back and gives her a pat. “You understand now that sometimes if you see us adding tomatoes, it isn’t because we forgot you?” Sarada pulls away from him, and she nods. Sasuke nods back. “Baba and Itachi were hurt earlier when you ran off. But they’re even making your favorite dessert anyway, tonight. Go apologize to them.”

“Yes. Okay, Papa. I’m sorry,” she whispers, and he kisses her nose before he lets her down, satisfied.

Sarada wipes the tears from her face one last time, and she smiles up at him even in her tired state. The sight lifts Sasuke’s heart by miles.

But just as she looks like she’s about to run back off towards the kitchen, she hesitates. She turns around, and swiftly tackles her grandpa’s legs into a tight hug. “I’m sorry, Oji-chan. I hope you weren’t sad. I love you.”

Father seems a little stunned, but it isn’t long until he picks her up to fully return her embrace, pressing a kiss to her cheek. He murmurs something in her ear, and Sarada pulls back with a wide smile and a giggle, nudging his nose with hers in an eskimo kiss. Father grins and peppers a few last kisses over her face, then let’s her down. 

There is nothing but happiness and smiles on Sarada’s face as she pats hurriedly towards the kitchen, traces of her sorrow now all but nearly gone, save for her puffy, red eyes. Mother will likely have some kind of magic home remedy for them.

When they are left alone, Father crosses his arms over his chest, and his face slips back into his usual apathy. Sasuke knows he has to apologize, and that his father is expecting it, but the words won’t leave his throat when the prideful part of him screams that he was only defending his daughter.

He opens his mouth and tries, anyway, but nothing comes out. He tries once more, and then again a third time, all with the same results.

He expects his father to admonish him and his lack of respect, but instead, what he gets is totally unexpected. His father cracks up, and slips a hand over his mouth to hide his smile. A smile Sasuke doesn’t think he’s ever seen directed at him since he was a very young child.

His mouth hangs rudely, too stunned to remember his manners.

“You’ve really inherited the worst parts of me. I wish I could lecture you about your complete lack of respect and your damn stubborn pride that won’t even let you apologize, but I don’t know how to begin doing that without feeling like a complete hypocrite.” His father’s features soften back to something more neutral and unreadable, but he still shakes his head and huffs, amused. “I’m sorry I taught you pride came before humility, Sasuke. And I’m sorry I never apologized to you when I was wrong. I should have.”

“Yes. You should have,” Sasuke finds himself admitting, and his gaze drops in panic. He runs a hand through his hair and looks in the direction of the kitchen with a sense of dread, crossing his arms, too. “I’m not sorry for being angry with you when I thought you mistreated Sarada.” He pauses, just for a breath. “But I am sorry that I jumped to conclusions so fast.”

“Your mother will make sure you won’t be doing it again,” Father says, an odd tone to his voice.

Sasuke looks back to find him smirking. He can’t blame him.

Looking back to the hall leading to his next dreaded destination, Sasuke’s shoulders drop. “Yeah. Sakura will, too,” he mutters.

He’s not sure who will kill him first.

.

.

A/N: Commission slots are still open! More about my conditions and rates here. 

[the-coda-project]

The Coda Project | 1.02 - Inherit the Flames

After reuniting Tommy Collins with his family, Dean and Sam stop for the night in a town called Rifle.

They’re about two hours out of Blackwater Ridge, at a dumpy motel on the edge of a town called Rifle, and Dean’s been staring at the tree-print wallpaper for so long that he’s started detecting patterns in the branches.

A cheap plug-in air freshener in the bathroom has the whole place reeking of artificial pine. Between that and the walls, Dean’s starting to feel as though the wilderness they just barely managed to escape from has followed them here. Hell, maybe they didn’t escape. Maybe he’s still strung up in the mine; maybe the wendigo is still tossing him around like a ragdoll, scrambling his brains just enough that he’s dreaming of a motel that doesn’t exist.

Outside, an eighteen-wheeler passes on the I-70, close enough to make the windows rattle. Dean shifts in his bed as if a different position is going to be enough to distract him from how badly his ribs ache. His scratched-up neck feels raw as road rash.

No matter how hard he tries, sleep still feels so far out of the realm of possibility that he starts wondering how long he should lie here before he can cut his losses and call it.

But then Sam pipes up—“Hey, can I ask you something?”—from across the room, not bothering to check first if Dean’s awake, and immediately he wants to just keep feigning sleep until morning. He might have sought out his brother’s company only a couple of weeks ago, but right now, with the memory of Sam’s dismissive attitude toward helping the Collins family fresh in his mind, he doesn’t feel much like talking to him.

“Dean.”

He presses his eyes shut, ignoring the part of himself that’s berating him for being childish. Whether he can get to sleep or not, he’s too goddamn exhausted to talk about anything that isn’t life or death.

If he thought there was even a chance that his brother was angling to talk about Jessica, he’d be sitting up and listening in a heartbeat. But his tone is inquisitive, not hesitant, and Sam’s been so closed-lipped about his grief that Dean only knows how much her death is affecting him because of how loud and frequent his nightmares have been.

“Dean,” Sam says again, slightly louder. “I know you’re awake.”

With a huff, Dean tilts his head to squint at him across the gap between their lumpy mattresses. He grimaces as the motion pulls at the claw marks on his neck. He’ll be lucky if they don’t scar, but maybe it’d be better if they do. Maybe it’d help if he could see something visibly fucked up when he looks in the mirror. Maybe that would make it easier to explain away the revulsion he feels when he meets his own eyes.

“Dude, can it wait until after I get a solid four hours?”

Bullheaded as ever, Sam ignores the question, sitting up and tucking his shaggy hair back behind his ears. He looks twelve years old. Dean figures he always will, in some ways.

“Did something happen with Dad? Before he took off, I mean.”

“Like what?”

He’s not sure why he bothers asking Sam to clarify.

Maybe it’s just to buy himself some time; to give himself a second to come up with some version of the truth that doesn’t amount to Dad’s an overbearing, pigheaded prick, just like you’ve always said, and if I didn’t think he was in trouble right now I’d be glad to be rid of him for at least another month.

Even thinking it makes him guilty. Like he’s a bad son for being so angry with the guy. But he’s gotta believe that his actions are the important part here; proof that no matter how much he hates his dad sometimes, he still loves him enough to want to keep this family as connected as he can.

Still, a part of him is wondering if it’s really worth it anymore to keep up the act. If his clinging to John and clinging to Sam is just making things worse for all of them. Making John think he’ll put up with whatever he throws at him. Making Sam think he doesn’t care enough to take his side against John when he’s being unreasonable.

A part of him wonders—but it’s not a big enough part to win. The thought that something might have happened to him keeps him from letting the bile spill.

Because if they can’t find him—or worse, if they do find him but they’re too late—Dean doesn’t want Sam to have more reasons to be angry with a dead man than he’s already got.

It’s not as though Dean’s not used to keeping this shit locked down, anyway. There’ve been other disagreements, other fights, other circumstances over the years that he knows weren’t even close to being fair on him, but that’s just his life. It sucks, but it’s how it’s always been. No use complaining about it if it’s never gonna change, and after living this way for twenty-two of his twenty-six years, he sees no reason to consider change a possibility.

In the grand scheme of things, this particular incident doesn’t even make the top five list of awful things John’s put him through. The honors there go to that time with the shtriga, abandoning him at Sonny’s and then uprooting him as soon as he let himself get comfortable, the hunt he sent him on as a seventeenth birthday “present”, the night he told Sam not to bother coming back if he left for school, and the simple act of raising his kids into this shit in the first place.

This one might make it into the top ten, though. He hasn’t decided yet.

“Well,” Sam says, pulling him out of his thoughts. “You said you hadn’t heard from him in… what, three weeks before you got that message? Seems weird that it was so long, is all. You were on a hunt, he was on a hunt… it’s just weird that you weren’t checking in more often.”

Dean rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. There’s a water stain on the popcorn tile overhead that almost looks like a cactus if he looks at it the right way.

Christ, he could use some tequila right now. Maybe he can find them a case further south while they wait for some sign of John to turn up. Someplace warmer than the mountains in Colorado. Someplace where he can roll into town, waste a ghost, and then knock back a few drinks on a motel patio without having to talk to anyone at all.

“I mean, you usually check in more than that, right?” Sam goes on, and Dean sighs. He lifts one hand to rub at his brow.

“Yeah, usually.”

“So… what happened?”

“Nothing you gotta worry about,” he says, and immediately knows it was a mistake. Sam zeroes in on what Dean didn’t say just as intently as anyone else would focus on what he did.

Maybe he should go to law school after all—he’s already got the artful-conversational-trap shit down.

“You had a fight.”

“Sam—”

“No, c’mon Dean. You asked me to help you find him. If you had a fight before he left, that seems like it might be relevant.”

“It’s not.”

“So why won’t you just tell me?”

“It was nothing,” he insists. “Dad isn’t exactly Mr Congeniality, Sam. We fight all the time.”

“No, me and Dad fight all the time. The two of you are usually on the same page.”

Dean suppresses a snort and rolls onto his side, his back to Sam now as he looks at the narrow strip of moonlight edging past the thin motel curtains.

“You know I’ll just ask Dad when we find him if you don’t—“

“Jesus, Sam. It was nothing. Just a stupid disagreement about the hunt we were on. You know how he can get.”

“What was the hunt?”

“A witch in Louisiana. We had different ideas about what was going on, but it’s done, the witch is dead, and it doesn’t matter anymore. Okay?”

“That’s all?”

It’s not all.

Thanks to a botched salt-and-burn in Kentucky the previous month, things had already been tense well before they checked into a motel in Souffran, Louisiana. It only got worse when they ran into a woman Dean knew on their second day in town.

She’d been a civilian, last he’d seen her. Said she was a hunter now.

John had been ready to leave as soon as he found out she was already looking into it, but Dean wasn’t so eager.

It wasn’t that he thought Marisa was helpless—far from it, in fact. She’d been teaching capoeira when Dean met her in Texas a few months back. Had the thing terrorizing her students been corporeal, he has no doubt that she never would have needed any help in kicking its ass. But she was inexperienced as a hunter. Green as they come.

Dean didn’t love the idea of her taking on whatever was killing kids in Souffran alone.

When he told John as much, his dad just gave him a sly look, as if he thought the only reason Dean cared was because he was looking to get into Marisa’s pants. Dean wasn’t, for the record. As he saw it, it was his fault that she’d decided to try hunting on for size in the first place. He figured he owed it to her to back her up while she was still so new.

At first, all they’d had to go on was two kids who’d gone missing and turned up dead a week later without any visible injuries beyond a circular burn in the center of their chests; a girl named Lucy Parker who’d disappeared without a trace from her grandmother’s backyard yesterday but was yet to be found; and half a dozen wildly inconsistent reports of strange lights being seen in the swamp running along the north edge of town.

John had been convinced that they were dealing with a fi follet—a kind of malevolent will-‘o-the-wisp known to enact vengeance and drain the blood of children. When Dean disagreed with him, explaining to Marisa that the whole thing felt witchy to him, and pointing out that neither of the kids who’d died had shown any signs of blood loss, John got pigheaded and petty.

He called Dean arrogant. Accused him of acting like John was an idiot ever since they left Kentucky. Spat, “You spend one day showing a civvie the ropes and now you’re an expert, huh? Well go ahead, kid. Handle it on your own.”

And then he bailed.

Left Dean and Marisa to track down a missing eight year old on their own, and made Dean feel about three inches tall when he did it.

It took them almost a full two days to track the thing responsible. A witch, like Dean had thought, who’d been draining the kids of their life force in a desperate, last-ditch effort to stave off some sickness that was eating away at him. But the spell he’d been using was unstable and ineffective, and he’d been haggard and jittery when they found him in a rusty little shack out in the middle of nowhere.

Lucy Parker was right there with him in the room, suspended in mid-air by some unknown force as pale, flickering light leached from the center of her chest and down into a copper bowl on the floor beneath her. Her eyes were wide and rolled back to the whites. Her mouth was open as if she were screaming.

Marisa shot the witch point blank, right between the eyes, and Dean had darted forward to catch Lucy before she could hit the ground. He’d spent the entire time terrified that they were going to get to her too late; that she’d turn up dead before they could figure out where she’d been taken or how to deal with the thing that had taken her.

When she landed in his arms, he’d almost been sick when he felt how cold she was. How limp.

But after a second, she gasped, and coughed, and then she was clinging to him. Shaking.

He couldn’t put her down. She wouldn’t let Marisa take her.

He’d been forced leave the shack while Marisa dealt with the witch’s body and destroyed all the evidence before some local could stumble upon it, and when she’d emerged gray-faced and bloody half an hour later, with the crackle of fire just audible over the steady croak of frogs in the nearby water, he’d known that Marisa wasn’t going on any more hunts.

Lucy still refused to let go of him once they got back to the car, so he’d let Marisa drive them back to town, sitting in the back seat with the kid clinging to his side and sobbing snot into his jacket. He hadn’t even minded. If he didn’t think it would scare her more, he might have let himself cry out of sheer relief at finding her.

Late that night--once Lucy was back with her grandmother, and Marisa was on her way back to San Antonio, and Souffran was far enough in the rearview that it was safe to stop for the night--Dean had called John. He didn’t pick up.

Just sent Dean’s call straight to voicemail, then texted him coordinates for a poltergeist case near Mobile, Alabama an hour later. A few days after that, more coordinates directed him to the voodoo hunt in New Orleans.

So yeah, a witch in Louisiana is not all. Not by a long shot. He doesn’t tell Sam that, though. What would be the point?

“Yeah, that’s all,” he lies, still staring at the gap in the curtains. Another truck rumbles past, air brakes hissing as it slows to take the town exit. It’s so loud that he’s not sure that he’d manage to sleep here even if he wasn’t a headcase. “C’mon, I gotta crash, man.”

For a minute, it seems like Sam’s gonna keep at it. Like he’ll needle at Dean until he spills everything out onto the pilled carpet between them. How scared he is. How angry. How resentful. All the ugliest feelings that seem to be pressing up his throat and onto the back of his tongue like bile.

But he doesn’t. Just sighs, sounding as tired as Dean feels, and says, “Yeah, okay. Night, Dean.”

Dean grunts in reply, and Sam starts snoring after a half hour. Another half hour after that, his nightmares begin. Low, helpless murmurs of Jessica’s name and high-pitched whines of terror that stick in Dean’s chest like buckshot.

With dry eyes and an ever-present lump in his throat, Dean pushes out of bed and heads for the bathroom, taking the laptop as he goes.

If he’s lucky, he’ll find them a hunt before Sam wakes up. He can get them back on the road as soon as the sun rises. Keep them focused on something that isn’t the complete lack of leads on John.

If he’s not, maybe staying up will wear him out enough to sleep tomorrow. He’ll take what he can get.

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[arofili]

#45, kidnap fam?

(Dear anon: I’m sorry.)

~

45. “How much of that did you hear?” Maglor asked quietly.

Elrond looked up at him, his eyes hard. “Enough.”

Maglor nodded, closing his eyes. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “We sent you away for a reason.”

“Well, I am here.” Elrond sighed. “Atar...you don’t have to do this.”

He laughed hollowly. “You heard me. I tried. But Maedhros...he won’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers. You know our curse, yonya. If we don’t try we will be consumed, turned to worse things. Like we did to you.”

“You made up for it,” Elrond said fiercely. “You must know that.”

“I wish I did.” Maglor looked up into the sky, where Gil-Estel shone bright and damning. “Your father has one Silmaril. Your real father, I mean. Your other fathers...we must have the other two.”

“Atar,” Elrond blurted out, “I came to ask you to come to Valinor with me.”

Maglor stilled. “You’re going to Valinor?”

“If you will come with me, yes.”

“And Elros? What about him?” Maglor looked up at him again, something undefinable glittering in his eyes. “Where is he? He didn’t come with you.”

“Where’s Maedhros?” Elrond asked. He grimaced. “Elros is...busy. Like Atya.”

“Your atya is drowning his sorrows and preparing for a Fourth Kinslaying.” Maglor clenched his fist. “I certainly hope Elros is not.”

“We were offered a choice,” Elrond said, looking at his feet. “Of which kindred we shall be counted as. They said—the Valar said that if we chose mortality, they would give us a land, a blessed land, to the West. Not the Blessed Land,” he added hastily, “not Valinor. But we could take what remains of the Edain and find a new place to live.”

“Beleriand is certainly not habitable anymore.” Maglor nodded, dread coiling in the pit of his stomach. “And if you chose Elvendom...?”

“We could go West, to the Uttermost West, and live in bliss in Aman.” Elrond’s voice was tinged with longing. “Like you, when you grew up.”

“There is a reason we are here now,” Maglor reminded him.

“And you want to stay?” Elrond demanded.

Maglor laughed bitterly. “I have no choice, unlike you.”

“If you forsake this madness, convince Atya—”

“Maedhros will not be convinced. You heard, Elrond. He has been a captive once; he would kill himself before he faces such a fate again.”

“The Valar are not like Morgoth!” Elrond protested. “They would not—”

“Let me remind you which of us was raised in the Blessed Realm,” Maglor said flatly. “This choice of yours, it was offered by Námo, was it not?”

“...Yes. And Manwë.”

