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canary3d-obsessed · 3 months ago

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Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 41, part three

(Masterpost) (Pinboard) (whole thing on AO3)

Warning! Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Brotherhood of Man

Somehow, after the multi-layered shit sandwich of betrayal that happened in Nightless City, Lan Xichen manages to convince his two besties to swear brotherhood with him and each other. Lan Xichen's Polyamory 101 class apparently didn't tell him that forcing a vee to become a three-for-all is a bad idea. Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao are bonded by only two things: 1. loving Lan Xichen 2. hating each other.

Nie Mingjue is great at letting bygones be bygones, as we can tell as he glares all the way through Jin Guangyao's skull.

Next we jump to Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao playing the song of clarity for Nie Mingjue, with Lan Xichen in a particularly sexy set of ultra-fancy robes.

NMJ keeps his eyes shut so he won't have to see the extreme eye fucking that's going on right in front of his salad.

Check out his cool candle holders, by the way.

I can't help but think...is this how Lan Xichen is spending his time while Lan Wangji is in forced seclusion? Lan Xichen didn't attack any elders, so there's no reason he shouldn't be enjoying himself, but he's gone all in on the fuckboy life while his brother is seriously struggling. The Lan brothers seem a lot less close after Wei Wuxian's death interlude and I wonder if this is part of the reason.

(More behind the cut!)

We take a tiny break from empathy during this section so that Lan Wangji can check Wei Wuxian's qi.

He does, and goes to play healing for him. He does not react like WWX is lacking a core, despite doing the magic wrist check that would tip him off if that were the case, so I add this to the pile of evidence that WWX 2.0 does have a (shitty) core in his new body.

I like this little scene because Lan Wangji is clearly worried, emotional, upset - he's doing his little sour-lemon frown and he's intensely focused on Wei Wuxian while he plays healing - but he's not trying to wake him, and he doesn't say anything about his own concerns once Wei Wuxian is awake.

Grown-up Lan Wangji is still not a fan of these unorthodox cultivation activities, but he respects WWX's choices and focuses on supporting him, not stopping him.

Play Misty For Me

Next, empathy shows us Jin Guangyao playing for Nie Mingjue in a 1-on-1 session in JinLintai. I guess this is like dialysis, where Nie Mingjue has to waste a shit ton of time going back and forth between home and JinLinTai to get cleansed.

It seems like Lan Xichen could have picked a better person to train in playing the song of clarity. I know Nie Huaisang's wussy core might make him a poor candidate, but surely there's someone in Qinghe who could do the job? Or send a series of Lan disciples in an exchange student arrangement? But Lan Xichen would rather force these guys to hang out together.

Lan Xichen may seem like he's being wilfully blind, or plain stupid, but I don't think that's what he's about. He's aware that both of these guys are, from a certain point of view, bad people. Nie Mingjue is driven by rage and a rigid sense of justice and social hierarchy; Jin Guangyao is consumed with self-interest and will use any means to achieve his ends.

Good guys Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji will also use any means to achieve their ends - attacking elders, raising the dead, and whatnot. What all four of these not-Lan Xichen people have in common is that they go to extremes, too high or too low, there ain't no in-betweens.

Out of the darkness, into the light Leaving the scene of the crime Either I'm wrong or I'm perfectly right Every time

Sorry, but Billy Joel is part of my cultural heritage as a Gen X person.

Lan Xichen embodies a combination of Confucian and Buddhist values, I think; he wants the people he cares about to chill the fuck out and find the middle way, and also to be truly brotherly toward each other. He tries to achieve this through gentle nagging and also by modeling the behavior he wants to see, creating opportunities for peace and balance. Unfortunately at the time Empathy is showing us, he's unware how extreme and unbalanced his own feelings for Jin Guangyao really are.

At some point, Jin Guangyao starts playing the altered version of the music, and we have a series of kind of weird cuts where 1. the Song of Fuck You is playing on the soundtrack while Lan Xichen is teaching Jin Guangyao 2. NMJ starts to hork up some blood in the 1-on-1 session but finishes horking in the trio session. I think this is meant to show that it was a progression.

Meet Me Outside

Empathy jumps ahead to Lan Xichen trying to warn Jin Guangyao about Nie Mingjue's declining temperament, saying that if it wasn't for JGY playing for him every day, it would be super bad, or words to that effect. He is interrupted by Nie Mingjue showing up to yell at Jin Guangyao. Was Nie Mingjue eavesdropping so that his head could recall this later in Empathy?

I'm inclined to see the dynamic among the three of them at this point through a lens of domestic violence. Lan Xichen stands by helplessly while Nie Mingjue makes it clear that he's in a rage and wants to take it out on Jin Guangyao; JGY calmly tells Lan Xichen to stay behind while he goes outside to take a beating. That's not just optics; Nie Mingjue attacks him the moment they're alone. The fact that NMJ is drunk on resentment is only partly the fault of Jin Guangyao's musical poison; a lot of it is his own choice to do saber cultivation.

Lan Xichen may remember similar interactions with his parents. He's certainly having a trauma reaction instead of stepping into this situation from a place of strength. He's protected Jin Guangyao from NMJ before without any difficulty, but the changes in NMJ's temperament and possibly the loss of Lan Wangji's companionship have put him in a weaker state of mind, it seems. And he himself may have been the target of Nie Mingjue's anger at times, too.

The Ragening

After dodging the first swing from Nie Mingjue, Jin Guangyao asks him why he's mad. The gist of NMJ's beef is this: Xue Yang escaped from the unclean realm. NMJ (correctly) blames JGY. Now Xue Yang is imprisoned by Jin Guangshan after a trial or something, in which Chang Ping retracted his earlier accusation. So they can't execute Xue Yang because there's no evidence against him. (Why can they imprison him for life with no evidence, then? Seems sketchy).

Nie Mingjue says that Xue Yang has a piece of Yin metal, and that's why Jin Guangshan is keeping him alive. JGY doesn't affirm or deny this, but he has to obey his dad, so he can't kill Xue Yang just to please Nie Mingjue.

Nie Mingjue tells him to stop doing that thing he does.

You Doing that thing you do Breakin' my heart into a million pieces Like you always do And you Don't mean to be cruel You never even knew about the heartache I've been going through

Jin Guangyao has to intuit what Nie Mingjue is talking about, which is apparently that JGY is being calculating and manipulative.

He proceeds to rip NMJ a new one for believing that everyone can be as rigteous as him when he has his noble birth and high cultivation to depend on. JGY points out that he himself doesn't have early cultivation training or a good family background to draw on. He also gives us a little bit of specific info about his position in the clan, saying that Jin Zixuan's death didn't give him a clear path; Jin Guangshan would rather bring back another bastard son than allow Jin Guangyao to succeed him.

Presumably he's talking about Mo Xuanyu. Before you feel sorry for JGY, remember that he caused Jin Zixuan's death specifically so he could claim his place in the line of succession.

Nie Mingjue says, dismissively, that he's only refusing to kill Xue Yang because he doesn't want to risk his position in the clan. Nie Mingjue says this like it's a bad thing: like Jin Guangyao, who he fired quite a while ago and totally doesn't work for him, should go against his father's express orders and kill a guy, without evidence, because Nie Mingjue thinks that would be more righteous. I gotta say, Nie Mingjue is a real piece of work.

Nie Mingjue acknowledges that he himself has killed a fuckton of people, but never for his own advancement. Jin Guangyao challenges him with words that have a little flavor of Wei Wuxian's way of thinking: did everyone you've killed deserve it? Are your standards fair?

Then he heads firmly back into villain territory by saying "sacrifices must be made for greatness" which has Nie Mingjue asking why he doesn't sacrifice himself, instead of killing other people? (Shades of WWX challenging Wen Zhuliu) Jin Guangyao replies with an emphatic nope, which inspires Nie Mingjue to kick him down the stairs and attribute his poor character to his mom's line of work, for not the first time. If I was in charge of Jinlintai, I would put a safety gate up there.

The bottom of these stairs is kind of an important place for Jin Guangyao; he's been kicked down them twice (that we know of) and each time he stood up 100% ready to kill the guy at the top of the stairs. Although he took a super long time to actually do it in the case of his dad, I'm pretty sure JGS's fate was sealed in that moment....just like Nie Mingjue's is sealed here.

Side note: In the show, JGY starts musically poisoning NMJ while they are still ostensibly getting along fine, whereas in the book he waits until NMJ has kicked him down the stairs and insulted his mom. CQL Jin Guangyao is just more forward-thinking, I guess.

After fixing his hat, Jin Guangyao walks up the stairs calmly explaining to Nie Mingjue how he fucked with the song of cleansing. This causes Nie Mingjue to qi deviate while the Department of Questionable Visual Effects messes around with extra copies of Jin Guangyao in AfterFX.

Not to be outdone, the Department of Questionable Practical Effects has loaded up the front of Nie Mingjue's torso with exploding blood squibs, because apparently that is how they interpret "all his meridians were broken." (We won't talk about the various non-cultivation-aware translations that say "all his veins were broken.")

Nie Huaisang shows up - running up all of the steps at Jinlintai. From where? Did he run from Qinghe? How did he know Nie Mingjue was in trouble? If Lan Xichen told him, why isn't he here too? Presumably he is still busy checking the guest list for the next conference, per JGY's request.

Jin Guangyao grabs Nie Huaisang and holds him out of harms way while vigorously pretending to be upset while Nie Mingjue points his saber at them. Nie Huaisang interprets this as NMJ not recognizing him (and if you've seen Fatal Journey, you know this is a fair interpretation) but it might be that he's pointing it at JGY to encourage him to let NHS go.

This Is The End

Next we see NMJ all tied up on a table in Jinlintai, with corpse poisoning marks on his neck. Someday I will learn exactly when these happen, what they mean, and how everyone who has them gets them, but today is not that day. (Remember when Wen Qing got them while WWX was playing angry flute at the rocks behind Qinghe, and then they went away when he stopped playing? And how this was never explained?) Xue Yang is walking around him with Baxia and half of the yin tiger seal. He can't control him without the whole seal so JGY says to kill him.

In case all of Xue Yang's behavior seems super random, it's actually not; his project is turning high-level cultivators into controllable fierce corpses. Where Wei Wuxian controlled his fierce corpse Wen Ning with kindness and turnips, Xue Yang uses fancy brain nails. With Nie Mingjue, he presumably hadn't developed the technique yet, which is why they can't subdue him to use him. And he failed to get the nails into Xiao Xingchen or Wei Wuxian's heads. So basically the entire project was a bust, given that he didn't deploy Wen Ning for anything, and Song Lan just followed him around an empty town. This is what happens when you get too attached to a particular creative vision.

Camera Operator: hey now!

Xue Yang uses Baxia to chop Nie Mingjue's head off, which has to piss Baxia off. Xue Yang says Nie Mingjue is finally obedient, which is only sort of true, since he'll be coming back for revenge in sword-spirit form in the live action, or in naked dismembered corpse form in every other version of the story.

Friendly Neighborhood Paperman

This murder causes Wei Wuxian to snap out of empathy back into his paperman body, and accidentally pull NMJ's head's eye covers off, revealing eyes that don't look a goddamn thing like actor Wang Yizhou's eyes, but this head has had a rough few years.

Jin Guangyao is right there in the storeroom with him; it's a good thing he didn't think to have one of his chats with NMJ's head during the 30 minutes WWX spent communing with it. He chases Paperman around slashing his sword through the furniture and knocking shit over.

Among JGY's many evil traits, perhaps the worst is the way he wastes storage space. Look at all these shelves with 2 or 3 books on them.

Paperman makes his way over to Suibian where it's displayed on a shelf, and hops onto its hilt while JGY watches. He smirks at WWX's failure to draw the sword, but eventually Paper WWX does draw it, surprising JGY. Suibian fights him remotely for a bit while WWX gets away and makes his way back to Lan Wangji.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji trade arm clasps while Wei Wuxian gives him a sitrep, and then they run off to find Nie Mingjue's head.

Because there is no limit to Wei Wuxian's sex appeal, Lan Wangji instantly beats up everyone who gets in his sweetie's way. Lan Xichen shows up, a little alarmed at the attacks on the guards but still on board with their plan.

Lan Xichen deploys his most dramatic stair-climbing flourish to show that he means business.

Eventually Jin Guangyao shows up, and they ask to see his secret chamber. Jin Guangyao tries to explain that it's not, like, a secret chamber any more if you let people come in and look at it.

Apparently there IS a limit to Jin Guangyao's sex appeal, because Lan Xichen puts his foot down for the very first time and tells him, not asks him, to open the room.

...while Wei Wuxian smirks like a kid whose sibling is the one getting yelled at for a change.

Before Jin Guangyao can answer, Su She shows up, saying it's not cool to demand entry to a clan leader's bed chamber, as if Lan Xichen didn't have his own embroidered bathrobe alredy hanging on a hook in there.

Lan Wangji and Su She greet each other nastily, and Wei Wuxian calls him out for copying Lan Wangji, which ends the episode.

Soundtrack: I Go To Extremes by Billy Joel, That Thing You Do from the movie That Thing You Do

Bonus: Liu Haikuan's beautiful hand

#the untamed #restless rewatch the untamed #the untamed gifs #wow this episode was a lot #nie mingjue #jin guangyao #lan xichen #nie mingjue's wax head #xue yang #a lil bit of wuxian #jin ling shows up too but i ain't got room to talk about him #actually a pretty interesting philosophical argument between two guys who both objectively suck as people #i wish tumblr would let me have more than 30 gifs #how was this episode so packed #ep 41 #canary3d-original

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apathetic-kiss · 6 months ago

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The Rosier Family being social outcasts amongst the rest of the Sacred 28, not out of disgust or betrayal, but rather due to how the other families hold a morbid curiosity and slight fear towards the pure-bloods who seem to isolate themselves more than any other family.

For as long as anyone could remember, the Rosiers produced peculiar looking heirs; they all shared the same bone-white hair and gaping eye-bags, facial structure like fine china and long, bendy limbs. The children were always strange, seemingly intellectual and wise beyond their years, darkened pupils that seemed to stare into your soul if you made eye-contact for too long. They would chatter amongst themselves, rarely talking to the other pure-blood youths, preferring to whisper to each other in soft mumbles and squeaks. The Rosier children were never sent to Hogwarts, and rarely attended pure-blood banquets and balls. If they did, they trailed behind their parents and hid away in corners, blending in with the cryptids and ghosts which seemed to haunt every old wizarding mansion. When they aged, the Rosier offspring tended to become even more hermit-like; there was no presenting a daughter to society, no celebrations of a boy coming-of-age in the same way there was in other pure-blood families. They instead would disappear from pure-blood society for years at a time, their parents or aunts or siblings airily mentioning that they were abroad at the time.

In adult-hood, it was said the Rosiers only had one path of employment, and that was none. The blood-line was made up of inventors, of researches and explorers and users of dark magic, of witches and wizards who travelled the world and did unspeakable things in the name of discovery. Whispers existed amongst the Sacred 28 in regards to what the Rosiers had managed to uncover, invent, and twist their magic into, with rumours of anything from successful immortality, inter-species breeding, artificial life, and spells, hexes, and potions beyond one's wildest imagination. Whenever a Rosier died (as very few of them seemed to make it to old age), it was usually due to a tragic accident, a spell gone wrong or being mauled to death by a mysterious creature, a mix-up of potions or something along the lines of accidental, self-inflicted insanity. The private events such as funerals were barred from anyone outside the family line, preventing any further investigation into the births, lives, and deaths of the Rosiers.

The exception was if there ever was to be a union of two families when a wedding was held on the mysterious lawns of the Rosier mansion. Even then, it was kept relatively private, with only the immediate family of the non-Rosier spouse allowed to be in attendance, and the presence of a single writer to detail the events of the ceremony for the Sacred 28's records. However, weddings only ever seemed to happen once every forty years or so; there was only usually a single sibling married in a generation, the others dying mysteriously young or pledging themselves to their work for all eternity. It was as though the Rosiers only ever interacted and joined with another family for the sake of continuing the blood-line, and other than that would rather stay hidden away on the acres of property and endless wealth accumulated by the family over the generations.

The birth of twins Evan and Pandora Rosier was kept a secret from the rest of the Sacred 28 until their fifth birthday, when their mother brought them along to a morning tea hosted at a pure-blood mansion for the women to discuss the current political sphere of the wizarding world. The other women were shocked when Céline Rosier floo-ed into the mansion, her first public appearance in almost six years (they always invited her and her husband to events out of obligation and politeness, but the two very rarely showed to events. Secretly, the other family members were always slightly relieved when they didn't.). They were even more surprised at the addition of two white-haired children clinging to her robes, who she whispered to softly and sent outside to the court-yard to see the other children. Céline's sister, Druella Black, embraced her tightly, though the fury at her exclusion from her sister's life ever was apparent on her face; the family had cut her off both socially and financially after she chose to move to the Black family mansion instead of raising her children on the Rosier ancestral land. People had whispered about how this apparent betrayal to her roots and her aligning with the Black family instead would place a curse on her and her children, the rumours already whirling after her boys were born and were missing the signature pale hair; Druella had dyed her hair black the day after Sirius was born, a sign of rebellion against anyone who dared question her allegiance to the Blacks. Still, as they grew older, the lack of resemblance between the Rosier twins and the Black boys became more and more apparent regardless of the closeness in blood relativity. Nobody dared bring up the curse again, and Druella's maiden name and the history of her roots was never mentioned in Sacred 28 circles again.

Evan and Pandora grew up the same way generations of their ancestors had; isolated, surrounded by books, and most of all, alone. Their parents spent most of their days locked away in their own workshops, the job of child-rearing left to various members of staff and random family members who lived around the property. There were always wizarding scientists and researchers and medical professionals popping in and out of the mansion, some staying for tea and some staying for six months at a time, some who ignored the children and some who taught Evan everything he knew about potions. Though some would argue that this was no way for children to grow up, the twins would disagree; they had free-reign of the giant house and surrounding property, no bed time or limitations and complete access to their family library which had been accumulated over centuries to house over twenty-thousand books and manuscripts. When Pandora was eight, she decided she was going to read everything in the library before she died, even if it took her reading all day every day of her life (she gave this up not even twelve days into it, when had Evan begged her to put down the books and come camp down at the creek with him. She had obliged). They spent the first eleven years of their lives reading constantly and desperately, devouring novels and spell books and potion guides and studies on muggles and wizarding magazines and whatever they could get their hands on. They made potions and taught themselves non-verbal magic, experimenting with animals and transfiguration and manipulated all kinds of elements and metals and objects. They never learnt the distinction between light and dark magic, it all seemingly just a tool for them to learn how to further their skills. It was an incredible way to grow up according to them, and they wouldn't have changed it for the world. But before their shared eleventh birthday, everything had changed.

When the pair woke up and received their Hogwarts letters, they had simply tossed them to the ground and gone on with their day; Hogwarts was irrelevant to them, and only existed vaguely in their peripheral thoughts as something that other magical children were a part of. However, that night when they sat down for a very rare family meal, Céline had announced that the twins would be starting at the boarding school in September. That decision was final. After some push-back from her children, she had shut them down with a no-arguments look and the twins fell silent. They looked at each other with slight hesitation, not knowing what the hell to expect from this switch-up in the routine and life-style they had known all their life. That summer, Pandora had buried herself in books and journals written about Hogwarts and by Hogwarts students, attempting to learn and memorise everything she could about the school and its history. Evan on the other hand, was in complete denial; he shut down any mention of the school by his mother or sister, and refused to engage in Pandora's discussion about aspects of the curriculum or what their experiences at the school may be. He spent most of his time leading up to their departure for Hogwarts locked in the upper rooms of the mansion, experimenting on frogs and rats and mice as he perfected more spells and potions he was working on (though he did occasionally allow Pandora to join him and help work out the flaws in his potion-work, as long as she promised no mention of their upcoming time at the educational institute that will not be named).

