#the gods said 'youre destined to kill each other'

[in-fair-verona-we-set-our-scene]

I do think Withers has a really subtle background character arc in bg3. Because at the start it is really clear he doesn't want to be here and he's being forced to clean up his mess by Helm and probably Ao. He doesn't really care either. Everything ends so nothing really matters, he'd like to go back to his paperwork now please.

Except he's stuck babysitting a bunch of traumatized dumbasses as they stumble into dealing with the most recent bad idea of his three fuck-up disappointments. So he brings them back when they die for a pittance, lets them pay for some vengeful ghosts to come back as flesh and blood to wreak bloody vengeance on the Absolute, and starts to... comment, on what's going on, as he follows them on their adventure.

Next thing you know Withers is like, doing things unprompted. He refuses to bring back Alfira (or Quil) but that's an act of compassion, keeping the poor girl from the Urge and letting her rest, his actual duty as a god of death. He tells Arabella to follow her destiny and does that thing to make her grief go away which honestly freaks me out but seems to be him trying to help her. He shows up at Moonrise and prompts us to consider why the Dead Three would want a bunch of soulless illithids that would give them no power, getting us to think of the big picture.

And by the end (especially if you do a resist!Durge playthrough) Withers is actively interfering and seems genuinely invested! He brings Durge back from the dead, free of their father! He encourages us before the final fight with the Netherbrain! He's real fucking smug that the Dead Three lost when he never seemed to care about the destruction they caused before! He throws a reunion party and many of his lines are genuinely touching or kind! Especially if a companion died permanently! He has tea with Gale's mom and Tara! He's like, socializing and shit! Yes, everything is temporary and we all die, but there's great beauty in fighting for that precious time and living it to the fullest!

Basically Wither's character arc is this meme, all because Helm made him go outside and touch grass.

[luvyeni]

RED STRING THEORY ,, 이동혁

pairings ‎⸝⸝⸝ lee haechan x fem!reader wc. 2k

genre. smut, soulmate au (?)

🦢◞ includes ... making out, oral sex ( male receiving ), unprotected sex

「 authors note 𖹭 」 this idea has been sitting in my notes since 2023 but I could never think of how to write it.

❪ masterlist! ❫

all your friends loved to say you and donghyuck are soulmates; tied together by a red invisible string, that you're destined to be together much like in your other lives— maybe that was true, and you did actually care for the boy in a another universe or timeline… but you knew for a fact in this time you wanted to wrap your hands around his—

“yn?” you were brought from your thoughts. “you okay?” you roommate yeji asked. “of course not the love of her life isn't here.” the irritating voice made your eye twitch. “you thinking of me baby?” lee donghyuck, haechan or your personal favorite jackass sat down next to you. “you know what yeah i was , i was thinking all about you”

everyone sitting at the lunch table stopped what they were doing. “seriously?” you hummed , nodding. “i told you guys she loved , tell me baby, what were you thinking about?” renjuns face turned in disgust. “i didn't consent to hearing your sex fantasy about haechan that you just had in public, might i add.” you turned to the boy , your hands resting on his shoulders, his eyes widened.

“i was thinking of taking my hand.” your friends watching, dragging your hand up his neck. “d-don't you think we should do this in private, not in front of our friends.” you started to squeeze. “i think she's trying to kill him.” jaemin whispered. “taking my hand , and squeezing , until your eyes pop.”

your friends erupted into laughter as you released the boy , he rubbed his neck. “yn i think you really scared him this time.” jeno said. “him? no.” you turned to the boy who was staring lovingly at you. “you see.” you rolled your eyes. “why can't you admit that you like me, love , make it easy for yourself?” everyone sighed knowing the rant he was about to go on. “we're perfect for each other.”

“yeah? how.” you said. “i'm hot and your hot , and it's obvious we were in love in our past lives,” he said. “haechan i’ve explained to you that the invisible string theory isn't real.” you argued back. “yeah how would i know about the birth mark on your lower back?” he did have a point , it was too low for anyone to see. “yeah how does he know that?” yeji asked. “because he's a creep that's why.” you stood up , needing to leave for your next class. “or maybe in our past lives our favorite position was doggy style , i couldn't forget that even in a new life.” he smirked, you shook your head. “i'm going to class.”

the boy followed behind you; sadly you had the same classes. “we're even in the same class.” he sat down next to you. “yeah and im still not sure if you did that on purpose.” the professor walked in before he could say something. “god heard my prayers.”

“there's a new project due , 30% of your grade for this semester.” you groaned , you hated projects. “let's do it together.” haechan said, he knew you were serious about school so he never bothered you during class , he actually never bothered you unless he knew it would stress you out. “why would i torture myself in such a manor?” he smiled. “I love our little talks.” you shook your head , standing up. “goodbye donghyuck.”

“wait yn, i'm serious,” he said. “you know me and you are the best in this class, we'll sure get an A on this.” you kissed your teeth, you hated when hebwas right, he loved to fuck around , but when it came to his work he was serious. “fine.” his eyes widened. “seriously?”

“yeah , let's go.” he quickly gathered his things. “you can't take it back now.” you rolled your eyes. “let's go.” he nodded. “back to your place?” you saw the smirk on his face. “yeji is home , and hell will freeze over before i ever come over to your house of horrors.” you walked away, he followed behind. “so that means there's a chance?”

“where are you going?” you opened the door to yeji about to leave. “jaemin called me and told me he saw you both walking towards our dorm together, i thought he was high again.” she stopped. “we’re working on a project together, sadly beside me he's the only other smarter one in the class.” haechan smiled. “see she knows how to compliment me.”

“i told him you'd be here so he would start anything.” you said , “but it seems like you aren't.” yeji shook her head. “work, one of my co workers called off , if you want groceries for the next month , i have to leave now.” she said , walk right out the door. “see even the universe wants us together.”

“my bedroom, let's go.” you walked. “if you like to be in charge i'm down.” he followed you. “haechan you're here to help with the project.” you said flatly. “i know , i know don't worry , i'll sit down and listen.” he sat on your bed , you cringed. “oh im sorry would you like for me to take my clothes off for your comfort?” you sat down in your chair. “no , i can just change it when you leave.” he smirked. “how about i give you a better reason to change them.” you glared at him , even though this time , you let a little smile slip. “fine, fine let's do the project.” he threw his hands up. “thank you.” you turned around facing your laptop. “but i saw that smile.”

you both actually did get half of your project done; you closed your laptop turning around in your chair, sighing. “you did good , kept your word and actually got work done.” you praised the boy. “don't you think i deserve a reward.” he laid back on your bed. “you can get your things and go.” he faked laughed. “no one is here, you can drop the act that you hate me.” you raised your eyebrows. “you think this is an act?” he nodded. “i do.”

“why is that?” you questioned, he shrugged. “you invited me to your apartment , you never do that even if it's with the other guys.” he said, “you invited me into your room with no one else home.” he smirked. “you love me.”

“you're cocky , that's why i don't like you.” you scoffed. “i think that's what you like about me the most.” he winked. “i see the twinkle in your pretty eyes , you mean to tell me you don't believe the string theory even a little bit?” you stood up shaking your head , walking over to your door. “and with that , good night haechan.” you opened it , showing him out.

he stood up, walking over to you and the door; you thought he was about to leave , but he stopped in front of you. “haechan what are you…” before you could even finish it , he was closing the door , pushing you against it. “hyuck.” he smirked. “now i'm hyuck , what happened to donghyuck?” he grabbed your hips , pulling you flush against him. “pretending to hate me this entire time; when in reality you're just as horny for me as i am for you.”

he closed the already miniscule gap in between you both; your lips dancing with each other , bodies grinding against each other. “bed.” you sighed , he kept his mouth on as he guided you to your bed , pushing you down on the bed. “what happened to letting me be in charge?” you said breathlessly. “that was before , this is now.”

he climbed on the bed , laying against the headboard. “come.” you climbed into his lap , straddling him. “look at you so desperate , take your top off baby.” you lifted your arms up pulling the shirt over your head. “nice tits.” he winked, you rolled your eyes. “i wish i had a gag.” he hummed. “oh , really?” you nodded. “get on your knees , i got one for you.”

you would've rolled your eyes at his corny ass humor , but you were too horny; getting on your knees in front of him , he unbuckled his pants , lifting his hands up , pulling his pants down enough to let his cock free , bobbing against his stomach , tan skin; red and ready to be sucked. “you keep looking at it baby, how about putting that pretty mouth to use.”

you finally put your hand around his length , giving his tip a kiss , he hissed. “fuck.” he sighed , he must've been in some sort of sex dream , but he didn't want wake up if it was. “k-keep going.” if someone told you that you'd be doing this to lee haechan , in your bed, you would've assumed they were doing drugs. “fuuuuck , just like i imagined, keep sucking my cock love.” his head was thrown back against the headboard , his hip bucking up into your mouth , you gagged around him. “sorry love -fuck- i'm about to fucking cum.”

he was loud , if yeji was to come home or if any of the boys decided they want to remember the password to your door like they sometimes do; they would for sure be able to hear him at least. “fuck im cumming.”

you pulled off him , he groaned; wiping your mouth. “you came so much.” you coughed. “ and do you purposely eat pineapples or something?” your voice was scratchy. “could never be so sure,” he said. “freak.” you crawled back into his lap. “yeah , why are you grinding on me then?” you softly moaned. “go-good sex.” he scoffed. “how will you know if i never fucked you?”

“if you keep teasing you never will.” he didn't say anything else , pulling your panties to the side , grinding his hips up, rubbing his cock along your folds , his tip catching your clit. “fuck hyuck , put it in.” you lifted your hips, he held his cock right at your entrance. “sit on it baby.”

both of you moaned out as you felt him fill you out. “g-goddamn.” you hissed. “you're fucking big.” he smirked, you wanted to smack it right off of him. “i know love, -fuck- you've been missing out.” he cursed. “could've been bouncing on my cock almost two years ago , but instead you've been such a bitch to me.” he moaned.

he was holding your ass in his hand as you bounced on his cock , his mouth on your tips , sucking on your nipples. “fuck hyuck im gonna cum!” you gasped out , he pushed your hips down , fucking his hips up at a fast pace. “hyuck fuck!” you screamed. “fuck i'm gonna cum.” you gripped his hair. “oh fuck i love that , pull it again.”

you gripped his hair as you came around him , your cunt sucking him in , cumming. “shit love , im gonna fucking cum.” he held you down , thrusting a few times , before he came with a sigh. “sh-shit.” he had a dumb smile on his face , as he came down from one of the best highs he's ever had. “did i fuck you dumb?” he scoffed. “it takes a lot to fuck me dumb baby , pretty sure that would happen to you before me.” you rolled your eyes. “you wanna bet baby?” he flipped you over with a smirk. “you better hope yeji doesn't come back.”

…

“wait hold on.” renjun said. “you came onto him?” you rolled your eyes. “i’ve been chasing her this entire time , and this one time she got me alone.” you scoffed at the boy who had his arm around your shoulder. “it was the bed line wasn't it?” yeji spoke up. “what bed line.” you said , “no more questions.”

“so i guess you kinda have to believe in the red string theory now.” jaemin said. “yeah , it just took a little longer to work this time.” jeno followed. “come on love , just tell them , you believe it now , even just a bit it.” you thought for a bit , smiling.

“okay maybe i believe in the theory just a little bit.”

©LUVYENI

[gay-dorito-dust]

I'm curious, how did wade and logan meet isekai gremlin reader? Did reader just fall from the sky and landed beside the two unharmed? We know wade breaks the fourth evrytime because his sentient and logan had seen worse sp if reader just straight up tells the two that they are from another universe the two would just😐👍okay. They woulb be ubothered by it

Wade and Logan first met you when they were having shawarma. It was a nice day, nothing could possibly go wrong until…

‘Ow fuck!’ You groaned as you got up from a seemingly never ending fall through the void, only to realised that you didn’t hurt as badly as you thought you did when you went to run your arm. ‘Don’t know why I said ow fuck when that didn’t actually hurt being with.’ You then murmur to yourself as you looked up to see the portal you fell from close assumably forever.

‘Did god kick you out of heaven little angel? Did you do something naughty? Blasphemous even?’ Wade asked, swallowing his last bit of shawarma, wiping himself down before he let Dogpool run your feet as you smiled down at the cutes dog you’ve ever seen. Some would say she’s ugly, the most ugliest dog they’ve ever met, but to you she’s perfect with her lopsided tongue and scruffy appearance.

‘He fucking wishes but no, I’m not an angel nor did I come from heaven.’ You told Wade as you picked up Dogpool, unbothered by the excessive licking to the face, you’d like to call it her showing you her unconditional love and affection.

‘Then where did you come from?’ Logan asked, completely unfazed by this and the dog licking your face excessively.

You shrug, not caring whether you sounded nuts for saying it. ‘Another dimension.’ You proclaimed.

Wade and Logan looked at each other before looking at you again.

‘Ah! Another overused and abused Isekai trope fanfic, like that’s surprising to anyone reading this.’ Wade then said to no one in particular.

‘The fuck is that supposed to mean scrotum face?’ You replied, holding Dogpool closer in your arms when you noticed that Wade was planing on taking her off your hands, no one was going to take this cute doggy from your hands, you’ve only met this cutie and you’d kill everyone before killing yourself if anything happened to her.

‘Look bub, Wade over here talks out of his ass, so it’s best not to take anything he says seriously.’ Logan answered for you as he got up from his seat groaning. He’s been alive for far too long to act surprised at anything at this point. A pig could sprout wings or suddenly talk and Logan wouldn’t find this out of the ordinary, that or he just was too tired and perpetually annoyed at everything to feel anything outside of that.

‘Now that our meet cute is over and done with, papa is going to need his little Mary Poppins back now.’ Wade reached out to grab Dogpool but you took a step back, still holding her close to your chest.

‘No.’ You told him. ‘She’s my Mary Poppins now.’

Wade gasps ‘are we entering our enemies to friends to lovers, 300k words, slow burn phase?’

You looked to Logan who only shrugs his shoulders. ‘I’ve got not a fucking clue what he just said just now.’ You then looked back to Wade and then little Dogpool, who was still licking your face, before deciding to bolt down the street. ‘YOU’ll never take me alive!’

You could hear Wade and Logan simultaneously cursing as they proceeded to follow after you, and at one point you could’ve sworn you heard Wade yell, ‘MY BABY! PAPA AND PAPA ARE COMING SWEETIE DONT WORRY!’ Before hearing Logan hit him in the back of the head saying, ‘damn it Wade! I ain’t no damn papa!’

You couldn’t help but laugh as you, with Dogpool in your arms, continued to run as far as you could with no real destination in mind, maybe this new dimension wouldn’t be so bad if this is how you got to live everyday. You couldn’t mind it one bit.

[cottagedreamy]

Sometimes, i think how beautiful is the love between all the strawhats. I'm not talking about the romantic one, but the platonical. Besides i believe that any names could describe how their relationship works.

Oh, they just love so much each other. They LIVE, they keep going for them. They watch their backs, they fight GOD for them, they would burn, drown, kill, loose limbs for keep their nakamas safe.

It's so cute the fact that they do everything together. If they bath, they bath together. If they're gonna eat? They eat together! They're gonna sleep, they sleep together. One of them got a fever, they'll gonna look after them while asleep. Someone is sleeping without an blanket? Someone will bring one for them. One of them is working? There's always someone to make them company.

They tease each other, they hit their asses, they gonna fight for the insignificant things, they gonna argue, they gonna disturb each other, they will call you dumb and hit you, they can be mean for fun, and never say "i love you", because they just gonna show their love in different ways that doesn't need words.

It's funny to think they're so close, even they spent more time apart than together. But the dedication they have for each other, I feel like it was in the stars that they would meet, and at the moment when they needed it most, they appeared in each other's lives like sacred angels and bringing good company and shaping their bonds. unique characters that make it feel more like a family than a simple pirate crew. They are far from the conventional pirates we are familiar with in fiction. Because that ship became more than a shelter, it became a home.

And one day, this crew will be disbanded, and they will be able to go on with their lives peacefully. Travel, study, maybe get married, manage somewhere... And then, will their hearts sometimes go back to the sea and think "I miss those crazy days, with those people and with my captain..."? Everything will be just memories in the very distant future, but they will always carry a part of themselves in each other. They changed their nakama's lives forever.

But they've never got a chance to say "i think you're my family. And i love you", but like i said, they don't need to say. Their actions do it for themselves. They have so much love to give.

Oh, to be loved by your friends. To be cared by them. To call the sea your home, having a place to came back, but risk your life for some people that you've meet for a little time in your life, because you learned you can love, and now you have someone to share this love. Oh, they are destined to meet, they're all made for eachother. They're soulmates.

[alexsoenomel]

The Reveries Of My Mind (Dean Winchester x Reader fluff/smut)

Summary: What happens when you discover you can feel someone's torment and struggles through an unexplainable bond?

"Your struggles are mine. Your sadness is mine. You're mine."

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI , vanilla sex, dreams about the reader dying --not too graphic , first person fic

Word count: 6.7k

Note: I took my time with this one. I really like it. I've been struggling to write for so long it feels good to be back. Enjoy!

Like/ reblog or both if you like it :)

And a huge thank you to my wonderful beautiful best friend @ambergoddess444​ for being the best beta reader <3

I’m gonna kill him. 

I heard Sam’s voice echo in my mind as I was eating my pancakes. I looked at Dean who was stuffing his face with eggs and bacon, not really paying attention to Sam’s resting bitch face. 

STOP CHEWING SO LOUD FOR THE LOVE OF CHUCK!

I heard him again and almost choked on my milk. 

“What?” Sam asked. 

“Oh, nothing,” I answered. 

Dean just glanced at me and continued eating his breakfast. 

It was Sunday and luck was on our side because we couldn't find a case. This would happen once in a blue moon so we were quite content with having a day off. Monsters sometimes sleep.

After breakfast Sam said he was going to go and catch up on some reading while Dean and I were left alone. 

“Can I borrow Baby?” I asked, since it was July and summer was in full swing in Kansas. I wanted to forget about my job – about hunting – I wanted to go outside and feel the summer breeze in my hair in his beautiful Impala. I already knew his answer as soon as I saw his brow arch. He was very protective over his Baby; only allowed me to drive once after I begged him for my birthday. 

Absolutely not. 

“Why?” 

I crossed my arms, my lips thinned. 

“Why ask when you already gave me your answer?” 

Dean raised his eyebrows, eyes widened as we were sitting at the table opposite of each other. 

“I keep forgetting you can do that,” he said, looking away from me. 

“You keep forgetting about your mental shield,” I told him as I went to the kitchen to get myself some coffee. 

I didn't realize Dean was following me until I heard his voice. 

“I can't just sit in silence and breathe while I think about nothing.” 

“You mean to meditate?” I chuckled.

“Yeah…that.” 

I took a sip of hot coffee Sam made after breakfast and turned around to face him. 

“You have to strengthen your shield, Dean.” 

“There has to be another way,” he said desperately as he poured coffee into his black mug. 

“No there isn't, I told you. Everyone has a mental shield, but the reason why I can hear people's thoughts 99% of the time is because their shield is not strong enough. And how do you strengthen your shield? You shut up and meditate. Focus on it and build it.” 

Dean wasn't pleased as he took another sip of his coffee. 

“Sam meditates, can you still hear his thoughts?” 

“I can, because it takes years to actually strengthen the damn shield and he started meditating six months ago.” 

He just rolled his eyes as we went back to the library. 

“I don't want you in my head,” he stated. 

“I cannot help it, dumbass. Can I take the car or not?” 

Dean took the keys out of his pocket and dangled them in front of my face. I tried to take them but he refused to give them to me. 

Typical.

“I'm driving,” he told me with a smirk. 

***

“Where do you want to go?” He asked me as I closed the car door. 

“I don't have any particular destination in mind. I just wanted to drive around and listen to music.” 

Dean gave me a soft smile before starting the engine. Baby was purring – I could never get tired of that sound; it was smooth and powerful – no wonder he was so protective of her. The car held memories, sacred moments and was filled with stories – good and bad. 

“Sounds like a plan,” and with those words we were off. 

We were on the main highway, heading to God knows where. Dean, of course being the driver, was controlling the music as well. 

Dream On by Aerosmith was playing. I loved that song, but I was in the mood for Van Halen. 

