#some form of blood needs to be exchanged and some sort of vow has to be made

[ultimateplaylistmaker]

Would Kaito be somewhat immune to Hivemind!Kichi`s control, because of his strong will and hatred of him.

No that just makes it harder for kokcihi to infect because kaitos less likely to do whatever thing it is that makes one connect to it. Like if it's like he has to consume something, Kaito's not going to be easily just handed a drink y'know? If he needs to say something he can't just tell him to say it so easily. Gotta get trickier.

[the-greater-good-1899]

Albus Dumbledore timeline

August 1881 (age 0): Albus Dumbledore is born to Kendra and Percival Dumbledore.

September 1883 (age 2): Aberforth Dumbledore is born.

1885 (age 4): Ariana Dumbledore is born.

1891 (age 10): Ariana Dumbledore is attacked by three muggle boys after being seen doing underage magic, rendering her traumatized and too unstable to use her magic and becoming a obscurus years later.

1891 (age 10): Albus Dumbledore's father is sentenced to life in Azkaban after attacking the muggle boys who attacked Albus'younger sister, Ariana Dumbledore.

1891 (age 10): The Dumbledore family moves to Godrics Hollow after Albus' father is sentenced to life in Azkaban for attacking the muggle boys who assaulted his younger sister, Ariana for using magic.

1892 (age 11): Albus Dumbledore is met with the presence of a seemingly wild phoenix in midst of the loss and grief in his time of need, who he names Fawkes, and who ends up staying in Albus' life up until his death.

September 1, 1892 (age 11): Albus Dumbledore starts school at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry and is sorted into Gryffindor.

1892 (age 11): Doge contracts the disease shortly before starting his first year at Hogwarts. He has recovered by the time he arrives at school, but his skin is still green and the typical pockmarks are very obvious. Most students avoid him with the exception of Albus Dumbledore, who becomes one of his closest friends as a result.

1896 (age 16): Albus Dumbledore becomes Gryffindor head boy, and at some point over the course of his schools years, becomes the seeker and captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team, won the Barnabus Finkley Prize for Exceptional Spell-Casting, became the British Youth Representative to the Wizengamot, and received the Gold Medal for Ground-Breaking Contribution to the International Alchemical Conference in Cairo. He also had several of his papers published during his studies and exchanged letters with theoretician Adalbert Waffling.

June 1, 1899 (age 18): He is examined in Transfiguration and Charms by Griselda Marchbanks, who later says that he did things with a wand she’d never seen before.

June 1, 1899 (age 18): Albus Dumbledore graduates from his 7th year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry.

June 1899 (age 18): Kendra Dumbledore is killed as a result of Ariana's unstable magic in an outburst, who has become an obscurus as a result of her trauma at the age of six, rendering Albus Dumbledore the primary caretaker of his two younger siblings in Godrics Hollow in lieu of his plans to do a world tour with Elphias Doge.

1889 (age 18): Albus Dumbledore meets and befriends Gellert Grindelwald. They become close, fast friends and Albus falls fast and hard for the intelligent blonde, nephew of his neighbor and former professor Bathilda Bagshot.

1899 (age 18): The blood troth is created between Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald, signifying their strong bond and promising to never fight one another. It was essentially an old, ancient blood oath tying them to one another, and it was a form of marriage when they made those vows to not fight one another in the Dumbledore family barn.

1899 (age 18): Not wanting to be trapped anymore, Grindelwald makes Albus promise to run away with him and leave this place, after making their plans years in the making to dismantle and destroy the toxic, unbalanced and unfair power and ruling of the wizarding ministries, and become the masters of death by locating the three deathly hallows. Albus agrees, after Grindelwad had been unknowingly to him, making plans to set Aberforth and Ariana up in Nurmengard castle so he and Albus would be free to travel as they pleased.

1899 (age 18): Preparing to leave, they are intervened by his younger brother Aberforth, who lashes a spell out at Grindelwald, who retorts by using an unforgivable curses on him. Albus walks in on this and raises his wand as well, pact aside, to protect him. In the clash of their three way duel, no one heard Ariana coming down the stairs, who gets caught in the crossfire and is killed instantly and accidentally by a curse, killing her instantly, when Grindelwald flees the scene.

1899 (age 18): Late that summer, Ariana Dumbledore's funeral is held at the St Jerome's graveyard, attended by both her brother, Bathilda Bagshot, Elphias Doge and several other witches and wizards who knew the Dumbledore family. A fight broke out between the brothers, and Aberforth broke Albus' nose.

August 1901 (age 20): Albus Dumbledore packs what little he can, before leaving Godrics Hollow and never looking back after Aberforth graduates from his last year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, after Aberforth made it clear he didn't want him there. The summer Aberforth graduates, Albus Dumbledore finally is able to do his world tour he had planned to do three years prior.

1902 (age 21): Albus Dumbledore spends the summer in France studying the ancient art of alchemy and apprenticing under famous alchemist Nicolas Flamel, creator of the sorcerer's stone. That same summer, it had been a little over two years since he'd last seen Grindelwald. He hears rumors about a rally taking place in the whispers of those darker wizarding clubs and bars, deciding to attend his very first rally under the disguise of dark clothes, but the blood troth humming in his presence around Grindelwald's neck gives him away, as do those fiery red curls that fall out of place, mostly hidden beneath his cloak when he tries to slip away after the rally ends. Already being found out, Grindelwald corners him, and they end up arguing after what happened two years ago, which far too quickly turns from arguing into a passionate reunion in Grindelwald's safehouse in Paris. When he is not studying with Flamel, he's spending that wild summer with his lover in their apartment/safe house. Often have wild nights out going to darker wizarding clubs and establishments, spending the daytime when he's not busy with Flamel lazing around, or recovering from hangovers from those wild nights out. That summer ends in another fierce argument, parting again on bad terms.

1902 (age 21): After that summer when he returns to Britain he became intrigued with the study of dragons blood, and was accredited for no less than 12 uses of it in yet another published paper. This gained him much widespread recognition, and shortly after he was reached out to by the current headmaster of Hogwarts and offered the position of being the Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher the following year, which he readily accepted.

July 1903 (age 22): After finishing up his school shopping for the following September at Hogwarts as his first year of being the Defense Against The Dark Arts professor, Albus Dumbledore finds himself in Knockturn Alley, still in obsessive search of the deathly hallows, or any artifact that could help relieve any of his overwhelming grief that was causing a concerning lack of sleep he had been dealing with entirely alone for most of the last four years, save for the last summer he and Grindelwald had spent together while he was studying under famed alchemist Nicolas Flamel, which had been a welcome comfort and distraction to that almost suffocating grief and guilt, now once again rearing it's ugly head when he is found by Grindelwald in Knockturn Alley, nearly delirious from that same lack of sleep, nearly drowning in grief and obsession.

September 1, 1903 (age 23): Albus Dumbledore starts his first year as Defense Against The Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts School For Witchcraft & Wizardry.

July 1907 (age 26): Gellert Grindelwald is kidnapped for catching the attention of the wrong people once their movement starts to gain traction in its beginning years. Once Albus begins to notice his rapidly increasing distress through their connection due to the blood troth, he starts looking for him- Starting with the darker wizarding clubs they'd frequented summers ago, where he discovers his husband is missing. After much difficulty, he tracks him down between a tracking spell and Fawkes picking up on his scent, where he finds him strung up by his wrists, covered in bruises and bloody- But alive. As he made his way through the otherwise vacant building, he ruthlessly and mercilessly took out anyone in his way, using dark magic to get down to who was responsible. When he carries him out after untying him, he is covered in blood. Leaving most of the captors barely alive, he set the building alight, leaving them to burn alive as he carried him to safety. He spent the following weeks helping him heal and spoiling him. When he found the rest of those responsible or with a direct link to his torturd and kidnapping, he ruthlessly tortured and killed them- All except one, to send a message of what would happen next to anyone who laid a hand on Gellert Grindelwald- All anyone remembered seeing was a hooded figure with flaming red hair walking out covered in blood to connect to these merciless killings as a result of his kidnapping, earning him the nickname Red Death in the darker wizarding world circles.

1908 (age 27): Albus Dumbledore begins teaching Newt Scamander and Leta Lestrange in their first year at Hogwarts.

1913 (age 32): A well favored student of his, Albus Dumbledore argued strongly against Newt Scamander's expulsion from Hogwarts after he took a fall for an illegal experiment conducted by another student, Slytherin girl Leta Lestrange with a magical beast that endangered the life of another student. It is unknown whether his expulsion was enforced or not, and due to Dumbledore's strong argument, was able to keep his wand regardless of the outcome. In the following years and decades to come, Newt Scamander became a famed magizoologist.

1926 (age 45): Albus Dumbledore sends Newt Scamander to Paris to find and protect Credence from Gellert Grindelwald, fearing he might kill him if he fell into his hands because of the vision he had all those decades ago back in Godrics Hollow, or to even use him against Albus as a weapon. After the chaos of everything that happened in New York, Newt Scamander is who captures and reveals Gellert Grindelwald as Percival Graves in disguise during the entire obscurus panic, who is then reprimanded into the custody of MACUSA and sentenced to prison where he is imprisoned and tortured, until he escapes a year later with his chupacabra familiar Antonio with the help of those on the inside as undercover agents for him.

1927 (age 46): Gellert Grindelwald escapes imprisonment during a prisoner transfer.

1927 (age 46): Albus Dumbledore asks Newt Scamander to once again find Credence, believing he is Leta's long lost brother Corvus Lestrange V. Hiding away in Hogwarts, Albus is approached by several different aurors, asking him to fight Grindelwald after showing him a memory they undoubtedly tortured out of Grindelwald's mind. He refuses, in which the ministry retaliates by barring him from teaching, placing admonitors on his wrists and placing his acquaintances under surveillance by the ministry.

1927 (age 46): Albus Dumbledore contacts old friend and mentor Nicolas Flamel to Paris to assist the others in Paris in light of hearing about Grindelwald's rally, where he helps the others from letting the blue fire spread and destroy the entirety of Paris.

1927 (age 46): Newt Scamander returns to Hogwarts after protruding the blood troth from Gellert Grindelwald using his loyal niffler, to Albus' relief. The aurors begrudgingly return to take the admonitors off, after realizing with their investigation that Albus Dumbledore is in fact not in league with Gellert Grindelwald in his refusal to fight him.

1932 (age 51): Albus Dumbledore meets up with Gellert Grindelwald in a local muggle tea shop, where they discuss the blood troth and Grindelwald's plans to overthrow the magical government, where Dumbledore tells him his plan is madness. They part after conversation, much to Grindelwald's disappointment and dismay.

1932 (age 51): Unable to fight Grindelwald head on still due to the intact blood troth, Albus Dumbledore recruits Newt Scamander once again, along with Theseus Scamander, charms professor Lally Hicks, Senegalese-French wizard Yusuf Kama, American No-Maj Jacob Kowalski, and Newt's assistant Bunty to thwart Grindelwald's plans. Once in Berlin, Yusuf is planted as a spy in Grindelwald's inner circle.

1932 (age 51): Albus Dumbledore  dispatches Newt to the Erkstag, the secret German wizarding prison to retrieve his brother Theseus, where he is being held prisoner. Meanwhile, he battles Credence and quickly defeats him, who then finds out he is the illegitimate child of Aberforth Dumbledore.

1932 (age 51): Dumbledore and his team arrive in Bhutan, where the walk of the Qilin is being held to determine the next leader of the wizarding world, where he dispatches his plan of each of them carrying an identical case, with Bunty carrying the real one containing the other Qilin sibling Newt retrieved after Grindelwald's followers had retrieved the other and slaughtered it's mother in China, where the Qilin bows to Albus, who anxiously declines; it goes on to bow to Santos, who is chosen as the next leader of the wizarding world.

1932 (age 51): When Grindelwald tries to kill Credence in desperation and anger, both Dumbledore brothers draw their wands to protect them. When their spells clash, it breaks the blood troth, trapping himself and Grindelwald under a temporary magical force field of sorts, where they proceed to duel one another, neither holding back this time. They reach a stalemate when they draw their wands back, staring at one another with their hands on one another's chest, neither willing to hurt the other. The spell breaks, and Dumbledore walks away, when Grindelwald proceeds to declare war on the muggles before dramatically disappearing.

August 1938 (age 57): After charming the skeptical matron with magic, manners, and gin, Dumbledore meets Riddle in his room and reveals that the boy is a wizard and invites him to Hogwarts.

September 1, 1938 (age 57): Tom Riddle charms all his teachers with the exception of Albus Dumbledore, the Transfiguration teacher, who is uneasy about him.

June 13, 1943 (age 62): Hagrid is expelled after being falsely accused and framed by Tom Riddle for opening the Chamber of Secrets and releasing a monster who killed Myrtle Warren. He is so accused because Tom Riddle catches him raising an Acromantula in the castle.

June 1945 (age 64): Headmaster Armando Dippet turns him down, saying that at eighteen he is too young. He then goes to work for Borgin and Burkes instead. Riddle gets the job at Borgin and Burkes "the next thing the staff knew," according to Dumbledore.

November 1, 1945 (age 64): On the dawn of November 1, 1945 the final duel of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald took place when the outcry against Grindelwald became too much and his actions became too horrific for Dumbledore to ignore any longer. It was one of the most well known duels in history, where Dumbledore finally defeated Grindelwald and gained the elder wands allegiance, proceeding to imprison Grindelwald in Nurmengard with no other wizard than Dumbledore being powerful enough to imprison Gellert Grindelwald. It was considered a turning point in magical history that matched the introduction of the international statue of secrecy and defeat of Lord Voldemort. After the duel he returned to his place at Hogwarts with the elder wand in his possession.

1967 (age 86): Lord Voldemort sets up a meeting with the recently-appointed Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, to ask for the Defense Against the Darks Arts position at Hogwarts. However, Dumbledore pointed out that Voldemort was certainly aware that the headmaster would never have offered that position to him and asked what his true purpose was for visiting. Voldemort did not say what it was, but later events reveal that Voldemort visited the Room of Requirement and hid the diadem Horcrux there. As he left, Voldemort put a curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position such that for the next twenty-five years, no teacher stayed in the post for more than one year.

1980 (age 99): Dumbledore and his allies begin to realize that there is a spy in their midst but Peter is not suspected.

June, 1992 (age 111): Harry confronts Quirrell deep under the castle and defeats Voldemort- and nearly dies before Dumbledore arrives to help.

September 8, 1992 (age 111): Ginny Weasley reopens the chamber of secrets while being forced by Lord Voldemort.

May 29, 1993 (age 111): The spirit-form of Voldemort is defeated by Harry Potter in the Chamber of Secrets, and one of the seven horcruxes is destroyed.

June 24, 1995 (age 113): Voldemort kidnaps Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory, who is later murdered by Wormtail using Lord Voldemort's wand. Back at Hogwarts, it is revealed that Barty Crouch Jr., impersonating Moody all year, led Harry to Voldemort, who is reborn in the graveyard using Harry Potter's blood and Wormtails hand.

June 20, 1996 (age 113): On the evening of June 20, 1996, a running battle is fought between members of the D.A. led by Harry Potter, a group of Death Eaters led by Lucius Malfoy, and members of the Order of the Phoenix. Sirius Black is killed and many others are wounded. Finally, Dumbledore arrived and captured nearly all the Death Eaters. Lord Voldemort himself then Apparated into the Ministry of Magic, unaware that his archnemesis was present, and he and Dumbledore fought a tremendous duel in the Atrium. Voldemort was defeated in this duel and fled with Bellatrix Lestrange. Many were wounded on both sides and Sirius Black of the Order of the Phoenix was killed. When Voldemort himself arrives and battles Dumbledore in the Atrium, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge is forced to admit that Voldemort has indeed returned and remove Umbridge from Hogwarts (OP36). After the battle, Dumbledore returns to Hogwarts and reveals to Harry the contents of Trelawney’s first prophecy.

July, 1996 (age 114): With Voldemort out in the open, the second wizarding war begins. Voldemort is furious with the failure of his Death Eaters to retrieve the prophecy. He assigns Draco Malfoy the task of killing Dumbledore, at least in part to punish Lucius’s failure, since Draco will almost certainly be killed. Narcissa Malfoy, followed by her sister Bellatrix, visits Severus Snape in his house on Spinner’s End and get him to take the Unbreakable Vow that he will protect and Draco and, if necessary, kill Dumbledore for him.

April 22nd, 1997 (age 114): Harry and Dumbledore use the Pensieve to watch the problematic memory and see Slughorn inadvertently give Tom Riddle the idea for creating multiple Horcruxes.

June 30, 1997 (age 114): Harry and Dumbledore enter the cave where Voldemort has hidden a Horcrux. After swimming to the entrance, Dumbledore spatters it with his blood to gain entry and they take a hidden boat across a lake. Protecting the Horcrux is a potion that Dumbledore drinks, though Harry must force him to; after they obtain the locket Inferi erupt out of the water because Dumbledore needs water and the only way they can get it is by disturbing the lake. A weakened Dumbledore casts a fire spell to repel them as they escape.

June 30, 1997 (age 114): Lured to the Astronomy Tower by the Dark Mark above it upon his and Harry’s return from the sea cave, Dumbledore encounters Draco Malfoy. Dumbledore immobilizes Harry, who is hidden under his invisibility cloak. Draco says he will kills Dumbledore, but keeps stalling. Draco and Dumbledore discuss Draco’s efforts to assassinate the headmaster and to get Death Eaters into the castle until other Death Eaters join Draco at the top of the tower. Finally, Snape appears and does what Draco has been too afraid to do. The killing curse knocks Dumbledore over the battlements, and his body falls.

August 1st, 1997: The Ministry of Magic falls to Voldemort’s Death Eaters.

March 1998: Voldemort traces the Elder wand to Grindelwald, who he then visits in a lonely cell atop the tallest tower of Nurmengard. When Grindelwald defies Voldemort, the Dark Lord murders him with a Killing Curse.

(@magicblooms)

[acids-and-basses]

I’ve decide to do some reference pictures for some of our dnd characters (novi is not mine but I needed ideas for armor for a v-tuber model for his player).

This is for both my reference when animating this next video (I’ve got a bit of it sketched out but not too much yet) and if anyone wants to know a little bit about them. I’ll eventually do Selene and nox along with a few others that are going to be in the next few videos.

Sakura

Design based on Technoblade animatics, with a Japanese flar like philza’s skin is Urahara from bleach, but leaning a little more into samurai rules

Story wise- one of the first Changelings to be in a program to try to get rid the world of Tieflings. Yet he ended up getting badly injured and they left him behind before he was helped and raised by a wealthy tiefling family. (He was only about 5 when he was basically adopted into this family) The tieflings cared for him and in exchange he deticated his life to fight for him family under a sort of samurai code.

Eventually in his twenties he goes out on a mission and comes back to the house one fire and everyone and everything gone. He vows to avenge his family, but after his blood lust subsides he goes the way of the Druid

Him and Restless both grew up together and are born the same year but Sakura is older due to restless’ spell leaving Restless himself dead for 40 years.

Sakura’s now just the bodyguard / uncle iron of the family

I do currently intend to do a video of younger Sakura in sort of the story of the short campaign he was for/in.

The ear ring that he wears pairs with that of the ship owner who’s seen within both ‘bird in a bird cage’ and ‘burn butcher burn’ of which he and his entire crew are based off of Philza and kristin along with a few of their other friends.

Sakura will not, and this is due to that samurai training and ideals, he will not unsheath his sword until he knows he’s going to kill

Dryke is his deity and is sort of like ares, as he’s associated with war, wolves, death, bloodshed, and fire. Dryke takes over Sakura’s body when he’s consumed by blood lust (this goes with the not pulling out the sword) resulting in Sakura’s pupils going red and Sakura looking more closely to the OG Technoblade designs.

Dryke himself is a large oni like diety

Will drink you dry with sake if allowed, tho he’s not a drunk

He also has a familiar that takes the form of a lunar moth that’s the size of a large house cat, named blossom

He also has multiple cats, his favorite being a Russian blue.

The cats tried once, never again

Refuses to say when his birthday is but it’s some time in April

Restless (Zagareus ‘Darakh’ Sole)

He’s a twin, with his brother Victor who prefers a more human name over their birth mother’s; Mary Darakh; choices, who after they were born left them on their father’s; Timothy; door step.

He himself is a daddies boy, while victor is a mommies boy to their step mother; Ithal Nodel.

Restless’s brother eventually died from a terminal illness. Ithal made the first warforged (tho that wasn’t her intention) by trying to bring her son back, which she does do but a lot later and eventually is able to make his appearance a lot more human than his original tiefling appearance.

The vertiligo is from his father and his brother never seemed to get it before he died.

His father was an alchemist; Restless himself was originally based on Edward/Alphonse from Fullmetal Alchemist thus the resurrection stuff

Due to the war both of his parents were forced to go to war, and he was left alone on the streets. Once he found out about his fathers death (which he may or may not have actually died we aren’t entirely sure) Restless spent 5 years creating a True resurrection spell (a wizard spell version) to bring his dad back. But due to the fact that he spent all that time on that and not himself when he finally used it, the spell it’s self killed him as his father basically watched as his only remaining son died in his arms

Restless is eventually resurrected by Broma; the woman in the restless child video. Due to her thinking he remembers it or that he was more than 18 years old (he didn’t turn 18 until just before the campaign ended which is were restless child ends). She drags him around and he some what gets bored and runs into novi, having a little show of who they are they join the party, eventually there’s a big blight going on, broma, who happens to have a Pandora’s box of shit is the cause.

Broma herself didn’t have the key to said box, her sister did and died protecting the key from broma thus making Broma’s sister a deity, Melenor of the stars and mysteries. All while broma gets some weird ability to resurrect when she’s killed and remember where she put said box of destruction

Restless ends up being the one to confront her, he makes a joke about a golden elf who stole his copy of his spell he finished, 2x might I add due to two different golden sun elves. Broma takes that as her no longer needing him and power word kills him (/kill) before Elden, the one sun elf restless was referring to and willingly gave his spell to, shows her his true form with it resulting in burning her eyes out and turning her to stone

Restless eventually due to Sakura is reunited with his family who wasn’t dead and he now has a step brother, Regulus (half drow half tiefling)

Restless is a winged tiefling and due to Kethren forcing restless to use the spell on his back to bring back Elden, they finally grew out of his back

Novi and restless are in fact married

Melenor is restless’ choosen deity not due to the mystery and magic, no just due to space and the fact that her robes are all purple.

He can be a bit narcissistic

Prehensile tail

Birthday: Halloween

Has plushies that are each based on someone important in his life

His crow is used as a messager mainly for sakura to write letters back and forth

Novi Sole

A changeling like Sakura who was made to kill tieflings and other races (at the story point tieflings are pretty much extinct)

Will steal anything and everything under the sun and shade

The kid at the party running around with the knife nobody wants him having

Teaches all his kids all the rouge attributes

Mars is the only one who doesn’t do any rouge stuff at all

Looks up to a minor deity of stealing

Sells your sole for a corn chip

Didn’t want restless to have his last name but restless wanted it

It’s not his actual name anyways

They named their kids Selene ( Greek god of the moon), Nox (Latin for night), and Mars (both a planet and the Roman version of ares)

Selene is the only one who’s not a changeling by default of the three but everyone thinks she is as her skins changling white and she hides her horns with her barrette.

