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emilykaldwen · 5 months ago

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The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Nineteen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

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Author's Note: It's been a really hard month, ya'll, but here we are! We made it. Agonizing over this chapter positively drove me mad, but so many thanks to @vampire-exgirlfriend and @darkwolf76 for their love, support, and eyes on this to help me feel a little less insane. Go give them both some love!

CHAPTER NINETEEN - When It's Pulling Me Under

Alicent breaks and tries to mend. Jace tries to find Helaena. A twist within the thread.

“Cassandra Baratheon has bled.”

The queen’s rooms were quiet. Rich green and black drapes hung open as wide as they could to allow the light in, but the panes were closed to the cool fall breeze. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, dancing along the decorative stone swirls along the mantle. The usual gaggle of women that occupied the room had been absent these past few days - her court having dispersed to deal with multiple assignments for the daily running of the castle and the wedding. Alicent looked up from the parchment before her, releasing her lower lip from the intensity of her gnawing teeth. Her gaze met Lady Lysa’s from where the elder woman looked up from her own sheaf of parchment.

“I will go and speak with Lord Beesbury on these matters, Your Grace,” she said softly, rising in a whisper of apple red silk, her usual caul replaced by a barbette and veil given the cooler weather. The way the woman turned her head, reaching for her papers, reminded Alicent of her own mother in such a swift and sharply unexpected moment, that Alicent’s chest clenched and stole her breath. Lysa Fossoway was her beacon of normalcy over the past years, but she was not her mother.

How desperately she wished her mother was here. How keenly that feeling sharpened as the other woman left and Alicent remained here, alone, with Lord Larys Strong.

His firefly-handled cane thumped softly against the rich rugs scattered about her solar and he took a seat on the chaise, settling himself down like a vulture, waiting to feast. On her secrets, on her thoughts, on wherever his tightly guarded whims struck him. Yet, she had few that she could call confidant, even if she dare not call him friend.

“Good.” The snap of the wooden pen box punctuated the single word as Alicent put away her ink and tucked away the parchments that Larys so curiously watched. “Lord Borros insisted that we have this engagement sealed before the new year and the wedding.”

It felt like when Viserys dragged himself to High Tide to present himself to Lord Corlys to beg his heir’s hand in marriage for a sullied Rhaenyra . It was beneath him, it was unbecoming, and it was exactly why, Alicent felt, Lord Borros felt he could demand the way he did.

‘I am not beholden to my father’s oaths, but I will not be taken for a fool’, the man had said. No sons of his own yet, Alicent knew that it was not his fear of being taken for a fool that had brought him blustering and demanding, but the fact that his sister, his only sibling, had sons. Both, to Alicent’s knowledge, were unwed. There existed a possibility for Helaena, one she would have to revisit later.

For now, her attention focused on the fact that it appeared Borros Baratheon thought that Vhagar would be enough of a deterrent for his sister’s sons to claim the Storm Throne from his own children.

“So that is what is to be then? Aemond to the storm, to match the tempest inside of him.” Larys tilted his head in the thoughtful way he had, his hands folded along the top of his cane. “Better, maybe, than risk quenching his fire in the snows perhaps.”

Alicent furrowed her brow. “Snows?”

“Only a turn of phrase, Your Grace. There are many eligible women in the realm to tie our Prince to. The Stormlands keep him close, rather than the cliffs of Casterly Rock or even the isolated northern houses. Northern houses, such as House Karstark offer little, while Storm’s End grants you a realm. Better than his sister as well, although I have not heard Prince Aemond express those wishes in some time.”

Alicent rolled her eyes and went to pour herself some of the mulled wine from the carafe by her window. “House Karstark, or any of the other Northern Houses, would do little for Aemond.” As for Helaena, she too had noticed her son’s waning insistence over the past few months in regards to such a betrothal. She hoped that he too realized the futility of such an endeavor.

“And it isn’t as if Lord Borros could not take another wife should-”

The clatter of her goblet on the table cut off the direction of Larys’ ponderings, and she turned on him, a sick and ugly feeling in his chest. “It is unseemly to speculate or wish for such things, my Lord Confessor,” she said tightly. “My son will marry Lady Floris. Aemond will have a position and income here at court, regardless of what the future holds,” she whispered. “He will make a fine Hand.” When her father could no longer be Hand to Aegon, Aemond would be an ideal successor.

“And Daeron could serve the crown much like Ser Criston. Now everyone is taken care of.” A soft chuckle filtered into the room and sent a shiver up Alicent’s spine. “You have done well for your children, Your Grace. It is good that they at least have a mother who cares for them so.”

“Someone has to. If my son is not his father’s heir, then he should be taken care of. The realm knows too well the idleness of second sons and unhappy brothers.” She shook her head, unflinchingly meeting Larys’ disquieting gaze and the amused curl of his mouth. “If the king would not even be amenable to the idea of Aegon being his sister’s heir, then something must be done.”

A pulse of a headache thrummed behind her eye. Aemond chafed already beneath his brother, beneath the duty that had spurred him to his lessons, to his training, but she knew Aemond would want more. He hungered for more and she could not give it to him. Would her ambitious boy be content with his child married to Cassandra’s heir? ‘He would have to,’ she thought, though her fear persisted. This was the cost of duty.

“Have you only come to speak of Lady Cassandra’s state of non-pregnancy, or have you come to drop news that Helaena is with child.” The pointed non-question was sharper than she might have normally intended but the onset of having to tell Aemond, her angry, precious son, would give her a fit the way anything difficult aggravated her husband and king.

“All goes accordingly, my Queen,” Larys said, nonplussed, and if anything, the amusement was lingering there. Alicent hated the small feeling it gave her. No, not small, she realized; not small as how her father or even Viserys made her feel.

Larys made her feel trapped.

“Very good then. If there’s nothing else, Lord Larys-” The sharp, heavy knock on the door mercifully broke into the tension and Alicent could barely contain her desperate tone. “Enter!”

Gwayne was the most welcome sight behind the door, his doublet so deep green as to be almost black, the fabric of his gray shirt poking between the ties of his sleeves. The silver buttons were stamped with the High Tower and the flames atop it. The angles of his face reminded her so much of Aemond, but she could see all of her boys in that face. The sharpening of Aegon’s jaw, Daeron’s nose. Warm, brown eyes took her in before looking over her shoulder as Larys scraped his way to standing.

“Ser Gwayne,” the lord greeted and she felt, more than saw, her brother stiffen slightly. Gwayne had not been here long, but his dislike of the Master of Whispers had been a decisive one. Her brother was firm in his manner, much like their father; once lost, no good favor could be regained.

“Lord Larys. I’ve come to pull our Queen from these shady interiors to take a turn in the fresh air. I’m sure you also have much to attend to.” Not that the solar itself wasn’t brightly illuminated, stained glass windows sending streaks of colored light about the room, and Theraxis, Abby’s cat, was sprawled in a patch of warm light that the stained glass windows turned his gray fur purple and orange.

“Who would I be if I kept her Grace from spending time with her much missed brother,” Larys said, inclined slightly to Alicent. “I shall take my leave then. Good day to you both.”

As soon as the door shut, Gwayne’s blue eyes, their mother’s eyes, pinned her.

“I mislike you having private conference with that man. Where is Lady Lysa? Or Cole?”

Alicent raised an eyebrow. “You mislike.”

“I do.” He seized an apple from the basket on the table. Brown hair, once sandy blonde as Daeron’s in youth, fell into his eyes. He kept it short, as Aegon, and the sight of him had her wonder if things would be easier had her eldest looked more like her. “He is a foul man, and I do not like the way he watches you.”

She rolled her eyes at her brother’s protestation. Touched as she was by his protectiveness, it was too many years too late. “Well, Lord Larys is the Master of Whispers for a reason. There is a certain unsettling that comes with the position.”

Gwayne rolled his eyes this time and bit into the apple, the fruit crunching loudly. “I still do not like it.”

“You do not have permission to pass judgment and disapproval as you made the choice to leave.” Resentment rose ugly in her throat, her voice not her own; a fragile thing, a girlish cry. Her nails scraped along her wrist as she turned away from him to her desk, eyes unseeing as she reached for the first paper. “I had to make my own protection.”

“Ali-”

“No,” she snapped, shaking her head. “You left.” Then I lost Rhaenyra. “And do not claim it was your injury. You couldn’t wait to flee back to Uncle Rodrik. How sad it must have been for you to instead be sent back to the Tower.” Instead of staying there, with her, so she would not be alone, so their father would not be so bold as to push and press and bear down upon her. Bitterness dripped from her voice and the sound of tearing filled her ears. Alicent looked down to see how she’d torn the acceptance from Dragonstone for their presence at the wedding.

She felt like she would be sick.

A strange sound escaped her throat. It sounded like a growl or a wounded whine. Alicent could not be certain. What she was certain of was Gwayne’s arms wrapping around her from behind, holding her bones together as she felt like she would shatter. Her brother said nothing and for that she was grateful.

Fear tangled between her ribs, pulling them apart and compressing them just as tightly so she felt like she couldn’t breathe no matter what. Gwayne held her tightly, held her bones together, kept her body from bursting into a thousand shards. She gasped for air, tears hot in her eyes but refusing to fall. At some point, they ended up on the floor, the deep green of her skirts pooled around them as she leaned into her brother and he rocked her much as he did when she was young, when they would play knights and dragonriders in the gardens, when mother was there, and she’d fall and scrape her knee, or he had whacked her too hard with the stick, or Rhaenyra was angry when her moods got the better of her.

“I’m sorry,” Gwayne said softly, so softly she could barely hear it and her nails bit into the thick fabric of his doublet.

“You could have stayed,” she cried, her fist hitting his bicep. “You could have stayed, I needed you!” Her brother had nothing to say to that, he only squeezed her tighter as she finally wept, her fears tumbling out of her. “Why did he do this to me if they do not matter to him? They’re his blood too and he never cared, he never cared. He begged for sons! He begged for them and I gave him sons and it didn’t matter so what was it for?”

Alicent wept bitter tears, pushing and biting her fingers into her brother, who sat there, quiet and unmoving as she tore into him. The months, the years bubbled up in her, all the shattered dreams and the fear and the confusion, the immeasurable pain that had stripped away everything inside of her until she was whatever she was now, a stranger to herself. “They’ll kill them, Daemon or whomever seeks to curry favor with Rhaneyra, and he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care and they treat me as if I’m mad.”

She wasn’t mad. She knew that she wasn’t, everyone knew that she wasn’t, but much like the king never put Lord Corlys in his place all the times the man stormed out of the Small Council, Daemon perched as a vulture on Dragonstone for months without recourse until he stole an egg, Rhaenyra escaping recourse and being covered for her indiscretions. Had Alicent’s own children be fathered by Ser Criston, to pass off as trueborn children, her own fate would not be so kind.

Why had no one sought to protect her, the way the king, mercurial in his affections towards his eldest child to begin with, still protected Rhaenyra?

Alicent did not know how long they sat there, the gasping and the tears, the undulating pressure around her middle ebbing and increasing until it finally started to fade. Gwayne’s hand slowly stroked her back in soothing motions, his cheek resting upon her head. As the silence grew and her sobbing eased, her brother finally spoke.

“I’m here now,” he said. “And if you wish me to stay with you instead of accompanying the boys to Harrenhal, I will.”

She shook her head. “Aegon will need you. Guide him, help him. He’s doing so well, I’m so afraid that he will slip…”

“You are afraid of everything, aren’t you?”

Alicent scoffed, wet and stuffy nosed. “I am being realistic. I need someone there who will tell me if I need to intervene-”

“Alicent.” Gwayne shifted, his voice sharp enough to draw her attention and she looked up at her brother, meeting his blue eyes with her own brown. Gwayne had their mother’s eyes, the Reyne eyes. Would her grandchildren hold those eyes as well? Or would Aegon’s Valryian gaze overpower them? “Let him grow. Let him have a chance away from here.”

“And if something happens to him?” Her lower lip trembled and she bit down on it so hard it hurt. Her brother’s mouth twitched in a smile. Sad, fond.

“He cannot thrive if you are tangled around him like a choke vine.”

“And what of father?” she whispered, harsh and unnerved.

“I’ll handle father,” Gwayne reassured, or attempted to do so, but Alicent felt the fear pulse inside of her, the uncertainty at what felt like a foolish promise. His eyes searched her face for several moments and Alicent, unnerved, reached up to wipe her eyes with her handkerchief and tried to gather her wits. “Alicent? Do… do you want your son to be king?”

Alicent’s heartbeat thundered in her ears and she pulled back from her brother to stare at him. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out and she shut it with a click of her teeth that longed to nash and rend those around her. A fresh wave of tears burned in her eyes but did not fall this time. She pressed her handkerchief into her eyes, took a deep breath, and felt in her bones.

“Aegon may not want it, but it is the only way to protect us. Viserys will not. Rhaenyra will not. I tried. I did, and I never thought she would hurt the children but…” Alicent shook her head, the fear still there, still acrid and painful. “Her callous disregard of my son, her brother’s maiming. And what they did to Laenor?” Her voice was a whisper, the fear, the shock of it that still stuck with her. “It was Daemon, to be sure, but Rhaenyra knew. And it’s that which terrifies me. Rhaenyra doesn’t have to give the command, or even raise the blade or-or bring Syrax to exact her justice. Daemon and whatever other lords seek to curry her favor will do what they think needs to be done, and that is to keep my children from being a threat, from being beacons of rebellion regardless of them being part of it or not. And if none do it for her, she will be forced to do it.”

Aegon may not want his sister’s throne, but Aemond? Her precious boy had received a grievous injury, but his sire, his father and king meant to protect him, had not cared. That night on Driftmark showed the court how utterly vulnerable Alicent and her children were, and her father had been right. She had to fight for them in a way she never had before. Aemond had risen to the challenge beside his mother, a protector, but also quiet and feral in ways that frightened her, in ways that sometimes reminded her of the way Daemon Targaryen used to stride about - a siren song of strength compared to his elder brother.

If to truly protect them meant putting her first boy, precious in his own ways, her little Aegon who was finally smiling again, on the throne? To protect them? Then so be it.

Let all they’d been through, let all she had been through, be worth it, let it mean something. Mother and Father above, please just let it have been for something.

“They speak of the great insults done to our House,” Gwayne said softly, leaning against the foot of her bed, one long leg sprawled out before him, the other bent to lean his arm on. “To not name your son heir, then why take his Hightower bride?”

“I wonder, had he married Laena Velaryon, if he would have named her son heir,” Alicent said, frustration edging into her voice. “Corlys Velaryon would not tolerate his grandson not on the Iron Throne-”

“Which is why House Velaryon has not broken with Rhaenyra,” Gwayne finished with a snort, but there was no amusement in it. “The Sea Snake wants to make a name for his house. These Valyrian politics - but what man doesn’t?”

“Viserys doesn’t,” Alicent rolled her eyes and Gwayne met her gaze, the pair of them snickering like children. She felt the tension in her chest ease with the laughter, better than tears, and pushed at her brother’s knee. “It’s guilt over Aemma Arryn’s death and the king is a stubborn man. He is easily run roughshod but when his mind is made…” She shook her head. “Had father not pushed, maybe it would have changed. But father made him feel like a fool, and Viserys cannot abide that.”

“It was not just father, though,” Gwayne pointed out. “Our house pushed for it, yes, but whispers and confusion have run rampant through this realm since Aegon was born. Women do not sit the Iron Throne. Seven Hells, Jaehaerys held a council because he could not decide between a granddaughter or grandson. What power does House Targaryen truly have if they must beg the lords of the realm to decide their succession when it should be clear, the way the rest of the realm does?”

“Dragons,” Alicent pointed out softly. There were so many dragons now, many from Vhagar, a few from eggs that Meraxes had laid - she recalled from Aemond’s excited speeches, a thick tome of dragon lineages clutched in his arms. “They have dragons.”

Gwayne’s hand reached up, fingers warm against her forehead as he pushed away a loose curl. “You are just as fierce,” he told her. “If not more.”

“Stop,” she muttered and pushed at his knee before they rose and she smoothed the wrinkles of her skirt.

The children were scattered that morning. Helaena was in the gardens with little Floris and likely Jacaerys skulking after her as he’d taken to doing when council meetings weren’t in session. He had behaved well enough, from what she had seen and what had been reported to her. Bastard born he may truly be, Jacaerys had always treated her daughter kindly. There was frustratingly little she could do with the boy now, for word would trickle back to Viserys, who would feel like he needed to roar to make himself feel in control before retreating back to his lair.

She knew that Aemond kept watch, although her boy as of late had been distracted. When not in his studies or the training yard, he was hardly to be found. Which left Aegon and Abrogail, and at least she knew precisely where they would be then.

The weeks following the festivities had seen a change in her son, and one that Alicent wasn’t sure how to feel. The dalliance with the Lefford girl aside (no bastard had taken root, and the girl had been given a place in her household until such a time a match could be made), as well as whatever foolishness he’d engaged in with Cassandra Baratheon, Aegon had performed admirably. His spectacle making tried her patience, but won admiration through the court. No longer her little boy, her first son, Aegon had come into himself in a way that Alicent had not thought him capable of, and feared that it would not last.