Driver picks the music. Shot-

“Shotgun what?” I smirked, glancing at him. I saw he gripped the wheel tighter and licked his lips.

“God, I hate when you do that,” he said. I chuckled. 

Front windows were down, summer breeze in my face and hair gently caressing me as Crazy Train started playing. Ozzy was too chaotic for this drive. As much as I loved his songs I wanted something to ease my mind and not encourage my body to produce adrenaline. I dared to change the song. 

Don't Fear The Reaper by Blue Öyster Cult. 

Much better.

“Hey, I was listening to that,” Dean of course complained. 

“Well not anymore,” I told him as I showed him a middle finger.  

A chuckle left his lips before he spoke.

“Wanna grab a few drinks?” 

“Dean I don't wanna get drunk at” – I looked at my phone to check the time – “11am.”

“You don't have to do anything you don’t wanna do. We can buy a few beers and go to our favorite hiding spot. If I get too drunk maybe, maybe I'll let you drive.” 

I couldn't believe what I just heard. My heart was racing from excitement. Sam was always the designated driver; Dean would sometimes drive drunk without us noticing. I know that because he admitted that…while we were drinking after a successful hunt. 

“Really?” I played skeptical; part of me was. “You're not afraid I'll crash your beloved car?”

“If you do, I'll kill you,” he looked at me and gave me a flat smile. 

Fair enough.

“Well okay.” 

She won't crash my car.

Well I think she won’t. 

I hope she won’t.

I didn't say anything, just stared at the trees blurred on my right side as we passed by; absorbing the warmth and sunshine in my face. 

It's My Life By Bon Jovi started playing. 

Perfect.  

Dean bought a couple of beers and some Slim Jims at the first gas station just before his favorite hiding spot. 

The hiding spot was an abandoned house we found a few months ago when we were hunting a vampire nest. It was an old cabin in the middle of nowhere, a few miles away from the main road. After exterminating the nest, we started coming there every once in a while to relax and get away from everything that made us hunters. Sam completely forgot about that place but Dean and I would occasionally go, mainly at night to get away from the bunker’s haunting reminder of the life we were living. There we were just regular folk, drinking and having fun. The house was dusty and old, but dear to us, like a portal to a regular life and what we desperately wanted, but could never have. 

As we were approaching the house I couldn’t ignore the strong sense of serenity coming from Dean. His mind was at ease, no racing thoughts, no sorrow he would usually carry within himself – he was happy. I’ve never told him about that; I know he would probably freak out – yell even – so I kept my mouth shut. I would be lying if I said it didn't freak me out as well. Every emotion he would feel, I would feel too and sometimes even twice as strong. It was like a bond of some sort; an invisible string connecting us and letting me see and feel every inch of his mind. I would wake up whenever he couldn’t sleep, I’d laugh whenever he’d laughed and I would get angry whenever he’d get angry…I felt everything and it was driving me insane not being able to talk to him about it, because it was only him I’d felt connected to.

I smiled at him when he turned off the engine, feeling the warmth in his soul. I got out of the car and stretched my legs, inhaling fresh summer air and soaking in the sunshine on my skin. 

“Let’s have a picnic,” I suggested, “I don’t wanna go inside. The weather is beautiful.” 

“A picnic? Here?” He asked, looking around. Nothing but endless grass fields around us; the highway was peeking through the greenery but we could barely see it anymore.

“You will be fine, princess,” I chuckled, “Besides it’s good to connect with mother nature every once and a while.” 

Forest nymph. 

He started calling me that when I told him about my love and admiration for nature and my passion for hiking and exploring woods. He told me no sane person loves hiking, but his younger brother understood. Now, occasionally I’d go hiking with Sam. 

I ignored his thought, even though I wanted to tell him we weren’t in a forest, and found a perfect spot next to the house and sat down. He rolled his eyes and joined me. 

Dean cracked two bottles and I opened one of my favorite honey BBQ Slim Jims and took a first bite. I loved the smooth texture and a light honey flavor mixed with BBQ aroma in my mouth. 

“Cheers!” He said lifting his bottle for a toast. 

“Cheers, for not dying!” 

He chuckled. 

“For not dying!”

One beer…

Two beers later we were both feeling the consequences of our own actions. I was tipsy due to my low alcohol tolerance while Dean seemed sober but was far from it. He had a strange gift – being able to fake sobriety. He had been doing it for years and now seeing him behaving like a drunken fool looked strange and unfamiliar. 

He was looking at me; green eyes sparkling under the sun making me wonder if he and I were ever meant for something more. I was in love with the idea of being in love with him but it scared me more than death which I had experienced a couple of times. He was my best friend, my annoying best friend with a heart of gold and a shadow he wanted to remain hidden.

We stayed for hours, soaking in the sunshine and summer heat while reliving old memories and wondering if this life we had was worth it. We soon realized, it was. 

“We still get to experience this,” I stated, showing him a butterfly that flew in that moment right in front of me.

“Butterflies?” He wondered, tilting his head a little in confusion.

“Nature, dumbass,” I smiled, “And other small pleasures, music, alcohol, food…and also knowing the world is less shitty because of us.”

He nodded in a silent agreement before hearing him call me forest nymph again. His warm green eyes fixed on me, making me a bit nervous. He didn't say a word.

“What?” I finally asked him. 

His right hand went into the pocket of his jeans and he pulled out his car keys.

“You can drive,” he told me and gave me the keys. 

***

When we came back home safely, since I didn’t crash his precious car, Sam was still in his room, probably reading and Dean decided to take a nap since naps weren’t a regular occurrence in our household. 

I decided to continue the book I started a couple of weeks ago. I missed being able to read books I wanted, and not just ones for research purposes. I could still feel him. He was content. I smiled and opened my book. 

An hour into the book and a picture flashed right in front of my eyes. I saw blood, so much blood on the sidewalk. Hairs on my arms rose as another frame appeared: it was a girl lying face down, head bludgeoned. A wave of fear rushed over me as I closed my book, not being able to simply ignore it. I knew exactly what this was – Dean’s nightmares – I knew exactly who this was. 

Another flash. His hands, covered in blood. He was trying to wake me up. He was calling my name over and over again like a prayer of despair, but I didn’t wake up; I didn’t move an inch.

Usually I would ignore his nightmares; I was too afraid to say anything, afraid of his reaction and not being able to give him a good explanation, but my silence was killing me. Something told me – maybe it was intuition or my impulsiveness, or both –  I had to wake him up.

Quickly I got out of my bed and rushed to his room. His jaw was clenched, his body seemed stiff under the white sheet that covered him just below his chin. I could hear quiet moans coming from him as another picture appeared right in front of me – he was on his knees, holding me tight, eyes bloodshot red and filled with tears…My heart broke in a second before I closed my eyes, trying to make it go away. As I approached him I could see his eyes fluttering rapidly beneath his closed eyelids, his forehead glistening with a faint sheen of sweat…I had to wake him up.

“Dean?” I whispered and sat next to him. A whimper escaped his lips. 

“Dean?” I called his name again, this time a little bit louder and with a hand on his cheek. He was warm. 

“Dean, wake up!” I could feel his shock as he shot his eyes open, taking a deep breath like he forgot how to breathe, shivers running through him – I could feel them all over my skin. 

He took in his familiar surroundings before he looked at me. 

“You had a nightmare,” I told him. 

“Yeah, a really bad one,” he simply added, pinching the bridge of his nose. A headache started to settle as he got up and went to the bathroom to splash himself with cold water. He was only wearing black boxers and it wasn’t like I have never seen him shirtless, it was the fact that every time I did, I had to tell myself not to stare like a Victorian man seeing ankles for the first time. 

I swallowed thickly without saying a word.

I have to tell him. I repeated that sentence over and over again. I have to tell him he deserves to know. 

When he came back my eyes registered his bulge for a second before looking up. I was praying he didn’t notice. 

“Are you okay?” I asked. 

“Yeah, so much for napping,” he lied and started putting on his blue jeans. I knew he was lying, he would always lie and repress his emotions and needs. I knew he was exhausted. Those nightmares had been happening for a week straight; the exhaustion showing on his face in a form of dark circles; the once lively features now appeared subdued; eyes dimmed. 

“I saw it,” I utter these three words without much thought. 

“What?” He was about to button his red flannel, stopping mid through.  

“I saw your nightmare, you have been having the same nightmare for a week now.” 

I refused to look at him, but I could feel his eyes on me as he took my words in. I could feel a slight sting in my chest coming from him – shock.

“You can read minds AND see people’s nightmares?”

“Not people’s; yours. It only happens with you, I wake up every time you have a nightmare, I feel every emotion you feel,” – I took a deep breath before I continued; I knew him well enough to know he hated secrets, even though he was a damn hypocrite and had his own – “I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to freak you out. I cannot control it, trust me I tried, but I can’t. It has been happening for a while and-” 

His eyes once trusting shited and now held a hint of disappointment, his jaw clenched. Anger.

Anger and disappointment. 

“For how long?” His deep voice echoed in my ears as he cut my frantic explanation short.

I froze. I knew this question was coming. I knew right there that keeping this thing a secret was a mistake. I couldn’t answer it. I couldn’t…

“For how long (Y/N)?” He demanded crossing his arms. I didn’t like the sound of my name when he was angry.

I stood up, barely feeling my legs before I answered: “A year.” 

“Does Sam know?” The next question came out less angrily, his voice softer than seconds ago. 

“No.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. It started as just me feeling whenever you were happy, it was hard to recognise it at first, I thought it was my happiness and then it progressed to other emotions like fear, anger and sadness and after that I started seeing your dreams. I didn’t tell Sam because I wasn’t sure what was happening.” 

“And you didn’t tell me because…?” He asked like I hadn’t given him the answer. 

“I told you I didn’t want to freak you out. It feels like I’m invading your privacy.”

He scoffed.

“No shit Sherlock!” 

His eyes widened before he spoke again: “Wait, so that means you can feel whenever I get horny?” 

I chuckled. “No, because being horny isn’t an emotion, Dean. It’s a state.”

“Oh thank God,” he expressed his relief. 

“I do feel the sudden rush of endorphins and happy hormones every time you come though,” at this point I had nothing to hide, especially when I could feel his anger subsiding. It wasn’t like him to just ignore something that made him angry, but for whatever reason he was over it. Now he was mortified. 

“Oh God!” He said and opened the door of his room. “SAMMY! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE WE HAVE SOME RESEARCH TO DO!” 

I swallowed a laugh before he turned around. 

“We're gonna get to the bottom of this!” 

***

Sam was genuinely surprised when I told him about the bond. He would usually try to find an explanation or guess what it was; this time he was silent. No logical explanation, no guessing, no nothing…

“Well that’s something I have never heard off,” he just told you and went to the library to try and find some books about…

Mind reading?

Bonds?

“I don’t even know what I’m looking for,” he said, looking at the spines of old books on the shelves. 

“You’re telling me,” Dean agreed. 

“It’s not like I’m a monster with abilities.” 

My statement was enough to light a bulb in Sam’s head: “Yes but…” – he went to the second shelf behind you, like he knew what he was looking for – “You’re something else.” 

Dean and I looked at each other in confusion before Sam pulled a book from the shelf. 

“Indigo children?” I read the covers. 

“Huh?” Of course Dean had no idea. 

“I mean it makes sense, you said you were always highly empathetic, ever since you were a kid right?” 

“Yes,” I nodded as he was flipping the pages trying to find a specific chapter. The book was annotated but it wasn’t his handwriting. 

“Also you started reading minds when you were 7?”

“Well kinda.”

“Before that it was like a guessing game, you just knew?”

“Sort of.” 

Chapter 54. Abilities. 

Indigo children are children who are believed to possess special, unusual, and sometimes supernatural traits or abilities. 

“I have been on this Earth for how long and I’ve never connected the dots,” I said, admiring my own stupidity and inability to dig deeper. I was never curious enough to find an explanation for my ability; never cared enough to think about it too deeply; when I started living with Sam and Dean five years ago I told them right away what I could do. They first thought I was Azazel’s long lost special kid, the one that was lucky enough to somehow hide in the shadows back when Azazel was still alive, but that wasn’t the case. My parents were killed by a vampire and I’d never met Azazel; I didn’t even know he existed until they told me. I only knew regular black eyed demons. 

“So, you were a gifted kid? That still doesn’t explain your ability to do what you have been doing for a year,” Dean scoffed. 

Who names gifted kids indigo kids? Seriously?!

You chuckled. 

“Wait, you have been able to do that for a year?” You heard Sam, your eyes still on the book, trying to find something, anything that would indicate the existence of the said bond. 

“Yes, why?” 

“Go to chapter 55,” he told me. I flipped a few pages until I saw: Chapter 55, Soulmate bonds.

An Indigo child can stumble upon an unprecedented neural synchronization when encountering their soulmate. This synchronization extends beyond telepathic communication, as it involves the transmission and reception of emotional states and dream imagery, resulting in an intimate sharing of thoughts, feelings, and subconscious experiences. Although very rare, it is possible for an Indigo child’s soulmate to be mortal, with no supernatural abilities. If an Indigo child does encounter their soulmate the bond can snap into place usually after 4 or 5 years (one case showed it can also happen after six months). 

“I read this book before we met so it never crossed my mind,” I heard Sam say as I was absorbing the information. I’d known him for five years…

Five years…

It made sense.

As I was reading the first chapter out loud Dean’s wave of shock made my heart beat faster as Sam went to the kitchen to get some booze. It was like he read my mind. I have never heard of his bond. As much as I loved the idea of Dean being mine, I knew he came with tons of baggage, untreated alcoholism, and rage so immense it made my stomach turn. I was no better though just with less intensity and alcoholism. 

That’s bullshit. 

My heart broke hearing these words, but I finally got the courage to look at him, and for the first time his face was unreadable. He was silent. And then he just left.

Sam came back with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and three classes in the other. 

“Where’s Dean?” 

“He left…to process, I guess,” I said before hearing Dean slamming the front door. 

Sam, knowing me too well, didn’t say anything and just poured me a glass of Dean’s fine whiskey. I took a sip feeling a sweet burn down my throat. We were silent for a while, my words buried deep in my mind; struggling to articulate my thoughts as if I had any at that moment. 

“How do you feel about all of this?” Sam finally spoke, breaking the pleasant silence. 

A lump formed in my throat as I tried to blink back tears. I cleared my throat and took another sip. 

“I think…I’m scared to tell him he already has me wrapped around his finger with or without the stupid bond,” my answer was honest. I was scared – terrified of crossing the boundary; breaking the only rule I had: no long term relationships. Anything more than a friendship with Dean would end catastrophically; I was aware of that and yet I still secretly hoped. I wanted him to want me, I wanted him to look at me and see a safe space; I wanted him so painfully to see me and think: “She’s worth it.” 

“Oh he knows, he's just being a dick about it,” Sam’s bluntness surfaced as he drank his glass of whiskey. 

“What do you mean?” I asked, not really following him. 

He knows?

“You two have something I’ve only experienced once in my life and yet you refuse to acknowledge it.” 

My forehead creased as I subtly tilted my head in confusion. Then I heard Sam’s voice in my head as he looked at me with a soft smile on his face.

Jessica…

“Oh…” was all I could say.

“Yeah, he was scared before, now he’s probably terrified. Talk to him when he gets back.” 

“So he can reject me? And probably tell me to move out? Even if he feels the same, I know Dean, and he would rather give up alcohol for the rest of his life than talk about his feelings.”

Sam snorted and nodded silently agreeing with me. 

“Trust me. He won’t reject you. He’s my brother, I know him a little bit better than you do.” 

***

Dean was gone for hours it seemed. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, about the bond, so I did what any sane hunter would do – I repressed my thoughts with more whiskey and drowned myself in more research with Sam. The more I drank it felt like I became more sober. 

I wanted to know more about this soulmate bond. I wanted to know if there was any other way for people to block me from entering their minds besides strengthening the mental shield. 

“I’ve never asked you, how did you find out about the shield anyway?” Sam asked me behind his laptop while I was trying to find books about telepathy. 

“A witch told me,” I stated behind bookshelves, “When my parents died I let it control me, I couldn’t stand it, I could hear every single person I came in contact with and it was driving me nuts. So, I found a witch, a good one, and she helped me control it and told me about the shield since she was the first person I couldn’t tap into.” 

I remember her fondly. Her white crow would sometimes appear, to let me know she was alive and I would visit her every year on her birthday in winter. I would tell the Winchesters I was seeing an old friend; without adding too much detail, since I knew Dean’s hatred of witches far too well. 

“Good witches exist?”

“Oh yeah, she’s wonderful.” 

There wasn’t any other way for other people to shield their minds from me, sadly.

“Oh but I think I found something,” Sam told me and turned his laptop towards me. I read the short paragraph and looked at him.

“I can do that?” 

“You can try.” 

***

 Dean was still gone by the time we decided to take a break from research. Sam decided to go for a walk before bed while I went to my room to try and contact Dean through the bond. The article Sam found stated it was possible to contact your soulmate if you focused all of your energy on them. 

I have no idea what I’m doing. 

I laid on my bed and closed my eyes, picturing Dean standing right in front of me. Even in my mind he made me nervous. His aura was so captivating and stoic; you couldn’t forget him even if you tried. His name escaped my lips a few times, eyes still closed, but all I could hear was dead silence.His face still engraved in my mind, I studied his features: his smile lines, beautiful kissable lips, his perfect nose, freckles…

Dean? I called. 

(Y/N), what the hell?

He heard me. I could feel my feet going cold as my body went numb. My heart was in my throat. 

I’ll explain later! Please come home, I wanna talk to you.

In a second, my mind lost focus as I became more aware of my nervousness and he was gone. I couldn’t see him anymore. 

“Crap!” I uttered in frustration and decided to text him. 

Please come home.

***

I heard his footsteps thirty minutes later. I was ready for the worst; I was ready for Dean to tell me to leave; I was ready for all of it to end. 

I heard him knock seconds later.

“You there?”

“Come in!” 

He closed the door behind him. I was in the middle of trying to read my book, emphasis on trying, since the nervousness turned into full blown anxiety and I couldn’t focus on anything but him. I put the book down as he sat on the bed. I was hit with a sudden smell of cigarettes and alcohol in my nostrils. He probably went to a bar. 

“How did you do that?” He asked, this time looking me dead in the eyes. His gaze wasn’t soft – I couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated – his eyes bore into mine with such seriousness I’d only seen a handful of times. 

“I did some research with Sam. The bond allows us to communicate telepathically.” 

“I-I can also do that?” 

“If you concentrate hard enough, yeah.” 

An astounded chuckle was all I heard. And then:

This is crazy.

I know.

His lips parted slightly once he realized he could hear me. I on the other hand didn’t want him to hear me, but looking at him, seeing the evident worry and fear in his green eyes, I couldn’t control it. It became natural.

“Where were you?” I asked and boldly decided to sit next to him. 

“Went to our favorite hiding spot to think. When thinking became too much, I went to a bar and had a couple of drinks.” 

“And? What are your thoughts?” 

His hand gently found mine, intertwining his fingers with mine. I wasn’t sure if I was breathing at that moment. I could feel my cheeks burning as he pressed a gentle kiss on my forehead. 

“I feel like ignoring how I feel about you just made everything worse.”

I’m terrified. 

I ignored it and focused on his actual voice. “And I feel like this bond slapped me in the face.” 

“You and me both,” I smiled. 

Sam was right after all. I didn’t know what else to say but all I could think about was pressing my lips against his. I wanted to kiss him so badly, but my body refused to cooperate with my mind. 

I didn’t need to kiss him first, because his lips found mine in a matter of seconds. The kiss was gentle, warm; his lips perfectly pressed against mine. I opened my mouth letting him know he could explore it with his tongue and he was happy to do so. A whine escaped my lips when he broke the kiss. 

“I heard you,” he smirked. 

Please stay with me. My mind yelled. 

“I will,” he heard me. Again. 

***

Dean went to get ready for bed and so did I. It was already 11pm, Sam was long gone, snoring in his room after a long walk and I went to take a shower. 

It will probably happen.

Maybe it won’t?

Maybe we will just cuddle and sleep?

Yeah right.

Why am I so nervous?

I’m nervous because the last time I was in love with someone he left me for a girl named Karen. 

In high school.

Crap. 