Nox just looks like a gothic witch human

Mars at some point meant a firbolg and he shifted into one but they never figured out why he chose it (yes the 5e cow version cause it’s cute)

Hides weapons in his weapons

Was the first one to confess

[emilia3546]

The Rest of Our Lives - Nessian

Happy #nessianmonth guys! Thanks @illyrianet for organising!

Here we go with the first one: nessian’s mating ceremony, finally filling the gap that Sarah left us with at the end of ACOSF. 

*****

The temple was absolutely beautiful, Rhys really had come through on this one, this was sure to be the most extravagant party Nesta had ever been to, and that was saying something. She glanced around, checking that everything was ready, nothing could go wrong, everything was perfect, all she needed now was to calm her nerves and get on with it.

"Nesta?" Nesta whirled at the sound of Feyre's voice behind her, "Do you want a hand getting dressed?" Right, because she was supposed to already be dressed, had told Emerie that she was, even while she'd just been staring at the dress, nerves racing through her. She nodded,

"Thank you,"

"Come on," Feyre squeezed her hand gently, "Let the guys finish off here, everything's perfect, okay?"

"Okay," Nesta squeezed her eyes shut when Feyre winnowed them back to the River House, to the room she'd slept in last night, "I don't get the tradition of not being allowed to see him before the ceremony," she muttered,

"Honestly, me neither, but we don't want one of you to chicken out and you guys to end up mating beforehand, then to go to the ceremony with you both riled up with a new mating bond," Feyre chuckled, "Rhys was bad enough, but I dread to think what you two will be like,"

"Oh hush," Nesta muttered, "We're not that violent,"

"Not usually, but you never know," Feyre teased, "Dress, c'mon," Nesta nodded, turning her gaze back to the dress waiting for her, she gingerly took it from its stand, stepping behind the curtain to slip it on, but stepped back out to let Feyre help her with the clasps and ties at the back. She almost didn't want to look at the mirror, if she did, her nerves would catch up to her again, but Feyre offered a little encouraging smile,

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Nesta laughed, "I don't even know why,"

"You look stunning," Feyre breathed, "And that feeling's normal, I think," her sister was right, no matter what anyone could say, Nesta was beautiful, with the fitted bodice rising just above her breasts, cinched in the back to accentuate her figure, whorls of silver thread forming Illyrian runes across the bodice. Runes for luck, prosperity, love, Cassian might not be much of an artist, but she knew full well that he'd helped Feyre designing the dress, especially with the occasional rune for witchcraft, or more violent things having slipped past her sister's notice,

"You can't read Illyrian, can you?"

"No, Rhys has tried to teach me, but his particular style of teaching doesn't work so well with the runes, I know some, but not many, did I get one wrong?"

"No," Nesta laughed, "I'd just be surprised that you'd let Cass call me a witch on my wedding dress," Feyre flushed bright red,

"He what?"

"This one, it means witch,"

"It does not, he said that it meant loyalty," Nesta stifled another laugh,

"He lied, aww you believed him, he definitely lied to you about a few of these runes then, you should know better than to take his word at face value,"

"I did check with Azriel,"

"Oh he was probably in on it, knowing them, the idiots," she chuckled again, spinning around in front of the mirror, "I love it, and I would never have suggested he help if I didn't want something a bit less formal, it's not like anyone will be able to read the runes, it's just for us,"

"Right, sit," Nesta just about managed to lift the skirts of her gown before Feyre tugged her across to the chair waiting for her, mountains of cosmetics beside it, "I asked Elain what she thought would work, then Mor, and they're both wrong,"

"Is that so?"

"Mhhm," Feyre was hardly listening as she dusted something along Nesta's cheekbones, the tang of magic filling the air, "I'm just setting it in place, not even Cass can fuck this up later," Nesta snorted at that, but Feyre held her head still, "Stop it, you're going to make me mess up," she hissed just as the door opened,

"You told me you were already dressed!"

"I lied,"

"Shush, I can't do this if you keep moving," Nesta did fall silent, but held Emerie's disapproving gaze while Feyre finished, twisting her hair up onto her head in a knot of intricate braids, setting gemstones through it, Nesta had no words when Feyre span the chair around for Nesta to see her handiwork, those jewels caught the light, making her hair shine and glimmer as she moved. She almost couldn't believe the person who was staring back at her, she'd changed so much over the last year, the person staring back at her was beautiful, confident, tears formed in her eyes, "Nesta,"

"I'm okay, I just, it feels like some stupid dream and I'll wake up any minute back in that apartment," Feyre threw an arm around her shoulders,

"It's real, I promise it's real, enjoy it, Nesta, you've earned it," she glanced back at the female in the mirror, the way her eyes sparkled with life, her cheeks glowing with health, especially with the rouge that Feyre had dusted onto them. Feyre had painted her lips red, an almost sinful color, and she blushed at the thought of exactly what Cassian would be thinking when he saw her,

"There we go," Emerie laughed, "Dirty mind, she's fine,"

"Oh shush," Nesta laughed, but didn't deny it, "You're just as bad as I am,"

"While that may be true, I'm not the one about to get married." Married. She was about to get married, shit. She didn't know what she was doing. What if she tripped? What if she forgot her vows? What if she panicked and froze up? What if she embarrassed herself, embarrassed Cassian? "Deep breath," this time it was Emerie, "Still your mind," she did, closing her eyes, deep breath, deep breath, she was the rock against which the surf crashes, she was a Valkyrie, and she could not be broken, not by the Blood Rite, not by marriage. "Drink this," Emerie handed her a foul-smelling tonic of some sort,

"What is it?"

"Just an anti-sickness tonic, for your nerves, but you'll fine once you get there," Nesta wasn't so sure of that and downed it in one, the effect almost instant,

"Are you drugging her, Em?" Nesta almost spat it out at the sound of another voice, "Everything's ready, you look beautiful, Nesta," Azriel smiled as he spoke, "Cass won't know what's hit him,"

"Thank you," Nesta ran through the ceremony again in her mind, automatically finding everything that could go wrong, "Em, I'm gonna fuck up,"

"No you're not,"

"Easy for you to say, you've never done this,"

"I have," Feyre said, squeezing Nesta's shoulder, and Nesta almost winced at the memory that she hadn't bee there when Feyre and Rhys had had a proper ceremony, being too lost to her fears to care or even notice, "You'll be fine, Nesta," It's okay that you weren't there, you're her with us now, Nesta started at Feyre's voice in her mind, and she nodded, still not quite believing her, but if Feyre forgave her, she could start to forgive herself for everything she'd missed this last year. "Just ignore everyone, focus on Cass, okay?"

"Okay,"

"Step-by-step, walk up to him, let him say his vows, say your vows, exchange rings, food, kiss him, and walk back, you can do that,"

"Yeah, yeah I can do that, thank you, I'll be fine," she shot a grateful glance at Azriel as he offered her an arm, but she still squeezed her eyes shut when he winnowed them back to the temple, just outside the door,

"Ready?" Nesta took in one last breath and squeezed Azriel's arm,

"Yeah, and thank you,"

"For what?"

"This. Walking me down the aisle," she refused to allow herself to tear up at the thought that her father should be the one doing that,

"I'm honestly honored that you asked me,"

"There would be no-one else I would want to," she mumbled,

"Oh, so I'm the last resort, I see," Nesta chuckled when he finally stepped forwards, and was still laughing when they crossed into the temple. Everyone was there, everyone was watching her, but she remembered Feyre's words, gripping Azriel's arm tighter as she lifted her gaze to the end of the aisle, to Cassian. The moment she locked eyes with him, Nesta forgot to be scared, forgot that she was nervous, excitement taking over, and she lessened the vice-like grip on Azriel's arm, earning a soft chuckle. Each step took her closer to that dais, to Cassian. Each step took her closer to the first day of the rest of her life. Each step brought her closer to finally stepping out of the shadow of the war. Each step brought her closer to her mate.

At the top of the dais Azriel released her arm, and Nesta almost swayed on her feet, a sort of dizzy feeling washing over her at the prospect of saying the proper words, words that she had been waiting for longer than she'd care to admit to say. She clasped Cassian's hands in her own, holding on tight, reassuring herself that this was all real, that he was real. She hardly noticed the movement beside her until Rhys spoke,

"Nesta, do you come to this place of your own free will, with love in your heart to wed this male?"

"Yes," she breathed, "I do," she was still staring at Cassian and hardly registered the same question being asked of him, until he gently squeezed her fingers and started to speak,

"I, Cassian, swear to love, to cherish, and to protect you, when you actually need it," he added with a smirk, and Nesta had to hold back a fit of giggles, "I swear to love you through the best and worst the world can throw at us." With the official words said, he continued to add his own, "I never knew what was coming that day I first met you, Nes, when we arrived to ask for help, and I didn't find just a human woman, but an Illyrian without her wings, honestly I think I started falling right then, and kept falling with everything since. It didn't take long for me to figure out what you were to me, but long before that, I'd already decided that I wanted you, just you, mate or not, and I cannot thank the Cauldron enough that it saw fit to bless us with that bond." Nesta blinked tears out of her eyes, losing track of the murmurs around them, "You, Nesta, are everything I could have possibly dreamed of, and more besides, your courage, your strength, I don't know what I would have done without you at this point, I knew full well that I loved you when you refused to back down, when you made sure to protect your family from anything you thought was a threat, even me," Nesta let out a little chuckle at that,

"You didn't exactly correct me," she laughed,

"I'm not finished, Nes, it's your turn in a minute," she snorted, but allowed him to finish, "I have loved you through everything, but I never once believed that you could return that love and I promise, Nesta, that I will continue to love you until my last breath and beyond." Nesta couldn't stop the tears now flooding down her face, and thanked the Mother for Feyre's shield to protect her make-up from ruination. When he finished, she took a few breaths before beginning her own vows,

"I, Nesta Archeron, swear to love, to cherish, and protect you, because gods know you do need it." Nesta grinned at the mutterings among the few Illyrians chosen to represent their people at her changed vows, never 'obey', not for them, never for them, protect, yes, but never obey. "I swear to love you though the best and worst the world can throw at us." She grinned again when Cassian laughed, "I knew I loved you when I feared I might lose you, and I was so scared that you wouldn't want my love, that I didn't deserve yours, but thank the Cauldron that you reached me, I really don't know what I would have done this past year without you, and I love you more than I ever thought it was possible to love anyone. I promise to love you until my last breath and beyond, until this world is nothing but a forgotten whisper of dust between the stars, until whatever end, I will love you."

Nesta's vision was still blurred as Emerie stepped to her side, handing her a ring, its partner in Cassian's hand as Azriel stepped back. She let her tears fall as Cassian slipped the ring onto her finger, a beautiful red stone capturing the light, surrounded by seven smaller silver ones, the reverse true of the one she placed on Cassian's finger.

"The red stone is hewn form my siphons," he murmured, "So that I'll always be by your side, I had them made specially," Nesta had no words as she held his gaze,

"Now, Lord and Lady Archeron, I declare you husband and wife now-" Nesta couldn't wait any longer, surging towards Cassian and showing him how she felt in the only way she really knew how. Rhys sighed as she wrapped her arms around his neck, "Do that, I guess,"

"Sorry, Rhys," Cassian chuckled when he stepped back, keeping a hold of Nesta's right hand as they both turned to face Rhys, taking the twin biscuits offered by Feyre and Elain. Nesta had insisted on the biscuits, just for the look on Cassian's face when he realized what she'd made,

"Witch," he muttered,

"Brute," she responded, breaking off a bit of the biscuit to feed him, hoping desperately that it tasted alright, but relaxed when he fed her piece of the other one, it was okay, nothing like Elain's cooking, but it was hers, she'd made it, for him. Cassian held her gaze as Rhys cleared his throat, the black ribbon in his hands the final piece they needed, the last thing before they could be declared officially mated.

Nesta wasn't sure that her heart was beating as he tied it around their joined hands, grinning, even when he met Nesta's eyes. Her brother, that was what he was, even more now, and she smiled at him as Cassian swept her into his arms to carry her back down the aisle,

"I can walk," she laughed,

"I know, I want to carry you," he laughed,

"Oh really, husband,"

"Yes, wife, I wouldn't want you trip, it's bad luck you know," Nesta laughed again as Cassian stepped outside, the first day of the rest of their lives, that's exactly what this was, and she wasn't scared anymore.

[angelicamerlinbarnes]

TUA PIRATE AU

(of the Caribbean? Sort of? I guess?)

(please understand that by AU, I mean they share an incredibly small amount of things in common with the original source material which I barely remember BUT the “story” takes place in the setting of the books/films) (not to be misleading or anything :p)

(BEWARE: abuse, murder, pirates and all of their violent shenanigans, etc.)

(If you can handle watching Umbrella Academy, this will be fine for you.)

Luther is the captain of the guard, and pirates are the bane of his existence. He hates Diego most of all, the man who’s stolen unspeakable amounts of gold from Reginald, Luther’s employer. But as annoyed he is at all of the theft, he purposefully never catches Diego, because he knows Klaus loves him. And Luther may be a man of the law, but he’s also Klaus’ beloved brother-in-spirit, even if Reginald wants them to marry each other for some idiotic reason. (Something about getting Klaus to settle down - ha, he can try.) When Klaus disappears, Luther follows him, having no connections left here - and that’s when he meets Allison. And there are copious laws against getting involved with married women and outlaws alike… so Luther starts to think that maybe bending the rules wouldn’t be so bad. (Klaus is so proud.)

Diego grew up poor, and became a pirate in his early teens when Grace took him in. When she fled the colony, Diego went with her, leaving his childhood best friend Klaus behind. He’s got his own fleet and crew now, and mostly uses his scores as excuses to flirt with Klaus, who’s still just as drawn to him after all these years and often sneaks him into his bedroom when Diego’s in town. Diego’s kept in close touch with Lila and Eudora, both of whom he grew up with once Grace took him away, and they both help him when it comes time for him to crash Klaus’ wedding to Luther (fuck you dude) and steal Klaus away for a life at sea. (Klaus absolutely LOVES this. They kiss a lot. They swing from ropes. Klaus is screaming at all the guards as Diego carries him away bridal-style (ha, I’m so funny). It is delightful.) (His ship is a terror they call The Kraken. Ha, get it? Get it - because Diego’s name - and the monster from legend - okay yeah I’ll shut up now.)

Allison is a badass goddess, covered in colorful tattoos with gold in her hair. She was a prostitute for awhile, stealing a bunch along the way, but one day one of the pirate captains who approached her tried to take more than he paid for. She broke both his hands and killed him in cold blood, then defeated his entire crew in a sword fight single-handedly, earning their respect. She now rides with that same crew as their captain, in one of those off-the-shoulder poet-blouse-corset dresses and high brown boots. Ray is a leutinant who’s been chasing her for years, the two of them flirting back and forth forever… but he’ll never catch her. It’s bad form to arrest your wife.

Klaus is the governor’s bastard son, a totally wild spirit who wears dresses all the time, drinks his weight at parties, and has slept with half the town (marriage is not a problem for him, this is Klaus, we all know he is very down for threesomes). He’s stolen half of Reginald’s shit for Diego over the years, and has been sneaking off to see him just as long, completely in love with his pirate king. Though he’s loved others before - Dave, for example, a soldier whose death broke Klaus into give in to Reginald’s plan to marry him off to Luther (who Klaus loves, just, Not Like That™). The day Diego kidnaps him from his own wedding is the best fucking day of his life - okay, no it wasn’t. That was second best. The best day of his life was the day he and Diego watched Diego’s ship and treasure burn and sink into the sea, and Klaus asked him if he was alright, and Diego just shrugged. Said, You’re the only treasure I need, and kissed him like the world was ending. Yeah. That was the best day of his life, because Diego is the best anything in his life.

Five was a pirate queen until he transitioned a few years ago, though only by word of mouth. No one’s ever seen him. Anyone who works for him doesn’t make it a month outside of the job, usually by his own hands, but people keep coming because nobody knows who he is. He sails alone, though he offers Klaus refuge on his boat for a few days under the moniker Aidan, because he knows Diego loves him, and Five actually respects Diego (if only because he respects Lila who he only respects because he respects Eudora). He hates the Handler for leaving him stranded on an island when he was just a child, an unwanted product of her crew’s hard partying, and has vowed to kill her one day for leaving him alone for so long, ageless in misery. He talks to the mermaid on the front of his ship named Dolores and kills without mercy, and when he finally reveals himself as this skinny pale thirteen-year-old with the grandpa haircut, he revels in the looks on his family’s faces as they try to rebuild their blown brain circuits.

Ben loves Klaus more than life itself, which is, in hindsight, probably why he’s dead. Oh who is he kidding, it’s definitely why he’s dead. Klaus is sort of, kind of, maybe, just a little bit a witch, and they hang witches where they’re from. So when they needed someone to blame for the odd happenings Klaus had caused recently, Ben had taken the blame and worn the noose proudly. Klaus still talks to him all the time, his ghost anyway, and it’s fine - but Klaus lives on the sea now, with Diego, and Ben gets seasick like all the time. (And then he steals Davy Jones’ heart and gets trapped as a tentacle monster, which is honestly not that bad. It helps him scare birds, and Ben likes scaring birds.)

Vanya works as the blacksmith’s apprentice, sad and lonely. She’s been having an affair with the duchess Sissy for years, also working as her maid and a nanny for her son Harlan when asked, but mostly she’s alone, with no one else to care for in the world. (And that creep officer Leonard keeps asking her to marry him, which, just. Ew.) When Five shows up, his hands in his pockets, and offers her a way out, well - what else could she possibly do?

Lila is a badass pirate princess who don’t take no shit from anybody. She wears bright pink ballgowns while skewering people like kabobs, which is funny because she’s a well-known maneater. Literally. (Yes I included a Hannibal character in here because it’s my AU and I can do whatever the fuck I want.) She fell in love with Eudora, and thought she had corrupted the kind sergeant until she found out Eudora had been an undercover pirate the whole time, helping Diego smuggle Reginald’s gold and goods in and out of port. (That’s hot as fucking hell, she blurts when she realizes. Fuck, I’m gonna marry this woman.) She has a serious rum problem she will not be addressing and a collection of pet parrots that will forever prevent her and Ben from becoming friends. When she and Eudora get married, it’s in the middle of the pouring rain while thunder and lightning and gunshots crack around them and they’re killing people and shooting canons left and right (because I may not have shipped Will and Elizabeth but by god if their wedding wasn’t the best fucking thing I’ve ever seen). Now if only she could find the king of the pirates… she’s been hunting Five for years, hoping to prove herself to him, but he just… won’t show up.

Eudora is the sergeant in Reginald’s legions, and has been using her position to help Diego pirate goods since before he even left with Grace. She makes a lot of deals with him, having him carry her cargo and speak with her connections in exchange for her keeping an eye on Klaus for him, which to be honest they both know she’d do anyway. She helped Diego get to Klaus’ wedding and kidnap him, confusing the soldiers in pursuit of the bride, and follows them off to sea, finally home. She feels she owes an eternal debt to Klaus for not being able to save Ben from execution, though she tried, almost desperately. She flirts with Lila all the damn time, and believes in magic, wanting to travel the world looking for it. Most importantly, you should know that she will and has killed for a cheeseburger. (I know they weren’t invented yet shut up.)

Reginald is the governor of the colony, and Klaus’ father. He’s an asshole, one who constantly hunts the pirates because his wife Grace left him to be one. He only has one eye because Grace cut the other out viciously in their last fight, and he’s an abusive piece of shit who lives to terrorize and tax people. Pogo is his assistant / advisor / let-me-stand-here-and-give-you-good-advice-that-we-all-know-you’ll-ignore person. Reginald refuses to die before he catches Grace and sees her hanging in the square - something that seems more and more likely by the day. (HA, Grace says. He wishes.)

Grace is the original pirate queen, and lives in legend. She faked her death after living a double life for years, leaving Reginald and taking her son Diego with her. She knows Reginald doesn’t believe in her death, because she cut his eye out and nearly killed him right before she left, but everyone else believes it. She jumped from the bell tower and Klaus himself “went mad with grief” at the sight of her body, though he of course knows she’s alive and keeps up the story for her benefit. She injured Reginald so severely because he killed Ben, knowing that he wasn’t guilty, and that the witch in question had done nothing wrong anyway. She is known to be fiercely protective of her children, and kind in nature despite her ability to kill you using a historic number of methods. Her crew is made up of refugees who she offered shelter and a better life in exchange for their servitude, including Five, for awhile, who was running a scam. She knows who he is, and remembers his face well - but she keeps it to herself. Though she could match him in a fight easily, she has no interest in battling the boy she has grown to love as a son. (She’s also the one who officiates Diego and Klaus’ wedding, but that’s unrelated.)

The Handler is another pirate queen, and Grace’s greatest rival. She has two pistols at her waist and is not afraid to use them, having such deadly aim that she’s never missed a target - except Diego, which she hates him for. Also for encouraging her first mate and daughter Lila to mutiny, but that’s a whole other can of worms. Her ship is followed by an entire shiver of sharks, who let her use them like water skis whenever she wants. She abandoned Five on an island when he was born into her crew, as she hates children with a burning passion. (There are rumors she eats little boys’ bones. They have yet to be disproven.) Hazel is her snivelling first mate and Cha-Cha is her willing servant and second captain, a master at the wheel and with a sword. Agnes is an old psychic (ha, she’s faking it. She’s got no fuckin’ clue where Five is and will continue to lie whenever asked) she keeps in the brig after kidnapping her years ago, hoping to get a read on Five, who the Handler hates for constantly stealing her goods before they even make it to port. (She has no idea he’s the same boy she left on that island all those years ago - he’s certainly not the only child she’s done that to. But countless are out for her blood… almost every person Grace has rescued was left to die on an island by the Handler.) She eventually dies at Klaus’ hand, who plunges a sword through her heart in defense of his family, who she made the fatal mistake of coming after. (It happened in the same rainy battle where Lila and Eudora were married. He was wearing a yellow ballgown.)

Also Jack Sparrow is super great friends with Lila and he’s married to Will Turner who’s honestly so exhausted but gets along great with Ben and Elizabeth is their ace-aro friend who is a goddamn queen and who Diego has a lowkey crush on and Klaus can geek out with for hours. It’s awesome.

[allycryz]

WOL Challenge #4: Outrage

[Prompt List Here]

[Filled Prompt List Here]

Haurchefant-focused so not entering/tagging, spoilers for HW and start of ShB

Pairings:  Mild Estinien x Haurchefant, Background Haurchefant x Nerys and Haurchefant x Urianger

Rating: G

Summary: Snapshots in Haurchefant’s journey from Knight to Emissary 

Mild warnings for other knights taunting him over his parentage

"Next time, I shall fetch our drinks." Haurchefant says, watching Aymeric's slow progress across the floor. Each time he is about to break free and return to their table, someone else hails him. And he cannot help but exchange pleasantries. Darling, infuriating man.

"You are as bad as he," Estinien mutters. "Worse even, because you might abandon us for a pretty smile."

"I would never abandon my friends so!" Haurchefant wears mock indignation to cover his actual indignation. He would never be so rude.

He would at least deliver the drinks before being led away by the pretty smile. 

"Politicians both of you," Estinien says. "I do not understand how you know all these people."

"Me? Perish the thought." Haurchefant waves a hand. "I am simply interested in everyone. That is different."