“Námo the Doomsayer. Námo who cursed all Noldor who followed my father. Námo who holds my father, and all my brothers save Maedhros, in his keeping even now!” Maglor’s voice grew heated. “No, Elrond. This choice—it is not just. You are peredhil; why must you decide which kindred is better? You are both.”

“I chose Elvendom,” Elrond snapped.

Relief washed over Maglor, dispersing a fear he had not realized he held. Good. He may be damned, but at least his sons would be safe, and live eternal. Aman was not so bad a place, after all. He wanted to go back, wanted to join the peredhil and see his mother again, even at the cost of the Valar’s judgement—he was so tempted by Elrond’s offer.

But Maedhros would not go, not even if asked by Elrond, and Maglor would not abandon Maedhros. Not again.

“Then go,” Maglor rasped. “You and Elros—you have not wronged the Valar as we have. Go with them to Valinor, and live in peace. You will be happy there.”

“I can’t,” Elrond whispered, a single tear streaming down his face. “I can’t go alone.”

“You won’t be alone,” Maglor said. “Even without us...your parents will be there, your real parents. And you will always have Elros.” As much as this conversation hurt, he longed to see Elros again, wished he had come with Elrond.

“I have already lost him!” Elrond wailed, falling into Maglor’s arms. “He—he chose mortality!”

Maglor held him tight, cradling his son like he had when he was a child, though he neared adulthood now. Numb shock overcame him: how could Elros do this? How could he abandon Elrond? Did he not know the pain his fathers had endured for their brothers’ sake, the soul-rending torment of Ambarussa sundered from one another this long age, how utterly this could destroy them both?

Mortality. He would take that kingdom offered by the Valar, lead the Edain, and for what? A life lived in the blink of an elvish eye? The promise of...something, beyond the boundaries of Arda? His grandmother Lúthien’s legacy, to doom his family like she doomed hers? Thingol had not outlived his daughter; would Maglor survive this loss? Daeron, her brother, Maglor’s onetime-lover, had lost himself in his grief; would Elrond be able to endure the long ages of Arda alone?

“It’s selfish,” Elrond wept, “he chose first! We’ve been living with the Edain, when Gil-galad is too busy to mind us, and they’re good folk, they love us, they love him, and he told me how much he wants to know what is beyond Arda. He says he feels his mortality in his blood, that no matter how we study, elves will never know! He was so studious, I was the wild one, you know this, and he’s—he’s pursuing knowledge, just like you taught us, knowledge over glory and eternity, and I told him it was a worthy choice, a good one, and then I chose Elvendom.”

Maglor had no words to comfort him, still reeling with shock and horror. “He...he will die?” he rasped. “And we will lose him forever?”

“I could have followed him, gone with him,” Elrond sobbed. “But I am a coward. I want peace and light and the easy way out. But now I will be alone, and Eärendil will sail the skies and Elwing sits in her white tower doing nothing but mourn and you and Atya are going to get yourselves killed or worse chasing the fucking Silmarils!”

Elrond tore himself away from Maglor, wiping his eyes. “I don’t know what to do,” he said, his voice cracking. Maglor could scarcely stand to look at him: he was so young, and already faced with so much pain. Such were the children born in Beleriand. And so much of that pain was Maglor’s own fault.

“Please, Atar,” Elrond begged. “Please listen to Eonwë. Come to Valinor with me, I will plead for you, and you and Atya can be freed of your Oath and I can have a family there. Please.”

“We cannot,” rumbled a new voice, and Maglor jumped. Maedhros walked out of the shadows, his red hair, once so burning bright, dark and matted with sweat and blood.

“Atya, please—”

“You should not have come, Elrond.” Maedhros used to be so beautiful, once. It broke Maglor’s heart to see him like this. Even after Angband, he had been beautiful, for he shone with purpose and love. Now...even with Maglor here, even with Elrond here, that was all gone. Only the Oath kept him living, Maglor knew.

“Where will I go?” Elrond cried. “Without you, without Elros—what will I do?”

“Gil-galad will not give up his kingship for Valinor,” Maedhros intoned, his voice flat. “Go with him to the east. Celebrimbor is going with him; he wrote inviting us to join him, if we would but forsake the Oath.”

Maglor had not known that. He flashed a look to Maedhros, asking without words if he had been planning on sharing that information. But Maedhros didn’t blink, didn’t acknowledge him.

“Gil-galad... Gil is your brother,” Maglor said softly. “You know that, right?”

Elrond looked between them. “He is Fingon’s son, not yours.”

Maglor bit his lip until it bled. It was low, dirty of him to use Fingon against Maedhros at a time like this, but if it would convince him...

Maedhros blanched, turning pale white beneath the web of scars across his face. “This is cruel of you, Makalaurë,” he rasped, still not turning to look at him. “I thought better of you.”

“You—” Elrond broke off. Maglor saw him calculating in his mind; truly, it was not that difficult to figure out, though Fingon was never spoken of in Maedhros’ earshot, and thus he had been forced to learn of his deeds thirdhand. “You and him—and Gil-galad—oh.”

“He will want a herald. I heard his was slain in the last battle.” Maedhros was back to monotone. “Go east with him.” He shook his head. “Elrond, I...”

“Atya?”

Maedhros looked on the verge of saying something heartfelt. Maglor gripped Elrond’s wrist, hoping, yearning for some spark of the brother he loved to flicker back to life.

But Maedhros’ eyes only darkened. “I wish I could choose to unmake myself as Elros has,” he said. “It would be easier.” Without another word he retreated, leaving Elrond and Maglor staring dumbfounded after him.

“He doesn’t mean that,” Maglor said tiredly, but his words did not even fool himself.

“I understand now,” Elrond murmured. “I...you’re right, Atar, I should not have come.”

“Elrond...” Maglor wiped at his eyes. “I am sorry. Truly. For everything we have done to you. You—oh, child, you deserve better than the lot you have been dealt.”

“I have plenty of time left to make something better out of it.” His words were dull. “Gil-galad will take me, but...he cannot replace Elros. He doesn’t even know me as his brother.”

“He will. He will love you, Elrond. Who couldn’t?”

Elrond looked at him, the full force of his betrayal shining through his tears. “I can think of a few people,” he whispered.

If Maglor’s heart had not already been shattered into countless pieces, it would have broken then.

“Goodbye, yonya,” he mustered, and Elrond gave him one last embrace.

He could not bring himself to wish his son joy. It would only serve as a last reminder of all they both had lost.

[lisinfleur]

I don't think all Bjorn's behaviour is Thorunn fault. She was suffering too, she thought she lost all her beauty and didn't think she was worth of Bjorn's love. I think that Lagertha could have talked with him about it, and taught him how to treat and support his wife their relationship could continue.

But Lagertha did nothing, they even left the little Siggy with Aslaug and as long as I know that she was terrible human being leaving the girl alone, she wasn't her granddaughter, so I ask where was Lagertha the defender of the women at these times?

TONS UNDER THE CUT XD Sorry for it being too long, love!

Ok, let us break your asks into parts cause I see some pretty good material here. First of all, Björn's behavior. Indeed it is not ONLY Þórunn's fault. But a great part is. A person's personality/character is built over a lot of small parts of itself and its relationship with the world around. Our mothers and fathers build a lot of ourselves, but we also learn a lot from people around us, and sometimes it pushes us away from our parents' behavior and even pushes us away from them (I may be inserting a little bit of personal experience here haha). In Björn's case, his relationship to women and character when it comes to being a husband/father comes pretty much from his traumas related to Ragnar and Þórunn respectively. Ragnar destroyed his conceptions of what should be a perfect love story and Þórunn broke his hope/self-confidence that he was able to build a story different from the one he saw his parents building. I think he kinda mirrored himself in Lagertha - the abandoned/betrayed part of the relationship  - and then decided to become Ragnar - the "fuck-it-all" part of the relationships he had. But we cannot say he didn't support Þórunn. He was UTTERLY supportive from carrying for her wound to keep their relationship warm, even trying to show her his desire was intact, his love was still there, and her beauty wasn't everything. As much as he had chance upon chance to receive love after Þórunn and I blame exclusively him for not allowing himself to be loved and dive into a true love like Torvi's or Gunnhild's; I blame Þórunn exclusively for not being able to accept her wound wasn't enough reason for her value as a woman/partner for Björn to be reduced. He loved her and he showed her scar meant nothing to him. She was the one who decided to start pushing him towards finding another woman (which ended up with him and Torvi getting involved) and later on, to leave him and little Siggy behind. So, no excuses for Þórunn here, but indeed Ragnar also had a part in this character construction for Björn and I believe even his involvement with Snaefrid and its tragic end also killed the last drop of hope he could have to love and be loved in this lifetime.

Now speaking of Aslaug, I utterly disagree that she was a "terrible human being". She wasn't. Definitely not. She was a human being. And here is the spot that everyone insists on ignoring through the whole fandom. No anger attached, for real, but there are some spots to be brought to light here that no one really uses to care about when speaking about Ragnar's second wife. So, let us bring it out the reasons why I do not agree with your definition of Aslaug: She was a mother of four. The woman was already taking care by herself of four kids, one of them SEVERELY disabled, screaming, and in pain 24/7 a day. As a mother of a possibly autistic child who screams at least 16 of the 24 hours she's with me, believe me: it makes you INSANE! And my daughter isn't even disabled or in pain like Ivar was. I can't stop crying and feeling the worst mother in the world when my Victoria cuts a finger or hurts herself falling during a run - now stop and imagine Aslaug's head thinking about the child she had just put in this world... At that time, they didn't have too much awareness of the men's participation in the children's production so, men were said to seed, women were said to produce the child. You can remember Ivar accusing Freydis of "producing him such a monster" when speaking about little Balðr. Aslaug dealt with the same guilt of producing herself a child with such terrible condition, always in pain, screaming for her help she couldn't offer. And in the middle of this she had Sigurd - who was still a baby around 1 to 2 years old - Hvitserk - who was a dog after his older brother EVERYWHERE - Ubbe, who was becoming a man too soon into her eyes - and Ragnar, who wasn't there practically all the time, leaving the housekeeping, the kingdom keeping, and the child keeping for her alone (cause people use to forget, but Bjorn was going everywhere with his father before assuming Kattegat's reign, so it was left in ASLAUG's hands). Do I have to remember this woman didn't know how to cook when she arrived? Her SERVANTS made the dinner she offered to Ragnar and Lagertha for welcoming her. The woman was a princess without a kingdom when she came, and she never had her father and mother around to tell her what to do or teach her how to be a mother. Believe me, girl, I had my mother to teach me, and even with her around it was HARD AS FUCK and I still learn things every day! Imagine how hard it was for her to do everything I just said she was responsible for... And then comes Þórunn and throws over her a fifth child she cared PERFECTLY about until BJÖRN rejects the child leaving HER with the incumbency to care for a fifth child in the middle of all the things she already had to do...

Whoever can remember, Aslaug had several mental breakdowns during this series, became alcoholic, lost her mind several times, cried her ass out... And who can blame her? She failed little Siggy, indeed, but she was overwhelmed trying to deal with several things at the same time along with the carelessness of her husband that was really not giving a flying fuck to what she was doing but was all up to slap her or speak about her mistakes whenever they would spot up. She failed Sigurd too... But no one can say Ubbe and Hvitserk weren't well raised and she lost her mind but even then, Ivar survived, didn't he? Aslaug wasn't a terrible human being. She was an overwhelmed woman... But can we say the same about Lagertha? As a warrior? Flawless! Amazing woman! But I still question myself about how the fuck did Björn reached adult life! The stories she taught Hali and Asa about Björn and Ragnar and being a warrior and son of who Hali was and her poor attention to the children's safety during a battle caused Hali to die that horrible way - and it WAS her fault! He was on her responsibility and SHE HAD to pay attention to create a safe (and preferentially LOCKED) space for the children to be during the attack, but she was so up to being the flawless shieldmaiden who would save the village for the women who came to ask for her help that she forgot children sometimes are stupid and can do stupid things to follow stupid examples... Hali wanted to be a warrior like his father and grandfather from her stories. She just forgot to say he had to GROW UP before holding a sword or proving himself a son of the great Björn Ironside...

Speaking of being a shitty grandmother, can we talk about little Siggy a little? She was LAGERTHA's granddaughter and RAGNAR's granddaughter. She had NOTHING to do with Aslaug and I didn't see any of them complaining Björn abandoned the child. Ragnar at least slapped his beautiful firstborn's face when Björn fucked up and took pregnant Þórunn with him into battle. But Lagertha? Not a single word before, not a single word during, not a single word after it. Not about little Siggy, not about dear Torvi that Björn abandoned out of nowhere - no. Instead of defending a woman suffering a sudden abandonment like hers, Lagertha was too occupied negotiating the Sammi's princess' pussy for her beloved golden boy. (Sorry about the language, but gods, it made me mad!)

So, after all of this, if someone can be called a despicable human being in this whole situation - unpopular opinion here - it would be Lagertha. And in this, we agree.

Sorry for the long LOONG answer (way too long, I'm so sorry!), and thanks for the opportunity to vent about this haha Feel free to send me answers! I love talking about the series like this! All the love!

[echodrops]

*Slides in on a office chair* Now that you shared some of your HaaH headcanons for Shiro and Hunk, can you do Lance and Lotor?

Didn’t want to post these until I finally had some time to update them a bit and trim out spoilers, but I got a second last night, so here you are:

HaaH Lance and Lotor headcanons:

(Under the cut to save everyone’s dash)

First, a warning: Neither one of these characters’ backstories or plot event headcanons remotely line up with the show, one because I originally wrote most of this stuff around the time season 2-3 was being released and two, because I stopped watching Voltron after season 6 and have no intention of watching the rest of the show due to my dislike for the directions the writing took. I went back and updated some stuff, such as the names of some of Lance’s siblings, to more closely match what came later in the show… but for the rest… I’m just gonna do my own thing and pretend canon does not exist.

Lance:

- The literal definition of “rich as fuck.” When relaxations on economic policy were passed in Cuba that increased opportunities for private business, Lance’s grandfather made a solid deal for three massive sugar refineries. Today, artisanal coffee houses across the world utilize the sugar refined in Lance’s family’s factories.

- Grew up in a giant villa on the peninsula just outside the town of Varadero, on a sprawling property that included a long stretch of beachfront and individual bungalows for visiting family members and the family’s several live-in staff members.

- The whole family is incredibly down to earth despite this. Lance’s aunt and grandmother insist on having a hand in every family meal, Lance’s parents always make time to be involved in the children’s activities, and Lance was taught from a very young age never to take advantage of people, regardless of their position in the world.

- Lance is the baby of his immediate family by almost ten years. He was an accident that occurred after Lance’s mother believed she was too old to become pregnant. Of course his parents never treated Lance like an accident and loved him, but still, Lance has never been able to shake the idea that he wasn’t planned—and therefore he wasn’t wanted.

- He has four older siblings, two sisters and two brothers.

- All of Lance’s siblings are extremely successful in their careers. Lance’s oldest sibling, his sister Veronica, is a captain of the Cuban Navy and commands the impressive warship Audaz. Lance’s second oldest sibling, his brother Yuniel, is a decorated conservational ecologist working to protect Matanzas’ native forests. Lance’s third sibling, his brother, Marco, is a famous solo folk musician who made it big in Cuba. Rachel, Lance’s closest sibling, runs an immersion-based cultural heritage museum that preserves the rich and complicated history of Cuba and its people.

- In short—Lance grew up surrounded by the rampant success of his older siblings, watching as they excelled at everything they pursued—which just bred a greater and greater sense of insecurity in him, as he feared he would never be able to measure up.

- On Lance’s eighth birthday, in an attempt to cheer up his very depressed youngest son, Lance’s father dragged the family’s telescope down to the beach so that they could watch a space shuttle launching from the cape in Florida. At first Lance couldn’t work up the slightest interest, but when he finally saw the huge plume of the shuttle, arcing off into the unknown depths of space, he had a Moment™. Lance knew, right then and there, exactly what he was going to do with his life, something that none of his siblings had ever achieved: he was going to go into space and explore worlds unknown.

- Lance decided that he had, absolutely HAD, to go to Galaxy Garrison when he grew up. This part worried his parents, who pointed out that Garrison was not only in another country but also a solely English-speaking school and extremely competitive. Nonetheless, Lance was determined that he would not settle for anything less than the absolute best.

- Was totally that space obsessed kid. Still thinks Black Holes are the coolest thing in the universe. His parents bought so much “Astronaut” ice cream that they probably kept that entire industry afloat.

- Lance attended Garrison’s summer Astrocamp in Arizona when he was nine. Quickly made friends with his cabin-mate, Hyrum Tava. The nickname “Hunk” came about from a slip-up when Lance tried to compare his new friend to one of his favorite American cartoon characters, the Incredible Hulk.

- Even after leaving the Astrocamp, Lance and Hunk stayed close friends, exchanging frequent emails and phone calls, which helped Lance stay on top of memes popular trends back in the states.

- Shiro was Lance’s cabin leader at the Astrocamp, and his kindness and exciting stories about actually visiting space(!!) made a huge impression on Lance. Lance… may or may not have had a celebrity shrine to Shiro made of photos and news clippings taped to his wall for several years. Whatever, every kid does it and he took it down eventually, gosh!