My thoughts were racing as I was washing myself and getting ready to spend the night with him. I put on my shirt and a pair of clean underwear before brushing my teeth. I turned off the lights and went under the covers. Somehow it was always cold in my room, no matter the season. I focused on my soft pillow and how it felt against my cheek as I turned on my side. That lasted maybe two seconds as my mind kept drifting and wondering what was coming next. The thought of him pressed against me made me excited; his lips on my neck, hands on my hips…

I didn’t even realize I was rubbing my thighs together, desperately seeking some form of release. Thank God I was tired, a few moments later I could feel my eyelids getting heavier and my body finally relaxing. I wondered where Dean was as I started drifting and soon enough I got my answer. 

He would always take long showers; so I wasn’t surprised when he came 15 minutes later. He found me peacefully drifting between realms of reality and dreams, and with his hands wrapped around me pulled me back to reality – to him. My back pressed against him; we stayed like this, as my patience was running low and I could feel myself getting wet. 

He was melting any sense of restraint I had and even with nervousness practically suffocating me, I turned around and snuggled against him, his chin resting on top of my head. He was warm; skin soft as I took a deep breath to breathe in his scent – forest after rain and him. 

“Did you know?” I whispered into him.

“Huh? What?” His deep raspy voice so close to ears made me shiver. 

“Did you know that I have feelings for you?” 

Sam said he did, but I wanted to hear from him. 

“I suspected it, but refused to believe it. Until Sam confirmed it.” 

“How did Sam know? I’ve never told him.” I said and lifted my head to look at him. It was dark, but I could still see the outlines of his face – he smiled at me. 

“He told me you get smiling eyes when we are together. I didn’t really know what he meant until we took down that vampire nest back in Austin. I told you, you were an idiot for trying to take down a whole damn nest by yourself and you kept looking at me with those dove lookin’ eyes.” 

I smiled. I remembered that. It was a few months ago and I was indeed an idiot. He and Sam almost died and I had to do something. I was reckless and instead of coming up with a plan I let my machete go wild. 

“Well it’s not my fault you’re hot when you’re angry.” 

I could feel his smirk before I kissed him, this time cupping his cheek with my hand. He immediately kissed back, pulling me closer to him like that was even possible. This time, one kiss turned into another and another. We both didn't want to pull away; his hands hesitantly started roaming under my shirt, instantaneously sending shivers all over my body. I took his hands, breaking the kiss.

“Touch me. I'm yours,” I whispered before kissing him again, not being able to get enough. I could feel his little smirk against my lips as he tugged on my shirt trying to take it off. I took it off and in seconds he took his. My mind was focused on him and only him as I felt his soft skin under my fingertips. 

You're going to be the death of me. 

Likewise, sweetheart.

This time I smiled between kisses. I liked that nickname, I couldn’t wait to actually hear it out loud. He wasted no time before he pushed me onto the bed and straddle me; his lips not leaving mine. We were like two addicts; we couldn't stop; we didn't want to stop. He pressed his hips on mine and I could feel him, pressed against my wet center. A soft moan escaped my lips as my fingers tugged on his damp hair. He moved his lips on my neck, while his hand found my center. A light brush was enough to make me moan his name. I was so sensitive, so vulnerable underneath him; he was consuming every reverie of my mind. 

I was growing impatient, but he knew that, and now I couldn't hide anything from him anymore. The bond was stronger now, we didn't even have to try to communicate with one another; it was like breathing. 

I lowered his boxers as much as I could and wrapped my hand around his hard dick, earning a groan from him. I pumped him a few times, as my impatience became his. He kissed me before standing on his knees and took my panties off. He stopped for a second.

Adoration – I could feel it through the bond. He was making me blush in the dark; my cheeks growing warm. 

You're so beautiful.

Before I could answer him, he positioned himself between my legs and slowly entered me, stretching me nice and slow; his lips found mine again as he swallowed my gasp and slowly started to move. My legs wrapped around his hips, wanting more, more and more…

I was about to get drunk and see stars. My hands were around his neck before I cupped his face. He broke the kiss when we both couldn't breathe, biting my shoulder lightly, his pace becoming faster. 

My mind only knew his name as I was chanting it over and over again, like a sweet prayer. He nuzzled his head in my neck, kissing it sloppily. 

“You feel so good, sweetheart,” he whispered in my ear. 

I was in a complete haze, unable to muster anything but his name. 

His nose resting on my cheek, he placed a soft kiss only to swallow my moans once more, as we both started to fall apart. 

“Dean, I-,” I wasn't able to speak, I could feel it in the pit of my stomach and I could tell, feel, he wasn't going to last much longer. 

“I know, baby. I know. I can feel it,” he said and I wasn't sure if he could feel it through the bond or if my body was telling him – or both. 

My moans became desperate; with that voice Dean could make me do whatever his little heart desired. 

We came in sync, eyes locked and growing breathless. He couldn't keep my name out of his mouth and I didn't want him to. When he pulled out and laid next to me we were both panting and growing sleepier. I lazily moved closer to him, kissing his shoulder as he immediately wrapped his hand around my torso and pulled me close. 

“And you thought we'd just cuddle,” he chuckled. 

I raised my head to look at him.

“You heard me?” 

“Yeah, we have to figure out how to not hear each other's thoughts all the time.”

“Well…” I started and he just shot me a death glare.

“I ain't meditating.”

I cupped his face, squeezing his cheeks lightly making his lips pout. 

“Fine,” I said and gave him a pack on the lips, “we will find another way.”

“Thank you.” 

I stayed in his arms until we both fell asleep. He played with my hair and I drew small circles on his chest. He asked me about the research – what I found, what I didn't – asked me about us.

“If it's meant to be it's meant to be,” my eyelids grew heavy as I mumbled the words and drifted to sleep. 

Dean kissed my forehead and closed his eyes.

***

I could feel Dean’s hands pulling me closer to him, his fingers digging into my flesh as my ears heard him say my name in a form of whisper. I lazily opened my eyes not knowing if he was awake or not. His fingers dug into my stomach as he repeatedly called me in a frantic tone. 

He’s dreaming.

“Dean?” I turned around and even in complete darkness my eyes registered his clenched jaw, while my body felt the stiffness of his. 

“Dean?” I repeated again and nuzzled my head under his chin and placed a gentle kiss on his neck. I knew what he was dreaming about – I was dying again and he was trying to save me. 

Dean, baby wake up!

I told him through the bond as I stroked his soft hedgehog-like hair. I could sense the fear lingering within him as his eyes shot open, his breathing came in uneven gasps and his chest was rising and falling frantically. I wrapped my hand around his torso and embraced him in a tight hug as the weight of the nightmare still lingered. 

“I’m here,” I repeated a couple of times, giving him the reassurance I knew he needed. 

“It’s just a dream, Dean.”

His breathing became stable again. 

“You died,” eventually he told me. The fear was gone and replaced with sadness – sadness so somber and heavy I only felt once when Charlie died. 

“No, I didn’t. I’m here,” I told him and placed his hand on my chest. 

“I’m right here,” I said before kissing him. A sigh of relief left his lips. 

“I feel like I’m gonna lose it…the same dream over and over.”

He was desperate, so desperate for answers it made my soul ache, but I knew this wasn’t the time. 

“I know, and we will figure it out. Sleep baby, I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered before kissing him lovingly. His hand found my cheek as I broke the kiss resting my forehead against his.

“Your struggles are mine. Your sadness is mine. You're mine,” I told him as my legs intertwined with his. My hand was on his chest, feeling his heart beating faster. Something was traveling through the bond, something lovely and warm I could only describe it as love. Suddenly I heard it; a whisper traveling through the bond: I love you, before he kissed me again.

I love you too.

Tagged: @lacilou , @littlemadamred , @girls-alias , @captainannatheweirdo , @nancymcl

[mothiir]

xenobiology

pov: you’re an eldar, and the human you’re working with smells better each day.

this is the other side of eyes full of stars, told from Taleath’s perspective. fair warning that it will get pretty weird pretty fast, because writing from the pov of a murderous space elf leads to some strange avenues.

—

—

Whatever process that Cato Sicarius underwent to shape him into a muscle-bound killing machine clearly stripped out his — already limited — social grace and replaced it with battle acumen and bloodthirst. Taleath isn’t complaining — the creature is a worthy ally on the battlefield — but it is vexing to see the Astartes snarl and posture around you, despising how you inspire such rampant sexual desire in him, and thus despising you. It’s such a petty human trouble: denying your feelings, and having them twist into something gnarled and uncontrollable. And human emotions are so base and simple! If Cato were to feel one tenth — no, one hundredth — of the true emotional range of an Aeldari then his tiny, unwrinkled brain would combust with the effort of controlling them.

That being said: Taleath runs his tongue over his gauntlet, tasting where your lips brushed, and suppresses a full-body shiver. Oh how he wants. He’s spent almost a hundred years learning to manage his darker impulses, but before that he indulged them at will, and the hedonistic habits of three centuries are clawing at the edges of his self control. You taste sweet and mammalian. He wants to drink you down to the bone, your hot blood down his gullet, your shining soul sticking between his teeth. As he roles the fragments of you over his tastebuds, the tiny shreds of skin cells and drop of saliva, the taste thins and vanishes, and oh it is not enough.

It will never be enough.

“Come here, please,” he says, removing his gloves slowly, slowly, slowly — meditatively, focusing on the slide of metal over each of his knuckles, trying to use the sensation to ground himself. It works, up until the point when you stand before him, your warm heart racing, echoing in his marrow. His ears twitch to better capture the sound. He places one bare palm against the small of your back, pulling you closer, and declares a personal vendetta against whatever seamstress made your clothes, against whatever beast produced the fabric. He will gut them all, burn their worlds and display their loved ones on spikes, all for having the temerity of separating his hand from your flesh.

His thumb presses at your lower lip. Your flesh is softer than he expected, downed with fine hair that is invisible to a human’s eyes, but he sees it; sees how the light catches on the strands, velvety and exotic. He exerts just the tiniest amount of pressure, willing you to open your mouth, to welcome him inside, to lave that warm tongue of yours over his digit. You don’t, however. You hold yourself there, heart rabbit-swift and skin rosy with arousal, and you defy him. Your eyes fix on his: challenging. Pushing inside your mind feels all too natural; you welcome him in — subconsciously, of course — and he tastes your defiance like dandelion leaves plucked at dawn, your desire a rosy pink sunrise glow on a still pond. By the gods, this is monumentally unfair. He is meant to be reformed. A century ago, he would already have had you a dozen times over, shaping your sweet warm insides to fit him: you wouldn’t be able to move without the remnants of his pleasure leaking down your thighs. He would have braided your hair with diamonds that glittered like caught stars; you would jangle with the jewellery he draped about your throat, displaying the trophies of his latest raid. He would have have branded his sigil between your breasts and pierced your nipples, just so he could string a gold chain between them, and use it to pull you closer and —

Your breath puffs against his flesh, and he can restrain himself no longer. His fingers slot into your mouth like they were destined for it — maybe they were. The Farseers have stranger prophecies than this; it is not beyond the realm of possibility that Isha, in her infinite wisdom, sewed the seeds for your birth ten thousand years ago, knowing that one day you would be here, mouth crooked open, silk-wet and perfect.

He explores your mouth in the same way he removed his gloves: slow, deliberate; an act of meditation. He catalogues the ivory ridges of your teeth; the pillowy softness of your cheeks; the squirming wet muscle of your tongue. He coos with appreciation, his chest vibrating with a sound that few humans hear: the sound of a deeply content Aeldari.

Your drool should revolt him as it slicks between his fingers and drips down your chin — but no, it is not enough. He wants to see it pasted all over your face as you gag and hiccup, clinging helplessly to his boots for support, his cock sliding down your tight tight little throat —

It’s a trick. It’s what they do, it’s what they do. Your thoughts are abrasive: a stone splashing directly into his skull. He probes back into your head, and feels the spiderweb strands of your conviction that this is all a trap, that he is just pretending to desire you for some infernal purpose. Knife-ear, you think, and in that moment he wants to slice out the tongue of every human you have ever spoken to, just so he can mute the bastard who taught you that word.

“Do not insult me,” he growls, his voice slipping lower, losing the artificial Iyanden accent he adapts when conversing with others (once you hear the voice of a Drukhari you do not forget it, and humans often have quite dramatic reactions when they realise what he used to be. Entertaining reactions to be sure, but not ones conducive to diplomatic negotiations.) “I would not need to resort to such base measures to trick you, if I wanted to — if — “

You hollow your cheeks and suck, welcoming his fingers down into your soft palette, Taleath’s vision goes white. When he returns to himself, a fraction of a heartbeat later, you are bobbing your head back and forth, your thoughts pink-red with desire. You want so badly to hold his wrist, to urge him deeper — you are thinking of it so vividly — that for a moment he thinks you have done so. He feels the ghost of your grasp on his wrist, and — no. No, he cannot lose himself in this, he cannot.

I want him to fuck my throat —

Your desires are strident lightning, reverberating thunder. He yanks you closer, thankful that the segments of his armour shield his growing erection. He will bend you over his throne, he will carve his name into your back again and again, until there is scarce any flesh to mark that does not already bear the signs of his ownership —

No. No. He yanks his fingers free, and you mew with distress, leaning forwards after them, lips parted in canine supplication, your feelings spiking in violet defiance: give it back. Not just pleading, but entitlement; you want him, you resent him for stopping.

“I should not be doing this,” he says, swallowing thickly. Think of the ocean, his teacher would tell him when he first joined Iyanden, constantly changing, grey and endless beneath a bleak sky. “You are human.”

Your lips bump against his palm.

“Yes,” you coo, “and you want me.”

His body moves before his higher brain functions can step in; three centuries of slaking his thirst without thought for the consequence triumphing over a century of trying very hard to unlearn the impulse. In that space between one breath and the next he is not Taleath of Iyanden; he is Taleath of the Crimson Talon, kabalite warrior without peer. Your flesh gives way beneath his teeth like warm butter, and he greedily slurps down the blood that spills out. Your little cry of pain is music to his ears, and it will be the first of many; he will wring a symphony from you by the time he has finished. You open your thighs for him — so willing, so obedient — and he fully intends to give you what you both so clearly need. He will fuck you again and again and again, until even that idiot Cato Sicarius sees who owns you, body and bone and soul —

For you, the exchange is less than a heartbeat. For Taleath, it feels like an eternity: he grinds between your thighs, the heat of your cunt pulsing through his armour; he can smell how slick you are, how easily he could push inside. Your blood between his teeth and on his tongue, rich and delicious. He’ll dine on you each morning and each evening, glutting himself, because does he not deserve it? Is he not entitled to you? Sweet, soft human, so frail in his grasp — his kind built an empire whilst yours scrabbled in the mud, and —

He recognises the drift of his thoughts into old, familiar patterns and with a monumental effort of will he hauls himself away. Standing at the other side of the room, he licks your blood from his lips, rolling it between his teeth like he is sampling a fine wine. He wants the flavour to linger forever.

“Taleath —“

Gods preserve him, you smell of prey. Fearful, sweet, confused, aroused: you might as well be a fawn, tottering on long fragile legs before a hungry eagle.

“No. Stay there.”

Your fingers probe the bite mark, and he wants nothing more than to rejoin you, to replace your hand with his own; his fingers would span your throat, your jugular nuzzling comfortably into the webbing between his thumb and index finger.

But he does not move — not to join you, and not to retreat. The old soul-hunger is stirring once more; never quite gone, only denied and starved into submission. Taleath will die a thousand intricate deaths at the hands of a haemonculi before admitting it, but he understands Cato a little better now: one touch of your lips, one taste of your blood, and he is ready to tumble headlong back into the doomed ways of his former kin, willing to embrace damnation as long as he can do it with you warm and squirming under him.

“I hope that this is not a diplomatic incident.”

“No. But it could be. My kind do not engage in carnal pleasures casually — “

“—and not with mon-keigh.”

”Not often. Not usually.” An Aeldari would notice the telltale signs of sexual arousal he’s displaying, and would not-so-gently advise him to meditate until they vanish. His ears twitch; his voice echoes with that damnable coo that only the most practiced of his kind can swallow back.

You are human. You do not understand.

“I do not want you to be hurt,” he says, cursing the limitations of your language. To be hurt: what a limited, idiotic expression. There is no shorthand to specify what sort of hurt — injured pride, perhaps, which can be both a positive or a negative and thus demands at least two tenses; hurt in battle, which can be honourable; hurt in the aesthetic sense, where you view something so abysmally hideous it sears the artistic sensibilities of your soul — and so he must communicate with the linguistic equivalent of a shovel.

“I’m fine. It barely stings. It will heal up soon enough.”

That is not what he means; not even a little. Indeed, the notion of his bite healing up pains him, a searing slash across his chest worse than any bolter fire.

“—I do not want you hurt by anyone who is not me.”

“You — you want to hurt me?”

Again: your language is so limited, so primitive. There is a word in his native tongue that translates as one so precious that only I may flay them and another that means a face so beautiful it is best when attached it its bones and not even displaying it on my finest trophy wall would enhance its appeal.

He does want to hurt you — but it is more than that. He wants to own you. To devour you. To feel the warmth of your body under his, and to see your soul flare bright against the dark. He wants — and wanting, to an Aeldari, is poison.

When he leaves you, it takes more willpower than you can ever understand. And even as he sits alone in his quarters, trying desperately to reach the fathom depths of Craftworld serenity he now carries within him, he tastes your blood on his tongue.

He will be back to you. Of this, he is certain.

[throneofsapphics]

track 32

Fenrys x Reader x Lorcan

Summary: Cursed to fall in love, only to have everything ripped away from you, moving on to your next life already feels like a drag, only things don't quite follow their usual patterns.

Warnings: discussions of death, Maeve, brief description of torture, happy ending

Word Count: 8077

A/N: the HAPPIEST of birthdays to @whisperingmidnights <3 I hope you have an amazing day (& thank you to @rowaelinsdaughter for your help)

You tumbled into your new body. Again. At least this time the Gods let you skip through the childhood years, instead flooding your mind with memories of your new past. You could only be a toddler so many times before truly losing the last grip on your sanity. 

You’d think so much pain and suffering would flood together, the lives all melting into one giant messed up pot but instead each experience remained distinctly painful to you. Distinctly full of suffering and sour memories. You, obviously, hadn’t survived a single one and your trek across the multiverse was written in blood. 

It took you up until life 15 to really stop holding onto so many grudges, especially considering you seemed to be destined to fall for the same people each time. Not the same types of people, but the actual same person. 

Whoever put a curse on you had been clever. If you were cursed, perhaps you were just really damn unlucky. But right now you needed a bath, a hot meal, and a good night’s rest. Of course you were drunk. Fresh in from a night out on the town with one of your friends, but you had good some good fortune in this life - your own apartment. 

Tossing clothes off as you walked, you beelined towards where you knew the bathing room was. You were pretty certain you’d stayed in this exact apartment building before, and if you remembered correctly each apartment had near identical layouts, the entire building cheap and designed for efficiency. In this life, you’d made it your own more than in the previous ones. 

You stepped into the tub, let the cold water hit your toes, partially sobering you, rivulets of now psycho-somatic grime and blood streaming from your body to pool in clear water at your feet. 

A mind healer would have a field day with you and you knew it all too well. 

Plugging the drain, you adjusted it to reach the perfect temperature. Yes, an efficiency building but still had hot running water. It was odd, but you didn’t question it - you were a creature of comfort after all. 

You wondered when you’d see them again. You wished you could say that tall of your interactions started off on a fresh beat, that you had it together enough not to judge them based on versions of them in a different universe, but you weren’t. 

Having it together? Maybe, certainly not on that level though. Having it together enough to appreciate their presence at this moment? Hell no. 

After last time. 

“We’re done,” he mumbled, not willing to make eye contact with you. 

“Then say it to my face,” you glanced between both of them. 

Heads down. Eyes downcast - first time you’d seen them like that. 

“Then I really meant that little, didn’t I?”

“No,” one said - you could barely distinguish who through the raging steam in your ears and tears down your cheeks. 

“Yes,” the other said. You didn’t know or care who said what. It didn’t matter. Later, just before the death took you you’d find out who made them do it and realize it still didn’t matter. She may have forced them to lie, but they didn’t have to be quite so convincing. 31 lives had taught you logic had no place in heartbreak. 