"Hm." Estinien continues to glower. Irritated that of the two friends he has allowed himself to make, one has abandoned them. Haurchefant has tried to remedy that but Estinien is resistant to more connections. Stubborn, darling man.

"Really," he continues. "Give me a blade and shield over politicking. Besides, they are subject to all sorts of scrutiny and I have had enough of that, thank you."

"Fair. You would not like being so circumspect."

"One of these days..." Haurchefant grins. "You are going to learn how not to insult people so often."

"What? How was that an insult?"

"I’m not offended so never you mind. Is the scrutiny why you haven't seduced Aymeric yet?"

At that, the tips of Estinien's ears turn red. "Never you mind that. It is as likely as you becoming a politician."

"On that you are utterly wrong." Haurchefant shakes his head. "He will end up in your bed by year's end but I will always be a knight."

--

The day he becomes a true knight is the day he swears himself to Ishgard, before Blessed Halone, before the other knights and nobility and his family. To serve his country and The Fury for the rest of his life. To uphold the laws of Ishgard. To protect the weak and defenseless. To serve the Fury’s chosen including the Archbishop and the servants of her church.

For all that they are men now, for all that they all took the same vows, for all that they squired and trained and rose up together; the knights of noble birth treat him as they always have.

“Edmont Oathbreaker,” says one of the Dzemael lordlings. He speaks to three other knights but pitches his voice to be heard across the barracks. “Swore to forsake all others when he took his lady. That lasted until they hired a maid prettier than the Countess.”

Haurchefant continues polishing his armor, keeping the same bland smile upon his face. If he reacts, they will narrow in like wolves scenting blood. And not since he was a boy has he responded to these taunts with fists.

It was this one’s cousin. He thinks, glancing at the lordling with his placid expression. Haurchefant had bloodied Grinnaux’s nose and his father had made him swear never to react so again. But one small victory–Grinnaux treated him with a begrudging respect thereafter.

“Someone should cut his tongue out,” Estinien growls. “And my new dagger needs testing.”

“Peace,” says Haurchefant. “Believe me, I have heard far, far worse.”

“That does not make it right.” And he rises with clear intent in his gaze. Haurchefant clasps his wrist, shaking his head.

“My friend, I am glad to have your loyalty. Will you do me the favor of standing down?”

Estinien looks at him a long moment before sitting down. “Bah! Only nobies care which side of the bed you were born on.”

Darling, fierce man. “I am, despite everything, a noble as well.”

“I don’t hold it against you.” Estinien says in the deadpan way he favors for jokes. And before Haurchefant can laugh, he adds. “You’re twice the knight he is.”

Haurchefant swallows the sudden burst of emotion that forms in his throat. His friend is not given to flattery or platitudes. “That...means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

Estinien grunts and returns to his own armor. This time, Haurchefant’s smile is true and genuine. He will do his best to be worthy of such praise. 

--

Artoirel flicks him an acknowledging glance before returning to his papers, writing something in his perfect hand. Of the three sons, he is the only one who takes after their father in neat penmanship. 

Standing at attention is still a trial. Who knew the body was so interconnected–that the acts of walking and standing could hurt while your shoulder healed? He has been through far worse pain and manages but...would that he could stand without discomfort.

“Emmanellain acquit himself well at the Melee.” Artoirel says at last, looking up. “Please, have a seat.”

Haurchefant nods and tries not to show his relief as he sits. “He did. I’m quite proud of him.”

“So am I.” A rare, soft expression crosses Artoirel’s face. Haurchefant often misses the cheerful, mischievous older brother who collected beetles and smuggled him toys. It is nice to see him again. “And...I had a notion. But I would like your approval first.”

“My approval? Would you like him to serve under my command then?” If he even can command any time in the next few months. Ser Zephirin’s lance was no common weapon, thus the healing takes an uncommon amount of time.

“Ah.” Artoirel sits up straighter. “That is the thing. It hasn’t escaped my notice that you would like to join up with Mistre-with Nerys. And it occurs to me...Emmanellain needs purpose, needs structure.”

He connects the lines and it is at once terrifying, exciting, infuriating, and thrilling. What can he even say to such a proposal? Words fail him.

“Of course, we would have a long talk with Corentiaux about it. I’ve no doubt he would be the true leader until Emmanellain caught up to speed. And there is the matter of your vows.”

“My vows?” Haurchefant repeats. “...you’re right. I swore myself to Ishgard and The Fury. No, as much as I desire to fight at her side, I cannot break my word to join the Scions. Especially not now.”

Haurchefant is all too aware of the fraught threads connecting everyone and everything. He has to navigate them as Commander, as a noble, as one of the famous bastards of Ishgard. And now–as he watches his country rebuild itself–the networks of Ishgardian alliances and feuds resemble powder kegs more than anything.  

Looking up, he continues. “I cannot ask to be released from my vows. Not when Aymeric has just been elected Speaker. We know I support him but we also know some might twist it around. ‘Look, even Greystone thinks the new Ishgard will fail. No wonder he is leaving.’”

“I know. That’s why I have an idea.”

“...Go on.”

Out comes an official document, marked with Artoirel’s own signet ring. Haurchefant reads it over once. Frowns and reads it again. This is...wholly unexpected. 

“Is this a promotion or a demotion?” 

“Call it a promotion.”

A promotion. From Lord Commander to House Fortemps Emissary to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. Charged with protecting the interests of the Wards of House Fortemps; overseeing all negotiations between the Scions of the Seventh Dawn and House Fortemps; strengthening inter-Alliance relationships between Ishgard and the rest of Eorzea.

“Oh Fury,” he says. “You’re turning me into a politician.”

When Estinien comes back, he will never let Haurchefant live this down.

--

The Ostall Imperative feels like home. 

 The soldiers take to him and he to them. Captain Lyna is a charming, lovely woman and an excellent training partner. It is far more rewarding than stewing at the Crystarium. Hoping the Exarch brings Nerys soon but also hoping he does not. Would that he had a fraction of her power. Haurchefant might deal with these Lightwardens in her stead.

The Exarch summons him to The Ocular and he dares not hope for...anything, truly. Better to go in with no expectations with this one. He thinks Y’shtola had the right idea, departing as she did.

He is being unkind. He does not like being unkind. 

But he also does not like the idea of these souls in peril–Y’shtola, Thancred, his beloved Urianger–and that he may not see Nerys again. Or that he will, only to send her against horrific creatures of light and terror. And what of her soul? 

When he sees that it’s Alphinaud, he is beyond unkind. He is furious. 

Everything else was bad enough but this is a boy, his family’s ward. One who has wisdom beyond his years and responsibilities equal to those twice his age but still. Alphinaud is just a lad. What if something happens to his soul?

His body may still be in Garlemald!

Haurchefant hugs him fiercely, startling him. Alphinaud makes a faintly strangled noise before returning the embrace. More tightly than he ever has before. Little wonder: when last they saw each other, their ship went down and Haurchefant’s soul left his body.

“You’re...you’re here? But you were…” Alphinaud shakes his head. “Maxima was supposed to bring you home.”

“He did.” He does have the Exarch to thank, for confirming his body made it back to the Rising Stones. “I am in Mor Dhona. And my soul is...here.”

“Of course. My apologies, I am still wrapping my brain about what has happened.”

“If I may interrupt,” the Exarch says. “There are a few things else you should know before we send you to a room and a meal.”

“Before that…” Haurchefant looks up. “Kindly use your powers of sight and tell us how his body fares.”

“It’s alright, friend.” It’s Alphinaud who speaks. Puts a comforting hand on his arm. “The Exarch assures me that my traveling companions are returning my body.”

“Your companions,” he repeats. “Gaius van Baelsar, you mean.”

“You know?”

“The Exarch has kept me informed since my arrival here.” It is one of the constants since his arrival a year prior–asking for updates about his friends and loves still on The Source.

“Yes, I mean Gaius. It’s alright.” Alphinaud walks over to the Exarch. “Pray, continue ser. What else should I know?”

The boy receives the same explanation they all had: what is to come, what they are planning for, where the other Scions are. Haurchefant remains quiet except to add clarifying details here and there. It is far too much for anyone to process but as usual, Alphinaud does admirably. When he is dismissed, the Exarch asks Haurchefant to stay behind.

“How may I be of service?” Haurchefant asks, not quite modulating his tone. Urianger has asked him to trust the Exarch and for him, Haurchefant would do anything. He truly would. But he pictures Alphinaud, collapsed in Garlemald among strangers, and wants to fight through time and space to reach the Source and rescue him. Laws of nature and the universe be damned.

“As I said,” the Exarch says, voice gentle. “Gaius will bring him home.”

“Keep me apprised, if you please. I do not trust the Black Wolf, no matter that he is Ascian Hunter now.” Bending his vows to topple the archbishop had not made Haurchefant love Ishgard any less. Gaius’ alliance is to the Garlean Empire until proven otherwise.

“I have need of you, Lord Haurchefant.” The Exarch inclines his head, one hand over his breast. “You have done great things with my guard. But what I need is to know what type of world we send the Warrior into. We need alliances to ease her way.”

“...Ah.” Haurchefant nods. “You do not need the Knight. You need the Emissary.”

“I need both. You are an honest man because you are a knight. And that is also why you are an excellent emissary–you see people as they are, you discern their motives in order to know if you need to protect your loved ones.”

“You flatter me, ser.”

“I tell the truth,” says the Exarch. “Please, I know this situation is fraught and you want to get home. The more we prepare, the quicker I send you all home safe and sound. She deserves-”

“She deserves everything,” says Haurchefant. “And I would do anything to help her and protect her. If that means playing this role, then yes I will do this for you.”

Beneath the hood, he sees a hint of a smile. “We are in agreement, Lord Haurchefant.”

“If I may...I would like to see to Alphinaud. Shall we discuss this another time?”

“Of course. Tomorrow morning?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Haurchefant agrees. Enough time to see to the boy. And then make his farewells to Lyna and the rest of the guard.  Being with them is the most himself he has felt in a long while.

He hopes he can return soon.

[wangxiangiftexchange]

Winter Solstice Gift for lanerose23

This is super self-indulgent but hopefully entertaining too. I’ve tried to not stray beyond the cultural lanes established in the drama, but if I’ve erred or overstepped, please let me know so I can be better. Also, I obsessively watched the show on, like, five different platforms with five different sets of subtitles, so this is sort of a medley of names/translations that seemed to flow best in this tale.

For @lanerose23 for the Wangxian Winter Solstice Gift Exchange. I tried to come through on bunnies, fluff, happy endings, and "safe, sane" sexy times! Happy holidays! <3

Read On AO3

*****

The Great Bird's Promise

Inside his shell, he heard the promise. The great bird said that she would deliver them to families who would love them.

Her wings spanned the width of the sky, beak as large as the sun, as she flew with a basket in her talons. Within the woven bamboo jostled the eggs of every living species on Earth—humans, still new and learning to walk upon the soil; fish and lizards and snakes and the old species who had made this world their own.

A heavy wind blew from a mountain that had not been so tall the day before, for they were growing, too. It shook the bird’s massive feathers, shuddering her expansive wings. She dodged the gust, greeted the new mountain, and didn’t notice when a single egg dropped from her basket.

This one lonely egg plummeted through empty sky and landed in the thatch of a pine tree. The branches reached out from the cliff, sparse and cascading. The egg trembled and began to hatch.

The creature inside, naked, blind, heart beating fast with what could be called excitement and what could be called fear, was called a rabbit.

The huge unblinking eyes of a snowy owl watched the eggshell fall away to expose the fragile form inside. The tiny hairless thing that was called rabbit did not, right now, look like one. He shivered in cold mountain breezes. “Will you love me?” the rabbit asked, for he had heard the great bird’s promise.

The snowy owl pondered this. “If you’re silent,” he answered, fluttering on his perch, “and always stand tall and elegant and do just as I do.”

He would, the rabbit vowed inside. He would forever and ever.

___________

The silences of Cloud Recesses were all wrong. Wuxian turned fitfully on the fine bed with its fine pillows and missed the sounds of Lotus Pier, the insects chirping and fishermen casting nets with soft splashes. Plus, he wasn’t tired. It was barely night and already everything had been shut up tight. He was tempted to break out, perhaps sneak to Nie Huaisang’s quarters and invite him into some mischief, but thoughts of Shijie’s disappointment kept him inside this time.

He wondered where Lan Zhan slept; he was probably already deep asleep in twenty layers and rigid from head to toe, pretty and perfect as an ice sculpture. He’d heard that Lan Zhan played guqin and he’d heard Lan Zhan was already one of the best. Wuxian wanted to hear him play and see what he could learn from the methods. Or maybe he just wanted to watch him play, elegant and handsome and stone-faced.

Wuxian turned onto his back with a groan. It was annoying that Lan Zhan was so attractive. It was annoying that Wuxian couldn’t stop thinking about him. Surely, Lan Zhan would be so boring to touch, he thought, surely it would be like kissing a dead fish, but he couldn’t really believe it because he’d seen Lan Zhan fight. He was fierce and intense and intelligent and appealing, so obnoxiously, effortlessly appealing. If they could have fooled around weeks ago like he’d wanted, Wuxian wouldn’t be in this situation. He grumbled and turned onto his stomach again.

“Wei Wuxian! Go to sleep,” Jiang Cheng growled from his bed. “I can’t sleep with you flopping around!”

Wuxian pouted at him in response, but he tried to lay still. He closed his eyes, settled his head on his pillow, and tried to sleep. He tried to not think of Lan Zhan.

Courtyards away and hours later, Wangji sat poised in meditation, incense a lazy curl of smoke around him. Today’s lectures would begin soon. Today, as every other day, Wangji vowed to be the example Uncle expected of him.

Back straight, hands atop his knees, he breathed evenly, a rhythm as familiar as Inquiry. He appeared as placid as a frozen lake in winter.

Inwardly, he thrashed. He tried to focus on the thrum of his golden core, but instead thought of a bright toothy smile and a laugh that echoed off the Cloud Recesses quiet walls. Wei Wuxian, who broke all wards. Wangji wanted to fight him. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to silence him. He wanted to hear his every thought. He wanted him to leave and never come back. He wanted him to stay and never go. He wanted to avoid him. He wanted to find him.

He wanted. He wanted. He wanted and he hated wanting. Wanting opened a cavern inside him that he couldn’t fill. Wanting stoked hungers he had no intention of feeding. He would extinguish them forever if he could. He wanted to look upon Wei Wuxian, his smiles, his talents, his body, his brilliance and rebellion, and feel nothing. Instead, the gaping wound of want split open inside him, spilling desire all through him, melting the ice of him. Filling him with want.

Outwardly, Wangji’s little finger tremored on his knee.

___________

The rabbit felt so proud when his fur grew in white and downy as owl feathers. With the owls, the rabbit stood as tall as he could and thought how striking they must look together, though he was still quite small.

But when the owls took to the air, he couldn’t follow. When they returned with beaks full of creatures that were no bigger than he, the rabbit felt queasy. The elegant snowy owl blinked knowing eyes at him and the rabbit understood.

He carefully descended the towering pine tree, the only home he’d known, and began searching for where he belonged.

Soon, the rabbit found a little gathering of field mice. Hope bloomed inside him. They were even smaller than he was! They couldn’t fly through the air and wouldn’t return with beaks full of meat.

“Will you love me?” he asked, gazing into tiny black eyes. The mouse’s nose twitched a little like his, whiskers bouncing as she looked him over.

“If you stay small,” the field mouse answered, “and you never scare us and you never, ever get angry.”

The rabbit eagerly nodded. He never felt anger and he was so little, with no wings or beak, so how could he ever be scary?

___________

Wuxian felt pride and embarrassment in equal measure as he led Lan Zhan around the settlement built by Wen hands and the wards forged with his blood. He’d seen the difficult scrabble of pulling together even these comforts, to make gardens of graveyards and homes among bones. But with Lan Zhan, Hanguang-Jun, beside him so bright and so beautiful, it was impossible not to see it through new eyes. How gray and horrible all this must seem to one raised in the glorious Cloud Recesses. How repulsed Lan Zhan must feel, he thought.

Wangji was not repulsed, but his heart ached, for this did not seem a way for anyone to live. Yet the grayness of the landscape did not scare him like the grayness of Wei Ying’s skin.

“Let’s go,” Wei Ying said, voice on the wind. “I’ll walk you down the mountain.”

They moved side by side back toward the crumbling entry enforced by fearsome power. The infrequent bump of their shoulders reminded Wuxian of happier days spent pretending they were like Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen, bound only by their shared ideals. He wondered, though, if they shared ideals anymore. No regrets, they’d pledged; to live with a clear conscience. Wuxian had no regrets, not really, and he felt cursed by that. He was rigidly ruled by his own unflinching moral compass. He longed sometimes to be someone who could turn away. Life would be simpler, he was sure, if he could only close his eyes and fall into the shared delusion of clear lines, protect our own and only our own, and the black/white thinking of others. Instead, he felt trapped awake, eyes open, poisoned by the horrors hidden within those comforting platitudes. He felt terribly, achingly alone.

“Is there anyone who can give me a bright future path that is easy to go on?” Wei Ying asked and Wangji had no answer. He didn’t understand why Wei Ying had abandoned the sword, but he could recognize now that the power granted him by this disturbing path was immense, more immense than even a prodigious swordsman like Wei Ying could accomplish with Suibian. And immense power was needed to protect the Wen against the clans.

“Let yourself judge what is right and what is wrong, let others decide to praise or to blame, let gains and losses remain uncommented on,” Wei Ying said sadly, certainly. “I know what I should be doing. I also believe I can control it.”

Behind his eyes Wangji felt the press of tears. He wanted to weep in a way he’d not done since he was a child and had never done with any witness but his brother. That radiant, infuriating boy who had lodged himself in Wangji’s heart was bleeding himself dry for others and Wangji could do nothing but admire him for it. It felt thick in his throat, like any word out of his mouth might come carried on a sob.

“Brother, Brother.” A weight, now familiar, crashed against his legs. “Brother, are you not going to stay and eat with us today?”

Wangji looked down at A-Yuan’s bright eyes and soft cheeks. How could he argue with anything Wei Ying did to protect this boy? How could any action to that end be wrong? The questions burnt and knifed inside him against 3,000 rules he knew like his heartbeat. Three thousand rules that conflicted with one another and yet screamed that he should not be here and he should not care for Wei Ying.

Wei Ying lifted the boy into his arms, making Lan Zhan’s excuses for him. “A-Yuan, this brother here already has food waiting for him at home. He won’t be staying.”

“But I heard a secret earlier,” A-Yuan said. “They said that there was lots of good food today.”

“A-Yuan,” Wuxian scolded, but then fell silent. He had never given much thought to being a parent, but the weight of a child in his arms resonated with something primal inside him. It made him feel gentle and fierce. And to see A-Yuan take to Lan Zhan stirred something else inside him, something he was scared to name because he could never deserve it.

Wei Ying turned to him. Wangji expected him to repeat his explanations, give his silence words as he so often did, but instead, Wei Ying looked at him with an expression he’d never seen before. He wasn’t joking, flirting, arguing, or cajoling. He was just...open, holding a child and looking at him, hopeful.

“I’m leaving,” Wangji said and pulled himself away from that look on Wei Ying’s face. He would wonder until the end of his days what might have been different if he’d stayed.

___________

The field mice adored him, for a time. That he was small made them feel safe. That he ate only green things gave them comfort. But not always, and not enough. They were afraid because he was still bigger, mistrustful because he’d lived among owls, and it wore on the rabbit. He tried to never be angry, even when their suspicious looks made him feel that way.

“You have to leave,” the little mouse told him one day, the same one who’d once allowed him to stay. “Your jumping is too scary and we told you not to be scary.”

He only jumped like that when he was happy, but the rabbit didn’t try to explain; he just left.

After days alone, the rabbit awoke to a vibration, like the world might split open beneath him. It came in slow, steady beats—thump...thump...thump. He hopped to investigate and saw enormous grey-bellied elephants with long trunks and huge flapping ears that swatted the flies away.

They’re so big, the rabbit thought with joy. They’d never be frightened of me.

The elephants settled around a watering hole to drink their fill. Some lounged in the water, washing away the dust coating their thick hides, and the littles ones who were still so much larger than the rabbit played silly games that made him smile.

He politely ventured close to an old matriarch with wise eyes. “Will you love me?” he asked.

She turned in his direction, searching the empty air until she found the tiny origin of the tiny voice. She took in his twitching ears and quivering whiskers. “If you don’t get scared,” she said, “and you help us to lift big trees, find tall grasses, and always stay loyal.”

The rabbit nodded because he wanted to be and do all those things.

___________

Uncle saved his life with his punishment.

He was meant to suffer and reflect on his wrongdoings. And Wangji did suffer. He did reflect. But the flayed flesh on his back was nothing compared to the flaying in his heart. In fact, it was comforting, somehow, to hurt as much on the outside as he did inside. It put Wangji’s pain somewhere it could bleed.

The Yiling Laozu fell with only one hand reaching out to him, and that hand reached out too late. Too late. Too late to change anything.

He cared for A-Yuan, but selfishly the boy wasn’t enough. Wen Yuan had a clan now, he would be safe and fed without Wangji around. Wangji didn’t want to be around. He wanted to be free of this hurt, of this loss, of existing in a world without Wei Ying, surrounded only by those who had betrayed him. Including himself, including the beating heart in his chest.

The pain gave him focus. He read the rules and found those he’d violated. He found those he wished he had. He reflected. He reflected. He reflected and accepted that he was in love with Wei Ying, he always would be, and he should have been by his side. The recognition came in a wave, followed by a soul-deep exhale, like the release during meditation or a gasp after almost drowning.

The Cold Pond Cave cooled the fires of him, but not the way Uncle intended. Wangji didn’t regret his misbehavior, only his inaction. He didn’t regret his words, only his silences. And when he accepted these truths, the turbulence in his mind froze clear and solid. He’d loved Wei Ying. He’d failed Wei Ying. He’d wanted to protect Wei Ying. He could protect A-Yuan. He could love A-Yuan.

As the truths solidified in his heart, power thrummed in his core like a yoke had been thrown off. Energy filled him from toes to fingertips to the ends of his hair. The world perceived his affection for Wei Wuxian as his only weakness. Wangji learned in that moment that his love, immortal and infinite, was his strength.

___________

The rabbit had promised to not be scared, but he felt so afraid dodging heavy elephant feet that could crush him. When he rode on their backs, he felt scared to be so high for he remembered the flying things that ate little things like him. He couldn’t help lift big trees, or even the small ones, and they lost him when they strode in tall grasses. The matriarch scooped him up in a mouthful and nearly ate him, even though elephants don’t eat rabbits.

He didn’t stay long with them, though he loved the silly games of the babies and the huge flapping ears of the elders.

He wandered and soon met a tortoise, its thick skin familiar from the elephants, its size just right—not so big as the elephants, not so small as the field mice. “Will you love me?” he asked the tortoise with his hulking shell and narrow eyes.

The tortoise sniffed at him. “If you can keep up,” he said, and continued on his path.

The rabbit happily hopped beside him, only to discover he’d left the tortoise far behind. Oh, dear no, thought the rabbit, this won’t work at all. He thanked the tortoise for his kindness and continued on alone.