- Identifies as bisexual, but has never successfully dated anyone, male or female. Due to several bad experiences and close calls, Lance doesn’t talk about his sexuality or express any attraction to men except around people he is extremely comfortable with. Hunk has known for years, of course. (In fact, it was Lance’s struggle with his feelings that helped Hunk develop strong sympathy for LGBT people, despite the fact that his religion is very against it.)

- Never had a real kiss. Might be just a tiny bit desperate to have a real first kiss.

- Also might buy a bit too much into the idea of needing to be stereotypically attractive to fit in. Although his nightly beauty regime is now a comforting routine, it originally stemmed from Lance being extremely self-conscious about his looks. He’s more comfortable about his body than he used to be, but he still frequently compares himself negatively against others; do you know what kind of hell it is to have to share a locker room with people like Shiro?

- Cries at the drop of a hat. Sad book? Sad movie? Abandoned kitten? Dropped something on his toe? Tears times ten thousand. Lance was never pressured by his family to “man up;” in fact, he was always encouraged to empathize, so Lance is extremely sensitive to others’ feelings. (He and Hunk are a great fit in this regard.) He can perceive even minute changes in people’s emotions and is always ready to cheer up people who are down.

- He can’t read Keith for crap though. Not really his fault. Keith’s a literal alien.

- Lance’s extreme empathy actually backfires on him. Because being sensitive to others is second nature to him, it’s often hard for Lance to remember that not everyone is as perceptive as he is. Lance has, many times, mistaken the other paladins’ obliviousness for indifference. Everyone on the ship cares deeply about Lance and would never want him to feel bad about himself—but not everyone on the ship is perceptive enough to notice when Lance’s insecurities are affecting him.

- Wasn’t put in the cargo pilot classes at Garrison because of his flight test scores—most green cadets have zero flight experience and all do pretty badly at first. Lance was placed in cargo class because he scored too high on a combat sensitivity test, indicating that he was a poor fit mentally for becoming a soldier. Fighting monstrous looking aliens is one thing, but Lance would have coped very, very badly if he’d ever been required to kill another human being.

- Struggled to fit in at Garrison. After the crushing disappointment of ending up in cargo class, Lance also dealt with a lot of people treating him like an outsider because he was an international student. “Why is someone from Cuba trying to join the U.S. military? Are you a spy?”

- Couple that with the complicated student visa process and how his status as an international student might affect his ability to take part in Garrison-sanctioned internships and cross-border activities, and Lance felt utterly alienated at Garrison in his first few months.

- May… or may not have done exactly what his parents taught him not to do by looking for a scapegoat to take out his frustrations on. Keith, the lone wolf, ace pilot pretty boy who was too cool to even talk to the rest of the cadets (really thought he was too good to even make eye contact with Lance, huh?!) was an obvious target. Keith had every single thing that Lance had ever wanted in his whole life—the combat class, the talent, the prestige, the respect, the effortless looks—and he didn’t even seem happy to have it!

- Lance had never hated anyone before in his entire life, but Lance hated Keith—Keith basically came to stand in for every obstacle in Lance’s way, every mocking insult thrown Lance’s way, every harsh reminder from the professors that he’d never even be close to good enough, never measure up when someone like that existed… Lance started to honestly believe that the only way he’d ever be able to achieve his entire life goal was if Keith was taken out of the picture—something that proved unfortunately true when Lance was bumped up to combat class the moment Keith went missing from Garrison.

- Lance never actually said any of this stuff to Keith’s face before Keith left Garrison (Lance dreaded his parents finding out he’d been rude), but he would shit-talk Keith to anyone who would listen, a bad habit that was reinforced by people actually accepting Lance more when he started gossiping and spreading rumors than when he’d just tried to be genuinely nice.

- Even though he’d like to repair his relationship with Keith now that they’re teammates, Lance has no idea how to do that after so much time has passed. He really has no clue how to treat Keith normally after building him up into such a bitter rival. It’s… a work in progress.

- A big fan of RPG games and roleplaying. Definitely gets the most in-character when it comes to Monsters and Mana. His favorite thing about meeting new cultures is discovering nifty space items that look like key items from video games. Used to play old school RPGs with his cousins every afternoon. Playing with Pidge is extremely nostalgic for him.

- Has a host of other hobbies that don’t get much use inspace but are nevertheless impressive: he can surf, dive, and was part of a traditional dance group all the up until he left for Garrison. He doesn’t tend to think much of his hobbies as they’re not exactly practical skills you need every day in a space war, but the other members of Team Voltron are quietly impressed whenever they’re reminded of the cool things Lance can do.

- Lance has the strongest bond with his lion of any of the paladins. His connection with Blue is so innate that he can actually activate Blue’s abilities from outside his lion.

- The first one of the paladins to transform his bayard and the only one whose bayard can take three forms. And no, none of the three is a sword because what was the point of that, even??? Lance can wield his standard blaster, a long rifle, and dual pistols. The strength of theshots from Lance’s bayard can be consciously controlled—his thoughts and intentions determine whether a shot has the strength to kill or merely stun.

- Lance’s incredible aim isn’t a natural talent. Actually he’s spent hours and hours in a shooting range he found in the castle, working on perfecting his shot. Just like the gladiator levels on the training deck, the targets in the range keep getting harder and harder, but Lance is progressing very well. No one but Coran knows that Lance has been training so hard with his bayard, since Lance desperately wants to pretend his skill is all natural and has sworn Coran to secrecy. Coran covers for him by pretending he’s sent Lance off on absurd cleaning missions all the time.

- Is 1000% Coran’s favorite of the paladins. Coran won’t even try to lie if asked. Although Coran has never expressed it out loud, he sees Lance as an example of the brave, kind-hearted son he would have hoped to raise—if his son had survived the war. (On Lance’s part, although he’s also never shared this, Coran reminds him very much of his beloved uncle, who passed away when Lance was very young, but whom he still remembers well and extremely fondly.)

- After his uncle passed away, Lance’s aunt moved in with Lance’s parents permanently, and Lance essentially helped to raise his two very young cousins, Nadia and Silvio. Lance does have very good experience with children—unfortunately for him, what human children respond well to doesn’t always work for Galra kids!        

Lotor:

- Has not spent 10,000 years kicking about the universe. We’re not doing that weird “If he’s immortal because of the rift creatures then how come his governess is still alive?” plot hole song and dance routine from the actual show. Lotor was born after the war decimated the Alteans 10,000 years ago, but due to Haggar’s condition (aka being, you know, dead), he was essentially unable to live on his own and was placed in cryostasis very shortly after being born.

- Roughly 20 years before the discovery of the Blue Lion on Earth, Haggar used advancements in quintessence manipulation technology to successfully revive the infant Lotor. But she didn’t wake him for no reason—she has a very specific intention for her son, a long endgame plan, of which Lotor and even Zarkon are currently unaware.

- We’re also not doing that dumb “How could Haggar—the only remotely Altean-looking being in all of Zarkon’s presence—possibly be my mother?” plot from the show either. Lotor is aware that Haggar is his mother, although he has never been able to infiltrate her research facilities and therefore has no idea how an Altean scientist ended up where she did, looking like she did, and siding with the Galra against her own people.

- Because his parents’ past and his own origins are such a mystery, Lotor is obsessed with learning the truth of the war, the Alteans, and every hidden secret from that time period, including Voltron and the mysterious “rift.” He devours any information he can get on this period of history, and especially on Alteans, voraciously.

- But even though he’ll take any pieces of information he can get, Lotor’s real favorite obsession is mythology. He’s a deep lover of folklore and fairytales, bestiaries and local legends, and more than one assassin has traded a good story in exchange for having his life spared. Lotor may or may not hunt for space cryptids in his spare time. However, no single legend occupies Lotor’s mind as much as the legend of the mythical realm of Oriande, home of the ancient Altean alchemists. As practical as he tries to appear, Lotor has never given up his deep-down childish wish to be the one who finds the promised land of Oriande and prove it is real. But when he thinks back… Where was it that he first heard about Oriande, again? Who told him…?

- That entire thing with the hidden Altean colonies is just… not going to happen. The writers were bad and they should feel bad. Although Lotor has looked, after 10,000 years and plenty of centuries of hiding any Altean connections, distinguishing those who still have Altean blood has become essentially impossible.

- Part of the reason Lotor has looked for Alteans is that he was born with a bizarre grab-bag of Altean instincts and abilities and no guidance on how to deal with them, because he’s certainly not going to reveal to Haggar that he has unexplained talents like precognition and the ability to speak to planets. Growing up with half of his bloodline extinct has been ROUGH on Lotor.

- Speaking of growing up… Even though he remains the crown prince on official record, Lotor took the first opportunity he could to leave his parents’ sphere of influence, and he has not physically been back to Galra Central Command in more than ten years.

- Lotor is effectively a universal wanderer. Aboard his personal ship the Urbanus (a Destroyer-class star cruiser which has been heavily modified and improved by Lotor himself), Lotor and his generals travel wherever they like, both within the Galra Empire and outside it, dodging Haggar’s frequent attempts to re-exert control over Lotor and even more frequent assassination and kidnapping attempts from Zarkon’s enemies.

- Although Lotor has a very specific goal in mind, progress on this goal has been slow and painstaking, and he’s often left waiting for the next bare bones clue to chase after; this has resulted in the young prince having an unfortunate abundance of free time, which is dangerous for everyone involved. In between progress on his mysterious life’s goal, Lotor and his generals frequently get into trouble with small planets, local governments, militaries both official and off-the-books, giant monsters, and at least two hundred museum curators. They may or may not be wanted for grave-robbing in 13 different star systems.

- Basically he’s space Indiana Jones, if Indiana Jones was still 20 and also purple and also not being paid enough to be a good guy.

- All that said, as much of a devil-may-care rogue as he’d like to be seen, Lotor did spend all of his childhood under the thumb of the empire’s brutal authoritarian dictators, and he is therefore every inch a crown prince; as befitting one of his stature, he speaks eight languages fluently, flawlessly matches his formal dress to the occasion, knows exactly which piece of silverware to use when, can engage in political battles of wits and diplomatic machinations with the best of them, and has been training in armed combat since he was three years old. Lotor’s impeccable manners and steely leadership ability were literally beaten into him, to the point that now, even among trusted allies, he sometimes finds it difficult to turn off his cold, calculated princely persona.

- Not that his generals really let him get away with that kind of thing for long. Only those who have lived with multiple older sisters can truly understand the constant state of teasing and mortifying blackmail that Lotor lives in. On official record, Lotor’s generals are a crack team of terrifying bodyguards; in practice, they’re more likely to be dragging Lotor for all he’s worth than rescuing him. They might keep up formal appearances in front of others, but they’re effectively a close-knit family behind the scenes.

- It’s not a coincidence that all of Lotor’s generals are women; besides generally being awful, most Galra men make Lotor uncomfortable. From a human standpoint, Lotor is ridiculously tall and powerful; but from a Galra standpoint, Lotor is a thin, unhealthy-looking thing whose stature doesn’t command authority or respect in the slightest. It’s exhausting feeling like you have to constantly prove yourself, so Lotor prefers to spend time with a group that doesn’t invite negative comparison.

- However, it should be noted that a Galra man having only female friends has completely different connotations than a human man having only female friends—Galra women are, on the whole, considered more aggressive, bloodthirsty, and over-bearing than Galra men, so any Galra man who would choose to surround himself with that many women must either be out of his mind or incredibly badass.

- When asked what it’s like to live with four beautiful women, Lotor is basically ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ personified. Despite living together for years, none of the generals are romantically interested in Lotor and he’s not romantically interested in any of them.

- Many people have incorrectly assumed that Lotor and Axca are a pair, but Lotor helped Axca escape from a slave colony and she will never let another man touch her in her life. Axca is extremely grateful and loyal to Lotor, but given that Axca was Lotor’s first real friend, he’s just as grateful to her.

- If you think I’m killing off Narti, you’re out of your mind.

- Despite the fact that Lotor does not feel connected to the Galra Empire or the Galra as a whole, he’s somewhat more traditional and more likely to conform to Galra social standards than he wants to admit (even to himself). He insists that he has no interest in upholding the classic values of the Galra or meeting their expectations for how a prince should behave—but in truth, it’s impossible to fully kill that deep-down desire to just fit in. When push comes to shove, Lotor always finds himself falling in line with the Galra’s oldest and most deeply ingrained beliefs.

- With Lance in the “has never had a real kiss” club. Is not with Lance in the “wants a real kiss” club. Lotor is actually uncomfortable with being touched by strangers (36 assassination attempts will do that to you) and doesn’t make real friends, let alone anything closer, remotely easily. Some people are open books; Lotor is that one book from Harry Potter that bites people’s fingers off when they try to open it. Once you’re in his inner-circle, he’ll let you hang all over him, but before that, the space bubble is ten feet in every direction.

- Doesn’t actually put any special effort into his appearance. He just Looks Like That™.

- In fact, he actually kind of hates that stupid cowlick hair that’s always in his face but no matter how many times he cuts it off or slicks it back, it just keeps falling right back in his eyes. He’s basically given up at this point.

- His sword’s name is Eris and it was actually forged in the heart of a dying star.

- Kova the space cat hates Lotor. Lotor hates Kova. It’s a mutually antagonistic relationship. Somehow though, Lotor never makes any effort to get rid of Kova and Kova never takes the opportunity to leave. No one else understands it either, especially since Lotor gets along great with basically every other animal he meets.

- He’s not a pacifist by any means, but he is painfully practical and knows that, on occasion, sparing the life of one’s enemy nets more gain than indiscriminately crushing opponents beneath his heel. More manipulative than outright aggressive, he’s easily capable of twisting even the worst of situations to his advantage. Has an unfortunate tendency to be overly cunning—sometimes the tricks and twists he comes up with are unnecessarily full of flourish just because he thinks manipulating people like pieces in a board game is extremely entertaining. Riddles and mind games are Lotor’s favorite—the more convoluted, the better.

- Although most people refer to him by the basic “Prince Lotor” (Lotori Ahn in Galra), Lotor’s full name and official title is Lotori Kir Ahnja Avel i’ya ne Daibazaal, His Royal Highness Prince Lotor of the First Star. As the emperors and empresses of the Galra are said to be physical representations of the goddess, the firstborn children of emperors/empresses are always called “the first star,” after the supposed first creation of the goddess.

- Extremely competitive, but mostly about weird things—like sure he’s going to win if you challenge him to a swordsmanship duel, but challenge him to a staring contest? Your eyes will rot out of your head before this boy will blink. Do not think he will let you beat him in a spelling bee. More than once the generals have had to drag him away from getting involved in the bizarre competitions of the alien cultures they come into contact with. He was 1000% ready to learn to knit eight-armed sweaters with Rikrik fur, thank you. Would totally take up pig-farming JUST to win an Earth state fair.

- Likes to collect interesting artifacts and trinkets of lost civilizations by force if necessary. His ship is basically a floating museum at this point. The generals are starting to worry that they’re going to have add a whole ‘nother deck for all the war prizes Lotor wins himself. Lotor’s gathering hobby extends to games too—he’s a big fan of games that involve sets of items, like Renni, the Galra collectible card game. Would 110% be that Magic the Gathering nerd back on earth.

- In terms of other interests, Lotor is the picture definition of a Renaissance man. Although he’s not a flawless genius savant in every field, he is wicked smart and has studied a vast array of subjects; he’s a capable engineer, a skilled mathematician, a deft philosopher, a good scientist, and extremely well-read, and he is not going tolet you forget any of those things at any point in time. Lotor is always going to be better than you, please just accept your fate.

- Art is… another story. He might be able to sketch detailed architectural blueprints without breaking a sweat but ask him to draw a dog and you’re going to be in for some trouble.