The first problem that came along at Hogwarts was the expectation that they mingle with the other pure-blood families; they had only very rarely interacted with other children, and so the idea that they were supposed to befriend and talk to these other pure-bloods was an alien concept to them. Evan and Pandora had spent a little time with Regulus and Sirius as kids, but the brothers were already sitting with Sirius' Gryffindor friends in another carriage. However, this did mean the twins had an excuse to sit alone together and bury themselves in books (Pandora in her now-battered copy of Hogwarts; a History, and Evan in a definitely illegal book on the anatomy of various creatures and how to best butcher them for black-market sale).

The second problem that arose for the twins was the discovery at the sorting ceremony that they were to be in different houses. Evan was called up first, and the whispers had already begun about which house the first Rosier to ever attend Hogwarts would be in. The hat barely touched his head before shouting out Slytherin, and he had made a bee-line for where Regulus was seated with the other first years on the table. However when the hat was placed on Pandora's head, it had deliberated for a few seconds before calling out Ravenclaw. Evan had felt his face drop and the his look of horror matched Pandora's own; there was nothing wrong with Ravenclaw of course, but the awfulness of not being in the same house as his sister was something that hadn't even crossed his mind. They had spent their whole lives together, they were attached at the hip, they were practically the same person, right? Right? He watched Pandora drift over to her house table with a mournful look on her face, nodding with fake reassurance at her when their eyes locked. They would make this work.

The third problem Hogwarts presented the twins was the issue of their apparent disconnection from the rest of the wizarding world. Though this was something that had never bothered them before, and something they had in fact felt proud of in their childhood, it was now becoming a problem. Evan had never shared a room with anyone aside from Pandora, and his social skills... left room for improvement. His room-mates, Regulus and Barty, thought he was a total asshole who hated the both of them, when in reality he simply didn't understand the premise of politeness; he and Pandora had always been brutally honest to one another and to their parents, and this just seemed like the norm until he arrived at Hogwarts. Pandora's roommates on the other hand seemed to catch on to her apparent otherness immediately, and quickly shunned her from their group for being weird and creepy (it actually took Pandora a few weeks to catch onto the fact that they were being mean to her; she just figured the other girls were ignoring her out of nerves, the same way she was anxious every time she tried to start a conversation with them. She discovered this was not the case though after the fifth time she had tried to talk to one of them, and they had all left the room giggling and pointing at her). Neither of them made any real friends in their first year, and were utterly miserable.

Things perked up in their second year. Regulus had gotten into a fight with Sirius over summer and the two were no longer on speaking terms. Barty's presence had started to become truly annoying to Regulus, so Evan and Pandora became the only ones Regulus deemed appropriate company as the two were happy to sit in silence and read together. Pandora also managed to befriend an older Slytherin girl, Dorcas, as the two had striked up a conversation about Herbology in the library and become study partners. Dorcas was struggling in her third-year potions, a subject Pandora was well-versed in and knew all kinds of tips and tricks in. Pandora was barely passing Defence Against the Dark Arts as the theory was mind-numbingly boring to her, but luckily it was Dorcas' best subject. Evan and Regulus were quickly added to their study group due to their proficiency in other subjects, and when he could be convinced to shut up, Barty would sometimes lounge on a nearby table and pretend to do work. How he managed to have the highest grades of all of them, that was the true mystery.

Their little rag-tag group of five only grew closer over the years at Hogwarts, and stuck together through all the triumphs and traumas. They were there for each other when Dorcas was made quidditch captain, when Sirius ran away and Regulus was left alone, when Evan and Pandora's mother died in fifth year, when Regulus was made a prefect, when Dorcas' sister contracted a terminal illness, when Barty came back from Christmas break with red marks up and down his back. They were there for each other through it all, and Evan never knew the meaning of found family until their group of five found each other; to the Rosiers, family was blood and blood was family, end of story. He had never known there was an alternative, but he didn't care; his mother and father had never held him when he cried, but Dorcas had wrapped her arms around him after he broke down thinking of his mother being lowered into the ground.

And, after everything went down and everything went to shit, Regulus and Barty had held him in the shower as his shoulders shook, terror and fear and mourning wracking his body as he thought of Pandora. His beautiful sister, the most important person in his life, the other half of his soul had denounced him, had said she would kill him herself if she ever saw him again, had screamed at him with ferocity unseen ever before after seeing the tattoo that now decorated his forearm. She'd refused to listen to him and his pleas to join him, to follow him into the darkness of discovery, to become powerful together. After everything they had been through, they'd each chosen family in their own way; Evan, in following Regulus and Barty into the darkness Voldemort's growing allegiance, and Pandora, in remaining isolated from the affairs of the outer wizarding world, in separating herself from anyone who was not blood or who betrayed their blood, and in cutting off their apparent found family at the drop of a hat.

At the end of the day, it all came back to family, to the Rosiers, and to the endless, relentless isolation.

Evan died alone on a battle-field, his body left on a beach to be reclaimed by the elements as his soul departed for the afterlife. Pandora felt the second he left this plane of existence, a string inside of her cut and leaving her forever longing for the brother she had lost a long time ago. She had looked out her kitchen window after the day of his death, seeing a pair of two dark-haired men standing in the paddock across from the Rosier mansion, the empty space left for her twin apparent in the middle of the two men. They had all looked at one another for a moment, before her old friends had disapparated into the winds of the day. Pandora sighed quietly, a tear falling down her face as turned back towards the bubbling cauldron she was minding. She wiped her face quickly as she heard her husband walking up the stairs, and fixed her face with a soft smile.

Pandora died alone in the backyard of her childhood home, a flash of blue light being the last thing she saw before her body fell to the ground. Her last thought was not of her twin, but rather of her daughter he never got to meet, and the regret she felt at subjecting her to seeing her mother die like that. As she felt herself cross into the afterlife, it was as though a part of her soul let out a sigh of relief. Though she was leaving behind her family, she was to join Evan and her parents once again. Maybe that was for the best.

Xenophilius locked up the Rosier mansion for good after his wife was buried in the family graveyard, moving his young daughter away from the house which had always rubbed him the wrong way. The halls, the bedrooms, workshops, and library would stay empty for many years, preserved with spells and protective enchantments keeping the mansion pristine and untouched by the years gone by. If one were to visit now, it would look as though the Rosiers were still there, and perhaps had simply gone for a walk, and would return any minute. They say the ghosts of the Rosier bloodline still haunt the house, the chatter of laughter and the sound of scribbling and the turning of pages echoing through its empty, abandoned hallways.

Another family lost, forgotten to the magic of time passing.

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pamwritessometimes · 1 month ago

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Dig That Crazy Santa Claus

Russell Shaw x reader

A Tuesday's Gone Christmas drabble

Summary: Your daughter may have uncovered her dad's greatest secret ever.

Warnings: none

A/N: Surprise, haha! I couldn’t resist — I had to write a little drabble about their first Christmas together. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all of you!

Wordcount: 810

The house was dressed for the holidays in all its mismatched glory. The tree leaned a bit too far to the left, decked with candy canes and glittery, uneven ornaments. But it was perfect, because this was your first Christmas as a family of three, and you had gone all out: stockings hung by the fireplace, wreaths everywhere, and enough gingerbread to open your own shop.

Yet, instead of the excited squeals you’d been expecting from a five-year-old, there was… silence.

Emma sat on the couch, arms crossed and lips pursed in a pout that could rival the Grinch.

“What’s wrong, bug?” Russell asked after noticing her little frown. His tone was light, but his brow was furrowed with concern. “You look like someone just canceled Christmas.”

“No one canceled anything” Emma mumbled, staring daggers at the floor.

You and Russell exchanged puzzled looks. Emma wasn’t usually subtle when upset. She was more of a dramatic-foot-stomping, full-volume protest kind of kid. This… this was new.

“Sweetheart” you tried, sitting down beside her and gently brushing her hair back. “Whatever’s bothering you, you can tell us. Did Misha eat your gingerbread man? Did Daddy burn the cinnamon rolls again?”

Russell shot you a playful glare but stayed focused on the scowling little girl. But Emma’s pout just deepened and gave you no reply.

“Okay, we’re going to need reinforcements” Russell muttered, plopping down on her other side. “Em, I’ll trade you a cookie for the truth… two cookies.”

Emma huffed but didn’t take the bait.

“Three cookies” Russell tried, wiggling his brows.

Nothing.

“Alright, we’re getting desperate here” he sighed. “I can give you four cookies, but that’s my final–’

She glared at him, her cheeks puffing with frustration. Finally, she burst out, cutting him off, “I saw Santa’s clothes!”

Both you and Russell blinked in unison.

“Santa’s clothes?” you repeated.

“In your room! Hanging with Daddy’s stuff!” Emma exclaimed, her voice quivering with the sheer weight of her discovery. “You’ve been lying to me! Santa’s not real!”

Russell’s eyes widened, and then, like a true master of improvisation, he leaned back with a dramatic gasp. “Emma Grace, do you know what you’ve just done?”

Uh-oh. He broke out the full name.

“What?” she asked, her pout faltering slightly.

“You’ve stumbled upon the biggest secret in the whole world.”

Her frown faltered, curiosity creeping into her expression.

“What secret?”

Russell leaned in close, lowering his voice like they were co-conspirators. “What I’m about to tell you is top-secret. You can’t tell anyone, not even your little school friends, ‘kay?”

Emma nodded solemnly, her earlier betrayal temporarily forgotten.

Russell leaned a bit closer, and whispered, “The truth is… I am Santa.”

Emma’s mouth dropped open. “No, you’re not!”

“Think about it” Russell said, tapping her temple. “Have you ever seen Santa and me in the same room?”

Emma squinted suspiciously. “...No.”

“And how do you think all those presents get here every year? Magic? Nah, it’s hard work, bug. I’ve got a sleigh parked in a top-secret location, and those reindeer? They’re on a strict carrot diet.”

You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh at his earnest delivery.

“But… you don’t have white beard!” Emma challenged, crossing her arms.

“Ah” Russell said, stroking his dark stubbled chin. “That’s my disguise. Can’t have people recognizing me at the grocery store, can I? Imagine the chaos.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she was intrigued now, her earlier anger melting into suspicion laced with wonder.

“If you’re Santa…” she started. ”Why do you live here and not at the North Pole?”

“Budget cuts” he said solemnly, earning a stifled laugh from you. “And between us, your mom’s cookies? Way better than the elves’. They get jealous, but I don’t care.”

That finally got a giggle out of her. “You’re just making this up!”

“Am I?” he countered, raising a brow. “Now, you cannot tell anyone, not even your friends. If word gets out, it’ll blow my cover. Deal?”

Emma hesitated, then slowly extended her pinky. Russell hooked his pinky with hers, sealing the pact.

“So… you’re really Santa?” she whispered, eyes sparkling with childlike excitement now.

“The one and only.” Russell nodded gravely.

Later that evening, as she cuddled up between the two of you in front of the fireplace, a mug of hot cocoa in front of her on the coffee table, Emma glanced up at Russell.

“If you’re Santa, can I ride in your sleigh someday?”

He grinned, ruffling her hair. “Sorry, kid. Only bad ones stay up that late. And you don’t wanna get on the naughty list, do ya?”

She shook her head and snuggled closer to him.

As Emma drifted off to sleep, her head resting against Russell’s arm, you leaned over with a soft smile. “Santa, huh?”

Russell shrugged, looking entirely pleased with himself. “What can I say? I’m a man of many hats. And apparently, one big red suit.”

I hope you enjoyed this little holiday treat, haha! Wishing you all a wonderful day and the happiest of holidays, loves!

xx Pam

🤍Taglist🤍

@bitchykittenconnoisseur @smoothdogsgirl @spnfamily-j2 @winchesterwild78 @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @zepskies @kr804573 @sebastianstangirl01 @kmc1989 @drakelover78 @amberlthomas @lomlbuckybarnes @n-o-p-e-never @roseblue373

#russell shaw x reader #russell shaw fanfiction #russell shaw x you #tracker fanfiction #Tuesday's Gone #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles fanfiction #russell shaw #tracker cbs #merry christmas #happy holidays

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novaursa · 4 months ago

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Of Gods and Men (exodus)

Introduction

This is Dune/GOT/HOTD/FAB/ASOIAF crossover AU that you've voted for. If you always wanted to see House Targaryen in space, I got you. Please note how some of the lore of both universes is bent to blend in both worlds. This is my original idea that I've been cooking for at least two years. Be gentle with my work, and enjoy the ride.

- Summary: House Targaryen survives their ancient exile after being overthrown by House Corrino and the Bene Gesserit. Fleeing to the unknown planet Albiron, the Targaryens build a hidden civilization powered by drakaon crystals, reviving their dragons and creating advanced technology. Millennia later, whispers of their survival begin to surface as the Bene Gesserit confront a mysterious Red Woman on Arrakis, who warns of a coming Prince That Was Promised destined to challenge their control. The Targaryens secretly prepare to return, ready to reclaim their legacy.

- Pairing: reader!Daenys Targaryen/Leto Atredies

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Note: For more details about House Targaryen and their technology, please check out the masterlist.

- Next part: contact

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

Millennia before the reign of the Padishah Emperors, before the Guild navigators learned to bend space, and long before the Bene Gesserit began their breeding program, there was another power, a House whose name was whispered with awe and fear across the stars—House Targaryen of Valyria.

In those ancient days, Valyria was a shining jewel of the universe, a world of towering spires and grand pyramids, whose mighty fleets ruled not one world but twelve. From the skies of Laansarad to the distant colonies of Qohar and Sarnor, their banner—a red three-headed dragon on a field of black—was a symbol of dominion, and their words, "Fire and Blood," were a promise. Their secret to power was not only their advanced technology or their skill in combat, but something far older, something the Imperium would come to call "unnatural." For the Targaryens were bonded to creatures of legend—dragons—whose very existence defied the laws of nature and technology.

But their power, their fire, had not gone unnoticed.

Once they emerged, the Bene Gesserit Sisterhood, ever-seeking control of bloodlines to further their goals, had long coveted House Targaryen's strength. Yet they could not penetrate the Targaryen bloodline, for the House was immune to the Sisterhood's manipulations. Rumors abounded that the dragons themselves had gifted their riders with an ancient magic that made them resistant to the spice and to the Bene Gesserit’s arts. The Targaryens did not bow, did not mingle their blood with the lesser Houses of the Imperium, and did not submit to the Sisterhood’s schemes. This isolation, this defiance, would be their undoing.

It began as whispers in the shadows of the imperial court of House Corrino, whispers that spoke of Valyria’s growing influence and its potential threat to the Emperor's rule. Fearing the power of House Targaryen and the dragons they commanded, House Corrino, in secret alliance with the Bene Gesserit and several other noble houses, set in motion a betrayal that would forever change the galaxy.

Without warning, the skies of Valyria turned dark as Corrino's fleets descended upon the planet like locusts. Great dreadnoughts unleashed their fury, raining nuclear fire upon the unsuspecting cities. The Targaryens, though powerful, were not prepared for such treachery. The star cities of Valyria, with their grand pyramids and towering spires, were reduced to ash in a matter of hours. Their colonies—once strongholds of the Targaryen vassal Houses—were similarly annihilated in the firestorm.

The Bene Gesserit, cold and calculating, had played their part well. They ensured that no Targaryen blood would escape their reach, confident that the ancient dragonlords were now a cautionary tale, a reminder that even the greatest Houses could fall.

But they were wrong.

In the chaos, a single fleet—a fraction of the once-mighty armada—managed to escape the inferno. Led by Aenar Targaryen, a visionary dragonlord, and his most loyal vassals, the remnants of House Targaryen fled into the void. Their dragons, too, escaped, fleeing with their riders into the unknown. With the enemy forces closing in, Aenar made the hardest decision of his life. He ordered the abandonment of the civilian starships—hundreds of them—that could not jump through space at the speed needed to escape. Tens of thousands of men, women, and children—innocent lives—were sacrificed to buy time for the chosen few. As the slow ships limped away at sub-light speed, doomed to be caught by their pursuers, the core fleet vanished in the blink of an eye, jumping to coordinates no one in the known galaxy had ever seen.

In their flight, they left behind only death and ruin, convincing the Imperium that House Targaryen was no more. The Bene Gesserit believed the bloodline had been wiped out. House Corrino celebrated their victory, confident that their throne was secure.

But the Targaryens were not dead.

As the surviving ships jumped further and further into uncharted space, their surviving dragons roared in defiance. Aenar Targaryen vowed that his House would rise again. The fire that had consumed Valyria would be reborn, and one day, the red three-headed dragon would fly again over the stars.

Their enemies had only bought themselves time.

In the vast, unknown reaches of space, the last of House Targaryen sought a new home, far from the grasp of the Empire, far from the Bene Gesserit’s eyes. In their hearts burned a single truth: fire and blood. It was all they had left.

And it was all they would need.

Far beyond the reach of the known universe, in the vast and uncharted depths of space, the last of House Targaryen drifted. For weeks, their ships had traveled through the void, their destination unknown, their hopes tethered only to the coordinates embedded in their ancient star charts. Aenar Targaryen, now the sole leader of his House, stood at the helm of his flagship, his mind consumed by thoughts of what was lost and what might yet be found.

Then, the scanners caught sight of something—a planet unlike any they had ever seen. Its atmosphere glowed a rich, deep red, the color of blood under an alien sun. Its oceans shimmered like rubies, and its vast jungles, though strange and wild, thrummed with life. The planet seemed to call to them, a beacon of hope in the darkest night.

"This is it," Aenar said, his voice carrying the weight of a prophecy. "We shall call it Albiron."

As the Targaryen ships descended upon the planet's surface, they found a world brimming with untapped potential. The air was thick but breathable, rich with minerals that nourished the vast jungles below. Towering mountains stretched into the sky, their peaks capped with dormant volcanoes. Aenar made his home there, at the highest point, building a grand pyramid into the volcanic chain that would serve as both fortress and palace. Around it, more pyramids soon rose, connected by a complex nexus of pathways above the dark amber forests. Below, cities began to form, hidden by the jungle canopy, shielded from prying eyes.

Albiron was a world of secrecy, and House Targaryen would see to it that their new home remained unknown to the Imperium and its allies.

As they delved deeper into the planet's surface, they made a discovery that would change the course of their history. In the heart of a vast canyon, buried beneath layers of rock and time, they uncovered a crystal unlike any they had seen before. The crystals, translucent with a faint golden hue, pulsed with an energy that seemed almost alive. Aenar named them drakaon, in honor of the dragons that once ruled Valyria, and the power they held was nothing short of revolutionary.

The drakaon crystals, as they soon learned, could be harnessed as a new energy source. They could be used to fuel their ships, making long-distance space travel possible without the reliance on melange—the spice that had kept the Imperium in control of the stars. For the first time in millennia, the Targaryens were free from the constraints of the galaxy’s economy, free from the Guild's stranglehold on space travel. Their technology advanced rapidly, fueled by the power of the drakaon crystals, and soon, the Targaryens had fleets capable of crossing the stars without detection, fleets that no longer needed to bow to the powers of the known universe.

In secret, they thrived. The cities of Albiron grew more complex and advanced, their pyramids rising higher, their pathways extending further across the planet’s vast jungles. Their ships patrolled the unknown regions, mapping uncharted stars and ensuring that no one would find their new home.

But the greatest secret of all lay within the depths of their new world.

Within hidden caverns, deep beneath the volcanoes of Albiron, Aenar and his descendants built vast hatcheries. Here, using knowledge salvaged from the lost archives of Valyria, they revived their ancient bond with dragons. Clutch by clutch, new dragons were born, their eggs glowing with the same fiery life that had once illuminated the skies of Valyria. The first to hatch was a magnificent beast, its scales a deep, molten red, its eyes like twin suns. They named it Vexarion, a harbinger of the new Targaryen age.

As the hatcheries grew, so too did the dragons, each one bonded to a rider, as had been the tradition for millennia. Once more, the Targaryens flew on dragonback, their fire-breathing companions reclaiming the skies of Albiron. They were stronger, fiercer than ever, their lifespans prolonged by the spice, their health enhanced by the crystals, just as their ancestors had once done. The galaxy believed the last dragons had died millennia ago, but here, on this blood-red planet, they lived—and they thrived.