___________

When he left the cave, having lost three years with A-Yuan, he let the regret scatter like leaves in the certainty brought by this new, engulfing spiritual power. Three years earlier, he would have met the boy full of ferocity and self-destruction. That was no way to love a child.

Wangji had been raised beside someone’s anger; he would not wish that for A-Yuan, his Sizhui, who looked plump-cheeked and happy in his pale Lan robes. In the mornings, Wangji combed his hair and helped him fasten his ribbon across his smooth forehead. Sometimes, tongue poking out in concentration, Sizhui helped Wangji with his in turn.

Wangji couldn’t decide if it was blessing or curse that Sizhui, Xian-gege’s A-Yuan, had no memories of him. It left Wangji alone to grieve the dreaded, well-dead Yiling Laozu, Wei Wuxian. But left him alone to bear that bittersweet pain, too. To wish memory on a boy who’d already suffered felt selfish. Better that Sizhui start here in the embrace of GusuLan, in Wangji’s embrace.

Sizhui sat on his lap, even when he was too old and too tall for it. Wangji allowed it. The boy tugged on the strings of his guqin and giggled at the trembling twang. It seemed they both needed this, an extended autumn of youth after a parched summer; forging—or perhaps re-forging—a bond made one magical afternoon that only one of them remembered.

At 12, Sizhui was proper, good looking, and hard working. His aptitude with the guqin gave Wangji stirrings of fate—would this talent have been discovered in a Wen? he wondered. Wangji traveled often, on quests he could barely admit to himself, and when he returned, his first visit was always from Sizhui, even before his brother or his uncle. The boy would seek him out, no matter the hour he returned. It was an indulgence Wangji couldn’t deny either of them.

The sun had just crested the horizon, spilling into the rebuilt shadows of Cloud Recesses.

“I don’t know how we’re meant to obey all of them all the time,” Sizhui admitted softly. The steam from the teapot caught the sunlight like smoke around his young face, carefully schooled to hide his agitation. Wangji knew Sizhui’s face better than his own.

He thought of the platitudes he was told when he’d made the same observation as a child. That the conflict was in him, in the human heart; the rules were to tame the conflict. That cultivation means control and great spiritual strength can only be achieved through harnessing one’s nature.

That is not what he told Sizhui. “They conflict with one another because they are not of equal value at all times,” he said, pleased by Sizhui’s steady hands as he prepared their tea. “Like strings on the guqin, from thick to thin, they can be played separately or together, depending on the melody of a moment.”

“So...we learn the rules so that we may know all the principles that should guide our actions.” Sizhui carefully extended his teacup toward him and Wangji felt a rush of affection for his perceptive, soulful boy. “Just as we learn all the notes we can play, even though not every song requires them?”

“Mn.” Wangji gave a slight nod and lifted his tea, breathing in the floral scent. “And indeed, not only do some songs not require them, but the wrong note—even when beautiful in another melody—would ruin the one before you, and to play every note at once would only create discord.” Wangji knew that discord well. He’d grown up in it.

Sizhui let out a relieved sigh that gave Wangji a tremulous feeling of success, like he’d done a bit of good parenting, even when he barely understood what that was. “That makes sense,” his lovely boy said. “Thank you, Hanguang-Jun.”

Wangji didn’t respond. He simply drank the tea prepared by his son, his Lan Sizhui, Wei Ying’s A-Yuan, and let himself feel a rare moment of peace in the sunrise.

Years later, in Yi City, Wangji would see himself in Xiao Xingchen, who died rather than continue in a world where he’d hurt his beloved—and also in Song Lan, who soldiered on, a ghost carrying memories of dead love close to his heart.

___________

In his travels, the rabbit soon came to wide water, so expansive he could not see its end. It rose and fell like great moving mountains. On the gray-sand shore were seals with big limpid eyes and sweet round bellies. “Will you love me?” he asked one, feeling so scared and so hopeful.

“If you stay close and always share your food,” the seal answered.

___________

Wuxian felt the pleading weight of Zewu-Jun’s words.

He walked in to see Lan Zhan with his hair down, sleeves held back gently as he prepared tea and poured wine, and he understood why Zewu-Jun told him more than he’d asked. Lan Zhan was a warrior, Hanguang-Jun, Lan Wangji, a jade of Gusu, and one of the most powerful cultivators of any generation. He was also a man in love. A man so deeply in love it had burned—burned him—for almost two decades.

Wuxian trembled beneath that weight.

“I don’t need anyone to save me,” he’d said years ago in the Burial Mounds. It took dying and coming back to understand that what he’d meant was I’m not worth saving. Lan Zhan had never agreed, no matter how Wuxian tried to convince him.

The plink and shiver of the guqin brought the tingle in his limbs to his awareness, like the growl in his empty stomach breaking through the excitement of an invention. That physical attraction he’d had to Lan Zhan in their youth had never gone away. It had just been papered over by battles, separation and second lifetimes, unworthiness and the paradoxical belief that he could not love someone so profoundly and also desire him. His eyes trailed over Lan Zhan’s long fingers on the strings, his soft mouth; his eyes, those remarkable, unforgettable eyes, and—

“I want to kiss you,” he blurted out.

Lan Zhan’s playing stilled and he looked up. They stared at each other in silence. Lan Zhan’s expression was gentle, accepting, and silent. Wuxian laughed—the silence should be no surprise; this was Lan Zhan, after all, who would answer direct questions with silence, who would offer no information, even when it was demanded. Wuxian had no intention of demanding. “Oh, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” he said, entering the room. “I want to kiss you, but do you want to be kissed?”

Lan Zhan simply nodded, as if Wuxian had asked about getting dinner. But the rosy tips of his ears gave him away. “Only by you,” he added. And oh, Lan Zhan’s other great skill: to say so little and still say more than Wuxian knew how to believe.

Wei Ying lowered himself to the floor, sitting cross-legged to Wangji’s left where he still sat rigid, back straight, hands flat to still the long-gone vibration of his guqin. He’d imagined kissing Wei Ying—and more, so much more—for so long. The passion inside him felt always dammed behind an insufficient barrier. So, to release it...he imagined embracing Wei Ying like a tidal wave, overwhelming, undeniable, claiming him with lips, tongue and teeth, smashing their bodies together with the force of his want.

The reality was somewhat different. Wangji’s passion was no less extraordinary, but the dam restraining it now was love, not self-domination. What did Wei Ying want? How much did Wei Ying want? His passion could be like a wave gently lapping shore, if that’s what Wei Ying needed.

Slowly, Lan Zhan turned to face him, fingers moving to rest in his lap. Their knees touched as Wuxian scooted just that small bit closer, movements young and eager. Lan Zhan looked up to meet his eyes and once he’d done that, Wuxian could almost never look away. He reached out to close a hand over Lan Zhan’s, heart thumping and feeling 16 years old with his mind full to brimming with the most beautiful boy he’d ever seen.

For once, he did look away from Lan Zhan’s eyes. Away from his eyes to his mouth, lips plump-pink and tempting. As soon as he looked, he touched, before the courage left him. The tension melted from Wuxian’s shoulders at a kiss returned.

Their hands bumped when they both reached for each other at the same time. Wuxian laughingly yielded, letting Lan Zhan cup his jaw and direct the kiss. It was honey on his tongue, a mouth moving against his, a pleasant buzz through his body. He let his own hand drop to Lan Zhan’s knee, the curve firm and intimate through layers of linens.

Hai hour settled heavily on Wangji’s shoulders. Childhood routine made his mind shift into a quieter state, lending a dreamy mist to the minutes spent blissfully kissing as the snow blanketed the world outside. “It’s time to sleep,” he said. He didn’t much care for himself, but Wei Ying was wounded, and battles loomed still to be fought. Wei Ying needed his rest.

Wuxian wanted to tease Lan Zhan like he used to, mock those rigid GusuLan traditions—if they weren’t going to defy them for this, then for what!? But Lan Zhan, his Lan Zhan; he’d spent so much time worrying and caring for him, he had to be exhausted. “Okay,” he relented.

But neither of them moved to stand or stop. They just kept trading kisses.

Wuxian laughed against Lan Zhan’s mouth and felt an answering smile that made his heart throb. He decided a few moments more couldn’t hurt. For a few moments more, they could be the lusty, carefree boys they could have been 20 years ago, if war had not arrived so early and maturity so late.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispered against his lips after several molten minutes more. He felt hot all over, from his knees tight against Lan Zhan’s to his throat where guqin-skilled hands stroked his skin and caressed his jaw. “We should sleep.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan agreed, but only kissed him again.

Wei Ying laughed and Wangji loved the sound. Loved the sound of him, loved the feel of him, loved the life in him. Wanted him endlessly.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying pouted sweetly, “who’s been taking care of me, hm? Who will take care of me if Hanguang-Jun is asleep on his feet?”

When Wangji opened them, his eyes were unfocused. He felt drunk, though he’d had no wine but what he could taste on Wei Ying’s lips and tongue. “Sleep with me,” he said.

Blushed cheeks and well-used lips complemented Wei Ying’s features well. He looked young and healthy. “Yes,” he answered, adding sternly, “but we have to sleep.”

Wangji nodded his agreement, amused to have Wei Ying making rules now.

They stripped to their underrobes and climbed into the bed, each fully intending to sleep as agreed, but the room had grown cold with the frost outside and there was so much warm skin, so many hot kisses still to give, so much uncharted territory on this path they’d just begun to walk together and now single layers that could be opened to allow palms to feel the firm planes of stomach and the exquisitely narrow rise of hip.

But they each had secrets, too: a boy asleep not far from where they lay and a golden core warming someone else in Yunmeng.

Lan Zhan felt so good and Wuxian didn’t want to stop even as his heart thumped for the wrong reasons when Lan Zhan’s fingers grazed his wrists. If they were to do the things he’d seen in Nie-xiong’s books, then surely Lan Zhan, the great Hanguang-Jun, would sense what he was missing. He wanted it as much as he feared it.

“Lan Zhan, is it okay – if we – if we don’t go any further – tonight – just not tonight,” Wuxian gasped, each phrase punctuated with more kissing, his hand tangling in Lan Zhan’s hair, his knee sliding over Lan Zhan’s hip.

Wangji gripped the knee curving around him to bring their bodies closer. He wanted to pull it firm against him and take this pleasure he’d been dreaming of for decades. But Wei Ying’s words. He was forever reckless with himself and he would keep going if Wangji pushed it because they wanted each other. Even that thought was a thrill. Wei Ying wanted him, and Wangji wanted to tell him.

But if Wei Ying approached Sizhui with the familiarity and fondness he almost certainly would if he knew, what terrible memories might that disinter? For as much love as had surrounded little Wen Yuan, he’d been living on a mountain of the dead and all his family had been slaughtered. Would returning those memories to his sensitive, happy boy be a kindness or a cruelty?

Wangji still wanted. He wanted to tell Wei Ying the one good thing he’d done, kiss him, hold him, cry with him, make love in a happy haze as though all the painful years had never happened, but no. No, the note he must play strongest now was for Sizhui, and he did not want his first joining with Wei Ying to be shrouded in secrets.

He called upon his Lan reserve to drag himself away from the delicious warmth of Wei Ying’s mouth. “We can stop,” he said, startled by the lust-roughness of his voice.

Wei Ying’s eyes drifted away from his lips. Wangji felt his steadying exhale against his skin. “You’re right, Lan Zhan, you’re right,” he said. “We should stop.”

“You said it first.”

Wei Ying let out a loud laugh, rolling away to throw his head back. Wangji wanted to cover that smooth neck with bites and kisses. When Wei Ying curled toward him again, his eyes shown with fondness and he reached between them to link their hands together, bodies at a safer, less enticing distance.

They talked, then, how they did any other night they’d shared a room in their travels. They compared thoughts about what they had discovered, expectations for what lay ahead, but it felt so new, whispering face to face, lips kiss-tender, voices crossing not an empty room but only the small expanse of the bed.

Wuxian wasn’t sure when they finally fell asleep. He remembered dawn peeking through the screens at the window and it seemed only seconds later that they had to wake and get dressed. He wanted to curl up and sleep for a day, but a wicked, immovable deadline hung over them for soon a murderer would come to Cloud Recesses.

___________

The rabbit had a delightful afternoon in the seals’ company. Their bodies bounced like his and they had whiskers like him and they bounce-bounce-bounced together, but then all the seals bounce-bounce-bounced into the waves where the rabbit couldn’t follow because he didn’t have flippers and his feet were not shaped like a paddles for pushing through water.

He stood alone on the beach for a long, stunned moment, then he turned and began searching again.

In the silent grasses, the rabbit came upon a leopard, its sleek, spotted body low to the ground, eyes peering straight ahead. Its backside wiggled the way the rabbit’s did sometimes. “Will you love me?” the rabbit asked.

“If you can keep up!” the leopard replied, bounding off on strong back legs after a sprinting deer.

The rabbit tried to keep up, but he lost her before the leopard’s voice had even faded from his ears. He continued on alone.

___________

The moment he saw that broken look on his brother’s face at the Guanyin Temple, Wangji knew his daydream of traveling by Wei Ying’s side had died.

To live with a clear conscience, without regret. An easy phrase that provided no guidance in how to weigh regrets against one another. He would regret watching Wei Ying walk away again. He would regret leaving GusuLan with one leader heartbroken and another too unyielding for the complex days ahead. He would regret forsaking a generation of Lan juniors to that unsteady guidance. He would regret abandoning the cultivation world to a power vacuum where evil and self-interest could so easily gain dominance. He wanted to be Lan Zhan. He wanted to be Wei Ying’s. But the world, for now, needed Hanguang-Jun.

But like so many deaths around the Yiling Laozu, Wei Wuxian, this death was not forever. One day, Wangji sat reading in the jingshi when a flute’s notes drifted in with the breeze. He heard a song he knew well and knew Wei Ying had come home.

It was strange to walk the paths of Cloud Recesses and realize it had started to feel like home. Wuxian found comfort in the routine, and could maybe—maybe—understand the appeal of a clearly defined schedule, up to a point. His 16-year-old self would never have believed it, but his 16-year-old self hadn’t yet had to survive in the Burial Mounds. His 16-year-old self hadn’t yet died for his convictions and mistakes.

Wuxian let out a breath as the sorrow passed through him, a familiar companion after all these years. Even that felt at home in Cloud Recesses with its stillness and meditative spaces. Here, Wuxian could grieve and find solace. He’d found love here. He’d found purpose and family. Even Lan Qiren surrendered some of his vitriol when he’d realized that Wuxian would not steal Lan Zhan away. At last, the old man recognized that Lan Zhan was the wise and filial leader he’d been trying to raise all along, even if they disagreed on the details.

Lan Zhan looked as beautiful as an art print among the rabbits in the back hills. The pure white fur and Lan Zhan’s robes, the earthy brown and green—it made Wuxian’s fingers itch for brush and parchment. Perhaps he’d do that tonight...or maybe tomorrow because he’d learned the expressions on the face so many others thought immobile. All morning, Lan Zhan’s eyes had been lingering on Wuxian’s throat, his lips. Their few touches outside the jingshi had been lingering.

The first night Wuxian returned to Cloud Recesses they’d had no early appointments and no deliberate secrets between them, only stories not yet told and endless days to tell them. That night, they discovered new things they could do together that were even more satisfying than fighting side by side.

“Lan Zhan,” he said casually, scratching a rabbit between its velvet-soft ears. “What do you want to do tonight?”

The rabbits on Lan Zhan’s lap were calmer, almost sedated by his familiar and predictable stillness. But then, rabbits couldn’t really read the way his eyelashes slowly lifted over a heated gaze.

Wuxian grinned as a lovely anticipation started to pool in his limbs. He’d always been attractive, but it wasn’t until all this started with Lan Zhan that he’d felt desired, even seduced. “Ah,” he said, and stretched out on his back, hands folded beneath his head. Leaves and sticks crunched beneath him and a few rabbits darted away, but Lan Zhan’s eyes traveled the length of him, just as he’d wanted. One day, perhaps, Wuxian would try to tempt Lan Zhan into kissing him here the way he did in the jingshi, all devouring and unrestrained.

“I want—” Wangji began, then silenced abruptly. He found himself disinclined to speak most of the time, but rarely did he want to express himself more than in these moments with Wei Ying, these rare moments when the intimacy of their relationship was in the fore and not buried beneath life-or-death politics and layers of the mundane. Wei Ying had gotten so good at reading him, but sometimes Wangji wished he didn’t have to.

“Yes?” Wei Ying curved toward him, head propped up on his bent arm. “What do you want, Lan Zhan?

In that eagerness, Wangji saw that sometimes Wei Ying didn’t want to have to read him either. He swallowed and tried. “The book you had.”

“Which book?”

“During the lectures. In the library.”

Confusion clouded Wei Ying’s handsome face and Wangji worried this would fall prey to his poor memory, but after a few seconds, clarity spread like a sunrise. “In the library. When I was having to copy all those rules and you were being so mean and ignoring me.”

“Mn.”

Wuxian smiled brightly. Funny how those days had a rosy shine to them now. Lan Zhan, his beloved Lan Zhan, his sweet stick in the mud who defied nearly every one of those rules for him. He’d been unimaginably attractive in that library, so cold and untouchable. How badly he’d wanted to touch. “What about it?”

Wangji swallowed. He turned his attention to the rabbits in his lap. They dozed, their red eyes closed into gentle lines on their white faces, noses twitching with dreams. They clearly didn’t sense the rapid heartbeat in the body beneath them. “The picture. I would do that with you.”

Wuxian’s mouth twisted. “Which picture?”

Lan Zhan looked up at him, exasperated.

“Ah-ah, Lan Zhan,” he sighed, one hand lifted in defense. “That book was full of pictures. I don’t know which one you saw. I gave it to you to tease you and you ripped it apart so quickly.”

Wangji looked back to his rabbits. One blinked awake and he slid a finger along its forehead as it yawned, cute big teeth on display. He let the subject drop. He would not be able to find the words.

But Wei Ying sat up, excitedly crossing his legs beneath him. “Could you describe it to me?” he asked.

Wangji didn’t reply, neither by words nor a shake of his head. The tightness in his throat frustrated him. The sentence wouldn’t form in his mind, his tongue wouldn’t lift in his mouth, his lips wouldn’t part. That he had these desires, he had accepted. That they were not shameful, he had learned. But to speak them was still beyond his strength.

Wuxian scooted closer until his knees touched Lan Zhan’s. He loved the warm-pink of his ears, but not the storm clouding the features beneath his pale blue ribbon. He reached forward to join Lan Zhan’s hands in petting the rabbits in his lap. “Maybe you could show me,” he said, letting his fingers glide over Lan Zhan’s in a way he was certain could be called shameless. “Tonight, Lan Zhan. You could show me what they did in the picture. You know how smart I am; I’ll figure it out.” Lan Zhan didn’t answer, but the pink of his ears deepened to red, the storm cleared in his expression, and Wuxian grinned. His clever mind liked a mystery and the rest of him liked touching Lan Zhan, so these evening plans were very welcome indeed.

But being Wei Wuxian they also slipped his mind. That Cloud Recesses felt like an embrace would have shocked his 16-year-old self. That he’d become a teacher would not have. Oh, he dreamed of being a rogue cultivator, and that lifestyle suited him quite well on his not infrequent night hunts, but Wuxian had always been someone who loved being surrounded by youth and happiness, laughter on lotus lakes and meals made by someone who adored him.

Those days couldn’t be recreated, not after so much damage, but with the Lan juniors, with Lan Zhan, and A-Yuan, visits with Wen Ning and even slowly, slowly something better with Jin Ling and Jiang Cheng... It suited Wuxian quite well to be Wei-laoshi. He liked guiding disciples in archery and sword forms. He liked the spark of delight in their eyes when they first mastered a talisman.

Wangji liked that others saw His Excellency in the company of the Yiling Laozu. It killed off the rumors explaining Wei Ying’s absence and their hopes that Wangji had “come to his senses.” He preferred when they could tell by sight that the cultivation world was now guided by a mind that had not been tamed. If they felt fear, Wangji assumed they were right to do so. Those who gave him small, secret smiles—they were right, too.

That evening, Wuxian sat on the edge of their bed and barely seconds later found himself with a lapful of Lan Zhan. He instinctively gripped him and blinked, confused, at the broad expanse of a silk-covered back before his eyes.

“It was like this,” Lan Zhan said, a low whisper.

Wuxian blinked once, and then once more. “Ohhh,” he breathed, as every piece of their earlier conversation came back in a rush. “Oh. Yes, Lan Zhan, we can do that.” And really, they’d already started. Lan Zhan’s hips circled in a way that made Wuxian shiver and forget everything else. He swept Lan Zhan’s hair over his shoulder to bare his neck to his kisses and reached around to start pulling the robes from Lan Zhan’s body, sliding his hands up the strong thighs parted atop his. “Did you want to do this that day in the library?” he asked.

“No... and yes.”

“Yeah,” Wuxian agreed. He remembered the messy jumble of yearnings back then. If they’d kissed as boys, Wuxian was sure he would have ruined it, laughing, callous and too scared to wade into the depths of his feelings for the boy who was everything he was not.

They kept small pot of gel by the bed next to a stack of bathing linens. Wangji still felt a bit embarrassed by the obviousness of these supplies, but it was worth it when he didn’t have to leave Wei Ying’s arms when the mood struck them.

When he was young and his body was rocked by desires he didn’t understand, he’d done what he always did: he studied, like curse victim seeking the counter-curse. And indeed, he’d felt cursed, the way his mind refused to stay on any topic but Wei Ying and his antics. He discreetly researched how men fit together, how they touched and satisfied each other. He believed knowledge would bring the counter-curse for surely he would see these acts were foul and undesirable. Instead, he learned, in detail, all the ways he could give pleasure to the vexing boy who had disrupted the peace of him.

The worst times were the fits of grief that took hold during those long years existing in a world without him. Even gone, his thoughts still turned to him. Even gone, he still wanted to touch him. In those dark hours, with smooth gel on his fingers, he’d give his body what it needed. He pictured the beaming smile that died long before the man, those clever eyes and slender hands full of power and strength. After the crest of climax, the tears would swallow him. He would cry into bed linens that would never carry Wei Ying’s scent, and search for the reasons to go on when all he wanted was to fall into darkness with him.

But his linens did smell of Wei Ying now, of his hair oils and the natural tang of him. His linens were their linens because his bed was not his alone anymore, would never be again, and that beautiful boy who had once vexed him let out a tense, blissful sigh when their bodies joined at last.

Wuxian touched his forehead to Lan Zhan’s warm back and tried not to move, though the pleasure made him want to. He kissed the juncture of neck and shoulder blade, gave a light scrape of teeth. “Is it good, Lan Zhan?” he asked. His voice and his legs trembled.

He didn’t immediately receive a response, not a verbal one anyway, but Lan Zhan shifted, adjusting angle and depth and clinging to Wuxian’s hands on his hips.

Soon enough Wuxian didn’t need his words. Soft sounds rumbled in Lan Zhan’s throat, small gasps of satisfaction that would, in anyone else, be loud wanton moans. Like the sort Wuxian muffled against Lan Zhan’s scarred skin, pressing hot, open-mouth kisses as they found their rhythm with one another. It felt so good, always felt so good to touch Lan Zhan, to have this closeness, this way to show with bodies the intensity of his feelings inside. Sometimes he felt obsessed; he wanted to breathe in Lan Zhan, drink him in, become one person and be done with this false separation, this ridiculous idea that there was a Wei Ying and there was a Lan Zhan when they were so clearly one soul, one heart, one person. Maybe if they had a hundred lifetimes together, they could cultivate a way to join their spirits and become one. But—gasping deep and human against sweat-damp shoulder blades as Lan Zhan rode him—Wuxian couldn’t complain about this method for now.