And that’s more than enough for now I think! XD

[carelessgraces]

i’ll clean this all up for my verses page but here’s the gist of astoria’s vampire verse. tw for violence & torture —

astoria is born in venice in 1518, the illegitimate daughter of veronica grimani and a lover whose identity she never reveals. while veronica is involved in her daughter’s upbringing, her parents, alessandro and ileana, take the lead in raising their granddaughter. astoria is educated in the humanist tradition: she is taught philosophy, history, latin, greek, and poetry. because she is illegitimate, it is unlikely that astoria will make a good marriage, which allows her to dedicate herself fully to her studies, rather than learning to manage a household. better, she and her grandparents decide, that she is educated than that she pin her hopes on a husband willing to overlook the circumstances of her birth. 

alongside all this, astoria is taught magic, because she, like the rest of her family, is a witch. astoria approaches magic the way she approaches everything else: she is ambitious, sometimes ruthlessly so, and she works tirelessly until she masters what she learns.

in 1532, astoria’s grandmother dies. ileana is laid to rest, but everything changes after this: veronica grows more distant, deeply uncomfortable with the growing realization that she will need to fill her mother’s shoes as the family’s matriarch. alessandro withdraws, speaking only to astoria for weeks after ileana’s funeral. astoria’s uncle, giovanni, is unable to dedicate the time he would like to the family’s management, as he and his wife have three children under the age of five. astoria, determined not to let the family suffer further in their grief, gently urges her grandfather into action, learning what she can about the management of the family’s finances. 

in 1539, alessandro sits his granddaughter down and begs her to leave for england. he has taught her everything he can, and she is beginning to stagnate without something new to learn. in england, she can stay with her godparents — evander and elyssa vetri, ileana’s niece and nephew, both of them skilled in magic. after exchanging letters to make arrangements, the vetris urge astoria to join them, and she agrees. she leaves in 1542, traveling with lord adam vega, a spanish vampire and one of her grandfather’s old friends, as a chaperone and companion. adam likes astoria well enough, but pays little attention to her beyond what is required of him, focusing primarily on his own business. he delivers her, in good health and good spirits, to the vetris. only evander arrives to collect astoria, claiming that elyssa was unable to travel due to an injury; astoria and adam say their goodbyes, neither expecting to see the other again. 

upon arriving at the vetri home in london, astoria is introduced to henry viii’s court. rather than teach her more magic, evander installs her as one of catherine parr’s ladies in waiting, insisting that she will better serve them by learning the court’s secrets. clever, well-spoken, and very beautiful, astoria has little trouble navigating the court, even under the protestant catherine parr’s watchful eye. for a time, astoria cooperates, though when she presses evander and elyssa to educate her, evander becomes violent, and elyssa threatens to expose her as a heretic if she refuses to do as they bid. evander’s discipline becomes more violent, and elyssa’s threats and manipulations more difficult to ignore, and astoria begins a quiet investigation of her own into their actions. 

she learns that the vetris are involved in a web of treason and deceit, acting as french agents to pay off a massive debt accrued years before. with this knowledge, astoria begins to resist, delivering false information to her godparents, leaving an obvious trail to lead to them. with each apparent failure, she is subjected to evander’s wrath, and after goading him into a particularly violent outburst, she appeals to catherine herself for aid. the king, enraged, calls for the arrest of the vetris, who disappear just in time; astoria is spared suspicion due to her own report, and her apparent frailty. 

the vetris exact revenge, however. shortly after henry’s death in 1547, with astoria no longer one of the queen’s ladies in waiting, elyssa kidnaps astoria from court, knocking her unconscious and transporting her to an abandoned convent. there, she is kept a prisoner, and there she learns that, as revenge for their failure to pay their debts, elyssa was made a vampire against her will, cut off from her magic; her debt, now, is eternal. for weeks, elyssa alternates between torturing astoria and using her blood to learn self-control. ( she intends to turn evander, when she is sure she can do so without killing him, and so she drinks from astoria nearly to the point of death, then leaves her to recover; tries to find ways to access magic again and punishes astoria when this is impossible. ) finally, elyssa goes too far in her experimentations and is forced to turn astoria. when she sees that astoria survived her rebirth, she and evander abandon her, certain that her hunger and inexperience will lead to her discovery and murder. 

astoria is discovered — unexpectedly, by adam vega, who takes her in and helps guide her in her new life. like elyssa, astoria is enraged that she’s been severed from her magic, but she adapts quickly to life as a vampire. for some time, astoria plays the part of the devoted wife, taking adam’s surname and even consenting to a marriage ceremony, though the arrangement is one of convenience, even when the two become lovers for a time. part of adam’s appeal is his own cruelty, and adam teaches her everything she needs to know about killing another vampire.

she hunts and kills evander first, in 1629, and has his rotted heart delivered to elyssa. elyssa proves harder to catch, but astoria does catch her, and kills her — slowly, and painfully — in 1763 in france. astoria visits spain, to share the news of her victory with adam; she remains there for nearly a decade, rekindling her affair with adam while there, and the two part again on good terms.

i’ll sort out how to fit her into the plot’s specifics bit by bit, but here’s her backstory !! a few notes on modern vampstoria —

involved in the sale of antiquities. writes in her spare time, and has been publishing under various pseudonyms for decades.

something of a perpetual student as well. astoria’s humanist upbringing keeps her in school whenever possible. her favorite subject is political science, though she has a knack for language and literature as well. 

though she doesn’t have access to her magic anymore, she does have a surprising skill at tarot. collects tarot decks, and has a massive library.

astoria’s home base is in england — near bath, where adam brought her to recover. the house — a beautiful tudor manor — was built for him before his arrival in 1542, and he gives her the house as a “wedding gift” after their legal marriage in 1549. 

astoria goes by vega for a time, though she eventually returns to grimani. she does not seek out elyssa’s sire, or even know their identity; if she needs to ally herself with a family, she allies herself with adam’s. 

and on that note: while she and adam get along, and occasionally fuck, adam has a tendency to be a bit too violent & cruel for her, and so they get along best when they have a few decades and plenty of space between them.

ambitious. occasionally cold. utterly ruthless. there are only a few lines astoria won’t cross to get what she wants. 

[northernxstories]

Trading in Dignity

It was shocking how quickly it all came to an end. It started in the 2020s and within a decade, after the third global pandemic, they were faced with the worst yet. All the science deniers, those who refused to distance, wear masks and all of that ... well, most of them caught it. Some of them caught it without showing a single symptom. That didn’t matter because approximately eight months after you were infected, after you thought you were all well again, your lungs started to bleed. Nothing could make it stop. You drowned in your own bed, at night, sometimes in mere minutes. Most of the time, you just went to sleep and never woke again. It was grim.

The survivors were rare and the disease progressed so quickly, institutions fell almost overnight. Whole cities became ghost towns. Survivor teams started sweeping, looking for children, infants, pets trapped in houses and then supplies. Survivors came first. There were a lot of supplies. Not that many people.

She was rare and she knew it. Immune. How? No idea. Luck? Genetics? It didn’t matter at the end of the day. The world grieved and cities were abandoned for smaller communities. It wasn’t like in the horror movies or post-apocalypse fiction. No one ate people, bought and sold people, or any of that ridiculousness. For the most part people tried to help one another. Older people banded together to raise the children who survived. With the population reduced in the span of a decade to less than a third, it became very clear that every single human was a necessary addition. Funny how prejudice and differences in sexuality mattered a whole lot less when the end of the human race was at stake. All that shit became real irrelevant real fast.

In a spate of particularly weird coincidence, some communities lost more of a certain type of people. The east coast of North America for example had nearly no men left. It was startling, You could travel for days, scout many towns and communities and find less than a dozen males. West of the Rocky mountains however, the opposite was true. The average was 1 self-identified female to 20 self-identified males (like people were checking - get real). Some communities the ratio was more like 100 to 1. In the mid-west, prairie region, well there was almost no people left there at all. No one knew why they were so hard hit but the coasts survived. Perhaps it was just population distribution. Scientists would be studying it long after she was dead.

So, in a world where you lived with almost 100 men in your community and the number of single women could be counted on one hand, and you wouldn’t need every finger? Yeah. This was fantastic. 

Again, it wasn’t like the books though. She wasn’t chained, or bound or really mistreated in any way. Nope. None of that.

She was a strong survivor. She had a thriving garden and a number of animals of her own. Her house was cute as hell and in really good shape. Her grandmother had taught her to sew and the rest she learned from books. The little town was powered by a local dam that kept the predatory animals such as the dog packs, at bay with electrified fencing in key areas, including around her goats whom the wolves thought looked super yum yum.

But even she needed supplies. I mean, was she going with a raiding party into a city to get tampons and advil? Ummm ... no obviously. That was terrible. That’s how people died! Those places were not safe. It took rigging and expertise she did not have to be on a scavenger team. Plus do you think they would be cool having one of the few women in town go out with them? You’re dreaming if you think that’s gonna happen buddy and no one went without a team. That was a fucking death wish.

So, she had to shop. She had to trade. Fact of life. They didn’t want her tasty preserves or baking. Nope. That they could do for themselves. She traded the one thing that few had around her - her pussy. Fucked up right? 

Prostitution was the oldest game in the book for a reason it turned out. So she went into the store and put in her order for supplies that she needed. Flour, tampons, books for example. There was a tally and a calculation conducted. She was a modest girl. It rarely went above two visits. Then there was a jar. Yup. A fucking jar, with names on it. Men who had paid into the credit system. 

“One” The merchant stated bluntly marking it in his book. 

“One?” She repeated, a little surprised by how light the requirement was. Her list had been pretty long.  

“Yeah, Bernice fell pregnant, she’s off the list until after and maybe permanently since the Bennett brothers are putting serious court to her. All remaining traders just had their value go up.” 

That’s what they called them - traders. Like she was wheeling a cart through town with little jars or something instead of letting men cum in a minimum of two holes per trade. It was awesome. By the way, that was sarcasm in case you can’t tell.

“Nice.” She replied with a nod, “I hope the baby is healthy.” That was the customary statement these days when anyone fell pregnant. You see, the virus didn’t exactly go away and infant mortality was high as fuck. It was depressing as hell. She didn’t know a single woman who didn’t half dread getting knocked up, even if they really wanted to be a mother. It was a huge risk and all too likely to end in just more painful loss. Yay for survival.

“We all do.” the merchant stated sincerely as he pushed the jar toward her. Sliding her hand in, she let slips of paper, card stock that was refreshed so often you couldn’t get a feel for any one particular person, just dance through her fingertips. You just had to stick your hand in and pray to whatever god you might actually believe in that you didn’t get one of the gross old coots who thought bathing was fucking optional. Last time she had one of those she had about forty baths and still felt disgusting.

She pulled out the card and took a deep breath before flipping it over. Both her and the merchant looked surprised. “Well good luck there. Didn’t even know he paid in.” The merchant marked his book and then nodded. “I’ll get your order in as soon as ... you have about four days before you’ll have had to pay up.” 

That was another thing, the man had to confirm you had ‘paid’. However, if that man lied, he was off the books permanently. Not only that but the other men in town usually paid you a visit and beat the holy hell out of you. It was an honour system true but most followed the rules, out of honour or out of necessity, it didn’t matter at the end of the day. Men who might only get one fuck a year with a ‘willing’ woman weren’t about to lose the privilege because you decided to get fucking cute about it.

“Thanks ... Have a good day now.” She replied with a sincere smile. The merchant was a good man after all. He never put his name in and if he found out one of the men was cruel or unkind even, he’d return their credits and tell them to start getting real used to the sweet feel of their left hand because that was about all they were getting from now on. 

She walked through town, that name flipping through her mind. It was just so unexpected. 

Well no time like the present she supposed. She had had a bath last night, given the old cunt a tidy and all that. She had a debt to pay and she just knew she wouldn’t sleep right until it was paid off good and proper. Yes, it was a little fucked up but that was the system and she had lived with it for a while now. Strangely you kinda got used to it. Most men were pretty appreciative about it. 

Walking down the main street, she noted the weird combination of old and new that had blended together in this world. Cars jerry-rigged with solar panels to charge the batteries travelled on the same road as horse-drawn carriages. Kids wore sneakers cause there were still plenty of those left in old stores but paired them with clearly homemade clothes and then spiked them with leather jackets kitted out with studs and chunks of cell phones used as artistic decoration.

She walked until she hit the slight outskirts of the main town area. She could see him now, his arm lifting as he pounded the steel into shape with a large hammer. Farriers, blacksmiths, knife-makers, welders and so on made a nice living in this new world. You could always tell who they were because they smelled like fire and had arms the size of her entire body it seemed. She licked her lips and straightened her back. For the first time in well over a year, she had to admit that she might just be looking forward to this one.

“Hey ...” She greeted. He put down the hammer and shifted up his eye protection, squinting at her in the bright light of day. “Hey.” He replied back, his voice a little gruff. “You looking for something?” He asked.

“Ummm ... pulled your name.” Turns out all the cool things she was saying in her head since pulling his name had just fallen right on out of her brain. Well I wasn’t cool before, she thought bleakly with a tinge of amusement, Guess I’m not now either. Maybe the next apocalypse.

He stopped, frowning lightly as if he wasn’t sure what she was talking about and then his expression cleared and his eyes grew wide. “Oh.” he said. It was actually more of a sound. He cleared his throat. “I ... I  ... yeah. Now?” he queried.

When she nodded, “If you have the time. Otherwise ... I can come back.” I can come back. What the hell, was she Uber Eats? What the fuck is wrong with her?

He shook his head, “Now is good.” He tipped his head toward the interior. “Let me shut this down a bit and then I’ll wash up and be in.” 

He seemed nervous. Why did she like that so much? Maybe she was bored of the older guys who just had you bend over or would just unzip when they saw you coming. No effort man. No fucking effort. Literally. Wham bam, you’ve paid for your groceries Ma’am.

Mr. Muscles here better put in some damn effort at least.

[xserpentlife]

Intrigue

Requested: Anon - If I could make a Malachi x reader request if you write Ghoulies? Reader constantly getting into trouble at Riverdale high so she's sent to Southside High after being expelled. When moving to Southside she starts up her mischief again and catches the eyes of the Ghoulies. She gets taken to Malachai for spray painting Ghoulie terf at school and the reader and Malachai instantly click?

A/N: hope you like this!. I also decided to stop doing mood boards unless I have inspiration, forcing myself to make them for every story is pointless. Also, be sure to send in requests because mine are open. 

Word Count: about 1890

*Flashback*

“Look principle Honey, I didn't mean to…”

“Didn’t mean to what Y/N? Dye Briane’s hair blue with her shampoo?”

“Hey, not my fault she stole it out of my shower bag” In reality, it was your fault you hated Briane, a girl constantly causing trouble for anyone she came into contact with. You wanted payback. Payback for the way she talked about your friends, and family. So you played a helpless prank on her, and you got in trouble.

“You still did it on purpose Ms. Y/N”

“And you are proving that how…”

“Ms. Y/N some respect please”

“Mr. Honey, you are talking about respect here when you have none for me. I did nothing wrong to Briane. You are siding with her because of our past. Because she is from the rich side of the North. Years I have been bullied by her and not once did I punch or cause blood, because I am way more of a decent human being then she is, I did nothing wrong Mr. Honey”

“Fine Ms.Y/N I will call it at a draw and you will both have 2 nights of detention” You smiled to yourself. “However, you are on very, very thin ice considering you were just here a week ago for allegedly replacing the dead frogs with live ones in last weeks biology classes.”

“Mr. Honey…”

“No Ms. Y/N like I said thin ice do you understand”

“Yes sir I do”

“Good now get out of my office”

*Flashback Ended*

“For weeks now you had been warned daily of the thin ice you were on with Mr. Honey, but you kept your distance and your cool. You needed school, needed it to get out of riverdale and not have to deal with the treacherous town. You may have done all those things, but they were innocent pranks to only get back at the ones that wronged you. You needed to defend your turf, it was what you were always taught before your parents passed. Your grandmother engraving into your brain that you needed to protect yourself before protecting others.

School had been a hassle, every teacher constantly watching every move you made. Every student trying to get you out. No one at riverdale ever liked you, they always saw you as the problem child. The one who dressed in dark clothes, and caused trouble, but none of them knew you at all, or had been through or known the things that you have. You went by your day to day after the incident with Mr. Honey, trying to stay out of trouble as possible. You got a detention for not doing homework, but you never got in real trouble. That was until science lab 3rd period two weeks into your thin ice warning. You were paired up with Briane, for an experiment where a cloud of white would rise when the chemicals were combined. You were in charge of the base and she was in charge of the reactant. However, as soon as you looked away to wipe your hands off for safety she poured the entire bottle of reactant in before screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Briane! You are interrupting the other students what is the meaning of this”

“Y/N, Ms. Murphy Y/N put the entire bottle into the mixture” You turned around stunned, you hadn’t even been looking when she did it, and then you saw the bubbles arise and begin to pour over the smoke filling the air”

“Everyone out of the classroom this instant, we will have to have it cleared for safety. Ms. Y/Nand Ms. Briane come to the principal's office with me at once!”

“Mr. Honey before you say anything I didn’t do it, I swear on my life, I was washing my hands when it happened, I wasn't even paying attention”

“Ms. Briane would you like to say your side”

“Oh yes Mr. Honey thank you so much. Well I was minding my business writing down our lab results of the temperature because I had poured the base, and when I looked up Y/N was pouring the whole jar in, I tried to stop her but she just kept pouring and then I screamed because I was scared and Ms. Murphy came over. Oh gosh, I don’t know why she would ever think to do that if we had more harmful chemicals we all could have died!”

“Everything will be fine Ms. Briane, you can leave my office now”

“Thank you, sir”

“Now Ms. Y/N”

“Mr. Honey, I promise I didn’t do it”

“Well it seems there are other stories at play here, and in our previous meeting, I told you, thin ice. I have decided to transfer you to Southside High”

“No Mr. honey please!”

“It is out of my hands Ms. Y/N”

“No it is literally in your hands, you incompetent piece of shit, You know what. I am fucking glad that I am not going to be a part of this pretentious north siders can do no wrong school. Good riddens, asshole!”

“Ms...”

“Shut up, I’m grabbing my stuff and you’ll never see me again, and you know what I am sooo glad I don’t have to look at your stupid face ever again”

You left the school on a bad note but did it really matter when you were going to a school that barely had programs let alone taught the kids what they needed to know. It was as if your entire world crashed down. Your grades would decrease, your barely existent social life would now diminish completely, and most of all your mindset. You gave up on being the girl that was good at school, but bad on the outside.