Under Aenar’s leadership, House Targaryen rebuilt its strength. They did not forget their defeat, nor did they forgive it. But they had learned patience. For now, they would remain hidden, waiting, watching, biding their time in the shadows of the Imperium. They would rise again, but not yet. For now, their future lay in the skies above Albiron, in the bond between dragon and rider, in the power of the drakaon crystals that flowed beneath their feet.

Thousands of years had passed since the fall of Valyria, and the known galaxy had all but forgotten the name Targaryen. House Corrino ruled unchallenged, the Bene Gesserit continued their manipulations, and the spice flowed as the lifeblood of the Imperium. The Targaryens, once feared and powerful, were now little more than a cautionary tale—a story told to remind the galaxy of the dangers of defying the throne.

But in the far reaches of space, beyond the gaze of the Emperor, beyond the Sisterhood’s influence, whispers had begun to circulate. Minor Houses in the fringe systems spoke in hushed tones of strange transactions, of peculiar spice shipments that defied the standard flow of commerce. Most notably, a small, unassuming House known as House Vex had begun to quietly sell a specific brand of spice to select, discreet buyers.

The spice itself was nothing extraordinary at first glance—reddish-brown in color, with the same faint glow that all melange possessed. Yet, when examined closely, it held properties that puzzled even the most skilled refiners. It resisted traditional refinement processes, requiring a unique method of rensfuration to unlock its full potency. And it was always purchased by the same anonymous entity, whose representatives never gave names, never left a trace.

Rumors swirled throughout the Imperium. Some said the spice had properties that could extend life far beyond what even melange could achieve. Others whispered that it had been tailored for use in genetic experimentation, perhaps even to create a superhuman race immune to the Bene Gesserit's influence. The most outlandish rumors claimed it was being used to resurrect a forgotten House, one whose bloodline had been immune to the Sisterhood’s powers millennia ago.

At first, the whispers were dismissed. Minor Houses always had their secrets, after all, and House Vex was hardly influential enough to warrant concern. But as more and more shipments of this peculiar spice quietly disappeared into the unknown universe, suspicions began to grow. The Spacing Guild noticed the irregularities in the spice routes, and the Bene Gesserit began to pay attention. Still, no one dared speak openly of it—House Corrino had no interest in encouraging the notion of a long-lost enemy returning from the shadows.

In truth, the rumors were closer to the truth than anyone realized.

Deep within the jungles of Albiron, the Targaryens had mastered the art of spice refinement—not for their own use, but for their dragons. The spice, in its raw form, had always been a valuable tool to extend human life and grant certain enhancements, but the Targaryens had discovered a very specific strain, a rare and potent variant that, when carefully refined, could do far more. It extended not just the lifespan of their dragons but enhanced their vitality, their strength, their fire. The dragons of Albiron, already magnificent creatures of fire and fury, became more resilient, more powerful than they had ever been in Valyria.

This strain of spice could only be harvested under particular conditions, and it required an even more delicate process of rensfuration, one that took years to perfect. The Targaryens had kept this secret for generations, using it only sparingly to ensure their dragons thrived in exile. And to maintain their anonymity, they allowed House Vex—a small House bound to them in loyalty for centuries—to sell a portion of the raw spice to the wider galaxy, hiding the true purpose of the refined strain.

The transactions were always discreet, the buyers carefully selected to ensure that no one could trace the spice back to Albiron. Yet despite all their precautions, the galaxy had begun to take notice. The mystery surrounding the spice—and the shadowy figures who bought it—grew with each passing year.

The Bene Gesserit, ever watchful, sensed a disturbance in the patterns of the Imperium. Though they could not put their finger on it, the Sisterhood had learned to listen for the subtle currents of power that ran through the universe, and something was shifting. The idea that a House immune to their influence could have survived all these years in secret sent a ripple of unease through their ranks. They began to dig deeper, their agents searching for any clue that might lead them to the source of the rumors.

House Corrino, too, grew wary. The spice trade was the lifeblood of the Empire, and any irregularity in its flow could have disastrous consequences. The Emperor’s spies were dispatched to the farthest corners of the galaxy, though none returned with answers.

Still, the rumors persisted. The spice that had no clear origin. The mysterious buyers from beyond known space. The possibility that a forgotten House might yet live.

In the halls of the Imperium, no one spoke openly of House Targaryen. To do so would invite questions that no one wanted to answer. But in the dark corridors of power, in the quiet whispers between those who dealt in secrets, the name began to surface again.

Targaryen.

Fire and blood.

The galaxy had forgotten them, but House Targaryen had never forgotten the galaxy. And as their dragons grew stronger, as their power in exile continued to build, they waited.

For one day, the whispers would no longer be rumors.

And when that day came, the stars themselves would tremble.

The scorching winds of Arrakis blew fiercely through the narrow streets of Arrakeen, carrying with them the dry scent of spice and the whispers of rebellion. The city, usually shrouded in an oppressive silence broken only by the occasional hum of machinery, now thrummed with tension. A crowd had gathered in the heart of the city, their faces hidden beneath hoods and veils to protect against the harsh sun, their voices rising in fervor as they listened to the woman who stood before them, bathed in the blood-red light of the setting sun.

She was known only as the Red Woman, a stranger from a distant corner of the galaxy, draped in flowing crimson robes that shimmered in the heat. Her eyes burned with an unnatural fire, and her voice, rich and commanding, seemed to cut through the dry air like a blade.

“Brothers, sisters,” she called out, her voice echoing through the square. “You have been deceived! For too long, the Bene Gesserit have whispered their lies into the ears of your leaders, guiding the hand of the Empire toward a future of darkness and death. But the Lord of Light has seen their evil, and He has sent me to show you the truth.”

The crowd murmured in agreement, their eyes locked on the Red Woman as she raised her hands, flames seemingly dancing at her fingertips.

“The night is dark and full of terrors,” she intoned, her voice growing louder. “But there is a light coming, a flame that will burn away the lies of the Bene Gesserit. The false messiah they prepare will lead to the deaths of billions! But the Prince That Was Promised, the true savior, will rise and deliver us from their evil.”

The crowd erupted into shouts of agreement, their fists raised toward the sky as the Red Woman’s message of salvation stirred their hearts. But not everyone in Arrakeen was so moved by her words.

From the shadows of a nearby alley, a figure emerged, flanked by a dozen Bene Gesserit acolytes. The Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam, her face etched with the lines of age and power, strode forward with the grace of a predator. Her sharp blue eyes took in the scene before her, the riotous crowd, the Red Woman at their center, and the burning passion in their eyes. She had seen such passion before, in other corners of the universe, and she knew well the danger it posed.

The Red Woman turned her gaze toward the Bene Gesserit as they approached, her lips curling into a cold smile. “Ah, the serpents come to silence me,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery. “Do you fear the truth, Mother?”

Mother Mohiam’s expression remained unchanged as she stepped forward, her voice as cold as the sands of Arrakis at night. “You have no place here, woman. You are not of Arrakis, and you bring only chaos to these people. Leave this world, now, or you will face the consequences.”

The Red Woman laughed, the sound high and sharp, cutting through the murmur of the crowd. “I serve only the Lord of Light, not your false Empire or your twisted Sisterhood. You, who claim to see the future, who shape the paths of men to serve your own ends, are the true servants of darkness. You pave the way for a false messiah who will bring nothing but death and destruction to the universe.”

The Bene Gesserit acolytes shifted uneasily behind Mother Mohiam, but she stood firm, her eyes locked on the Red Woman. “You speak of a prophecy you do not understand,” she said. “The future is not for the untrained mind to glimpse. You meddle with forces beyond your comprehension.”

“The future is clear to those who serve the Light,” the Red Woman retorted. “Your Kwisatz Haderach, your so-called savior, will be the harbinger of death. He will lead the universe into a war that will consume entire worlds, killing billions. But the Prince That Was Promised will come, and he will burn away the lies you have sown.”

The crowd began to stir again, their fear and anger rising as the Red Woman’s words took hold. Mother Mohiam could feel the pulse of the mob, the heat of their desperation, and knew that if she did not act soon, this riot would spread like wildfire through the streets of Arrakeen.

“You play with fire,” Mother Mohiam said softly, stepping closer to the Red Woman. “And fire will consume you.”

The Red Woman smiled, her eyes gleaming. “The night is dark and full of terrors, Mother. You would do well to remember that.”

With that, the Red Woman raised her hands, and for a brief moment, flames flared at her fingertips once more before she stepped back into the shadows. Her followers, emboldened by her defiance, began to chant, their voices growing louder as they echoed her words.

“The night is dark and full of terrors. The Prince That Was Promised will come.”

Mother Mohiam watched as the Red Woman disappeared into the crowd, her eyes narrowing in thought. She had faced zealots before, had seen the power of faith wielded as a weapon. But this… this was something different. The Red Woman’s words echoed in her mind, unsettling her in a way few things ever had.

As the crowd began to disperse, the tension lingering in the air like the scent of spice after a storm, Mother Mohiam turned to her acolytes.

“Find her,” she said quietly. “Find her and bring her to me. We must know who she truly serves.”

For a moment, she stood in the empty square, the wind stirring the dust around her feet. She looked up at the burning sky, the twin suns casting long shadows across the desert, and a chill ran down her spine despite the heat.

The night is dark and full of terrors, indeed.

And Mother Mohiam knew that the terrors were only beginning.

- A/N: Let's see how well this does before I post another part.

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moonlitstoriess · 8 months ago

Text

Across the Universe-ch.6 (Fenrys x Reader)

Summary: Y/n has everything she needs in life. A family, friends, a safe place she calls home and most importantly a male whom she loves. What happens when it all changes when Y/n finds out about the betrayal of her lover and her so called family? Well, ending up in Terrasen and in queen Aelin's court was not what she expected but what she will need to start her new journey full of surprises.

See masterlist

"You are not paying any attention."

Isolde's voice shut off y/n's overthinking as she turned her head from the window in the healers hut and saw the concerned female with a small jar in one hand and some leaves in the other.

"I am sorry, I just got lost for a minute. You were saying?"

The healer sighed as she came closer and put the objects on the small table near y/n "I was saying, this salve will soothe the pain on your neck but in order for the marks to leave, you must apply it with these Sylvan leaves. Their smooth surface contain wondrous magical healing abilities so smearing the salve on it and then applying it on your neck will take the marks in a day or two, depending on the severity of the injury."

Y/n gave her a confused glance "But I did not mention having any neck wounds."

"Oh yes because as you said 'A friend needs it urgently because she fell and her neck got marked badly' Hmm I wonder how is that even possible? Also let us not forget how you are wearing a turtleneck during one of the hottest seasons the kingdom has endured."

She smiled sheepishly and replied, "I was never good at telling lies."

Isolde smirked "I can tell. That goes to show how pure your heart is dear."

At that, the younger females expression became solemn as she sighed and again turned her head towards the small window "I don't know about that."

She felt the healer sit down opposite to her and put her hand on y/n's, caressing it smoothly "There is clearly something bothering you. It is not a good decision to keep it locked within yourself. I am here and willing to listen."

Y/n wanted to. She really wanted to tell Isolde or anyone who would listen really about all that was troubling her. Especially after what she saw last night in the place filled with crystals. But would anyone believe her? Did she even deserve to be listened to? So much pent up trauma, so many words, memories, revelations. She wondered if Isolde would still look at her with this motherly care written all over her face if she knew even the tiniest bits about her. Azriel was the only one who ever heard her full, raw and true story. Who saw her deepest and darkest parts. Who, in turn, showed his own deepest darkest parts. Who promised to love and cherish her even more now that he knew her fully. But in the end, all of those words of affection, all of those intimate touches, all of those memories were lies. He lied. Az lied. He left and all that remained of her was a broken heart and a broken soul.

She thought that she learned her lesson. That she would never make the same mistakes again. How wrong she was. After the shock she endured last night, y/n could not get any sleep. She even went out to the beautiful, spacious, white marble balcony that overlooked a vast green mountanious area with small lakes running in between. However, even that could not soothe her. Her last resort was going to the training ring and exhausting herself but even that did not work. Thankfully though, this time Fenrys did not show up and y/n did not think she could stay calm and not throw a knife at his eye if she saw him. What she saw in the catacombs brought all her buried memories back. Made her rethink her choices. Her past.

How was it even possible? She would never recover.

Because what made her fall to her knees after seeing it was-

"Y/n? You are gone again dear."

She snapped out of it as she faced the healer, who was now looking at her with concern "Maybe I should also give you a tonic against overthinking."

That made y/n giggle as she said, "Such a thing exists?"

Isolde smiled warmly "Not yet but if it means you will stop drifting off in the middle of a conversation then, I will somehow create it."

Before y/n could reply, the female continued "What secrets do you hide you poor child?"

"None of importance."

"Do not lie to me. I have seen your naked body. The scars and memories it carries is unmeasurable. Each of them telling a different story."

She patted Isolde's hand, got up, put the two products in a small pouch and said, "Maybe someday I will feel ready to tell my story. Today is not that day Isolde. Thank you for the salve."

The healer also got up and started putting other medicine's in small, wooden boxes "As you wish. But remember child, the shadows may cloak you for a time, but true strength lies in the light you choose to reveal."

After leaving the healers hut and putting the salve with the leave's in her room, y/n walked up the stairs to the library in hopes of searching more on the matter. An hour ago during breakfast, Aelin announced that they will all be splitting in groups to search for more information. Obviously apart from Yrene because she was busy with the book in her room. They took the next two hours to attend to their duties because after all, Aelin was a queen and the rest of them also had jobs to do. So that means after an hour everyone would get together again and spend their time searching.

Once she reached the large room, her eyes immediately landed on Eva who was sitting on one of the lounge chairs facing the large floor to ceiling windows and reading a book. She looked up and smiled when she saw y/n entering the room.

"Y/n! Do you enjoy reading?"

Y/n nodded as she came and sat down on the carpeted floor next to Eva "I have always enjoyed reading. Fantasy, romance, action, even history."

At that, the younger one giggled "Me too! I especially enjoy getting lost in the pages for hours. Forgetting the real world exists, just you and the words on paper that transport you to an imaginary world you do not want to leave. Ever."

Y/n sighed and said, "Yes, unfortunately the real world can be...cruel and that makes me wish that the places we read about would be real so I could dissapear there and never come back."

After seeing that Eva had a sad, almost mournful look on her face as her gaze landed past y/n on the window and the view beyond, she quickly tried to correct herself, "Oh Cauldron boil me! Eva I am sorry for making the mood so sour, I did not mea-"

"No. You are right. I was just remembering times where the world was cruel."

At y/n's confused gaze, she took a deep breath and said, "During the war 3 years ago, I was so scared. Lysandra and everyone I loved were fighting the Valgs and whatever other horrors Erawan was throwing at them. Lysandra and Aedion tried calming me by saying that everything is fine, that we are winning, but, I saw it for the lie it was. Everyday felt like the last. Like that would be the day they would die and I would be left alone. Again."

The poor girl was struggling to continue so y/n said, "Eva, you do not have to conti-"

"But I want to. This world of ours was not a good place y/n. Not for 10 years. I know my family has told you about what happened but not about what they each went through, their own secrets."

"I do not blame them. It is absolutely fine if they do not wish to tell me that. After all, I am a stranger to you all."

"Yes, their stories are theirs to tell. But I will tell you mine."

At that, y/n gave her a puzzled face "Why? You barely know me."

"Because I trust you. And even if I have known you for only a few days, I believe in you. I see you for the braveheart that you are, y/n"

Braveheart. One of y/n's earned nicknames. Did Eva know of it?

And so, Eva told y/n of her story. She told her of her time with Lysandra in Madame Clarisse Duvency's brothel, about how Lysandra gave her these scars to save her from an early fate of prostitution. At some point, y/n had moved from her place on the floor to the couch to hug the small teen.

By the time she finished, y/n was frozen in her place, processing the shocking information. She was and still is a child. How could they? What world were they living in?

Eva had no tears on her face. In fact, she seemed so emotionless when she was talking.

She took y/n's hands in her smaller ones and said, "I am beyond crying. Please do not pity me, I have had enough of that. Yes, those horror's will never truly leave me, but atleast I fight against them everyday. Their marks on my body get less and less. I am strong now. Aedion has begun teaching me some fighting forms. Yes, these scars will never leave me, people will continue to either judge or be disgusted by me when they see my face but do I care? No. Lysandra has saved my life. I shall never be ashamed of them."

This girl was not only smart but also strong. Stronger than y/n will ever be. Atleast she has managed to face her demons instead of hiding from them. And as they sat there in comforting silence, reading the book in Eva's lap while she was tugged safely under y/n's wing, she understood that at some point, she would also have to face her revelations.

An hour later, everyone was gathered in the sitting room. Aelin took a sip of water from her cup before looking at each one of them in the eye and saying, "We will be dividing ourselves into groups in order to be more efficient. Chaol will stay with Yrene in the palace, Lysandra, Aedion and Elide you three will be going to The Silent Sanctuary, that remote monastery is one of the few places that survived Erawan for 10 years due to its location which is why their ancient manuscripts and meditative insights could provide some form of guidance or hidden knowledge regarding the issue. Then, Row-"

"Why am I not with Elide?" Lorcan said as he stood up and faced Aelin. Rowan, sensing the threat to his mate, also got up and bared his teeth. "Lorcan I swear-"

"That is enough." Aelin said as she glanced between her mate and Lorcan before relaxing back in her chair. "The Silent Sanctuary is considered a holy place for its monks and sages and even if I am their queen, they still hold their own laws and values. Elide is going for sure because she has a way with convincing people to submit to her. Lysandra is going because that place is located in the mountains. Her shapeshifting would be essential for them. Aedion is going for extra protection."

Lorcan was about to protest again, probably with a stupid remark when Elide put her hand on his chest and said, "Lorcan, I am not a little child you can coddle all the time. Did you forget how we managed to get into the circus at some point? How we got jobs as actors and performers? It was all due to my conversational skills and acting. We need to do this so stop acting like a mother hen."

Clearly Elide was the only one to ever shut him up because even though he still had an angry expression on, he hugged her to his chest and muttered a small "Sorry, love."

Lysandra sighed as she put her head on Aedions shoulder "Finally, it has been so long since I shifted."

Her husband, clearly dumbfounded, replied "You were literally a bird this morning."

She slapped him on the shoulder "Yes but a bird is not a snow leopard. It has been a while since I was a snow leopard."

Y/n chuckled from her place near the window "I have never met a shapeshifter in my life. I imagine it must be fun getting to change forms whenever you please."

Aedion grumbled "Fun? It is not fun when I wake up in the morning to not find my wife beside me but some animal."

At that, there were a few chuckles while y/n full on laughed.

Aelin, after regaining her composure, went on "Great. Now that we handled Lorcan's tantrum," a glare from the angry giant directed at his queen, "I digress. Rowan and Lorcan will be going to the Riftgate Ruins."

At the confused expressions from everyone, she sighed as she continued, "I know, I know. None of you have heard of the place before. Except me and Aedion. Tell me cousin, have you been there?"

Her cousin offered her a contemplative look as he answered, "I have heard of the place and its legends but never got the chance to visit personally."

Aelin nodded. "Neither have I. But, that place holds remnants of a lost civilization that has apparently been here way before Terrasen even existed. Legends say they once connected worlds and realms and that's why, the place could offer clues to how the current threat may transcend boundaries."

Rowan, standing beside his mate and queen, put his hand on her shoulder, causing Aelin to look up at him "My love, you know I do not like acting too overprotective or doubting your choices but...why am I paired up with that brute exactly?"

Lorcan snickered "Not nice when you have to be seperated from your wife. Is it now, Rowan?"

Aelin ignored Lorcan as she put her hand on her mates and said with a smirk, "Why? I thought the two of the most feared and strong fae to ever exist could work together."

"But that one is not a fae now, is he?" Lysandra said with a smirk

Lorcan was about to reply with another useless comment before Aelin shut him up yet again, "Fae or human does not matter. He is still extremely skilled, warrior and feared. I need you both working on this together."