For all the pain that ached and clawed inside her ribs at the sight of them, the displays of affection between her son and Abrogail had also proven fruitful, and she did not sense any facet of artifice between them. When her son smiled down at his betrothed, an easing sensation coursed through her, as if the tightly spooled coil inside of her was able to release gently.

Relief. Relief that this might, in fact, work out better than she hoped.

Perhaps the girl had been right in defending Aegon, yet Alicent still held her breath, did not let her relief grow unbound. Aegon often threw himself into new pursuits, at least once upon a time. He’d let it consume him and just as she thought she found what he needed to truly take responsibility, the novelty wore off and then there they were, back where things began, her son drunk and dunked in a horse trough to sober him up.

They found the children in the small, family dining hall. Abrogail’s ladies were clustered on a set of low chairs and chaises that had been brought in. Lady Desmara Crane and Lady Merei Thorne sat on either side of Lady Wylla, silk and lace across all their laps as they worked on Abrogail’s trousseau. The Riverlands girls that Abby had taken for ladies had returned home in order to get their own things and order, and would meet the wedding party at Harrenhal. Alicent regarded their dresses - all different, and made a mental note to ensure that uniforms denoting their statuses as ladies-in-waiting were taken care of when the seamstress came for the next wedding gown fitting.

The dancing master stood at the edge of the parquet floor where her son and cousin stood, the minstrels in the corner with the Targaryen drum and other instruments. The room was cool in the early afternoon, the torches out, the curtains fluttering gently in the fall breeze. Samwell was sweet voiced, and had been in court since her wedding a score ago. He was not a particularly tall man, still plump, but the years had sharpened the roundness of his face. He still composed, but now served as a dance master, leading the court in new dances. Samwell had taught the children as well, and as Alicent watched him, his feathered cap of red and black striping bobbing in time with the music, it felt as if she were transported to a godswood and a song she never wanted to hear again.

Samwell’s exasperation was palpable, and Alicent could see the pink flushed along Abrogail’s face all the way up to her hairline.

“You go left,” he instructed her sharply, the cane he held to keep the tempo cracking loud enough to cause the children and herself to jump. “The prince turns right, as the flow of air. You are receiving him, my lady.”

“Left,” Abrogail repeated, fingers twitching in the pale blue damask of her gown. Aegon gestured in the direction she was meant to go in and the music resumed. Aegon had the steps down, but Abrogail struggled to follow the beat that was so different to the normal court dances. Alicent wondered if it was some memory of Old Valyria that thumped through her son’s veins, for she recalled that Rhaenyra and Laenor’s rehearsals had gone quickly. Alicent had mercifully been saved from such a dance, for the king had not wanted to perform it again.

A short ��Ow!’ escaped Aegon and he jumped away as Abby apologized for stepping on his feet. Alicent sucked in her lips to hold in a laugh as Abby glared at him, snipping at him, “You are ridiculous.” Alicent clapped her hands and the music stopped, bows and curtsies from those gathered before her.

“Thank you, Master Samwell. I think that’s enough for today,” she said, watching Abrogail’s shoulders sag in relief. “You may resume on the morrow. No progress can be made when one is so frustrated.” She watched the girl open her mouth and then shut it quickly, eyes downcast. As the minstrels gathered their instruments, Alicent released her brother and approached the pair. Aegon had moved closer to Abrogail, curling a long, red curl around his finger.

Whatever her son was saying to her, Alicent could not hear, but she took the time to appreciate their closeness in a way she had not allowed herself to before. They had behaved themselves admirably in the weeks of festivities. Even as jealousy curled in her gut from the shattered dreams of her girlhood, the worries that had plagued Alicent’s days had eased as she saw how well they had gotten on, how favorably many in the realm looked upon them. Many had come to her, speaking highly of the match, how clear the pair were fond of one another.

How rare that very thing was in so many unions across the realm.

Alicent feared. She feared from the moment her eyes opened to past the time her eyes closed, feared for the safety of her children, and their happiness, unfairly, she knew, was not at the top of her concerns. To know that this might keep her son safe, to know that for the first time in years too many to count on her own hands, her son looked happy…

“I am half convinced the dance only makes sense to those with Valyrian blood,” Alicent said, a small smile crossing her face as she attempted to reassure her cousin. Abrogail’s features scrunched up uncertainty.

“Should we also not do a Riverlands dance as well?” The uncertainty left her, a small curl of a mischievous smile crossed the girl’s face as she eyed Aegon. “I’d like to see how well you perform that.”

Alicent pursed her lips at her son’s indignant look. Abrogail was not pregnant, there had been no scandals, no whispers. Whatever the girl had done to influence her son appeared to be working, the words she had said in such anger had taken root as Alicent had hoped. Aegon had thrown himself into good presentation, regardless of whatever dalliances her son had engaged in with Lady Cassandra.

“You are marrying a Targaryen, and with that comes certain expectations and obligations,” Alicent said carefully, her fingers running along the deep sleeves of her deep green gown, fingers tracing along the golden embroidery of the cuffs. “The might of the Targaryen House will be on display.” The girl nodded, eyes averted respectfully and Alicent watched her son continue to wind one of the long, red curls around his finger. He tugged on it, drawing her attention.

Alicent looked away to watch the minstrels leave the hall, the door closing with a soft thud behind them, the ladies continuing to work on their sewing. “Your brother is not here? Nor Helaena?”

“Daeron is with Helaena in the gardens. He has no interest in dancing,” Aegon rolled his eyes as Gwayne did. “He’s twelve.”

“Aemond is in the training yard with Ser Criston,” came Abrogail’s soft addition, reaching up to bat Aegon’s hand away from her hair. “He’s training for the wedding tourney.”

Aegon snorted. “Even though he complains how tourneys are nothing to real war.”

“Do not think you’ll escape the training yard with me,” Gwayne teased him. “Just be grateful I won’t have you out at sunup, given your newlywed status.”

Abrogail flushed. “Is-is everything alright, your Grace? Did something happen?” Aegon’s eyes swiveled curiously from the girl to her and Alicent smoothed her hands over her skirt.

“We would announce it at dinner, but I had hoped to speak to Floris.” she shook her head. “Lord Borros has agreed to the betrothal between Aemond and her. Obviously not for a few years - she is only a girl, but it will at least give time for her and Aemond to get to know one another.”

‘You had been only a girl’, Alicent thought. It was why she had fought so hard against her father to wait just a little longer before betrothing Aegon and Abrogail. To give the girl more time, the way her mother would have wanted, the way that it had not been afforded to her. She would do what she could for Floris.

And hopefully give Aemond time to come around to the idea.

Alicent sighed. Hopefully, her second son would be in a more receptive mood after hours having Ser Criston exhaust him with drills. “I shall go find your brother and hopefully catch him before he flees for Vhagar. Floris will be easy enough to speak to, if her sister hasn’t found her already.” She reached out, stroking Aegon’s hair, pushing the silver strands out of his eyes. The way he stiffened did not go unnoticed, and her heart ached with guilt. Her hand dropped, her smile tight and Aegon gave her a slight bow, Abrogail bobbing her own curtsy, a murmured ‘Your Grace’ whisper soft.

The moment Jace saw Aemond dominating the training yard, he felt his stomach drop and promptly went right and through the tunnel towards the gardens. While things with his uncle had been only filled with tension, Jace knew when to pick his battles and that was one he did not need to dive into.

The terraced gardens of King’s Landing featured in some of his earliest memories, when things were simpler, when the animosity and the tension hadn’t suffocated them all. In the gardens, the rest of the world fell away, much like how he felt when he rode Vermax, his jade wings skimming the waves of the sea, the salt wind in his face. The suffocating stench of King’s Landing was not so bad here, and while one was never alone - too many servants, too many lingering lords and ladies, all to ever truly be hidden - it was still a reprieve and Jace made his way down to the third terrace where the fountains were. With the fountains were mud, and he knew that Helaena would be there with her jar to dig up little things to feed her collection.

The first thing Jace heard was the laughter of children, and he spied Floris Baratheon swinging a stick rather aggressively at Daeron, whose eyes were wide in shock at the battle cry she let out. A grin broke out across his face as he gathered himself, and swung his stick back with equal fervor. Baela’s ladies - minus his step-sister who was still at High Tide - were gathered on the stone terrace along with Helaena’s new lady, eating cakes and gossiping.

Helaena herself crouched beside some of the large stones, a jar beside her as she rolled over one of the stones. Her hair was bound in a simple silver braid hung over one shoulder, her deep green gown embroidered with silver moths turned muddy and damp from the wet ground. Jace watched her pick a worm from where it clung to the stone and set it carefully away.

“Fish with feathered fins,” she said as Jace approached and he noticed her gaze was focused on her work, fingers twitching, the words nonsensical. He had not seen the expression on her face in years, had thought, mayhaps, her moments had abated over time as she grew older.

It was not the case. It was not something the princess had grown out of, and he remembered with clarity of a frantic, sobbing fit she’d had when they were children. Helaena was meant to be handled gently - Jace remembered his mother saying as much when they were young, not long after Daeron had been born. He should treat Helaena kindly, and respect when she did not want to be touched, and be mindful of loud noises. And so he did, stern with Luke when he would screech in excitement or indignation, snap at Aegon when he raised his voice. It had been the two of them playing in the halls of the Red Keep, playing a game of hide and seek, and he’d found Helaena, frozen in the hallway to his mother’s room, tears streaking down her face, clutching something to her. It had been nothing, but she would not drop her arms, and not knowing what to do, Jace had gotten his mother. Belly round with Joffrey, she’d come out, concern etched on her features and together they sat on the ground with Helaena, his mother not touching her but speaking to her in calm tones.

“The rats, the rats, the rats are coming,” Helaena had whispered in a frantic mantra.

“The rats will not hurt you, hāedus. I will go to Lord Lyonel and we will ensure there are more ratcatchers employed. I promise.” His mother said firmly and clearly, not dismissing the concern, her gaze towards him.

“And if we find a rat, we will get Abby’s cat to help catch them,” Jace had promised with a nod.

She was not crying here. She was distant from the world around them, and focused on something that wasn’t the little bugs she was dropping into the jar. Helaena was so far away and Jace kneeled beside her. The ground was wet and cold and promptly began soaking into the wool of his trousers. He ignored the uncomfortable sensation and remained beside her, curls in his eyes and reached for the scurrying little bugs to drop in the jar.

“Fish with feathered fins and storms of ivy,” she whispered. “Not that one. The red ones get ignored.”

Jace started when he realized she had addressed him in the middle of her whispers and dropped the red pill bug back onto the soft earth. It eagerly burrowed back into the soil, vanishing without a trace.

“Shall we find you a fish with feathered fins?” he asked her softly, a slight jest in his voice as he attempted to draw her back into the present moment. Helaena did not reply to him but shifted the jar better between them and he went about pulling up the next large stone to pull the bugs from beneath it.

“Promises shatter in ice,” Helaena said.

“What?”

Heleana drew back to sit on her heels, the rock falling back in place and her hands covered in mud. Her gaze appeared to fix on them and Jace watched her quietly, the sounds of Daeron and Floris’ laughter filling the garden. It felt ominous to him, the feeling rushing in like water behind a broken dam.

Tentatively, Jace lifted a hand to rest on her shoulder. “Helaena, come back to me,” he urged gently, thumb stroking against the soft wool. “You’re going somewhere and I haven’t any idea how to follow you.” He would if he could, for he knew that whatever plagued Helaea was a frightening place that she should not traverse alone, even tethered to Dreamfyre as she was.

All he could do was reach for her, and hope that she heard him.

Helaena slowly blinked, as if the act itself was something she had to remind herself or force herself to do. Jace swallowed and chanced a glance over his shoulder. Daeron and Floris were still chasing one another with their sticks, and the ladies were occupied with their chatting. He frowned with an uncertain feeling. Should her ladies not be attending her? Or did they think it best to leave her be? A sharp inhale of breath drew his focus back to Helaena. She pulled away awkwardly, hands fluttering and fingers flexing.

“I…” Helaena looked lost, confused, and she stared at him but did not meet his eyes, mouth opening and closing, words unable to escape her. Jace shook his head and kept his hand to himself in her clarity of not wanting the touch.

“You’re alright. You’re safe here.”

“Helaena?”

Abrogail’s voice carried past the hedge and she came around the bed, mouth tight, gripping tightly to Wylla Karstark’s hand. The dark haired woman looked pale, face tense as she followed.

“See?” Jace said, hoping it would comfort the princess. “Abrogail’s here.” Would that help? He felt impotent, helpless, useless in the worst possible way.

Abrogail and Wylla dropped to the other side of Helaena, the mud and damp soaking into the hems of their skirts. “How long has she been like this?” Abrogail asked, voice quiet but firm, blue eyes searching the princess’ face before looking at him.

“Since before I came.” Abrogail reached for one of Helaena’s hands, spreading her fingers out and gently stroking each of them to keep them from bending back into the anxious claws they had been. The ease of the motion spoke to how often they’d done it, Abrogail pressing her thumb gently into Helaena’s palm to ease the rigidity.

“Helaena? What is the matter?” Abrogail leaned in and Helaena did not meet her gaze but drew back, pulling her hand away and clutching both to her chest. A sound escaped her throat, small, a growl perhaps? Or a whimper? Helaena’s silver braid swung and she sharply changed direction, shifting to her knees to grab Wylla’s hand.

“Silence doesn’t mean the grave,” Helaena hissed. Wylla’s gray eyes were wide, brow furrowed in confusion as Helaena leaned in, pinning Wylla in place like a moth on one of her boards. Jace could see how tightly she gripped the other’s hand.

“Your Grace?” Wylla whispered and Helaena grabbed her now with both hands, shaking her head. Abrogail met Jace’s eyes, confused, before her gaze went to the ladies sitting on the terrace. The confusion turned to incredulity.

“Have they been sitting here this whole time?” she asked him in a calm voice, and the familiarity of it hit him in the chest. Her voice was calm, but there was nothing calm in the words. There was a quiet anger simmering beneath those words, brightening her gaze, and it reminded him so much of Ser Harwin that it took his breath away. Gentle and fierce.

Jace knew immediately that she meant, and he felt his own jaw tick as his understanding of the situation shifted. He nodded, holding her gaze, feeling a tempest inside of his chest. “I’ll stay here,” he promised and Abrogail’s gaze softened along the edges, her hand reaching out as if she meant to cup his cheek before she stopped herself. Hand still in the air, her fingers curled and with another nod, she gathered herself up to do whatever it was she meant to do.

“Don’t.”

Abrogail stilled, awkwardly half standing, Helaena’s fingers gripping her wrist. “What?”

The princess dropped a hand from Wylla to reach for Abrogail’s wrist. “Don’t,” she repeated, her head tilting, her mouth pursed in annoyance. “Don’t do that.”

“But, Helaena-”

Helaena yanked Abrogail’s arm hard enough that the unbalanced girl toppled over with a wet slap and Abrogail grimaced as the mud and wet soaked into her more uncomfortably. “They are supposed to be tending you.”

“And they are. I sent Margaery away before Jace came by.” Helaena sounded more exasperated than the annoyance that filled her actions and she gestured for Jace to hand her the jar of bugs. “You mustn’t lecture them.”

“I-” Helaena gave her a look and Abrogail shut her mouth, chastened. “I’m sorry.” In the quiet after the words, Daeron gave a shout and Jace saw him hit the ground hard, his stick sword flung out of his hand as Floris Baratheon stood over him, her own sword pointing right into his face. The ladies cheered and clapped for Floris, and offered their sympathies to Daeron. Helaena huffed and let go of Abrogail’s wrist.

“Jace was here and I was fine. Thank you, Jacaerys.” His cheeks flushed beneath her unblinking gaze, chest warm, even as the confusion of what had all happened still stormed inside of him. “He came exactly when I needed. Not too early, nor too late. I am capable of expressing my own needs.” Abrogail flushed for different reasons, fingers twisting. “What is it?”

Abrogail looked to Wylla. “The queen came to our dancing lessons-”

“Was it about how you keep stepping on Aegon’s feet?”

“I didn’t step - No!” Abrogail’s nose wrinkled with annoyance. “‘Tis not my fault dances are so complicated and that my feet do not behave. No.” A deep breath, another look, this time in the direction of Floris and Daeron. “She said that Aemond and Floris are now betrothed, she was going to find Aemond and then you.”

The silence held. Then, “Even though Wylla and Aemond have been kissing everywhere?” Helaena asked.

“But she’s eleven,” Jace protested.

The words hung in the air while it was Wylla’s turns for her cheeks to flush and Abrogail to stare at her. Jace also looked at her, surprised that Lady Wylla would even want to voluntarily get that close to Aemond, let alone kiss him.

“You’ve been kissing Aemond? And you didn’t tell me?” Abrogail’s incredulous voice was hushed so as not to pull the attention of the others.

Wylla shrugged helplessly. “It hasn’t been everywhere,” she muttered beneath the attention. “And this isn’t the point. I…” Wylla shook her head. “Prince Jacaerys is right, Floris is a little girl, does she mean to send them both to Storm’s End?”

“At least it isn’t Cassandra,” Helaena said with a frown. “No, they will not be sent to Storm’s End. Floris is my ward. She will stay with me for as long as I can keep her.” A sigh. “Floris has many years before she is to be married. Who's to say the betrothal will even last?”

Wylla looked uncertain. “You sound sure of yourself.”