You started not caring, picked up art. Learned how to tag and make it so your print was known enough to be you but not to be identified in your other works. You praised your art teacher and got very close with her very quickly. You confided in her, she herself was a student at Riverdale high at one point, kicked out because she lived on the southside and they found out. You related with her in a way you hadn’t with anyone else, but that didn’t stop you from doing way worse things than shit Riverdale high could ever fathom.

When you first got to southside high you completely painted your locker, not crazy but definitely not allowed. You took money from people, yeah you never spent any of it, actually put it in for charity collections, not that anyone knew that. Everyone knew you as the new kid, that just did bad shit. No one knew why no one knew your background or history and no one cared to know one bit. You liked it that way, you enjoyed the animosity. You then moved from the school to walk around the town after ditching for the day. You luckily still live in the house your parents had once owned on the northside, now it looked like a rundown abandoned building on the outside, guess that matched the way your life was turning. You tagged the entire gas station, then the park moving up the hills and down the valleys tagging everything in your sight. Art was your outlet and the southside, your canvas. You had no idea you caught the eyes of a gang called the ghoulies. You didn’t know the turfs, or the sides, you were just a visitor in a town with many rules and regulations you had no idea about. You made a mistake tagging the run-down building on the corner, officially in ghoulie territory. But no one had caused you trouble before, so you were not expecting to turn around and find 5 men and women around in black studded jackets.

“Hello…”

“NO bitch tagging our turf who the fuck are you”

“Wait… your turf?”

‘Yes, this is Ghoulie territory and we are taking you to the king” You had no idea what they were talking about, you felt a bang against the back of your head before you were out cold. You woke up slowly words being heard around you your vision slowly clearing from the blurriness

“Spraying our turf huh doll?” You have seen this guy, seen him around the school more often than you like to admit. He always seemed to be where you were, lurking around corners, and tagging his own spots how he would like, but you never said a word to him, your rule of keeping to yourself always in the back of your mind. You knew of the ghoulies enough to know people on the northside were afraid, but in reality, them all standing in front of you, they were no scarier than a group of 3-year-old children.

“What...? Just figured I'd have a little fun, turns out your ghoulies are a lot less scary than people think. Oh, y/n by the way and you are ...”

“Malachai... a lot scarier than people think, nice to meet you doll, boys let her go, and leave the room, I’ll deal with her”

“Deal with me, I like the sound of that” You were let go, dropped to the ground, as Malachai ushered the men out of the room. You got up finding a chair and putting your feet up and onto his desk that resided in the back of the room.

“Off”

“What? The big bad ghoulie is a germaphobe”

“Nah I just like shiny things, and you doll are currently on my radar” He swiped your feet off the desk before plotting on top.

“So what are you gonna do to me dear king?”

“Talk”

“Talk…”

“You are an enigma Y/N, I want to get to know you”

“No one ever does… what do you want from me?”

“Like I said you intrigue me, I just want to get to know who you are. We are… similar”

“I’m not sure we are…”

“Stay here…”

“Alright” Malachai came back with a photobook, a photo book that once we started flipping through you realized it was him, a boy living on the northside. A boy in a big house on cherry street, with a mother and father, and sister. Grandparents, Christmas parties and… then it was taken from you.

“You’re from the northside?

“Like I said we are similar”

“How did you know I am from the northside”

“Lucky guess I’d say”

“And you… lived there?” “There are a lot of things people don’t know about me, like I said we are similar Y/N”

“I wanna know how”

“Guess you’ll have to stay to find out”

“Apparently so”

[shinglescat]

This is the end, yay.

Previous or  all stories at once. 

The voice of the Prince still lingered in her head. The bizarre time in his custody – something she could’ve never imagined to happen; not a single lesson from her grandmother ever prepared her for this. The Prince… was rather gentle towards her, caring even, as far as you can call a Daedra caring; she even thought this isn’t him, someone else, someone but Molag Bal, but the longer she spent her time keeping him company, the more she saw behind the friendly façade. He noticed, but never acknowledged it, sticking with this game of sheer politeness and kindness, still.

He never forced her into anything, always provided her with new things to do and discover. Upon her arrival, the Prince delivered her of the wicked illness of his own creation – she almost lost herself to the thirst for blood that she sworn to never sate. She must’ve been pathetic enough for him to take pity on her. A benevolent ruler of his own dark kingdom, treating her like the most esteemed guest.

She would lie to herself if she said this wasn’t an important time in her life, that she regrets it. Molag Bal taught her lots of things, most of which were so surreal even her psijic grandmother had no idea about. In between the lessons, they used to have normal conversations, and the man would usually tell her a story of a kind and give her his insight into various events that ever happened. The things he said – the really disturbing things – she had a hard time believing him, yet he made it all sound so right, so logical…  

She looked at the house down the street – the family’s that took her cousin in, their house. It was so tiny and so humble; she’s never seen them like that – too used to the comfort of the Sorano estate, too used to its hearth, its smells, its looks and the atmosphere of luxury; the cold and harsh climate made her look back at what she’s given up – the warm and ever sunny Isles. Will she ever see her home again?

“You are the only one I can trust with this,” the Prince would to tell her, “He needs you now the most he ever needed you, he needs your guidance”. What made him think so, she wondered, of all people to entrust this to her – to a scared and a broken girl. He saw the looks she gave him, the mistrust in her eyes, yet still… Livaen sighed, stopping in front of the door, pressing her forehead into the dried out wood. What makes her obey his… plea? request? order? She could’ve just stopped, abandoned it all and instead followed her heart on this one. Was she scared of him? Or was she scared of what may happen? It was so easier back home – she had servants to take care of everything, and Esmir herself would decide upon urgent and important matters. Now – it’s just her, her and her dearest cousin, both all grown up. 

She pressed the palm of her hand into the handle, pushing the door forward. A wave of smells rushed into her face, the sweet and meaty tones, warm and homey – so different from what she’s used to. It made her nauseous with nostalgia – it felt like home, but… it was an alien home, someone else’s but hers.

- ...They only have fifty years of time to do everything they want. They don't have a promise of a millennia like you, – Aspen argued, leaning against the wall. This quarrel again, Livaen sighed, they’ve been on it since they’ve returned from the Void a few days ago; it seemed like her cousin got bit in the ass about the dumbest thing in the world. He’s been quite vocal in his discontent about the girls’ departure in the nearest future, even with his strong dislike towards Visenya’s attitude. The girl used to say he just envied her and was jealous of them, the ashen haired man on the other hand was sure Mark was just afraid to lose them, yet it was only her that saw through it, Livaen thought. His usual phlegmatic nature, his temperament all of a sudden shifted towards that of a more choleric nature, making the elf unusually snappy and angry, reactive and irrational; almost a polar opposite of himself. And as another addition to that – the gold of his skin has completely faded, replaced with porcelain instead – it didn’t go unnoticed by anyone this time: the parents were concerned about his wellbeing, believing he might’ve contracted a disease of sorts that made him look and behave like this, yet… – Both Meltem and Visenya have their own lives now, they can't be forever at your side, – he moved closer to the elf, his palm touching Mark’s forehead. The kid flinched at that barely noticeable, but remained still, – You have a fever, – the man concluded, making Livaen cringe at that – the man was so over the top sometimes, it made the girl want to vomit.

- And will you stay with me for a millennia? – Mark asked, anger and poison leaking from his voice, tired of everything – he’s been so restless lately, – Of course you won't, – he smirked, – I don't even know how old you are, might just fucking leave me as well before you die too, – he threw his arm into the air as if to make a statement, turning around himself, his voice faltering – the last part of the sentence ended up being silent. The elf went straight for the door, only now noticing the witness to the argument, and the girl instantly felt bad about it – for not interrupting them beforehand. Mark stopped for a moment, as if deciding what to do next, and stormed out of the house as he made his mind.

Livaen looked behind her, the door closed with a loud thud.

- What was this all about this time? – she asked, going to the kitchen table with a small basket full of foodstuffs she got for herself at the market. The man loudly sighed and covered his eyes.

- He’s sick, – he replied, taking a sit on the ladder, – He’s sick, and he doesn’t want to do anything about it.

- He’s always been like that, – she nodded, sitting down on the bench. Meltem had told them that they – she, her now wife Visenya and half-sister Jacqueline – were leaving for Chorrol in a few days. The sisters had a house left from their shared father, no one’s been living in there for quite a few years since his passing, making it stay abandoned for just as long, – I wonder how much their marriage is going to last, – she said quietly to herself, but that didn’t go unheard by the man. He looked at her with a wordless question on his face, – Did he meet him? – she asked instead. Livaen knew the answer herself – the elf did meet the Prince and even had the talk with him, otherwise he wouldn’t have just… changed so much asudden. She asked about it nonetheless – to divert the attention and to avoid any more of the unnecessary drama her question might cause later. Aspen glanced at her, still puzzled, – You are always with him. Did he meet the father? – she repeated the question again, a little bit annoyed. He must have met him, he’s just a coward to do what he’s been told.

- Yes. Yes, he did, but we didn’t tell anyone…?

The girl brushed her hair.

- He.., – she started, trying to explain the thing, gesturing vaguely in front of her, – His blood… it’s acting up. It’s like… if you hold bad emotions locked inside, they will find a way out someday. And he’s got daedric blood in him. He’s… he’s just so confused. I don’t really know, he, – she implied the Prince, – didn’t warn me about the mood swings, – Livaen sighed, getting up from the bench. He did warn her though that she must guide him along this path and be there when he needs her; she must help him understand and reconcile with himself, – We need to find him before it gets worse. Wouldn’t want a psycho on the loose..

They’ve found him under the giant tree, sitting on the bench, facing the old statue of Talos. He buried his face into the palms of his hands, breathing heavily. This was the worst period in his life: the uncertainty, the separation, the revelation – it all hit him at the same time, making his existence insufferable. He had no idea what awaits him in future, he’ll probably have to carry on alone later, for all his loved ones are humans with a lifespan of a burning match… And him being a demi-prince didn’t ease the burden. It all just snowballed and like an avalanche buried him underneath, no way for him to escape this.

Livaen stopped in her tracks near him, observing: he was miserable, she’s never seen him so crushed, so depressed; it seemed like he was about to break apart. And there was nothing she could do on her own to help him, to ease the suffering.

Aspen came close to him, letting his hands into the jet black hair of her cousin. The girl grimaced, for the hundredth time today, it seemed: all these idle touches, glances – it was so disgustingly sweet, mawkish even; her cousin was so in love with the man – it’s going to hurt to bring him back on track later. Maybe she just was jealous, envied him – it was hard for her to think about it: she would banish the thought just before it surfaces in her mind – over and over again, and she didn’t want to admit, too pathetic to own up to her flaws. She never had a feeling just as strong as her cousin’s to this man – this thought about it made her anxious – she never had a chance to experience something like this – to fall in love and be loved in return. Yet her dearest cousin had it all, it seemed, from a caring bride-to-be to some… random hookup. It wasn’t fair; her entire life was planned out for her by their own grandmother – some Alinor nobleman already waiting to get his hands on her fragile frame. She had no say in this, but she just accepted her fate and patiently waited for when it’s time. Livaen snorted at her own thoughts inelegantly: after what she’s been through even arranged marriage would be impossible – who needs a wife that cannot bear children anymore in a society where succession matters most? She suddenly felt disgusted and repulsed: her cousin was so irresponsible to throw himself into someone’s arms like that, especially those of a man; it was selfish. Now that she herself won’t be able to bring a child into this world, he’s the only one who could continue the line, but he instead preferred lust and debauchery… it was her envy speaking – she couldn’t help but turn bitter at what her cousin had and what she’ll never have; it was easy to hate on him, easy to disregard the story behind them both.

- Shit, – she heard Mark swear. He shook his head a little to make the bothering thoughts go away, remaining silent for a moment and allowing himself to enjoy the gentle hands in his hair – a universal medicine for calming down, – I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me, – Livaen rounded the bench to sit near the cousin. He was shaking slightly, as if having a fever, face pale and sick, – I’m just… It’s all so fucking overwhelming, I can’t handle it all, – he grabbed the hands in his hair and pulled onto himself, throwing Aspen’s arms around his neck in an embrace, – It feels like I’m drowning, suffocating, and those cunts don’t help it a bit, – Mark hid his face in the man’s upper arm, letting out a strangled wobbling sigh, – I’m… so sorry, I can’t really control myself at the moment. I’m such an angsty asshole lately, – he laughed hysterically, squeezing Aspen’s hand. He pulled it closer to his face, placing his lips on man’s knuckles, – I’m so fucking sorry for making you see this shit.

This gesture – it almost made the girl gag.

- You need to return to the Void, – Livaen told him, fighting with herself to keep the face straight. She reached his hand, holding it softly but firmly in hers, – Bal told me, it’s going to… make it easier for you, – Mark snorted sarcastically and shook his head. Behind the sarcasm though was pure dread, – I know you are afraid of it. But we can always do it together, right? – she addressed the ashen haired man, and he nodded in agreement. Livaen smiled at her cousin, – You sure do love company.

...

They made their way up to the infinite pillars that were rising from below the water and stretching far into the sky, disappearing somewhere above in the impenetrable veil of mist. It welcomed them with a lone boat bobbing at the end of the platform – no walkway for them to get to the Heart.

The Void was the same today, same as before, yet different: a couple of plants managed to break through the stone and bloom under the ethereal sun: a field blossom and a tiny shrub of rowan. It was something new, but not unheard of – the Void brought leviathans into this world on a whim; it decorated everything with the violet silks… yet flowers? They didn’t look out of place, they looked like they belonged together with the obsidian of stone and the sapphire of waters; it was a strange time to have a spring here though; however, the plants brought hope with them, and thus – some inner peace for a change.

The boat set sail as soon as they got themselves comfortable – Mark sat at the very bow with Aspen just behind him in the middle, Livaen having her place at the stern – it took them farther away from the usual places they’ve been to, maneuvering in between the giant monolithic towers. From a distance a light breeze brought some rogue petals and flowers, making the girl wonder what was so exciting for the Void to start blooming all of a sudden.

It was curious for Livaen: as it turned out the Void is a plane of Oblivion, the girl thought, and the realms always reflect their masters, their emotions and feelings, their state of mind. Would it be possible for them to reflect something else, something the masters hold dear? She will never get to test this theory, but if it was true – something must be influencing the Void to change.

The veil ahead of them started to clear out, leaving patches of white clouds here and there, revealing a lone island in this sea of nothing. Stone thorns swirled all around it, cradling the Heart, creating an impenetrable shell to protect the insides; from behind the stone – a faint glistering – something flowed behind like a silk in the wind. This is the core of the Void – it was blooming in full, its blossom slowly spreading away from the Heart far beyond the thick shroud of mist.

As the boat docked with the island, the only entrance of the Heart opened the way, welcoming the guests with a complete darkness seeping from the inside. Within – the same dark stone with cerulean waters glowing from behind them, illuminating the place softly; in the middle – a basin with ornate smoke circling under the water; above them all – a myriad of suspended in the air crystals reflecting in the stone and lone silks hanging from the thorns. And all around them – flowers’ bloom.

Mark sat near the basin, the others beside him, holding him by his hands. He looked into the water, watching a black swirl of mist emerge from below, enveloping the people with darkness and silence…

...

A woman’s shriek, the one that could tear a soul apart; a pained cry of a baby – it was all covered with a cloud of obscurity – nothing could be seen but felt. “Get it away from me!” – the woman cried, her anger and fear leaking through her voice directed at the newborn soul. She asked for it, begged on her knees; she knew the price she had to pay. She thought it would make her stronger, thought it would open new prospects. She got what she wanted; now – she does not want it anymore, too scared of it. “Get rid of it!” – could be heard echoing in the darkness, voice decaying quickly.

A bright flash, and a white light engulfed it all, slowly fading to reveal a snowy forest in the middle of winter: bright setting sun lighting the snowdrifts, reds and oranges scattering through clear frozen crystals. Under a tree – a roll of fabric lied, tiny golden hands showing from under the thin blanket. The baby cried, loud at first, calling for its impending doom: if it’s not the frost to take its live, then wolves; its bright and cold umber eyes red from the tears. As the sun went lower – the cries turned silent. The gold of the skin faded, now sick and blueish, cold quickly creeping to clench its grasp around the tiny heart and claim it. “Here we go”, someone came over to rescue the child as if they knew it would be here at the mercy of the fate. A man held the child in his arms, gently stroking the frozen face until the red of blood started flowing again, bringing back the fading life into the newborn. “It is decided then”, a cold and quiet voice of a woman spoke, as she appeared before the man. She looked at the child with a genuine smile, stroking its forehead with her finger – the child already opened the eyes, beaming at its saviors – the man smiled in return too, too hard to resist, hiding the smile behind a frown the next moment. “Name the boy”, the woman commanded. “Markus”, the man said, “Now let’s get you home”, he finished, as the memory was enveloped into a dark cloud only to reveal another one.