Lorcan had a smirk on his face as he looked at Rowan--who was still glaring at him--and then did a mocking bow for Aelin.

Aelin sighed as she put her fingers to her temple and continued, "Gods. Anyways, that leaves me, Eva, Fenrys and Y/n."

Y/n's heart began to beat faster after hearing a specific someone's name. She did not fail to notice how Fenrys also straightened from his sitting position on the couch. She prayed and hoped that she would atleast be paired either with Aelin or with Eva but not with him. Oh please not hi-

As if Eva could hear y/n's thoughts she jumped up and down while saying, "Can I please please be paired with y/n? Pleaseee-"

Aelin held a hand up as she cut the little girl's pleading off "I am sorry sweetheart, but I will need you with me. You and I will be visiting The Great Library of Orynth. Since you are very good with books, I will need you to help me over there."

Eva, clearly disappointed, glared at her parents, crossed her shoulders "Are you sure you are not taking me there because that is the safest place out of all the locations so far?"

Aelin gave her sheepish smile "Well....that may have also played a role BUT! I do really need your skills and alsoooo...you do not want to spend time with me?" she gave a small pout at Eva to which the girl sighed but hugged her tightly saying, "Of course I want to help you anddd spend time with you."

But y/n did not pay attention to their conversation. She did not pay any attention to anything as realization dawned upon her. No, No, N-

"Fenrys and y/n. You two will be heading towards The Oracle's Sanctuary. I know the ancient fools there will try to act like you two are below them and their visions but, they need to see the prophecy we found in the book. Their visions and foretelling regarding the future have never failed my ancestors and though I again, have never been there, I trust in those that came before me which is why I am sending you two there."

Y/n wanted to shout out her protests but Fenrys beat her to it "But why us? I mean what does she have to offer that will make it more helpful. Aelin, just send me on my own."

Y/n scoffed loudly as she glared at the blond male and said, "Me? You are judging my skills without even knowing me or seeing me in action? Believe me Fenrys if we get into trouble it will be me who will save your ass."

"I would rather die at the hands of our enemies than let you save me."

"I can fly."

"Not impressed. I can shift into a wolf."

"And do what? Run around until someone catches up with you?"

"You clearly have no idea on what MY powers are so stop acting like you do."

"How ironic. You are doing the same to me! You know what? I won't even waste my energy on a bastard like you. Just pretend that you do not exist."

"You little-"

"Will you two shut up or should we go and fetch some Mead-soaked Berries to eat while watching your banter?"

Aedion's voice cut through their increasingly agressive argument as they both turned to look at the rest of the room with angry glares.

Lysandra was fake coughing to try and hide her laugh, Aedion was smirking like a fool, Elide was hiding behind Lorcan so that they would not see her smile, even Lorcan had an amused expression on his face. Rowan had his arms crossed and both brows raised as he glanced between the two of them. And Aelin had an amused smirk as she said, "Well, sorry you two but there is no other options lef-"

"Yes, there is. Me and Y/n-" Eva stopped herself after a pointed look from Lysandra.

Aelin continued, "I need y/n because she herself is from a different world. Maybe somehow the seeress would be willing to submit more if she saw you-"

"So I am some object to be presented at a market for sale?"

"That is not what I meant. You come from a foreign world. You have wings, which no one here has, and insight into your world. The seer's in there can be....uncooporative if they wish so. That is why, you going there and showing the prophecy would be the best bet we have. Fenrys is coming because he knows those roads, don't you Fenrys? After all, you have visited them twice."

At that, not only y/n, but everyone apart from Aelin turned with a shocked look at the male as he shrugged and said, "I had my reasons. But as you said, they are uncooperative. They did not help me."

"Well, we do not have the luxury of time or second guessing. Everyone go get what you need, pack your essentials. Apart from me, Eva, Rowan and Lorcan you two groups will have the longest road ahead."

Y/n was about to protest when Aelin gave her look that said 'if you want to find a way back to your world, you must help'

And she was right. Y/n had one and only one goal. Get back home. The rest did not matter. They needed to find a way to get her home and to solve the threats coming their way. She can shut up and endure it for just a little bit more and then she would be out of here. For the sake of Prythian. Just ignore Fenrys and it will be alright. He is an uncultured prick who can not hurt her more than he already has. Just get it over with. Be smart. Be cool. Be levelheaded.

These were the chants she kept on retelling herself as she made her way to her room. She first changed out of her current clothes, applied some of the salve Isolde gave her, and then wore some practical gear. She did not know what road she and the-one-who-shall-not-be-named will take, but she guessed that it would be no easy straight path.

Y/n opted for a...you guessed it, a black turtleneck. Combining it with black, tight, leather pants, and knee high, black boots. She did her hair in a way that it won't get in her way and then began packing a small back. An extra turtleneck, a jacket, a flask with water, the salve Isolde gave her, and a few more items later, she went downstairs with her bag slung over her shoulder.

When she arrived at the grand hall, everyone was already there, busying themselves with the weapons that were scattered all over the place. Chaol was also there, although his wife was nowhere to be seen. Probably in her room, busy with deciphering the book.

She walked towards the table that had all kinds of weapons on it. She took a small, dark brown knife holder as she picked two, sharp ended, small knives. She also took the intricately designed bow and arrow. Y/n was always an excellent and precise shooter, being able to shoot her enemy from any distance and angle. She even helped Feyre improve her own shooting skills.

Just as she was about to turn around, her eyes caught on to brass knuckles. Does she really need them? She can punch quite well. But...it wouldn't hurt to have them increase the force of her punch. After contemplating a little more, she took the object and stored it in her knife holder.

Everyone was ready with their weapons. The brute or otherwise known as Fenrys, also had all kinds of weapons strapped to him.

Rowan and Aelin were having their own little moment while Lorcan was clinging and whispering somethings to Elide like a baby duck who just saw their mother for the first time.

Chaol gave them all a small smile as he patted Aedion on his shoulders and said, "Good luck. Me and Yrene will inform you if we find something." then he gave a look to Fenrys and y/n, smirked and said, "Try not to kill each other though."

Y/n smirked back "No promises."

Fenrys just rolled his eyes before Aelin and Rowan came forward. "Remember, if you can not find anything it is alright. Do not stal and waste time, just come back immediately. Be careful, all of you."

Y/n saw concern flash through the queen's eyes before they all started heading out. She felt Fenrys approach her before he said in the most annoyed voice ever, "Give me your hand. I will transport us."

"You mean winnow."

"Transport."

"In Prythian it is not called transport."

"Well, sorry to dissapoint you princess but this is not Prythian."

"Bu-"

"Give me your hand, y/n."

"We can just walk."

"Walk? If we walk there it will take us a whole day to just even cover half of the way. I will take us to the closest location near the sanctuary. But even then, the road ahead will be long but we will have to walk because it is warded and I won't be able to transport so better not to waste our energy walking from now."

"Then you go, I will walk-" y/n yelped as she suddenly felt herself being lifted up, bridal style, as the room around them started disappearing. That arrogant idiot! He did not even listen to her!

The second they arrived at the clearing, y/n threw herself off from his arms.

"You fool! Are you deaf? Who told you that you can touch me?!"

Fenrys, reigning in his anger, calmly responded, "You were wasting our time. I had to do it in order to get us here."

She scoffed and turned away from him. Fenrys tried his hardest not laugh when he saw her shock and wonder as she took in the place.

He meant it when he said the place is protected by ancient magic so strong, no one could break its wards. So, he brought them as close as he could to the road. But even from here, they would most likely spend three days trying to get to and from the sanctuary.

The place they were in was a small, circular, open area covered in grass and moss. However, this place was surrounded by a dense forest. When he turned his face to the right, he saw the road that they would take. He knew that path and what it held.

This ancient road winds through dense forests, where gnarled trees twist like guardians keeping watch over secrets long buried. Moss-covered stones line the path, their inscriptions faded with time and whispered tales of travelers who sought wisdom from the Oracle. As you tread deeper into the wilderness, the air grows thick with a sense of otherworldly presence, and faint echoes of prophetic murmurs seem to guide your way. Eventually, the path opens into a clearing bathed in ethereal light, revealing the towering spires of the Oracle's Sanctuary rising against the horizon, beckoning those brave enough to seek answers amid the swirling mists of fate.

He looked at y/n as he said, "Welcome to The Whispering Path."

Y/n turned back at him and asked, curiosity and a bit of fear evident in her voice, "We....we take this road? Are you sure?"

He smirked. The little fireball was scared. Good.

"Giving up already princess?"

She came closer to him and Fenrys was once again buried in her addictive scent. Although she was way shorter than him, she still somehow managed to look down on him as she said, "If you think this is enough to scare me away, then your only skill is fighting not thinking because you clearly are an idiot."

His smirk only widened as he pushed past her and began his way towards the path, not looking back. "If you say so, princess."

She will regret her words in just an hour.

He heard her loudly stomp her feet on the ground as she followed him.

Nearly two hours later, the forest path stretched endlessly before them, twisting and turning through ancient groves where the canopy overhead blocked out the sun's warm rays. The air grew cooler, carrying with it a dampness that clung to their clothes and skin. Shadows deepened beneath the towering trees, their trunks gnarled and knotted like the veins of the earth itself.

Each step seemed to echo softly, as if the forest itself held its breath, watching their progress with unseen eyes. The sound of rustling leaves and distant animal calls added to the eerie atmosphere, creating a sense of isolation despite their group's closeness. Occasional beams of fading sunlight pierced through gaps in the foliage, casting fleeting patches of golden light on the forest floor.

They pressed on, guided by the faint sense of purpose that drew them deeper into the heart of the woods. The Whispering Path seemed to weave its own tale, a narrative of mysteries waiting to be uncovered amidst the looming darkness.

Fenrys saw from his peripheral vision how she would keep one hand on the knife sheathed in her belt. How every sound, small or big, would steal a reaction from her. A gasp, a sharp turn of her head, knife in her hand. It was so unusual how he did not find her frustrating here. During their walk, they exchanged only two sentences. Are we there yet? and No.

But still, he, for some foolish reason, felt drawn to her because even if he did not show it, his eyes would constantly find her for a second, make sure she is well and then immediately look forward before she realizes it.

It was an hour after sunset when Fenrys finally stopped and said, "We are halfway there. We rest here until sunrise and by then we will be moving once again. Hopefully, by the afternoon, we will be able to reach the sanctuary."

He did not wait for a response from her as he put his bag down and began taking off some of his weapons.

"I...where or how will we sleep?"

"On the grass, by putting out extra clothing under our heads as pillow."

She gave him a confused look "Why couldn't we just bring sleeping mats or something?"

There she goes again with her annoying questions. Honestly why does he never have any luck? Why is it that he has to be stuck with someone as infuriating as her?

Just ignore her. Sharpen your knives. Ignore her so you do not have to snap back at her or take your anger out on her. Ignore her so you do not have to look into those hypnotizing eyes. Ignore her so...so that you do not have to look at that beautiful face. At those tempting lip-

"Hello? Have you gone deaf already?"

With a sigh, he looked up to see her standing there with her arms crossed. "Why take on extra weight? It would only waste our time. Just sleep on the ground or...have you never done that before?"

She scoffed. "Of course I have. I am going to find some wood. We need fire."

One secon he was sitting, and in the next, Fenrys was holding her wrist as he said, "No fire. This place is packed with creatures far worse than your imagination. The second they see the light coming from the fire, or atleast smell it, they will know that they are not alone so unless you want to be ripped into pieces and feasted on, we are staying in the dark."

She ripped her arm from him, gave him a glare, and went to take somethings out of her bag.

Fenrys sighed, tilted his head backwards and looked up at the tall trees covering the sky. It is like she insists on being a headache.

If he thinks he can order around he is about to be surprised. She is only keeping quiet out of fear for their safety. Once they are out of here, y/n will make sure to give her a piece of her min-

"What are you doing?"

She stopped. Turned around to look at him. Still sitting on the same spot, sharpening his knife and not looking at her. Or maybe he is pretending to ignore her. Y/n could not care less.

"What are you talking about?"

"Why do you have a healing salve and Sylvan leaves?"

He knows of these things? How? Did his injuries at some point also require these exact remedies? Did Isolde teach him? How is he even seeing her right now? She can barely make out his silhouette.

"You have definitely gone mad now. I am doing noth-"

She saw his head snap up at that. Saw how he put away whatever weapon he was sharpening.

"Do not test me y/n. Why do you need those things?"

"And who are you exactly? Last I checked, I do not owe you any explanations regarding anything that I do."

In the blink of an eye, he was right infront of her. There was some distance between them still. Thank The Mother. Honestly, he needs to stop this. She has had enough of not being able to know his next move.

He took slow steps towards her as she took slow steps back. "Come to think of it, why are you wearing a turtleneck? It is very hot nowadays."

Were those her hands sweating? The temperature here is cool so why was she sweating? "I wear it because I like it."

He was still walking closer towards her. "Hmmm, and I suppose it is also why you always wear long sleeves? What are you hiding y/n?"

She tried. She really tried to sound brave but her voice betrayed her as she said in a shaky tone, "None of your business."

That was it. He was right in front of her and she was pressed against a tree. Or was it a large boulder? She had no idea. Breathing became difficult. He was literally nose to nose with her. Why was it so hot?

"Atleast tell me why you wear a turtleneck."

"No."

"Very well then."

Really? He really just agreed? It seems so. He released his grip on her, turned around and started walking away. Y/n released a sigh. Finally-

In the flash of a light, Fenrys had her pinned against the tree again as he quickly pulled down her turtleneck.

"NO-"

But it was too late and her smaller hands were nothing against his firm grip on her. She could not push him away.

She saw it all in slow motion. His reactions, starting from realization going all the way up to anger was written all over his face as her bruised neck was presented to him.

She could only whisper a meek "Please,"

His nostrils flared, even in the dark she saw how his onyx eyes got even darker. His grip on her tightened as he released a low growl.

"Who did this to you?"

She could not answer. She was lost for words. Oh Cauldron boil-

"Y/n. I am not playing around answer the damned question."

"No, Fenr-"

"Who. Did. This. To. You."

"I can not tell you."

"And why is that?"

Because it is your close friend. Y/n knew he was only worried because he felt like he had to be her protector, like she was his job, his team mate until they left this forest and he sent her back to her house. He did not truly care for her, but even then, she could not tell him and cause trouble between him and his companion.

"No one of importance."

"Do not lie-"

She used all her strength to push him away.

"Leave me alone Fenrys! I said it is none of your business so go mind your own fucking job. I myself will deal with the one who did this to me."

"As you wish."

He turned around and went back to his side, lay down and turned his back to her.

For some reason, y/n felt like he would find whoever did this to her because what he said did not sound like he was letting the matter go at all.

Morning came once again. After having a poor breakfast of whatever they could find in their bags, they were on the way again. He did not speak to her and she preferred it to be this way. She did not think that after their small argument, she wanted to hear his voice.

Five hours of silence later, they reached what looked like another clearing. However, this one looked nothing like the previous ones. Soft, natural lights flickered amidst the foliage, casting a gentle glow that illuminated the surrounding area with an ethereal warmth. Fireflies danced in lazy spirals, their tiny bioluminescent bodies creating a mesmerizing display that seemed to guide them forward.

As they stepped into the clearing, the air hummed with a palpable energy, tinged with anticipation and reverence. Ancient trees encircled the space like silent sentinels, their branches adorned with shimmering vines that sparkled as if touched by starlight. A tranquil stream meandered through the glade, its crystal-clear waters reflecting the moon's silvery gaze.

In the center of the clearing stood the first glimpse of their destination: the Oracle's Sanctuary. Its architecture defied conventional design, blending seamlessly with the natural surroundings. Tall pillars of intricately carved stone rose toward the heavens, supporting a domed roof that seemed to embrace the sky itself. Soft, haunting melodies drifted through the air, sung by unseen voices that spoke of forgotten truths and timeless wisdom.

As they approached the entrance, a sense of reverence settled over them, mingled with a quiet apprehension. They exchanged knowing glances, acknowledging the weight of their purpose. The journey had been long and hard, yet here they stood at the threshold of destiny, ready to seek the Oracle's guidance and unravel the cryptic clues that awaited within.

"Why is this place so empty? I mean, shouldn't there be guards? or some servants?"

"The seers are not attached to worldly desires. They have let go. That means, it is only them and their souls, connecting witth their surroundings. Besides, they are too ancient and powerful to need any protection or help. Atleast that is what the books said."

Before they could go any further and reach the entrance, Fenrys stopped her. She turned her head around and gave him a puzzled look. "I have been here twice. Neither of those times I got any help. I never even saw their faces. They did not deem me worthy to appear apparently. So I should warn you, it is possible we come out of here with absolutely nothing."

Y/n did not know what it was within her that made her say "You are worthy, Fenrys. Do not let a bunch of old people tell you otherwise."

She saw the surprise and quick gratitude on his face before he turned his head sideways and said, "Well then. Let us hope that the third time is the charm."

Inside the Oracle's Sanctuary, every corner whispered of ancient secrets and the weight of prophecy. The main chamber was a symphony of light and shadow, illuminated by softly glowing orbs suspended from the vaulted ceiling. Shafts of daylight filtered through stained glass windows depicting scenes of celestial alignment and the weaving of fate.

The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting the cycles of the moon, the dance of stars, and the rise and fall of empires. Runes and symbols, both familiar and arcane, were etched into the stone floor, their meanings lost to all but the most learned scholars and seers.

At the heart of the sanctuary, a circular pool shimmered with a surface as smooth as polished glass. Around the pool, low benches and cushions invited visitors to gather in contemplation or prayer.

Books and scrolls lined shelves carved into the walls, their leather bindings cracked with age yet holding within them knowledge that spanned epochs. Dust motes danced in the beams of light that filtered through the chamber, giving the impression of a place frozen in time yet vibrantly alive with the whispers of prophecy.

"Well, this place certainly seems like it has been used."

"Yes. Apparently not when I was here though."

"So what now? How do we call upon them? Do we just wait?"

Fenrys shrugged but looked away "When I came here I...I begged. I hoped they would answer me but...this room stayed just as empty. And I was here for 5 hours."

Y/n hummed in understanding before turning around to find a way for these seer's to appear when she felt otherworldly magic fill the room.

Then, out of nowhere, in the dim recesses of the Oracle's Sanctuary, the seers emerged like living embodiments of the cosmos' secrets. Their forms are ethereal and ever-changing, blending seamlessly with the shifting energies of the sanctuary itself. Each seer appears as a shimmering figure of translucent mist, veiled in robes that seem to be woven from the threads of time.

Though their presence is otherworldly and their nature elusive, the seers possess an innate understanding of the threads that bind fate together. They move with a grace that defies mortal comprehension, their movements guided by unseen forces.

Their eyes, glowing orbs of iridescent light, reflect the constellations that dance across the heavens. Wisps of starlight swirl within their fluid forms, pulsating with the ebb and flow of cosmic energies.

When they speak, their voices resonate with echoes of distant galaxies and forgotten epochs, carrying the weight of prophecy and the wisdom of ages past.

"Y/n Y/l/n the Iron Phoenix. The Winged Fury."

"Fenrys Moonbeam. The White Wolf of Doranelle."

"Come forward."

Why did they all talk at once?

So, not humans then. Nope. Definitely not mortals. But powerful enough to kill them in the blink of an eye.

She shared a look with Fenrys before they both came forward and each sat on one of the cushions.

Y/n and Fenrys awaited in respectful silence, their eyes trained on the shimmering figures of the seers. The seers, in turn, regarded them with a knowing gaze that seemed to penetrate beyond flesh and bone, delving into the depths of their souls where destinies were written and fates were entwined.

Their gazes were trained on her. "You are searching for a way home."

Y/n sighed as she replied, "Yes."

"This world is in grave danger."

It was Fenrys' turn to sigh as he replied, "We know. Which is why we come to ask for your help. For a way on how we may bring an end to it before it escalates."

Y/n put her hand inside her pocket to retrieve the paper containing the prophecy when one of the seers said, "The prophecy you have uncovered foretells of a time when shadows will seek to shroud the light once more. It speaks of cycles and destinies intertwined, where the fate of worlds rests in the hands of a chosen few."