Helaena looked at her. “I’m not. But Lord Borros is feckless and mercurial, he may change his mind if it means he cannot betroth Cassandra, or if he has a son.” Jace did not know if those were truly Helaena’s opinions on the matter, or if she was mimicking what her mother had said.

“Can you not break it as you did yours?” Abrogail asked. Helaena shook her head.

“Breaking my betrothal to Aegon should never have worked, and it was because our grandfather already found it distasteful that he convinced our father to break it on the eventual promise that Aemond and I might marry, and that also isn’t happening. Obviously.”

The look on Wylla’s face was one of confused near-disgust, one that Jace had seen in many outside of their family. Most found it objectionable to imagine kissing their own siblings, and Jace himself could not imagine kissing Luke if his brother had been born a girl, so he perhaps understood that.

Besides, none would find it strange if Helaena was only his cousin, for the blood they shared was the same in that regard.

“Floris will not mind if you keep kissing Aemond, Wylla, do not fear that,” Helaena continued, tightening the lid on her jar.

Wylla sputtered, glaring at Helaena. “Respectfully, Helaena,” she said, not even giving her the proper title, and Helaena looked up from her jar. “I do mind. I will not be some paramour, or continue some ill-fated dalliance with your brother just because Floris doesn’t mind. Floris is eleven and she deserves to be treated respectfully, not to mention I deserve it. I will not be shamed, or the newest subject for court gossip.” She sniffed, and Jace could not tell if she was trying not to cry, or if she was so angry she could spit. Abrogail rested a hand on Wylla’s back, lower lip caught between her teeth. Helaena shut her mouth, brow furrowed, and looked at her jar of bugs. “If Aemond suggests such a thing, I will cease everything. I will not allow him to do that to me, nor anyone else. I will push him out of a window for such a thing.”

Jace smothered his laugh into a cough at the imagery of such a threat, and had to keep from offering to assist the lady.

Helaena pressed her lips together, a little snort escaping her. “I would like to see that. He does need it sometimes,” she allowed. “I will see what mother says when she comes.” Her fingers drummed against the jar, and still, Helaena did not meet anyone’s eyes, still caught in whatever in between space that plagued her, but her words were more present, and that was truly what mattered.

Sitting there on the cold, wet ground, Jace wondered what his mother would say about all this. He had been sent to King’s Landing not just to serve on grandfather’s small council, but to be her eyes and ears amongst the viper’s nest. Any piece of information, no matter how small, could possibly become crucial to her cause. But as he sat there, Helaena’s hand drifting to rest near him, it felt like a further betrayal to reveal the conversation, even though he had, more or less, been a part of this. It wasn’t as if it had been overheard and none of the women knew he was there. They had none, and spoken openly regardless.

He could put off writing. At least for now.

AND WITH THAT! We are on our way to Harrenhal! I'd love to know what you loved about this chapter, and what you're looking forward to! Any questions or curiosities? ALSO! WE are sooooo taking bets on what (if anything?) is going to go wrong at this epic Westerosi Royal Wedding. And if you aren't sure what to say, drop a dragon emoji in the comments so I know you were here <3 and as always, thank you for being here. I appreciate each and every one of you.

[Next Chapter]

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muffinsin · 11 months ago

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Hi again muffin. Could you do a happy/smutty sequel to some of the angsty s/o died to whatever with them being revived by the cadou as is I remember correctly the sisters were all dead when they turned so it wouldn't be too far past the point for an s/o to be saved using it. Also please with the s/o keeping their memory just happy sisters with safe cadou'ed beloveds murdering anyone who looks at their partners wrong.

Again Thank you.

Hiya! Did I get myself a nickname?👀XP

Actually did something similar here, of the reader being revived and the sisters getting clingy :)

Let’s get into this, we need some happy endings after the angst! :)

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

Bela

She’s head over heels when the cadou implant works and you are brought back to life

Alive. In her arms. Holding her as she holds you. She thought she would never feel it again

She is immensely protective and eager to learn of your new abilities

Also, she barely leaves your side for quite a while. She hopes you don’t mind, though

She is quick to teach you: now it means kill, or be killed

And she will not lose you again

She basks in your warmth, and frankly: is quite flustered around you when you simply have a more powerful aura due to the cadou infecting you

If you grow taller than her due to your transformation, this absolutely is a way to fluster her as well

She’s very eager to learn with you, and support you

Though she is also protective as it comes to your transformation: it’s fresh, and she wants you to be careful. She knows the sensation of feeling unstoppable all too well

She doesn’t want you dying on her purely out of recklessness

If you must feast on blood, she will only bring you the finest. If not, she will ensure you get enough food to sate your hunger

Bela is, aside from being happy you’re back, thrilled at another thing that has been on her mind:

Eternity together

She is so happy to spend the rest of her life with you

She can’t help but get ahead of herself, imagining weddings and such, a future an eternity away of the two of you still together

What is more beautiful than that?

She does not share these thoughts just yet, but is sure to show her love to you every day

In bed, she is absolutely a fan of your enhanced senses and such

More strength to your body? Prepare for her to explore your new limits, bringing orgasm after orgasm or edging for hours until you beg the sweet blonde

To tease you with all the sounds and scents you can hear now-

Her cunt squelching from her wetness,

Her heartbeat quickening,

Her gasps and moans louder and more defined, her own blood pumping

On the submissive side, she absolutely screams in delight when you use your newly acquired strength on her

She is yours, utterly, and you are hers. And everybody who messes with what is hers regrets it bitterly

Every maid glancing at you the wrong way is dragged to the dungeons, never to be seen again

Secretly, she loves when you are possessive/protective and harm, or even murder those looking at her wrong or with a little too much desire

Every intruder who dares come into the castle is slain. Should you not be grossed out by this, she will bathe in their blood with you

Cassandra

The first thing you feel upon waking up, is Cassandra’s weight against you, her arms tightly around you

“How dare you make me worry about you!”

She’s emotional and she hates it. She absolutely will not show you that she has been crying, instead opts for hiding in your neck

You smell different- it excites her, and she immediately asks for a taste

She can’t help it, really

The cadou enriches your blood further. She’s already loved it, but now? She’s shamelessly moaning into your head every single time she has a taste. It tastes so good, and can really get her going

She will not stray from your side for a while, and is eager to test out your new abilities as soon as possible

If you require blood, she is even more thrilled

This means you get to hunt with her!

Cassandra is by no means sappy or a romantic, cheesy lover, but hunting together? It’s the utter definition of romance to her

She loves the mere thought of it, and must hold back from immediately dragging you outside to do so

Upon hunting together, she feels so many things. Pride, eagerness, arousal

It turns her on endlessly to watch you kill and she will need relief- fast and hard, against a tree or on the ground even- she cannot wait until you return to the castle

Aside from this, she is so proud to have an infected lover

She doesn’t want to lose you to mortality. Never. It’s one less thing to worry about

Cassandra will often ask you to join her in the dungeons

She will only pout as normal if you refuse, and ask for extra time spent together later on,

Should you join, the brunette will ramble on and teach you all her ways

Together, you explore your mutation

Cassandra enjoys blood baths and will often ask you to join now that you are infected- it’s so good for your skin, she agues. You’re unsure if this is true or just something she says to lure you into the large pool of blood

Daniela

She pounces on you at the first possible chance, giggling happily

You’ve only been dead for a short while, until the cadou set in, but still…

Your little love bug missed you dearly!

She grins and kisses you, then draws back in surprise at your changed scent and taste

She likes it!

She’s so giddy and clingy, and especially enthusiastic when she finds out about your enhanced strength and senses

This redheaded fly-mutant will insist you carry her the majority of the time of your first few days back

She still loves being carried afterwards, of course, and will often ask you to do so

She immediately serves you the finest of foods- everything, unsure of what your taste will be like

Will you be like her family? Craving blood?

She’ll have bowls and glasses prepared with the finest one, picked by her and (don’t tell😬) stolen from her Mother’s personal collection

Or will you be like Lord Heisenberg and Beneviento and prefer food as you’ve had it?

Not an issue! She’s brought you the finest meals from the duke that even have her stomach growl

She’s excited to see you be more enduring now

She can finally play a little more rough with you!

Of course, she will also be quite emotional for a while, and extremely protective

Have you been killed by a lycan, she will offer you to go for revenge. She knows a small lycan camp just in the forest near the castle…

She wants to show you the mutts haven’t got anything on you anymore. They’re prey, if anything.

She likes to taunt them with her sister and wants to show you they’re no threat anymore

In bed, she is absolutely thrilled to try out new things

Your strength for one. She urges you to take it out on her- she knows she can take it, and is eager to

She wants to feel your hand slapping against her ass cheeks and wants to howl in pain from the amount of force used

Eagerly, she asks you for the same treatment with a strap on/when filling her

She is delighted to explore your body again, over and over again, and is tempted to brat even more than she does at times, eager for punishments

When someone glances at you for too long, she immediately snaps

You’re hers! They have no business looking at you. Perhaps, it would be more merciful to send her poor victim to the cellar once she’s done with them…

When she notices you kill or harm for her, she is flustered. She thinks it’s romantic, unsurprisingly. She’s always wanted a little unhinged monster all to herself! For this to be partly implemented in your personality due to the cadou is exciting to her

She knows, for eternity, you will always have each other. As she likes to say:

You’ll be together, forever

#cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #resident evil village

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imdoingaokay · 2 years ago

Text

R!Companions If The Inquisitor Dies

(A/N) I like angst. Sowwy.

I’m a Cullen girlie so I started thinking of what he would be like if his Inky died and… I made this.

Also, I want to say that, without The Inquisitor, I genuinely don’t think The Inquisition would last that long. And I don’t think it’s because The Inquisition would lack leadership or anything, I think it would lack the draw or the figurehead that would garner the support needed to maintain it. So it’s kind of implied that the Inquisition disbands.

It is also implied that this all takes place a while after Corypheus is defeated… Except for Solas’ part (hehehehe)

TW: Death, descriptions of death, burning and burying (idk maybe you’re claustrophobic), and more sadness.

Major Spoilers

Sorry again, love you pookie bear

Blackwall/Thom Rainer: Blackwall watches The Inquisitor fall, he tried to shield them, but it all happened too fast, far too fast for him to realize what was happening. He’s rushing over to his friend as fast as possible as if that’ll prevent them from dying, but once he sees how limp The Inquisitor is, even he knows that his friend is dead.

His only comfort is that their death was quick and hopefully, painless. He’ll throw himself into the drink for a little while. Just for the period of time right before and after The Inquisitor’s funeral. Afterward, he stays with The Inquisition for some time. He does what he can, making the adjustment.

He leaves much later, whether to the custody of the Grey Wardens or himself, but he never forgets his friend, never forgets what they did for him.

Romanced, he’s rushing over to his lover, scooping them up in his arms while he pulls them away. He begs them to open their eyes and pleads with the Maker to not take them away… not yet. But when the battle is over, and the rest of the party sees Rainer and The Inquisitor, it’s obvious that their friend and his lover his gone.

He drinks for a bit longer than he would if he was just a friend, and is less able to help around Skyhold. With what little he is doing, he feels like a coward, but he simply can’t will himself to get up and help.

Eventually, he’ll leave like he would before, but as he watches them burn or bury his lover’s body, he realizes that a part of him will be locked away in his lover. He’ll still be him, but he’ll be unable to show the same love and devotion to anyone else.

Cassandra: Cassandra is immediately slicing the bastard who killed her friend, and with a quick swipe of her blade, the offender is gone. She still turns to her friend and attempts to wake them, but after feeling for their pulse, even she realizes that her friend is dead. She solemnly waits for the rest of the group to gather around and help her transport her friend's body back to Skyhold, as is most likely the one sending the letter to Leliana of the Inquisitor’s death. Initially, she thinks of taking the role of Inquisitor, only to immediately reject the idea. However, she continues to work tirelessly to help the rest of The Inquisition deal with the death of their leader, but it’s hard. She also tries to help the lover of The Inquisitor, but even though she tries, she can’t seem to find the right words to comfort them. She’s struggling too, The Inquisitor was her friend as well.

Romanced, she’s immediately dragging her lover away, crying out for them, but even she has to accept that she has lost another lover.

She does everything she would if the pair wasn’t together, but she officially swears off love. No one else can measure up to Regalyan or her Inquisitor. And with her focus now on the Seekers and The Inquisition, Cassandra finds herself unable to focus on things like love.

Cole: He knows immediately that The Inquisitor is gone. It doesn’t help, of course. All he does is shout for his friend, but once the battle dies down, Cole watches the rest of the group gather around the motionless Inquisitor. Cole whispers that their friend is dead, which potentially leads to some angry words being thrown at him, depending on who is present.

He stays around Skyhold, mostly helping those who grieve The Inquisitor. He spends most of his time with The Inquisitor’s love interest if they had one. He finds his efforts fruitful, as some of those he attempts to help accept it far easier than some. But the ones that don’t accept his help, Cole knows they need it the most. So he sends others to help instead, people willing to talk to them, and comfort them. Part of him feels The Inquisitor’s spirit from far away, and he hopes they aren’t too upset with his antics.

He’s just trying to help, after all. Kind of like The Inquisitor.

Cullen Rutherford: He hears about it right after Leliana, a letter attached to a bird flies through the hole in his roof and down the ladder right to his desk. He absentmindedly opens the letter, where he reads frantic, scrawled words that culminate in some of the most dreadful words he’d ever read.

“The Inquisitor is dead.”

He rushes over to Leliana, who is already speaking to Josephine, and all three retreat to the War Room where they begin to discuss what the next steps are. Cullen does his best to put on a brave face, he does what he can to provide some sense of stability, but he’d be a liar if he wasn’t struggling himself. The Inquisitor seemed so… invincible, so strong, how were they able to survive so much and then just… die? It didn’t make any sense.

The most Cullen is able to do is send a prayer to Andraste, asking her to give The Inquisitor a safe journey to The Golden City, they deserved that much.

Eventually, Cullen will head home, to his siblings in South Reach, where they will accept him with open arms. Cullen continues to live on, spending time with his family, teaching his nephew chess, and sending letters to his friends in The Inquisition. He sets up a clinic for former templars and even gets a Mabari down the line.

But most importantly, he keeps on living.

Romanced, he was just thinking about them. He was sitting at his desk, musing over some paperwork while his mind drifted to a few days ago. He was laying in bed with his lover, while they clung to his chest, asking for reasons not to leave on this trip. He had laughed, petting their hair gently as he said “You have to go, my love.”

He watched them sigh and get up, their hand still lingering on his arm, “I love you” they had whispered.

“I love you t-”

“Cullen.” He heard, Leliana standing in front of his desk. He smiled for a moment, about to greet her, but her furrowed eyebrows and deepened frown told her there was nothing to smile about. Her next words were careful and gentle, but still, they got their point across. “I’m afraid that The Inquisitor perished in the ensuing battle.” She said, watching Cullen’s face morph into something unexplainable. He furrowed his own brown and opened his mouth as if he was about to ask what kind of joke this was, but as he saw the painfully sympathetic look on Leliana’s face, he knew.

He moved so suddenly his chair fell backward, he could barely look at the desk where he and his lover had-

“We need to discuss… the next steps…” Cullen shook his head, his breathing becoming rapid, all he could hear was his own heartbeat, that and the singing of…

“Perhaps we should-” Leliana began, only to watch Cullen pass by her. But with every step he took, he felt his legs slowly become heavier and heavier until he all but collapsed on the bridge that connected the battlements to the rotunda. Leliana quickly followed after him, attempting to comfort him. His head hurts, and he can’t seem to stop hearing the agonizing sound of the lyrium, calling out to him.

Somehow he gets into his bed, unable to work for the rest of the day. When his lover’s body comes back from wherever they were sent, he’s in a bit of a better place. Maker, it crushes him if he sees that they were still holding onto his coin. He prays that they won’t go too far, that they’ll wait for him on the other side, and that somehow, they’ll be there when he dies. He begs them not to go too far, that he’ll be with them soon, that he loves them, and he’ll never forget them.

It takes more time, but eventually, he finds himself back in South Reach, where he opens a clinic for templars and lives his life. But even then, he waits for the day when he dies, the day he can finally see his lover again.

Until then, he’ll keep living.

Dorian Pavus: Shoots the bastard as soon as he sees his friend fall. Dorian surrounds The Inquisitor with a shield and tries to feel for a pulse. But their body is still and limp, Dorian knows what has happened.

He attends the funeral, out of respect, and out of a sense of loyalty. But he can’t bear to watch the body be buried or burned, Maker he can’t watch. He’ll leave, deciding to focus his energy on Tevinter rather than The Inquisition, which is something he planned, but he had wished he would have more time before he had to return. He misses his friend every day and hopes that whatever afterlife they’re in, if they are in one, hopefully, they’ll save him a seat and a glass of wine for when he eventually kicks the bucket.

Romanced, he cries out, rushing over to his lover. He’s in denial as he tries to heal his Amatus, begging them to open their eyes. He pleads with the Maker, begging them to take him instead. He gets angry right after, angrily shouting at them “Why didn’t you get away? Why didn’t you run to me?” He has to be pulled off, has to be taken away from his lover’s body, as he begins to sob into his lover’s armor. It’s painful to watch, but nothing more painful than what Dorian feels.

As his lover’s funeral draw near, he throws himself into wine. And intends to drink himself to death, but then he gets sent a letter from another Magister, Maevaris.