Finished, they collapsed to their sides on the bed, letting bodies cool and heart rates settle. Wuxian dropped kisses on Lan Zhan’s naked shoulders because the affection still bubbling from his climax needed somewhere to go.

After a few moments’ rest, Lan Zhan turned to him. Those who thought him beautiful had no idea, Wuxian thought. They’d never seen him flushed with color, limb-loose and sated, eyes cloudy with peaked pleasure.

Their couplings usually ended with whispered conversations and Wei Ying’s happy laughter, so Wangji didn’t expect the emotion clogging his throat. He didn’t realize tears had followed until Wei Ying’s thumb slid beneath his eyes wipe them away.

“Lan Zhan?” he asked, concerned. “Why are you crying?”

The cavern of want that once terrified him had expanded and burst, filled now with a shameful fantasy made joyful flesh; filled to brimming with a partner, a son, a healthy clan, a life he felt so grateful to be living.

“Thank you,” was all Wangji managed to say.

Wei Ying smiled, that achingly gorgeous smile that Wangji wanted forever. “For what?”

For killing my shame, he thought. For making Cloud Recesses feel like home again. For embracing my silences. For coming back. For staying. For—

“I love you,” Wei Ying said, when he didn’t get an answer, at least not one Wangji had consciously given.

For that, Wangji thought and welcomed his kiss.

___________

The rabbit traveled on, alone and desperately lonely, until he came upon a stranger munching green, green leaves. Hunger twisted in his tiny rabbit belly, but the ache in his heart was more.

“Will you love me?” The rabbit asked, but before the stranger could answer, he went on, “I may be too scary or too big or too small. I may not be elegant and I can’t help lift big trees, or even little ones. I may go too fast or I may go too slow, and I cannot bounce-bounce-bounce into the water. I jump when I’m excited, I sometimes get scared, and I may not be perfect at giving love back,” the rabbit said in a rush. “But will you love me?”

The stranger blinked with red eyes just like the rabbit’s after listening with long ears just like the rabbit’s. A whiskered nose twitched.

“I do,” said the stranger, for he’d been searching a long time, too.

___________

They stood together, watching the swirl of pale fabric as two juniors sparred. Blades glinted as they caught the afternoon sun. Wuxian couldn’t help smiling, feeling like a grandpa remembering his good old days. “Ah, Lan Zhan,” he said wistfully. “Do you think we’d still be equals if I had my core?” It wasn’t as hard to talk about now, between the two of them. It was a fact of Wuxian’s new body and his health; they had to talk about it to navigate a life lived together.

“We are equals.”

“Tsk. I mean with swords.”

“Still equals.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan, you know what I mean.”

Wangji did and he didn’t. “Wei Ying survived the Burial Mounds.”

Wuxian shrugged, feeling that ancient shadow whisper in his heart. “That’s just survival. If you’d been thrown there, Hanguang-Jun would have survived too.”

Wangji didn’t reply, but he also didn’t agree. He suspected that his unwillingness to use resentful energy—his fear of the discord already living inside him—would have meant his death. His spiritual power would simply have bled into the earth, more foul power leeching into the dirt. No, he was certain that none but Wei Ying would have emerged at all, let alone emerged more powerful than when he fell. “Wei Ying is gifted,” he said finally.

Wei Ying spun Chenqing in his hand. These days, it played music more than puppets. “Gifted in something evil.”

“That he uses for good.”

Wuxian snorted. “You have an answer for all of it, don’t you, Lan Zhan? You can’t clean me of all my mistakes.”

“I’m not trying to.” Lan Zhan turned to meet his eyes, countenance both stern and sweet in that way of his. “A golden core can be used for evil deeds,” he said. “You’ve demonstrated that resentful energy can be used for good ones. That is innovation. You saw what others could not. That is a gift. Core or no, you have always been my equal.”

“Lan Zhan.” Wuxian pouted. He’d wanted to flirt and reminisce about the days when an incredibly pretty fuddy-duddy had broken his bottle of Emperor’s Smile. Instead, Lan Zhan had cut at something naked and fragile inside him.

His eyes drifted from Lan Zhan’s, but he bumped their shoulders together to tell him that he wasn’t upset, not really. “Maybe,” he said. “But I want to know if I could’ve ever bested you and Bichen.”

Lan Zhan’s lips lifted in a sad, tiny smile. “Me too,” he agreed softly.

Wuxian wanted to kiss him. Instead—for the sake of the juniors—he just pushed their shoulders together more firmly, removing any lingering space between them. That sorrow could visit them, he decided, the sorrow of what could-have-been. It could visit, but not stay.

Wangji had more he wanted to say. Wei Ying was brilliant. The sort of brilliant that, at most, emerged once in a generation and sometimes not at all. Wangji felt gratitude to have met him, to have gotten him back after everything. But he could sense when Wei Ying wasn’t ready to hear such words. He would let his praise and admiration out in bits and pieces for the rest of their lives. He was okay with that, he decided, and let his weight lean just as firmly against Wei Ying’s as they watched the next generation fly.

[pooktales]

Greymane’s Garters

I made up a fake history because ‘Greymane’s Garters’ is so fun to say and imagine. Enjoy!

The Order of the Grey Garter, more popularly known as "Greymane's Garters", has origins comingled in Human myth and legend. It is now considered somewhat ridiculous, as it instantly conjures a mental image of the noble King Greymane of Gilneas, him covered head to toe in white fur as he is in Worgen form, but for some reason wearing a pink-and-gray frilly woman's garter strapped to his leg.

Image: from ebay (only 1 left!)

This, I assure you, Greymane's Garters are not! They are hardly a male Worgen lingerie trend, but an order of noble knights and also so much more. Firstly, female Worgen find themselves members of this ancient order as well. Secondly, the garter is only a symbol--today it is often worn around the arm at ceremony or as a badge, a flat pink-and-gray belt coiled in a hoop and showing its buckle, that it was once considered part of suit of armor to help keep plate buckled over the legs. Only attend a Greymane's Garters initiation and see for yourself and you can be assured of this. The members proudly wear very little but their fur, to show they have at least embraced their Worgen side (this is a subject of contention even within this royal order, but they at least agree fur is alright). So the wearing of yes, admittedly, skimpy clothing to show off fur and the traditional garter around the leg is a thing. But if it is not buckled around the leg, then it goes proudly on the arm above the bicep, or on a cape--it may look strange indeed to the unschooled, but it is an honorable form of dress. Greymane’s Garters are not 'furries in SM gear' whatever the modern youth mean by that. A Greymane's Garter would maw you and strap you to a pole or a bedframe or some other handy torture device if they ever heard you calling their order a low-key furry headcanon, never that.

Military History

The order was first formed in the Second War. Under pressure to conform to the standards and military norms of the Alliance of Lordaeron, Gilnean leadership made a pledge that they would stay a distinct force as far as they could, focused solely on the political advantage of their own kingdom. As such, they felt a need to distinguish their military leaders on the battlefield with a brand that could not be overtaken by the blue and gold Alliance regalia. Their other goal was to remind their soldiers that their home kingdom, Gilneas, should always be the priority. Of course, this manifested itself in only a token support force sent to aid the Alliance at that time, all of them good-looking men in excellent polished plate, saying things like 'What ho!' and also 'Get gabbin' or get goin!' which were practiced phrases to deflect accountability. They made it subtly clear that they were only interested in doing those tasks for the Alliance that would further Gilnean interests. And they defiantly wore their pink, gray and white garters high up their thighs. The grey garter became an emblem of their stalwart resistance to Alliance assimilation. The effort was a great success from the Gilnean perspective. Not long after the first Greymane's Garters arrived in Lordaeron, the Alliance despaired at them, actually, and didn't prod the Gilnean King for any more his "help". And then the Greymane’s Garters went back home after the conflict and eventually the Gilnean wall went up too, which certain Alliance leaders were pretty relieved for, even if they couldn’t say it. The wall also had the effect of ‘keeping it over on their side’.

Mythical Origins

The more mythical origins of the Greymane’s Garters involve a magical Grey Lady who walked out of the Emerald Dream one evening in the forests of Gilneas, accompanied by gray feydragons. Everything she touched turned into a gray mist. A knight set out to slay her, believing she was a witch, but instead, she mesmerized him and inspired him to gather his fellow knights to return to her and perform a great task that would, she said 'Make little sense now, but will mean everything to saving your kin' in the far future. They Great Grey Knight then returned to the mists as the Grey Lady bade him, with three axemen, five lancers, and twenty-six cavalry men. And then, standing in a circle, she gave them all the garters of their order to wear, attaching them to their legs and buckling each to cinch proud and tight. And then she showed them a traditional dance. It was the gray dance of death that much empahsized squats and lunges with the legs, later used to train King Greymane's personal guard for ages, who one day kept him alive during the conflict with Sylvanas.

Competing accounts say the first Greymane’s Garters never learned a fighting technique, but they did serve her special gray ritual wine made from special silver grapes. And she made them grill her delicious capon and venison for supper. In exchange for that, what she taught the knights was how to create a 'Grey Garter', a special kind of powdered sugar dough dessert that is made in loops of pastry. This sparkling gray dough dessert was passed down in the Gilnean court and would still be cooked today if not for the disruption, again, of Sylvanas laying waste to Gilneas.

Modern Findings

Today, historians cannot find any real evidence connecting the myth of the Grey Lady to the military dance of Greymane's personal guard. (If it can even be considered a dance.) Nor can they say with confidence that a legend of that era really would be an elaborate way to convey a few cooking recipes involving gray food. Most recent research makes a more practical suggestion as to the actual events concerning the Grey Lady. That is, the knights soon discovered the Grey Lady was in fact a witch, or at least a very strange woman with the skill of a pressure salesman and a lot of mist handy where she happened to live in the forest. She clearly had a thing for knights wearing garters so halfway through their weird dinner-date, the men who weren't drunk and drugged off their feet got together and slayed her. They vowed, there and then, to come up with a better story for what happened and be 'reborn in blood'. From there on, the 'grey garter' story became a joke among the Gilnean nobility descended from these surviving knights, and when an opportunity eventually came up during the Second War to give the Alliance of Lordaeron the proverbial middle finger for making them provide aid against the Orcs, the Gilnean nobility reached back for the 'grey garters' story, layered some more meaning in it, and then made it a part official military dress. As an in-joke among the Gilnean crusty uppercrust. The rest, as they say, is history.

Motto

The motto "reborn from blood" has passed into common parlance of course, though many Gilneans may not even realize it. One often meets a Gilnean or a Worgen who, thinking of the turmoil their people have endured, make the remark that Gilneas will be reborn from the blood of their enemies. This derives from none other than the Greymane’s Garters.

Source: wish.com

The Ribbon

As you can see, the ribbon itself has changed over time. First, in the era of the Grey Lady myth, it was a very tribal-looking chevron in white, pink and gray colors. Later, it was a bold pink-and-gray plaid. Even later, due to lack of resources and the loss of the kingdom to Sylvanas' forces, it was mainly the sort of spider's silk, large swaths of pink ribbon were easier to come by in Darnassus where most Gilnean refugees settled.

The pink color of the Darnassian iteration (also referred to as the Gilnean diaspora, so show some respect) isn't "girly" as some consider it. First of all, pink is a color, it doesn't “belong” to anyone. Second of all, the whole thing was going to be abandoned when the order was re-formed after the fall of Gilneas recently, but many of the prouder Worgen members insisted it was also the color of roses, or raw meat or flesh, which connects back to that side of the Gilnean experience. Gray connects back with Greymane and white is the color of a new moon, of hope, of Greymane's own fur hide. So they keep all the colors, pink, gray and white, intermingled whether in the traditional plaid pattern or the primal, very bold chevron that can be easily seen strapped to a Gilnean's leg across the battlefield. Or, yes. In frilly Darnassian pink if that's what's available.

Notable Members of Greymane's Garters

King Archibald Greymane

King Genn Greymane (current sovereign)

Princess Tess Greymane

Queen Mia Greymane

Lord Darius Crowley

Lorna Crowley

Lord Vincent Godfrey (posthumously stripped of rank due to treason)

Speculation

It is rumored that King Anduin Wrynn has been offered a place in the Greymane’s Garters (with a special exception made for his devotion to Stormwind of course). However, Greymane is most likely still awaiting confirmation that Anduin will accept. Undoubtedly he will, of course! Anduin’s biggest reservation is said to be ‘Wait, aren’t those guys a furry group that wears underwear on the outside? This is for real?’ Though SI: 7 refuses to comment on whether the the young king actually said this. It may be that Genn is waiting for Anduin to mature some more before offering Greymane’s Garter again. Or, it may be that other rumors are true, that Anduin is prepared to make his own royal order of garter-wearing knights if he has to, to get out of wearing fancy underwear given to him by Greymane.

Because, of course, two garters on both of Anduin’s legs, ontop of his armor? One leg pink and the other blue? That would look completely ridiculous and anyone would obviously agree.

Unless you are a proud member of Greymane’s Garters that is!!

-fin-

[7-wonders]

Heaven & Hell Were Words to Me

Summary: A surprise takes a turn that should be sickening, but instead only serves to draw you even further into the web that Michael has woven.

Word Count: 2305

A/N: Hey, it’s been a while since I wrote Michael smut that wasn’t for one of my series’! Enjoy; feedback, likes, and reblogs are all appreciated! 

Warnings: Heart eating, ritualistic sacrifices, Satanism, blood, sex, KINKY sex, I don’t know, it’s smut about the Antichrist. Figure it out.

“I want to show you something.” 

With that simple sentence whispered silkily into your ear on your way back to your room following Ms. Venable’s mandatory cocktail hour, you had taken Michael’s hand without any sort of hesitation and let him lead you down the dizzying maze of hallways. You would let Michael lead you to the ends of the world, and you barely even knew the man. Just getting to know his first name had seemed like such a privilege. (something he had told you last week, when you were moaning out the name he had given every resident of Outpost 3.

“Michael,” he had said, so quietly that at first you thought you had imagined it.

“What?” you asked, as his hair formed a curtain around your face that made it impossible to stare at anything but him.

“My name is Michael.”

“Michael,” you repeated, testing the word out. “It fits you. After all, you’re beautiful enough to be an archangel.”

Michael laughed huskily, your chest filled with warmth at the sound, although you hadn’t been sure of why he was laughing.)

He comes to a stop in front of a door that you realize is in a restricted area that residents had been given strict instructions to never go near. Not even the Grays were allowed to go in unsupervised; if their services were needed for cleaning, Ms. Mead would stand there guarding them, and they weren’t allowed to tell anybody about what was inside.

The door opens by itself, but you don’t have time to ask Michael how it did that. He looks back at you reassuringly, as if he can feel your apprehension towards the situation. The room is dark, dim light coming from a single sconce on the wall. You grip Michael’s hand tightly, hoping not to trip over what looks like a large circle of unlit candles. 

Your unease is heightened when you see a Gray, Samantha, sitting against the wall with her knees pulled to her chest. Jealousy wells deep in your stomach, although you’re not sure why. While you had assumed that you weren’t the only one Michael had seduced, it’s still a little disheartening to see another one of Michael’s bedmates in a room that had seemed like it was a secret shared between you and Michael.

“You are,” Michael says from out of the blue, making you furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

“I am what?”

“You are the only one.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “How did you--”

“My father,” Michael continues, “decided that it was time that I show you this.”

Mind racing, you try to figure out which man in the Outpost is old enough to possibly be Michael’s dad. Michael looks to be in his late twenties, so unless Gallant is actually 50 (not likely) and Evie is a dinosaur (likely), you’re out of options.

“Samantha,” Michael calls, holding out his hand. 

The Gray slowly gets up, stumbling her way towards Michael and grabbing onto him with a shaky hand. Snapping his fingers, the candles all light themselves simultaneously, and you realize as you look around that Michael’s led you to the center of the circle.

“Father,” Michael’s voice echoes through the room as his eyes search through the air for some sort of answer, “may you accept this sacrifice as a token of my devotion to you, and give me strength in exchange!”

“Michael, what’s going--” your question is cut off by a choked scream as Michael plunges his hand into Samantha’s chest.

Staggering back a step, you clap your hands over your mouth in horror. Samantha attempts to make a sound, but it only comes out as a mere gurgle as blood bubbles past her lips. Michael yanks his hand out from between her ribs, holding the Gray’s still-beating heart in his grasp. Tissue connects the arteries to the rest of her body, so Michael pulls harshly in order to free the organ. Samantha falls backwards less than a second after her heart is separated from her body, her glassy eyes staring up at nothing.

Michael smirks at you, the darkness that he carries with him prevalent on his face as the flames roar around you. Blood starts to pool on the floor, and you could almost swear that it’s bubbling beneath you. His hand is stained red, dripping with blood as he holds the heart up to show you what he’s done. Bringing the heart of the girl who lies dead on the floor to his mouth, his full lips part and he sinks his teeth into the fleshy meat. He hums delightedly, lips stained red with blood as he chews the piece he had bitten off of the organ.

You should be disgusted. You should run out of this room screaming and vowing never to see Michael again. You should hide in your room and only hope that he decides to leave you here to die once the Outpost is inevitably overrun, instead of deciding to murder you as brutally and as carelessly as he murdered Samantha. Instead, you take a step closer to him, your head tilted in intrigue. 

Michael smiles wickedly, salaciously licking the blood off of his top lip before replacing it as he takes another bite. Your own heart is beating wildly in your chest as the magnetic force that is Michael Langdon draws you closer. You shouldn’t find the moan that he makes after he swallows arousing in any way, but you clench your thighs together to alleviate some of the heat that pools between your legs.

He doesn’t say anything as he holds the half-eaten heart towards you, but it’s clear what he wants you to do. A part of you knows that this is wrong and immoral, but you place your hands on top of his anyways. It’s like you’re spellbound, the air around you charged with an energy that should feel sinister to you, but instead pushes you, whispering in your ear to “give in.”

Your eyes are locked on Michael’s as you both lift the organ towards your mouth. His smile widens as you take a bite from the heart as well, candlelight glinting off of the whites of his teeth. Whatever spell you were under breaks after you finish, revulsion over what you’ve done washing over you. 

“What--why did I--”

“Because,” Michael says, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear, “you’re fulfilling your purpose.”

Any doubt that remains in your mind is erased when Michael kisses you, his teeth clashing against yours as his own arousal becomes too much to bear. The blood that covers the bottom halves of your faces is already drying as Michael bites your bottom lip hard enough to add your own blood to the mix, slipping his tongue into your mouth when you groan.

“Michael,” you moan breathily against his lips, the metallic taste of blood tainting your tastebuds. “Michael, what just happened?”

He shushes you, removing your heavy purple gown as he lowers you to the floor. The blood that still streams from Samantha’s corpse has formed a variety of lines that almost look like a star, you note dimly when your head falls to the side to allow Michael access to the smooth skin along your throat.

The strength that Michael possesses startles you when he shows it firsthand, getting fed up with unlacing your corset and just tears it off of you instead. Feeling entirely underdressed, you reach your hands up to help him remove his own clothing. Although this--relationship? Tryst? Rendezvous?--continued sexual encounter with the man who will determine whether you live or die has been occurring for weeks now, the sight of Michael’s lithe, toned body still takes your breath away. His bicep ripples under your hand, which looks small placed on top of Michael’s arm. 

In this moment, as Michael’s hands trail down your skin and his lips meet yours repeatedly, there’s no nuclear wasteland, or draconian rules, or tyrannical Outpost supervisors. There’s no death, or questionable murder, or possible ritualistic happenings. There’s just you, and Michael, and the passion that you share for each other.

Michael groans when your nails scratch down his back, making him throw his head back as his hand stutters on your upper thigh. His fingers ghost along your labia, dipping into your wetness and drawing it onto your clit before bringing his coated fingers up to his mouth. You gasp as Michael sucks your arousal off of his fingers, the sight of it nearly too much to bear.

You wrap an arm around his neck, pulling him into a kiss and chasing the taste of yourself off of his lips. When he pulls away from you to go down on you, you grab his chin and shake your head. Michael looks at you in mild surprise; this is the first time you’ve ever been any sort of dominant during sexual situations with him.

“Michael, I want you inside me.”

He smirks, nodding. “A request I’m happy to fulfill.”

It only takes a couple of quick strokes to coax his cock to full hardness. He lines himself up with your entrance, swallowing your moan with a kiss as he slowly thrusts into you. Your jaw goes slack as you adjust to Michael’s length completely filling you and stretching you. The burn is delicious, and you can see his eyes sparkling as he watches your face. He taps on your bottom lip, letting you know that he wants you to open your mouth. Closing your eyes, you shudder in delight when you feel his spit land on your tongue.

“Such a good little whore for me. Look at you, driven half-mad by my cock. You’re so desperate for me that you’d probably beg for me to spit in your mouth, isn’t that right?”

“Yes Michael, I--” your own gasp cuts you off as Michael thrusts sharply into you.

“What was that?” he asks tensely.

“Yes sir,” you amend, realizing quickly that the soft dominance that Michael has exuded tonight is gone, replaced by an intense need to own you, to claim you.

“Good,” he croons mockingly, pulling out before thrusting into you once more.

Michael sets a harsh pace, his balls slapping against your ass as he lifts one of your legs and positions it around his hip to get a better angle. You’re crying out, hands gripping at your breasts, his back, his hair, your own hair--anything to ground you, yet remaining still seems torturous. Michael’s large hand closes around your neck, squeezing just enough to make your vision go blurry around the edges. Although he groans deeply enough to sound like a growl, he still locks eyes with you to make sure that you’re okay. You give a quick nod, heart fluttering at the softness of his gesture in the midst of his brutal fucking.

Both of your hands hold onto Michael’s wrist as he puts most of his weight on your throat, nails digging into his skin. Tears gather at the corners of your eyes as your moans and whimpers, sounds of ecstasy and pleasure and borderline pain that you’re experiencing all at once, come out as little more than choked whines. You’re not sure if it’s the lack of oxygen or simply a trick of the flickering lights, but Michael’s eyes look completely black as he continues to pound into you, releasing and squeezing your neck in time with his thrusts.

The whole time, Michael’s muttering in your ear, praises for your cunt and your obedience intermingled with degrading terms like “whore” and “slut” and “minx.” The presence of his hand around your throat, while extremely erotic, also keeps you acutely aware that he can absolutely kill you just as easily as he killed Samantha. You’ve known he’s dangerous from the moment his riding boots clicked outside of the library, but cold-blooded murder is something you hadn’t really been anticipating. 

Michael’s thrusts start to become erratic as he begins to reach his climax, choosing to let go of your throat and intertwine his hand with yours instead. You clench your walls tightly around him, urging him to let go and give in.

“Cum for me, Michael,” you say hoarsely, your chest heaving with anticipation. “Claim me, fill me.”

Your words of encouragement push Michael over the edge. He thrusts once and then again before cumming with a loud shout of “Ave Satanas,” the unfamiliar words sending the flames of the candles shooting up towards the ceiling as his hot release fills you and makes your entire body feel warm. He somehow has enough sense in him amidst his aftershocks to rub his finger against your clit rapidly, making you spasm under him only a minute later.