Y/n hid her shock. How do they already know what she wanted to show?

"The Book of Breathings holds a secret that transcends its physical form. It is indeed a key--a Wyrdkey, if you will--capable of unlocking gates to realms beyond. These gates are not merely pathways; they are thresholds that, once opened, threaten to destabilize the delicate balance of our universe."

A mournful expression passed over Fenrys' face before he said, "We dealt with this three years ago. Aelin closed the gates. Why are they opening now?"

The seers regarded Fenrys with a solemn understanding, their luminous forms pulsating with a subtle energy as they responded to his question.

"The closing of the gates by Aelin Galathynius was a triumph, but prophecy is often a tapestry woven with threads of inevitability and cyclical patterns," one seer explained, her voice carrying the weight of millennia. "The gates, once sealed, are not immune to the ebb and flow of cosmic forces. The actions of mortals and the machinations of darker powers can unsettle even the most fortified barriers."

Fenrys nodded, his expression grave. "So, despite our victory, the threat persists," he concluded, his voice tinged with frustration.

"The Valg are relentless," another seer added, her gaze distant yet focused. "Their thirst for dominion knows no bounds. They seek weaknesses in the fabric of reality, exploiting any opportunity to breach the gates and unleash chaos upon the realms."

Y/n furrowed her brows as she said gently, "But, if I am correct, didn't Aelin loose all her power? How is she going to close the gates once more? How is it related to her?"

"The prophecy speaks of a chosen few," one seer intoned, her gaze fixed upon Y/n with a depth of knowing that transcended mortal comprehension. "In the heart of a queen, strength resides, but it is not Aelin Galathynius, who holds the key to closing the gates."

She saw Fenrys' brows furrow in surprise, his mind clearly grappling with the revelation.

Y/n herself felt a surge of anticipation mixed with trepidation. "Then who?" Fenrys pressed, his voice a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"It is Y/n Y/l/n, the Stormbreaker," another seer declared, her luminous eyes locking onto Y/n's with a clarity that bespoke centuries of foresight. "The Braveheart who carries the essence of fire and fate within her."

Y/n's breath caught in her throat as the weight of destiny settled upon her shoulders. "But why me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She heard Fenrys inhale sharply.

She must be going mad. There was no way she was destined to be the one to lock the gates. What about her going home? Her plans, they were doomed.

"The Book of Breathings chose you as its bearer, guiding you across realms to fulfill a destiny entwined with the fate of worlds. You possess a unique connection to the Wyrdkeys and the ability to unlock the gates that threaten to unravel the fabric of existence."

"W-what kind of abilities and con-connections?"

"You possess a unique resonance with the Wyrdkeys," another seer explained, her luminous eyes fixed upon Y/n with unwavering clarity. "The Book of Breathings recognized within you the potential to wield its power, to navigate the currents of time and space, and to restore balance where darkness threatens to prevail."

Fenrys, sitting beside Y/n, interjected with a note of concern. "And how does she return?" he asked, his gaze shifting between Y/n and the seers.

The seers exchanged a knowing glance before one responded, "The Book of Breathings is both a key and a gateway. It holds within its pages the knowledge to traverse the realms it unlocks. Through understanding and mastery, Y/n can harness its power to return to her world."

"And why must I close the gates?" she pressed, her voice tinged with determination.

"The gates, once opened, threaten to disrupt the delicate tapestry of existence," the third seer replied, her presence shimmering with a quiet intensity. "They are thresholds through which chaos and darkness seek entry. Only by closing them can the realms be safeguarded, ensuring the balance upon which all life depends."

"You have to decipher the Book of Breathings, harness its power to return, close the gates and with that, go home."

She was beyond frustrated now. "I don't understand. I DON'T UNDERSTAND!"

"You may be angry now y/n y/l/n, and you may be desperate to go to the home you believe in, but within the echoes of ancient whispers, home calls to hearts entwined by threads unseen. The Book of Breathings, a key to realms veiled in mystery, beckons you to paths yet unwalked. Mate not in the flesh but in the resonance of shared destinies. Greatness lies not in the blaze of glory but in the quiet moments where choices shape the stars' dance and futures intertwine."

It was Fenrys' turn to be frustrated as he said, "What on earth does that even mean?"

"Y/n y/l/n, your secret, the one you hide and cherish with all your soul, the one that you understood on an even more intimate level in the crystal caverns-"

"That is enough." She needed to leave. Now. Too much information was thrown at them all at once. To say she was pissed, would be an understatement. These old hags think they know it all, including her deepest secret. Besides, she did not need a reminder on what happened that night in the caverns.

The seers said nothing as they began slowly disappearing.

A look of contemplation passed over the Fenrys' face before he asked quickly, "Why did you not show up when I begged for your help?!"

A faint shimmer of light flickered where the seers had stood, as if they were considering his question before offering a response.

"Our sight extends across the tapestry of time," one of the seers finally answered, their voice gentle yet firm. "At times, the threads of fate must unravel naturally for destinies to align as intended. Your path demanded growth and resilience, lessons that could only be learned through your own journey."

And with that, they disappeared, seemingly leaving both Fenrys and y/n confused.

As they left the sanctuary, neither of them spoke. Both too lost in thoughts of their own regarding what they just learned. Y/n was grateful for the silence. Her mind was about to burn out due to all the thinking she was doing. So much revealed in one sitting. What on earth is she to think of it?

As night dawned upon them once more, they quietly ate their meals and layed on their sides of the grass and turned their bodies away from one another. But she could not sleep. How could she? After all that she learned it would be impossible.

"What will we do? What will you do?"

She heard his silent question but did not answer. She did not have an answer to give.

Instead, she whispered, "Why did you go there twice? Why did you beg?"

She did not think that he would answer her. But, to her surprise, she heard him sigh before saying, "The first time was for my two brothers. Gavriel and Connall. It was after the war and...and they both were killed during it. I wanted to know if I could trade my life with theirs. I...I believed they deserved it more than I ever could. The second time was a year later when I was going through horrible things. I was confused. I still am. I wanted guidance, I wanted help, advice, anything to tell me know who I am and how I can find my purpose in life again. But, as you heard, I was not answered. I stopped coming here since then."

Y/n turned around. "Fenrys, look at me."

He slowly turned around until they were facing each other on the grass.

She took a deep breath and gently whispered to him. "You are lost. Your grief is understandable. Your pain is understandable. What you are going through is understandable. We all have our own hidden troubles, nightmares or secrets that we must overcome on our own. But do not for one second, blame yourself for anyone's death. I may have not gotten the chance to meet either of them but, I know that they would never wish for you to want such things. They sacrificed themselves for you and your people. Do not let their sacrifice be in vain by trying to talk down on yourself. By trying to wish for a different end."

Her hands were itching to touch his handsome face, to move those few strands of hair behind his ear.

Fenrys gave her a small, sad smile. "What about you? The oracle said you had your secrets too. What is the crystal caverns?"

Y/n sighed as she turned around and lay flat on her back, staring up at the large trees covering her view of the night sky. "I do not know anything anymore Fenrys. Sometimes, I wish to be living in a tiny village or Island where no one knows of me. Where I am free of everything and anything."

She felt him come closer to her as the heat of his body started enveloping her. "Seems like we both share the same dream then."

For the first time since coming here, y/n genuinely smiled as she turned around and faced Fenrys or rather, his chest because of how close they had gotten.

But she did not care. Just for tonight, she would not care. So, she snuggled closer to his chest as the feeling of serenity washed over her, gently guiding her to unconsciousness.

What she failed to see however, was how Fenrys looked down at her with a small smile as he too, promised himself that this was just for a night. That they both needed comfort after all that they heard. And so, he carefully put his arm around her waist and hugged her closer to him as he too, descended into dreamland.

When morning came once more, y/n awoke to find herself in the embrace of the male she usually hates. For some reason, right at that moment when he was still deep in sleep, when the sunlight peeking through the dense leaves highlighted his face in ethereal glow, y/n felt nothing but care for him.

But, it all changed when he opened his eyes. Y/n immediately turned bright red as she pushed away from his arms, blabbering excuses, "Um...I-I....yeah um-"

But it was all cut off when a piercing sound was heard from above. They both immediately got to their feet as y/n had her bow and arrow in her hand, ready to shoot whatever it was. But it was after the second roar that Fenrys widened his eyes and ran forward. Y/n, surprised and confused, ran after him. They stopped at a place where the branches of the trees were not as densely packed and they could see a little bit of the sky.

From what she saw, y/n wondered if she fell and hit her head somewhere. Because what on earth was this? A large, black, lizard like thing with wings similar to hers flew over them. She heard Fenrys chuckle as he turned and looked towards her. "Manon and Abraxos are finally here."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @ladespedidas @mis-lil-red @going-through-shit @kaitttttttt @blackgirlmagicforever

@acotar-writing @paleidiot @snoopyspace @stained-glass-eyes0708 @saltedcoffeescotch

@wallacewillow0773638 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @crazylokonugget @bunnyredgirl

@fullmoon-94 @thecraziestcrayon

#acotar #fenrys moonbeam #illyrian #throne of glass #fanfics #fantasy #azriel #elide lochan #fenrys x reader #bookish #aelin ashryver galathynius #rowan whitethorn #aedion ashryver #lysandra ashryver #manon blackbeak #abraxos #lorcan salvaterre #sarah j. maas

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oddp1ant · 3 months ago

Text

All the jayce defenders saying "actually he did the right thing, act 3 will prove he saw the future / Viktor asked him to / that wasn't Jayce" consider: it doesn't matter whether he was right or wrong. Lbr, it would be incredibly OOC for anyone on this whole damn show to make a good or "right" decision.

It's the bad decision show. That's what we love about it.

I don't need act 3 to justify or condemn his actions, I need it to finally give the emotional context that has frankly been lacking their whole arc so far. Going from resurrecting your dead partner with evil magic and promising him your undying devotion to blasting a hole through his chest without a word requires some uhh. Elaboration. And Viktor's dispassionate "it's time to say goodbye now" (I know he's already hexbrained but come on) and just looking placidly at Jayce the whole time? There's been no in-text acknowledgment of where his expressiveness has gone, his anger and desperation and betrayal. Like we can all infer it's the hexcore but not even mentioning it on-screen feels empty imo.

And to all the people saying "you're not ready for toxic doomed yaoi if you can't handle them killing each other, this is peak romance" well, for now that reads a bit hollow to me. Don't get me wrong, I'll take my favorite characters elbow deep in each other's blood and guts over a chaste kiss and a 'nice' romance any day. But that's just the thing: being splattered in your partner's viscera means being connected at an intrinsic level, means being closer to another person than should ever be possible. Jayce punched through Viktor's chest from a distance. Viktor took it like there was no heart in there to break.

I need the heartbreak, dammit. Make it mean something, that's all I ask.

Tldr: I love my failwife Jayce and if Viktor doesn't come back to homoerotically immolate him with the hexclaw I'll riot

#arcane spoilers #arcane season 2 #arcane #jayvik #mywords #arcaneposting

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storyweaverofgondor · 1 year ago

Text

The Whumps of March

This is a multi-fandom whump event with prompts inspired by literature. For this inaugural event, I decided to take inspiration from the Bard himself. If it goes well I'd love to do it again next year, the universe willing.

Rules and info:

You can make your entries in whatever format you desire (Fanfic, art, Gifs, etc)

You can do as much or as little as you desire.

All entries are to be uploaded during March 2024. Earlier is discouraged but late is fine.

Tag all works #thewhumpsofmarch2024

There will be a completionist and participant badges.

The Whumps of March AO3 Collection

Feel free to send me an asks is you have any questions about the event

The Whumps of March Prompts:

Day 1: These violent delights have violent ends (Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet)

Day 2: Forbidden Love

Day 3: Tomb

Day 4: Vengeance

Day 5: Love Potion

Day 6: Magic Gone Wrong

Day 7: Suicide

Day 8: Knock Knock! Who's There? (Shakespeare, Macbeth)

Day 9: Twins

Day 10: In Disguise

Day 11: Clangor

Days 12: Thunderstorm

Day 13: Soliloquy

Day 14: “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.” (Shakespeare, the Tempest)

Day 15: Stabbed in the Back

Day 16: Madness

Day 17: Intrigue

Day 18: Family Feud

Day 19: Witches

Day 20: Hidden Agenda

Day 21: Curses

Day 22: Skull

Day 23: Not As It Seems

Day 24: "The robbed that smiles, steals something from the thief." (Shakespeare, Othello)

Day 25: Shipwreck

Day 26: Betrayal

Day 27: All for Naught

Day 28: Fairies

Day 29: Tongue-tied

Day 30: Woe

Day 31: Bloodstained

Alternative Prompts:

Alt 1:Lonely

Alt 2:Castigate

Alt 3:Ghosts

Alt 4:Drowned

Alt 5:Prophecy

Alt 6:Kings

Alt 7:Dead as a Doornail

Alt 8:Handkerchief

Alt 9:Snakes

Alt 10:Fight Fire With Fire

#thewhumpsofmarch2024 #thewhumpsofmarch2024 prompt list #whump prompts #whump prompt list #whump event #whump #my first time attempting something like this #I'm very excited :D

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moonselune · 1 month ago

Note

Hi i love u 🩷

Can we get dark Shadowheart casting a love spell on a reluctant reader/tav, her unrequited love?

Hi i love u too 🩷 thank you so much for the request !

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

MotherSuperior!Shadowheart x reader | What it takes to love me

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The night was suffocatingly quiet, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric as you packed the last of your belongings into a small leather bag. Your hands trembled with every item you placed inside. You tried to steady yourself, tried to justify your actions.

This isn’t betrayal, you told yourself. This is survival.

As you pulled the drawstring tight, you felt a chill creep up your spine, a cold weight that settled in your chest before you even turned around. Then came the voice, low and venomous, slicing through the silence like a blade.

“What are you doing?”

You froze, your heart hammering against your ribs. Slowly, you turned, dread pooling in your stomach. Shadowheart stood in the doorway, her silhouette illuminated by the faint glow of torchlight. Her eyes were dark pools of fury, glittering with unshed tears and something far more dangerous—betrayal.

“I asked you,” she repeated, her voice trembling with restrained rage, “what are you doing?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. You felt as if you were standing on the edge of a precipice, one wrong move away from plummeting into the abyss.

“It’s not what it looks like,” you stammered, your voice weak and hollow. Her gaze flicked to the bag in your hands, then back to your face.

“Not what it looks like?” she hissed, stepping into the room. Her movements were slow, deliberate, like a predator cornering its prey. “You were going to leave me. Weren’t you?”

“No!” you protested, backing up instinctively. “I wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me!” she screamed, her voice breaking with the force of her anger. With a sharp flick of her wrist, magic crackled in the air, dark tendrils twisting around the bag in your hands.

Before you could react, the bag ignited, flames consuming it in an instant. The heat singed your skin as the bag disintegrated into ash. You stumbled back, clutching your burned hand to your chest.

“Shadowheart, please,” you gasped, your voice shaking.

“After everything I’ve done for you,” she spat, advancing on you. Her face was a mask of fury and pain, tears streaking down her cheeks. “After everything I’ve sacrificed, and this is how you repay me?”

Her magic flared again, the shadows in the room twisting unnaturally, their tendrils snaking toward you. The air grew thick, heavy with her power.

“You’re going to abandon me,” she said, her voice trembling, her hands balled into fists. “Just like everyone else. You’re no different. You’re a coward! A wretch!”

“I’m not abandoning you!” you cried, your back hitting the wall as you tried to put space between you and her. “I just—please, let’s talk about this.”

“Talk?” she sneered, her voice dripping with venom. “You’ve made your choice. I can see it in your eyes. You’re already gone.”

Her words cut deep, but the magic surging around her terrified you more. The tendrils lashed out, snapping inches from your face, and you flinched.

“Shadowheart, stop!” you pleaded, your voice breaking in petrified desperation. “You’re scaring me.”

“Good,” she said coldly, stepping closer. “Maybe now you’ll understand what it feels like. Maybe now you’ll feel even a fraction of what I feel every time I think about losing you.”

You raised your hands, trying to placate her. “I’m not leaving. I swear. I love you, I—”

“Liar!” she screamed, and the shadows slammed into the wall beside your head, cracking the wood. You cried out, shrinking away from her, your heart pounding in your chest.

Her breathing was ragged, her body trembling as she stared down at you. For a moment, you thought she might stop, that she might listen to reason. But then her expression shifted, her fury giving way to something colder, more calculating.

“You don’t love me,” she said softly, her voice chilling in its calm. “Not the way you should. But I can fix that.”

Your blood ran cold. “What are you talking about?”

She began to chant, her voice low and resonant with ancient power. The room darkened further, the shadows closing in around you like a vice. You tried to move, to run, but your body refused to obey.

“Shadowheart, no,” you begged, your voice shaking. “Please don’t do this.”

But she didn’t stop. The magic seeped into the air, wrapping around you, suffocating you with its weight. You gasped as it viciously tore through your mind, a flood of emotions overwhelming you.

The fear, the doubt, the desire to leave—all of it was washed away, replaced by an all-consuming adoration for the woman before you. A love so fierce you felt as if you were choking on it. You fell to your knees, tears streaming down your face as you looked up at her.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, your voice trembling with raw emotion. Your head bowed in shame. You were disgusted with yourself, how could you do this to the one you love entirely? “I was wrong. I—I don’t know what I was thinking. Please, forgive me.”

Her lips curled into a smile, cold and triumphant. She knelt before you, her hands cupping your face as if you were something fragile, something she had to protect. Something you now were. She brushed a hand through your hair as if brushing away the last fragments of your free will.

“It’s okay, my love,” she murmured, her voice soft and soothing. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore. I’ll take care of you. You’re mine, and I’ll never let you go.”

You nodded frantically, your thoughts consumed by her, your heart beating only for her. Whatever had driven you to pack that bag, to try and leave, was gone, buried beneath the weight of her magic.

All that mattered now was Shadowheart. And she knew it.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

dw guys i didn't abandon y'all after i got veilguard. I hope you guys enjoyed this - icl, mother superior shadowheart scares me as well. Happy New Year to all of you out there, let's hope this ones a better one! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #yandere bg3 #yandere shadowheart #yandere shadowheart x reader #shadowheart x tav #shadowheart bg3 #mother superior shadowheart #dark bg3 #mother superior shadowheart x reader #mother superior shadowheart x tav #sharran!shadowheart x reader #sharran!shadowheart x tav #sharran shadowheart

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ciciyup · 28 days ago

Text

Lessons.

cw: nsfw, masturbation, overstimulation, spanking, fingering, blowjob, squirt.

━━━━━━✧ 🦢 ✧━━━━━━

You had been a peculiar child, a mix of sweetness, shyness, and insatiable curiosity. Unlike other children, who eventually left behind their faith in the extraordinary, you never abandoned your beliefs. You fervently believed in the Easter bunny, the tooth fairy, Santa Claus, and surprisingly, the boogeyman as well. As a child, your nights were a strange and charming game: while others feared the darkness, you ventured into it, looking for a certain figure that you sometimes felt close by. Ever since you noticed a pair of eyes watching you and a certain figure with great height at the end of your bed when the lights went out waiting for you to close your eyes and fall asleep to sow small doses of fear in your dreams, you used to pretend to sleep just to catch it and be able to see it. It was a game they had. When you found it, you approached it with cautious steps and touched the ethereal robe that used to cover it; Your nervous smile lit up the dim light, and he couldn’t help but watch you with curiosity as you wrapped yourself in it like sheets and then ran back to your bed, taking shelter under the covers.

But as you grew up and left behind your childhood fears, your belief remained intact, something that many people at a certain age of adulthood tended to abandon. You no longer feared him; rather, you considered him an almost familiar presence, a shadow that had accompanied you throughout your life. He had become an occasional presence, watching you from the shadows without interfering too much. However, that connection you had shared in your childhood remained, even if it was not always admitted. Now, at university, you had changed a little. Although you were still the same, you had also learned to laugh at things that you had previously taken seriously, as a way of fitting in with your friends.