He tells himself that he’ll keep living, at least, for The Inquisitor’s sake. But he’ll never love again, because he’s too busy, and because no other man will ever be the same as his Inquisitor.

Iron Bull: He shouts for his friend immediately, destroying the poor sod who killed The Inquisitor before they can desecrate the body further. Bull has seen many, many dead bodies, but he never imagined one day seeing The Inquisitor. Of course, he’s imagined the necessary steps of subduing The Inquisitor if they ever tried to betray him out of nowhere, but he would never imagine them like this.

He attends the funeral of The Inquisitor and tries to figure out what the next step is for him, for The Chargers.

He’ll leave eventually, as his place was by The Inquisitor, but with them gone, there’s no need for him or his crew. He goes out drinking with The Chargers before they leave Skyhold, and he invites the rest of the inner circle, encouraging them to tell stories of The Inquisitor’s antics. It turns into a more pleasant night than anyone expected. When he leaves, he hopes that he left the rest of his friends with more positive memories than sad ones.

Romanced, all he can get out is a weak “kadan?”

He doesn’t cry, not yet, not here. He waits until he’s back in Skyhold, where he sits in the tavern, unable to stop thinking about the way his lover fell, the way their hair looked, their mouth, their eyes… Maker, their eyes. All of a sudden, he feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up, seeing Krem. It’s a simple “You okay, boss?” But that’s all it takes for Bull to let lose a torrent of tears. He clings so tightly to the dragon tooth necklace his lover gave him that he thinks he might break it. Krem and the rest of The Chargers comfort their leader the best they can, but everyone realizes that there isn’t much that can be done, as the love Bull held for his Inquisitor was far deeper than he ever described up until that moment. But The Chargers will be there for him. It’s Krem that makes the comment that The Inquisitor isn’t really gone, as the dragon tooth still is with Bull,

“Which means something, doesn’t it Boss?”

Bull can’t help but agree, Krem’s right. The Inquisitor hasn’t left him, and he hasn’t left them either. Even when he leaves Skyhold with the rest of The Chargers, he hasn’t left them. They’re always together.

Josephine Montilyet: Josephine has the heavy task of informing the general public and the nobles of the Inquisitor’s death. Her friend’s death hurt, but she was relieved that her amount of work seemed to distract her from the heavy amount of pain she felt. She’ll leave eventually, but not without saying goodbye to her friend during their funeral. She ends up back in Antiva, working to see that her family’s business is upheld, especially after all the work her friend had put into helping her restore her family’s fortune. Platonically, she takes The Inquisitor’s death the best out of everyone but it also helps that she wasn’t present for her friend's death in the first place.

Romanced, she was not expecting it. She was minding her own business, scribbling down a letter for some high-ranking noble in Ferelden. Then all of a sudden, Leliana walks in, solemn and quiet. Leliana allows Josephine to send her a letter before Leliana asks Josephine to take a walk with her. After all, Leliana thinks her friend deserves some privacy before she hears the news. So Leliana ushers an oblivious Josephine into the War Room, where Cullen was already waiting.

Everyone could hear Josephine’s anguished cries from any corner of Skyhold. Josephine clings to Leliana, unable to support her weight as her mind tries to picture her lover in various different positions. Her mind immediately goes to what she will say to the nobility, to the chantry, but Leliana hushes her diplomat, claiming that she’ll take care of it. Josephine doesn’t want her to, but she can’t seem to get out any words in between her sobs.

She moves back to Antiva fairly soon, once all is taken care of. She begins to focus more so on her family and their trading business, potentially using this as an excuse to avoid any marriage proposals given by other nobles.

Leliana: Aside from those in the direct party, Leliana is the first to find out. She’s the one to tell Josephine, Cullen, and the many soldiers and spies under her. She prefers to be the person who tells The Inquisitor’s lover if they don’t already know, and she watches them crumble or slowly slink away, unable to truly cope with the news.

She spends time praying, asking why The Maker would take someone like The Inquisitor away when the world still needed them.

If Hardened, she realizes she will get no answer, and furiously draws away from The Maker, deciding to spend less time praying and more time doing, as The Maker has yet to hear her pleas so far.

Softened, she’s more kind to herself, she believes that The Maker must’ve taken The Inquisitor back because it was just their time, that it had to be, some good reason… that’s why Leliana has lost someone yet again… That has to be it.

Sera: Watching Inky crumple has her tearing her attention away from whatever they’re fighting. She calls out for help, and attempts to wake her friend, but to no avail. As the battle dies down, she watches as the rest of her friends gather around her. Sera’s confused, after all, The Inquisitor isn’t supposed to die. Not yet. They’ve survived so much! Haven, nobles, that dragon… how… how do they just… die?

She cries at camp, after hiding from everyone else. She feels ashamed of her tears, it takes the sight of someone like Blackwall or Varric to cry for her to feel less bad about her tears. And even then, she still hides them away.

She doesn’t stay in Skyhold for long, unable to attend her friend’s funeral. She believes it’s stupid to hold a funeral for someone when there’s work to be done, so she leaves. She gets back to work as a Red Jenny and never looks back.

Romanced, she cries out. She shakes them, kisses their face, anything to get them to wake. For one moment, she wishes she had magic to heal the wounds her lover had. It’ll take at least two people to drag her away from her Inky, and even then, she’s kicking and screaming. She’s reminded of her dreams where she watches her lover die, she’s reminded of her Inky kissing her cheek and saying in such a stupid voice “I’m not going anywhere”

That stupid liar! That stupid, perfect liar! Why would they lie to her? Why would they say they would never leave when there they were, gone?

She stays for the funeral before leaving, she thinks her lover deserves that much. But even then, she’s only there to say goodbye, which she doesn’t even say. It’s more of a “see you soon” if anything. She carries the memory of her lover with her, which is good enough for her.

Solas: Solas watches his friend stumble, Corypheus was recently killed, the orb destroyed, and his friend… who weakly falls to the ground. He’s torn between leaving and staying. On one hand, if he leaves, he’ll avoid the tormented look of agony The Inquisitor’s friends and lovers will hold. But they might also think that he was the one who killed them. But Solas can’t bring himself to leave, so he goes to his friend’s side. They’re gone by the time he catches them, and Solas quietly wishes that The Inquisitor didn’t have to die. He watches his friend’s inner circle climb the stairs and listens to the heartbreak that follows. While his friend’s body is carried away, Solas slips away and disappears, in hopes nobody will care or notice he’s gone. He continues his quest to tear down the veil, and with seemingly nobody to stop him, he seems to be well on his way.

Romanced, he rushes immediately to his lover’s side, but the moment he reaches them, his Inquisitor is gone. It isn’t relieving, watching his ex-lover die, the one person he expected to keep him tethered to the idea that this world may still deserve a chance. He leaves once the body is carried away, and continues his journey, but he is so much sadder. Because, at least if his vhenan was still alive, he could see them in his dreams. Now, all that he sees is their body, as if the spirits of the fade are taunting him with his failures. He hopes, in a way, that he’ll come across his lover’s spirit somewhere, so he can apologize, so can confess everything. But with the vastness of the fade, with the low probability of it all, Solas comes to the conclusion that perhaps he doesn’t deserve such closure, he just wished he could give that to his vhenan instead.

Varric Tethras: He doesn’t realize they're dead at first, focusing more on the hordes of enemies he’s dealing with. He shouts out that The Inquisitor is down, but that’s about it. Eventually, when the last of their enemies are taken down, Varric gets a chance to realize what the fuss is all about. When he hears the suffering cries of friends or potentially a lover, Varric realizes what happened. He hangs his head and lets out a quiet “shit” before turning away, unable to look.

He sticks around Skyhold, helping the Inquisition the best he can before he sees he’s overstayed his welcome, which is when he returns to Kirkwall. Every once in a while, he gets reminded of The Inquisitor’s death, and how… maybe if he had noticed faster, they would still be around.

Romanced, he notices much faster. Previously, he had made a joke that he was actually unable to take his eyes off of his lover, so watching them crumple in the middle of the battle really caught his attention. After a few bolts from Bianca, he rushes over to attempt to revive his lover. Once it registers that his invincible Inquisitor is dead, he’s struck with a terrible feeling of helplessness. He holds them tightly and gives a quick prayer to Andraste or the Creators, someone who could potentially save them. But as his friends gather around him, even Varric has to come to grips with reality.

He’s more introspective in the coming days, staying close to his lover’s body as if he’s waiting for them to spring up and claim some elaborate prank. But as their body burns or is covered by layers of dirt, he accepts that it’s over.

He’ll never really get over the person that helped him move on from Bianca, the person that made him feel like he was the best version of himself. And he’s okay with that. So he just does what’s needed. As with the friendship route, he’ll stick around for a little while, and then return to Kirkwall. But every day that passes, until death finally takes him, he’ll wish for the comfort of his lover, his Inquisitor, once more.

Vivienne: She watches The Inquisitor fall, and quickly rushes over to them. A ward here, a healing spell there, she attempts to revive her colleague, but when she checks for a pulse and feels nothing, she sees that her efforts were for nothing.

Vivienne is a great help to Skyhold and whoever The Inquisitor’s lover is, even Sera finds Vivienne around to kindly help her through her grief. Vivienne also helps The Inquisition during its more vulnerable stage of healing after The Inquisitor’s death. Once she believed her work was done, she’d eventually return to the fancy courts of Orlais, but not without being prepared to defend the late Inquisitor if anyone dare disgrace their name.

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intriq · 1 year ago

Text

Midnight

warnings: mentions blood, death, little bit of fighting, depression, mentions of guns/getting shot, etc etc NO USE OF Y/N

Part 2 of Little Moon

Part 1, part 2, part 3

Word Count: 5.7k words

Authors discussion n shizzle:

Hi y’all sorry this took so long to do. But it’s here and I’m happy and it’s long as FUCK.

Like it’s twice as long as part 1, and it’s so bad everyone voted I break this up into a 3rd part so like, yea

I’m publishing this while the 2 yr old I’m babysitting is down fr his nap so like woooo

I’d like to thank my beta readers n co owners of Little Moon for reading this shit (I’m sorry if u cried): my bestie aka @deaths-favorite-star , terra, Apollo (Taylor swift and bat brat versions), bri, and lilac

mostly cus without them this wouldn’t even be possible/done lol

let’s get on w this shall we? Hope you all enjoy <3

❉ ╤╤╤╤ ✿ ╤╤╤╤ ❉

Months have passed since your death.

In those months the children of Bruce Wayne, whether adopted or biological, grieve. All of them mourned you.

There are seldom times your grave is without fresh flowers or some sort of visitor, who either sits in silence or just talks to the headstone in a conversation that they know they’ll never get your input on again.

Your bedroom is in the same state of familiarity, too.

On some days, Alfred has to force Bruce to get out of bed or to even come home.

No one looks at Alfred quite the same anymore, but no one looks at Alfred with the same disgust as Alfred’s own reflection.

✧✿✧

Since the funeral, family dinners went from being twice a week, to just once.

And then they went to once a month, with Alfred having to just watch as the number of people who attended them dwindled, before eventually they came to a total stop.

✧✿✧

Today is another day of distant and silent mourning, as Alfred stands in his room, looking through pictures of you and Bruce as children.

Down the hallway as Alfred looks at a picture of you on your seventh (7th) birthday, he hears Cassandra softly crying down the hall in your bedroom.

During your birthday that year, when you’d turned seven (7) years old, Alfred remembers how the only thing you’d asked for was a cake. Specifically, you requested that he let you help him bake your birthday cake.

Alfred can’t help but smile, even just slightly, as he remembers how big of a mess you’d made when you had attempted to dump the entire bag of flour into the mixing bowl.

He also can’t help but remember that after a long day of celebrating your birthday, it was the first night since you’d come to live with him and Bruce that you hadn’t woken up once because of a nightmare.

✧✿✧

Alfred had been in Bruce’s study when the news came.

A tray of food in hand, he’d been begging Bruce to eat something. Anything, even if it was just a piece of toast that he hadn’t prepared himself.

“Master Bruce, you haven’t eaten in the past few days. Please, take at least one bite.”

Bruce only raises his head, dark circles under his eyes as he just blankly stares at him. An almost soulless look, one that gives a hollow feeling of emptiness.

Across the desk in Bruce’s study are papers, books, various gadgets in states of disrepair or in the middle of being made, as well as schematics for them that have the occasional ring-shaped coffee stain on them.

“Not now, Alfred. I have things to do,” Is Bruce’s only reply, a hoarse and exhausted sounding tone held within his words.

Alfred’s coming words of protest are silenced by the sounds of an alarm going off. Not too loud but neither too quiet, but just enough to make Alfred go silent.

NEW HUNTER DETECTED

That’s what the screen on Bruce’s computer read.

Various screens pop up on Bruce’s computer, each showing feed from different CCTV cameras of a person moving through Gotham and killing vampires in their wake.

The videos in question had been saved from numerous different days in the past few weeks, all adding up together once there was enough saved to trigger the algorithm that Tim had made. Specifically, it was designed to use the cameras around Gotham to track and keep note of Vampire Hunters and vampire attacks. Made solely to help prevent someone else from suffering the same fate you did.

All to prevent them from having to lose someone else.

Bruce and Alfred watch as the videos play, watching as the new hunter the algorithm had detected took out various vampires across the city of Gotham. But what made Bruce rub the drowsiness from his eyes as he leans forward, peering closer at the numerous video feeds was not because of how they looked.

No, it was because of how they moved.

The way they moved was eerily familiar. The way they moved with such precision that only got better and better with each new video feed that grew to be more recent was what had Bruce holding his breath.

While they had kept you from knowing the world of Vampire Hunting most of your life, they hadn’t let you be completely defenseless.

Which was why it was so eerie to see that the way this person was moving, was by using moves he’d only ever taught you. It was unmistakable, really. Bruce had grown up with you, knew most of the little habits you had. He knew you better than he knew himself sometimes.

Bruce is unsure if he wants to let himself grow delusional about whether or not it was who he thought it was. Should he? Could he? Was it even worth the pain it’d bring by opening up old wounds, to bring back the choking hold of grief?

Bruce can feel Alfred staring at him, because he gets that same feeling of familiarity. But it should be impossible. It couldn’t be possible.

But was it? Could it be?

Alfred sets the tray of food down on Bruce’s desk, taking the opportunity to clean up some of its disorganized mess. But it’s only because he doesn’t want to let his mind wander like Bruce’s is. He already lets it wander far enough when he looks through photo albums and when he sees his face reflected off the tea he drinks in the morning, in the mirror, off the windows, and on the screen of Bruce’s computer.

Bruce doesn’t even acknowledge the tray of food Alfred leaves on his desk, only getting up after receiving a notification on the screen that the new hunter was spotted again. Bruce already felt the idea of who it could be creeping into his mind and clinging there, leaving him wondering. Wanting to know. Needing to know, to get his question answered.

“I’ll be out for a while.”

“Will I expect you back for dinner today, Master Bruce?”

Alfred is only met with silence as Bruce grabs what he needs and heads out the door. Which gives him his answer.

“At least come back unscathed, Master Bruce. I don’t think they want you to join them just yet.”

“Don’t act like you know what they would’ve wanted, Alfred.”

Alfred goes quiet again. He understands, after all. He knows Bruce is still hurting, just like the others are. Alfred was the last person to see you alive, and was the only one there when you drew your last breath. They resent him for that.

But they also can’t look at him the same after knowing that it was because of him that you drew in that last gasp of air, held in his arms in that cold, dirty alley whilst the sun rose in the distance.

What makes it worse was just how often you used to like watching the sun rise. It was often when the others finally returned from their patrols, having spent all night hunting down vampires to make Gotham even just a little safer.

And every time, you’d be there, waiting for them. You’d welcome them home, tend to their injuries, and if they had a particularly rough night you’d even make them something, though it was usually some sort of baked dessert, like cake or cookies. And even though Bruce had a disdain for anything overly sweet, he’d still eat whatever cake you’d baked for him, even if it was so sweet it made him feel nauseous.

But no matter how much of a disdain Bruce had for sweet foods in general, he never could quite turn them down when you made them. You always had a smile with comforting words to follow, all to mask just how truly worried about him you were. Bruce knew that you always wanted, deep down, for him to stop being a vampire hunter. But you knew he couldn’t nor wouldn’t stop, so you always kept quiet about it.

If you weren’t so worried, if Bruce did anything to ease your worries, would you have let him know that you wanted to be walked home that night? He’d seen the unsent text message. Tim showed it to him. It’d been easy for Tim to find, with how unprotected your phone was from hackers and the like. You had deleted the message, and Bruce knew why.

It was because you felt guilty about even thinking of asking for his help. You knew how busy he was saving Gotham from vampires, which meant you could never work up the courage to ask him. He’d already helped you so many times before, and you barely could do anything to help him. Would things be different, Bruce thinks, if he’d texted you to make sure you got home safe instead of focusing on his patrol? Would you still be here, alive and well? Would you be here, saying goodbye to him as he heads out, telling him to stay safe?

Bruce forces the thoughts to shake free from his head as he swiftly departs, not allowing himself to turn around, knowing only that his heart would ache when he doesn’t see you there waiting for him. It’s always hurt, because the first few days he’d always mistakenly hear you calling out for him, sometimes even thinks he’d see you in the corner of his eye.