The memory hit you like a physical blow to the chest, a stinging and pressure left in its wake. That heartbreak had killed you the quickest of them all. 

Three days. 

It was part of your curse, you’d figured out. To always know. What life you were on, the details of your past lives, how long it took you to do, what the death felt like, every little detail was committed to memory all because you’d dared to love someone a little too much, and ended up stealing them away from a wicked witch. 

Well, the story didn’t go quite like that but you thought it sounded better in your head that way. In reality, you’d fallen in love and done something stupid, as all people in love do from time to time. 

You and Lorcan had agreed you should try to get Fenrys out, that although it would be more difficult to get him released, Fenrys needed it more. You didn’t have the guts to tell him you needed both of them like you needed air, but there hadn’t been time for that. All of your moments were stolen and borrowed time. 

“Will you please release him from your service?” You were on your knees, begging. “Please, Majesty.” 

The harsh flooring dug into your knees but you kept the same subservient pose. For someone with so much pride, this was humiliating and your Queen knew it. 

“No.” 

One flat and toneless word. 

“No?” You repeated. 

Wicked red lips curved into a smile. “That is what I said.” 

You had several choice words for her after, and she’d responded with a fucking curse. Cursed to always love, but to never have it stick, cursed to die from heartbreak. 

Even after all of these lives the word ‘curse’ was still ugly in your mouth, still made your stomach heave and back seize at the memories. The times you’ve run into the Queen she hadn’t recognized you, but you knew she was still untouchable. Frequently made that way by the ones you loved. 

The breeze sneaking through the poorly insulated window highlighted how water already chilled around you. You didn’t miss that part of this building, the tub held next to no heat and your bathwater always ended up cold in less than fifteen minutes. 

You were tempted to stay still and prune, but there was no use in it. A new life, new things to do. 

Dragging yourself out of the tub, you dried off as efficiently as you could make yourself, scrounged up some comfortable clothes and headed to your desk. Grabbing a notepad and pen, you began writing. 

number thirty-one. 

It was a ritual of sorts, perhaps your imaginary mind healer would be proud of you for it, for getting all of your pain out on paper as soon as possible. 

Right before you burned it. 

Tossing the five sheets of paper on the flames felt good.

Running into them happened far too quickly for your liking. It always did. Life always started and finished too damn fast. 

You glanced in the mirror, at what you’d chosen to wear for the night out with your not-really-new friends. The dress fit you perfectly, and showed just enough to leave you feeling bold without being uncomfortable. The gold wrapped around your wrists helped too. Not too much to look rob worthy, but enough to make you feel like some extra type of sheen was thrown over you. Maybe, just maybe this life would bring you a little luck. Was gold supposed to be good luck? You didn’t know, but maybe you’d figure out how to look it up later. If you remembered to. 

You felt something warm in your chest, not unlike the flush from the first sip of whiskey. Closing your eyes you could’ve sworn it tugged, dragged you towards another. 

No, not in this or any life. It wasn’t possible. 

No matter how many times you fell in love and in how many ways, you’d never found a mate and were convinced you were destined not to. 31 lives was enough time to find a mate, a life partner. You should’ve had that done in by life 10. 

It was funny, how you’d started measuring your existence in lives rather than years. After all, it fit your circumstances. Permanently destined to be a temporary existence in others lives, and for their existence and influence to end yours. If there was a way out of this, a stopping or breaking of the curse you figured you would’ve found it by now. 

A loud pounding on the door and you hissed as the brush slipped, you barely moving your wrist away in time to save your face from a large black streak. 

“Gods,” you yelled, “hold on a damn moment.” 

“We’re going to miss the bard,” someone - Ella? Yes, Ella, shouted back. 

“Alright,” you groused loud enough for her to hear, “one moment.” 

One more swipe of kohl and you looked ready. A few deep breaths and you felt ready. 

Shoving the cosmetics to the back of the counter, you swung yourself around the doorway, grabbing your coat off the hook and flinging open the front door, finding your friend posed with their fist menacingly mid-air, probably about to break your door down. Memory clicked in, reminding you they can be a tad aggressive on a mission. 

Their mouth curved into a too-satisfied smirk, probably that their threats had work. Rolling your eyes, you shoved past them into the hall, quickly locking your door. 

“Anyone else for tonight?” 

“Just us,” they looped their arm through yours and started for the stairs. 

Ugh. Last time in this building you’d been on the ground floor, and you’d definitely miss the convenience of that, but at least you had a pretty balcony view here. It’s all give and take, you supposed. 

“Copper for your thoughts?” Ella’s voice interrupted you. 

How long had you zoned out? Was that a habit in this lifetime? You couldn’t remember. 

“Do I really look that broke?” You deflected. 

It worked, she laughed. Maybe it would’ve been nice if she pushed a little. 

-

Fenrys breathed in the fresh air. Maeve had sent him on a mission. Alone. Staking out Varese for several months, observing, but she didn’t exactly tell him what to look for. It was perhaps the most exciting and infuriating mission he’d been assigned. Infuriating, because he truly had no idea what in Hellas’s name he was supposed to do, exciting because he had months to spend doing whatever he thought ‘observing’ looked like. 

Yes, he knew it was a mockery of freedom but right now he’d take the gods-damned mockery over what he’s stuck in every day. 

Walking through the street, although he stuck to the shadows, unnoticed to the masses, it still felt like each face was sent there to tease him, remind him of the invisible leash tying him to that bitch for the rest of his life. He didn’t know how Lorcan, the bastard, did it with such glee and joy. At least Whitethorn had shown a measure of discontent at some point, he’d even seen a hint of it on perfectly loyal Gavriel’s face. 

Something caught his attention. Someone. 

Arm in arm with your friend, strolling down the street, exuding pure confidence. Someone aware of their place in this world and what they meant to it. The light in your eyes matched his own. Dimmed, flaring when necessary and just enough to keep up appearances. 

Only a fellow fraud would recognize it. 

He had to follow. It was insanity, but he needed to see more of you. 

That’s how he ended up nursing a drink in the corner of the bar, shadows wreathed around him, cloak pulled up to cover his face. He matched some of the many body guards of nobles around, and through some blessing not a soul had recognized him or even shot him a second glance. Perhaps Friday’s were quite a popular night for the elite to pretend, that or he’d gotten better at blending in. He didn’t know which to put his money on. 

Someone, however, caught all of the attention - including his, even when he tried to ignore the magnetic attraction tugging him towards you. Throwing your head back in a laugh, you danced along with your friend, clothing absolutely sinful and fitting right in. He loved it. Every part of your energy felt like it was tugging at him, urging him closer, closer, closer, and he realized just how dangerous that made you. 

Dangerous to him, and to yourself through him. 

No matter what, she hung over him like a storm cloud. 

Anything he might try to pursue with you would end before it could truly began, love or relationship cut off at its knees without a chance to truly blossom. Did he actually want it to? Could Fenrys actually be that selfish? 

Yes, if it came to you. He glanced down at his pint. Still half full, and rather weak shit. He wasn’t drunk but still managed to think complete nonsense. Nothing could happen, but for now he supposed it couldn’t hurt to imagine a fantasy life with a stranger he’d never see again live in the corner of his mind, so long as it it stayed there. He was so, so wrong. 

-

Lorcan Salvaterre knew about sacrifice. In fact, he was an expert at it, at this point. But, every bit was worth it for her. His Queen. The only female he’d truly loved to the point where he’d do anything and everything. 

Perhaps other love could have come his way, but it had never been the right time. Timing, in his opinion, shouldn’t matter. He’d always make the time for Maeve, and everything he’d done since meeting her had been for her. When she ordered him away, he left. When she kept him by her side - but never her bed - he stayed. Maeve said jump, he asked how high. 

That's why Lorcan was trying to figure out when in Hellas he’d become so disillusioned, starting thinking things so unlike him. He couldn’t tell her, couldn’t tell anyone. Lorcan didn’t have any friends or confidants, that wasn’t something he dealt in. To him, there was no purpose in friends when his entire life’s purpose was bound by blood to servitude. 

The closest thing he had to friends was his blood brothers, and like hell he’d ever tell them of this ... treachery waging war inside of his mind. 

Lunch swirled unpleasantly in his stomach as he thought of the word. Treason. 

When Maeve called him to the throne room, when he knelt before her, he mentally prepared himself for his immortal life to end rather early. She must know. She always knows. 

Instead, he needed to figure out how he’d pissed her off because she’d sent him off for some kind of torturous punishment. Keeping an eye on Fenrys, currently loose in Varese. 

“Anything I should watch out for in particular, majesty?” He was quite proud of how he kept the bitterness from his tone. Or thought he did. 

“You’ll know if you see something off,” she dismissed him with a wave. “Consider it a vacation, of sorts.” 

Blood sworn didn’t get vacations, he wanted to protest. He didn’t want - or need one. Had he really been slacking that much? The journey would provide adequate time for reflection, for him to dissect and figure out exactly where he’d gone wrong so he could prevent those mistakes in the future. That was essential. This trip however, like most things with Fenrys, would probably turn out to be a complete waste of his time. Time that could be spent doing much better things. But ... he supposed if this is what his Queen wanted him to do, it was exactly what he’d be doing, regardless of his feelings on the subject. His feeling always had been, and always would be inconsequential.

He was here. Already. Fuck. 

It was day 2, and you couldn’t catch a break. Is there such thing as a resting life? One where you could go through without any relationships, just peace and enjoying your moments of solitude? No, not for someone like you. 

Running away from them never worked, they would haunt your every movement until they consumed every last bit of you and scattered crumbs on the wind, only for the crumbs to reform and drag you back towards them. 

Do you embrace fate or run away from it? It was inevitable, what was the point in fighting anymore? You were so tired of it. Exhaustion rippled from you in waves, you were surprised everyone around you hadn’t noticed as soon as you walked in. 

Even if you wanted to, Fate, in the form of the most gorgeous man to exist, all bronze skin, onyx eyes, and golden hair, didn’t give you a choice. He slid into the bar stool next to you. 

You didn’t smile, at first, but your traitorous heart warmed in his presence. 

“Have we met before?” He said, jokingly. 

If only he knew. 

“Maybe in your dreams,” you slid your hand across the bar and grabbed your glass, drinking deeply. He winced. 

“Am I that bad of company?” 

“You’ve been here for,” you glanced at the clock pointedly, “a minute. It has nothing to do with you.” You’d tried every approach in the past to get them to see if it would deter them enough for them to circumvent fate, but nothing worked. Each version of you was destined for tragedy with each version of them. 

“That’s fair enough,” Fenrys replied. You reminded yourself you didn’t know his name. 

“What do they call you?” The words came out, regardless of your internal wince, knowing you were setting him up for a ridiculous line. 

“In b-”

You held a hand up and his mouth clamped shut. “No, no, none of that.” 

He laughed, deep and rich, a sound you ... had you heard that laugh from him before? Perhaps not, at least not in a few lives. Recently things had been so depressing. 

“I like you,” he nudged you gently with his elbow, your heart ached. 

not again not again not again. 

‘Yes,’ a cruel voice from red lips whispered in your mind, ‘again, again, again. Forever. This is what you deserve.’

Someone cleared their throat. Fenrys. 

“Sorry,” you murmured, glancing at the bottom of your nearly empty glass. Empty. Fuck. You couldn’t handle this sober. Were you sober? Your friends were long gone, all found partners for the night while you nursed your worries at the bar. “What’s your name?” You took the last sip of your drink as the last syllable left your lips, ideally it could hide any signs of a lie from him. 

“Fenrys,” he leaned back enough in his stool to extend his arm to you, rather formally. When you placed your hand in his, intending to squeeze it to death, he deftly rearranged your hands and raised your knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft kiss there. “At your service.” 

“Charmer,” you rolled your eyes but softly pulled your hand away and replied with your name. 

He said your name quietly, extending the vowels, as if testing how it sounded on his tongue, how it might sound in other - 

You chided yourself, pulling your mind out of the gutter. With the situation you knew he was always in, that was the last thing you needed to be thinking about. Or that he needed to be. You might not escape him, but you certainly wouldn’t do anything to make this harder on yourself. At least thats what you’re saying now. 

“Last call,” the gruff barman said, scowling at Fenrys before shooting you a smile. Your mind rattled through details. Right, you regularly shut this tavern down and always left a good tip. 

You leaned over to Fenrys and whispered low so the other male couldn’t hear, “he’s easy to win over. A good tip, manners, and easy orders.” 

Fenrys hid his snort in his drink, draining the last droplets. “Thank you for the advice, love,” he whispered conspiratorially. Asshole. 

“Whatever,” you mumbled and left your usual amount, sliding off the stool. Just because you were fated to make each other’s lives hell didn’t mean you had to deal with him being rude. Maybe you were just sensitive. 

A ‘wait’ followed you but you ignored it. Inevitable.

He caught up to you on the street, calling your name again. 

Something else struck you. He was alone in Varese. When did this happen? This was odd. Out of all of your lifetimes nothing had followed this pattern, never meeting so quickly and certainly not with Fenrys on his own with his leash rather loose for what the bitch prefers. You needed to figure out more. 

“Want to come back to my place for a drink?” You said, slowly turning to look at him. 

If he was surprised by your quick change of tune, he didn’t say a thing, only nodding and linking your arms together. Like he’d been waiting for a friend. The pain in your chest was physical as much as it was emotional. 

-

Lorcan was here to keep an eye on Fenrys, and if that meant sitting in the shadows on a rooftop, peering through a beautiful female’s stupidly open window then so be it. You walked around and even acted like you didn’t give a damn whether you lived or died, but he could tell you were smart, based on how you’d handled Fenrys. 

He’d ended enough lives to have an appreciation for it, and the way you were so gods-damned careless with yours pissed him off. 

Lorcan should be questioning why his feelings towards you are so strong, but instead he’s observing every little detail of the interactions between you and Fenrys. For his report, of course. He always paid attention to detail, there was no other reason than being thorough. At least he kept telling himself that. 

It wasn’t because he liked the way your hair moved, or how you rolled your eyes frequently at his blood-sworn brother, followed by a barely there smile that he only noticed because the shadows danced around it, as if you repelled the darkness. 

Maybe you could repel the darkness in him. 

What. The. Fuck. 

Lorcan hadn’t drank, and even if he had he never entertained thoughts like this. 

Refocusing, he committed to memory every detail of what Fenrys was doing, how he reacted to you, how attached he might be and how you might already be used against him by his Queen. 

An unfamiliar feeling settled in his stomach, tainting him. 

Guilt. 

He didn’t want to use you. 

But if it came to it, he wouldn't have a choice. He never really did. 

-

Fenrys whistled lowly on his way home, through the empty streets. Still aware of his surroundings, also aware that none would dare approach him - not with the steel and the stature he carried himself with, proof he knew how to use it. 

All he’d done is sit and talk with you for hours, in fact the dawn was currently beginning to crest over the city. Hours of sitting and talking felt like mere minutes with you, and he found he had more fun in that time than he had in years, perhaps decades, perhaps since entering Maeve’s service. 

It was sad, really, that you could only be a temporary fixture, for your own safety. 

Still, his mind rattled with ways to do the impossible, with how he could be with you forever without ... it was useless, really, to even ponder it. The false hope and ideas would only taint the present he had, for however long Maeve let him stay here in his ... his fantasy, he supposed. 

He could imagine many fantasies with you involved but the biggest was your friendship. The way you hadn’t hit on him, made any kind of sexual innuendos or advances, thats why he followed you out of the bar. Because you made him comfortable in a way nobody else had in so, so long. Like you’d been doing it for lifetimes. 

The scent hit him. The male wanted him to know he was there. His entire body stiffened, posture straightened slightly, pleasant after buzz from your intoxicating presence gone just like that. 

Lorcan Salvaterre. His commander. 

“Who was that?” Lorcan wasted no time and matched pace with him. 

“None of your business,” Fenrys snapped. Aware that he could be punished for it, but he didn’t care, he looked the male right in the eyes. 

Lorcan ... Lorcan didn’t push him. At all. Instead, something like understanding passed through his eyes. Had Lorcan needed to protect someone from Maeve before? 

Probably not. He was a cold hearted bastard through and through. 

“Keep her away,” the words were whispered on the wind - there and gone. Just like Lorcan, who melted into the shadows. 

Away from who? Lorcan didn’t say ‘keep away from her,’ and Fenrys knew everything the bastard did was intentional. 

Lorcan Salvaterre was here. You knew it, having caught the faintest hint of his unfortunately familiar scent, trailing after you like a hound. 

The fact that he was following you made you nervous. Yes, similar situations had occured before but everything about this time seemed so different that it filled you with mixed emotions. 

What are the odds there’s actually something good in store for you? Slim, you decided, based on history and reasoning, and you knew Lorcan Salvaterre stalking anyone was bad news, but especially for you when you had ... history with the Queen he so lovingly served.

Someone whose head deserved to be ripped right from her neck, you cast the thought into the universe and hoped it landed, hoped she felt a phantom prick in the side of her neck. 

Maybe she regretted cursing you to some kind of eternal half existence, always in and out of different worlds. Doubtful. More likely she tired of whatever game she decided to play for you and set the person who she knew would hurt the most to kill you. Even you could admit you were extrapolating. 

Maybe an attitude change could fix everything. A tad less drama. 

You glanced out the window, at the rain currently pouring down, at the moisture leaking into your apartment. The weather certainly didn’t match up for life changes, if anything it read of staying right where you were. 

Accepting it wouldn’t happen today, you saved the attitude change for the next sunny day. Those practically screamed change in fortune. Or you hoped they did. 

A week passed. You saw Fenrys each night at the Tavern, and scented a weirdly careless Lorcan on your trail each day. 

Your attitude may not have changed with the next bout of sunshine, but you had a plan. It was rather simple, to somehow draw Lorcan out. However, there was a difference between having a plan and knowing how to execute it. You supposed that made your plan an idea more than anything. 

Fenrys had mentioned business meetings he’d be attending one night, and you decided that was the perfect to do it. The perfect night to pretend to get sloshed, and you had the help of your favorite barkeep. 

Knowing Lorcan, he probably had questions for you, and wouldn’t miss the opportunity to get some answers while your inhibitions were ‘lowered.’ Arrogant males like him wouldn’t let opportunities slide by, but Lorcan Salvaterre stayed Maeve’s commander for a reason, and you knew your acting skills had to be top notch to keep him from becoming suspicious. 

-

“When will you stop pretending to drink those?” Lorcan asked gruffly as he slid into the stool next to you, his hulking frame towering over the bar and casting a shadow over you. You were a good actress, but he was better, and caught on after the first couple of drinks and exchanged looks between you and the barkeep, who you were on very friendly terms with. 

The obsession with you, the flares of irrational anger when another man trailed too close, Lorcan knew what this was, and knew he was screwing both of you over with it. Fated for misery and doom, no matter how the cards played out. He’d be stuck with her, Lorcan noted how she was demoted in his mind, and you’d be ... free. 

All those years he’d spent making fun of those males now served to make him feel like a lot of an asshole because he gotit. There was a crack in his armor, a weakness in his resolve, and nobody knew about it. He intended to keep it that way until you were far, far away from him and his ... his Queen, and then as long as possible after that. His stomach clenched at the thought of what she might do to you in order to help keep him in line. Nothing good, and everything bad. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you answered primly, turning away from him. Why had he come over here again? 

He laughed, low and harshly. “Sure you don’t, sweetheart,” he exaggerated the last word - turning it into an insult. It didn’t feel right. His entire being flared against any insult to you, even coming from him. 

But ... the little flash of anger in your eyes, the way your nostrils flared, that was amusing. He liked the fire in you. “What did you call me?” 

He shrugged. 

You scoffed, muttering an insult he chose to ignore under your breath. “Nothing to say to that one?” You pushed when he didn’t answer, letting your elbow brush against his, “I thought it was creative. If you need me to I can keep going, there’s plenty where it came from.” 

“It was well done,” perhaps he wasn’t particularly in the mood to be insulted all night, and he got the sense you were more than capable of doing just that. 

“Well done,” you echoed, and he nodded. Your mouth curled into the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. 

-

In the future, you might just deny it ever happened, but Lorcan Salvaterre ended up in your apartment that night. You ignored the fact that he seemed to know the way there. There had always been plenty you were willing to ignore when it came to that male, and that hadn’t changed over the last however many lives. 