Your loud breathing intermingles with his as he lays down next to you, refusing to let go of your hand. Pushing your hair away from your face, your heart falls when you see that the corpse is still outside of the circle and that this wasn’t some odd foreplay. 

“Michael,” you say quietly as a million questions float through your head.

“Can’t you feel it?” he says, once again seeming as if he’s reading your mind. “You were made for me, (Y/N), just as I was made for you. I’ve been waiting for you; you’re the missing piece I need in order to fulfill my mission.”

“What’s your mission?” You don’t look at him, instead tracing shapes with the freckles on his chest. 

“To carry out my father’s rule on this Earth as his only son.”

Your fingers still, and you look up at him with wide eyes. “Michael, who’s your father?”

He smirks, knowing that you’re already aware of the answer. “Satan, of course. And you, my dear, play a very important role in this new world.”

//

Tag list: @nana15774 @queencocoakimmie @sammythankyou @girlycakepops @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @lichellaw @ajokeformur-ray @pastel-cloudz​ @ultragibbycentralworld​ @grim-adventures58​ @dandycandy75​ @langdonslove​ @tcc-gizmachine​ @starwlkers​ @jimmlangdon​ @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26​ @1-800-bitchcraft�� @venusxxlangdon​ @storminmytwistedmind​ @hecohansen31​ @lvngdvns​ @ccodyfern​ @divinelangdon​ @forgetting5sos​ @michaelsapostle​ @izuniias​

[chaoswillfallrpg]

SIRIUS BLACK is TWENTY-THREE YEARS OLD and a JUNIOR INVESTIGATOR in THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX at THE ORDER HEADQUARTERS. He looks remarkably like JAMES LASTOVIC and considers himself aligned with THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX. He is currently TAKEN.

→ OVERVIEW:

Fearless and wild with a taste for danger, Sirius Black was always destined to become his family’s greatest achievement or their greatest disappointment. A rebellious young boy, Sirius questioned the world around him from the moment he had a grasp on it. Growing up on a Muggle street in central London, Sirius grew up curious about those who moved beyond his window that his mother encouraged him to stay away from. During his younger years Sirius simply wondered why both he and his brother REGULUS were forbidden from playing with the children in their street, though as he got older his questions became more in depth. Something didn’t quite sit right with Sirius, the little glimpses he had of the Muggle world seemed exciting. The music they listened to, the technology they used and the fashion captured his imagination far more than anything his family had ever presented to him. Sirius would sit in the window seat in his bedroom and watch the world go by from 12 Grimmauld Place, wondering what it would be like to be part of that world rather than the stuffy one he was confined to by his parents. ORION and WALBURGA BLACK were traditionalists, who had most likely kept their home in London to spite Muggles rather than want to integrate into society alongside them. 

Sirius’ upbringing was filled with dinner parties and family events attended by his aunt and uncle CYGNUS and DRUELLA BLACK who held similar beliefs and enjoyed drinking heavily and making snide comments about people they believed were inferior to them. With his aunt and uncle also came the joy of spending time with his cousins, BELLATRIX, ANDROMEDA and NARCISSA who he found just as complicated to be around as his own household for different reasons. Bellatrix was a copy of his uncle, ignorant, spiteful and self entitled. Time spent with her seemed to pass slowly to Sirius as she lectured her younger cousins and sisters on their stringent family beliefs, Sirius had already decided he felt unconvinced by his family beliefs long before he had received his letter to study at Hogwarts. Narcissa was more tolerable but equally as annoying. Turning her nose up at Sirius and wrinkling it when he spoke as if he were a wet dog she’d rather have been put back outside where it belonged. Andromeda had always been his favourite. Unlike Bellatrix and Narcissa she was kind and was often the only member of his family he could exchange a knowing glance with, without feeling the fear of rejection he often felt with his brother. Sirius had always wanted to have even that small sense of closeness he had with Andromeda with his younger brother. 

To Sirius Regulus always seemed torn on how to feel about his older brother, always keeping him at arm's length. He couldn’t tell if it was because he knew that Regulus knew that Sirius would leave one day and never return or if it was because he didn’t want to be on the bad side of their mother who had already marked him as the black sheep of the family by the time he was ten. Walburga had tried her best to control Sirius when she noticed him veering onto a path she didn’t agree with, from the first time he picked up a Muggle vinyl on an outing into London to his questions on their close social circle which only included Pure-Bloods. Walburga tried to integrate Sirius into wizarding high society, encouraging a closeness with his cousins and a prospective match with Burke's only daughter LYRA BURKE. The Burke family were certainly lower in the pecking order than the Black family, but as Sirius had a fondness for sharing his opinions with his mother’s friends KRATISTA BURKE was the only prospective member of The Sacred Twenty-Eight that was happy to form a match between the pair, even though she had asked if Regulus were available before his mother had firmly told her he was not. Sirius had liked Lyra well enough, but could never allow himself to fully become close with her, knowing fine well no matter her disposition she represented everything his mother wanted for him and that Sirius despised. 

Hogwarts had signalled a new start for Sirius. Although he would be joining his cousins at school, Sirius was determined to separate himself from them and create his own experience which was not limited by his family name. This objective was aided largely by the first friend he met at school. JAMES POTTER strolled onto the train, dug his hand into his pocket and bought the contents of the refreshment trolley right under JASPER AVERY and LARKIN MULCIBER’s nose and shared it with Sirius. Smirking at one another, Sirius shook James’ hand, tucked into a licorice wand and vowed that if being friends at Hogwarts would be of showing up people like Mulciber and Avery he was in for the long haul. Leaving the train their attention was grabbed by another pupil. PETER PETTIGREW was a raven haired boy in hand-me-down robes, which hadn’t gone lost on Mulciber who sneered insults at Peter before sniggering with his friends. To Sirius astonishment he watched as Peter spun on his heel and issued an expert right hook to him resulting in a telling off from PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL and a prompt fixing charm on Mulciber’s nose. Sirius knew they needed to befriend Peter there and then and was overjoyed when all three boys were sorted in Gryffindor, with Bellatrix and Narcissa watching angrily from the Slytherin table. Sirius' school years were a whirlwind of excitement, a mixture of being the coolest person in the room and the most disliked depending on who was asked. 

A star Beater for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, they barely lost a match and the parties afterwards were enough to make Sirius Black go down as a legendary name in Hogwarts history. His time at school was amazing, a stark contrast to the life he led back at home during the summer holidays. His final years at home, Sirius plastered his room with posters of Muggle women in bikinis, pictures of motorcycles and him getting drunk on the school field dancing with MARLENE MCKINNON and MARY MACDONALD as they laughed into the night. By his sixth year his mother had reached her limit, blasting Sirius off the family tree in their home and leaving Sirius to move in with James and his family. Although being disowned affected him more than Sirius would ever let on he tried to move past it, avoiding the gaze of his brother and cousins, attempting to pretend the only people who existed in his world were those who truly mattered to him. Whilst other students buckled down in their final years of study, Sirius saw it as an excuse to party- bunking off classes to smoke cigarettes on the Quidditch pitch with Marlene and taking his Muggle-Born girlfriend at the time MAREN LINWOOD on dates to Hogsmede and showing her off at parties. Sirius had always been wild to his friends, but some of his more reckless antics gave them cause for concern. A particular incident involving one of Sirius best friends REMUS LUPIN was the final straw for the Marauders before they staged an intervention. 

Now all Animagi which they had trained in to accompany Remus during transformations, Sirius invited James’ long-term enemy SEVERUS SNAPE to the Shrieking Shack on a full moon as a stupid prank to scare their friend, leaving James to jump in and save him and Remus close to tears when he later found out. Presumably acting out due to his family situation and his recent break-up, the group rallied round Sirius and ensured he left Hogwarts with enough qualifications to get a job, though he wouldn’t have enough to train to be an Auror. Graduating with his friends, Sirius took his inheritance and moved into a small flat in Farringdon with James, Peter and Remus. Trying to find something useful to do with his time he got a part-time job fixing motorcycles at a Muggle mechanic shop until PROFESSOR DUMBLEDORE came knocking with a more important job offer. With more people disappearing each day in London, Dumbledore had put together a group of people to track dark witches and wizards he suspected were planning a war. Training under ALASTOR MOODY, Sirius has been sharpening his duelling, tracking and disguising abilities in order to become a vital weapon for The Order. One of the more skilled from his class, due all of his one on one time with Alastor Moody, Sirius currently has the important task of marking and tracking some of the suspect younger members of THE DARK LORD’S army, starting with his own brother. Regulus. 

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Blood Status → Pure-Blood

Pronouns → He/Him

Identification → Cis Male 

Sexuality  → Up to Roleplayer 

Relationship Status → Single

Previous Education →  Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Gryffindor) 

Societies → N/A

Family → Orion Black (estranged father), Walburga Black (estranged mother), Regulus Black (estranged brother/adversary), Cygnus Black (estranged uncle), Druella Black (estranged aunt), Bellatrix Black (estranged cousin/adversary), Andromeda Black (cousin), Narcissa Black (estranged cousin)

Connections  → James Potter (best friend/housemate), Peter Pettigrew (best friend/housemate), Remus Lupin (best friend/housemate), Marlene McKinnon (close friend/potential love interest), Mary MacDonald (close friend), Lily Evans (close friend), Dorcas Meadoews (close friend), Alastor Moody (mentor), Maren Linwood (ex-girlfriend/friend/object of flirtation), Emilia Grey (friend), Cassiopeia Kim (friend), Cressida Abercrombie (friend), Gilfred Abbott (friend), Caradoc Dearborn (friend), Poppy Hookum (friend), Aurora Sinistra (friend), Gwenog Jones (friend), Adaira Linwood (object of flirtation), Laurel Linwood (object of flirtation) Severus Snape (adversary), Jasper Avery (adversary), Larkin Mulciber (adversary), Lyra Burke (former betrothed)

Future Information → N/A 

SIRIUS BLACK IS A LEVEL 7 WIZARD. 

[thisweekingundamwing]

This Week in Gundam Wing August 30 - 12 September 2020

Here’s this week’s roundup! Aug 30 - 12 Sep!

Remember to give your content creators some love! And join in on the events at the bottom!

~Mod Hel

Fanfiction/Snippets/AU Ideas:

@angelselene​

Stand Without Flinching (Ch. 20) https://archiveofourown.org/works/22763293/chapters/63998467

Gundam Wing, Marvel Cinematic Universe

F/F, F/M, M/M, Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy, Chang Wufei/Sally Po, Trowa Barton/Quatre Raberba Winner, Wanda Maximoff/Vision, Duo Maxwell/OMC, Heero Yuy/OFC, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

Duo Maxwell, Tony Stark, Quatre Raberba Winner, Trowa Barton, Sally Po, Lady Une, Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner, Wanda Maximoff, Vision (Marvel), Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Heero Yuy, Relena Peacecraft, Shinigami - Character, James "Bucky" Barnes

Mature, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Civil War Fix-It, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Real Family, Not Gundam Wing: Frozen Teardrop Compliant, Enhanced Gundam Pilots, Preventers (Gundam Wing), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Ambiguous Morality, Morally Ambiguous Character, undecided ships to come, Family Reunification Act, Parent Tony Stark, Slow Burn, Found Family

For Duo Maxwell, family are the people he has loved and lost and whose names he bears.

For Tony Stark, family has always been blood and a name and Howard's shadow looming over him.

@bobo-is-tha-bomb​

Twenty Kisses (Ch. 12) https://archiveofourown.org/works/24038704/chapters/63863065

F/M, Heero Yuy/Reader

Heero Yuy, Reader

Romance, Kissing, Drabble Collection, Reader-Insert

Prompt: a hoarse whisper “kiss me”.

Deadly Intent (Ch. 3) https://archiveofourown.org/works/25576657/chapters/64129522#workskin

F/M, Heero/Reader, ???/Reader

Heero Yuy, Duo Maxwell, Wufei Chang, Lady Une, Relena Peacecraft, Reader

Mature, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Reader Insert, Drama, Angst, Romance, Violence, Lime

Eleven years is a long time for a ghost to come back and haunt him. But Heero Yuy finds himself unable to dodge or outrun it. It’s the start of a dangerous cat and mouse game between one of the most powerful organizations in the world and a loner who has every intention of dragging him down with her. After all, she has come with deadly intent.

Twenty Kisses (Ch. 13) https://archiveofourown.org/works/24038704/chapters/64158358

F/M, Heero Yuy/Reader

Heero Yuy, Reader

Romance, Kissing, Drabble Collection, Reader-Insert

Prompt: following the kiss with a series of kisses down the neck.

@coffeetailor​

Touched by the Stars (Ch. 3&4) https://archiveofourown.org/works/26314657/chapters/64358008

M/M, Chang Wufei/Duo Maxwell, Chang Wufei/Heero Yuy, Trowa Barton/Chang Wufei, Chang Wufei/Quatre Raberba Winner

Heero Yuy, Duo Maxwell, Trowa Barton, Quatre Raberba Winner, Chang Wufei

Explicit, thar be porn, Dubious Consent, Aliens, Alien Abduction, Alternate Universe, mention of MPREG, everyone takes a turn with Wufei, alien anatomy and interesting dicks, Tentacles, Monster Boys, Slime, Double Cocks, Cum Inflation, Knotting, Oral, multiple dicks, Xeno, Spitroasting

University instructor Chang Wufei didn't even believe in aliens, much less intentionally attract their attention. But that doesn't mean much when they decided he'd be the ideal final mate for their group and scoop him off of the planet to take home to their queen. Enjoying him on the trip there, of course.

@duointherain​

Beneath: Leprechauns and Clovers (Ch. 12) https://duointherain.tumblr.com/post/627927154018205696/beneath-leprechauns-and-clovers-1212

“Goddamn SON of a Bitch!” Duo screamed, staring at the place that Martha had been. Rage sparked around his head, amethyst lightening dancing around hair that just didn’t want to be constrained. He held out his left hand and his favorite scythe appeared. It was the one that Heero had given him on that first mission where Relena had been included. It sparked to life with a green fiery rage. “I have been trying to be so good! I have been trying to be friendly and peaceful and civilian! I look at the people at school and mom’s nice polite house and I have tried SO fucking hard!

TheManwell

The Silencer and the Sicarian (Ch. 7&8) https://archiveofourown.org/works/25478938/chapters/61806169

M/M, Trowa Barton/Duo Maxwell, Chang Wufei/Solo

Duo Maxwell, Trowa Barton, Chang Wufei, Solo (Gundam Wing), Hilde Schbeiker, Catherine Bloom, Kyouju H | Instructor H, Middie Une, Sister Helen (Gundam Wing), Heero Yuy, Professor G (Gundam Wing), Doctor J (Gundam Wing), Quatre Raberba Winner, Rashid Kurama, Abdul (Gundam Wing), Roushi O | Master O, Doktor S (Gundam Wing)

Explicit, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Wufei POV, Duo POV, Trowa POV, Solo POV

It was just one vow. A simple but necessary promise to respect life -- both human and fey -- but can Duo hold to it when his resolve is put to the ultimate test?

@tziganecaffiends

In the Bleak Midwinter https://archiveofourown.org/works/26219125/chapters/63812077

M/M, Chang Wufei/Treize Khushrenada

Chang Wufei, Treize Khushrenada, Mariemaia Khushrenada

Explicit, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Trauma, Childhood Trauma, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Enemies to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Sleepy Cuddles, Prisoner of War, Eye Trauma, Angst with a Happy Ending, random cameos, Post-War, Character Death Fix, Fix-It of Sorts, Parent/Child Incest, Frozen Teardrop has a lot to answer for, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Mecha, Battle, Multiverse, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Everyone Needs Therapy, Treize gets a dog, Garbage cat, Drinking

Something that had happened down in the office had been bothering him, wanting to come out. The veil of pretending had been pulled down, perhaps, and there was an unspeakable relief in having it said out loud, in having argued with Treize. Someone that smart shouldn't be that much of an idiot. As if there would only be one right way to end things? ZERO was fucked up and weirdly layered. It gave battle statistics, yes, but it also had a limited future function if someone fiddled with it long enough, and Wufei had.

Wufei had looked. Treize had apparently been happy to end with everyone goes on but me. And whatever had driven him to stop looking in ZERO was still in his head. Whatever it was that made a man just tap out hadn't magically resolved itself, which was a shame because Treize was carrying on as if it had. He couldn't fix that. Didn't know where to start unpicking that rats' nest in the man's skull, and it wasn't his responsibility.

Fanart/Crafts/Photo Manips:

@bobo-is-tha-bomb​

https://bobo-is-tha-bomb.tumblr.com/post/628530984276639744/its-here-cue-last-impression

Wing Zero, gunpla

@gundammeta​

https://gundammeta.tumblr.com/post/628112239191293952

Tallgeese and the Goose™, fanart

@gwfrozentears​

https://gwfrozentears.tumblr.com/post/628482816007634944/al-fin-terminado-me-decidi-usar-stickers-en-lugar

Duo Maxwell, fanart

@silkytea-art​

https://silkytea-art.tumblr.com/post/628646956308348928/was-anyone-elses-childhood-spent-pining-for-the

Heero Yuy, fanart

@the-efaf-draws​

https://the-efaf-draws.tumblr.com/post/628475380147322880/long

WuFei Chang, fanart

Photosets/Gifsets/Screenshots/Manga Pages:

@janaverse​

https://janaverse.tumblr.com/post/628542891987435520/all-together-now-despite-the-five-of-them

5 pilots together, Sims

Quotes:

@incorrectgundamwingquotes​

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/628011527357808640/heero-look-i-know-that-from-the-outside-it-seems

Heero & Trowa

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/628540026505052160/trowa-practicing-pick-up-lines-i-can-take-you-to

Trowa & Heero

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/628929354629513216/duo-so-whats-for-dinner-heero-staring-at-the

Duo & Heero

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/628991226010632192

Quatre cat cry

@disturbed02girl​

Calendar Events:

@gwcocktailfriday​

Cocktail Fridays!

Post responses on Friday, during Happy Hour between 3 & 5 pm in your own timezone.

Here’s the prompt for Friday, September 18th! https://gwcocktailfriday.tumblr.com/post/629061052992225280/cocktail-friday-post-responses-on-friday

In need of WINTER/SPRING prompts!

@gwoc-october​

GW OC October 2020!

Calendar and Prompt list will be posted up on September 17th! Watch for it!

@thisweekingundamevents

Events Calendar https://thisweekingundamevents.tumblr.com/post/624053314842230784/event-calendar-update

GW Holiday Gift Exchange 2020

Information: https://thisweekingundamevents.tumblr.com/post/627952774875906048/gw-holiday-gift-exchange-2020

Sign-up Form: https://thisweekingundamevents.tumblr.com/post/628041703013662720/gw-holiday-gift-exchange-2020-sign-ups

If you are hosting an event currently, or are planning on one, hit us up with links and dates! We’ll add them to the Calendar and reblog your notices to get the word out! 

There may potentially be something, happening somewhere, for Halloween spookiness!

[hihoneyimdead]

a dissection of anime nathaniel hawthorne in relation to the scarlet letter

In Which I’m Bored and Want to Talk About Anime Nathaniel Hawthorne and Why He’s More Interesting Than the Fandom Wants to Admit, and Also About Arthur Dimmesdale And Shit

This is going to be long. Fuck. 

(spoilers through the manga, which i have not read all the way through, so take everything i say with a grain of salt. same goes for the scarlet letter, which i haven’t read in nearly four years. ripperoni bro)

Above is the topic of today’s procrastination, Anime Nathaniel Hawthorne from Bungo Stray Dogs. He is a member of an American organization called the Guild, he’s a preacher, and he has a superpower/ability called The Scarlet Letter that allows him to manipulate his own blood into scripture that can either harm or defend via spears and shit and then shields and shit. 

He’s also a simp for Anime Margaret Mitchell, but I’ll be getting into that in a moment. 

Anyway, here’s a better picture of our lovely reverend, this time with his ability:

Funny, right? But that’s what I’m gonna talk about today simply because I’m bored and I should be writing but I’m currently not and I really have a soft spot for this bitch of a preacher. Hawthorne here has a lot more to his character than a lot of people give him credit for, which makes sense because he is a relatively-minor character and all he’s been doing recently is getting cucked by Anime Fyodor Dostoevsky, and while he may currently be Comrade Assassin, he’s still a complex character if you look past what our favorite Russian pimp has been up to. 

So a bit more about Hawthorne before I crack open my copy of his most famous book:

He is a preacher, not a priest, as shown by his choice in clothing. Priests don’t wear that, take it from a former Catholic. His clothes resemble the robes worn by classic Puritan preachers (such as the Reverend Arthur Dimmesdale, but we’ll get to him in a minute.) Whether that was on purpose or not I don’t know, but I’m aiming for a yes because Margaret Mitchell, his partner, wears a Southern belle-style outfit that Scarlett O’Hara (the main character of Mitchell’s most famous work, Gone With the Wind) wears, and John Steinbeck wears clothes reminiscent of Tom Joad (the main character of Steinbeck’s most famous work, The Grapes of Wrath.) It’s kind of a thing with the Guild. Edgar Allan Poe wears clothes that a goth around the time of Poe’s life would’ve worn. Same goes for Louisa May Alcott, Mark Twain, and H. P. Lovecraft. Meanwhile characters such as Lucy Maud Montgomery, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Herman Melville wear clothes that their characters (Anne from Anne of Green Gables, Jay Gatsby from The Great Gatsby, and whoever the fuck was in Moby Dick, respectively.) Hawthorne fits in with that last set of characters, which is funny considering the real life Hawthorne’s works.

In reality, Nathaniel Hawthorne was an American author in the early-to-mid-1800s who wrote many short stories, novels, and poems and shit, usually Romantic in nature. He started off, though, as a big member of the Transcendentalist movement. Transcendentalism, if you don’t know, is kind of like the 1800s equivalent of hippies. They were pretty anti-government and anti-religion, usually specifically anti-Christianity. These institutions corrupted the basis of mankind. Hawthorne himself helped form a utopian commune up in New England (it didn’t last long, don’t worry.) As he grew older, he grew out of that kind of writing and lifestyle and into the works we know him for today, such as his most famous novel, The Scarlet Letter. It, like many of his other works, contains allusions to religion and exists as a sort of criticism on it. 

The Scarlet Letter is set in the middle of the 1600s in Puritan New England. The Puritans were known for being Super Christian. They did not pass the vibe check. The main character is Hester Prynne, a young woman convicted of adultery with an unknown father. After being “released” from prison after the birth of her daughter, Pearl, Hester is allowed to move around outside of prison. But to signify her “evilness”, she must have a red letter ‘A’ on the front of her dress at all times (the eponymous and extremely metaphoric scarlet letter.) Besides Hester and Peal, main characters include Roger Chillingsworth, a doctor and Hester’s ex-husband from England who has vowed to track down the father and have him punished as well, and the Reverend Arthur Dimmesdale, who is sick All of the Time For No Apparent reason. By the end of the novel it’s revealed that Dimmesdale’s illness is actually a manifestation of his guilt because he was Pearl’s father despite him being a reverend and all and Hester being an unmarried woman. He ends up dying in the end after professing his guilt and showing the town the red letter ‘A’ that God supposedly engraved upon the skin on his chest. 