But whenever he’d turn and look, you weren’t there, and Bruce remembers.

✧✿✧

It takes a few minutes for Bruce to track down the new vampire hunter who’d somehow been able to avoid making Tim’s detection system go off, as it should have alerted Bruce to their presence months ago. The night is cold since autumn is right around the corner, and it reminds Bruce of just how cold that night was when you’d been brought to Wayne manor.

Bruce reminds himself to focus as he follows the new vampire hunter, who moves through Gotham as if they know the place by heart. Which almost seems odd to know every part of Gotham, when they’d only been detected less than six months ago. It’s odd, because the system has only had a record of their existence from that time frame. The program couldn’t even pick up data from normal Gotham citizens from before that to link it back to them.

It was odd.

So, so incredibly odd. Almost an off-putting, eerie kind. The type you get when you walk down the street at night and suddenly don’t feel alone, like you shouldn’t be there.

Bruce has this odd, eerie feeling for almost fifteen minutes before he realizes. The world’s greatest detective, they say, and it took him fifteen minutes of following this new vampire hunter to realize they were leading him in a circle. That they knew they were being followed.

When Bruce realizes he’s been following the new vampire hunter blindly for fifteen minutes in that same circle, the vampire hunter seems to know, too.

“Took you long enough to notice, Batman. You're getting awfully slow.”

Why does that voice sound so familiar?

Why does Bruce feel like he’s heard it somewhere before? And why is the familiarity hurting him?

Bruce leaps down from the rooftop he rests upon, landing on the street beside them. That feeling that screams in Bruce’s head that he knows who this vampire hunter is, who they are underneath the mask, is hideously strong. Almost sickeningly so.

But who is it?

Bruce narrowly avoids the punch the vampire hunter has swinging his way when he snaps out of his thoughts. Getting distracted and in a daze when confronting someone isn’t smart, he knows that. He taught Dick and Jason never to lose focus in a fight.

But yet here he is, losing focus.

Jason would probably find it ironic if he were here right now.

“Focus, Batman. Isn’t that what you taught those boys of yours?”

Behind Bruce’s mask, his face is scrunched up in confusion. Contorted as he continues to try and avoid getting hit, because he hates just how easy it is for him to lose focus because of just one thought.

But yet, even despite how familiar these moves are- which are the only reasons he’s able to avoid them even at the last possible moment- there’s something that bothers him, something that he realizes. The vampire hunter who is fighting him, attacking him, isn’t doing it with the purpose most others would.

It’s almost like it’s some sort of warning, as they change the trajectory of their moves to only hit the most non-vital points. Areas where it won’t do anything but leave a nasty bruise.

Which is odd, considering Bruce now realizes after a particular glint in the fluorescent lighting of the street lights that line the roads of Gotham, when the mask of the vampire hunter before him slips just enough when Bruce finally strikes back is that there are fangs.

Fangs.

The vampire hunter right in front of Bruce, the one that has managed to evade program that Tim spent weeks coding, the same vampire hunter that is refusing to strike Bruce anywhere vital as if some sign of guilt, is a vampire.

A vampire, hunting down and killing other vampires. Killing them. In a most brutal fashion, too, based on what Bruce and Alfred saw in the collected video files.

Why is a vampire, a creature that exists to attack and feed off of humans, trying to avoid hurting him?

Why?

Bruce can’t make sense of it. He can’t. There is virtually no reason for any vampire in Gotham, in the entirety of this world, that they would be trying to not hurt him.

Most vampires attempt to kill him on sight. So why isn’t this one? Why is it acting so… odd?

Bruce twists around the outstretched, reaching arm of the vampire hunter as they move in a pattern that Bruce is quickly learning. They never differ or change the pattern, no matter how often Bruce is able to evade their attacks. And with that open window of opportunity, he takes the chance to collect a sample of their DNA.

Some blood, to be specific.

The vampire… hunter lets out some sort of noise of pain. Not quite a shriek, nor a yelp, but just a noise. And just as soon as they started attacking Bruce, they are trying to flee.

And before Bruce can attempt to stop them, they are gone.

But that’s fine, because Bruce has what he came for. A blood sample.

Enough for Bruce to test, to compare to others in the database to see who they are.

Because that is the question lingering on his mind. Who is it? Just who is this new vampire hunter that has been able to leave a growing pile of bodies in their wake in just mere months?

✧✿✧

Bruce doesn’t waste a moment, ignoring Alfred’s pleas to let him look over and treat his injuries, as minor as they are. Just a few bruises that will heal.

He doesn’t waste a moment in immediately getting to work on finding out who that vampire is. Who the vampire hunting down and killing other vampires is, who they are underneath that mask.

After loading the sample into the batcomputer, he waits. Sitting there with so much impatience, so eager to find out who it is. It’s almost suffocating just how badly he wants it to just finish already, to just show him the results.

Alfred takes the opportunity, though, to place another tray full of food in front of Bruce. Because it’s now been a few days since Bruce last ate, and the only thing he’s done is keep himself hydrated.

Bruce attempts to protest, but he relents at the painful gnawing in his stomach. No longer able to keep himself sufficiently distracted to not notice just how hungry he is. But all he does is take small, slow bites, watching the progress the batcomputer is making on the sample.

He eats so slowly that by the time the sample is eighty [80] percent analyzed, the food has grown cold. So cold that it makes Bruce not want to eat anymore, even if he’s barely even touched any of the food. But Alfred is happy anyway, because he’s happy that Bruce has something in his stomach.

Even if it’s not a whole lot.

✧✿✧

When Bruce saw the results, his mouth went dry. His chest felt like an unrelenting void, filled with a crashing tidal wave. The creeping feeling that fills him is just as terrifying.

Alfred had to practically pry Bruce away from the batcomputer, as he mumbles nothing but words about how the results had to be wrong.

How there was no possible way that the blood sample belonged to and came from just who the batcomputer said it did.

So now here everyone was, called here by Alfred. Stated to be an absolute and utter emergency, and that excuses would not be tolerated. It was absolutely mandatory, and emergencies were to be ignored because this was the emergency.

Jason didn’t want to be here. Dick didn’t want to be here.

None of them wanted to be here. Not in the same home they’d ‘grown up’ in, that now held nothing but bitter reminders of a certain death. The death of someone they viewed as a child, a sibling, a parent. A role model.

You. Your death.

But yet here they are. Unable to avoid it, because it was an order. An order that it was an emergency, and no one could turn away when someone raises the alarm about something being an emergency.

When everyone arrives, Bruce is already seated in his office. He almost seems emotionless, like there isn’t even an ounce of life behind his eyes as he simply stares ahead, blankly.

He doesn’t even react when they all close the door behind themselves, his eyes only moving up once Dick stands in front of him.

“Why were we called here, Bruce?”

Dick’s voice sounds tired. But that’s because he is tired. He’s so, so tired of grieving. Of mourning you. Of feeling like that total and utter failure that he knows he is because he got lazy on one stupid patrol.

He’s tired of feeling like this. Feeling like he’s stuck in a deep pit of sadness and guilt, sadness because you died. Guilt because you died when he wasn’t looking hard enough. But yet, there’s also anger.

Anger at himself.

But Bruce doesn’t have the energy to answer Dick’s question, so Alfred does the talking. He shows the videos, also shows Bruce’s encounter with the vampire hunter. Everyone doesn’t quite understand just why there was an emergency meeting being called over a vampire hunter. Sure, it was alarming they were a vampire but that wasn’t cause for an emergency.

That is, until Alfred shows the results from the batcomputer. Results of who the DNA belongs to.

And while some seem surprised, some in a state of utter shock, others just feel.. Numb. Like there was nothing they could feel besides the ever consuming pit of nothingness in their chest.

But everyone is in disbelief, just as Bruce was. Is, more like.

The results showed a one-hundred [100] percent match for the last person they expected. The last person they even wanted to believe it could be.

You.

You, who was supposed to be dead. Buried six [6] feet under the ground in the cemetery on the grounds of the Wayne manor.

Dick wants to feel sick. Jason, too. Damian feels his stomach lurching as well, but he doesn’t let it show. He refuses to.

They all don’t want to believe the results are true, just as Bruce did. Because it should be simply impossible, right? They all made sure you were dead before burying you.

“But that’s impossible. We made sure. Alfred-... He…” The words choke and die in Tim’s throat. But everyone knows what he means. How could they not?

Alfred made sure, because he was the one who dealt the killing blow.

Those are the words that go unspoken. The truth, as disgusting and heavy as it is.

But is it the truth? Did Alfred actually deal the killing blow?

And the truth is, they hadn’t double checked. So lost in their grief over your bloody body that Alfred brought back to the manor they hadn’t even bothered to check and make sure that Alfred had actually shot you in the heart.

They had just assumed he had.

“Alfred… You.. You checked, right?”

Dick’s voice is shaky, as ragged and rushed as his breathing. He feels like he already knows the answer, but god does he want to be wrong.

But the way Alfred clenches his jaw and his eyes focus on that abandoned tray of food from much earlier, food long since grown cold, gives Dick his answer.

“Bruce? You checked, right?”

Tim is the one to ask this time. Because surely, there is no way that Bruce didn’t check and confirm for himself. He’s thorough, he always is. There isn’t any realm of possibility that Bruce didn’t check… Right?

Right?

When Bruce doesn’t answer, there’s a look of disbelief on just about everyone's faces. Bruce Wayne, the ever thorough and the world’s ‘greatest detective’, renowned vampire hunter Batman, didn’t double check that you were dead?

“You checked, right?”

“No. I didn’t.”

And now everyone is left with the horrifying, dawning realization of just one thing. A simple thought that is horrifying to picture, to imagine. To even now be known as a reality.

They’d practically buried you alive.

Everyone quickly dispersed after that. No one could stand to be in the same room as each other, because even though they know they rightfully have no right to blame one another, even though they could blame themselves, it’s all they think about.

You were alive. Alive.

All this time you’d been alive while they mourned you. While Dick blamed himself, while Damian blamed Dick for the reason you were no longer present.

Damian feels sick to his stomach at just how angry he was at Dick in the past. Of the things he’d said to him, blaming him for your death. When you weren’t even dead.

Jason can feel nauseating guilt creeping in his chest, too. Ripping open a swallowing, fathomless pit. He’d screamed at Alfred. Been angry with him, caused him so much pain. Alfred hadn’t even killed you, and he’d been so angry at Alfred.

But the sudden appearance of the vampire hunter is making sense. It coincides with your death, somewhat. With the recovery period a vampire would need to recover from a wound like the one you’d taken.

But it makes so, so much sense.

✧✿✧

Six months ago is when Cass was out tracking a vampire. Well, more-so a large nest of them. One that held connections in various cities, dangerous and leaving an endless, bloody wake of victims.

Perhaps it was because of the grief clouding her mind, that thought of how this group could be the ones responsible. The one responsible for your death.

So she got sloppy. Just a little bit. Enough to make a small error that she normally wouldn’t make.

Cass hadn’t taken the time she usually did to make sure she was sure of just how many vampires actually lived in that nest before she charged into it to take out the vampires that resided there. The information hadn’t been totally accurate, it’d missed a few vampires. So she’d been quickly overrun, out of supplies with not even enough bullets to last her.

But just as Cass thinks she’s going to die for her margin of error, as she decides to resign to her fate because hey, it means she’ll get to see you again, the vampires that are about to kill her are dead.

And there’s a figure standing over their bloody remains that seems oddly familiar to Cass. But she can’t quite place it. At least, she couldn’t then.

“I thought you were taught better than this. This is a stupid mistake, even for you.”

Before Cass can ask the obvious question that’s scratching at the back of her mind, the figure is gone just as quick as they appeared. Leaving nothing evident of their presence, besides the dead vampires.

✧✿✧

They’d all been in some sort of predicament caused by their overwhelming grief that meant they’d needed someone to save their ass. And you had. You’d been there to rescue them from their mistakes every single time.

You’d saved Cass from death, been there to save Jason during the few times he’d been distracted [even if all he’d glimpsed of you was your retreating silhouette], and so much more.

But why had you never shown yourself to them? Why had you let them wallow in their own self pity and grief over your death, when you hadn’t even died?

Perhaps there was an answer to this question they didn’t yet have.

But it was no matter. They had time to get the answer they so desperately wanted. They had a means to find you the next time you appeared, all they had to do was wait.

✧✿✧

And wait they did.

It took almost a week before you appeared again, presumably to lay low for a while after that encounter with Bruce. As if it would stop them from figuring out the truth.

They’d even checked your grave. And god, were they horrified to find that it was empty, just as they’d feared.

But yes, when you’d appeared again after lying low for a week, Jason was the one sent to go talk to you. You’d always had a soft spot for him, after all.

So in his Red Hood gear, he approaches you. He wasn’t even sure if he should be surprised that you seemed to know he was there the moment he’d landed on that same rooftop as you.

But maybe he should, since he knows neither Bruce nor Alfred gave you any training to be a vampire hunter. They wanted you to stay as far away as possible from it, after all.

But perhaps that distance is why you’d never stood a chance the night you’d been attacked. Maybe it was the lack of making sure you were prepared to face the threats that lie in the very shadows they hunted in.

Jason sees your moments from fleeing from the way you visibly tense up and flinch when he steps closer to you, so he stops. He entirely freezes, because the last thing he wants is for you to disappear again.

“We know it’s you,” Is all Jason calls out, paired with your name instead of the nickname he’d always refer to you by. A parental nickname, something similar to the way children call their parents Mom or Dad, but entirely different and unique to you.

Jason watches the way you seem to think, still frozen in a stance that says you're seconds from fleeing, that him making the wrong choice is all it takes for you to disappear. But this time it’d be Jason’s fault that you're gone, not Dick’s.

“We aren’t mad, I promise.”

Bad thing to start off with, Jason. Now you’ll think they all were mad.

“What I meant to say is… We all miss you. When you died- thought you died, we didn’t know what to do.”

Jason is practically grasping at straws. He can see his words aren’t reaching you in the way he is hoping, wanting them to. He’s never been good at the comforting stuff, never been good at talking someone down. Not like Alfred is, not like Dick is. Not like Barbara, too.

What would they even say to you?

Jason feels lost, because just why did they send him to talk to you, instead of anyone else?

Well, not sending Alfred is understandable. He’d been the one to shoot you, and Jason knows that he wouldn’t want to see the Joker again, to be the one to talk to him. But what about Dick and Barbara? What would they do?

Jason doesn’t even know if attempting to continue to comfort you is worth it, especially not when it doesn’t even seem to be working.

“Why?”

Those words slip past Jason before he can even get a chance to stop himself. But it’s a question he really, really wants an answer to. Well, not just want. He needs to know. He needs to know why you’ve let them all sit and rot inside their grief and despair, even as understandable as it may be for Alfred because even he understands that seeing the person who killed you is not easy.

Well, not that Alfred even killed you. Almost killed you, which Jason understands. The Joker had almost killed him then, too. Instead he’d lived because some weird ‘miracle’ left him being some freak of nature, a half human but not entirely vampiric person.

Like some curse.

“I was supposed to be dead.”

“I get that.”

“Plus.. I’m a vampire, Jason. I’m a danger to you guys. What if.. What if I lose control? Like I did that night?”

He knows what you're talking about. The night you’d attacked Bruce before… Alfred shot you. Jason remembers hearing about it from a very heartbroken Bruce, although the heartbreak wasn’t easy to see on the surface. But Jason had known. So had everyone else.

After all, they’d all been pretty much trained and raised by Bruce. They knew what he was feeling- most of the time. Though they couldn’t see it as easy as Alfred did.

“We could’ve found ways around it that didn’t mean you totally avoided us,” Jason says those last words with more bitterness than he should’ve. He knows he has no right to be angry, doesn’t even deserve to be. But he can’t help it, not with how he can only rethink on just how he’d treated Alfred because of it.

“Because of that we treated Alfred-” He cuts himself off, not wanting to spew those words out. Doesn’t even want them to fall past his lips. But it’s far too late, judging by the way your eyes narrow and your head practically snaps toward him.

“What did you all do?”

The venom in your voice when you hear those words is unmistakable. Sure, you wouldn’t be able to look at Alfred the same because he’d been the one to shoot you, but you still understood why he had.

You were a vampire. Something dangerous, and he was doing what needed to be done.

Before Jason can even try to backpedal he’s already spewing to you how everyone’s treated Alfred since you’d ‘died’. Everything. Including how he’d screamed at Alfred after hearing what your last words were from him, down to him destroying his room, Bruce’s new attitude, everything.

“Why would you all do that?” You’d hissed almost immediately after he’d finished telling that tale. Disbelief is just about the only thing you feel, along with those other bitter emotions you were currently feeling.

“He killed- we thought he’d killed you, and we just.. We were angry! Because he took you away from us!”

When had you even marched over to him? Was it while he was speaking those venomous words about how Alfred had killed you, taken you from them? Or was it sooner?

Was he blinded by his own emotions to even notice?

Nevertheless, you're pretty much right in his face, and while Jason is expecting you to scream at him, maybe even yell, raise your voice somewhat, you don’t. Perhaps it’s worse that you sound calm.

“Alfred did what he needed to, what he had to.”

“But you were our family!”

“I do not deserve special treatment because I helped raise you all. Not because I was the person Bruce viewed as a little sibling, and the person Alfred viewed as his own child.”