That afternoon you had gone out to the park with your group of friends, some closer than others, but friends nonetheless. Between lively conversations, the subject of supernatural beings came up. Between laughs, your friends began to joke about the beliefs they used to have before, calling them “kid stuff.”

—It’s silly to believe in them now —one of your friends commented while laughing. You simply smiled weakly, feeling out of place. —But as kids we all had that idea, right? That magic existed and all that.

—And what about the boogeyman? —another boy joked, exaggerating his voice to make it deeper. —Maybe he’s listening to us right now.

Laughter filled the table, and although you joined in at first to hide your discomfort, your laughter wasn’t completely sincere. You ended up laughing genuinely when the jokes took a lighter tone. Even though you knew your friends didn’t mean anything bad, a small part of you felt like you were betraying something very personal by laughing. In the shadows, Pitch was there, watching you with golden eyes filled with amusement and disdain. He’d been nearby all afternoon, intrigued by your interactions and your changes over time. But when he heard you, the same girl who’d played with him and believed in his presence, join in the laughter, something in him stirred. He couldn’t let that little betrayal go.

You came home exhausted that night, flopping onto your bed with a sigh, kicking off your shoes and staring at the ceiling wearily. You barely closed your eyes when you felt an unmistakable chill. Something was wrong. Opening your eyes, you saw him. Standing in the shadows, his tall figure illuminated by the dim moonlight.

—What a lovely evening. Looks like you’ve been enjoying yourself.

You quickly sat up straight, turning your head in his direction, heart pounding. There was Pitch, emerging from the shadows with his elegant demeanor and enigmatic smile.

—Pitch —you murmured, feeling a mix of surprise and slight nervousness as you watched him slowly approach with his movements as fluid as smoke.

—Don’t get me wrong. I’m flattered that you still believe in me. But that little scene with your friends… —Pitch pretended to think, touching his chin. —Laughing at me, even if it’s just to fit in, that doesn’t go unpunished.

—I wasn’t making fun of you —you protested, looking at him and trying to explain your side of the story.

—No? Because from my perspective, it seemed exactly that. —His voice took on a darker tone, though it was still loaded with mockery.

—I wasn’t making fun of you; I was just following the mood —you clarified, trying to defend yourself.

—Excuses. —Pitch moved closer to you, leaning in so far that his face was just a few inches from yours. —Spoiled girls always get what they deserve. —He spoke in a theatrical tone, enjoying the confusion on your face.

Before you could excuse yourself again, Pitch holds you by the waist, placing you face down on his lap after sitting on the edge of the bed, holding you there firmly. You felt your face heat up as he began to lift your skirt up over your hips, revealing your ass. Although you felt embarrassed, there was something else you didn’t want to identify; perhaps it was the brush of his fingertips across your exposed skin or the knowledge that you were under his eye. Pitch raised his hand and brought it straight to his target, giving you a gentle slap firm enough to resonate in the quiet room. It wasn’t painful, but it was clear enough to make you let out a surprised gasp. Pitch continued, administering a few more slaps to your ass, enjoying your reaction, while you couldn’t help but feel indignation and a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Pitch bowed his head once he was done, caressing your ass now with a red mark that would stay there for several minutes. He knew that, despite your apparent anger, you weren’t really upset. If he knew you as well as he thought, you probably would have liked it more than you were willing to admit. It was something you thought too, and it left you grumbling, given the truth of this, but you wouldn't admit it, even if your flushed face and silent actions proved otherwise. Seeing you discreetly move your hips seeking more intimate contact and close your legs tightly, ignoring his gaze, Pitch couldn't help but smile mockingly at this.

—Despite everything, you're still very predictable —he comments as he separates your legs and guides his hand further. —And what is this? —He murmurs, running one of his long fingers over the line of your slit marked by the moisture that was beginning to wet your panties. He moves his hand away from your crotch, rubbing his fingers as he brings them closer to his face to check the slimy moisture between them, then looks at you with disdain. —How pathetic.

With agile hands, he quickly pulls down your panties until they fall to your feet, observing the small, pearly, wet shine that peeked around your area. You let out a squeal as you felt one of his fingers touch your sensitive parts, then bury itself inside. With pitiful slowness, he began to move his finger in and out of your hole, making you sigh in annoyance, which made Pitch smile. He roughly added two fingers, beginning to fuck your pussy with speed and exquisite expertise, making you unconsciously moan as you clung to his knees, almost hugging them. His fingers began to get more and more soaked as he moved them quickly and his thumb rubbed considerably at your clit, noticing how you opened your legs more to feel him deeper. You moaned breathily as he began to hit his fingers against that special spot, making you see stars as you tightened around his fingers and came.

He barely managed to let you enjoy your euphoria enough when he straightened you up to stand, gently pushing you onto the bed, forcing you to stay seated on the tip while he remained in front of you. Your eyes widen with palpable excitement as he releases his cock and grabs you by the back of your neck, pulling you closer with clear intentions. Your tongue darts out and sucks on the tip to start, causing Pitch to flick his tongue, quickly pushing his cock to explore your throat; the action causes you to take him in with surprise and let out a small cough, making him laugh. You suck hard as your head bobs up and down taking in his entire cock, nearly dripping onto his tunic with the drool that built up from sucking him; your hands grip his thighs for support with your mouth doing the work.

—That’s it, that’s it, so good —he murmurs as he strokes your head, enjoying the intense heat of your mouth surrounding his phallus, feeling every touch and every suck until he releases his load.

Pulling away from you, he grabs your cheeks, running his fingers over your wet lips and catching the remnants of his cum that escaped, bringing the rest with his fingers into your mouth so you could swallow it all without wasting a single drop. With a sly grin, he pushes your body face down onto the bed; removing your skirt so it wouldn’t get in the way, he positions himself over you and brings his cock to your hole as he spreads your ass cheeks, entering slowly and unhurriedly, enjoying your warmth. Your eyes roll back as he starts fucking you in a good rhythm; his pelvis slapping against your ass like firm slaps; his cock invading your slick pussy mercilessly, going in and out, forming a ring of cream at its base the harder he went. You moaned, hiding your face in the pillow and gripping the headboard of your bed as he kept your ass in the air, fucking you with everything he had, your legs shaking as you felt like you couldn’t keep up for too long. Pitch lets out a quiet gasp at the feeling of how hard you were clenching as you came, but not letting you rest he continues to fuck your walls, keeping your juices inside without letting them out. Rubbing your clit as he still held himself inside giving you everything he had, smiling at the sight of your exhausted and overstimulated image, though you seemed to be holding it in without even saying a single word, wanting more.

Your tired eyes widen as he pulls out of you forcefully and lays you down this time on your back to look at you; grabbing one of your legs he pulls you towards his body, lowering himself on top of you to take his cock inside your pussy again, now a mess with mixtures of your juices, staining the sheets. Your legs wrap around his hips out of instinct as you feel him bury himself in you, and in response he holds onto your hips firmly, showing no mercy as he begins to drill into your pussy again. You raise your arms, trying to grab onto whatever your hands find as Pitch holds you open, rubbing your clit with his thumb. Your hands ball into fists as you grip the sheets tightly and try to move your hips to match his rhythm, feeling your stomach churn, your body searching for something more. The sound of skin slapping against skin was the only thing you could hear in the dark room apart from their voices. Pitch pants in your ear as he hits your spots, burying his nose in your neck after brushing away strands of hair that covered your face and stuck to his sweaty chest. You let out a small cry as you release a stream that wets your belly and his; your vision became blurry and your mouth opened drooling in pure ecstasy. squeezing his cock as you feel the clear liquid wet your sheets beneath your ass, you come undone beneath Pitch as you take it all in. He stops rubbing your clit, then releases long ropes of hot cum that fill you again and make a mess between so many bodily mixtures together. Coming down from your high, Pitch smiles, showing his teeth in an unkind smile, bringing his face close to yours to plant a slow kiss and then grab you by the hair.

—I can still hear you teasing me. Do you think that’s something I can let go? —His deep voice echoed in the room and the sudden grip made you let out a moan. His hand closed around your hair forced you to look at him. —Are you going to learn not to lie again?

—Yes, I promise. —Your voice came out shaky as you tried to recover, still coming down from your euphoria. Pitch smiled, a smile that was anything but reassuring, caressing your face with the tips of his fingers, which made you shudder knowing that nothing would end yet.

—But why risk it? —He murmured. His eyes seemed to shine with an almost hypnotic intensity, smiling at the sight of your expression.

When dawn finally broke through the darkness of the night and the doors of the university opened, as you reached the entrance to meet your friends in a turtleneck sweater, frequent yawns, and a sleepy expression, you attracted curious glances from the group.

—Are you okay? You look exhausted. —One of them asks, raising an eyebrow.

—Yeah, I just didn’t sleep very well last night. —You force a smile, trying to hide any strange traces that could be noticed as if you didn’t already look strange that morning.

—Nightmares? —another asked, laughing softly.

—Not exactly… —you murmur, your thoughts returning to memories of last night. Without thinking too much, you continued firmly:—I really believe in him. The boogeyman.

Your statement was met with incredulous and amused laughter, but without malice; Your friends didn't give it much importance, thinking it was just one of your quirks.

—Well, to each his own. —one of them replied, and soon the conversation turned to another topic.

Hidden from the shadows, Pitch smiled, pleased with your words. Although he didn't show it, he could perceive the subtlety emanating from your face, as if you wanted to play with him indirectly, which intrigued him. For your part, an idea began to form in your mind. There was something addictive about the intensity of his presence, the way he made you feel small and wanted at the same time. Maybe you should push him and make him angry more often.

━━━━━━✧ 🦢 ✧━━━━━━

🏹 a/n: A few days ago I watched this movie again and I honestly didn't remember the characters like that, so now I have a hyper fixation on Pitch Black. There aren't as many stories about him as I would like so here is my contribution.

#pitch black #boogeyman #pitch black x reader #pitch black x reader smut #rise of the guardians x reader #rise of the guardians pitch black x reader #rise of the guardians x reader smut #rise of the guardians #rotg pitch black #rotg x reader #rise of the guardians pitch black

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pincushionx · 2 months ago

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Imagine an AU where Belos is imprisoned after Titan Luz defeats him rather than killed.

Then one day Hunter comes to visit him in his prison and he asks if Belos ever thought he could have been happy with him.

And (and I know this would be OOC for him) Belos can't bring himself to answer. He would gladly say no just to make Hunter feel bad, or maybe even say yes to manipulate him, but he actually finds himself lost for words.

Hmmm, this is outside of what you asked but I wonder if Belos did have any sort of love for Hunter.

It’s already stated that Belos created Hunter as a toddler. It’s still unconfirmed if he made any other baby grimwalkers. I’m also pretty sure it was confirmed that he experimented on grimwalkers too, so not every grimwalker was a Golden Guard. So I’m going to assume all the previous Golden Guards where older teens to adults. I wonder if he had any attachment to Hunter, I mean he was around since he was basically a baby. It’s hard to imagine not having some fondness for something like that but again this is Belos.

I see different thoughts on why Belos created the grimwalkers, some say it was Belos way of justifying himself and reliving the betrayal over and over, it was genuinely to get an ideal version of Caleb, to have a new brother to take care of him, ect. I genuinely wonder if Belos ever loved a grimwalker, maybe the early ones but that was hundreds of years ago and that’s still a maybe.

He hallucinates Caleb looking down on him, disappointed. He knows subconsciously that what he doing is wrong but he’s too far deep into his delusion that he’s saving mankind from these sinful witches.

In the end they are just tools, an uncanny replacement for the brother he murdered and never got over.

But at the same time he did express disappointment at Hunter not lasting, the collector also question why he didn’t kill Hunter when he had the chance to after eclipse lake which is odd if Hunter is so replaceable. That he genuinely believed that Hunter would stay in line and be his most loyal one.

Actually now that I think about it, Hunter never betrayed Belos explicitly. He only rebelled in small ways like studying wild magic, making friends and having a palismen which Lilith also had. Hunter only nearly got killed because he found out the truth but Belos never gave him the chance to plead for mercy or the option to come back. Who knows if Hunter would have gone back if he was given the chance, Belos could have at least attempted to manipulate him to believing what he saw was fake or something.

He says their betrayals hurt but never shows it. While I do think the grimwalkers are set for failure since the start, he might have had hope that Hunter would have lasted since this one he actually raised this one and the fact that Hunter was actually loyal and devoted to him. It hurts how much this kid loves him.

Idk if the other grimwalkers were tricked to believing Belos was their family or something but Hunter loved him like a father figure and wanted his approval so badly and Belos knew this.

To your hypothetical, imprisoned Belos Au are interesting but something you don’t see often. I think he would spend a lot of time pondering, praying and wondering what if’s. Considering there’s not much to do when you’re locked up. He allowed himself to live in ignorance and hate for so long, was it even worth it? Could have he been happy in a place like the boiling isles? What if he never killed Caleb? What if he never left the human realm? What if he never made a daring spell? Why did he make coven again? What if he gave which kind a chance…? What if he never abused his grimwalkers? It all too crazy and he’s spiraling.

Hunter visits one day despite being told it not a good idea. But how could he not? Despite being abused and hurt in unfathomable ways by him, he still loves him in sick way. He was his only family for so long, that man who kept him isolated. He still fantasizes about being fussed over and loved by Belos, still has ‘fond’ memories of him. So to Belos surprise, the Grimwalker he once killed and abused is now sitting in front of him, ready to chat.

They talk for a bit, Hunter tells him a bit about the outside word and the changes made. He isn’t aggressive or confrontational, he couldn’t be even if he wanted to. Belos stays silent, unsure of what to say. Most grimwalkers expressed hatred before death, yet this one who he actually once killed was chatting with him like it was a normal day. Hunter is terrified but he keeps chatting, pretending this is fine. Belos tries to make his own comments and redirect the conversations but can’t. He lost for words because he’s in a situation not even he foresaw. He expected rage, ridicule or even tears but not this. Hunter was talking to him like he was still family.

I imagine Hunter, in his ill mind, still thinking of Belos as family. Still someone he wants to love despite everything. That he often thinks of him even on good days.

Soon Hunter asks that question if Belos could have ever been happy with him, if he ever loved him. Hunter believes that answer is no, he was already marked for the slaughter with that sigil, a dead man walking. Even if he wants that answer so badly to be yes.

And Belos can’t answer because he’s already thought of this. Could he have been happy with Hunter? Was he fond of Hunter? Was Hunter just a replacement? Was he a good replacement? Could he have loved him outside of being a replacement? Was there any love for the child he raised?

He could say no and hurt Hunter, the ‘love’ was always conditional, he was just a tool, was meant to be dead, ect. (But that might drive Hunter away and Belos is lonely)

He could say yes and give Hunter false hope, manipulate him, make him take pity, revive that old loyalty, ect. (He could get caught in this monitored state and get his only loyal companion ripped away)

But he can’t answer because he doesn’t know. It’s been so long since he had loved. He hated for far too long, he got rid of any chance to love. Was it possible to be happy with Hunter? Just him being Hunter and not some tool or replacement?

Idk this concept is good, I genuinely wonder what would have happened if Belos did actually love Hunter. I don’t think he does or ever did, he was just upset that his tools broke faster than he thought it would but it’s an interesting thought. I think if Belos and Hunter did start to bond in this Au, everything would be bittersweet in the worse ways.

#wow did not mean to ramble for so long but these two make my brain melt #I might draw this in the future #anybody want some fic recommendations?#I have a few for those interested in Belos and Hunter dynamics #my rambles #my asks #the owl house hunter #the owl house #toh #hunter toh #hunter the owl house #hunter the golden guard #belos wittebane #toh belos #the owl house belos #emperor belos #phillip wittebane

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the-most-humble-blog · 16 days ago

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The Day I Learned Wrestling Wasn’t Fake: Papa Shango, the Ultimate Warrior, and a Horrified 8-Year-Old Me

When Your Parents Say Wrestling is Fake, but Papa Shango Starts Casting Spells on National TV

Let’s go back to a simpler time: the early 1990s. A time when wrestling wasn’t just a sport—it was a religion, a soap opera, and a live-action cartoon rolled into one. Back then, I thought wrestling was real, and I’d fistfight anyone who dared say otherwise. But even as my parents whispered the dreaded phrase, “You know wrestling is fake, right?” Papa Shango hit the screen, proving that nothing about wrestling was fake—especially not the dark magic.

And then came the night when the voodoo priest himself, Papa Shango, cast spells on The Ultimate Warrior. Spells. On live TV. And my 8-year-old self? Absolutely traumatized.

1. The Night Wrestling Became Real

I still remember it like it was yesterday. There was the Ultimate Warrior, the unstoppable, face-painted demigod who could shake the ropes with the energy of a caffeinated tiger. He wasn’t just a wrestler—he was a superhero. And then Papa Shango showed up.

This guy wasn’t just a bad guy; he was a whole villain genre. Voodoo beads, a skull staff, and face paint that screamed “your nightmares just got a new mascot.” He started mumbling incantations, and suddenly the Warrior—my Warrior—was doubled over, leaking black goo from his head like an exorcism gone wrong.

Kid Logic: “This can’t be fake. Black goo doesn’t lie.”

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2. The Harlem Shake Heard Around the World

And then came the shake. Not the cool kind, like Michael Jackson’s moonwalk, but the kind you do when your body is 90% terrified and 10% possessed. The Ultimate Warrior started jerking around like he’d been cursed by a voodoo god, and I was losing it.

Kid Thought: “If Papa Shango can do this to the Warrior, what chance do I have?!”

That night, I slept with a light on—and my Ultimate Warrior action figure under my pillow, just in case Papa Shango decided to pay me a visit.

3. The Parents’ Betrayal

After the episode, my parents tried to comfort me. “It’s all fake,” they said, trying to sound calm.

Fake?! Did they see the goo? The convulsions? Fake was when the Road Runner dropped an anvil on Wile E. Coyote. This wasn’t fake. This was Papa Shango manifesting real voodoo chaos on national TV.

When you’re 8, logic is irrelevant. If you see it on TV, it’s real. End of discussion.

4. Wrestling’s Commitment to the Bit

Looking back, you have to respect the lengths the WWE (then WWF) went to make these storylines work. Papa Shango wasn’t just a wrestler; he was a whole mood.

The Props: The skull staff? Iconic. The fake black goo? Disturbingly convincing.

The Acting: The Ultimate Warrior deserved an Oscar for that performance. Seriously, someone put that man in a horror film.

The Audience Manipulation: They didn’t just want you to watch; they wanted you to believe. And believe I did.

5. The Day Wrestling Broke My Heart

Of course, as I got older, the illusion started to crack. The spellcasting? Special effects. The goo? Probably corn syrup mixed with food coloring. And Papa Shango? Just a guy named Charles Wright, who would later become The Godfather, trading voodoo for a pimp gimmick.

But here’s the thing: even when you know it’s scripted, it doesn’t matter. Wrestling isn’t about reality; it’s about the spectacle. It’s about suspending disbelief just long enough to let a voodoo priest scare the hell out of an 8-year-old and make millions of people talk about it decades later.

6. Why Wrestling Was—and Is—Magic

Even now, as a full-grown adult with bills, responsibilities, and a brain that knows better, wrestling still feels magical.

It’s absurd.

It’s theatrical.

And sometimes, it’s just real enough to make you question everything.

Lesson Learned: Sometimes, it’s okay to believe in the black goo, the spells, and the Harlem shake. Because life’s a lot more fun when you let yourself get lost in the ridiculousness.

youtube

Papa Shango Won That Night

So, yes—wrestling is “fake.” But that night, Papa Shango was real. And so was the fear, the awe, and the sheer ridiculous joy of watching The Ultimate Warrior shake like he’d been cursed by every voodoo priest in history.

Love reliving these absurd, magical moments from your childhood? Follow The Most Humble Blog for more hilarious, nostalgic deep dives and unapologetic truth bombs.

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arclundarchivist · 6 months ago

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[Spoilers C3E103] Can we talk about…

How some of the party and members of the fandom are just kinda… ignoring how bad things are right now, and it’s wholly Ludinus’s fault??