There wasn’t a flash this time, just careful fade from black to the warm orange of a fireplace, candles that lit up the room, that lit up the two figures standing near a wall. One was the man from before, the other – an unknown woman… the mother, the cowardly mother. A strong grip on her neck prevented her from moving, as the man was looming over her like a menacing shadow, sparks crackling dangerously between the fingers of his other hand. “Try this again,” he said, the memory of the abandoned child in the snows too vivid to forget, “and you will suffer a worse fate”, he warned her. It wasn’t the first time the woman did this, and it won’t be the last – she hates the child, she dreads it with an unreasonable fear. The demonic child, as she called him to justify her actions; she never listens to the warnings, always does what she wants only to be severely punished in the end. “Do not forget, my darling, your soul belongs to me”, he said for the hundredth time already, as the mother couldn’t understand that there was no deliverance from this anymore. “The worse you make his life – the worse yours is going to become”, the man had to let go, as the boy creeped up to him, starving for attention. “Why don’t you take your damned spawn with you?” the woman spat, watching the father caress the son in his hands. “My spawn?” the man laughed wickedly, the child echoing him lightly – the complete opposite of his father, the innocence – kissing the boy’s head. “You begged me for it, and now the least you can do is to be a decent mother”, he finished, letting the memory drift away.

The next memory burst open, black mist leaking out of it, bringing the feel of dread and desperation, filling the place to the brim with pain and misery. The sharp smell of blood, the dampness of endless tears, a silent cry still lingering in the air. And there he was, still infant, lying on the cold stone floor alone and unmoving. It was the mother again – too much of a coward to put an end to his miserable life, to end the agony and torment of her own son; she hated the way he looked at her. He wanted to cry, but no sound escaped him, no tear left his eyes – there were none left, all wasted already to the never-ending woe. A gentle breeze, and from somewhere above a moonlight shone through, serving as the only beacon of light as the jet black shadows crawled towards the child only to be broken by the man appearing from the darkness. The boy couldn’t see anymore but feel, reaching out to the gloom man with his tiny golden arms; the father nestling him up into an embrace to soothe the pain. He stroked son’s face softly, lightly touching the fluff of the lashes – the kid would have probably giggled at the touch, yet not a sound came from him. The boy opened his eyes, slowly, revealing the wounds inflicted upon – no more the noble of umber, only crimson of blood. The man cradled the child, soothing the sore eyes; a moment later – and the moonlight replaced the gore, shining bright silver in the sea of darkness, gleaming still through the thickening mist.

“And what is it that you want, Stone-Fire?” a female voice spoke – the grandmother, sounding through the clearing memories. It was a surprise for her – to see such a guest in her home. “I could tell where your daughter is, and in return you would owe me a favor”, the man replied, holding the details a secret. He wasn’t desperate, just… considerate. What he had seen was the last straw for him – the mother would never change; it was the right time to change the players before something regrettable happens. “I’m listening…” Soldiers in black and gold armors dragged out a woman out of her house, throwing her in the middle of town’s plaza for everyone to see. The golden skin, pointy ears – it looked like a spectacle, a warning for any other that would want to become a renegade, a message to their own kin of the dangers of betrayal. A tall woman with a skin of bronze commanded the parade – it was her daughter lying there, trashing around and spitting out curses. Near the commander another man stood, wide in his shoulders, skin of copper, holding the child found in the basement – his bright silver eyes looking at the mother with dread and sorrow. “Mother! Please!” the woman plead, as the grandmother approached her, slapping her across the face. “You should have thought about your life before you made a run”, she told her daughter, holding her by her hair. The woman was scared, afraid for her own life; she didn’t want to die, not yet. She franticly looked around only to find her dearest husband making his escape with their firstborn; he didn’t even tried to free her, to help her, just left her at the mercy of these people. “Orlan!” the grandmother commanded to the copper-skinned man, “He doesn’t need to see this, turn around”. The man did as told, only tiny golden arms reaching out to the mother as he turned around – the last thing the woman saw, before the grandmother slit her throat, slowly. The blood rushed from her neck and onto the ground like tsunami flooding the land, painting it crimson.

The crimson mist swirled, forming the blood red poppies on a field of gold. Two girls ran around a tree: one with a skin of finest porcelain, hair of raven wing, the other with a skin of gold, hair dark as night. Under the tree the boy dreamed, blessed smile on his face. “Markus!” the raven-haired girl stopped by, taking his hands in hers, tugging the boy onto herself, “Join us!” she said, grabbing the other girl by hand, locking them into a circle and spinning as fast as they could go, red petals flying around softly, taken up into the air by the whirlwind of fun. They broke the circle then, falling on the ground – golden grass was their carpet, their joyous laughter ever so loud. A golden cloud descended from above, forming a male figure – the father; the kids squeaked, cheerful, rushing to the man. He caught the boy in his arms, raising him high into the air, cradling him up into an embrace.

“Markus!” the grandmother shouted – the memory flaring up to let another one in its place – running towards the boy. The kid, covered in bruises and scratches, was kneeling in the middle of a street. It was a mess: once a street full of children looked like a warzone now, destroyed completely by their own stupidity. She warned their parents, she warned them countless times to restrain their children, yet no one listened; now they paid for it, paid for their ignorance and arrogance, hopefully not with their children’s lives.

The grandson was burning, but the flames didn’t damage his body or his clothes. He was scared. It all happened so quickly he had no time to react. He just exploded, releasing it all that’s been held inside. The anger burst open with fires, sweeping away everything that stood in their way; flames burning flesh and stone, drawing the cries from the now victims. He was afraid of this; he didn’t want it to happen – he didn’t know it could happen; he thought he had no magic in him, yet…

The grandmother run to him, pulling him up into her hands. She wasn’t scared of the flames, she didn’t care about them. She could get hurt, but in the end it didn’t matter. What mattered the most was the child in her arms, and she would do everything for him to not get hurt again.

“I’ve… reconsidered”, – the grandmother’s voice was heard, erasing the scene and bringing another, “This... arrangement we had”, she addressed her general, “it’s not going to take us anywhere, I’m afraid. I do not desire to give away the boy, he is my blood after all, my grandson. We should do something about it”. She… got attached to the kid, acknowledged him as her offspring – her late daughter’s legal child. The kid was clever; it would be a shame to give him back to his father later. His blood, the heritage – it all made him even more interesting for her, and with the proper education he would benefit her cause. “Sire”, the general said, “Do you have an idea?” he looked outside of the window, there, where the laughter came from. “Indeed I do, Orlan”, the grandmother nodded, “It’s… quite ambitious, if I can say so myself”, she wickedly smiled, “These two fighting one another for as long as the world exists – they are going to help us. The Princes – they are so vain they will do whatever it takes to destroy each other”, the woman sighed, excited, “And they will have to obey me to get what they desire”. “Sire?” the man asked, her loyal henchman, the right hand. “Why bother with mere racial superiority”, she explained, “when we could bring down Gods and Princes? We could destroy the masters themselves. No gods or kings, only man”…

“He didn’t come, again”, the raven-haired girl complained lightly, as the previous reminiscence faded into a red sunset, girl’s emerald eyes shining softly in the setting sun. The father hasn’t visited the boy yet again, for another week straight. “Grandmother said he had to sail somewhere”, the boy replied, fidgeting with a poppy flower in his hands, “He’s going to be back soon, I’m sure”, he smiled at her. The girl smiled in return, leaning against the boy, her head resting on his shoulder. “Markus?” she called him, to which he grunted in acknowledgement, “Do you love me?” The kid cringed, “EW. No, you are gross”, he replied, which made her giggle. “But you have to!” she jokingly complained, poking him into his sides, “Ouchies”, the boy rubbed his skin, totally unimpressed. “You have to love me, we’re going to get married when we grow up”, the girl closed her eyes, envisioning the future. The other kid wasn’t really thrilled about it. “What if I don’t want it?” he asked, something unpleasantly twisting in his stomach, “You are my friend, and I don’t want to marry my friend. It’s… wrong”, he declared, still fidgeting with the flower between his fingers, “People marry who they love, not friends. I’m going to marry a girl I love”. “But I am a girl!” the young lady pouted. “You’re not a girl, you’re my friend. Gross”, the kid shivered, and they both laughed at that, careless about anything in the world.

A gray fog enveloped it all, fading out quickly to reveal a dark and shiny stone. Cold. Lone. Empty. It hanged up in the air above the obsidian of the water waving with the soft breeze like a black silk. The kids have never seen this place, but it seemed hospitable enough for them to stay. It… it was young, just like them, starving for contact, for living souls. It felt lonely and sad, but now – now it was in delight of finally meeting someone, of finally not being alone anymore, of having… friends. They’ve brought light and happiness to it, their laughter echoing from the stone, going up above into the air. Like a wave the glee washed all over the place, turning the desolation into peace.

“Do you remember those creatures we saw the other day in the sea?” the boy asked his friend one day. The mighty monsters, the behemoths of the oceans – they were so majestic, so noble, he thought, if only he could see them again… It heard the boy, it felt his emotions; as if from his memory the leviathans, gently flowing in the air above the stone, appeared from the thick mist; the lullaby they sang resounded in the very hearts and souls, so dreamy.

No boy was around this time, only the girl. Her raven locks fluttered in the breeze, as she herself eyed a regal woman standing on the other side of the walkway. The woman from before. She waved at the girl as if offering her to make her company, to which the girl did not refuse. They had a talk, a pleasant one at first – the woman seemingly wanting to befriend the young lady; then it shifted to something darker, until the woman took the girl by her arm and vanished. The raven-haired girl returned only after a while; her eyes glowed with gold, happy as never before.

The little noble elven girl cried, as the ship with her friend and her family sailed away. Her cousin on the contrary kept himself collected and serious, a lone tear sparkling on his cheek. They had no idea why the family of the emerald-eyed girl had to leave, but their grandmother knew. The old lady would never tell the children the whole story, maybe some mock up later. Oh, this lying Breton family – she had enough with their deceit. The shady market practice is one thing – it could be forgiven, but an attempt at kidnapping – it is something else. The grandmother was furious to know about this treachery – they already had this marriage agreement, but the breton lord decided to do it his way and kidnap woman’s only grandson. It was a miracle her right hand discovered it, preventing the disaster before it could happen. She should have beheaded them all, but the ruined reputation is worse than any death.

Warm hands awoke the boy – it was an old man, the grandmother’s old flame; silver moon shining through a window lit his dark gray hair tied into a high ponytail, his deep green eyes sparkling in the night. “Get up, get the things you need”, he told the kid, leaving him to look out of the window. It was now or never; the only chance he had to leave this place for good. “Where are we going?” the boy asked, rubbing his sleepy eyes. He did not want to leave, but it was of importance to get him out from the Isles, away from his ambitious grandmother. The man knew what she planned to do, her grandeur plans with the kid playing the main role. “Mark”, the old man crouched in front of him, “We have to leave. Now”. “But how about the grandmother, uncle Nar?” The old elf returned a year ago, pledged himself to serve the grandmother once again, loyal and obedient. It was hard to gain her trust yet again, but eventually – she opened up to him once more. It was all part of his plan – to deceive her and to thrust a knife in her back just like she did herself to him before; this wound, however, would hurt much more. “Uncle, I don’t want to go”, the kid said shaking his head. Right, the man thought, he didn’t have any reason to wish to leave this place, even after all the fairy tales of the north he told him. “Markus”, the old man started, smiling at how concentrated the kid got once he used this name, “There is no time for this. We’ve decided. The boat is setting sail in a few”, he had to take the boy away – for the sake of the future, for the sake of this kid’s life; he’d be damned if he’d let the woman use the child in her wicked schemes, “If you don’t like it there – I will bring you back, alright?” The kid nodded, sad and solemn asudden. The man felt sorry for taking him away, but a better and safe life awaits him once they make it from the Isles…

He didn't know the price he had have to pay – to be branded as a traitor by the one he once loved.

“Mom”, the boy said, suddenly shutting himself, eyes wide open as if he said something bad. The surrounding air filled with silence in an instant, and the awkwardness filled the kid to the top. He never had anyone to call a mom or a dad, and this one just… slipped. He felt ashamed; he didn’t want to look in the eyes of this woman anymore, face red from embarrassment. Instead of saying anything though, the woman just moved from her place, locking the kid into a loving and caring embrace. There was nothing wrong that he said; he finally felt safe.

The same girl – raven black locks, emerald eyes, almost a woman now – yet there was something different about her, something… not right. She seemed restless walking around the stone, like if she couldn’t find a place to stay. She brought a lot of things with her this time: many ancient books in a dead language; artifacts of a long gone race. The young lady always strived for knowledge, and the lessons she had along with her friends – it wasn’t enough, she always wanted more. Some of the things that she brought with her – they’ve been lost to the world, and some – hidden so deep inside the other realms it was impossible to recover them; where did she get them remained unknown. The lady would study them thoroughly, always returning to the beginnings to check the things she had learned. And this carried on for ages, it seemed, time stretching so much it fit hundreds of years into a single day. Yet she wanted more…

The woman from before came to her one day as if was called – their speech muffled, obscured by a primordial magic on purpose, impossible for anything to be heard. The girl bowed before the woman in the end, knelt, eyes close shut and brows furrowed. A fear lingered in the air surrounding her, but she was committed like never before – she would do whatever it takes to save the one she cares about even if the words the woman spoke scared her too much. A touch – and it all went ablaze with a brightness of thousands of suns. Regret, remorse, and anguish – all washed over the girl as she realized – she was deceived. It was too late to turn back now, no way for her to save her very self: her soul would be destroyed and absorbed, her body would become a living corpse following commands a few moments later. It reached out to the girl as her shadow imprinted on the place; it reached out and snatched a piece of her soul before the woman would consume it. It hid it in the deepest recesses no one would ever venture to. The girl is the part of it now, fused together into a single entity.

“Look!” a girl with chestnut hair and crystal blue eyes, skin of a cream – now the boy’s sister – pointed at something in the distance. A noble looking young woman, hair of the finest rye, skin of light gold, eyes of bronze; she moved with such a grace it seemed she didn’t walk but flied through air. He’s never seen anyone more angelic than her; she was the embodiment of everything beautiful in the world he has seen and he has yet to see. The woman glanced at him, half smile on her face, and it was enough to make his heart beat faster, blood rushing to his face, his lashes fluttering. “Why don’t you talk to her?” the sister asked, and that was enough for filling the embarrassment quota for today, making him retreat home.

“Aren’t you the one looking for a companion?” the kid came up to an ashen haired man sitting in the corner. He wasn’t a fan of approaching strangers – this one looked weird, sick and creepy, flower tattoo on his neck and a laurel around his ear – but there was no one else in this place who had the same route as him. The silver greatsword shifted on his back uncomfortably – damn be the day he listened to these old men saying he must wield a sword just as big as him. “Where are you heading?” the man asked not even bothered to look up. “Same as you”, it was dangerous to tell the destination aloud, but luckily, there were not many people around to overhear him. It was really careless of him to tell the bartender this, though, one never knows if they’re honest or not, but there was no other way around this: this area was too difficult to traverse on his own, alone, with each turn hiding behind a witch or a berserk ready to skin people alive. “Are you sure you can wield that paddle on your back?” the man smirked at him, getting up on his feet, and the kid sighed in frustration – this is going to be an adventure.

It barely made it in time, barely awoke the outsider the master brought here with him. The vestige, following commands from beyond, layered magic upon magic on the kid, binding him to the image of his long lost friend; he listened to the every honeyed word the vessel said, too enthralled to notice the deceit.

The outsider was right in time to disrupt it – it felt forever grateful to the odd looking man; and now that the effigy was gone, the kid is finally free from harm safe for the mournful melancholy and tears or relief.

It won’t allow this to happen again.

The last memory slowly faded, echoing in the darkness still. The veil of remembrance gradually lifted, sense by sense returning to the unmoving bodies, waking them from their slumber. Too exhausted…

- Shit, – Mark hissed, covering his eyes with his arm. The memories left an unpleasant feeling in his guts along with annoying anxiety playing in the background of his head, – Shit, imagine hating someone but being a fucking coward to do something radical about it, – he tried to stand up, but his own weight anchored him to the stone. So tired.

Livaen shifted on the floor, rising from the cold stone: her body was just as sore, so she just sat there modestly, watching her cousin gasp for air, squirming in his desire to get up.

- Mark, – she called quietly, afraid to scare him. He hummed in response, – I’m so sorry. Your mother, the aunt, I…, – she couldn’t finish the sentence, as he interrupted her with a gesture of his arm.

- Don’t. She got what she deserved, – the kid exhaled loudly, the arm falling limp on the stone. That woman – he wouldn’t even call her a mother; someone else but. His mother, the real mother that loved him and cared for him, waited for him in his new home.

- Do you… Do you need to talk?

The elf cringed painfully.

- Fuck no, I’ve seen enough, – he pushed himself off of the stone, sitting on the floor, – Fuck. Fuck me, – Mark shook his head, hiding the face in the palms of his hands for a moment. It was all so messed up, so twisted; how little idea he had about anything at all, and everything that he knew about his past – it was all lies, a pain inflicted upon him and his loved ones by the creatures more powerful than any mortal. He sighed, removing the hands from his face, looking up into the stone, – Cath? – he called, and the Void responded with a light breeze, strands of his hair waving gently as if someone combed through, – Shit, – he snickered, shaking his head: she’s always been here at his side, and he didn’t even know it, – imagine if I haven’t met you, – the elf addressed the ashen haired man this time that was already standing on his feet.

The soft breeze inside the Heart changed a little, sounds travelling differently.