Once Lorcan - once he’d found his Queen, you’d been second. But before that, he’d made you his everything. You never could blame him for leading you to beg Maeve that first time, that cursed time. 

Still, on the nights when you were alone, when the rain or a pretty mountain outline reminded you of him, when everything felt too much, it was easier to pin it on him, even if it made you a horrible person. Horrible, even for an ex-lover, but then again you were always an expert at self-depreciation. 

Looking at the male now, like a statue of a God carved from granite, you knew he’d be the death of you. Again. But how could you fight him? You never had the strength to in the past. Maybe you weren’t trying to survive hard enough ... 

Things had never moved this quickly in the past, they’d always been at a pace just slow enough to be torturous with your knowledge of your impending doom. 

Maybe this time you needed to really try. 

For Lorcan. For Fenrys. But mostly, for yourself. 

The door closed behind you and you slipped back into reality, into the new situation you found yourself in. 

“Drink?” You asked over your shoulder, heading right for your kitchen. 

He caught your hand, spinning you back towards him. 

“I had something else in mind,” he said roughly, and dipped his head towards yours. 

You knew he could be patient, he could be gentle, he could be kind, but you got none of that now. 

His hand gripped your jaw, tight enough to keep you still but not harsh enough to hurt, his mouth moved fervently against yours as you matched his pace. It was the collision of a thousand stars, a world breaking and re-forming into something new and beautiful and wonderful. It was everything and more. It was the multiverse coming together into a single moment and screaming yes! this is what you were waiting for. He slowed, softened, as if some kind of guilt caught up with him. You wouldn’t have that. Couldn’t. You gripped the back of his hair and pulled him back closer to you, pressing your body against his. 

He would be yours for the night, but little did he know you‘d already been his for eternity. 

-

You owe him nothing. You owe him nothing. You owe him nothing, Fenrys reminded himself as he walked out of the bar, spotting you teasing Lorcan. He’d finished his business meetings early and thought he might see if you were still haunting your favorite spot at the bar. 

Still, he wanted to rush up to you and ask you if you knew who the hell you were tangling with but ... he supposed he was like Lorcan in that way, one of Maeve’s Blood Sworn, and to have two of them shown publicly taking an interest in you was nothing short of deadly and he refused to subject you to that. So Fenrys left. 

And hated himself for it, but self hatred was nothing new to him. 

Fenrys wasn’t sure how he found Lorcan’s rooms, considering the male probably didn’t want to be found right now. Probably wanted to bask in you. Your beauty, the time he sp-

He stopped himself from thinking of it. Even thought of shifting now, to a body where emotions were simpler and didn’t drain quite so much. Fenrys rarely shifted voluntarily when away from her, not after she kept him in that form so frequently. ‘Where he was easier to deal with,’ she’d said once, and the words still stung as His Majesty, he thought the words mockingly, intended for them to. 

The door swung open. 

Lorcan didn’t speak, just stood there with his arms crossed and jaw clenched. 

Fenrys felt young, and not in a good way. What was he? A jealous lover? Concerned friend? Idiot? 

Then it hit him. 

The scent. 

Yours. 

His. 

Entwined. 

Without him. 

Rage, pure and strong filled him. The scent was particular, and he’d seen it just a few times before. Lorcan, intelligently, had a shield around himself before Fenrys he was on the verge of some kind of burst. 

“Not fucking possible,” Fenrys backed away, “we can’t have the same mate.” 

Lorcan’s eyes widened, but he was looking beyond him. Fenrys whirled around. 

You. 

“I can’t have a mate,” you said quietly, desperately. “I never have before,” then to yourself, “it’s never been like this,” you switched your gaze to the window, he watched you try to angle your face so they couldn’t see the tears in your eyes but they were evident. Everything was evident when it came to you. 

“Get inside,” Lorcan said roughly to both of you. 

He had a point, it wasn't exactly the space for this conversation. A hallway where anyone could be walking by and overhear. That’s the last thing he wanted, anything that might put you in further danger. 

When he didn’t instantly move, Lorcan grabbed his shirt, tugging him inside. There was a knife at Lorcan’s throat before the male could blink. 

“Don’t. Fucking. Touch. Me,” Fenrys hissed, slowly sliding the knife away and sheathing it at his side. 

He was surprised his commander hadn’t caught it, but then again he was staring at a pretty female in the hallway, your gaze still distant and fixed on the window. He called your name, just loud enough to carry across the distance. Your head snapped, you blinked a few times. He tilted his head towards the room. 

An over-exaggerated sigh, probably for their sake more than anything, and then you followed them inside. Each step seemed to make you shrink further into yourself, he noticed, that confidence and bravado fading and leaving someone vulnerable behind. 

It took a strong hand to tamp down on instincts rising, telling him to eliminate any immediate threats to you. The main one being Lorcan, but also any other males and possibly females in the vicinity. It was absolutely ridiculous, the way he was feeling even if he wasn’t acting on it. At least he hadn’t acted on it. Yet. If only because he was well aware it would piss you off. 

-

“What did you mean, ‘it’s never been like this?’” Lorcan asked and you read the skepticism in his eyes. Not quite distrust, but an interesting mix of confusion and concern. That had the potential to change quickly. Could you even speak about it or would you drop dead? You’d always assumed you couldn’t but ... 

“I’m cursed,” you started. They exchanged a brief glance, and for some reason that irritated you, but you kept going. “We’ve met before. Many times,” you knew that would grab and probably keep their attention, at least for a little while. You held a hand up when their brows furrowed in concern, “just hear me out before you write me off as crazy.” 

“I would never write you off,” Fenrys murmured, and you shot him a thankful look but he kept his mouth shut after that. Perhaps it had something to do with the glare on Lorcan’s face. 

The words were difficult. 

Each one felt stilted and awkward, but they watched and listened as if each word you said was pure gold and something about that made you feel powerful. They went through the emotions with you, although it was a tad more difficult to tell with Lorcan, but you struggled together in a way. For some reason, it started to feel like this might turn into a goodbye and you weren’t quite ready for that. After all, you didn’t know how anyone could stay with someone ... someone with the kind of tainted past you have. 

“Why would she do that?” You finished. It a was rare chance to ask two people who probably have more insight than any others into how the mind of the Queen works, not that you believe she’d let anyone truly understand her. 

“Cruelty,” Fenrys said. 

The same time as Lorcan said, “jealousy.” 

“Makes sense,” you huffed, eyes rolling towards the ceiling. It was stupid. 

“How do you end up reincarnated?” Lorcan asked. The question you were hoping to avoid. 

“I die.” 

“Of old age,” Fenrys said, but didn’t sound as if he believed it. 

“No,” you said sharply, exhaling. “You’ll laugh at me.” 

“Try me. Believe it or not, I don’t find your death very funny,” Fenrys said dryly. Lorcan was watching with apt attention, eyes watching you like a hawk. 

“Heartbreak,” you grunted, quickly whirling towards - fuck. You’d meant to look out the window, but saw the mirror instead and the twin faces of horror behind you struck something deep inside of your heart. 

“I -” your throat closed up, the words not quite getting out. 

“What is it?” Fenrys curled his fingers inward, and despite a slight internal cringe you let him beckon you, let him take your hands, let him give you this kind of comfort. 

“I wish you remembered,” you whispered, glancing at Lorcan too, who’s eyes and face told you, yes he knew you were changing the subject, and no the conversation was not over yet. 

-

“I don’t -,” Lorcan Salvaterre stumbled over his words, perhaps for the first time in his life, “I don’t mind making new memories, as long as they’re with you.” 

You beamed. Fenrys laughed. He debated how upset you would be if he killed the other male. 

Other male. 

He knew, already, that he’d have to share you. 

For you, Lorcan could and would make anything work. You were worth everything, absolutely everything. 

Maeve, a voice whispered in his mind. He pushed it down, ignored it for now. That was an ... his Queen would never be an issue, but a situation he could deal with at a later date. 

He swore to himself he’d never make fun of a mated male again. Technically he wasn’t mated yet, but he would be ... soon, he had to be. Being your mate felt like an irrevocably necessary part of his soul, like he might die without it, without having that bond with you to tether him to this world and give him meaning. Meaning he’d been lacking his entire life. 

He didn’t know or care if Fenrys felt the same way but he supposed he should. He had an obligation to his mate’s mate, after all, outside of the fact that Fenrys is his bloodsworn brother. 

Bloodsworn.

His bones and blood chilled. He couldn’t be yours, not really. The realization threatened to bring tears to his eyes, but he couldn’t cry, not here - not in front of you. You needed him strong. 

He stood, abruptly, but didn’t care. He jerked his chin to Fenrys. “We need to talk,” he let his eyes say the rest. 

He found he didn’t like how some of the shine left Fenrys’s, how they dulled at the implication of their Queen’s existence. Too bad, for now. 

“Great. Secrets,” you muttered, and a slight smile threatened his lips, but you still waved them away. Perhaps you understood secrets better than anyone else. 

Lorcan led Fenrys to an adjacent room, and their shields went up at the same time. To keep any nosy females from overhearing. The more she knew, the more danger she was in. At least they were on the same page. 

“Where is safe for her?” Fenrys started. 

At least he had his priorities straight. 

“Antica,” Lorcan answered. Maeve didn’t dare touch the southern continent, yet. “For now,” he added for honesty’s sake. “The curse won’t break until Maeve is ...” He didn’t, couldn’t bring himself to, speak the words out loud, it felt too much like treason. 

“Dead,” Fenrys said for him. He had no problem with it, apparently. If Lorcan had been as insolent as the male in front of him, he would’ve been put to death long ago, and he knew that. Perhaps Fenrys didn’t, but it wasn’t the time for that conversation. “So we spirit her away, and then what? How do we keep her from dying?” 

“A blood promise.” 

“Like what?” Fenrys leaned back against the wall, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. 

“When the curse is broken, we will find her.” 

Antica. Hot, miserable, mate-less Antica. In truth, it wasn’t that miserable, but you'd be enjoying yourself a lot more if your mates hadn’t shipped you off here as quickly as they could. 

All in the name of keeping you ‘safe,’ you grimaced in the mirror, brushing down your hair, now frizzy slightly from the rare rain that breezed in the day before. They're and gone like a phantom, almost. Almost like their presences in your life. 

You could still remember their touches from that last night, firm but gentle, still tentative like new lovers can be. You thought you knew everything about their touch from the past, but even they kept some surprises across multi-verses, or maybe it had just been a while since it had been the three of you and your memory was getting poorer. 

Probably that. 

You pushed the door open, throwing yourself into the throng of people making their way to the one of the several monthly markets in the city. Throng of people, you thought. It was awfully busy. 

‘War,’

‘Sending us-’

‘Saved the princess,’

‘Foreign lord.’ 

The whispers hit your ears one by one like a drum. A war. Against who?

You stopped casually at the closest table, and sure enough the seller was chittering to the person who came before you about it. A war, and the khaganate would be marching for Aelin Galathynius. 

You rolled the name over on your tongue, it being vaguely familiar. Perhaps you should have kept up more with politics throughout the ages, you probably could’ve made a load of money betting, but that felt a tad too immoral, and you did fear the judgement of your own conscience. 

As soon as the intrigue was there, it was gone. You’d heard of several wars over the last two decades, the longest you'd lived so far, and none of them had brought your mates back to you. You seriously doubted this would be the one. 

You refused to acknowledge the ugly truth. They’d probably already forgotten about you. 

-

In the lonely and mindless hours stuck in his Wolf form, Fenrys thought of the beautiful female in Antica, and dreamed of a life without Maeve, however impossible it was he never stopped hoping.

The female screamed on the table in front of him, but he was frozen in time and space. All he could do right now was bear witness to the horrible crime in front of him. Aelin Galathynius deserved someone to bear witness to her pain and her strength. 

The female who should’ve been his Queen, and the female who was his mate had so much in common. Not necessarily appearance, but your attitude and the way you carried themselves. So much that being with her for those months had felt like an even larger blessing. It wasn’t infidelity, not by any means, but perhaps a bit wrong he was using Aelin as a proxy for you. 

The screams in front of him distracted him from his thoughts and dragged him back to the present. She’d passed out, he was waking her with some foul smelling cloth. Each day, he thought he’d reached the limits of what he could bear without closing his eyes, but somehow - because he knew you would do it - he managed to watch. Witness. Wait. It was all he could do now. 

- 

Lorcan Salvaterre knew he was a miserable male to be around, but traveling through Varese had turned him downright sour. At least internally. 

He knew he needed to get to Aelin, and he knew he needed to get to Fenrys. For the bond they shared with each other that they’d never told a soul about. If he didn’t get to him, you’d never ever forgive him. 

He might be too much off a coward to tell you, but he would know in his soul and that’s enough. He’d find Fenrys, get her away from him, do whatever it took. 

-

You woke up one morning with an unusual lightness, a ‘pep’ in your step, so to speak. You’d never understood that phrase until then, when you felt like all of your burdens and issues had been freed in a spare moment, like nothing could weigh you down right then. 

As usual, you got your gossip through the market, and it all made sense. 

Doranelle has a new Queen. 

Queen Maeve was killed in Terrasen. 

You were free. 

You tilted your head up towards the sky, and let the sun shine down on your face, not caring you were stopped in the middle of the park. From the corner of your eye you spotted an older woman copying your movements, not in a mocking way, but in a yes the sun is quite nice today way.

The flip side of your freedom meant your mates would be coming soon. They’d be coming soon. 

To Antica. 

To you. 

You scrambled back to your apartment to start packing. How long did it take to get from Terrasen here?

You paused halfway through throwing your closet onto your bed. 

A letter would’ve arrived by now, but you’d received no such thing. 

That night you fell asleep on top of your clothes. 

The next day you built the courage to put them away. 

You didn’t know where in the world they were now that Maeve is gone, and perhaps with the curse lifting they felt they no longer were obligated to be with you and love you, and maybe -

A familiar scent hit the same time as a knock on your door. 

You rushed to it, throwing it open finding ...

Both of them. Your mouth parted, words not quite leaving your lips. Finally, you managed a lame, “you came.” 

“We promised,” Lorcan said “Can we come in?” 

Yes, they obviously could, you swung the door wider and ushered them inside. 

“We came as soon as we could,” Fenrys promised. 

The silence was awkward for a few moments as the three of you tried to figure out how to navigate this. But, it was easy enough to break as you threw yourself at both of them, managing to catch each of them in a hug at the same time. 

“I forgot to tell you before I left,” you started, muffled in the shirts but knew they heard you. You’d memorized these words long ago. “I spent so long looking for all of the things that would kill me, I forgot the ones that made me feel alive. Both of you made me feel alive. Thank you.” 

[19ndonboy]

do something, babe - mason mount

words: 2.7k

A/N: i’m back with a new imagine, i got inspired by you’re losing me and hits different (surprising ik). i hope y’all will like this one and leave feedback pls :’)

you and mason were it for each other. visiting london, you randomly met in a restaurant on a night out. as cliché as it sounds, you two ran into each other as a result of not looking in front of you, too absorbed in your conversation to give it a thought. and just like in the movies, it immediately clicked between you and your next days in london were spent getting to know each other.

his favorite movie, his favorite artist, his favorite holiday destination, his favorite food but also what makes him happy, what matters the most to him in his life… it was fair to say you knew almost everything about him in such a short period of time.

your favorite chocolate, your favorite artist, your favorite series, your safe place but also what scares you the most and what keeps you up at night… he knew everything he needed to know to affirm he wanted you by his side for a long time.

days went by and you had to go back to your hectic life in the city you call home. you stayed in touch with mason for months. both of you being way too busy to see each other, evenings would be spent on facetime talking about your days. updating him on the dramas going on in your friend’s love life and him telling you how ben and him had a lot of fun scaring their teammates today. you would have killed for that smile as he told you all about it, to this day still.

you ended up meeting those said teammates a few weeks later, visiting him for two weeks. all loved up, this trip couldn’t have been any better even if you tried to. and it went on like this for a year and a half, satisfied with this relationship you two had until it wasn’t enough anymore.

the three words you two were longing for to hear had slipped on the last night you spent together before you had to go home again. your head laying on his chest, his hand tangled in your hair as you were tracing invisible patterns on his skin, the first “i love you” slipped out of his mouth. with sparks in your eyes and a big smile plastered on your face, he wish he had said them before if the price was to see you happy like a kid on christmas day. it felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders when you said it back, but he swore he didn’t even need to hear it when your eyes said it all. lord, you had never looked at him like this and something happened in his stomach that night.

lots of kisses, lingering touches and words were shared that night, and the words which changed it all for you were his, “stay here”.

what followed after was you going home to sort everything with your work, the place you lived at and say your goodbyes with your family and friends as you promised to come back and to also invite them to what would be your new home. and two weeks later, you were back in cobham ready for a new chapter.

you could’ve not asked for anything better for what followed during the next three years. happiness, love, communication and trust. sure there were downs but you had gotten through them and always ended up stronger as a duo.

well that was what you thought until four months ago when the black hole was too deep to get out of it. what was at first just a rough patch happening at chelsea ended up being the cause of your relationship going downhill.

how did it go from nights spent at home cuddled on the sofa in front of a movie when he could, days spent in bed when he was exempt from training to him being locked in his game room all day and out with god knows who all night.

you had accepted it all, his sudden mood changes, him taking you as his punching bag after another loss, forgetting to show up at an event for your job. until you couldn’t hold it anymore. you were slipping through his fingers, he was losing you and he did nothing. the fake smiles, the tears at bay you were keeping every time he was kissing you on your forehead as he was leaving for another night out in a club. your heart couldn’t handle this pain anymore. it became too heavy, you felt like you could explode at any minute.

you gave him so many signs, he was blind not to see them. you two were too far gone, you didn’t recognise him anymore and moreover you couldn’t recall what you had created as it all vanished in front of you so fast. so four months ago, you decided to leave. as he was walking down the stairs, you following him, you said the dreaded words, “i’m leaving.”

of course he was too stuck in his own world, not to realize what he was doing was wrong and an argument followed. you wish he didn’t go out when you threatened him not to be here when he would come back at 3:00 am sharp. was it childish of you to say so? yes but you didn’t know what to do anymore and you were too exhausted to think twice before speaking. but the sad truth was that you meant them.

he didn’t take those words seriously and he wished he had. you know what they all say when you don’t know what you got until it’s gone. it stings. he lost you and it hurt. he tried to contact you all night after he got home to an empty house. fresh flowers you had bought the day before and all your decorating pieces left were all here to remind him that until a few hours ago, there were two people living here.

that was four months ago. time went by so fast since. you found yourself a place to live at in central london. your days were spent at work and your nights were spent in your bed in a blanket. what you wouldn’t admit to your friends is the t-shirt you have buried in your arms every night. mason’s.

his past four months were similar. his days were spent at training, trying to somehow find his will to be back to his best level. and nights were spent at home, wandering in the empty rooms, hating how quiet it was in all of them. what he wouldn’t admit to his friends is the times he found himself blaring your favorite taylor swift’s songs in his kitchen. he would always complain after hearing the same ones playing over and over again but deep down he loved to see that smile on your face as you were singing them. he even ended up knowing the lyrics to back to december, you are in love and who knows how many more.

too lost in his thoughts to notice the looks his teammates and therefore friends were giving him at training, he didn’t notice them approaching him. they wanted to put an end at this misery, they couldn’t handle seeing their friend like that. they hated to think about him going home to your once shared home which only reminded him of you and what he lost. and they did what seemed right to them in this moment. mason couldn’t even bare to argue, and to be honest, he hadn’t even heard them talking but he said yes to their proposition anyway. and this is how he ended up in a nightclub.

to his friends’ ignorance, your friends had the same idea. and with london being one of the biggest cities in the world, you two still ended up in the same place for the first time since you left. lucky you, you didn’t see him for the night. and you had a lot of fun for the first time in months. feeling free, you danced for hours on the dance floor with your closest friends and a drink in your hand. but time was ticking and you couldn’t handle standing in those heels after 2:00 am and you called it quit for the night.

waiting outside for the taxi you ordered, you wish you didn’t go out when you saw him outside. with a girl standing next to him, her hand on his arms, too close for your liking. you pictured him with other girls in love and it hurt every time, but not close to how it did now. who was she, was she the reason he faded away and only became a memory, did she make him happy. you threw up on the street and that was when he saw you. he had seen you in every state for you to be ashamed of that, but it didn’t mean you wanted him to approach you. as he walked closer, your taxi finally arrived and while one of your friend helped you, the other one was pushing him away much to his complaints.

it physically hurt. he felt his heart dropping to his stomach as you obviously didn’t want to have anything to do with him anymore. god, he didn’t even know the name of the girl who was talking to him. he just wanted to talk to you. the truth was he couldn’t bear to live anymore time alone because everything at home reminded him of you and how he had lost the best thing he ever had in his life.

as you hopped into the taxi, tears started flowing and you couldn’t do anything to stop them. one of your friends, ava, stayed at yours for the night helping you to clean yourself up, to get you a big needed glass of water and to wipe away the tears on your cheek as you rambled about how much you missed mason. you’re trying really hard to move on from him and what you had but at this point you don’t think you could get peace.

miles away, mason was no good too. he couldn’t stay with his friends and went back home. too exhausted, he slept on the sofa. he swore he felt your touch on his cheek as he was falling asleep. but again that was the ghost of you dancing around his – your – house, playing tricks with him. as he woke up five hours later after what felt like one of the worst nights of his life, he dragged his feet to his kitchen. medicine well needed, he opened a cupboard and the first thing he was met with was your hot chocolate cup with the lipstick stain almost faded.

you were everywhere. not too long ago, two weeks maybe, he found himself crying on the floor of the dressing room as he put his hand on a taylor swift t-shirt you thought you had lost. nothing had ever felt so wrong in this moment. why did he find it if you weren’t here to jump around, happy like a kid who found his cuddle toy.

you are the one he loves and he was going to make sure you knew that. had you ever doubted he loved you, you did and the thought of it made him feel sick to his stomach. if there was one thing he would always be sure of is his love for you and if he had to scream it on a rooftop for everyone and you to hear, he would.

jumping in his shower, he quickly got ready before he hopped into his car with one thing in mind, to mend your – and his – broken heart and get you back in what once was your shared home. on the way to your place, he thought about everything he could tell you when he finally sees you. too engrossed in his thoughts, he didn’t even notice when he arrived at his destination. and that’s when the nerves hit him. what if you slam the door in his face, what if you let him in your flat but not in life again. he almost lost it but he was here now and he couldn’t chicken out.

silence was haunting you, ava had left a few minutes ago and you were now alone with your thoughts. until you heard a car in the parking lots of your building. not thinking too much of it, you didn’t pay attention to it until someone knocked on your door. weird, you thought as you made your way to the door, your brows furrowed.

you opened it and you felt your heart stop as you saw who was behind the door. was it real or did you lose your mind? you couldn’t wrap your head around what was happening until he whispered your name in a desperate tone. rather daring of him to pretend he was the one hurting when he got you there in the first place, you thought.