“But-”

You silence him by raising a hand up, your eyes squeezed shut in the way it does when you’d had headaches in the past, pinching the bridge of your nose between your index finger and thumb.

“Tell me, Jason, would any of you have been able to do it then, hmm? Do you know how hard it was for Alfred to even point the gun at me without his hands shaking? Without crying? Would either of you have been able to pull the trigger instead of Alfred?”

Jason stays silent, and when you open your eyes to glare at him, demanding an answer like those times you’d interrogated him after he’d been stupid and nearly gotten himself killed on those patrols back when he was younger, back when he was just Robin and training under Bruce’s watch.

And he only shakes his head.

“But I promise I’ll be back.. Someday, I don’t know when. Don’t know if it’ll be soon, or if it’s not for years ahead. But I can promise that, okay?”

You really didn’t know just what else to say, honestly. You already had plans for what your coming moves were, for your motives. You knew Jason was wondering that just by glancing at him, even if you couldn’t see his face behind his helmet.

“And if you want, you can try to help me, if it’ll make you.. I don’t freaking know, feel better, I guess?”

“How?”

“You’ll see. It’ll be an answer to my motives and why I’ve been so secretive I guess. I’ll tell you how you can help me later.”

Jason wants to say something, but he doesn’t know if he should even be surprised you already know what it is he wants to say. “Oh, and don’t tell anyone I’m letting you help me. That part stays a secret, got it?”

Jason only nods in reply, and with that, you’ve disappeared from Jason’s sight, leaving him alone on that rooftop to think through his thoughts. And of your words, of course. To muddle them over, to debate whether or not he even accepts the notion of helping you.

With keeping it secret being the price he pays.

❉ ╧╧╧╧ ✿ ╧╧╧╧ ❉

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faun-the-hound · 3 months ago

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So, I have a Minecraft Diaries OC I've brought up in a few posts previously. Their name is Caspian, a witch-magi, apprentice of Hyria and (sort of) protector/guide of Vylad for a while.

So here's an info-dump on them.

Caspian is a lanky fella, roughly six (5'11") feet tall, with a masculine body, but a soft, feminine face. They're pale, pale as moonlight, with silverish eyes and coiled white hair to their shoulders. In Daybreak, they wear very light clothing, a sleeveless white vest/halter top and loose black pants, with golden cuffs around their wrists and two amethyst earrings on their right ear. And glasses, as their vision is absolute ass.

They were born in the 500's to a poor family, one with distant magi genes that had been diluted by human partners over generations. Caspian was the first witch born into the family in seven generations, and not knowing how to handle them, their family discarded them to the Sacred Forest. Being only a child, they were spared, found by merchants and taken in by an orphanage in the nearest town.

They grew up alone for a long time, teaching themself to use their innate Magicks for fun and entertainment. They were never shown to any potential adoptive parents, being told time and time again that "no one wants a witch", until one day, someone did.

An elderly woman wearing the holy garbs of The Matron, asking to speak with the children of the orphanage. When Caspian was left out of the group, she re-iterated all of them. This was when they met Hyria. A mage living deep within the Sacred Forest, far from the Golden Roads.

They were terrified of this crooked old woman, believing fully that she was going to kill or eat them, begging not to be sent with her when Hyria chose them. They learned very quickly that Hyria was not, in fact, going to eat them, and instead, they were raised as her apprentice.

Cas took care of housework and gardening, and Hyria taught them far more advanced Magick than what any witch academy would have. She taught them one particular skill they used daily- physical illusions- making themself appear far younger or far older than they actually were.

They eventually helped take care of Irene when she came to Sun's Heart to live the few years she had left with her old friend Hyria, and from Irene, Caspian learned restoration Magick- the advanced healing Magick that Irene's Relics gave her access to. (This is how Hyria restored Vylad's humanity as a fully awakened Shadow Knight)

Caspian was made immortal by Hyria using the remnants of Divine Magick that still lingered in Sun's Heart when they were thirty, forever keeping them that age. With their Magick, they appear outwardly as a small child to Vylad while she's wandering the forest alone, partially restoring the mind, enough to defy the instinctual selfishness of Shadow Knights, before guiding Vy to protect merchants, messengers and travelling bands from bandits and dangers on the Golden Roads for a few years before Hyria finally gives the okay to bring them to Phoenix Drop.

Caspian later shows up to help guide Avi to Hyria's home, then out of the Sacred Forest again, though this time they appear in their 'true form', as an adult. They go behind Hyria's back to give Avira the second Relic of Peace, and winds up being ousted by Hyria for 'betraying her' even though it needed to happen to keep the prophecy on track.

They become a resident of the Phoenix Capital and become a regular performer at the tavern, and part-time nurse.

Yeah, there's my boy-girl.

Extra: -Their birth name was Cassandra, but they changed it to Caspian something like seventy years after becoming immortal -They're a hermaphrodite, assigned female at birth, but filled out to look more masculine below the neck as they grew up, they sound more masculine -Irene taught them the faeries' language, allowing them to understand plants to an extent, though they never became fluent -They actually lowkey hate The Matron, how wide-spread and all-important she became as a religious figure, she was just their goofy great-aunt, a human like so many others, not some all-powerful, serious Goddess like everyone says --they aren't religious because of this, much to Zane's chagrin when they meet (they do meet, my emo lad gets a redemption(eventually)), Caspian just refuses to buy in to the idea that his great-aunt was this all-powerful, amazing and righteous force of good. She was a sneaky little gremlin of an old woman they more often than not had to bribe to stop stealing their equipment and supplies

Caspian was also a chaos gremlin- both Cas and Irene were thorns in Hyria's side for a good few years before Irene kicked it and Cas started adventuring away from Sun's Heart.

#minecraft diaries #mcd au #mcd rewrite #MCD Daybreak #mcd oc #aphmau oc #minecraft diaries oc #lore

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stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage · 1 year ago

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listen I love DAO, DA2, and DAI very much and will replay all three on repeat but DAO really spoiled me with the whole "origins" part, something DA2 and DAI severely lack.

In DAO, you get to play through one of six origins that show how you got recruited to the Grey Wardens and affects how you play. I play as a Tabris and that plays a part in every decision she makes from how she views the Grey Wardens as a whole, who she romances, what she does with Loghain at the landsmeet, etc. It's incredible because that origin you get adds so much to the immersion each playthrough.

But then there's DA2 which I do adore with all my heart, but I can't lie, the first time I played it was very much "Oh, I have to be this human named Hawke? and the only differences in backstory really come from whether I'm a mage or not ...Ugh, okay, but only because you showed me Carver and now I'm attached, I'll keep playing, I'm sure nothing bad will happen to him."

And then DAI, which I also adore, comes along and just, "Okay pick who you wanna be. Great, here's a paragraph detailing your backstory, but you get to start in the same spot no matter who you make your Inquisitor to be, have fun."

It's not like it's a deal breaker that we can't play through an origin first before jumping into the main story. The player can take that element into their hands to make up for it. We see it all the time with players sharing the upbringings and family dynamics for their Hawke, or fully fleshing out their Inquisitor and why they were at the conclave in the first place.

I think DA2 does this a little better since at least it feels like Hawke had a life before Kirkwall. Your mother and survivng sibling are reminders of that life, as are every mention of your dead sibling and father. You're always reminded that you're a Fereldan refugee. You lost everything to the blight and now you have to rebuild yourself up in a new city.

But the Inquisitor? A lot of times it feels like the Inquisitor didn't even exist until they fell out of the sky. Sure, Cassandra can ask you where you're from or Josephine will ask you questions about your life prior, but that's about it. it's so unfortunate because DAI was the perfect set up for a origin stories the same way DAO was; what lead the Inquisitor to be at the conclave? What specifically put them there?

The first time I played DAI, I didn't put much thought into my Inquisitor. It took me playing through DAO and DA2 and starting a replay of DAI to actually figure out my Inquisitor and you know what I ended up doing?

I used a DAO origin.

Yeah, we know that all the wardens exist and the player picking their character decides where Duncan will be to recruit them and the others are just shit outta luck. I decided my Lavellan's actually Surana who escaped the circle with Jowan and she eventually joined the Dalish and adopted a new name after he died. Lemme tell you, roleplaying that as my Inquisitor's backstory makes everything in DAI just 10x better.

Every staff Ash crafts is named after Jowan. She wasn't born Dalish but her cover story says she was, and she slips up a lot. Her accent doesn't sound typically Dalish. Threnn tells her "Loghain was super cool actually" and Ash flashes back to when Jowan was taken by Loghain's men and when she tracked him down to Redcliffe only to find out Loghain planted him there to poison the arl, he was caught and tortured by the arl's wife, she begged a pair of wardens to let him go if they found him.

Ash is very against blood magic after it eventually killed Jowan and she isn't shy about expressing it. So you know Varric pulled my Hawke, a blood mage, aside like, "Listen, keep the blood magic stuff to yourself, the Inquisitor has a thing about it." and Edgar just gives a thumbs up and keeps going, "man, blood magic bad, amirite?"

Every conversation Ash has with Solas and Vivienne is just her biting her tongue and forcing out, "...yeah, okay." She knows the Chantry and Circles are bullshit but can't go off about it because hmmm, you know an awful lot about this for being Dalish?

Ash and Cullen see each other again after ten years and both just, "Hmm... you look famil...liar.......... oh no."

But that's my point: If I'm going to replay DAI, I boot up DAO first. I play through the mage origin as Ash, and as soon as Jowan runs off screen, I quit out of the game to boot up DAI with a little "Ten Years Later" mumble to myself, and it's so much better.

Honestly if I could find a way to incorporate an unused origin into my Hawke's backstory, I probably would! Because DAO knew what it was doing and it's super effective. I can't gush about DAO enough, I swear.

I can only cross my fingers that DA4 y'know, goes back to it's origins.

#dragon age #dao #da2 #dai #dragon age origins #dragon age 2 #dragon age inquisition #dao surana #dai lavellan #dao jowan #dai has it's issues but this has fixed a lot of them for me #i just have a lot of feelings about dao okay #i mean i have a lot of feelings about dragon age in general but you get me

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zonerobotnik · 10 months ago

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So, uhm, I was thinking over our conversation, and how you said you want Gideon to get his ass kicked by someone like Alastor did... [In this AU, I think Gideon joined the battle to support Charlie and Alastor with his people, because why wouldn't he? Even if he doesn't think he could be redeemed, it doesn't mean that he's going to let the hotel get destroyed and all the people inside die. Maybe he even got badly wounded himself and had to recover and Charlie was relieved when he came to visit later after the battle was done because she was worried he'd been killed.] Did you miss this entire paragraph where I said Gideon gets his ass kicked in the battle against the angels, like Alastor did, and they think he's dead for a while until he shows up again one day after recovering? They probably ended up taking in Cassandra after the battle because she started having a panic attack after she thought her protection was dead and she didn't want to go beg Varian for shelter in his cushy tower.

#ask zone stuff #hazbin varian au

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redrose-arrow · 2 years ago

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RedRose Reads: TRR6, Arazan’s Wolves

also known as the book i swore i wouldn’t bingeread and then, well, ended up bingereading

- i know i should feel for these farmers boys but i just want will and maddie

- WILL AND MADDIE

- maddie istg i love your stubbornness so much omg

- will’s absolutely going to SHOW maddie who’s boss

- not will being proud that maddie cheated 💀

- okok jokes aside, genuinely HOW GOOD is will if he noticed the cheating and still hit the target within literal tens of seconds ???

- GILAAAAAAANNNN

- i forgot how much i loved him

- “what brings you to redmont?” if he doesn’t answer “jenny” i’m throwing hands

- not tricking gilan because he’s the commandant??? nah, not tricking gilan because he’s a babe. i said what i said.

- “it would appear your mother had some strange parenting habits” ALSKDJDHS I CANT

- the tiny reference to will’s last time in celtica has my heart

- okay BIGGER reference, still has my heart

- page 21, two inconsistencies. i shall ignore them.

- JENNY WOULD KILL YOU, SHE WOULD, AS SHE SHOULD

- i love how jenny is canonically more important than halt and pauline

- please gilan i am literally begging you to move your headquarters to redmont

- all jokes aside, cassandra would not mind tbh

- george bestie i can’t wait to see you

- george you are a mood a legend an icon and i love you

- YOURE TELLING ME WILL IS SORT OF ADMITTING HIS TRAUMA???? i am nothing short of a mess

- the constant references to b2 are just *chef’s kiss*

- will being called greybeard???? i cannot breathe

- i am literally short of breath right now i absolutely can’t

- why and how did i miss morgarath’s name so much lmao

- the damn reference to macindaw, i just—- this book DELIVERS

- more about will and evanlyn in celtica and i will cry. i will.

- fear being normalised is something i hold so dear

- tug i am begging you not to attack another wolf

- “hahahaha yea let’s just walk into the trap” screw you, will, for playing with my feelings like that

- not the damn fissure

- will should honestly stop comparing people to his animals akskfjdjs

- if anyone ships will and eveningstar i’m gonna throw hands

- there’s something about the parallels that has me obsessed

- maddie falling in will’s arms is a detail i didn’t know i needed

- WILL TELLING MADDIE ABOUT THE PAST AAAAAHGGG IM SO SOFT FOR THEM

- THE OLD ARROW

- how are they capable of bantering right now, i would be scared as fuck

- “does tug talk to you?” oh here - we - go

- if will’s gonna do magic i’m gonna cheer him on

- “great shot” “not just a pretty face” akskdjdhd yes you go girl

- last time will had a plan maddie didn’t like, he almost got burned to death. sure as hell hope this won’t be like old times

- “i will give you what you most desire” we all thought of alyss, don’t lie to me

- “very very tired” ain’t that a whole ass mood

- next time????? please no

- i won’t lie i laughed when the bowstring snapped. it’s nerves. six pages left and I DONT KNOW WHATS HAPPENING

- oh it’s, it’s over

- owh

#redrose reads #redrose reading #ranger's apprentice #rangers apprentice #john flanagan #trr6 #arazan's wolves

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redhairedgirl95 · 3 months ago

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Ok wow. Omg the new chapter was incredible. First off Cyrus and Samson :( I’m so happy we got to see their reaction to the whole darkar situation. I love their relationship with Stella so much it’s so cute to see I mean they’re literally like her older brothers even the king can see that. I think radius definitely has a soft spot for them as well, seeing how well they look after Stella and how much they worry about her I think would definitely put them in his good books. Omg jealous radius! He still really infatuated with Luna or maybe it’s a case of i cant have her but i dont want anyone else to have her either. I’m really curious to see who it is though. However I cant even begin to express how much i hate chimera and Cassandra, they irritate me so much. I think just knowing that right in that moment (during summer) everything was perfect for Stella and she doesn’t know that in a couple weeks absolutely everything will be ruined . Cassandra is so fucking slimy though ugh I hate her she’s so fucking annoying even back in your Luna and radius fic she annoyed the shit out of me but at least we had the satisfaction of Luna putting her in her place but right now I just know it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better. I mean saying she disliked Stella since she’d been born like cmon get a fucking grip your an adult and she’s a literal baby and omg chimera 🙄 I just need her to be punched like I don’t think magic will be satisfying enough for me, I want Stella to absolutely ROCK HER SHIT… anyway. Radius was never interested in Cassandra like that!!!omg i wanna be sick so from the night Cassandra and chimera got their mark radius started seeing Cassandra and therefore became spelled, how come they’re waiting for the princess ball was it just to gradually show that Cassandra and radius were together to those working in the castle? Ugh I just can’t deal with them! Also I’m assuming Cassandra and chimera still have complete free will unlike radius I hope they get punished severely like I beg the bring back beheading because I really can’t stand them

Anyway! Onto Stella! I love how supportive the girls are of Stella it’s so cute to see her with such a healthy support system after everything she has and will go through. I also loved reading everyone staring at Brandon because it’s so true that everyone would be so interested in why he’s so special and why Stella the princess of the most power realm would be interested in him.

Stella and Anne :( I love them so much it’s actually insane. She really stepped up and did what Luna should’ve been there for. I understand her still going which I think Stella will really appreciate it however she could’ve done a lot more for her daughter then what she has done.

This was such an amazing chapter you’ve absolutely nailed it YET AGAIN!! I can’t wait for the next chapter yet also dreading it, because just poor Stella!! Little does she know this will be her last time in solaria for a while :(

I really hope the solarian people will reject Cassandra and chimera it would be so cool to see solaria’s people uprising because they demand to see their king and the real heir to throne and won’t accept anyone but them. I just feel like solarians love their royal family and would sense something is wrong especially since they will probably see that the royal family demands Stella be killed/captured.

Omg I CANT FUCKING WAIT!!!! You really out do your self everytime so sorry for such a long paragraph well multiple paragraphs 😭 I really can’t wait for the next chapter!

Never apologise for an in depth review! They’re my favorite!

- C&S are Stella’s big bros ❤️ aaaaand after EM3 you’ll get their backstory too 🌟

- Radius will always be down bad for Luna. He fell first and fell harder, while Luna is more of an ‘introvert’ as regards feelings. She is better at keeping them in check, at storing them and putting them away. While Solarian blood boils hotter and Radius is waaaaay more impulsive

- C&C are the worst. Always have been. Always will be. No redemption for them. Never in a million years. They are just straight up evil. Cassandra has always been after power and she’s raised Chimera in her own image. They will have what they deserve

- the girls know how important the Ball is for Stella and they want to make sure she enjoys every second of it! Little do they know that bigger things are happening behind the curtains …

- poor Brandon is a bit sick with all the attention 😅

- Anne is the ultimate loving mama. Best in the Dimensions!