- You’d be dead, – someone from behind announced, – She would have murdered you first – you would become a threat to her, – the Prince walked inside as if on cue – he must have listened in on everything, but then again – the Void was once a part of his realm, – Then she would have destroyed me. After – she would have claimed both your realm and mine, and for the final – she would have hunted down everyone who has or had any connection to me, good or bad. But, – he offered his hand to the elf. Mark looked at it with mistrust, but soon grabbed it, and the Prince pulled him on his feet, – she was too late, – he looked at Aspen, – Have you thought about that favor I owe you by the way?

Mark walked up to the basin, throwing one last glance into it. The whirlwind under the water calmed down, and smoke just leisurely floated inside.

- What happens now?

- You tell me, – the Prince replied, unmoving, – You could end this right here and now, or you could continue living on with this burden, being hunted by Meridia.

The girl moved from her spot.

- Mark, – she grabbed his arm firmly, reaching around him to look him into the eyes, – Please, don’t rush it. Let us think this through, – she lowered her voice, whispering, almost hissing at him, – He is the Schemer Prince, he may be lying about all of this. Even the memories – they might be untrue!

The kid stopped her with a gesture of his hand. He was so tired of everything. Mark moved past the Prince and through the exit, paying no attention to the three behind him. The air outside was so crisp and clean, like if a thunderstorm washed all over the place – the smell of electricity so prominent and liberating. He inhaled lungs full of air till they started aching, alleviating his mind and soul of the worries. Livaen was right, indeed, it was necessary to think this all through before deciding anything, yet he couldn’t wait anymore.

Was he the one to blame here? If it wasn’t for him, Catherine would be alive, Esmir’s daughter too, and Livaen wouldn’t’ve endured the horrible pain; Narandil would have his face intact – the scar serving him a reminder of the betrayal, and Visenya would have never known the grip of death. Was it his fault of endangering all of these people? Maybe he just shouldn’t’ve been born at all, maybe he was just a someone’s mistake. Right… A mistake. He was a mistake – the mistake of his mother and his grandmother; the payment for their ambitions; a scapegoat. If only they could have quenched their hunger.

The kid stopped at the crossroads, the entire walk absorbed in his thoughts, following the paths the Void laid down before him. He looked around: they followed him closely, not speaking a word, giving him space to breathe. It was now or never; with a heavy sigh he turned around, facing the Prince.

- I’ve decided, – he told him, the words coming off easier than he anticipated, – You have my favor.

The man only nodded in acknowledgement, and nothing else happened. So anticlimactic; he wouldn’t lie to himself, he expected a storm, a battle, an army of Meridia’s Aurorians – anything at all, but not this – just a nod of the head. But come whatever may, it just must end.

- Show yourself, – the Prince commanded to someone, voice like a thunder roaring through the air. The vestige appeared – the Catherine, her hair of pure gold this time, – Using the vessel still, I see? – the man smirked, drawing a low hostile groan from the woman.

- Just do what you have to do, Stone-Fire, – she replied, the look on the face solemn. She possessed the body herself, unwilling to come in person unlike numerous times she did in the memories, afraid of what’s about to happen. Was she trying to buy herself some time? Or was she trying to save herself using the image of the long lost girl?

- I was about to, – he told her, bowing slightly before her as a courtesy, – But I have something to ask first. Mark? – the Prince addressed the kid – he looked fatigued, eyes weary and sleepy, – What are you going to do about Esmir now that you know everything? She almost sacrificed her own child for her ambitions; murdered her daughter; wanted, most likely still wants to use you in her own devices; indirectly caused Catherine’s untimely demise; melted Narandil’s face; tortured your friends and almost killed Visenya… She was and is one of those behind Thalmor; she still bears the idea of bringing down the masters. What are you going to do about her?

Mark frowned, looking at the Daedra. A strange timing to this question, yet so weirdly right, he thought, as he forgot about the grandmother completely. It had nothing to do with the situation at hand, though still he decided upon indulging the man in this matter.

- Well, – he started, calculating every possible outcome for her and for them, – Esmir has to go, – Mark said, voice stern and confident. Livaen looked at him, a wordless question in her eyes, yet said nothing, – Livaen will replace her as the head of the house, – the decision earned an interested look from the Prince, but he didn’t interrupt the elf: he expected him to say he will seize the power for himself, like a child of his should, yet he didn’t. The kid took a deep breath, thinking: there was no denying of the crimes the woman has committed, and she would have to pay eventually for everything. But at the same time…, – She is also very valuable to dispose of, if that’s what you were waiting from me to comment upon, – Mark glanced at the Daedra. The man nodded in response, – She might be vile and cruel, but she’s one of the most brilliant people that ever lived. It would be a shame to lose her. So – she will stay by Livaen’s side as an advisor, nothing else, – a twisted glee flashed on the Prince’s face, and he applauded. It wasn’t what the man expected: he expected the son to give the woman to him to torture her endlessly for every broken deal they had; but this decision was… very prudent, to say the least, practical, and it made him feel really proud of the child. He would make sure himself the woman stays on track and serves the children properly.

- Now tell me, – the Prince asked in a curious tone, too excited with the previous answer. He moved closer to the kid, throwing an arm around his shoulders, – I’ll let you decide her fate, – the man gestured at the vessel, implying the person behind it. A fury crossed the vessel’s face, but died out quickly, – What should I do with her?

- Let her live, – the elf answered confidently, the answer final and definite. The woman looked at him, bewildered, not saying a word; the father just smiled wickedly – oh, the practicality of this kid: the woman was too… dear for him to get rid of, his very existence would become boring without his nemesis, and now that she’s defeated – she’ll try to avenge this embarrassment sometime later in future. It’s a fun game, a tug of war of sorts, and the man definitely enjoys it despite the lesser failures along the way. She must love it too… The Prince used the confusion of the woman and made a leap forward all of a sudden, getting close to the vessel in one big step and cutting its throat. The body went limp in an instant, no blood pouring from the wound; the man caught the finally dead Catherine in his arms, gently laying her down onto the stone. His finger stroked her face softly, closing her eyes forever now. After – he rose up, turning around to see the son one more time.

- She wouldn’t do the same for you. I hope she appreciates it, – and with this the Prince disappeared into thin air.

It was anticlimactic.

Later that day they placed her body onto a boat – the bed of roses – its material very similar to that of a wood. Mark set the float on fire, her body catching flames quickly – the blaze so hot and bright; the Void’s tide taking her away into the mists beyond. The breeze carried her ashes away as she burned, turning them into the finest crystals. It was sad, but he was also happy she finally has her peace – she finally reconnected with herself, he felt it in the air; she was gleeful about it, she’s been waiting for so long to become whole again. It was snowing after for a few days, snowing with sparkling in the invisible sun crystals.

...

- Hurry! – the elf girl commanded to a servant, – Please, don’t break it! – she looked all over the crates they’re going to ship back to Alinor – all filled to the brim with Skyrim’s treasures.

It was the end; they were boarding the ship to set sail back home – to Summerset. Esmir and her loyal bodyguard were already aboard, yet Livaen still lingered ashore for someone to finally show up and say farewells. She wanted him to leave with her, to join her and return home; she was dreading the time she’ll have to step in in her full rights as the head of the house with little friends by her side, she wanted him to share this power and ease the burden; he was adamant about staying up here in the North though.

- Livaen, – someone gently touched her elbow, soft and low female voice getting her attention, – Relax, don’t want you start spitting diamonds here, – Meltem smirked at her, making a remark about the tension in the girl’s whole body, pointing at two riders in the distance. Here they are, the girl smiled shifting her gaze onto the woman – she followed their path with her eyes before meeting Livaen’s. She’s bound to leave Skyrim with her, in so many years finally changing the place; it was heartbreaking to see her go, but hopefully it’s for the best. Everything happened so quickly; it happened just as quickly as they got married: just like Livaen anticipated their marriage didn’t last long, and they had to put a stop to it. Visenya – the girl’s head is full of wind, careless and childish still; their relationship was like a game to her, something unimportant and something she could disregard with ease. At least she doesn’t have an ache in her heart – she married the jarl’s brother the next day after the divorce. Maybe it was for the better… Meltem wanted to leave in the end, to leave Skyrim behind, wanted to go with her sister to Chorrol as they planned, but she couldn’t see herself as a housewife or anything like that. She is a warrior, and she will die with swords in her hands doing something that is worth dying for. She would’ve left, but Mark stopped her, suggesting she stays by his cousin’s side, being her shield and most importantly a friend for her.

- Hey! – the voice of her cousin returned her back to senses: he dismounted his horse, his companion following him closely behind, as always. They came closer, the elf locking the girl into an embrace – it was finally all over for him and for her, and she can safely return home as the new lady of the house, – You’re all ready? – he asked, firmly holding her by her shoulders.

- Yes, – she nodded, smiling, watching as he switched over to Meltem, their embrace so warm and everlasting; it was hard for both to let go. The ashen haired man followed the elf as he pulled away from the woman facing Livaen yet again. She sighed, a bit sad, – Are you sure you don’t want to leave with us? – the same old question, but it didn’t hurt asking.

- No, – Mark laughed lightly, shaking his head. He’s so different now from what he was a month ago – finally bright and full of life, – but I’ll visit you someday, – he leaned forward, kissing Livaen’s forehead, – I’m going to miss you both, so expect me, – the kid told both women, as an annoyed captain urged them to leave the docks and finally go aboard the ship. They hugged one more time saying their farewells and left the two behind ashore. Mark waved his hand, watching them set sail for the South – it was bittersweet to say goodbye, but this was life, and it’s unfair; he still has Aspen by his side, his parents in Whiterun too, and they’re going to visit the Isles sooner or later. With this thought, he smiled brighter than ever after them, his hand blindly finding the other man’s hand and squeezing in tightly.

[rufousnmacska]

Hi can I request for another modern manorian fic?

This is unforgivably late so I apologize anon! There is more to come, hopefully in the next week.

Museum Day

Part 1

Dorian cringed and covered his ears as shrieking kids ran up the steps to the museum. They moved by him like water flowing around a rock and he wondered again why he’d agreed to be a field trip chaperone.

When he caught sight of his little brother laughing with his friends, his doubts vanished.

Hollin was still struggling with their father’s death. And with their newly arrived uncle who’d stepped in to take over as CEO. Having grown the family business to a sprawling, multi-national company, their father had become a greedy bastard. Dorian supposed it was necessary to reach that level of success. Still, the man had treated his sons relatively well. If withholding affection and attention was treating your children well.

Uncle Perrington made Dorian Sr. look like father of the year material. Hollin was certainly no angel, but no kid deserved the verbal lashings Perrington dealt out.

Dorian had one more semester of school and then he��d take Hollin and leave. In the meantime, chaperoning his brother’s class trip to the museum was the least he could do.

A teacher started to form the kids into groups and Dorian peered through the revolving door to the main entrance. The building housed both a natural history museum and an art museum. As a fifth-year architecture student, he’d spent some time in the art wings, but had never ventured into the other side. All those bones and stuffed animals never appealed to him. The kids’ excitement was infectious though, and he found himself eager to get started.

Once within the towering entry hall, Dorian took his group aside to wait for a tour guide and then buried his head in a map of the building. When Hollin and his friends became suddenly and uncharacteristically quiet, he looked up to see what had caused it.

His eyes met those of the guide, and as one, their jaws dropped in awkward recognition.

*****

“Why can’t I buy you a beer?”

The dark-haired princeling seemed to have a problem with her getting her own drink. Even if Manon hadn’t known he was a Havilliard – probably a lesser known cousin or something – his clothes pegged him for a rich boy. Gray pants and a blazer - who the hell wore a blazer to go out on a Saturday night? - and short curls that looked too messy to be anything but carefully arranged. Some spoiled brat out with his friend, looking for cheap booze and easy hook-ups in the bad part of town.

She glanced over to where Asterin was holding his friend against the wall, kissing him while his hands groped her ass. With an annoyed sigh, she had to admit their plan seemed to be going well for one of them. Turning back, she found he’d moved his bar stool an inch or two closer to her.

People hitting on her was common, and something she usually dismissed with a look that was scary enough to send them running. Being hit on here though… It didn’t happen. Ever. Most of the bar’s customers were family or people she’d known half of her life, making them family all the same. That was probably why Asterin had practically launched herself at that guy. He was fresh blood.

Just like the princeling, Manon caught herself thinking.

The moment the two had walked in, his blue eyes were locked on her. Manon had turned away, not interested. But a little later she’d turned to see him smiling at some joke his friend had made. Which lead to her getting caught staring. Which lead to Asterin abandoning her for the tall blonde and opening the door for this discussion over who was buying the drinks.

“Because I said so.” His grin widened at the growl in her voice and Manon had to look away before she got thoroughly trapped in it. “Besides,” she returned the grin, adding a knife sharp edge all her own. “I’m not drinking tonight.” She surprised herself by almost telling him she had to work early the next day. But he didn’t need to know that.

“As it happens”, he said, reaching back to get his glass of soda, “neither am I. So let me amend my offer.” He made a show of looking her up and down. But not in a creepy way. It was thoughtful and a little exaggerated and she had to bite back a smile. “You look like a Shirley Temple kind of girl…”

“Oh my god,” Manon groaned, unable to keep from laughing. And before she could stop him, he was ordering one for her.

*****

It was her. The white-haired witch from that bar he’d never been able to find again.

Chaol had called her a witch after hearing about that night. How else to explain Dorian’s obsession to find her. Or Gavriel never shutting up about the blonde he’d hooked up with.

“You’re both idiots,” Chaol had said. Only to be smacked on the arm by his girlfriend.

“They’re bewitched,” Yrene said. “Not idiots. I think it’s romantic!”

Chaol just shook his head. “So those women were witches. That doesn’t mean these two,” he pointed at his roommates, “aren’t idiots.”

Dorian had tried to retrace their steps. He remembered the parking garage they’d parked in, but from there, he’d had no luck. Gavriel, too drunk that night to recall getting there, was useless in the search. But he helped, being just as eager as Dorian to find it and the blonde again.

And now, here she was. About to lead him and a bunch of kids on a tour of the museum.

“Manon.” When he looked up from her name tag and found her still staring at him, eyes blazing gold, he allowed himself one self-satisfied smirk. She’d insisted on no names that night. “I’m Dorian,” he said, enjoying the sight of her reddening cheeks. But then her eyes flashed wide for a second in understanding and he wished no one had ever heard of his family.

“Can we see the T-Rex or are we just gonna stare at each other all day?” one of the students yelled, causing the group to break out into laughs and a cheer of agreement.

Smoothing out her oversized museum shirt, Manon cleared her throat and began calling out rules for the tour. Dorian listened dutifully, trying to ignore the memories of that night playing through his mind.

*****

Alcohol would be the perfect excuse. But unfortunately, there was no excuse for the dancing. Manon was not someone who danced. Especially here, in her father’s bar.

Well, that wasn’t exactly true. When they were teenagers, she and her gang of cousins and friends would sing and dance to whatever cheesy 80’s songs were still working on the old jukebox in the corner. But that wasn’t really dancing.

She’d never slow danced with someone before.

After an hour or two of flirting and laughing, and another god awful Shirley Temple, the princeling had convinced her to dance with him. What was she supposed to do when Asterin changed the song midway through? She couldn’t just walk away when the music slowed. That would be rude.

So here she was, dancing in the arms of a Havilliard while another slow song began, trying not to think about how good he smelled. Or felt. Or might taste.

Asterin and her blonde were dancing too, but not seriously. They were swirling each other around, paying no attention to the music. She always admired that ability of Asterin’s to just not give a fuck and have fun.

They’d both had a similarly shitty upbringing, so Manon often wondered why she was incapable of letting go like that. Then she’d remember how much more Asterin had suffered, remembered that it was as much a defense mechanism as anything. She of course had her own defenses as a result of growing up with their grandmother. Once they’d escaped, and she’d found her father, Manon had thought she’d let those walls down a bit.

Having her first slow dance at the age of 26 might be a sign that she hadn’t.

When the song ended, she looked up into gemstone eyes and decided she wanted to have some fun of her own.

“You want to get out of here?”

 *****

This was a nightmare. Truly awful. She didn’t know how her day could get any worse. This was why she never did anything fun. This was how her luck worked. Of course the one guy she has anonymous sex with would show up at work for a goddamn tour with a bunch of kids.

And, I’m wearing the ugliest damn clothes I own, she thought miserably, leading the group up to the second floor.

The kids seemed to be enjoying themselves at least.

Manon was not overly fond of children. Usually they were fine. But more often than not, they had a way of seeing right through you and blurting out whatever secret they’d uncovered. Leading school groups was a price she was willing to pay for the experience and connections she was gaining at the museum. And she’d learned that if she kept talking, kept asking questions, kept them entertained… The next thing she knew, it was over.

This group was doing well, answering her questions, asking a lot of their own. It would have been perfect. If not for the princeling - basically a true prince she knew now - whose eyes followed her everywhere and saw every blush that crossed her cheeks and every glance she stole in his direction.

Directing them all into a room, she ignored Dorian as he passed her. After everyone was inside she began to talk about the displays of rocks and minerals lining the dark walls. This exhibit was one of her favorites because of the reactions it got. With the T-rex and triceratops skeletons just downstairs, people gasping at a bunch of rocks was always a highlight of giving a tour. The second she flipped off the main lights and hit a switch to activate the UV lights, the kids oohed and aahed at the brilliant reds and greens and blues of the fluorescent minerals. The UV moved from rock to rock, spotlighting each one in turn. Manon was supposed to name them as they were featured, but she usually didn’t, letting them just enjoy the show.