“i just wanna talk, please… i’ll be gone after if you want me to”. you got nothing to lose and you wanted to hear what he had to say, so you let him in with a sigh. he felt his head spinning when he inhaled your scent in the room. oh he missed it and you so much. making your way to the sofa, you both seated at the end of it, too far away for his liking but it was his own fault.

“i’m sorry. for making you go through this, for making you feel like you didn’t matter to me when you’re my first thought when i wake up and my last one when i go to bed, for making you think i don’t love you anymore when there isn’t even a word to verbalize how much i do. i’m sorry for not fighting for us and giving up on us so easily.”

your breath hitched in your throat the more he spoke. you wanted to stop him and speak but he nodded and continued.

“i was too stupid to realize what i was doing to you and to us. i know a sorry will never be enough but this is all i can do until you let me in again. i know better now. and what i mostly know is that i miss you, i miss waking up to you by my side, i miss you being in charge of the music in the car, i miss you complaining when i eat the last piece of chocolate.”

your mind went empty and you had no idea what to add as he was looking desperately at you, waiting for something to come out of your mouth. but as seconds that felt like hours passed by, every tiny hope he had was fading. “please say something y/n.” and you really wanted to but you couldn’t find the words.

if you listened to your brain, you would tell him to go away and that you had moved on from him already. but as you watched stand up from the couch and making his way to your door, you followed your heart and finally spoke.

“stay.” you said so quietly, you almost wondered if he heard you but he did as he stopped in his tracks and turned around to look at you. “a part of me wants you to walk away but the bigger part of me wants you back in my life, and forever.” you said with tears in your eyes. “i tried really hard to move on from you and what we had but it’s almost impossible.” you told him as he looked at the floor.

“i don’t know what the future brings me, i’m actually scared.” you chuckle. “but i wanna give us another try. i don’t want to live with the regret of not giving it another chance and wonder what it would have been like if we had tried.” the more you speak and the more he felt like he didn’t deserve you. how did he get so lucky to find you years ago.

“we will be okay. i know we have a lot to work on but you won’t regret this and this part will soon be long gone.” he said as he stared at you, his eyes trying to tell you everything his words couldn’t express. you will be okay. and with both of your hearts being full, on the verge of exploding, you walked to each other and as he held you tight in his safe arms for the first time in months, your heart started again.

tag: @pulisichavertz @mountymase @fallinforerling

[slavonicrhapsody]

hey, i was wondering if you had an opinion on why the carian children’s alliance fell apart during the shattering. between rykard having invented the abductor virgins that both ranni and radahn employ, and jerren stating that iji forged weapons for radahn’s army (if you talk to him about iji before the radahn festival while working for ranni), it seems the carians were helping each other out at the start. i have a few theories already, but i love your elden ring meta

first of all thank you!!

yeah I have a lot of thoughts about this. I think it ultimately comes down to the fact that their personal goals are entirely different and really don’t have anything to do with each other.

Radahn seems the most disconnected of the siblings in terms of his actions — judging by what we know, it doesn’t seem like a total upheaval of the current order was a priority for him as it was for his siblings. His specific motivations remain pretty opaque, but I believe, based on his obsession with Godfrey and all the references to honor and combat, that at his core he made the choices he did in order to prove his own strength and heroism.

I suspect this is why his halting of the stars hindered Ranni’s plans — he was never acting with her interests in mind. I doubt he was intentionally sabotaging her though, because there is no evidence of he and Ranni ever feuding. I’ve said this before, but the idea that Radahn’s halting of the stars is specifically holding Ranni back is a total afterthought to Iji… if Ranni were convinced Radahn bore her ill-will, killing him wouldve been her team’s objective years ago. Plus, Iji and Jerren are still amicable as you said. I think the situation is simply that, as Iji says, he and Jerren serve different masters with different priorities. The same goes for Radahn’s relationship with Rykard — I believe it’s implied Rykard tried to protect Radahn, but I don’t think this protection necessarily meant the two were working towards the same goals.

Rykard and Ranni are more complicated… I believe the Blasphemous Claw description implies that before the Night of the Black Knives, the two talked of a wider plan to “trespass” against the current world order: “Should the coming trespass one day transpire, they would serve as a last-resort foil, allowing Rykard to challenge Maliketh the Black Blade, the black beast of Destined Death.” Since there is evidence that these two did share plans with each other, it’s significant that they don’t really have anything to do with each other anymore.

I think this is due to the fact that though their goals were the same on paper — remove and usurp the current world order — their motivations and personalities are quite different.

Ranni is motivated by a desire to rid the world of godly influence because, as I believe, she owes her life’s misery to the gods’ meddling. She has no interest in ruling the Lands Between as a god-queen; rather, she intends for herself and her order to be “at great remove” from the goings on of the world. As god, she will be completely non-present.

Rykard very specifically does want to rule. He had great ambitions; his followers planned to serve him as their “worthy sovereign.” He despises being treated as a servant under the gods and having to fight for “miserly scraps” of power… he dedicated his life to destroying an order he believes is “suffocating,” asserting his own strength and authority in retaliation, operating under the philosophy of “the strong take.” At his core, Rykard’s goal was always the acquisition of power for his own benefit… and I believe this is why he ended up entangled with the Great Serpent, devouring and growing eternally, never satisfied… a caricature of greed and gluttony. Rykard’s personal goals essentially have nothing to do with Ranni’s far-reaching plans for a new order, and I think that’s why the two ended up on very different paths instead of working together.

I also think it’s interesting that Ranni and Rykard go about their plans in very different ways: Ranni prefers to work in the shadows and strike when the moment is right, keeping a cool head and a clear mind, trying to stay detached. She is said to have “cast aside” her great rune, probably because she distrusted its “mad taint.” Rykard on the other hand is rash and volatile, carrying out his treason in spectacularly public fashion. He is ruled by his ambition and hubris, clinging to the power afforded to him by his great rune.

In conclusion I don’t think there was ever a chance of the siblings all being on the same page — they’re each too different from one another with their own lofty goals and priorities, despite the love they might have for each other.

[i-think-i-did-it-again]

The Tour XV

Warning: swearing, violence, smut

Your conversation with Rook had you so tense you could barely see straight. You didn’t get a chance to say much to him after his confession, interrupted by everyone else piling onto the bus to head to the next destination. Colson could sense the weirdness between you but he didn’t say anything, almost like he was letting you come to him.

You couldn’t really accept that Rook meant the horrible things he’s said to you about Colson. You tried to not let it bother you but deep down you knew it was something that you worried about, in the back of your mind. You’d spent the last few weeks with him waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

You’re not really sure where you two are given your conversation the night before so when the bus quiets down and everyone begins their rituals for bed, you scoot into your usual bunk and try to let sleep overcome you. Rook hadn’t really said much to you but he hadn’t been rude either. When you stopped for dinner, he stood outside the roadhouse bathroom for you for safety. He didn’t say anything and you didn’t ask him to, he just did it anyway. You can tell deep down that the two of you will work through your issues but it still hurts that he said what he did.

The sound of your curtain pulls you from your thoughts and arms wrapping around your waist and yanking you from your warm bed makes you squeal with fear. You try to fight whoever it is, not sure if everyone is pulling some tour bus initiation with you or if someone has broken onto the bus. You flail in the strangers arms until you hear a familiar voice.

“Baby, it’s just me,” Colson whispers in your ear and you instantly relax. Your heartbeat slows and your breathing evens out. 

“You scared the shit out of me,” you pout as he sets you down in the aisle. He looks sexy in nothing but workout shorts and no t-shirt and you take a second to drink him in.

“Hey, my eyes are up here,” he teases you, half covering his body with his hands. “Why are you sleeping in the bunk and not in my bed?”

“Oh I…” 

You don’t really have a reason. You would be more than happy to sleep in his bed but you weren’t sure if he’d want that given you’ve only done it once on the bus and that was before everyone knew about the two of you.

Will everyone just assume we’re fucking all night?

Sharing a bed to only sleep feels…couple like. You’re trying to push down that desperate need almost every woman has to ‘label it’ but it seems almost unavoidable at this point. You realise by the confused look on Colson’s face that you didn’t actually answer his question so you fumble for reason.

“I was waiting for you to invite me,” you lie quickly, covering your discomfort with a small smile.

“Just take her and fuck her already,” Rook groans from his bunk and your cheeks immediately heat.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” Colson rips his curtain open and glowers at his friend. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Rook answers calmly but his eyes dart to your face and Colson catches the movement.

“Oh my fucking god Rook,” Colson growls. “Are you in love with her?” he spits the words like they’re venom in his mouth.

The very heated conversation has garnered the attention of everyone on the bus now and Sophie and Sam now stand at the door that separates the bunks from the front of the bus, watching the drama unfold uncomfortably. You want to say something, anything but words don’t seem enough at this point and you’re pretty sure Rook wouldn’t listen to anything you have to say right now anyway.

“Answer the fucking question asshole,” Colson screams in his face.

He practically drags Rook from his bunk and flings him to the floor. Sophie grabs your arm and pulls you away from the commotion as Rook jumps to his feet. You want to stop whatever is about to happen but Sophie won’t let you go.

“Let them work it out,” she whispers in your ear and you can feel the horrified expression on your face at her sense of calm.

“They’ll kill each other!” you screech at Colson takes his first swing at Rook, his fist connecting with Rook’s jaw. Rook recovers quickly and swings back.

“It’s the way they do things,” Sophie shrugs but doesn’t let your arm go.

“YOU HAD YOUR FUCKING CHANCE AND YOU BLEW IT!” Colson screams in Rook’s face as he pins him to the wall.

“THAT DOESN’T MEAN YOU GET HER!”

You almost think they’ve forgotten you’re standing right there and the feminist in you is pissed but you can see Sophie’s logic. Rook’s words earlier weren’t about you, they were about Colson. About his concern for Colson's intentions. He just doesn’t want you getting hurt because he doesn’t want to lose either of his friends. Maybe part of it is still a possessive jealousy he feels that it didn’t work out with the two of you but that was years ago and he’s dated since. It’s not like he hasn’t moved on but the thought of you with Colson brings the feelings rushing back.

Would that have changed my decision after Colson kissed me for the first time?

The guilt that overtakes you at the answer to your internal question is crushing. Nothing could change how you feel about Colson, not even the possibility of hurting your best friend. You wish you could blame it on having been single for so long that you missed the feeling of being wanted but you know that’s not the truth. It’s because it’s Colson that wants you and nothing else. The man you’ve craved since the moment you met him, so much so that even Rook noticed it.

“Because you never looked at me the way you look at him.”

Colson and Rook are bloodied and bruises forming on both their faces. Their fight doesn’t look to be ending but you can’t stand watching them destroy each other for one more second. You pull away from Sophie and push your body between the two of them. Instantly, their fists stop and you can feel their ragged breathing as you press your palms into their chests. 

“Stop, please,” you beg them. You feel a drop of blood from Colson’s nose drop onto your arm but you don’t pull away. “I don’t want you to kill each other over me, that’s stupid and pointless. Besides, neither of you are actually mad at the other.”

“Like fucking hell I’m not,” Colson growls, trying to move you out of his way but you stand firm.

“No, you’re not. You’re pissed because you’re worried he’s going to do something to get between us but trust me, that is not what’s happening here and you,” turn to scrutinise Rook’s battered face. “You’re mad at yourself for not speaking up and because I didn’t ask for your input about Colson and me but here’s a fucking newsflash, you will not now nor will you ever have a say in my relationships. We went on one date a lifetime ago and you’ve been with plenty of women since so don’t you dare play the victim with us. This is a good thing that is happening to two of your closest friends, why would you want to stand in the way of that?”

Rook doesn’t answer you. He pushes away and stalks off to the kitchenette, pushing past Sam and Sophie. They each give you both a small smile before following after him. You know you probably should too but you also know you’re the last person Rook wants to see or talk to right now. He hates it when you’re picking a movie or what to have for dinner and he especially hates it right now. You’re always right. He can’t fight logic, he can’t fight rationality and he hates that about you. You’re always logical and rational about even the most minor decisions in life.

“Let’s clean your face up,” you grab Colson’s hand to lead him to the small bathroom. 

It’s slightly suffocating with the two of you in there but you don’t mind the feeling of his body pressed against yours. You grab a washcloth from the small pile under the sink and dampen it. You gently brush the blood away from under Colson’s nose, rinse it and repeat. Once the blood is gone, you wipe the cloth on his bloodied lip and the blood staining his chest and stomach. When you’re sure he is sufficiently clean, you turn back to the sink and wring the washcloth out, placing it in the small hamper in the bathroom. You rinse your arm under the water, washing away Colson’s dry blood, and your hands with soap. In the tight space, your ass brushes against Colson’s crotch every time you move. You feel his dick respond so you deliberately push back a little firmer until he growls. Wrapping his hand around your throat, he pulls you against him.

“If you keep doing that, I’m going to have to bend you over and fuck you right here, rough and fast,” he nips at your ear and your panties pool with need.

“Do it,” you encourage him with a grin, staring at him with ‘fuck me’ eyes in the mirror.

Colson wastes no time bending you over the sink and ripping your panties down. He pulls his thick, hard cock from his shorts and rubs himself along your pussy lips a few times. He reaches around and places his hand in front of your mouth.

“Spit,” he instructs and you oblige.

Colson uses his now wet hand to lubricate his length with your saliva, stroking himself while he stares at you. Without warning, he lines himself up and plunges inside of you. You cry out and he immediately puts his hand over your mouth, muffling the curse words spewing from your lips. He spanks each one of your ass cheeks and you squeal with pleasure and pain. You can feel the handprints indenting on your skin but you don’t care.

“Dirty, dirty girl you are for daddy,” he praises you between thrusts and you’re practically a puddle under his sure movements. “I want you to come for me, can you do that for daddy?” you nod and he reaches his other hand around to rub your clit.

You drop your head, pleasure overcoming you, but Colson grabs your hair to pull you back up, burning you with his intense stare. You moan softly and grind back against him, practically fucking yourself against his dick. When he’s had enough of you taking control, Colson puts a hand on your hip and thrusts hard into you, impaling your pussy on his cock. You bite your bottom lip to keep from screaming out and his finger on your clit quickens. Before you can blink, the strongest orgasm you’ve ever had explodes through you. Your legs quiver, your pussy clenches and you’re all but falling to the bathroom floor. The only thing keeping you upright is Colson’s hands on your hips. It’s not long before he’s following your climax, thrusting roughly into you one more time before he fills you with thick ropes of cum.

Colson collapses against your back, his sweat smearing across your skin. He pants trying to drag in as much oxygen to his lungs as possible. You love the feeling of his face on your skin. the roughness of his stumble in contrast to your smooth skin. His lips brush up your spine and you shiver with his dick still inside you, softening. He kisses your shoulder blade, the top of your spine, your neck. You lean up, Colson slowly falling out of you, and you lean against him. You lift your arms over your head to wrap around his neck and you watch him in the mirror. Watch the movement of his lips, feel his hand reach under your shirt to cup your bare breasts. Embarrassment colours your cheeks as you realise he’s leaking out of you, the reminisce of your intimacy coating the bathroom floor. 

You pull away from him and grab the used washcloth from the hamper to clean the floor. You pull your sleep shorts back up to hold in anything that still remains inside you. Colson almost looks proud at that detail. He spins you, gripping your face in his hands, and kisses you for the first time since you got in here. You feel the cut on his lip as he moves against your own and he winces slightly when you run your tongue along it but he doesn’t pull back. Almost like he thinks your lips can heal him.

“We should go to bed,” you mumble against his lips. He pulls back and rests his forehead against yours.

“Only if you tell me the truth,” he murmurs and you frown at him.

“About what?” he didn’t ask you a question since he started banging you against the bathroom sink.

“Why were you trying to sleep in your bunk and not with me?” he pulls away to look you in the eye when you answer. You bite your bottom lip, unsure how to word your reasoning without sounding needy or desperate.

“I guess…we never really finished that ground rules discussion and I don’t want to assume things because it’s not like we’re together or anything, not that I care but I just, I’ve never done this before and-” you’re rambling and you know you are but you can’t stop yourself. 

Realisation appears in Colson’s eyes and he smiles at you before kissing you again. This time though, it’s passionate, full of fire and hot burning need. It’s sweet and intoxicating and overpowering. You need to pull away but you don’t want to pull away. You can’t bring yourself to end such an emotional kiss but Colson makes the decision for you.

“Y/N, will you be my girlfriend?” Colson asks you, a grin splitting his face knowing it’s the most 7th grade question in the world but you’re still practically melting that he asked it anyway.

“Ok,” you grin back and he seals it with a kiss.

This is pure joy and I’m going to enjoy every fucking minute of it.

Or so you thought.

******

Tag list: @mgklove99xx @anonymousme86

[yuesya]

“You wish to visit Inazuma?”

Lumine tilts her head in confusion. There’s something about those measured words that seems to be cautious and reserved. “Is there something wrong with visiting Inazuma?”

Zhongli hums lightly, gloved fingers tapping idly at the stone railings. Amber-gold eyes flick swiftly over to where the majority of other people are still preoccupied with the ongoings of the Rite of Parting that is currently taking place, far enough from where they’re standing that it would be difficult for anyone else to overhear their conversation.

(And isn’t that hilarious to think about, in a way –who would’ve ever thought that a god would help prepare for his own ‘funeral?’)