So let’s start here with a brief summary of Dimmesdale’s actions in the book as recalled by someone who hasn’t read it in four years but who is looking at the Wikipedia article right now. 

We first meet him when he and another minister, John Wilson, question Hester as to who the father of her child was. She doesn’t answer. The next time we see him in person is when Hester goes to the governor to ask if she can keep Pearl. She pleads with Dimmesdale and Wilson (who is there too for some reason), and he manages to persuade the governor to let her keep her child. At some point soon after, his health really begins to decline, and Chillingsworth moves in as a physician. Chillingsworth discovers a weird symbol of guilt on Dimmesdale’s chest while the poor guy sleeps after suspecting that the preacher’s illness is a manifestation of an unknown guilt. Dimmesdale, filled with guilt, goes to the town square in the middle of the night one day and screams his guilt to the heavens, but he can’t make himself do it during the day. Hester, shocked by the poor guy’s whole deal, decides to break her vow of silence. She calls Dimmesdale outside of town and tells him that they’re going to move to Europe together and start a new life with Pearl. He agrees and seems reinvigorated. They go back to town, and all’s fine until he gives a really good sermon on Election Day. After that, he professes his guilt and dies in Hester’s arms. People there claim to see a “stigma” in the shape of a letter ‘A’ on his chest, though others say there’s nothing there. 

Dimmesdale is a man consumed by his guilt. He physically and mentally declines because of his guilt and his unwillingness to expose himself for the sinner he really is, though, through it all, he supports Hester and Pearl as best he can considering his station as the town minister. He’s supposed to be the beacon of mortality, the person everyone should look up to and respect and learn from. And here he is, an adulterer, and a liar. And when he finally grows past his guilt and decides to let it out in favor of leaving and starting life anew, he dies, consumed, supposedly, by the wrath of God. He “falls” as a sinner, struck down by the very flames of Hell themselves. Or, more likely, a regular heart attack. He died of shock, poor guy. 

Compare that to Anime Nathaniel Hawthorne. He starts out as a member of a secret association who, according to its leader, Fitzgerald, doesn’t do good, but does what needs to be done. That’s probably why Hawthorne joined it in the first place. While his main goal has always been eradicating sinners from the face of the Earth, he probably started out as a regular old minister. Eradicating doesn’t always mean killing, and this is shown as he only attacks those who threaten his work, his partner (wink), and himself. This changes after the woman he loves throws herself in the way of an attack and nearly gets herself killed saving him. In canon, she’s still in a coma. In canon, he gave himself completely into sin because of his guilt and love for her. And that’s where the similarities between Hawthorne and Dimmesdale really start.

Let’s start with the obvious guilt complex. This goes along with what I believe Dostoevsky’s ability, Crime and Punishment, does. I believe it feeds off of an individual’s guilt, manipulating it and their mind in the process. We see this with Karma, a young man Dostoevsky kills. Karma, in his last moments, goes through all he went wrong with in his life (you know, or as much as a manga page or two can have) and dies knowing that he’ll never achieve his dream. That’s a more extreme example, I think, and not one I should really be using as evidence for anything considering it’s the only example of this really happening. Every other person that Dostoevsky kills with his ability just drops dead without the audience seeing into their thoughts. He’s got an insta-kill ability, but my theory builds off the idea that he can control living or dying. Hawthorne came to Dostoevsky to work for Dostoevsky’s organization, the Rats in the House of the Dead, in exchange for Mitchell getting “revived”. He might look cool on the outside, but he left the Guild, his friends, because Mitchell got hurt. He loves her, and he says as much in the manga (the anime didn’t say so, but left it unsaid and obvious to those looking.) The next time we see Hawthorne, he’s a mindless assassin who really only remembers Mitchell from his past, and the assassin who nearly killed her. His guilt twisted him into someone completely different from how he was before, even looking physically leaner and as different a brief appearance in a manga and anime can make someone look. He’s even lost his glasses, and any normal look in his eye. It’s kinda like the main character of Crime and Punishment from what I can tell, but I also haven’t read that book so take what I say on that with a gain of salt.) He’s consumed by his guilt (thanks, Fyodor.) Guilt is a big part of his character (as much of a character as he has currently, anyway.) The same can be said for Dimmesdale, who, as I’ve said before was consumed by his own guilt and sin until his death. 

I hope that Hawthorne doesn’t end up as dead as Dimmesdale did when he reunites with his supposed love interest (love interests aren’t really a thing in this series, which makes Hawthorne and Mitchell even more interesting to me.) I hope he gets a happy ending, but... that probably won’t happen unless Dostoevsky dies, which seems like an end-game thing to me. He’s a bad dude with slight plot armor. 

Anyway, past the guilt, their relationship with the respective women in their lives is another important and interesting parallel. Dimmesdale, even through Hester’s punishment, more or less treats her as he would’ve before Pearl. I believe that he did truly love her in his own pitiful way, though not as much as he loved his relationship with God, as seen by his continued guilt and shit. But it’s important to note that he seemed to admit his own love for Hester by agreeing to run away to Europe with her, and he did so in little ways throughout the story by helping her keep Pearl and by really just giving her a lighter sentence than a lot of women would’ve gotten. Puritan ministers were up there with government officials in the law (look at the witch trials, for example), so he would’ve definitely had input on her punishment. Most women would’ve been stoned or banished from the town or colony. Hester, notably, was let off relatively easy with just the emblem and the vague banishment to living in a house outside of town alone with her daughter. Hawthorne’s partner was Margaret Mitchell, and from the very beginning until the assassin skewered them, the two of them argued. Honestly, they bickered a lot like an old married couple. It was kinda cute in a weird way. Neither of them would obviously admit their feelings for each other. Both are proud people, Mitchell coming from a disgraced rich family and Hawthorne being a man of God. But his concern for her becomes evident the moment she gets stabbed clean through and impaled a dozen feet above the ground. That’s when he really gets on the offensive, and when she’s destroyed (image below), he calls her by her first name for the first, and only, time, looking completely destroyed (image also below.) He nearly manages to kill the assassin. And when he wakes up and sees that she isn’t going to wake up, he leaves those he cares about to fix his mistake of letting her get this hurt.

When we see Hawthorne next, he is willing to do anything to redeem himself for his mistake. When we meet him as an assassin for the first time, in the manga he says something along the lines of “I, for the revival of the one I love, will fulfill the contract of death”. Which is... not normal, I’ll admit. Poor guy. In the anime, he says something different that I don’t remember, but that was similar if not slightly different (again, the anime isn’t as explicit with their relationship as the manga.) Meanwhile she’s in a coma and is likely not to be revived by those Hawthorne pledged his allegiance to, but those he left behind. 

The two ministers here follow generally the same path of sin. They start out as the badass ministers they really are, men of God. Then, one way or another, they fall deeper and deeper into sin as they go. For Dimmesdale, that was boning Hester Prynne and hiding it from the town and corrupting himself with his guilt. For Hawthorne, that was ‘allowing’ his partner to ‘die’ and surrendering himself to a higher power to try and get her back, losing himself in the process. In the end, both men are shells of their former selves. Dimmesdale dies sick. Hawthorne is a brainwashed assassin. Dimmesdale’s higher power, God, is ultimately what killed him, and his devotion is what really did him in. Hawthorne is probably gonna die or get otherwise written out, I have a feeling (several villains in this show have, just look at Pushkin and Mark Twain and even Mitchell herself.) If he is, it’ll be Dostoevsky or one of his weird Russian friends doing him in or taking him out of the picture. He’ll likely never see Mitchell again and he will die due to his newfound devotion to a “god” who is willing to punish him for going to far. 

And guys, Hawthorne’s ability is literally the titular scarlet letter. What else can I say?

Honestly, I’m not sure what this post was, only that I killed a good three hours writing it and that it gave me yet again a newfound appreciation for something I used to hate. It was Anime Hawthorne, but before that it was IRL Hawthorne and The Scarlet Letter. Thank you American public school system. 

[theatricalities]

⧼   A mask of perfect innocence hiding the machiavellian intentions forever lurking beneath the surface — the ace up your sleeve, the trick coin with one side weighing heavier than its opposite because chance is simply a game that’s far too risky for the likes of you; the claw marks left on absolutely anything and everything in your wake — it’s not desperation that makes you cling so fervently to the objects of your desire as much as it’s your own way of ensuring survival; the self-imposed solitude clouding your ocean eyes  — questions of identity and belonging are forever at the heels of your every decision, begging you to turn back before it’s too late.   ⧽ 

  ━━   hey, isn’t that ZEPHYRINE TRAVERS ? i read a daily prophet article on them, once ; the 24 year old part-Veela WITCH is a SLYTHERIN alumnus who has gone on to be an ACTRESS IN THE WIXEN WORLD. i’ve heard they can be quite AUDACIOUS & BEGUILING, but i don’t know…they came off very EXPLOITATIVE and DELUSIVE in that interview. it really is hard to know what to believe these days though, isn’t it?

(  takes a hiatus...comes back with a new character  )

Heya ghouls, gals, and nonbinary pals! It’s me, ya girl. Zephyrine is my second little child to enter the group and I’m real wild about her! She’s inspired by DE idea #17 which you can find listed here!  Obviously, Zeph is an OC, but her tie to canon is that she’s the daughter of Travers, the Death Eater who killed Marlene McKinnon and family. Also, because I just don’t know how to write contented characters, Zeph’s a bit of a wreck, too — has some daddy issues, wants more than the world can offer, doesn’t have a true sense of self...but she’s got great fashion !

Below is Zephyrine’s bio and general information. Wanted connections can be found here ( very under construction rn ) and they’ll be updated as play progresses! Please feel free to pm me here or on discord ( debaucherie#6347 ) if you’d like to plot ✿

BEFORE THE WAR — “ Everyone wants something...”

[ trigger warnings for death, murder; ]

On the night that marked Zephyrine Travers’ birth, the world in return exalted her upon arrival, singing the praises of the newborn babe as boldly as a songbird in spring.

Or — that was the tale upon which her mother raised her, and it was one the girl found fitting enough to believe, even if all the world around spoke to the contrary. After all, her father (whose only claim to the term was in the scientific sense alone) created so empty a home that such fantastical ideas were perhaps the only source of hope that the young girl could find. At the age of two, Zephyrine and her family were quietly removed from their ancestral home as her father was sentenced to Azkaban for the murder of Marlene McKinnon. She and her mother were stripped of all riches, no matter the fact that the young girl continued the bloodline of one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. 

And so, life continued on in this way, with little yarns of fantasy spun each and every night in the dreariness of their one-room hovel, spoken in assuring whispers as they cooked by candlelight or repaired a worn and weathered dress when there was no money to replace it instead. Despite the woe-be-gone skirts and helpless shoes, she was determined that no one should know about the unexpected poverty that marked her home life, and walked into the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with every intent on looking the part of the Travers name even if it was in name alone that she remained connected  —  going so far as to insist to the Sorting Hat that she was meant to be in Slytherin, as her family had been for centuries, even when it argued she was better suited to Ravenclaw instead. 

In many ways, her adolescence was a long, drawn-out course in the art of convincing others — she could manifest a stream of tears to reassure a fellow Slytherin that she truly felt for her father just as easily as she could feign prolonged wooziness to avoid Flying class for a week. She flashed her blessedly charming smile across the House tables in the Great Hall, befriended everyone and anyone while still keeping them at arm’s length, and convinced even the most doubtful that she was an invaluable creature — not because of her name or the weight it still carried in certain circles, but because she believed herself to be and would not rest until it was an undeniable, unequivocal truth.

At sixteen, however, the meager world she’d known her whole life shattered entirely, its fragments not pieced together with the loving touch of her mother, but instead the fearsome presence of her father, who broke out of Azkaban along with ten other Death Eaters, including Bellatrix Lestrange. Unsurprisingly, he was asked by Lord Voldemort to prove his loyalty, and continued his murderous warpath — but instead of getting caught this time, he ensured that another would take his place. Zephyrine’s mother, innocent as a dove, was framed for his crimes and swiftly locked up in Azkaban, and Zander Travers was restored all riches seized upon his arrest.

By seventeen, Zephyrine had all the hallmarks of the dreams her mother raised her on : wealth far beyond her dreams, a manor estate fit for royalty and all the accompanying fanfare upon being properly introduced into a society of Death Eaters, but lost her mother in the process to a nightmare come true — the very woman who had instilled in the girl so great a belief in the impossible, that even this seemed like something Zephyrine could undo. 

She now balanced quite a precarious act, appearing to her father as his perfect little Death Eater in training, while turning spy for the Order in exchange for their help in freeing her mother once the War was won. 

AFTER THE WAR. — “...and once you know what they want, you know how to move them.”

When the time came, however, her mother was one of the many forgotten in the shadow of the Order’s triumph, relegated to little more than a broken promise as she rotted in Azkaban along with her husband, once again sentenced for his crimes. Their daughter, however, now took up the mantle of the new head of the Travers family, left with the ruins of her father’s blood-soaked legacy. In a world rebuilding itself, there was no game to be played when each side no longer had a reason to fight — and so, she waited. Seethed, more accurately, and busied herself with cleaning up the Travers name as time passed by. After receiving a formal training with the Wixen Academy of Dramatic Arts, she cemented herself firmly as a darling in the wixen theatre scene. In truth, it was all too easy. For twenty years, she’d practiced different ways to be believed — not to lie, she’d argue to herself, for any of those perceived lapses in truth had simply been her playing a character in order to get what she needed, and the silver-tongued sweetheart she portrayed to the public was no different.  To believe was the notion her mother instilled in her, but to be believed was one she’d determined necessary for herself, even if it meant losing any sense of self in the process. And so, upon hearing word of a reformed Death Eater legion under Bellatrix Lestrange’s leadership, she appealed to their cause, vowing that she could easily become a spy within the group which once held her loyalty — in exchange, once more, for the release* of her mother. Her allegiances, of course, are unknown to the public at large. In fact, when asked by the press on such matters, she voices her support for the Ministry and their efforts at preventing another tragedy to ever mark the Wixen World’s history again. Naturally, it’s all an act, as it has always been, and she’ll keep playing the game for as long as it take to reunite* with her mother, gain the most powerful of allies, and secure her own survival. 

[ * — while i’d love to believe that zeph’s mom is still alive, i think mrs. travers is likely to have perished rather soon after being wrongfully imprisoned. however, i believe that this information was kept from zeph as a way of controlling her, first by her father, then perhaps by the order ( i’d have to actually plot this one out w/an order member for this to be true ), but certainly by bellatrix and the DE clan. ]

BASICS.

FULL NAME:  Zephyrine Travers NAME MEANING: Zephyrine is of French origin and means ‘west wind’ ; Travers is of English origin and means ‘to cross’  NICKNAME(S):  Zeph ( used by family and close friends, only ) GENDER IDENTITY: Demigirl DATE OF BIRTH: 29 October, 1995 ( i put the wrong age in my app bc maths are not my strong suit, so technically Zeph is 24 but will turn 25 soon ) BIRTHPLACE:  Travers Estate, Hampshire, England  CURRENT PLACE OF DWELLING:  London, England  SEXUAL ORIENTATION:  pansexual panromantic LANGUAGE(S): English, French, basic Latin

LIFE.

OCCUPATION: Actress  EDUCATION: Homeschooled from ages 4 to 11; attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry from ages 11 to 18; attended the Wixen Academy of Dramatic Arts from ages 19 to 21. SOCIOECONOMIC LEVEL ( GROWING UP ):  Born upper class, but lower middle class from ages 2 - 16, upper class ages 16 - onward. SOCIOECONOMIC LEVEL ( CURRENTLY ): Upper class. RELIGION: Atheist

MAGICAL.

BLOOD TYPE: Not quite pureblood — but, publicly pureblood  SPECIES: 1/4 Veela  WAND TYPE: Hawthorn, unicorn hair core, 13″, reasonably supple SKILL LEVEL: Reasonably proficient, but a distinct knack for transfiguration and healing magic. Is adept at DADA, but often flees from the scene of battle before needing to utilize curses, jinxes, etc. PATRONUS: Incapable of producing a corporeal Patronus, but if she could, it would take the form of a shrike. BOGGART: Herself — albeit, a different, unrecognizable version of herself. In all her lying and betraying and such, Zeph has lost sense of herself and just doesn’t know the depths she might go to in order to get what she wants — and so I think it’s very possible that her biggest fear is the worst possible version of herself, the one that resembles her father in his uncaring bloodlust, messy and indiscriminate and entirely lacking in the nuance she prides herself on. AMORTENTIA: Fresh popcorn, the collar of a well-worn leather jacket, the scent of a newspaper so fresh the ink smudges one’s fingertips MIRROR OF ERISED: TBD. HOGWARTS HOUSE: Slytherin ( the Sorting Hat debated for approximately nine minutes between Ravenclaw and Slytherin, but ultimately decided on Slytherin because Zephyrine asked it to. ) FAVORITE SUBJECT:  Transfiguration. LEAST FAVORITE SUBJECT:  Arithmancy. CLUBS / EXTRACURRICULARS: The Slug Club ( Year 7 ), Theatre Club ( Years 2 - 7 ), Keres Club ( ages 22 - present )

RELATIONS.

PARENT(S): Zander & Odette ( nee Lynd ) Travers SIBLING(S): Two older sisters, both deceased, from her father’s first marriage, and a younger sibling born one-two years after her from her father’s affair. SIGNIFICANT OTHER(S): tbd. EX SIGNIFICANT OTHER(S): tbd. CHILDREN:  none. PET(S):  Two cats, Beryl and Belinda. 

PHYSICAL.

HEIGHT: 5′7″ HAIR: silver-blonde EYES: blue BODY MODIFICATION(S): Three piercings in either ear. Despite Bellatrix’s insistence, she has staved off getting the Dark Mark under the guise that it would harm her status as an actress. In truth, she simply would hate to get something so permanent when her loyalties are rather, well, impermanent. NOTABLE SCARS / BIRTHMARKS:  No scars / noticeable birthmarks. A scattering of freckles. GLASSES / CONTACTS: Only when required for an acting role, but not usually needed. CLOTHING STYLE: Quite a soft, ‘feminine’ style — lace, ribbons, ruffles, pastels — but there’s always one or two little things hinting at something decidedly more aggressive ( platinum collar-tips pointed and sharpened, metallic makeup, earrings in the design of tiny daggers, black lace gloves hiding perfectly manicured claws ) ; zephyrine also wears her mother’s choker, which is platinum-plated and has a handshake as a clasp. DOMINANT HAND: Ambidextrous

PERSONALITY.

ZODIAC: Scorpio ( sun ) — observant, expressive, secretive, vengeful, enigmatic // Gemini ascendant, Capricorn moon PERSONALITY TYPE: ENTJ, The Commander — confident, charismatic, strategic, ruthless, stubborn, emotionally naive MORAL ALIGNMENT:  Neutral Evil TEMPERAMENT: Phlegmatic  ELEMENT:  Water VICE(S): Wrath VIRTUE(S):  Diligence CHARACTER PARALLELS: Dahlia Hawthorne ( Ace Attorney ), Amy March ( Little Women ), Margaery Tyrell ( ASOIAF ), Vesper Lynd ( James Bond ), Eva Perón ( history / ‘EVITA’ the musical & film )

[ballerinaroy]

#48 for the dialogue prompts ask with Harry/ Ron or Harry/Ron/Hermione.

Friday night at the pub. It’s only six but they’ve both been pissed for a couple of hours. The kind of fuzzy drunk that makes them lean against each other and laugh at little things. Fuzzy feelings in his stomach. Pleasant.

“You ever think who you’d be interested in if you weren’t with Hermione?”

The question from anyone else would make his blood boil at once but it’s Harry and Ron knows how much he’s struggling being not-back-together with Ginny.

“I’ve been in love with Hermione for ages,” Ron laughs. “Haven’t had much time to consider anything else.”

For some reason this makes Harry frown and the air feels thick. Before Ron can ask, the door opens and Hermione rushes in looking flustered.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize how late it was,” she says, kissing Ron and shimmying out of her cloak. “Have you been here long?”

Even as she spoke she was surveying the table and their collection of empties.

“I’ll get the next round shall I?”

“I’ll help you,” Harry excuses himself from the table as if he didn’t want to be left alone with Ron. Which leaves him alone to ponder why Harry would ask a question so strange.

It’s Saturday and they’ve spent all day at the Burrow helping dad clean out the shed. It would have gone a lot faster, only dad kept asking Harry questions and Harry’s considerate enough to stop and explain every little thing. His voice is strangely soothing and it’s hard to stay frustrated when his dad was so happy and Harry was so in his element.

Ron hadn’t known he was staring but when Harry looked up at him Ron felt the need to blush before he looked away.

It’s Tuesday and they’re stuck on the late shift monitoring the newly reoccupied shop of Borgin and Burkes. Not a lot of people dare frequent Knockturn Alley these days so it’s an utterly boring assignment but Ron doesn’t mind because at least they’re together.

“Want to pick up fish and chips on the way home?” Harry whispers from somewhere near him, hidden beneath the Invisibility cloak while Ron was left warming his hands under a disillusionment charm.

Ron groans appreciatively. “I bloody love you.”

And the sound of affirmation he gets in reply is a strange sort of chocked, “Yeah, I know.”

A party at Seamus’ and they’re all crying from laughing too much. Not that anything, in particular, had been funny but when they’re there…together it’s like magic. All squashed together on a sofa too small. Hermione chatting animator with Neville about some new discovery in the Amazon, Harry’s head tipping towards the arm of the couch. Ron doesn’t think about it, putting his arm around Harry to keep him in his seat.

“Careful there,” Ron warns as Harry snuggles against him. And although Harry isn’t in any more danger of falling down Ron doesn’t think to remove his arm.

It’s another hour still until they leave and Ron’s half-carrying Harry through the flat.

He helps Harry into his bedroom, struggling to stay upright himself and when Harry trips over a shoe they both go tumbling to his bed and into a renewed round of laughter. By the time they stop Ron is breathless and he rolls off of Harry, feeling his eyes on him as he closes his own to keep the room from spinning.

“Alright, there mate?” Ron asks, patting his hand around until at last it lands on Harry’s back and he rests it there.

There’s a pause and when he opens his eyes Harry is staring at him intently.

“Do you ever wish things were different?”

Whatever Ron had been expecting it wasn’t something so philosophical. He doesn’t answer, merely meeting the intense stare of Harry’s eyes now shining with tears. But Harry doesn’t expect an answer and instead moves closer, so close that Ron can taste the stale beer on his breath, the garlic from the dinner they’d had hours ago.

“You make me want things that I can’t have.”

All of the laughter disappears from Ron’s mind. Everything does except for this moment right here, the weight of Harry’s body next to his. The arm he’s still got flung over Harry’s back.

“And who says you can’t?”

The seconds tick on, slowly. Ron resists blinking, fearful that the moment will disappear should he look away from it. But Harry’s eyes are as sad as ever as he lets them drift shut.

The creaking of the floor reminds Ron that his girlfriend is here too and he finds her in the doorway, guilty when their eyes meet. Ron rises from the bed and away from Harry’s sleeping form, following her outline like a ghost back into the bed that they share.

Another month and nothing’s said. Tension between them all. Ron can name it but is too much of a coward to break it. He’s careful with Harry, fearful of him saying something Ron can’t fix, terrified that he might not ever say it again. Hermione watches them like a hawk but she heard the confession and hasn’t given or denied permission.