- I still have to figure out the Solarians reaction … we’ll see!

Again, thank you for being so so so supportive 🌟 it’s much appreciated ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

#giulia speaks #screaming into the void just because #kind reviews #em3 #enchanted moments #enchanted moments season 3 #shining in the starlight #chapter 2 #time is ticking #thisisdzulia on ao3 #thank you so much #giulia answers asks

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lovefordyingstars · 3 months ago

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sacred madness — playlist

achilles come down—

you're scaring us and all of us, some of us love you // je vois que beaucoup de gens meurent // ce, qu'on appelle une raison de vivre est en même temps une excellente raison de mourir // where you go, I'm going, so jump and I'm jumping since there is no me without you // hurt and grieve but don't suffer alone engage with the pain as a motive // how the most dangerous thing is to love how you will heal and you'll rise above // les souvenirs d'une patrie perdue, l'espoir d'une terre promise //

the albatross—

she's the albatross she is here to destroy you // locked me up in towers but I'd visit in your dreams // devils that you know raise worse hell than a stranger // she's the death you chose you're in terrible danger // the devil that you know looks now more like an angel

allies or enemies—

the words I speak are wildfires and weeds they spread like some awful damn disease // you caught me in a moment weak // and we'd both be laughing in the end // are we allies or enemies? this will be the death of me // all is fair in love, and war but I can't fight with you anymore

blood—

this changing skin I'm in I hate this version of myself // their teeth in me, the way that I bled so easily // I became what they did to me // I'm weak, I start to attack, my teeth in you 'cause baby that's what hurt people do // I guess they made me a monster too // I don't wanna want your blood one drop is keeping me alive // If you could love a creature

brother—

it's been a long, long time since I've seen my face in your eyes // I've returned to my burn scars of birth // from the ashes that fell the mountains I knew so well // I watched the sky burn and all I learned was smoke fills the lungs like a disease // you burn like me the singes on our skin like a brand // there is little of me left that could care about dousing the wildfire

cassandra—

when the first stone's thrown, there's screaming // so, they killed cassandra first 'cause she feared the worst and tried to tell the town // they filled my cell with snakes, I regret to say do you believe me now? // I was in my tower weaving nightmares twisting all my smiles into snarls // what happens if it becomes who you are? // so, they set my life in flames // they knew the whole time // blood's thick but nothing like a payroll // I patched up the crack along the wall I pass it and lose track of what I'm saying 'cause that's where I was when I lost it all

castle—

sick of all these people talking, sick of all this noise tired of all these cameras flashing, sick of being poised // now my neck is open wide begging for a fist around it // already choking on my pride // and there's an old man sitting on the throne that's saying that I probably shouldn't be so mean // sick of feeling used // if you wanna break these walls down you're gonna get bruised //

castles crumbling—

once, I had an empire in a golden age I was held up so high, I used to be great // now, I fear I have fallen from grace // I held that grudge 'til it tore me apart // ones I loved tried to help, so I ran them off // and here I sit alone, behind walls of regret // my foes and friends watch my reign end // people look at me like I'm a monster // my castle's crumbling down and I watch all my bridges burn to the ground

castle of glass—

wash the poison from off my skin show me how to be whole again // warm me up in a nova's glow and drop me down to the dream below // 'cause I'm only a crack in this castle of glass hardly anything there for you to see // through the secrets that I have seen // wash the sorrow from off my skin

cold-blooded—

weakness is as weakness does, to stay alive is not good enough // I live by one simple truth that if you dare cross me, I'm doing worse to you // so if my hands are stained with blood it's worth it to be victorious

empire—

I can hear the whispers in my sleep // you claim you trust me you think I don't see the doubt behind your eyes // but madness and greatness can both share a face // I was born to play this game // so fear me or love me it's all the same // you can throw me to the wolves I'll be alright // just one word, I'll let the world burn

family line—

I say they're just the ones who gave me life but I truly am my parents' child // I'm so good at telling lies that came from my mother's side // and wonder what I did to deserve this // how could you hurt a little kid? I can't forget, I can't forgive you // all of my pain and all your excuses // all of my past, I tried to erase it but now I see, would I even change it? // I can run, but I can't hide

forest fires—

there's nothing in this name sorry to disappoint again // you're starting forest fires, you start them just to feel the heat // I can already feel their hate // the stranger, his sorrow must be fault of my own

for the dancing and the dreaming—

and gladly ride the waves of life if you will marry me // and love me for eternity // I only want your hand to hold, I only want you near me // I'll keep your laugh inside me

a good man—

if there's a good man in you, you killed him today // but he'll be survived by the people you hurt // a prodigal son from the day you were born // oh what have you become? oh you were your mother's son // oh this world is cruel, I know oh I wish it spared you // God as my witness I hate to see you this way // and I believe in forgiveness but I don't know if people can change

gossip—

welcome to the city of lies where everything's got a price // this place is a circus, you just see the surface // sip the gossip, drink 'til you choke

the horror and the wild—

you were raised by wolves and voices // they said it all comes down to you // you are that space that's in between // all the stones and kings of old will hear us screaming at the cold // I steal the hours and turn the night into day // welcome to the storm, I am thunder

illicit affairs—

and that's the thing about illicit affairs and clandestine meetings and longing stares // but it dies, and it dies, and it dies a million little times // so you leave no trace behind like you don't even exist // and you wanna scream // look at this godforsaken mess that you made me // for you, I would ruin myself a million little times

inkpot gods—

and when the rain came down I made a vow out to the dark // please, let her live just one more day cause she is so much more than all her scars // I will be the man my father never was // and what you see is not the dark it's just the gods upturning ink pots 'cause they know what you'll become // and I don't know what to do, how to help her how to bring her home // and I wish that I could take his hand but where I'm going is for me and me alone // if I don't make it back from where I've gone just know I loved you all along

marjorie—

and if I didn't know better I'd think you were talking to me now // if I didn't know better I'd think you were still around // what died didn't stay dead // long limbs and frozen swims you'd always go past where our feet could touch // 'cause every scrap of you would be taken from me // all your closets of backlogged dreams and how you left them all to me // but I still feel you all around

messed up—

you'll be the death of me so bring me my coffin please // but in you, I see a light, let's be more than strangers // if you were my god, I'd believe // some days I need to break down // now I'm still a lonely soul but I'm searching with you

the moon will sing—

my feet knew the path we walked in the dark, in the dark I never gave a single thought to where it might lead // instead, I made a bed with apathy my heart knew the weight // ten years worth of dust and neglect we made our peace with weariness and let it be // the moon will sing a song for me I loved you like the sun // bore the shadows that you made with no light of my own // I shine only with the light you gave me // I want to feel the fire that you kept from me

rule #9—

I remember your eyes were clear brighter than the sun // you learned to fall // I believe in who you are // take the world by storm muster all your strength // you are a child of the stars // use the power in your lungs

sacred oath—

time betrayed the both of us it was never on our side // fate came in to twist the knife // some days I'm so mad I can't think straight // anger rolling through me in shockwaves // I have sins I won't deny but if this is punishment it doesn't fit the crime // some days I'm so sad I can't stand it // you treated me like a sacred oath you were bound to keep // you still loved me when I wasn't clean // and I reach for you when the nights get cold it's a habit that I never broke // just stay with me, please

sailor song—

won't you kiss me on the mouth and love me like a sailor? // and when you get a taste, can you tell me what's my flavor? // I don't believe in God, but I believe that you're my savior // and when we're getting dirty, I forget all that is wrong // I sleep so I can see you 'cause I hate to wait so long // and lately, I've tried other things but nothing can capture the sting

shadow—

one foot in the ground one foot in the grave // all you need is your name //and the blood running through your veins // don't think twice you'll be dead in a second // turn your eyes from your hands to the heavens // kill your pride // turn your fear to a weapon // don't you let them take control don't you let them break your soul // it's not the devil at your door it's just your shadow on the floor // will you still listen to my call who do you trust or no one at all // tell me that you hate me, yeah I heard it all before // there's a life here for the taking is it mine or is it yours // all I am is what you make me

sharks—

blood is in the rocky waters // that's the way that it goes // just you wait and you'll see that you're swimmin' with sharks // don't you let 'em see your struggles // I wonder if my day is coming, blame it on the entropy // my blood is pumping, I can see the end is right in front of me

therefore I am—

get my pretty name outta your mouth // top of the world, but your world isn't real your world's an ideal

villians aren't born—

watch it burn, watch it fade watch the armies gather suit // someone's gotta win and lose // they say my heart is almost black well baby, who's to blame for that? // played my game, hell, now you're in it // and I'm anything but tame // grab your sword, you might just need it 'cause I'm not afraid of cheatin' // you taught me well, now watch me win // there's nothing left to lose // don't tell me it's not fair believe me, I've been there

viva la vida—

I used to rule the world seas would rise when I gave the word // now the old king is dead, long live the king // one minute, I held the key next the walls were closed on me // be my mirror, my sword and shield // for some reason, I can't explain once you'd gone, there was never, never an honest word // people couldn't believe what I'd become // for my head on a silver plate just a puppet on a lonely string

the water is fine—

two lovers wander down to the shore // she enters and swims with the foam he bids her come out and come home but deeper and colder she goes // when she is pulled beneath the rush he waits and waves, his face aflush // blood runs thicker than water but both feel the same when your eyes are closed // the cause of our sickness is love

you're on your own, kid—

there's just one who could make me stay all my days // from sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes // I gave my blood, sweat, and tears for this // my friends from home don't know what to say // I looked around in a blood-soaked gown and I saw something they can't take away // 'cause there were pages turned with the bridges burned // everything you lose is a step you take // you're on your own, kid you always have been

#sacred madness #playlist

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muffinsin · 11 months ago

Note

Hey, the succubus ask was really good! Loved the concept of Dani and her first time. I always liked the idea of Dani getting corrupted for her first time. I agree with your interpretation that Dani is the kinkiest of the sisters, but surely she wasn’t always that way. Poor innocent Dani, the youngest of house Dimitrescu. Naïve and viewing the world through rose tinted glasses because her only exposure to romance is through overly idealized and fictitious storybooks. She’s sheltered. The only interactions she can get aside from family are villagers/maids that have to tolerate her unless they want a sickle to the throat, thus all “friends” are disingenuous. In the rare occasion an outsider or foreigner gets trapped and forced to work in the castle it is still shallow and short lived interaction as many either feign interest to escape, caught escaping and are punished, or get themselves killed in the process of escaping. Most importantly, these are fragile mortals. Dani can never completely express affection physically because she has so much love to give and she gets so caught up in her emotions squeezing too hard during a hug, dragging a maid to show her something, shakes them too fast before realizing she’s killed them in her excitement. It’s not fair, Bela and Cassandra are better at controlling their strength. They’re able to have numerous relationships throughout their undead lives and Dani has yet to have one. Not to mention the frustration of her family babying her. She’s sheltered, innocent, but especially desperate. Dani wants to be loved and desired and to give it back, but her love proves to be deadly. Until one day…..an outsider appears, a fellow immortal. A female demon, not a succubus, but definitely a demon living among humans and traversing the world. Stumbling upon the secluded village during their trip to Romania. They sneak into the castle, no foul intentions they were just curious. They get caught by Bela and are brought to Alcina. The demoness does not put up a fight knowing that they can’t be harmed. However, they are disturbingly calm and quiet, which Bela and Alcina are not used to since a real human would be screaming, begging, fighting. Eventually, Alcina decides to put the “human” woman in the dungeon for the time being. Right then dani comes into the room to ask a question. She stops mid sentence with eyes locked on the outsider. The demoness finds her attractive and sensing an opportunity decided to wink at dani, showing interest. Dani is instantly taken by the mysterious woman and her romantic delusions are fueled. “She must be the one,” she thinks, “I must have her,” she reasons. Dani begs Alcina to have the woman. Alcina eventually agrees since she didn’t have plans for the woman before. Dani takes the demoness back to her room creating a tea party, including seats for stuffed animals (I headcanon that she has a shit ton of stuffed animals and talks to them sometimes lol). The demoness is still calm and quiet, listening to Dani intently as she rambles about her fav novels. Until dani slips up and mentions how lonely she is. The demoness picks up on this and questions dani, learning how inexperienced her “captor” really is. The demoness finds Dani very attractive and feels a genuine connection, so she decides to give Dani some of the love she’s been missing in her life…..exposing her to what real love and desire can feel like😉

I’m so weak for Dani istg-

This is a long one everyone XD also, very glad I finally got to tend to this!! Y’all don’t know for how long this has been sitting in my inbox ;-;🙇‍♀️

Let’s get into it!👀

Masterlists: 1-3

Daniela Dimitrescu is a hopeless romantic, this much is known throughout the entire castle. Another thing that is known: to avoid her at all costs, to avoid detection by the youngest daughter under all circumstances.

It is clear: detection by this daughter means sure death.

While with Bela there is more than just a fleeting chance to survive, should one only mind their manners and not get on her nerves,

And even Cassandra is somewhat survivable, should she not have her eye set specifically on you,

Daniela’s attention means death. Not a single one has survived an encounter with this one.

Sometimes, it is unavoidable to slip from her attention. And when she does see you, it is said it’s over already. Death comes to every “lover of hers”.

A delusional romance begins the moment she sets her eyes on her prey, and should anybody break this delusion of hers, they will be punished with death penalty. Not that there is an alternative, really, because even if one plays along, Daniela always ends up killing her playthings, leaving them disfigured and cold.

Now, this is what the stories say. And they are not completely wrong.

Save for Daniela’s view. The poor thing, who entirely shut away from the romantic, fairytale life she wishes to have.

Yearning, she asks herself: if she is locked in the castle the way Rapunzel is trapped in the tower, where is her saviour?

The one to lessen the solitude in the large castle? Her soulmate…

And poor Daniela, delusional and all too desperate to fall in love she rushes every step along the way. Instead, she falls madly for every person, believing- truly- they were instantly as madly in love with her. And, she is disappointed every time.

Eager and entirely deprived of romance and a partner, Daniela aches for true love. A relationship, a proper one.

Yes, those that catch her attention do not live. And each time she kills them, a small part of her heart breaks off.

She doesn’t mean to kill her lovers! She’s just- excited. She forgets how fragile humans are.

And so, she becomes more and more deprived of all of it.

She watches her sisters take lovers and spend their time with them, hears them bed them.

Yet, she is denied such a thing. Being the “baby” of the family, it seems nobody is good enough for her according to her sisters and mother.

Maidens willing and eager to bed her are scared off quickly by her protective sisters, or even torn apart entirely for daring to attempt to defile the youngest daughter.

The youngest sister, who is no longer young. Centuries pass, lifetimes, and poor Daniela is stuck in her role of a baby sister and daughter, coddled and spoiled through and through, protected and loved.

Oh, but so very isolated. Protective sisters ensuring her safety to the point she is unable to have dates or sex, an even more protective mother regularly proving and demonstrating she will slice all unworthy ones to ribbons who dare as much as touch Daniela.

Oh, but she yearns to be snatched right under all of their noses. She yearns for a relationship, for love. Something that lasts.

She promises, each time, she will be careful with her lover. Yet then excitement kicks in, and limbs are far too easily ripped and broken. Her love is deadly, her attention a curse. Her affection is a plague, and as such it leads to a lover’s death.

Yet…this is to change one day, unbeknown to Daniela.

It’s the day a demoness enters the village.

From far away, and eventually stumbling into the village, you traverse the world, looking for big and small wonders. It seems, you have found one, when you eye the large castle in the distance.

Between trees and clouds, a tower peeks out. The top of a large, luxurious castle. With its windows shining in the light and wind curling around its tips, flags waving in the wind.

The air is bitingly cold, but you don’t mind. You run warmer than most due to your inhuman nature.

You’ve met a single person so far, a woman, lost to the flame. In her dying phrase she spoke to you and warned you of the wicked witches in the castle.

Of course, this peaked your interest.

As you approach the castle entrance, you see the blood seeping into the wooden gate and staining the stony ground. You raise an eyebrow curiously.

It’s rare you come across killers. The world is painfully boring compared to the torture and pain, punishments and blood that is spilled where you come from. The thought of being among murderers excites you.

Is this why the village is so empty?

With ease no mortal would possess, you push open the heavy iron doors to the castle. Inside, it is warm. Nearly overwhelmingly so.

But, it is intentional, you notice. Every window in the entrance hall is closed. A fire is lit. Carpets scatter on the floor. It seems the inhabitants like it warm.

“Curiosity killed the cat”, you murmur to yourself with a small giggle. Perhaps you’d be cautious if anything in this world was as a threat to you.

Alas, you only feel burning curiosity.

You see a large painting, vases and flowers, rich colours and heavy curtains. The castle looks as though from a completely different decade.

As you walk, you hear light buzzing around you. A couple of times you need to swat some flies away.

At last, you find yourself in what seems to be a large hall. You find another large door. The windows next to it suggest it leads to the castle gardens. Yet, just as you grip the handle of the door, you hear loud giggling and the even louder buzzing of wings and flies.