Like there is this focus on what comes next, and Ashton’s belief that things will somehow *just get better*, but look the fuck around at what Ludinus did when it just comes to him reaching Predathos.

Wards destroyed, resurrection fucked, transportation and communication hamstrung.

They Key is mangling the leylines to the point where not matter *what* happens magic is going to be altered in a way it wasn’t before.

And that’s not even getting into the aggressive alien army he’s now letting run roughshod across Marquet.

If the Gods die/vanish, why is there this concept that those magics will just be fine, when shit is already fucked from his manipulations?

Something *ate* half of the Turst Fields, a farming community that was a staple for all of Tal’Dorei.

Desirat is free, which for those not in the know was trapped beneath a volcano directly next to Beau’s hometown and was the source of about of the geometric activity in the region. I can’t imagine things went *well* there.

*Something* sent sea monsters racing in fear towards the shore in Nicordranas, I’ll give you three guesses.

We saw what happened to that bastion in the Grey Valley, *what the fuck do you think has happened at Bazzozan* the former seat of the Demon Lords?

The Empire of fucked five ways to Sunday.

The Horn of Orcus may be waking up the dead beneath Vasselheim.

And that’s just the shit *we know about*

Is all of that just, what, gonna go back to normal if the Gods die/go away? Fuck no! Now I’ll admit, that doesn’t mean things will go back to normal if the Gods are victorious of course, but I wild bet good money shit would be easier to handle if a vast chunk of the world wasn’t also going through a vast identity/cultural crisis.

Also shit since we’re on hypotheticals let me ask another one.

Folks talk a lot about how divine magic will be fine if the gods vanish, not really acknowledge the colossal amount of trauma and confusion that will afflict every culture as they are abandoned/lose their gods, and we don’t actually know what kind of effect that will have on clerics.

What about the arcane?

Matt never said the Arcane predates the Gods. (Not that I’m aware of anyway.)

In fact if anything Downfall hammered home that the arcane is a creation of Tengar. They leave or die, what happens to it?

Also, shit think about this, wouldn’t the Gods want all the power they could to possibly survive Predathos? Now the Arc Heart, the gifter, not the creator, it seems, claims to be fine with being finite.

You wanna know who isn’t?

The Spider Queen, who if how things were presented in Downfall are true, claims to have given arcane magic to the Arc Heart and regrets it.

Do you think *she* wouldn’t snatch that back out of spite to give her even a bit of a chance to survive? She’s the *most* Betrayer, Betrayer.

I just can’t grasp Ashton’s mindset at all, or those that seem to be agreeing with him and I’m just staring at all the shit that has already gone wrong and wondering how shit doesn’t just get infinitely worse if such a colossal and drastic change takes place.

#critical role #critical role spoilers #cr imogen #cr fearne #cr laudna #cr orym #cr ashton #cr chetney #cr dorian #cr braius #ruidus #ludinus da'leth #critical role exandria #uk’otoa #predathos

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dead-lights · 8 months ago

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occult lore: the century conflict

There's a lot of lore about the war between vampires/werewolves/spellcasters in the Werewolves GP. I needed to reference what happened, so I compiled it into one! I tried to keep things more or less chronological. These come mostly from in-game books, artifacts with a little Greg.

Lunar epiphany: "They tell the tale of Spellcasters long ago who explored the limits of their power. They experimented by creating duplicates of themselves, but quickly became frustrated that these duplicates required sustenance to survive. In an effort to be efficient, they fed them potions... they created monsters.”

Lunar epiphany: "It's a tale of betrayal, of duplication spells gone wrong. After an overloaded spell turned a mutated group of Spellcaster mimics permanent, they turned on their creators and sank their fangs into them. They feasted on these Spellcasters and their magical plasma, which enhanced their strength, despite never sating their thirst.”

Book: "Glowing, magical moon glyphs along the edge of this page detail a hundred-year conflict called "Operation Eternal Flame." Beset by their own thirst and an innate distrust, the first Vampires hunted Spellcasters, raiding their small communities to drink their magical plasma. This was how Vampires first developed a small degree of magic within themselves. It eventually led to them being capable of turning Sims into what they themselves now were.

"Near the painting of a wolf's tail, this shard is engraved with some vague text describing what appears to be steps of an adapted ritual, likely dating back to ancient Myshupotatmian tradition. The language, however, is consistent with the era of the Mooncasters, suggesting the pot was used to transport the glowing waters of Lake Lunvik to perform certain power-harnessing ceremonies atop the Howling Point cliff in Moonwood Mill. The waters of the lake must have been crucial to their efforts of attuning to the moon...”

"In your readings, you learned that many moons ago, the land we now know as Moonwood Mill was actually the home of a small ancient Myshupotamian city. Interestingly enough, Myshupotamians believed that the greatest minds of their society were reborn as wolves that stored their wisdom in the moon via howl. As the cycle progressed towards a full moon, the growing light represented more and more stored wisdom. On full moon nights, Myshupotamians would sport wolf-like masks and ceremonially draw upon the moon's stored wisdom. As the cycle then progressed to a new moon, the light leaving the moon each night represented the stored wisdom slowly dispersing to the Myshupotamian people. As the first modern werewolves, Moonwood Mill's Mooncasters likely gleaned much of their information on harnessing the moon's power from studying the Myshupotamians...”

“All along this page are magical moon glyphs. With {M0.his}{F0.her} Lunar Epiphany, {0.SimFirstName} is able to read about a group of Spellcasters who communed with their dog familiars to learn about the untapped magical potential found in moonlight. They declared themselves Mooncasters and experimented with unstable transformation magic from the Untamed School.”

Greg: "I was a spellcaster hundreds of years ago, a master of the Untamed school. I stood atop that mountain, back when this area was simply called Moonwood, and with a group of other powerful spellcasters, we channeled the most powerful Moon Infusion spell that has ever been cast. The results were explosive... but effective. The Moonlight infused both us and the land around us. Why do you think the Moonpetal only grows atop that mountain? Where do you think the Luna Fish comes from? We made them. I made them.”

I’m not sure Greg was technically a sage because I’m not sure sages as a concept existed until the Realm was destroyed - there was no need to balance the Realm before that. I think they probably had a different leadership structure at the time. It's also possible he means he was master-ranked, not a virtuoso, but given everything that doesn't strike me as realistic. He also could've just meant that he was really good with untamed magic

Wolfgang: "Did you know that the very first Werewolves were Spellcasters? It's true. There were many ways Spellcasters attempted to fight back against the Vampires, and Werewolves were the most successful attempt. It's fascinating stuff if you can find ways to read up on it!”

Moonwood Wand: "Long ago, a group of spellcasters caused an overload while practicing a powerful, moon-infused, untamed spell. The resulting explosion imbued the surrounding area with lunar energy. Because of this, the wood from trees surrounding Lake Lunvik are eagerly sought after by the spellcasting community. This wand was one of the first ever crafted. “

Book: "An extensive tunnel network runs below Moonwood Mill. There are various entrance points around town, though even the locals find it difficult to navigate. Many speculate these tunnels were originally created during a regional time of strife, though records of such an event are lost to time. Perhaps the dark tunnels themselves might contain clues?”

Greg: "During the Century Conflict, we captured Vlad and took him down into the tunnels. We figured we'd use him as leverage, end the conflict. But even in his youth, he was already too powerful. We couldn't hold him and he escaped.“

"At the end of one of the tunnels is an old metal door that's been peeled open. The solid metal bends outward like a banana peel, as if something strong and determined forced its way out and ran off into the tunnel {0.SimFirstName} just came from. Past the broken door is a single room, coated in metal paneling. Judging by the gouges lining the walls, someone - or something - really didn't want to be in here...”

Lily: "After I arrived in Moonwood Mill, Kristopher told me that Forgotten Hollow was once under Werewolf control — back before Vlad moved in. He arrived with a mob and manipulated them into driving the Werewolves out. They, of course, didn't know he was a Vampire. They even put up a statue in his honor! Then, they all disappeared, one by one…"

"...Another often forgotten aspect of Myshupotamian culture was taming Cowplants as stationary sentinels of defense, and sometimes cross-breeding them to be mobile attack units (though it was quite difficult to safely reproduce mobile cowplants, for obvious reasons...) In modern times, it turns out the Moooncasters were not the only group seeking unorthodox answers to the vampire problem during Operation Eternal Flame. The Moocasters (who 100% came up with their name first, total coincidence) attempted to adapt Myshupotamian cowplant taming practices to their needs. It was an initial success, and they had a prosperous alliance with the Mooncasters. Needless to say, it didn't last long after one of the "tamed" cowplants feasted upon Yina Kia, an original Mooncaster... and Greggorius and Avelina Lunvik's dearest friend.”

"Based on its age, this skull belonged to one of the tamed cowplants used by the Moocasters, a Spellcaster group that served as a counterpart to the Mooncasters (werewolves). Both groups formed in response to the vampires' Operation Eternal Flame - a covert operation attempting to turn all remaining spellcasters into vampires. They simply differed in their methods. Rather than harnessing the power of the moon to become Werewolves, the Moocasters instead tamed cowplants to use as (somewhat) loyal companions in battle. There appears to be a carving leading towards the jawbone, though the writing is hard to deciper. It currently reads "I will..."”

The rest of the line is “avenge you”

Book: “It seems that towards the end of Operation Eternal Flame, the near-extinct Spellcasters grew desperate and struggled with a variety of magic types to try and turn the tide of their conflict with the Vampires. Some sought a cure for Vampirism, though the spell proved too powerful and caused a tear in the very fabric of the Magic Realm itself.”

Greg’s diary: "After the Vampire uprising, every one of us Spellcasters grew increasingly desperate. One group tried to create a spell that could simultaneously “cure” every Vampire in existence. A single spell to end the conflict. Of course, they were blinded by hubris and hurried by desperation. The spell was too powerful for the group to handle. It caused a massive fracture in the fabric of the Realm itself.”

"Magical moon symbols glow around the edge of the page from {0.SimFirstName}'s Lunar Epiphany, offering an explanation on Operation High Fang. After the end of Operation Eternal Flame, a group of Vampires came out of hiding to start the initiative. Through a successful propaganda campaign, they branded Vampires as refined and classy, boasting of what they offer through their historical knowledge and charismatic ways. At the same time, they smeared Werewolves as dirty and dangerous monsters, lacking in control. The results were catastrophic for the new Werewolf communities who were still maturing as an occult.”

"A Lunar Epiphany comes over {0.SimFirstName} as {M0.he}{F0.she} stares at the moon scribbles at the bottom of the page. These books were written in an attempt to undo the damage caused by Operation High Fang, a Vampire-led propaganda initiative.”

Wolfgang: "After losing the war, the Vampires launched "Operation High Fang" with the intent of using propaganda to turn general sentiment against Werewolves. My books do the opposite. They encourage readers to view Werewolves in a new, more favorable light - one that I feel is more authentic to who we are as an occult.”

Here's what I don't understand - how did vampires manage to lose the war after spellcasters destroyed their own Realm? I think the best explanation here is that werewolves eventually finished the job, based on what Wolfgang said about werewolves being the most successful attempt to fight back. The fact that vampires lashed out against specifically werewolves after losing also supports that idea.

also lmao the entire moral of this story is that untamed spellcasters cannot be trusted not to literally tear their own realm apart. i've got my eye on u morgyn

#ts4 vampires #ts4 realm of magic #ts4 rom #ts4 werewolves #ts4 lore #century conflict #moonwood mill #forgotten hollow #greggorius lunvik #ts4 reference

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maraudereestauderelb · 2 months ago

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What if you're the defendant in one of the trials after the first War against Voldemort?

Hello everyone,

but a special "Hello" to those who love morally grey characters and who imagine themselves a little more "layered" when it comes to the World of Harry Potter and the Marauders.

We can't all be noble Gryffindores who never make any mistakes or wrong choices, can we?

Don't tell me, you've never imagined yourself using a little...dark magic...

Join me and be part of your very own trial! Sounds like fun, right?!

Are you guilty? What have you done? Who are you on the inside? - Let's find out together!

Oh and if you want a little music to set the tone, I've got a little recommendation.

It was a dark room. The tall walls and floor were covered in black marble tiles with the result that every step taken by one of the wizards and witches and every word said inside the biggest courtroom of the magical ministry was echoing, making the volume almost unbearable.

The wooden stands at the end of the room were filled with about fifty rather old witches and wizards dressed in plum-covered robes with elaborate silver initials on them, the members of the Wizengamot. Next to them sat one wizard dressed in black at a tribune. His name Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the prosecutor.

The rows around the circular room overcrowded with spectators waiting for the trial to begin, amongst them a lot of journalist. In the center of it all was one single chair on which a young woman was sitting, magically bound to it. Behind the chair in the center was another bench filled with five witches and wizards, the witnesses. On the left to the bench was a tiny desk with a chair on which another woman was sitting, her lawyer.

The young woman in the center was nervous, her body slightly shaking, but nobody seemed to notice. On the outside she looked strong and unfazed. But she was worried. Worried she would lose the trial, worried about the two dementors guarding the door, worried she had to go back to the prison which had been her home for the past month, Askaban.

She had been in the room on the tenth floor of the Ministry of Magic before, but as one of the visitors. The trial back then had been extremely private, the ministry trying to keep everything as secret as possible without getting much attention, but her very own trial was different. The room filled with those who wanted to see another Death Eater and murderer locked away for life.

Her heartbeat was going crazy and she was on the verge of tears already. She didn’t dare to look back to the witnesses behind her. The people who had her fate right in their hands. The odds weren’t good and she knew it.

The past month in Askaban had her losing her mind.

The young witch cringed when suddenly the prosecutor cleared his throat and with magically enhanced voice said: “Case 5895026. The magical ministry against Miss Y/N Y/S/N Y/F/N.” Within the blink of an eye, everybody had gone quiet and Y/N’s heart had stopped beating for a second.

“Miss Y/F/N”, he continued looking at her with disgust, just like everybody else: “You have been brought here to the Council of Magical Law so that we may pass judgement on you, for a crime about betrayal, plotting and murder. You are being charged with the murder of seven witches and wizards including two children of the ages four and three. What do you plead?”

“Not guilty”, her lawyer suddenly got up from her chair. “The defender Hailey Cornelia Carter”, Crouch said: “And todays witnesses are Professor Filius Flitwick, former teacher of the accused, Y/M/N, mother of the accused, Arabella McKinnon, family member of the victims, Alastor Moody, Auror, and Rabastan Lestrange.”

The witnesses nodded one after another before Crouch went on: “You’re advised to leave the court room until you’re called.”

Until each and every one of them had left the room, Y/N hadn’t dared to turn around. She couldn’t look at them. Couldn’t look at her mother. She had no idea whether her mother believed the accusations or not. Y/N hadn’t talked to her for months. What if she believed her very own daughter was guilty?

“Today we are talking about the events during the night of the 26th of July in the year 1970, where three Death Eaters attacked the McKinnons with Fiendfyre and burned down their house, killing seven witches and wizards. Paul McKinnon, Elisabeth McKinnon, their daughters Marlene McKinnon and Juliana Miller, Juliana’s husband Alfred Miller and their daughter, Pauline, and son, William. Ladies and Gentlemen, we are talking about a crime involving very dark and mighty magic. A forbidden curse. A curse which was purposely used to kill not only adults but two little children as well. On the night of the 26th of July in the year 1970 seven people had to die a horrible and extremely cruel death. It had been a quiet night like every other until their house went up in smoke and fire, because a coward had attacked them from a distance without a warning. And Miss Y/F/N here is accused of being said witch.”

During Crouch’s speech the young witch in the middle of the room hadn’t raised her head a single time. Her brown eyes were glued to her hands. Never had she ever imagined she could end up in this position. She had been a good kid, a hardworking student, a loyal friend. And yet she was right where she was. In the middle of a courtroom, magically bound to a chair, in front of her the Wizengamot. She didn’t belong there and yet she felt guilt heavy on her shoulders.

James’, Lily’s and Peter’s deaths, Sirius’s and then her arrest felt like they happened years ago, in another life, but she knew they had only happened a months. Her friends…they were all dead, or worse.

“And I know what everybody in this room is thinking right now: Why? Why would a young witch do something as horrible as this. And the answer…the answer is simple, ladies and gentlemen, out of love.”

Sirius. They were trying to blame this on him as well?

“Miss Carter”, Crouch looked at Hailey: “You have the word.”

“Thank you, Mister Crouch”, Hailey nodded in his direction and got up with an almost unrecognizable sigh. Y/N knew how nervous she was. This was only her second trial, but she had fought so hard to even get her a trial, although everybody already seemed sure about the outcome. It was hopeless.

“First of all”, Hailey shrugged and casually leaned against the chair Y/N was sitting on: “Mister Crouch, you were wrong. Not everybody in this room was thinking what you pointed out mere seconds ago, because the question I have been asking myself ever since my client got arrested is: Why now? My client got arrested on the third of November 1971, a month ago, but the crime she is being accused of happened more than a year before that. So, I’ve been wondering…why not earlier? ...And then I knew the answer to it, because you never had the slightest evidence, you never had and you still don’t. My client, a young witch who never did anybody any harm, is suddenly accused of killing not only one person, but seven with a curse so dark, I bet, not even you as the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would know how to successfully perform it. How should a twenty year old witch do it then? This entire trial is ridiculous! There is no proof and my client is innocent!”

“So what you are saying Miss Carter is that your client, Miss Y/F/N, never would have been able to evoke a Fiendfyre? That she is lacking the skill to do so? Miss Y/FN, are you supporting this statement?” But before she was able to answer Hailey said: “Of course she does!”

“Why don’t we ask someone who could give us a more competent opinion on this. I call Professor Filius Flitwick to the witness stand.”

Hailey stepped aside as the small figure of Professor Filius Flitwick entered the courtroom. His hesitant steps echoed off the black marble walls, each one punctuating the rising tension in the room. Y/N kept her gaze locked on her trembling hands, unable to meet the professor’s eyes. She had always admired him, had always seen him as more than a teacher—a guide, someone who had encouraged her love for magic before that love became an obsession.

Flitwick climbed into the witness stand, his expression betraying his reluctance. “Professor Flitwick,” Barty Crouch began, his voice sharp and cutting. “You were Miss Y/F/N’s teacher during her time at Hogwarts, correct?”

“Yes,” Flitwick replied, his voice soft but steady. “I taught her Charms throughout her seven years at the school.”

“And how would you describe her abilities?” Crouch leaned forward slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing.

Flitwick sighed, wringing his hands. “Y/N was… exceptional. She was one of the brightest students I’ve ever had the privilege of teaching. Talented, driven, and deeply curious. In her final years, she was the top of her class in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms.”

A murmur rippled through the audience. Y/N’s heart clenched as she felt every word like a dagger in her chest. Her gaze flicked up for a brief moment, catching the face of someone she desperately wanted to avoid, seated in the audience. Her former friend’s face was a mask of cold contempt, and Y/N quickly looked away.

Crouch’s lips curled into a slight smile. “A prodigy, then. Surely, someone with such talent would have the knowledge and skill to perform a curse as advanced as Fiendfyre?”

Hailey interjected, her voice calm but firm. “Professor Flitwick, in your opinion, would my client ever have been interested in such magic?”

Flitwick hesitated, his small hands gripping the edge of the stand. “Not at first,” he admitted, his voice laced with sadness. “Y/N had always been eager to learn, but in her last year, I noticed… a change.”

“What kind of change?” Crouch prompted.

“She became distant, withdrawn. One day, I discovered a forbidden book in her possession. A text on the Dark Arts. I confiscated it, of course, but… she was different after that. She looked tired, as if something was draining her. She seemed... lost.”

Y/N closed her eyes, memories flooding her mind. The long nights pouring over that book in the Room of Requirement. The allure of knowledge so forbidden it felt intoxicating. How she had used the Marauder’s Map and Sirius’s Invisibility Cloak to sneak into the restricted section. Her thirst for understanding had felt insatiable, but it was never meant to harm anyone. It was for knowledge, for power over her own destiny, not for destruction.