It was mostly dark, so she risked a glance towards Dorian. He was standing with a boy she assumed was his brother, even though they looked nothing alike. The smile he wore was reminiscent of the one that had ensnared her that night. A smile that seemed to come so easily, so often. A smile she didn’t think herself capable of. When he turned in her direction, she brought the lights back up and lead them to the next exhibit.

*****

Being Gavriel’s designated driver was never fun. It didn’t happen often since he rarely drank. But that was the problem. He was a lightweight when it came to alcohol, and a heavyweight when it came to lugging his ass home. Chaol had once thrown out his back trying to help the guy up the stairs to their apartment.

So when they’d started the night with Chaol bowing out, and Gavriel needing to unwind from exams, Dorian was expecting an evening of babysitting and boredom. Even Gavriel’s insistence that they find bars in sections of the city they’d never been to before wasn’t enough to rouse his interest.

Until they’d found this place. Until he’d seen her. Standing at the bar in jeans and a sweater, her silvery white hair falling down her back in a messy braid. Blood red lips and black nails. The exact opposite of what most women he knew wore on a night out. And she was the most gorgeous woman he’d ever laid eyes on. The thought had made him laugh. It was such a cliche. But even cliches could be true sometimes.

And now she was pulling him out a back door and down an alley.

Dorian was stone cold sober. So why did he feel like he was floating? Why was his brain buzzing and his heart pounding? She glanced back at him and smiled as she led him onto another street.

Oh, he thought, grinning back. That’s why.

There was nothing in his system except her.

They stopped at a door and before he could try to figure out where they were, she had it unlocked and pulled him inside. And before he could say anything, she was kissing him.

It took every ounce of self control he possessed, but he needed to ask. So breaking apart from the softest lips he’d ever kissed, he said, “Wait. What’s your name?“

With a smirk that set him on fire, she said, “No names. Just fun.” Then, more seriously, she asked, “Do you have a condom?”

He pulled a couple out of his pocket to show her and she rolled her eyes, still smiling. But then he hesitated. As much as he wanted to know her name, Dorian realized that if she told him, he’d have to give his. He could lie, but he didn’t want to do that with her. And if this one night was all she was willing to give him, he’d take it. On her terms.

“I’m at your command,” he said, losing his breath at the heat that overtook her at his words.

“I’ll try to be gentle,” she teased as she took his lower lip between her teeth. Dorian groaned and lifted her up so she could wrap her legs around his waist. “Down the hall. First door on the left,” she said, sounding out of breath too.

As he carried her to the bedroom, Dorian uttered a brief, silent thank you to Gavriel for dragging him out tonight.

*****

“Have dinner with me?”

Manon’s eyes slid over to him as the kids ran off into the gift shop, where the tours always ended. They were left alone. No distractions, no excuses.

Dorian knew he was probably crossing a line. He’d done his best to pay attention as she’d led them through the various halls and galleries, but there were a few times when she’d caught him watching her and not the exhibits. She’d been flustered once or twice by him though. Which was why he decided to throw his luck to the wind and just ask.

“What was your favorite exhibit?” she asked, watching the kids as the other groups from their school joined them.

“Excuse me?” That was not the answer he’d been expecting.

“Was there a certain dinosaur you liked? Or one of the dioramas? Maybe something in the Hall of Minerals?” Manon finally turned to look at him, her face expressionless. “What was your favorite part?” She repeated the question a little more slowly, enunciating each word.

He hesitated, sensing a trap. The answer forming on the tip of his tongue - You, of course - would undoubtedly spring it and send him limping home with his pride in ruins.

“Uh…” He fumbled through his brain for something, anything, as he realized he’d been silent for too long. “The dinosaurs. I liked the giant winged ones.” It wasn’t a lie, they were his favorites. And not just because her voice seemed to grow more excited while talking about them. For some reason, they seemed more unbelievable than the other fossil skeletons, more fantastical and amazing. But under the pressure of her piercing stare, there was no way he’d remember any of their names.

Giving nothing away to signify if he’d given a good reply, she simply asked, “The raptors?”

Dorian tried not to sound relieved. “Yeah, the raptors. They were cool. Frightening as hell, but cool.” Manon made a disappointed sigh and he knew instantly that he’d fucked up.

“Raptors are birds of prey. Or small carnivorous dinosaurs. Like Jurassic Park.” She curved a finger that sported an exceptionally sharp nail. “The giant flying ones are pterosaurs. Which are reptiles. If you’d been paying attention, maybe you would have known that.” Stepping closer to him, her voice soft and lethal, she said, “Perhaps if you could answer my question properly, my answer wouldn’t be no.”

Before he could say anything to defend himself, Hollin rushed over and grabbed his hand. As his brother pulled him towards baskets of fake fossils for sale, Dorian glanced back at Manon. She was basking in the satisfaction of tricking him. But there was something else there besides the smooth as cream smile. Her eyes were blazing with a challenge.

He was pulled away again and when he looked back, she was gone. As Hollin picked out his souvenirs, Dorian decided the two of them should start coming to the museum more often. His brother enjoyed it, and there was the extra benefit of getting Hollin out of their toxic home. And he clearly needed to bone upon his dinosaur names.

To be continued…

I don’t think tags are working, but just in case…

@itach-i @nestasbucket @manontrashbeak @bookishwitchling @jimetg98 @mis-lil-red @chloe123love607 @sierrareads @yourfacesickens-me @awesomelena555 @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @blackhavilliard

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[eddie-boii]

Never Let You Go (part 11/14)

Fic info: Both Eddie and Stan live because I do what I want. Multichapter.

Rating: Teen and up (may change). Language.

Pairings: Reddie, Benverly.

Ao3 link: here

Summary: The Losers prepare for a wedding. They’ve had enough of reddie’s antics.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

*

By the time the Losers got back to the hotel, they were all shivering and damp from the snow, their noses red and cheeks flushed and shoes squelching on the carpet, but they were all still too elated to care and there was plenty of time before the second ceremony to dry off and warm up in front of the grand fire in the lobby.

“I can’t believe you two are married,” said Richie, grinning over at his friends who were snuggled up together in one armchair by the fire.

“Who do you think is gonna be the next out of us to get married?” said Ben.

“Ss-stan and I are already married,” said Bill.

“You are?!” cried Richie. “Why wasn’t I invited to the wedding? How could you?”

“Thirteen-year-old Stan would be ecstatic,” Bev giggled as Stan glared at Richie. He turned the glare to her instead.

“Ww-what?” said Bill.

“I had a little crush on you back then, it’s no big deal,” Stan sighed. “Everyone did.”

“E-everyone?” Bill squawked.

“Yeah.”

“Yep.”

“Definitely.”

“I’m mostly straight but yeah.”

“Oh, come on,” said Bill. “N-not Rr-Richie at least. H-he was too busy crushing on Eddie.”

“What?” Eddie blurted. 

Richie was about ready to deny everything, divert his affections to Eddie’s mom as he always did, but he was happy and warm, still on a bit of a high from the day’s events and surrounded by people who loved him, so for once, he didn’t bother.

“Okay, but there was a brief few weeks before Eds came along,” he shrugged.

“You’re not denying it?” Eddie said, his voice cracking adorably and his eyes wide as he turned to Richie. “You had a crush on me?”

“You were just so darn cute, Eds!” Richie said, leaning across to pinch Eddie’s cheek. He decided not to mention that that ‘crush’ was still ongoing. Eddie batted his hand away as usual but seemed too in shock to protest the nickname.

“So who will be the next to get married?” said Ben in a thinly veiled attempt to divert the attention off an embarrassed Eddie. “Mike?”

“Oh, no way, I’m not really the marrying type,” said Mike. “Not really the relationship type, either, to be honest.”

“That just leaves Richie and Eds,” said Bev.

“And they’ll marry each other, so that’s two at once,” said Stan.

“Will you guys give it a rest?” said Richie. Tired of his friends’ antics, he turned to Eddie. “They’re betting on whether or not we’ll get together.”

“What?” cried Eddie, who still seemed like he had yet to process Richie having a crush on him let alone this.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, who told him?” said Bill.

“Guilty,” said Bev.

“And it’s n-not a question of if,” said Bill, smirking at Richie. “It’s a question of when.”

“Stan and Bev reckoned you’d get together on or before the day of the wedding,” said Mike. He checked his watch. “So we have about nine hours before Bill and I win.”

“I’m sorry I had a little faith that one of them would grow balls,” said Stanley, rolling his eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re fucking betting on us,” said Eddie, face red and eyebrows scrunched up with fury. It was one of Richie’s favourite expressions of Eddie’s. 

“Yeah, and I would’ve won if Bev hadn’t kidnapped you and ruined my plan last night,” said Stan, turning to scowl at Bev. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“He’s my emotional support gay!” Bev defended.

“You guys aren’t ss-supposed to meddle!” said Bill. 

“None of you should be fucking meddling,” said Eddie. “My love life is none of your fucking business.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Eddie, it’s been thirty years,” said Stan. “I, for one, have had enough of this. You two have been pining for each other since you were twelve! You like each other, okay? Now can you please get a move on and bone already?”

Richie opened his mouth to retort but no words came. He looked over at Eddie who was staring right back at him, his flustered expression and red face probably mirroring Richie’s. Sure, Stan was right, Richie had liked Eddie since they were twelve. But Eddie liking him back? There was no way. Eddie was always mad at him, always fussing at him about his hygiene and how he was bound to get a bunch of infections, always complaining about his jokes. And sure, Richie loved watching Eddie get all heated and flustered, but that was out of annoyance, not anything else. Surely… 

No. Richie mentally shook his head. Stan saying Eddie liked him didn’t mean anything. The others were just on a romantic high from the wedding, just seeing things that weren’t there. Until Eddie straight up told him himself, Richie was not going to believe anything the others said. Because, honestly, he didn’t think he could handle it if they were wrong. He’d rather spend another thirty years pining then be rejected, then ruin what they had. He liked being Eddie’s friend, he liked poking fun at him and watching him get all red-faced, he liked their back and forth banter, and he liked those soft moments when it was just the two of them, when they could just exist as themselves, comfortable in each other. He didn’t want to risk losing that.

“Give them a break,” said Ben, interrupting Richie’s thoughts. “Twenty-seven of those years weren’t their fault, and they’ve been through a whole bunch of shit. We know that better than anyone. Let them take their time, okay?” He looked over at Richie and Eddie and smiled, forever the supportive friend. “We’re here for you no matter what. Even if you never get together. Right guys?”

He looked over at the other’s and they let out a series of reluctant but affirming groans.

“That being said,” Ben continued, turning back to Richie and Eddie. “Can you two at least promise you’ll have a talk about it?”

Richie and Eddie glanced at each other. 

“I guess,” mumbled Richie after a moment.

“Yeah, whatever,” grunted Eddie.

“Good,” said Ben, smiling. 

“Buddy,” said Mike, “please tell me you and Bev plan to have children, coz you are already the world’s greatest dad.”

Ben’s face flushed instantly but Bev grinned and squeezed his hand.

“All in good time, Michael,” she said which only served to make Ben even more flustered.

By the time the second ceremony was due to start, the real minister had arrived and Stan was back to being a man of honour and walking down the aisle with Mike, which meant Richie was walking with Eddie alone. He tried not to focus on it too much, which was exceedingly difficult considering the conversation the Losers had just had. Did Eddie really like him? Was this just as flustering for Eddie as it was for Richie? Had they really wasted thirty years thinking the other didn’t reciprocate their feelings? It seemed impossible, like something out of Richie’s teenage fantasies, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Richie tried his best not to fidget during that second ceremony, but standing by the aisle while Bev and Ben repeated generic vows in front of a room full of people Richie didn’t care about was almost too much. He occupied himself by scanning the room. He spotted Audra and Patty seated next to each other, and Bev’s aunt sat in the front row beside Ben’s parents with his grandmother beside them. Then there were Ben’s colleagues, the odd work friend of Bev’s who hadn’t abandoned her after her divorce from Tom, and rows of random cousins and distant relatives that probably hadn’t all been together for at least twenty years. Richie tried to amuse himself by making up ludicrous stories for each of them, but eventually, his attention strayed to the other side of the alter, back to Eddie.

He was wearing a neat black suit over a pink shirt that reminded Richie of one of Eddie’s outfits when they were kids. They’d all been fashion icons back then. His hair was neatly combed back as usual and his face was cleanly shaven. And for once, he didn’t look angry or worried or like the world was going to come crashing down on him at any moment. He looked happy as he watched Ben and Bev, his dark eyes soft and shining and a slight smile on his face, his dimples on full display. He was beautiful, and fuck, Richie really needed to get a grip on himself. There was no way - no way - someone as perfect as that could have feelings for someone as much of a mess as Richie.

He zoned back in in time to see Bev and Ben kiss for the second time that day, actually managing properly this time. They walked back down the aisle together, holding hands and waving as everyone stood and cheered them on, then Bev held her bouquet of flowers aloft.

“Ready?” she called.

There was a shriek as all the single ladies in the room fought their way to the aisle for a good spot. Richie just watched them in amusement, but when Bev finally threw the bouquet, it soared over everyone’s heads - she’d always been pretty good at throwing - and right into Richie’s hands before he could even process what was happening.

A disappointed sigh swept over the room from all the ladies who’d missed out, but Richie barely heard them, still staring at the flowers in momentary shock.

“Nice catch, dumbass,” said Eddie, snapping Richie out of his trance.

“Told you you’d be next to get married, Rich,” Stan snorted.

“Yeah right,” Richie scoffed, ignoring his burning face. “You wish.” He tossed the bouquet back into the crowd and there was a scuffle as the women realised what was happening and tried to grab it first. It eventually ended up in the hands of Ben’s grandmother who was quite feisty for a woman in her nineties. 

The reception was the part Richie was really looking forward to; free food and cake and an open bar, and a dance floor for him and his friends to embarrass themselves on.

Music rang through the air as Ben and Bev took to the dancefloor for their first dance as a married couple.

“Close your eyes,

“Realise,

“It’s you and I…”

“Is this fucking New Kids on the Block?” cried Richie as Ben pulled Bev into his arms. “Why am I not fucking surprised?”

“Beep beep, Richie. Shut the fuck up and let them enjoy themselves,” Eddie said, elbowing Richie lightly in the side.

“If loving you is right I can’t go wrong,

“Girl we’ve known each other for so long,

“Chemistry between us has grown strong,

“You are the one and only meaning to this song.”

“It’s sweet,” said Mike, watching the couple dance. Neither were very good at it, stepping on each others feet and giggling, their smiles lighting up the room as they swayed around like they were thirteen years old again and nothing else in the world mattered. “It fits, you know?”

“So fucking cheesy,” said Richie, smiling as he watched two of his best friends dance together. “But yeah, you’re right.”

“You make me feel there's no such thing as too far,

“Forever's just enough time to show you, girl,

“That I'm not acting like I know,

“I'll never let you go.”

Bev and Ben twirled around the dance floor as the crowd of guests cheered them on. The music really wasn’t the kind of romantic melody couples tended to dance to at weddings - more like something that would play at a middle-school dance - but neither of them seemed to care. They danced like there was no one else in the room, gazing at each other fondly, laughing when Ben tripped over his own feet or Bev stepped on his toes, joking that they probably should have gotten dancing lessons. They were so in love and - call him a sappy romantic but- Richie could have watched them dance for hours.

Eventually, though, the song came to an end and a new one started, and Bev and Ben beckoned the other Losers onto the dance floor.

“Come on, we need the best men and men of honour to dance together,” said Bev. “You promised.”

Mike didn’t hesitate to grab Stan and start reenacting Dirty Dancing with him, and Bev pulled Bill onto the dance floor for what she called a ‘father-daughter dance’, despite his protests to the name. 

Richie hesitated, eying Eddie reproachfully. The prospect of dancing with him after Eddie finally knew about his childhood crush, plus what all the Losers had said about them, was almost too much to handle. He thought about what it would be like to dance with Eddie, pressed up close to him, his hands on Eddie’s waist as Eddie’s arms were draped around his neck, barely a breath between them. Just an inch away from-

Nope. Richie couldn’t handle that. He couldn’t trust himself not to do something stupid and embarrassing. So Richie did what Richie did best; made a huge joke out of it.

“Come on, Eduardo!” he said, dragging Eddie onto the dance floor before immediately releasing his hand and lurching into movement. “I believe this is what the kids these days are ‘the Floss’.”

“You’re doing it wrong!” cried Bev, releasing Bill to stand by Richie. “It’s like this. Watch.”

She demonstrated some weird movements and Richie did his worst interpretation of them before dabbing.

“You are such a fucking moron,” said Eddie, but when Richie looked up at him, he was smiling. God, he’d never grow tired of that smile.

“You ever heard of twerking, Eds?” he said.

“No one wants to see that!” Stan cried as Richie went into a squat.

“You do not have alcohol in your system to blame this on,” said Bev. “And that being said, someone get the cameraman!”

Okay, so Richie was stupid and embarrassing anyway, but he figured this was better than the alternative.

*

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