“Your goal is to seek an audience with the Electro Archon, in order to inquire what she may know of the whereabouts of your brother,” the newly-retired god finally says. “But I suspect that it will prove to be difficult. Inazuma has recently been ravaged by civil war, and their current Archon is said to be the leader of the rebel forces who slew her predecessor and took her place.”

Lumine chokes. “What?”

A civil war? A god who had been killed by her own people? … What in the world went down in Inazuma?! No, more importantly, if the Electro Archon was dead, then–

“Wait, no, how can the Electro Archon be dead?” Paimon gasps, voice shrill with panic. “She’s the patron god of Inazuma!”

“Yet all news coming from Inazuma confirm the same thing. Quite concerning, isn’t it? Although… I also have my suspicions about the veracity of what actually occurred,” Zhongli sighs. “For if the Electro Archon had truly been killed in such a manner, then it would’ve been impossible for such a cataclysmic event to have gone unnoticed by myself.”

The words are said with a certain sort of confidence and surety that makes it hard to doubt him. Hope blooms inside Lumine’s chest again.

“So you think the Electro Archon is still alive?” she asks anxiously.

“I cannot say for certain. But yes, I find it to be a very real possibility,” the god answers. “There is no longer an incessant lightning storm blocking Inazuma’s borders, but the travel distance is long, and entry into the country itself is currently still restricted. If your next destination is Inazuma, then I would advise you to find someone both willing to sail the waters and well-versed with arranging for the proper documentation that would be required.”

“Okay,” Lumine nods firmly. For the sake of tracking down her sibling, she needs to find the Archons of each country. If Zhongli thought that the Electro Archon was still alive… then that meant Lumine needed to find her and track her down, in order to get the answers to her questions. And if Inazuma had a new Archon now, too, then… maybe the new Archon might know something as well, if they were a god? She’d have to be careful about how she approached them, though, if they’d overthrown their predecessor through bloody revolution.

Aether had better appreciate what she was going through for him, geez.

[goodnightmemes]

SUPERNATURAL SENTENCE STARTERS / SEASONS 4 - 5

❛ What’s the matter? You don’t think you deserve to be saved? ❜

❛ You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of hell. I can throw you back in. ❜

❛ Destiny can’t be changed. All roads lead to the same destination. ❜

❛ I have questions. I have doubts. I don’t know what is right and what is wrong anymore. ❜

❛ The only reason you’re still alive is because you’ve been useful. But the moment that ceases to be true, the second you become more trouble than you’re worth, one word, one, and I will turn you to dust. ❜

❛ Who do I have to kill to get some French fries around here? ❜

❛ How I feel, this… inside me, I wish I couldn’t feel anything. I wish I couldn’t feel a damn thing. ❜

❛ We’re all scared. That’s the big secret… We’re all scared. ❜

❛ If you think you have good intentions, think again. ❜

❛ It’s not blame that falls on you. It’s fate. ❜

❛ I’m tired of burying friends. ❜

❛ You ask me to open that door and walk through it…? You will not like what walks back out. ❜

❛ I’m sorry. This is a very serious, very emotional situation for you. I shouldn’t laugh. It’s just that, I mean, are they serious? They sent you to torture me? ❜

❛ Oh, you’ll spill your guts, one way or the other. I just didn’t want to ruin my shoes. ❜

❛ Most folks live and die without moving anything more than the dirt it takes to bury them. You get to change things. Save people. ❜

❛ I can’t see your face, but those are definitely your brooding and pensive shoulders. ❜

❛ You promised me my family would be okay! You promised you were gonna take care of them! ❜

❛ I gave you everything you asked me to give. I gave you more. This is the thanks I get? This is what you do? ❜

❛ Now for the punch line. Everybody dies. ❜

❛ Now I’m asking you, for once, trust me. ❜

❛ Maybe you’re right. Maybe there’s, no escape. After all, how can you run from what’s inside you? ❜

❛ You don’t know me. You never did. And you never will. ❜

❛ Well, boo hoo! I am so sorry your feelings are hurt, princess! ❜

❛ Are you under the impression that family’s supposed to make you feel good, make you an apple pie, maybe? They’re supposed to make you miserable! That’s why they’re family! ❜

❛ We’ve been through much together, you and I. And I just wanted… to say, I’m sorry it ended like this. ❜

❛ What is so worth saving? I see nothing but pain here! ❜

❛ No more crap about being a good soldier, there is a right and there is a wrong here, and you know it! ❜

❛ If there is anything worth dying for, this is it. ❜

❛ Well, can’t make an omelet without cracking a few eggs. In this case, truckloads of eggs, but you get the picture. ❜

❛ Oh God. Is that a molar? I have a molar in my hair? This has been a really stressful day. ❜

❛ I’ve got no idea, but what I do have is a GED and a give-em hell attitude, and I’ll figure it out. ❜

❛ I’m hunted, I rebelled, and I did it, all of it, for you, and you failed. ❜

❛ I lost everything… for nothing. ❜

❛ You feel bad now? Wait ‘till you’re thigh-deep in warm corpses. 'Cause my friend, I’m just getting started. ❜

❛ We’ve talked about this. Personal space? ❜

❛ I was dead from the moment we said hello. ❜

❛ Don’t you get it? You can’t run from yourself. ❜

❛ Same song, different verse. Things are never gonna change with you. Ever. ❜

❛ My heart breaks for you. The weight on your shoulders, what you’ve done, what you still have to do. It is more than anyone could bear. ❜

❛ You’re not fooling me, you know that? With this sympathy for the Devil crap? I know what you are. ❜

❛ Whatever you do, you will always end up here. No matter what choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up…here. ❜

❛ Maybe we are each other’s Achilles’ Heel. Maybe they’ll find a way to use us against each other, I don’t know. I just know we’re all we’ve got. ❜

❛ You can do the right thing. You’ve got choices. But if you make the wrong ones, it’ll haunt you for the rest of your life. ❜

❛ I have to believe someone can make the right choice, even if I couldn’t. ❜

❛ You know, I’m starting to get why parents lie to their kids. You want them to believe that the worst thing out there is mixing Pop Rocks and Coke - protect them from the real evil. You want them going to bed feeling safe. If that means lying to them, so be it. ❜

❛ I wish this were a TV show. Easy answers, endings wrapped up in a bow. But this is real. And it’s gonna end bloody for all of us. That’s just how it’s gotta be. ❜

❛ Now listen very closely. Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna suck it up, accept your responsibilities, and play the roles that destiny has chosen for you! ❜

❛ Are you giving me the 'Last Night on Earth’ speech? ❜

❛ What a peculiar thing you are. ❜

❛ I still love him. But I am going to kill him because it is right and I have to. ❜

❛ Think of the million random choices that you make, and yet how each and every one of them brings you closer to your destiny. Do you know why that is? Because it’s not random. It’s not chance. It’s a plan that is playing itself out perfectly. Free will’s an illusion. ❜

❛ I can see how broken you are, how defeated; you can’t win and you know it, but you just keep fighting, just keep going through the motions. You’re not hungry, because inside, you’re already dead. ❜

❛ We’re supposed to be a team, it’s supposed to be you and me against the world, right? ❜

❛ Not for nothing, but the last person who looked at me like that… I got laid. ❜

❛ Well, we’re working on the power of love. ❜

❛ I love you, but you are a great big bag of dicks. ❜

❛ No one gives us the right. We take it. ❜

❛ If anyone gets to end this world, it’s me. ❜

❛ Before we get down to brass tacks, some ground rules: No slaughtering each other, curb your wrath. Oh, and keep your hands off the local virgins. We’re trying to keep a low profile here. ❜

❛ Get the hell off my property before I blast you so full of rock salt, you crap margaritas. ❜

❛ I don’t understand your definition of good news. ❜

❛ You are not the burnt and broken shell of a man that I believed you to be. ❜

❛ You have an inflated sense of your importance. ❜

❛ To a thing like me, a thing like you, well… Think how you’d feel if a bacterium sat at your table and started to get snarky. ❜

❛ I’m old. Very old. So, I invite you to contemplate how insignificant I find you. ❜

❛ However you feel now, it’s only gonna get so very, very much worse… questions? ❜

❛ I suggest we imbibe copious quantities of alcohol. ❜

❛ You’re not a kid anymore, and I can’t keep treating you like one. Maybe I gotta grow up a little, too. ❜

❛ Come on, I’ve never lied to you, you could at least pay me the same respect. ❜

❛ We’re going to kill each other. And for what? We don’t even know the answer. Let’s just walk off the chessboard. ❜

❛ What would you rather have: peace or freedom? ❜

[scarredwithcruelintentions]

chapter 2: the hunted

Find the masterlist here!

W/C: 2,327

A/N: Have a chapter in honor of my new computer!

Astarion spent the next morning as he always did, sitting just outside his tent with a book in hand. Most of the camp was up and milling about, starting their days by breaking their fasts and groggily wishing each other ‘good morning’s. He made sure to stay away from it all, as usual, but watched the proceedings with a keen eye and a great sense of unease. His attention kept flitting back and forth between the ever growing gaggle of his awakened traveling companions and your darkened tent.

He felt a sense of dread inch its fingers up his spine, cold and unyielding, the more time passed without your lively and authoritative presence to command the group of companions. The sun’s reach expanded well over the horizon now, and it was so very unlike you to have a lie in, no matter the circumstances.

Oh gods, did I go too far last night? What if I killed her?!

Just as he prepared himself to go check on you, lest he find you dead at his hand, you popped your head out of your tent. You raised an arm against the onslaught of daylight and blinked blearily, running a hand down your face to dash the sleep from your eyes. Astarion sighed audibly in relief, until your now-focused gaze found him. Dread’s icy grip once again clutched at him, stealing his breath anew.

This is it. This is where I’ll be tossed.

You made a beeline for him, taking care to avoid drawing the attention of the other companions. Astarion slipped into his familiar guise of nonchalance, preparing himself for his inevitable departure. He made to stand when you stopped a few feet from him.

“Good morning,” he began with a coy smile, “How do you feel?”

“I feel fine, if a bit woozy,” you waved noncommittally. “And you? How do you feel?”

Astarion’s false confidence crumbled in an instant, blanching at your question.

“How… how do I feel? My dear, I’m not the one that had a leech to their throat last night!”

“That’s rather beside the point, leech,” you giggled. “Now, do you plan on answering me? Or are you simply going to stand there agape like a dead fish?”

“I suppose I feel… well. Superb, even!” he giggled back. 

“Wonderful! Any idea how long this will last?” you pointed to your head, no doubt referencing the foggy sensation clouding your thoughts.

“It’ll pass,” he flicked his hand dismissively. “Just be grateful I’m not a ‘true’ vampire. A bite from them and you might wake up as a vampire spawn, like my good self,” he leaned forward, voice hushed, “All of a vampire’s hunger, but few of their powers.”

He heaved a dejected sigh at the reminder.

You crossed your arms over your chest, a smile toying at your lips, “Oh? Any other drawbacks I should be aware of?”

“That’s the odd thing: standing in the sun, wading through rivers, wandering into homes without an invitation - they’re all perfectly mundane activities now, things I never could have done before the tadpole. Seems someone, or something, has changed the rules. If only Cazador were here so I might laugh in his face before I rip it off,” he laughed heartily - then abruptly cut himself short, a shard of terror lancing through his thoughts at having revealed too much.

You raised an inquisitive eyebrow, studying him, but did not press.

“Nonetheless, it’s a stroke of good fortune to have a vampire on our side. I meant what I said, I am excited to see you fight,” you intoned softly, dropping your arms.

“Oh yes, and now I can fight with all my weapons,” he responded with a devious smirk, fangs glinting in the bright morning sun. “If I drain a bandit dry every now and again, it isn’t as if they weren’t destined to meet their maker anyway.”

You laughed, loud and full, at his witty remark. He was surprised to find that it stirred a delightful warmth in his chest, a feeling unfamiliar to him.

“I’m just glad you’re being sensible about these… revelations. I was worried people might turn up with torches and pitchforks,” he began with a smile, though it was rapidly erased as he noticed the other companions wandering into earshot with a mixed array of expressions. 

“Although, there’s still time,” he nodded over your shoulder gravely. He watched intently as your expression hardened and you turned to face the horde.

“A vampire among us? So be it. But should I wake with so much as a drop of blood on my neck, I will end him,” Lae’zel snarled.

“I’d just better not wake in the night to find fangs at my throat,” Shadowheart scoffed with disdain.

“Of course we’re traveling with a vampire,” Gale threw his hands up in exasperation, then pointed at him menacingly, “A word of warning, Astarion: I taste absolutely awful!”

You looked at him over your shoulder, and whatever you saw on his face steeled your resolve.

“I trust him,” you said, voice hardened and posture defensive. “Besides, like it or not, we need him. And there’s no need to worry about the safety of your necks. He’s got mine.”

You turned your head and bared his bite mark to your companions. A round of hushed murmurs and surprised faces met your bold confession to his feeding. If he could blush, he would be red from the tips of his ears to his toes in mortification at what your words implied.

“Well, now that’s settled, we should be getting on our way. Karlach, Astarion, Shadowheart, you’re with me. We’re to find the witch, Ethel, today,” you finished with a nod, effectively dismissing the group.

Astarion continued to stare at the back of your head in shock, and you turned to face him again, an inquisitive look adorning the fine features of your face once more.

“I���” he began, but petered out, unsure of what to say.

You snorted and turned to stride back towards your tent, presumably to stock your bag for the day.

He reached out to stop you instinctively and grabbed at your shoulder. You flinched uncharacteristically and froze on the spot, and he ripped his hand away as though scalded.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” he mumbled as you turned toward him again. The look you regarded him with was far icier than before, the lingering warning of a threat still causing your pulse to flutter.

“S’fine,” you mutter. “Out with it.”

“I… just wanted to thank you. Again,” he finished lamely, waving his hands awkwardly at his sides.

“Don’t mention it,” you said gruffly, then finally strode away to your tent and began donning your armor.

Puzzled by your reaction, he watched you pack for a few moments too long. ______________________________________________________________

“It’s so unpleasantly muggy in these parts, and there are so many bloody bugs,” he whined, swatting at the air around him.

“Does the big, bad, bitey monster fear a taste of his own medicine?” Shadowheart mocked, deepening his scowl.

“Don’t worry, Astarion. They won’t bite you; you’re dead, remember?” you quipped with a cheeky grin.

Just as a retort reached his lips, you stopped dead in your tracks and raised an arm - a signal to await your command.

“What is it?” he whispered apprehensively.

You hushed him, scanning the sunny fields of wildflowers surrounding the group.

“Illusion magic. This isn’t real,” you murmured. As if triggered by your words, the grassy knolls give way to reveal a bog, fetid with the stench of death and decay.

“Oh lovely!” he chirped sarcastically, “I always did want to rot in a bog!”

You shot a glare at him and signaled the group to continue onward. The change in landscape was drastic; where once there were flowers, now fungi resided, drawing sustenance from the mossy trunks of felled trees. The sunlight had vanished into humid gloom, and the sheep that had been quietly grazing were revealed as redcaps, feasting on the corpses of their victims.

Karlach’s eyes almost bugged out of her skull, raising her greataxe in preparation for a fight.

“Ignore them,” you waved at her. “They think we still see sheep.”

She nodded gravely.

The group continued through the putrid haze of the bog, avoiding the redcaps and picking through half-rotted remains for loot, when they happened upon a man fletching crossbow bolts. Astarion smelled him before he saw him, and a flare of panic shot through him.

The Gur.

He watched you wrinkle your nose as you called out in greeting.

“Ah, stranger!” the man called back, noticing your sour expression. “Forgive the aroma. Powdered iron-vine, an old hunter’s trick. Most monsters will think twice before making a meal of me.”

Against his better judgment, Astarion piped up, “You’re a monster hunter? I’m surprised - I thought all Gur were vagrant cutthroats.” 

He sneered at the man in front of him, no doubt an errand boy for Cazador, meant to drag him back for judgment at his master’s mercy. What were the odds, a lone Gur hunter this far from Baldur’s Gate? It was surely a message meant for him alone.

“Pardon, but who - or what - is a Gur?” you interjected, posture defensive and coiled to spring.

“A mystical and dangerous people who travel the land, never settling in one place,” the man flourished with a twinkle of mischief in his eye. “We steal your chickens, curse your crops, seduce your daughters… your friend here has heard it all, I’m sure,” he gestured at Astarion.

Astarion fought the urge to bare his fangs.

“I wish I had half the power settled folk think my people possess. Alas, I am a simple wanderer,” the man dismissed, “A simple wanderer and monster hunter. But I am no witch doctor or cutthroat.”

“So what monster are you hunting, then?” you bit back.

It was as though Astarion couldn’t help but draw the attention back to himself despite all of the warning bells ringing in his ears, his nerves causing him to prattle on.

“Something terrifying, no doubt! Dragon? Cyclops? Kobold?”

“Nothing so dramatic,” the man scoffed, “I’m hunting for a vampire spawn.”

Astarion felt his face fall in panic and caught your subtle glance in his peripheral vision.

I knew it! Just when things were beginning to look up…

“His name is Astarion, but I think he’s gone to ground. I was hoping the hag of these lands could help me flush him out, if I can afford her blood price.”

“And when you find this ‘Astarion’? You’ll, what, kill him?” you asked, subtly lowering your stance in preparation for a fight.

“Not this time. My orders are to capture him,” the man replied, eyeing you more warily by the moment.

“Oh, and bring him where, exactly?” Astarion questioned, trying his best to keep the fear from lacing into his words.

“Baldur’s Gate. My people wait for me there.”

“A vampire spawn doesn’t seem worth the hunt. It’s not like he’s a real vampire,” you added, trying to wheedle more information from the Gur hunter.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure a vampire spawn could still rip out your throat if he felt like it,” Astarion snarled, unable to help himself at the slight.

Shut up! You’re going to give yourself away!

Astarion’s fingers twitched, longing to feel the familiar weight of his dagger in hand. His mind was racing, addled with the lingering sensations of dread and rage like so many unwanted hands clawing at him, his skin crawled with it.

The man, taking no apparent notice, continued talking to you.

“He is right, unfortunately. They are only weak when compared to their masters. During the day, we have the advantage! But at night, when they hunt? You will not find a more deadly quarry,” he finished, expression carrying a grave countenance.

Astarion caught your gaze, clearly calculating your next move. Whatever you saw in his face - fear, loathing, fury, he knew not what - made your mind up.

“Interesting, indeed,” you said, holding his eye. “Astarion, what do you think?”

“What? No, it isn’t possible! It’s daylight!” the man exclaimed, looking between you and Astarion.

Astarion ignored the bewildered hunter, a vicious, fanged smile contorting his face as he pulled his dagger.

“I think the hunter has become the hunted,” he growled, and then lunged at the Gur, plunging his dagger hard into the man’s throat.

Karlach gave a great shout of indignation, and Shadowheart gasped in surprise. You, however, did nothing more than cross your arms over your chest, mouth set in a grim line.

With no reaction time to reach for his crossbow, the man stumbled back, pawing weakly at the blade protruding from his neck. A bright scarlet stain spread across the front of his worn doublet, and with a final anguished gurgle, he collapsed into the muck.

“What in the Nine Hells did you do that for!” Karlach screeched at him.

He opened his mouth to reply, but the words that came were not his.

“He was a threat to our own. He had to be neutralized.”

Astarion looked up at you shrewdly, scrutinizing you for any deception, but found none. Neither did he find any betrayal of disgust or fear in your expression, only wry determination to protect your companions above all else.

“The deed’s done,” you said with an air of finality, looking down at Astarion crouched by the body of the fallen hunter wiping his dagger clean. “On we get to find Ethel, no doubt the hag the hunter spoke of.”

The rest of the group grumbled their assent and started moving, but Astarion was held firmly in place by the look in your eyes. A new kind of anxiety gnawed in the pit of his stomach.

He could read the many questions held in that one look, and he knew the time had come for further explanation once you regrouped at camp later that night.

[asklesbianonceler]

Metyr, The Gloam-Eyed Queen, and The Nox

Lore, item, and speculation analysis. Looking at coincidences and theories a bit closer below the cut.

This is a little more disjointed than my last analysis.