Perhaps if he can bring them together. Perhaps if they can be left alone. The possibilities nearly drive him made, nearly drive him away.

Another party, another drunken night. Only now it’s his turn to make a confession.

“Do you want something you can’t have?”

Hermione is drunker than he’s ever seen her. Swaying though she means to sit still.

“Yes.”

There are tears in her eyes but she refuses to let him wipe them away.

“Then don’t let me stand in your way.”

He loves her. He knows he loves her. Why wouldn’t he love her? She was brilliant and ruthless and would let nothing stand in her way. They would be dead without her and perhaps it would be easier being dead and never having to consider anything he’s feeling.

Hermione shares his bed and Harry shares his days and sometimes he wishes the roles would be flipped and sometimes he wishes they could fulfill both.

His love for them is so intertwined it’s hard to separate it. The realization makes him sick and he wishes he could seek out advice but they might think him sick too.

Harry. Hermione.

He wants them together. Wants them apart. Wants to escape the terrible limbo they’ve all been waiting in.

“Are you ever going to choose?”

They only ever talk about it when they’re drunk and might not remember. Sometimes Ron fears there have been conversations he’s missed for all the drinking they do.

“You’ve given me an impossible choice.”

Harry’s head is in Hermione’s lap while Ron has ended up in the single chair facing them. They both stare at him intently and he can’t decide which expression brings him more pain.

“I want something I can’t have too.” He explains. “I want to never have to choose.”

“But you have to Ron.”

“And why can’t it just be the three of us?”

They exchange a look that lasts for ages and their expressions pity him.

“That’s not how this works Ron.”

“And why can’t it?” he insists and when he tries to stand. Tries to walk over and physically insist that they could all find happiness together he stumbles to the ground. “Why can’t we all be happy?”

Ron awakes panting and alone and prays it was just a nightmare.

“I can’t, I won’t.” He rehearses in the mirror, the contents of his stomach in the toilet and acid in his mouth. “You can’t make me choose.”

A risk, a gamble. His fear of losing them both has left him paralyzed and they’re all suffering because of it. They can’t go on.

“I can’t, I won’t,” he repeats again.

A dozen times he repeats it until behind him the floor creaks and when he looks over his shoulder they’re both standing there. And those words disappear from his throat at the sight of them. Bed-headed twins looking at him expectantly.

“If you loved me you never would have put me in this position,” he manages. The agony is in his voice. His pain is evident, has to be. They stare at him but he loses the words he’d so carefully crafted. “I can’t choose. I’d rather it be nothing than risk either of you.”

It’s like tossing a knut in the air and watching it arc towards the ground, fearing he’s made the wrong bet and the coin will land on the wrong side.

“Don’t you remember Ron?” she asks him.

He shakes his head and they glance at one another as dread overflows from his stomach.

“You’ve already made your choice.”

They stop avoiding the inevitable. Vow to heal the fractures that had been forming between them. Agree to stop drinking so they might remember what came next. The three of them without wanting. No longer something they can’t have.

Send me more? 

[renzu-valra]

The Basics: Nobushige

PLACE IN SOCIETY

✖ FINANCIAL – wealthy / moderate / poor / in poverty

In Garlemald. Elsewhere it is superficial. He has “friends” in high and low places and never needs for money. Of course, everything has its price. His health and his mental well-being the cost—both forcibly taken instead of offered in exchange for such “aid.” And they will continue to be the cost until he either dies or finds a method to escape them.

✖ MEDICAL – fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged / deceased

Despite appearing as someone physically sound and moderately healthy, the truth is that he is far from it. Due to sharing his body with a decrepit, volatile entity not meant for the mortal flesh to endure, his personage has been slowly rotting away. Whilst it is simple enough to hide behind makeup and perfumes as well as delayed via other means, he is quite weak and growing weaker. Due to more recent “treatments” however, he has gained a modicum of strength, but what has been lost already cannot be healed.

✖ CLASS OR CASTE – upper / lower / middle / working / unsure

As someone who secrets himself away in an unknown location for the large majority of their waking hours and otherwise, it’s hard to consider himself as someone fitting into these rankings. However, those he affiliates himself with currently are of higher prestige and he holds himself to such standards besides.

✖ EDUCATION – qualified(?) / unqualified / studying

From a technical standpoint, he attended no schools and obtained no such degrees signifying his value academically, however he never once slacked when it came to learning. His youth was spent doing nothing but; and he also has a near photogenic memory when it comes to what he studied back then. He can write and speak several languages amongst other things.

FAMILY

✖ MARITAL STATUS – married, happily / married, unhappily / engaged / partnered / divorced / widow or widower / separated / single / it’s complicated

It was short-lived. He vowed never to remarry due to the respect he had for his late husband. Legally, he is not seen as being widowed however, as the death of his spouse was never recorded or made public knowledge.

✖ CHILDREN – has children / no children / wants children / adopted children

Depends who you ask. Nobushige considers the child living in his estate a younger brother. ‘Mother’ considers him her flesh and blood son. ‘She’ desires more and fantasizes about it when she is especially unwell. Nobushige has zero intent on ever being a father.

✖ FAMILY – close with sibling / not close with siblings / has no siblings / siblings are deceased / it’s complicated

He was raised by his brother for all his life save recently. As such, they are closer than anyone else could ever be. Yet they’ve recently been separated due to unforeseen events.. and if they reunited now, then who’s to say what will come of their relationship?

✖ AFFILIATION – orphaned / adopted / disowned / raised by both parents / other

His father died before he was born, and his mother shortly after due to mental trauma associated with his birth. He was brought up by his brother and another young boy besides.

TRAITS & TENDENCIES

✖ disorganized / organized / in between

✖ close-minded / open-minded / in between

✖ cautious / reckless / in between

✖ patient / impatient / in between

✖ outspoken / reserved / in between

✖ leader / follower / in between

✖ sympathetic / unsympathetic / in between

✖ optimistic / pessimistic / in between

✖ hardworking / lazy / in between

✖ cultured / uncultured / in between

✖ loyal / disloyal / in between

✖ faithful / unfaithful / in between

SEXUALITY & ROMANTIC INCLINATION

✖ SEXUALITY – heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual / asexual / pansexual / omnisexual / demisexual

It’s more than an orientation to him as he, plainly put; simply cannot feel such pleasures. The same goes for experiences like pain for example. He does not desire it as he cannot feel it.

✖ SEX – sex repulsed / sex neutral / sex favorable

In regards to his own personage, it is considered a vile sin and something completely immortal without justification due to the severe (life-or-death) complex he has in relation to his own innocence. Whereas for others engaging in such acts he cares none for as they can do as they please. Neutral then, to the affairs of everyone else.

✖ ROMANCE – romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favorable

He considers “romance” in the conventional sense lacking. Base. Common. Unfulfilling. Its truest form unachievable by many. What then is its “truest form?” Is it something we even want to know?

✖ SEXUALLY – sexually adventurous / sex experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious / uninterested

Would that he have never had the experience to begin with. Yet it was a necessary evil in order to make it to where he is today. If such a place can even be considered a good thing..

ABILITIES

✖ COMBAT SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

He has been trained in thaumaturgy, with a specialty in ice magicks; as well as with the blade. He has also trained some in self defense, however, given his current physical condition he can no longer take full advantage of his prior courses.

✖ LITERACY SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

One would assume since becoming blind this field of expertise would slack heavily, at least in terms of the written word. However, he is always practicing his writing even still and if you were for whatever reason communicating with him solely via letters, you would believe you were receiving letters from a prestigious literary master.

✖ ARTISTIC SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

To him, to pursue art is the grandest pursuit in this here mortal coil. On the surface, his artistic talent lays in his ability to design clothes and arrange flowers. Beneath that.. there lies another style of art he has deigned mastery of—conveying in itself a beauty incomprehensible to all save a selective few. As such, he will not share it with anyone else.

✖ TECHNICAL SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

He has not found opportunity to learn or tinker with mechanical devices of any sort, nor is there need for him to.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Αιώνια αγάπη (DT AU), pt. 13

13: Love is the death of duty

Summary: Three testimonies, two mistakes, one sentence. Find out the punishment Hermes faces as three most important women of his life take the stand.

Warnings: angst

Word count: 3.4k

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Special thanks to @godlydolans for being in the story as Yashi Singh!

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Αιώνια αγάπη (DT Modern Greek god/frat! AU) MASTERLIST    

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Overwhelmed, lost and very much prepared to do whatever it takes to protect her children, Y/N steps forth, pushing both her babies behind her as she breaks eye contact with the gods she knew and loved and looks wildly at the ones she didn't but could easily guess who they were.

"Oh, this is going to be so much fun!" Hecate chuckled, her laugh echoing as she fell back into a chair, not even bothering with courtesies. After all, why should she? She wasn't avenged for her death and pulling her soul out of the Underworld for the purposes of burying her ex husband was the only thing she cared about.

Hera didn't hesitate, walking toward Y/N as her eyes tried to take a better look at her grandchildren. It's been too long since she had a chance to see a youngling, let alone ones who are her own blood.

Y/N stepped back, each of her hands pressed against her kid's backs as she pushed them closer to her.

Like a lioness backed into a corner, Hera thought.

"I can tell why my sons fell in love with you now. You're absolutely ethereal. For a human, of course." The backhanded compliment forced Y/N to bare her teeth, faking a smile without the need to cover up the fake part, making it clear she doesn't appreciate the goddess coming any closer.

"I'd very much like if you'd stop walking, Your...heavenliness?" Y/N paused, unsure how to properly address the goddess without insulting her and putting her children in more danger than they already are. She couldn't afford to slip up now.

"Hera is fine, dear. However, I'm afraid you can't take the kids with you when you're on the stand. Someone's going to have to take care of them and as their grandmother I am willing to give you a blood oath that no harm shall befall either of your little ones." Hera spoke plainly, stating not only she cares but she would go as far as to make the unbreakable vow to protect them. The vow no god made in history thus far, one that conditions her death should she fail to uphold her promise.

"Like you protected Apollo and Hermes?" Y/N remarks, watching a flicker of hurt and surprise pass on Hera's face as Y/N's words aimed to hurt the goddess and it seemed as if she succeeded.

Glancing back at a helpless Hermes, Y/N gulped loudly as her heart ached for him.

What could have possessed him to do the crime he did? What crime did he commit at all? He spoke of vengeance, but never did she believe he'd go through with it. He's always been unpredictable and she can't deny she loved that about him, but right now, in this particular moment, she held it against him for his unpredictability put her children at risk.

Did he even know about the kids? Did either of them?

"I swear to you on my life, you can trust mother with them." Apollo speaks up, attracting Y/N's attention, feeling his own heart stop once her troubled eyes meet his with ease, the trust she has in him still shining through when she nods reluctantly, letting up on the four year olds holding onto her legs.

Hesitant still, Y/N watches as her mischievous babies waddled slowly over to their grandmother, looking up at her as if she's the most peculiar person they've ever seen.

And in a way she is. Her hair is molten gold, a leaf crown woven into the locks that broke sun-rays to rainbows. She did look like something out of a fairytale, inhuman even to the ones who don't know any better. And her kids didn't know any better.

"Shall we begin? While most of us are immortal, some don't have the commodity of waiting forever." Zeus huffed, glancing at Y/N and her offspring with underlying disgust he could hardly cover up.

"Wait! Don't I get a single moment with Apollo and Hermes first?" Y/N questions, the panic cracking her voice so blatantly no one could miss the desperation behind it.

"So they can temper with your true feelings? I think not. My sons have done enough damage to you as it is." Zeus states, showing Y/N that it's time to take her seat.

Eyes brimming with tears chained themselves to where the only two men she ever loved stood, each of them facing a horror of impending doom. Apollo wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around Y/N and the kids, just for one moment. Hermes wished for Y/N and the kids to return to Earth and forget about all of this more than anything because if him being with her meant she'd die for his sins, he'd rather not even see her let alone touch her.

But all Y/N could see is how different they seem. They didn't have that light aura around them, rather a gloomy one. Each of them dressed in warrior clothes didn't lessen the weight on her heart either, adding onto the worry she couldn't shed.

What if she says something that ends up being their doom? What if she causes them to die? After everything that's happened, the years of loneliness she's suffered in as a single mother while the future she hoped for disintegrated, she still wanted them to be happy. The only comfort she found in the hell she's felt inside her soul is that both of her guys were alive and together. She didn't break their brotherly bond and they were back home with their loved ones.

She never thought they'd fuck up everything. At least not in her lifetime.

Reluctant and on edge, Y/N sits down right between Yashi and Hecate, each of them representing the past evils Hermes did and each of them more than willing to bury him should they wish so. Hecate most of all.

Hecate played with her long black locks, the purple ends flashing every once in a while as she leaned closer to Y/N and talked in hushed tones.

"You really had me fooled."

Y/N turned to her, giving her a sideways glance before her eyes returned to her children and Hera who crouched beside them, charming them with a little light show at the palm of her hand.

"I'm actually kind of proud of you. It's my blood that allowed you to do so."

"You left me no choice." Y/N responds harshly, sending a quick glare in her direction before turning her attention to Apollo and Hermes, each of them quiet and lost in thought as it seemed.

"You had a choice, you just made the wrong one. You think with your heart and not your head and I tried to show you that listening to your heart will only help you wind up dead. It killed me in the end - not Hermes, but you."

"I would like to call Yashi Singh to testify first." Zeus interrupts the small exchange between Hecate and Y/N, showing Yashi where to stand as she glided across the marble floor, her hair flowing freely at the back. It's a sort of visual joy of the heavens. It's confidence and strength, natural and pretty just as her stance.

"Now, my dear. Would you mind telling me Hermes' greatest crime against your heart?" Zeus tried to keep his voice light, purring at her as if manipulating the woman to speak the most rotten, horrific deeds she could think of.

Yashi lifts her chin up ever so slightly, her lips set in a firm line as her hands clasp together at her midsection.

"Hermes had no trouble lying to get close to me. He hadn't even bat an eye when he took my maidenhood under false pretenses. After all he had done, I was lucky enough to find someone else to cradle my broken heart. My story did have a happy ending, but Hermes showed no mercy toward my future. If he had his way, I'd have ended up alone and disgraced, disowned by my family. Thanks to Athena, I was lucky enough to have time to form a plan and get rid of him and his brother." Sparing Hermes a single glance, Yashi raised both eyebrows at the once so loved god before she smirked. Apollo looked toward Athena who shied away from his eyes, clearly ashamed she worked against him before. He wanted to know why she did it in the first place, but he already assumed why. Zeus forced her, told her it's her duty to do what she can to protect her loyal servants. She didn't have a bloodline like many others for she remained a virgin, but those who served her, worshiped her? Those were her loyal subjects and she protected them vigorously whenever she could.

"I think he committed the same crime hundreds if not thousands of times and that's just his crimes of breaking hearts and draining once hopeful souls. I'm certain he's done much worse in his time. I do believe he deserves the harshest punishment of all."

"Thank you, child. You make take your seat and Y/N can take your place now." Zeus states with a feigned smile, making Y/N's skin crawl as she realized it was her turn to stand and tell the truth. She had no choice. Not if she wanted her kids to remain alive because she was sure Zeus would harm them otherwise.

Passing by Hera, she finds the goddess wrap her fingers around her arm, stopping her for a single moment to utter a few wise words.

"You're pure of heart and your word means more than anything they say. Keep that in mind."

Gulping loudly, Y/N found herself tempted to run toward Hermes and Apollo, ask them to rise up and fight Zeus and end this torture, but Hera is right. She is pure of heart. She can use that against them.

"What is the greatest crime my son has committed?" Zeus smirks, knowing Hermes was completely off the rails the entire time he knew Y/N and he expected her to be the most significant nail in his son's coffin.

"He loved me." Plain and simple, Y/N turns sideways, her eyes finding his as if they've been dying for a single glance, for the love he could offer just by looking at her.

"Hermes is anything but perfect, but he's also done what is necessary. He's always done the right thing, even when the rest of us couldn't understand it just yet and even if it's the hardest possible thing he could have done in the world. Hermes' biggest crime against me is that he loved me just as much if not more than I love him." Emphasizing the present tense, proclaiming her love for the infamous god, she turned back to Zeus defiantly.

"He burned down the Kappa house and most of your belongings. He lied to you. He impregnated you -" Zeus began, each fact spoken louder and louder as he counted until Y/N interjected, stopping him from bashing Hermes any longer.

"With all due respect, both of your sons did that and I don't see Apollo tried for that. It's the most ridiculous medical miracle, but they both did and I don't hold them leaving against them. It is my heart that caused that and I alone am to blame for loving them both too much. The very heart that is pure, which means if I do not hold any hate for him, no reason exists for either of you to. Hermes is a good soul and you should release him." Out of breath, Y/N found herself on fire with her nerves sparking up as every moment passed she felt herself grow stronger, more sure of herself. Without waiting for Zeus to speak and send her on her way, Y/N crossed the short distance between the stand and where Hermes was held on his knees with his brother a step behind him.

She threw herself at the god, wrapping her arms around him so tightly if he were human his ribs would crack under the pressure. She longed for a touch of his skin, but all she found was a long black cape under her fingertips, and gold plates right under her arms instead of his shoulders.

"Return to your seat, Y/N Y/L/N." Zeus ordered sternly, but she rebelled long enough to stand and grip Apollo who came closer, hugging over Hermes who felt his soul tear itself up only to be made new again with the pounding of his heart being so deafening.

"Are they mine?" Apollo whispered in her ear, frantic at the possibility of having an answer.

"Valerie is." She managed to respond before one of the guards rudely grabbed her by the arm and ripped her away from Apollo with a ruthless tug, causing her to stifle a pained groan.

"DON'T FUCKING PUT YOUR HANDS ON HER!" Hermes jolted, his voice echoing the hall as he watched the guard drag her back to the stand and release her from his hold.

Apollo gritted his teeth, not only because he was so fucking confused about what she meant, but also because he wanted nothing more than to rip into the guard and take his life with his own two hands. He'd choke the life out of him, snap him like a twig before throwing him into the Underworld, allowing Hermes to decide on the best form of torture for him.

"I believe I asked you to return to your seat. If not, I'm more than happy to show you what happens when someone disobeys a god." Zeus quipped, his lips curling to the left as he formed a half smile and his forehead no longer creased as his wicked implications came to life and Y/N quickly nodded, doing as she's told. She knew the threat was against her children, you didn't have to be a mind reader to see that.

Crashing in her seat, she could hardly breathe as she heaved with a fury of untold confessions to her favorite gods and hateful words at Zeus and all those who liked to play with human lives.

"Maybe you should. There are two of those snot monsters." Poseidon speaks up, rubbing his chin devilishly as a wicked grin spread across his lips.

Y/N's eyes widen, her hands gripping the chair she's in as she lunged forward to jump and protest, but Hecate outstretched her arm instinctively in front of her, stopping Y/N from doing something rash that she couldn't take back.

"Or perhaps I could tell my story and you can stop being such an ass? Have your forgotten Hera made an unbreakable vow?" Hecate raised her left eyebrow, standing up with ease as she challenged one of the supreme gods no one dared to second guess before. She waltzed toward the stand, keeping her gaze set on Poseidon who looked to be seething already.

"Or you can just return to the Underworld where you're supposed to be rotting! Perhaps you could be taught a lesson or two as Sisyphus is?" Poseidon snickered, placing his hands on his hips.

"Perhaps spend a few nights pleasuring me and I'll forget about all of this?" He offered, finding Hecate more than irritated.

"Maybe I'll bring back Medusa and have her do it for me? I'm sure she'd like to look you in the eye at least once." Hecate remarks and Y/N finally realizes this is all just a distraction for them to let go of the idea of even looking at her kids.

Hecate is...protecting her?

"Either way, I have a few to say to Hermes." She glances over her shoulder at her once consort, narrowing her eyes at him.

"He cheated on me, lied to me, abandoned me and then some. After all, he tried to kill me too. He just couldn't do the job right. Makes me think he didn't really want me dead, rather a way to exercise his demons on someone. Whatever. I don't really care what happens to him anymore, but if it's up to me, let him live the rest of his mortal life on Earth. Take away Underworld and watch him suffer for it while he's living a mundane life with Y/N and the brats she bore."

Without realizing it, in her first attempt of kindness in centuries, Hecate made a mistake.

"He tried to kill you?" Poseidon interrupts, watching her closely.

"Zeus, my brother, where did you bring Hecate here from?" The question alone unsettles both Hermes and Apollo, who is already well prepared for disaster.

"What are you trying to say?" Zeus frowns, realizing he had more trouble bringing the goddess to Mount Olympus than Y/N from Earth.

"I think Hecate here is dead. Just a shadow of her former self." Poseidon looks back to the goddess who lifts her head up high, strolling toward him with all the confidence in the world.

"You had to reassemble her soul from Tartarus to have her shadow here, didn't you? Poseidon keeps prodding, now making Y/N nervous. She still didn't know for sure, but she was pretty certain Ethan...Hermes is on trial for Hades' death. He was the only one missing in the hall and that's the only despicable thing Hermes wanted to do once he returned home. If Poseidon gets a whiff of what happened to Hecate, then what would happen to her?

"Who killed you, Hecate?" Zeus grabbed her by the shoulders roughly, shaking her violently as a rag doll while his rage filled voice chilled everyone around him to the bone.

Thunder rolled in, electricity sparking around the hall in unpredictable spots and once Y/N saw Hera cover her kids with her body, she knew they were safe and it helped her lessen the burden of her soul.

"Y/N did." Poseidon concludes, chuckling so loudly, so maniacally that his beauty truly didn't matter anymore. His rotten soul shocked more than his good looks, forcing Y/N to remind herself to breathe because the way this is going, she's in deep shit and she knows it.

Hecate turns to Y/N helplessly shouting: "RUN", but where? How? She's a human with everyone she loves trapped there as well. There's no where to run, especially not when two guards form by her side out of thin air, dragging her forth and pushing her down on her knees besides Hermes.

"Mommy!" Two tiny, terrified voices rippled through a sudden onset of hushed voices and small fights that erupted between the other gods.

But Y/N could barely hear anything after her kids screamed. She watched them trash against Hera as they fought to get to her side. She sensed Hermes lean toward her and his breath tickle her neck.

She didn't hear him whisper a promise that he wouldn't let this happen.

She didn't see nor hear Apollo being restrained just behind her as five guards struggled to hold him down. Apollo felt like a caged beast, breaking through anyone who tried to stop him from protecting Y/N and Hermes. He couldn't bear what would happen if he didn't. His duty as a god of Mount Olympus is to protect the gods and do what he must in order to serve his father for an eternity.

What is eternity without Y/N's gentle touch? What is eternity compared to his brother's love? Nothing at all. The love he bears for Y/N, for Hermes...for that little girl Y/N told him is his and possibly the boy as well? That love is the death of duty he swore to ever since he became aware of his existence.

He tried to reach Y/N, but she seemed frozen in her spot, her eyes laid upon her children in the far right as Zeus came closer, all the way until he stopped in front of her and the son he could barely call his anymore.

The next thing Y/N heard was what sealed her fate.

"Taking a life is an unspeakable crime. To take a gods eternity? It. Is. Unforgivable. You are both sentenced to die."

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