“Professor,” Crouch’s voice broke through her thoughts, “do you believe Miss Y/F/N was capable of summoning Fiendfyre?”

Flitwick’s face crumpled, and he looked directly at Y/N for the first time. She finally met his eyes, pleading silently. But she knew the answer before he spoke.

“I do,” he said softly, the words falling like a death knell. The room erupted in gasps and whispers, but all Y/N could hear was the pounding of her own heart. Flitwick turned to her, his face etched with regret. “I’m sorry,” he said.

The words felt heavier than the chains binding her to the chair. For the first time, Y/N felt tears prick her eyes, but she forced them back. Her voice—her defense—felt smaller than ever.

Hailey stepped forward again, her tone sharp. “Professor Flitwick, isn’t it also true that Y/N excelled in all forms of magic, not just the Dark Arts? That she showed immense skill in protective spells and healing charms? Skills that contradict the accusation that she would ever commit such heinous acts?”

Flitwick nodded, but his earlier words hung in the air like a specter. The damage had been done.

As Professor Flitwick stepped down from the witness stand, the tension in the room seemed to coil tighter around Y/N’s chest. Her breath hitched, and a cold shiver ran down her spine. She knew who was next.

Her mother.

They hadn’t spoken in months—since her arrest, since everything fell apart. But even before that, the rift between them had widened, starting the day her sister was killed. The guilt was unbearable. Her younger sister, bright and determined, had followed Y/N’s footsteps into the Order of the Phoenix. It was unusual for purebloods, but their family had stood firmly on the right side of this war. Her parents had been proud.

Then came the mission with Marlene McKinnon.

The night she didn’t return.

The news had shattered their family. Y/N had stopped going home after that, unable to face her parents. She had joined the Order first, after all, and without her, maybe her sister wouldn’t have followed. Maybe she’d still be alive.

A rustle of movement brought her back to the present. Her mother stepped into the witness stand, her robes slightly askew, her face pale and drawn. Y/N didn’t dare lift her eyes to meet her mother’s. She couldn’t bear to see the grief, or worse, the doubt.

“Please state your name,” Barty Crouch instructed, his tone professional but with an edge of impatience.

“Y/M/N Y/L/N,” her mother said, her voice trembling slightly.

Crouch nodded. “Mrs. Y/L/N, you are the mother of the accused. Can you tell us what you know about your daughter’s allegiances?”

Her mother took a deep breath, glancing briefly at Y/N before looking out over the courtroom. “For what I knew… my daughter joined the Order of the Phoenix with good intentions. She wanted to fight against You-Know-Who and protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. When her friends had asked her to join them in the order, she had been excited!”

A murmur rippled through the audience, but it was quickly silenced by a sharp look from Crouch. He stepped forward, clasping his hands behind his back. “Which friends are we talking about?”

“James Potter, Sirius Black-” Gasps echoed through the room.

“Good intentions, you say. But do you have any evidence to support this claim?”

Her mother hesitated, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came. Finally, her shoulders slumped, and she shook her head. “No. I don’t.”

Tears welled in her mother’s eyes, and her voice cracked as she continued. “But I know my daughter. I know she couldn’t—she wouldn’t—do something so… so monstrous. I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it.”

Crouch pounced. “When was the last time you spoke with your daughter, Mrs. Y/L/N?”

“Months ago,” her mother admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “After her sister’s death… it became too painful to—”

“And did you notice changes in her behavior?” Crouch interrupted, his tone cutting. “Did she seem… different?”

“Yes,” her mother said reluctantly. “But the war has changed all of us. It’s taken so much from us. Her sister’s death…” Her voice broke. “It broke her.”

“And what about her relationship with Sirius Black?” Crouch pressed. “How would you describe it?”

Her mother seemed taken aback by the question but answered after a pause. “Strong. Impulsive. She loved him deeply, perhaps obsessively, as young people often do at that age.”

“Could he have influenced her?” Crouch asked sharply.

“No!” Her mother’s response was immediate, almost panicked. “I don’t believe he would ever…”

But Crouch wasn’t finished. “Didn’t you just say that your daughter wouldn’t have joined the Order of the Phoenix if not for Sirius Black?”

Her mother’s eyes widened, realizing her mistake too late. “I—yes, but—”

“Thank you, Mrs. Y/L/N,” Crouch cut her off, his tone triumphant. “You’ve made your position clear. If Sirius Black could influence her to join the Order, who’s to say he couldn’t influence her to commit darker acts? Perhaps their loyalty to You-Know-Who was simply well-concealed, a strategy to infiltrate and betray.”

“That’s not true!” her mother cried, tears streaming down her face. “She’s innocent! She would never—she couldn’t—” Her voice broke completely, and she looked at Y/N, desperation in her eyes. “I’ll get you out of this,” she promised, her voice trembling. “I know you’re innocent, sweetheart. I know.”

Y/N couldn’t look at her. Her mother’s words cut deeper than any accusation. Innocent. The word felt like a stone in her chest, because she wasn’t sure it was true. She had never intended to hurt anyone, never wanted to stray so close to the darkness. But her thirst for knowledge, her reckless love for Sirius—they had all led her here, to this chair, with her prisoner number inked into her skin like a brand.

And for the first time, she wondered if maybe she did belong here.

Arabella McKinnon walked into the witness stand with a presence that silenced the room. Her grief was palpable, etched into her features like a permanent scar. She knew Arabella’s job today wasn’t to present facts—it was to stir emotions, to make sure no one left this courtroom doubting who the villain was.

Arabella spoke with a quiet dignity at first, her voice steady but heavy with sorrow. She described the McKinnons—their warmth, their bravery, the way Marlene had laughed so easily, even in the darkest of times. She described the children, their lives snuffed out before they had even truly begun. Her words painted vivid, haunting images, and the room hung on every syllable.

“They were everything to me,” Arabella said, her voice breaking. “And they died screaming. My family burned alive because someone—because she”—her trembling hand pointed directly at Y/N—“decided they didn’t deserve to live.”

A sob erupted somewhere in the audience, and Y/N felt like the floor beneath her chair was crumbling. She wanted to scream, to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come. Her throat felt like it was closing, the air in the room thick and suffocating.

“And for what?” Arabella continued, her voice rising. “For power? For loyalty to that… that monster? You knew them, Y/N! You knew them, and you did it anyway!”

“I didn’t—” Y/N began to whisper, but Arabella cut her off, her grief giving way to fury.

“Don’t you dare speak!” Arabella’s voice cracked like a whip. “You don’t get to sit there and pretend you’re innocent. You deserve Azkaban. You deserve to rot there for the rest of your miserable life, with nothing but the screams of my family to keep you company!”

The courtroom erupted into chaos. Shouts and murmurs filled the air, but all Y/N could hear were Arabella’s words, echoing like a curse in her mind. Her stomach twisted painfully, nausea clawing its way up her throat. She tried to suppress it, to hold herself together, but the pressure was unbearable. As Arabella was escorted out of the courtroom, still sobbing and shouting curses at her, Y/N doubled over.

She barely managed to turn her head before she vomited onto the cold marble floor next to her chair. The bile burned her throat, but it was nothing compared to the searing pain in her chest. She stayed hunched over, her hair falling in a curtain around her face, trying to catch her breath as tears streamed down her cheeks. The courtroom was silent now, save for the faint echoes of her retching.

Her gaze, blurry and unfocused, drifted upward, searching the crowded bleachers. She was looking for one face. One pair of eyes. She found them, but the expression she saw was ice cold. No sympathy, no compassion.

Her former friend stared down at her, and Y/N’s heart shattered all over again. The words they had once exchanged, years ago, came rushing back with painful clarity.

“We may fight for different sides, but I’ll never betray you, Y/N. You’ll never find a dagger in your back held by me.”

The promise had been made in the shadow of their diverging choices, shaped as much by the war as by the men they loved—Sirius and Rabastan. But now, it felt hollow, broken. Y/N dropped her gaze to the chains on her wrists, unable to bear the emptiness in her friend’s eyes.

She wasn’t sure what hurt more: Arabella’s fury or the silence of someone she had once called a sister.

As Hailey stood to cross-examine Arabella’s devastating testimony, Y/N could feel the weight of hopelessness settling deeper into her chest. Her defender was determined, her voice steady as she tried to redirect the courtroom’s focus. But it was no use. The emotions stirred by Arabella’s words hung in the air like smoke, suffocating any attempt to shift the narrative. The damage was done.

Hailey returned to her seat, her hands clenched tightly, and for the first time, Y/N saw doubt flicker in her eyes. There was no saving this. The audience murmured restlessly as Barty Crouch called the next witness.

“Alastor Moody.”

The sound of Moody’s wooden leg hitting the marble floor was loud, deliberate, as he approached the stand. Each step sent another dagger of dread into Y/N’s gut. She knew Moody would bury her. He’d never trusted her, not from the moment she joined the Order. A pureblood with ties to the Black family, the Lestranges? To him, she was a walking liability. What would he say now that Sirius and her had both been arrested? The thought that Sirius was being dragged through the mud, even in her trial, made her feel sick all over again. She clung to the belief that Sirius’s trial, whenever it came, would vindicate him. She knew him better than anyone—it simply didn’t make sense that he’d betray James and Lily.

“State your name and occupation,” Crouch said as Moody settled into the stand.

“Alastor Moody. Auror,” he replied, his magical eye spinning wildly, taking in every corner of the room. When it passed over Y/N, she felt as though her soul was being laid bare.

“Mr. Moody,” Crouch began, “you’ve known the accused for some time, haven’t you?”

“I have,” Moody said gruffly. “Worked with her in the Order of the Phoenix.”

“And what was your impression of her?”

Moody’s lips curled into something between a grimace and a smirk. “I never fully trusted her,” he said bluntly. “She’s got the bloodline, the connections, and that… feeling about her. You’ve been an Auror as long as I have, you start to recognize it. The way the Dark Arts cling to someone.”

Y/N’s heart sank. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she avoided looking at the audience. She didn’t need to see their faces to know what they were thinking.

“Interesting,” Crouch said, leaning forward slightly. “And what do you mean by this… ‘feeling’?”

Moody gave a sharp laugh. “Dark magic leaves traces. Most people can’t sense it, but after years of chasing dark wizards, you learn to pick up on it. And with Y/N, it’s always been there. A subtle hum, like static in the air.”

Crouch raised an eyebrow. “Fascinating. And yet, you worked alongside her?”

Moody shrugged. “I liked her sister well enough. She had a good heart, didn’t deserve what happened to her. But Y/N… I kept my guard up.”

Y/N stared at the floor, her mind racing. Where is Dumbledore? she thought bitterly. He had promised to protect her, to protect all of them when they joined the Order. But now, with everything falling apart, he was nowhere to be seen. He hadn’t been there for Sirius either, leaving him to rot in Azkaban. What had been the point of their loyalty if it was only met with abandonment?

Crouch continued. “Mr. Moody, have you ever witnessed the accused using dark magic?”

Moody hesitated, just for a moment, before nodding. “I have. In battle. It was during a skirmish with Death Eaters. She used spells that were… questionable.”

Y/N closed her eyes, her chest tightening. I only ever used it to protect my friends. The memory flashed before her eyes: spells cast in desperation, the heat of battle, the need to keep her friends alive. She thanked whatever shred of luck she had left that Moody hadn’t been there the one time she had crossed the line entirely.

The Imperius Curse.

She could still remember the way it had felt—the surge of power, the absolute control. She had forced three Death Eaters to their knees, stopping them from killing Lily. The effort had drained her so completely she had nearly passed out, but for a brief moment, she had felt pride. That single act, if anyone had seen it, would have been enough to condemn her to Azkaban without trial.

“And what do you make of her capabilities, Mr. Moody?” Crouch asked, his voice sharp. “Do you believe she is capable of casting Fiendfyre?”

Moody didn’t answer immediately. His magical eye swiveled to Y/N again, and she felt like it was peeling back every layer of her being. “Aye,” he said finally. “She’s capable. Doesn’t mean she did it, but the skill’s there.”

It was the final nail in the coffin, and Y/N knew it. She didn’t even flinch as he stepped down from the stand. Her thoughts were elsewhere, drowning in regret and anger.

I did what I had to do, she told herself, but the weight of her choices felt heavier with each passing second. And still, she couldn’t shake the question echoing in her mind: Where is Dumbledore?

As Rabastan Lestrange strode to the witness stand, his smirk alone was enough to send a chill down Y/N’s spine. He looked far too composed for someone who had been convicted of his own heinous crimes. Y/N couldn’t understand why they had brought him here. What could he possibly add?

She gripped the arms of her chair tightly, her fingers digging into the wood. Her gaze darted briefly to the audience, scanning for her former friend, Rabastan’s wife, and found her sitting stiffly among the crowd. Their eyes didn’t meet.

The courtroom fell silent as Crouch began the questioning. “State your name and affiliation.”

“Rabastan Lestrange,” he said smoothly, leaning back in the witness chair. “A convicted servant of the Dark Lord.”

There were murmurs from the audience, but Rabastan seemed to bask in the attention. His dark eyes flicked to Y/N, glinting with malice.

“You’ve claimed to have knowledge of the accused’s activities. Please, enlighten us,” Crouch said, his tone cold.

Rabastan chuckled. “Oh, I know more than a little about Y/N Y/L/N. She and her beloved Sirius Black were always slippery, but I’ve seen through their charade from the start. Working for the Order of the Phoenix? No, no, they were playing both sides, working for the Dark Lord all along.”

Y/N’s head shot up, her chest tightening. “He’s lying!” she shouted, her voice cracking, but Rabastan barely flinched.

Crouch raised a hand to silence her. “The accused will remain quiet unless addressed.”

Rabastan leaned forward, speaking directly to the Wizengamot. “I’ve seen her wield the Dark Arts like a master. I was there the night the McKinnons died. She was wild with rage, casting Fiendfyre like it was second nature. Enjoyed every moment of it, too.”

Y/N’s vision blurred as her pulse thundered in her ears. “That’s not true!” she cried, her voice breaking.

Rabastan ignored her, smiling cruelly. “I even offered her that place among us. Told her the Dark Lord would appreciate her talents. She was delighted?”

Y/N felt bile rising in her throat. The sheer audacity of his lies was almost unbearable. It was true, he had offered her said place, but she had declined. She had hated him from the start—hated everything he and his kind stood for. But she had stayed silent about his crimes, out of a twisted sense of loyalty to his wife. A loyalty that now felt painfully one-sided.

Her eyes flicked to her former friend. She sat motionless, her face unreadable. Y/N wanted to scream at her, to demand how she could just sit there and let this happen. Her for him. Every time.

When Rabastan spoke again, his voice was almost gleeful. “I saw her kill them all.”

Y/N froze. Her heart dropped into her stomach. It was a lie, twisted and reframed, but it wasn’t entirely baseless. There had been a moment—a stupid, reckless moment during one of her secret meetings with her friend—when she had spoken too much, blinded by grief.

Rabastan’s grin widened. “She’s been playing everyone from the start.”

“I’m not a murderer!” Y/N screamed, tears streaming down her face now. “You’re lying! You’re all lying!”

Hailey stood abruptly, her voice trembling with barely contained anger. “This is ridiculous! These are baseless accusations from a convicted Death Eater. If he’s so certain, let’s prove it.”

There was a beat of silence before Hailey said the words Y/N had been dreading.

“We request the use of Veritaserum.”

Gasps echoed through the courtroom. Even Rabastan’s smirk faltered slightly.

Crouch raised an eyebrow. “A bold request. The accused will need to consent.”

Y/N’s hands trembled as she clutched the arms of her chair. She knew the truth wouldn’t completely exonerate her. The things she had done—the spells she had cast—would seal her fate, even if she hadn’t killed the McKinnons.

But what choice did she have?

Her voice was barely a whisper as she said, “I consent.”

The room fell silent. It was over. One way or another, it was over.

The vial of Veritaserum sat glinting on the prosecutor's desk, the liquid inside swirling like molten silver. Y/N stared at it for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew what it would do. It would lay her soul bare, tear away every veil of secrecy she had ever crafted. And there were things—truths—that could never see the light of day.

With trembling hands, she lifted the vial to her lips. It tasted bitter and metallic as it slid down her throat. Almost instantly, she felt its effects—a strange, floating sensation, as though her mind had been disconnected from her body. She fought the pull, digging deep into her resolve. You can’t lie. But maybe, just maybe, you can choose how much you reveal.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Crouch began, his voice sharp and eager, “did you kill Marlene McKinnon and her family?”

The words struck like a physical blow, but she didn’t flinch. Her gaze darted to her former friend in the bleachers. There was no sympathy in her eyes, no shared history, no bond of trust. Nothing but cold detachment.

Y/N’s mind reeled back to that moment—the fateful conversation with her friend. She had been blinded by grief, suffocated by rage. Marlene McKinnon, her sister’s partner on that doomed mission, had survived. Her sister had not. That bitterness, the unjust cruelty of it all, had spilled out.

“Do you think Marlene deserves to die too?” her friend had asked softly. A simple question, laden with dark implications.

And Y/N, angry and lost, had nodded. Just a single, damning gesture.

She didn’t have to say it aloud to know what would happen next. Her friend had treated it like a gift—an act of warped kindness, an answer to Y/N’s unspoken grief.

But did that make her the killer?

“I didn’t cast the fire,” Y/N said at last, her voice steady but hollow. It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the whole truth either.

The courtroom held its collective breath. Crouch’s lips curled into a predatory smile. “Then who did?”

Y/N hesitated, the weight of the serum pressing on her, demanding an answer. She looked directly at her former friend, whose face betrayed no emotion.

“I believe it was Rabastan Lestrange who killed Marlene,” Y/N said. Her voice rang out clearly, each word deliberate.

Murmurs rippled through the audience, but Y/N didn’t care. She couldn’t look away from her friend. The betrayal cut deeper than any spell, deeper than the scars she carried.

“Have you ever cast Fiendfyre?” Crouch pressed, his voice rising with impatience.

“I’ve never cast it,” Y/N replied, and it was the truth.

Crouch’s frustration was palpable now. He paced before her, searching for a crack in her armor. “Have you done anything that could send you to Azkaban?”

Y/N’s heart thundered. She thought of the curses she’d used, the lines she had crossed to save her friends, her loyalty that had tied her hands and sealed her fate time and again. She could feel the truth clawing its way to the surface. But with the last vestiges of her will, she clung to one thought: He has to accuse me first. Don’t give him the power to condemn you.

Her voice was quiet but firm as she replied, “You will have to accuse me of a crime first if you want to convict me.”

For a long moment, silence hung heavy in the air. Crouch’s face twisted with anger and frustration. He knew he had lost.

Finally, he turned to the Wizengamot. “There is insufficient evidence to convict the accused of this crime. I am forced to call a verdict of not guilty.”

The words echoed in the chamber, and for a fleeting moment, Y/N felt a wave of relief. The chains binding her to the chair vanished, clattering to the ground.

But as she rose shakily to her feet, that relief turned to bitterness. The cheers from her lawyer, the gasps from the crowd, none of it mattered. James and Lily were gone. Peter was gone. Remus thought her a traitor, just like Sirius. And Sirius...

Sirius was in Azkaban. Alone, broken, abandoned, just as she had been.

She turned to leave the courtroom, her gaze falling once more on her friend in the bleachers. No words passed between them, but the message was clear. They were strangers now. Whatever bond they had shared was gone.

The freedom she had just won felt hollow. What was the point of any of it if she couldn’t save the people who mattered? If she couldn’t get Sirius out of that hellhole, what did this verdict even mean?

As she stepped into the cold air outside the Ministry, her prisoner number still etched on her arm, Y/N made a silent vow. If the world had given up on Sirius, then she would be the one to bring him back.

MASTERLIST

#the marauders #marauders #sirius black #sirius black x reader #angst #harry potter universe #your trial #imagine #james potter #lily evans #reader insert #death eaters #order of the phoenix #mad eye moody #bad or good?#morally grey characters #morally grey reader #powerful reader

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