@dykeishheart Replied to your post: I would be curious to know if you think anything in particular about the finger ruins of Rhia and Dheo being shaped just like the godslayer incantation insignia. I haven't seen any people mention it before but I was almost wondering if it's a false thread, like maybe it isn't meant to look like that intentionally bc nothing in Ymir/Metyr quest uses or mentions black flame or the gloam-eyed queen. Unless we interpret Metyr's pink gazing eye as 'gloam' (twilight)

I got this reply and said "yeah, I'll finally get into this!" So thank you!!

I've mentioned vaguely having thoughts on The GEQ/Metyr connections as well as Metyr's connection to the Nox but never got into any of it concretely. I know this specific reply isn't saying Metyr and the GEQ are connected beyond this but I've seen it A LOT and I've wanted to talk about it so it's a good excuse!

You can scroll down to my "Actual Interpretation" header if you want to skip over other's theories and a brief GEQ summary

I want to start by giving an overview on the points I've seen floating around that bring up visual similarities between Metyr and the GEQ so we have a basis for this.

The pattern on Metyr's face, the fingerprint, is similar to both the shape of the godslayer incantations as well as, as user dykeishheart pointed out, the above ground finger ruins

Metyr's tail fingers are in a twist, similar to the helix on the godslayer greatsword.

The godslayer greatsword has a swirling, fingerprint-like pattern on the beginning of the blade before it breaks into a twist

The dominula cape has similar patterns to the incantation as well as the finger sorcery symbols

Jolan and Anna's armor of night, has another similar fingerprint/godslayer-like symbol on the front

My hesitancy with addressing this in detail is that I don't want people to think I'm telling them they're wrong or coming off as argumentative. This is simply my take on the theory. But we're no strangers to characters being associated with the GEQ

So without further adieu, with the points I'll be contesting laid out, here are my thoughts on why Metyr is not connected to the GEQ.

GEQ basics:

We know the GEQ had her own two fingers, was an Empyrean, and was a direct timeline competition to Marika. It seems that, to the Greater Will, they were both potential candidates vying for Elden Lord, each trying to unite the lands between, and possibly the land of shadow, to the GWs plan. It is unclear if at this time the fingers were already unsound and giving baseless messages. I personally do not believe so as these were likely the first sets of two fingers to be bestowed upon Empyreans and still in their early history. It would also make sense that the GW would want false or unfit gods killed off before it's new plan is enacted.

The GEQ controlled destined death, a key aspect of the Elden Ring and one that would be incredibly dangerous for Marika who sought godhood. Thus she and Malekith went to war against her and her Godskins

She raised her godksin from birth, turning the dead flesh of unnamed, and unimportant gods into her children- via the godskin swaddling cloth, also directly connecting her to motherhood.

The meaning of Gloam is roughly synonymous with evening, dusk, twilight, and crepuscule, a time of day characterized by sunset- a blueish to orange/sometimes purple sky. We could also interpret this as "coming to an end" the setting of the sun, the absence of light, or gold. (making her a direct foil to Marika)

Her and her apostles are associated with Black, obsidian, and a deep purple gemstone

My first question about this theory is, what is the theory specifically? That Metyr IS the GEQ or that the GEQ was a follower/champion of Metyr/sanctioned by Metyr?

ON TO

MY ACTUAL INTERPRETATIONS:

My initial thought on the godslayer seal/symbol was always that of inverted fire. A fire devoid of warmth or life, the opposite of those wielded by others in Elden Ring. This is still my interpretation. The Stone set in the middle of the seal, to me, also do not seem intentional enough for me to connect it to Metyr. Had it been anything but black I would be more inclined to give this more weight. Metyr's eye is red/orangeish, bearing an odd crossed separation down its iris. I believe there are too many similar swirling, round patterns in other incantations for this to seem concretely intentional. The Frenzy Flame, Dragon communion, and others all have a swirling in the center. The other thing setting this symbol apart from a fingerprint is the symbols between each ring.

As far as the finger ruins shape, to me they almost feel like sites of large meteor crashes, further suggested by the falling star beast. And Metyr herself is a falling star. Their shape to me feels like a trail of something hitting the ground and settling. I believe it says the lampreys aren't from the land of shadow as well but I could be wrong. They feel very alien and touched by outer presence. I think their fingerprint line shape also feels like the ripples of something crashing there.

Metyr is also a shockingly developed god in comparison to the Elden Beast, so much so that I cannot see her being or sanctioning The GEQ. As I got into in my Ymir Analysis post, Metyr is given strong characterization and emotion. She is loyal and subservient to the GW to the end. Even when she is abandoned she remains true to the purpose it gave her, grieving her corrupt children, waiting, alone, and growing resentful- but only to the point of physical violence via her thrashing and wielding of her head as a weapon. Her built up anger, as her remembrance weapon states, manifests in crushing blows of her head as a weapon. Her utmost rage is literally her beating her head against the ground in frustration, to the detriment of those around her and likely herself. She is described as a kowtower to the GW and seemingly deals with far too much of her own grief, self doubt, and obligation to come up with her own agenda or enact another agenda herself/take any matters into her own hands to the extent of the GEQ. We have also seen the result of her direct connection with others via Ymir and seeing as this is the first/only time we see finger sorcery learned from her it's unlikely anyone else ever made contact to this extent. Her connection to the GEQ is that she birthed the fingers that told the GEQ what to do.

Perhaps, as many others, the GEQ was enamored by the teachings of her two fingers and took inspiration from its form. This wouldn't be uncommon. We see fingerprints in Frenzy flame items, Nox items, and the fingerprint shield- which is an item I would like to get into a lot more in a moment. But to connect her that closely to Metyr feels incredibly out of character for Metyr. Metyr is also largely connected to int builds and sorcery. Never Faith. Even the High Priest Hat boosts both Int and Arcane, not touching upon Faith. I also believe the lack of godskins in the land of shadow is incredibly telling. If the GEQ had connections to Metyr there would surely be something mentioning her blackflame or godskins in the DLC

Both are also associated with motherhood, but to the point that i think it's the opposite of something that connects them narratively. The GEQ has such a specific and unique way of creating her children/warriors, far too different from Metyr's

As far as the connection to her tail fingers goes, there are also countless other connections to helixes being associated with the divine, a main one being the hornsent. Her sword also doesn't have the classic spinal look down the center of the blade that both the Sacred relic sword and fingerslayer blade do.

In terms of connecting dominula to the godskin, that is entirely possible, but this just comes back to my feelings on the godslayer symbol. Connecting anything at all to the finger sorcery symbol would be baseless. This design takes far too much inspiration from the Carian and Raya Lucarian sigils to not be something Ymir created for his own sorceries, thus unique to the land of shadow and his studying of Metyr.

Metyr also seems far too connected to the stars for me to associate her with someone who's name means dusk- a time of day characterized by sunlight still being in the sky albeit fading. You really can't see stars during this time and certainly not enough for them to seem bright. She is far more associated with pure night than evening. Great segway.

The Nox and the Fingerprints and a Slayed God

Like I wanted GEQ lore in the dlc. I wanted to know more about her. But I truly think she's dead :(

I think sometimes we're just looking for GEQs so much that maybe we're overlooking some smaller revelations from the Metyr quest.

Specifically in regards to the Nox's reason for banishment and the fingerslayer blade.

Jolan and Anna are nox swordhands of Night. Their armor describes the swordhands as being born deep underground and their armor bears the fingerprint marking- actually described as a fingerprint in the description this time. But they don't wear this armor because they are in Metyr/Ymir's service. They arrived at the land of shadow wearing this armor that is designed to keep them in the dark and there were more than just two of them. We find the armor on a corpse in a body bag in bonny gaol, next to multiple other bodybags. But we can say for sure there were at least three swordhands here. And they must have had a purpose here for them to be the only Nox in the lands of shadow.

And this got me thinking. What other items specifically reference fingerprints and at first it just seems like frenzy items which seemed like a dead end. But there's one specific item that although related to frenzy, references a time before that- The fingerprint stone shield which is "part of the tomb of an ancient god---- the very seeds from which frenzy first started" So similar to Godwyn's death, a death created an unforeseen consequence, but who was this god? Who killed him? Well, aside from the GEQ, there is one other group of people known for knowing how to kill gods. The Nox. And they had a reason to do so. The Fingerslayer blade is born of a corpse and bears a similar helix and spinal design to the sacred relic sword, implying it is from the body of a god. The sword of a vassal/god that is capable of killing another. Perhaps this was the god the Nox killed in order to create the blade. Perhaps they did not kill this god themselves and merely robbed it's grave and defiled the body by rending the fingerslayer blade from it. The recurring fingerprint motif on the armor of the swordhands and on the tomb is an interesting connection. Regardless, the Nox did not want to be governed by the GW's influence, instead they followed the stars. They were the original GW haters and they wanted to kill one of its vassals and harm the GW. Which vassal did they intend to kill? Ranni uses it on her two fingers but perhaps it was made for Metyr, the source of the GW's messages that they hated so much. They were never able to use it. It's creation led them to be banished and stripped of the stars at the hands of the GW. Swordstress armor states, " Now they live under a false night sky, in eternal anticipation of their liege. Of the coming age of the stars. And their lord of night"

This would make sense as to why the swordhands are in the land of shadow. They were looking for Metyr. And it would also give us some food for thought on Jolan and Anna, Anna perhaps being the one who still believed in their original purpose and Jolan, having disagreed with her. Jolan instead believing she has found what the Nox were awaiting, the return of their stars and their lord of night. Her infatuation with stars, saying Ymir is her shining star, and doing as he asks without question, knowing he sees fate in the stars, heavily implies this is what she believes. Perhaps she too seeks redemption for what she's done as a swordhands, her weak heart leading her to forsake her original goal and seeking her fate in Ymir's stars.

Time to yap, because I understand I'm probably wrong about the ancient god connection bit:

Yapping: This ancient god to Nox connection is just theorizing. We could even theorize that the ancient god mentioned in the fingerprint shield is the GEQs grave and that maybe the Nox didn't kill this god and merely looted the grave, but the timeline on that might be odd. I can't say for sure. Further we can ask who's fingers were the three fingers, this ancient god's? GEQs? Or are they even fingers? Are they merely an apparition of something we will accept messages from? If Marika put the nomadic merchants in that hole in the ground it would also imply she put the tomb down there that held a dead god. A god she killed maybe? Really seems like that's where she puts shit she wants to forget about... The shunning grounds and all that.

Misc images that may be relevant!

[calisources]

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐄   𝐎𝐅   𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒   𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒   all   quotes   and   sentences   are   taken   from   sarah   j.   mass's   throne   of   glass.   spoilers   for   the   book.   change   names,   pronouns,   locations   and   whatever   else   you   see   fit.

“Libraries were full of ideas—perhaps the most dangerous and powerful of all weapons.”

"You could do anything, if only you dared. And deep down, you know it, too. That’s what scares you most.”

“No. I can survive well enough on my own— if given the proper reading material.”

We all bear scars,... Mine just happen to be more visible than most.”

“My name is Celaena Sardothien. But it makes no difference if my name's Celaena or Lillian or Bitch, because I'd still beat you, no matter what you call me.”

“Names are not important. It's what lies inside of you that matters.”

“Still, the image haunted his dreams throughout the night: a lovely girl gazing at the stars, and the stars who gazed back.”

“Sometimes, the wicked will tell us things just to confuse us–to haunt our thoughts long after we've faced them.”

"No fair maiden should die alone,"

“We each survive in our own way.”

“As my friend, you should either bring me along, or keep me company."

“Second place is a nice title for the first loser.”

“I wasn't going to kill him, you buffoon.”

"Now you must pretend that you like me, or else everything will be ruined.”

“I'm not married,because I can't stomach the idea of marrying a woman inferior to me in mind and spirit. It would mean the death of my soul.”

“Apparently, a woman can only go so long without a sword between her hands.”

“I never intended to escape.”

“I don't quite comprehend why you'd force someone to bow when the purpose of the gesture is to display allegiance and respect.”

“What's the point in having a mind if you don't use it to make judgements?”

“Would you like to dance with me?”

“If he weren’t here, I would have said yes.”

“I mean it. Why aren’t you dancing with anyone? Aren’t there ladies whom you like?”

“You always wear that necklace”

“No one deserves to be whipped like an animal.”

“You’re remarkably judgmental.”

“Magic makes people dangerous. ”

“The fear of loss … it can destroy you as much as the loss itself.” 

“There was good in people - deep down, there was always a shred of good.”

Well, 'scowling escort' is a better description. Or 'reluctant acquaintance', if you prefer.

I'm the Captain of the Guard-I'm not exactly a catch for any of them."

I want a husband to warm my bed, and my bed alone.

"I can act and talk like a lady, if it pleases me.

“If you'd like to unwrap me, we still have an hour until the temple service.”

“Perhaps you should consider your difficulty in getting past Wendlyn's naval defences to be a sign that you should stop playing at being a god."

“You deserve to be laughed at for such foolish thoughts! I spoke from my soul; you speak only from selfishness.”

“What’s the point in having a heart if you don’t use it to spare others from the harsh judgments of your mind?”

“Marriage is a legal contract -- it's not a sacred thing.”

“I hate women like that. They're so desperate for the attention of men that they'd willingly betray and harm members of their own sex.”

“I was merely observing; I have no agenda."

"If it pleases Your Magnanimous Holiness, I shall call you by your first name.”

 “You look rather pretty today,”

“Shall I gag you, or are you capable of being silent without my assistance?”

“If you don’t stop feeling and start instructing, I’m going to rip out your eyes and replace them with these billiard balls.”

“Perhaps allowing them to be friends was a horrible, dangerous idea.”

“I win,” he breathed.”

 “I am still your king. You will obey me, Dorian Havilliard, or you will pay. I’ll have no more of your questioning.”

“I can survive well enough on my own—if given proper reading material.”

“Beautiful. Deadly. Destined for greatness.”

“This is the most beautiful dress I’ve ever worn,”

“You could win the hand of a king, looking like that.Or perhaps a Crown Prince will do.”

“What a miserable state for a girl of former beauty!”

“This is Her Royal Highness the Princess Nehemia Ytger of Eyllwe.”

“The princess tires of your company.”

“You’re awfully quiet today,” 

“The city on the Silver Lake?

“to face a featureless young woman with golden hair and a crown far too heavy for her to bear—”

“Stop whining. No one gives a damn about your clothes.”

“You’re immensely entertaining when you’re hopping mad.”

“You certainly have a lot of stamina,"

"While some parents hit their children, mine also punished me with dancing lessons."

“Magic calls to magic.”

I like music,because when I hear it, I … I lose myself within myself, if that makes sense. I become empty and full all at once, and I can feel the whole earth roiling around me.”

“Light and darkness. Life and death. Where do I fit in?”

“I should go to bed,”

“Winter was unforgiving when you lived in the shadow of the Ruhnn Mountains.”

“I  sort of wanted to kiss him.”

“Are you going to kiss me again?”

“Cain seemed bigger and bigger.”

“Dorian is more inclined to associate with ladies of better breeding and beauty.”

“What a foolish tradition.”

“Princes are not supposed to be handsome! They’re sniveling, stupid, repulsive creatures! This one … this … How unfair of him to be royal and beautiful.”

“Something about him makes me want to beat in his face.”

“She knew that sword. Nothung was its name.”

“Damn him for being so handsome!”

[munchkin1156]

Shattered Code- Pt.1

. . .

Soooo, this is my take on.... Well, this is my idea of a universe with borrowers in it! It's a bit short, but I hope you like it. First fic since I came back from hiatus, which was.... Several hours ago. I've had this ready for a while now. Thanks to @i-am-beckyu for beta reading it! Story under the cut...

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"As the leader of the Sageleaf Colony, I declare, you, Snapdragon, an Exile.” Spoke Rainburn, coldly looking down on the Borrower in front of her. “We will take back your Borrower name. You will follow the rules of the Exiled Code, with a burned Soul marking on your neck so you don’t break it. No Water, Nature, Sky, Colony or House Borrower will accept you.”

She sighed, before continuing. “You will be given no supplies. When you leave, the choice is yours to either accept Fate and die honourably for your crimes, or try to survive in a world where everything is against you. Should you return here, the Watch has the right to kill you. Farewell.”

The Exile was then pushed out of the borders, and, knowing that staying here and pleading would only result in a faster death, she ran. She no longer had a name. Snapdragon had been taken back, though, the reason why, in the name of the gods, wasn’t her fault.

Rules one, two and three were the same for each version of the Code.

Rule number one: Never be seen and/or caught by a Bean.

Rule number two: If you do, pretend to be dead, and if you can’t, pretend to be injured. Never let them know you can talk.

Rule number three: Never give a Bean any information over what you are, or how to find other Borrowers, like Colonies, House Borrowers, etc.

What to do now, though? She slowed down once she was certain she was outside of the Colony grounds, wincing at the permanent burn of her new Soul mark against her skin. It made sure that she, and anyone else she would meet, would know what she was. A forever reminding scar that cannot be covered up or undone. After all, Soul magic was sharp, and it didn’t go away.

Rule number four: Do not take back your old name.

As she walked, she looked down at a piece of shattered glass. It was darkish green, and must’ve once been a part of a bottle some Bean had dropped. Shatter… Shatter would do as a name for herself. It was a new name for a new world, and she had given it to herself, so only she could take it back. The Code couldn’t argue with that.

Rule number five: Do not trick non-Exiled Borrowers into helping you.

There was no use in trying to convince Cloven to help her. Shatter knew the moment he saw her Soul marking, even if he wanted to, there was no way he could help her without breaking his own Code. Rule four of the Borrower Code (the Colony version) stated that you never helped Exiled Borrowers. It said you could see it through the marking on their neck.

Rule number six: You may communicate with other Exiled Borrowers, but may not scheme with them to harm or hurt a non-Exiled Borrower(s) nor communicate with those not exiled.

Could she find another one like herself? One thing was certain, She needed supplies. In any case, Exiled Borrowers remained hidden, from both the humans and their own. Any Borrower, whether they be from a Colony, or a House, or a Wind, Water, Forest, or other area traits, would have their own way to try and be rid of her. Nowhere was safe, and everything wants you dead.

Rule number seven: Do not go near non-Exiled Borrowers.

Shatter picked up a pine needle on the ground. There were many of them, as well as pinecones, covering much of the ground. Pine needles wouldn’t work as weapons, and the pinecones, or at least their seeds, weren’t edible for her. Borrower allergies or something. She kept walking, unsure of her destination. 

The silence was awful because she couldn’t hear anything. She could still hear the sound of the birds, or the wind rustling the trees, but it missed the quiet, (near impossible to hear if you weren’t listening for it,) sound of Borrowers talking in Listhen. Outside the Colony was no one. It was a strange name for the language, come to think of it. Tarryl always said it was from Before. When they weren’t called Borrowers and were true brethren of the Faes. Then Tayrn would hit him in the head with the back of her hand and would tell him to stop making up stories. She missed those two.

Rule number eight: Do not enter a non-Exiled Borrower's territory.

She turned a sharp left, reminding herself that she couldn’t go to the trading market. She’d just get chased out. Across the sky, she could see clouds become darker. It was going to rain. She had to find shelter soon, but she wasn’t sure where she should go. Then she heard voices. Non-Borrower voices. Bean voices that were coming closer by the second. “Medo.” She muttered under her breath. It meant danger. Shatter crouched down, hoping the grass would be enough cover for her. It probably was. Beans were incredibly unobservant.

Rule number nine: Stay away.

“-and if you had just listened to me the first time we could’ve fooled them all!” One of the Beans complained loudly as they walked past. The other one sighed. “I don’t want to show them what I found! And it’s none of your concern how it will end..” Once the two had walked off, still bickering, Shatter emerged from her hiding spot. Human Beans were strange, curious creatures.

Rule number ten: Good luck.

Shatter reached a decision. As the sky grew darker, and stars flickered into view, she began to follow the path those humans had taken. Humans meant danger, but they also meant food and warmth. These humans didn’t seem to have any Borrowers living with them, since no remnants of Soul magic were felt around them. If there was a Borrower there, then they were incredibly incompetent for not using any Soul magic. Most likely, it would do as a temporary place to stay.

She couldn’t go back, so she would go forward. She would survive.

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Oh yeah, I have a taglist!!!! I forgot about that!!!! If you want to be added, just comment/dm/ask me!

@i-am-beckyu, @da3dm, @brick-a-doodle-do, @faeiyn-cant-write.... I think that's everyone. Gosh it's been a while, can't remember stuff anymore :D