You feel a body press up against your backside, and hear laughter in your ear. Yet when you turn, you see only flies.

It seems, the first “witch” is revealed to you. A brunette, with a large smirk and blood coating her lips. She stalks around you, as though you are her prey.

When you feel hands on your shoulders, gripping tight enough to bruise, another is revealed. A blonde. She grips you tightly, and laughs happily.

��We’ve caught you now, little one”, she hums, all too pleased with herself. She doesn’t seem to care for the fact you haven’t even attempted to move from her grasp. In fact, she seems entirely too sure of herself.

Both women’s faces are bloodied, their makeup smeared. They reek, of blood and sex, poorly covered by their rich perfumes. You doubt a mortal could smell, though.

They stare at you for a moment when you merely look at them and take in their appearance. Then, as though reminded of what they want, the brunette grips your arm tightly and pulls you with her.

“Mother will know what to do with you!”, the blonde tries to threaten. Intrigued, you follow without putting up a fight.

More elegant halls greet you, as well as warm carpets and lit fireplaces. The women are dressed in black dresses, with black, thin coats and black heels. Gloves cover their hands.

When you enter a room, you find a woman, too tall to be mortal, dressed in white. She must be the mother of the two, you think.

Unlike her daughters, the woman seems less animalistic in her movements. She doesn’t seem to bother trying to catch you, while still attempting to present herself as a predator.

“So, you have broken into my Castle”, she speaks, loud and clear. You hear the girls snicker next to you when they let go of you.

“I was merely curious, Milady. I mean no harm, I’m simply passing through”, you answer, voice as steady as hers. It seems to catch the three off guard.

“Mother! Let me have her!”, The brunette demands. She’s holding her sickle tightly, her smile wide and sadistic. You merely raise an eyebrow at her. You wonder, how fast will the little sadist grow tired of you when you will not scream in pain?

“Mother! I captured her for you!”, the blonde pipes in. She frowns angrily, almost pouts. It can almost be described as adorable, how the woman seems unhappy about her sister asking for what she believes is rightfully hers.

A large, gloved hand sets on her head, and it seems to calm the angry blonde. “Patience, you two. She must be sampled first”, the tall woman, their mother, answers simply.

Despite their apparent wild nature, they both obey the command and back away a little.

It’s your turn to frown when your arm is lifted, your wrist exposed for the countess. You watch curiously as she digs her teeth inside, the pain others would experience barely a numbness you feel.

All three seem unsatisfied with your reaction, how you merely watch curiously and drop your hand back to your side when she is done. Still, the mother of two doesn’t let this bother her, it seems.

She wipes her lips almost gracefully, then sniffs richly. “She is of no use to our cause”, she declares, and almost immediately the two women in black push themselves back against you.

“You heard her! We can have her! Why can’t I ever get the first bite?!”, the brunette argues from your left. She tugs your arm harshly, sneering at her sister.

“You know I get the first bite! Mother! Tell her!”, the bratty blonde answers, her hands tightly around your right arm, tugging and baring her teeth at her sister.

You dare snicker at them, giggling at their reactions. They both draw back a little in confusion.

Just as the older woman opens her mouth again, likely to quit the bi keeping between the two, the large doors are pushed open yet again.

You inhale automatically, smelling a sweet, flowery aroma in the air. A third woman- a third sister- appears.

“Mother, why isn’t the librar…”

The moment you spot her, Daniela spots you. You hold your breath for a moment without meaning to.

The third sister is breathless, rivalling the other two in beauty and effortlessly standing out. She smells less dark, does not reek of human arousal and sweat, although she shares the bloody aroma of her sisters. Still, she smells of flowers and perfume.

It seems, you found someone worthwhile in the castle.

Daniela gasps when you wink at her, her hand rising to her chest automatically. A large grin comes to her face, and the glint even reaches her eyes. She understands: that’s why all these people have died! She was just waiting for you! Oh, surely you must be who she is meant to be with!

Daniela shrieks and quickly grabs your arm, pulling you away from her older sisters as she sees them summon their sickle already, having seen the flirty wink thrown her way.

“Mother!”, she pipes up. “Mother!”, she repeats, ensuring the tall woman looks at her. Daniela nuzzles against her hand eagerly, unaware of the daggers the woman shoots your way.

“May I keep her, please?”, She begs, golden puppy eyes full on display. You smirk at this- the auburn haired woman certainly knows her weapons. You can immediately tell she is the youngest of the bunch, by the protectiveness of her family as well as the puppy eyes only she pulls out.

Puppy eyes, the Mother of three seems to have trouble denying.

“Your sisters have caught her, Daniela. Aside from this, she was supposed to go in the basement, my dove”, the older woman reasons. Both older sisters seem pleased by this, their eyes flashing to you murderously.

“Please, mama, I want her”, Daniela begs. She can’t help the smile that comes to her face- she knows Mother will give into this.

And right she is. With a sigh and a gloved hand patting Daniela’s head, the countess grants her youngest the wish.

“Mother! She’ll just die with her anyway! I want a turn before that!”, The brunette immediately complains. You eye the redhead. She seems genuinely hurt by her sister’s words.

“She won’t! I’ll take good care of her! She loves me!”, she argues, oblivious to your surprised gasp and raised eyebrow.

Love? Now, she’s a little ahead of herself. You don’t deny that you feel attraction to the beautiful woman, however.

So, without much more ado, you feel her grasp your hand in hers, tugging you from the chamber.

“I’m Daniela!”, she introduces herself eagerly. She’s beyond happy and pleased with herself, and her grip on you is tight. The numbness in your arm has you realise- the enthusiastic thing would have broken your hand had you been a mortal.

Daniela yelps in surprise when you come to a halt, instead hold her hand gently and pull it to your lips. She blushes sweetly as you kiss her knuckles. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Daniela”.

You are not overly secretive with her, and share your name freely. She grins at this, and repeats it. You find, your name sounds beautiful coming from her soft lips and spoken in her gentle voice.

“We’ll be so happy together!”, she says then, tugging you along once again. You follow her eagerly, adoring the little skip she has in her steps.

“May I ask, Daniela”, you coo. “What is this place?”

She doesn’t seem bothered by your questions at all. You’re the first to fill the silence with her.

“Castle Dimitrescu, silly. It’s your new home!”, she beams. You hum. It certainly isn’t a bad place, even if the excited little thing is wrongly under the impression that this is your home.

Funnily enough, she won’t be wrong.

You follow her until she brings you to another room- this one is large and bright, full of- everything, really.

There’s a large bed, fit for a princess. You startle momentarily as the woman dissolves into what seems to be many flies. She manifests at the bed again, giggling as she plops down on it, surrounded by pillows and blankets, and more stuffed animals than you have ever seen in a single bed during your travels.

You walk past a small desk with pots and silverware on it, past shelves stacked with books and a canvas with a few flowers drawn on it, until you too sit on the bed.

Your eyes widen when she suddenly moves again, instead straddles your lap and holds onto your shoulders tightly.

“I’ve been waiting so long for you, my love!”, she declares, her head resting against your shoulder.

You notice she is cold, even through the black dress she seems to share with her sisters. She feels incredible against your warm skin. In turn, Daniela all but sucks up the warmth of your skin.

“Do you like my room?”, she asks, her hair tickling your face. You don’t mind. You can’t help but smile when wide, golden eyes look up at you as she asks. You realise they nearly sparkle in the light.

“I do”, you answer honestly. You can’t help but wrap your arm around her, holding her hip to steady her.

Again, you notice her flesh is cold, but also soft. She’s incredibly human for an inhuman being, a mutant.

“I love it, in fact”, you correct yourself, and she beams up at you. “Do you enjoy reading?”, You ask. You can’t explain it, but she is intriguing. This little ball of sunshine among darkness has you curious.

Her eyes widen, and her lips part. She rambles, and you love every bit of it. With each word you feel your attraction and admiration for her grow.

She talks of her favourite books, romance and fantasy ones, of princesses and fairytales, of love and war, of poetry and what not.

She swarms off your lap as she talks, instead guides you to move off the bed as well and sit at the small table near it. You follow, captivated by her words.

As she talks, she moves fast and gracefully. Light shines through the window and caresses her skin and the edges of her dress.

Your auburn haired “captor” looks beautiful.

“So it is company you seek?”, you ask when she takes a breather. She’s been rambling non stop, but you don’t mind. You think it’s endearing.

A sigh passes her lips. She sets up some stuffed animals around you, before she too falls down on one of the chairs.

It almost looks like a tea party, and you wonder whether she ever has real ones- Whether she has people to have them with. The poor thing seems pitifully lonely, so much so she must do with stuffed animals put in small dresses for company.

You understand her, though, and lift the tea pot. It’s empty, but you don’t mind playing along. Daniela smiles again when you “pour” tea into her cup, then into each standing in front of the stuffed animals;

A green giraffe. It’s knitted, and wears a small, dark jacket, which is knitted too. You see blood covering the neck and figure Daniela must bite it sometimes.

A blue fish, round and silly looking with a top hat on top of it. It seems to be made out of cotton, if you had to guess.

And a pony, light pink, with dark pink hair. Dressed in a purple dress with a silver ring serving as a crown.

“I love my family. Mother, my sisters”, Daniela explains. She looks longing almost, and when she grasps your hand, you give hers a reassuring squeeze.

“I love the castle too. I don’t remember living anywhere else. I’ve been here all my life. In this region. We are sometimes allowed outside, in the forest, to hunt”, she explains. You hum in acknowledgment as you “sip” your tea. The action makes her cheeks burn.

Daniela’s never really had a proper tea party with her lovers, they simply never did it right. And her sisters soon grew out of it and didn’t wish to entertain her parties anymore. But you seem to know exactly what to do. Daniela grins for a moment- yes, you are her soulmate, she is sure.

“I love being so close to my sisters. They’re everything to me”, she continues on. She sounds content, but- longing. Being the only mutant among mortals has you long for company, too.

“And the castle is so grand and beautiful. I’m thankful to be able to call it my home”, Daniela speaks gently. She reaches for her stuffed animal as she does; the giraffe. With petite fingers and gentle movements, she plays with the knitted animal’s head.

“I just…”

“Feel lonely”, you add for her. Golden eyes snap to you, widening in amazement. “Yes! Yes, lonely!”, Daniela confirms.

You notice yourself lean in closer to her, and see her do the same. She’s adorably desperate already, her hand knocking over teacups as she leans over the table. When you cup her cheek, she smiles happily.

GYou can no longer hold back, nor do you attempt to. Your body urges you to take her, but also, you do want to give the beauty what she seeks. Perhaps your solitude has ended too.

Daniela hums in surprise when you at last push forwards the last bit, cupping her reddening cheek as it grows warm under your fingertips.

She hums into the kiss, clumsily trying to return it. At this, you smile against her plump lips. She isn’t an experienced kisser, but good enough from the few kisses she stole from maidens here and there. You have no problem teaching her.

Daniela gasps as she is pulled forwards, swarming eagerly to sit herself back on your lap. “You’re so intriguing”, you speak honestly, your breath warm as it tickles against her lips.

“Please, my love. Be mine”, she whispers.

Again, she grasps your hand tightly. And again, you feel how desperate the poor, murderous thing is. You know yet again the redhead would’ve accidentally hurt you with her own strength if you could feel any pain.

But you don’t mind taking your time with her, teaching her to be gentle and sweet at times. You know you can be, will be, with her. She seems delicate like the flowers she smells of.

You inhale, and are surprised when you find another scent. She’s aroused already, decades of pent up frustration making itself known. She’s eying you desperately, tugging your hands and kissing you eagerly.

She wants to be taken, so badly, and is so eager and fast.

It’s as if Daniela fears should you not pluck her now, her sisters will once again ruin the opportunity for her and take you away.

No such thing happens.

You take your time with her, instead too. It’s funny how the auburn haired woman has grown on you in such little time. You enjoy her ramblings, and think she is genuinely cute. You want to give her this experience of love and desire.

Daniela gasps when you grasp and squeeze her hips, her thighs pushing harder against the outside of yours. She’s adorably shy now, hands searching for a spot to hold onto.

You smirk at her, an index finger under her chin tipping up her head and making her look at you. “Is this your first time, sweet thing?”, you ask. She certainly seems as though it is.

With a blush and a shy look cast downwards, Daniela confirms this. She grinds forwards on top of you, her warm core mere inches from yours. You practically feel her want.

“Please, my love, take me”, Daniela gasps out, her hands at last tugging the front of your top. “Want me”, she begs, quietly, more to herself than anybody else. She wishes for many things, but truly wishes to be wanted. To be desired and admired, obsessed over.

You’re not about to disappoint her.

Daniela gasps when you suddenly lift her as you stand, the feeling so foreign to her. Oh, but she loves it! It has her grin and hold onto your shoulders, hook her legs around you. She feels you hold onto the back of her upper thighs to keep her elevated, and it has her blush yet again.

Never has she been touched there, not even for a moment.

She giggles when she finds herself set back down on the bed, a hand to her chest pushing gently and having the beauty fall back against reddish sheets and blankets, fluffy pillows and a few stuffed animals here and there.

With wide eyes and her breath held she watches you drag the corset off her painfully slow. She whimpers, your hands loving yet greedy, fingers sliding across her covered skin as you work on undressing her.

“You’re irresistible, Daniela. Allow me, I must simply see more”, you husk into her ear, leaning above her as you unzip her dress and gently pull it down her pale, creamy shoulders.

Daniela is breathing heavily, her eyes lidded as she watches the garment she is so used to be peeled from her skin.

Only one had attempted to do so before, only one had come this far. But they had been fast and rough, and it was only months later she understood why her sisters were so enraged with the woman: she took advantage of Daniela’s nativity, of her desperation and innocence, too eager to defile and use her, taste her like a forbidden fruit before digging the knife she’s had on her into her chest.

She eventually forgave her sisters for the cruelties done to the women.

She knows, they look out for her.

But you are different. You don’t have a hidden weapon ready to be dug inside of her the moment she is caught off guard. You like her, you practically worship her with your sweet touches and kisses pressed to her lips and jawline.

Daniela melts like butter under your very fingertips.

The virgin attempts to appear cool and seductive instead of shy, yet can’t help but wrap her hands around herself once all but her bra and panties are off, a blush adamant on her cheeks.

You know, you’ll enjoy taking her. You’ll take and defile her for yourself, taste and bring her to orgasm over and over again until the little thing can’t keep standing. And when she does get enough, you’ll keep her in your arms.

Perhaps this delusional woman is right, perhaps she is destined to be with you. The chances are slim, but you enjoy her company and decide to take a risk in this secluded castle.

Daniela watches hungrily as you pull off your clothing, one by one revealing slightly scarred skin. Scarred from your past- no mortal could do such things to you.

She stares, and she knows it, and attempts her best not to. Still, you see her struggle and try to advert her eyes from your chest, yet they keep flickering to it.

More clothing is dropped to the floor, until you equal her.

You lean over her, chuckling as she gasps and tries adorably hard to keep eye contact instead of ogling your chest.

No matter. You will teach the shy, but desperate woman to be dirty. Dirty as you can be…

Daniela gasps high pitched when you take ahold of her breasts, squeezing and groping her shamelessly through her thin, lacy bra.

Her hand shoots to her mouth, attempting to stifle her sweet noises.

No, that will not do. Not at all, in fact.

You tsk at the woman, your hand eagerly tugging hers away and replacing it with your lips. Again, she moans into your mouth, her hips grinding against the air and lifting to reach you.

“Let me hear you, my beautiful Daniela”, you coo, and your words make her head spin. She whines, a breathless plea.

She wants to be touched so bad, but you intend on making your beautiful girl beg a little more for you.

Daniela’s back arches a little when you capture her breasts again, squeezing the large mounds eagerly. She’s soft, and thick, with a very large chest. The sweet virgin’s nipples are sensitive, even with the layer of the bra covering them.

“Do you like this, sweetheart?”, you coo into her ear. Daniela whimpers, her head nodding fast.

She’s trying to stay quiet, and barely manages so. She knows, should she scream, it’s likely her family will come running to her “safety”.

“Yes, my love, please my sweet!”, she begs quietly, but desperately. You can tell she is long due for these kind of touches. Or any, really. The poor thing is soft and sensitive below you, entirely unused to being touched- let alone being touched properly.

“Good girl”, you coo, eyes flashing at the audible, hitched breath that comes from her. You know, below her sweet, innocent surface this one is naughty.

You know, her eagerness to learn and try things- clearly proven by her room- will prove to be very exciting. You can just imagine introducing her to all that you have come across in your travels.

You smile down at her, chest heaving as she pants, her neck bared to you and wrists resting at the sides of her head, her eyes lidded as you toy with her. She’s so submissive, so eager underneath your exploring and wandering fingertips.

“Please, my love, please touch me”, she begs. You smirk at her, an eyebrow raised as you tip her head back up for you.

“My, but I am touching you, my sweet little Daniela”, you counter with a large smirk. She’s blushing for you, before plump lips part and she begs sweetly: “Please touch me between my legs, down there…”, she asks, adorably shy. You nearly giggle at her. She’s holding back, shy and adorable for you. You can’t wait to teach her.

As such, you eagerly slide your hands down, dragging her bra with you. She gasps again when her nipples are bare and revealed to you and you merely throw the black bra to the pile on the floor.

You can barely wait. This foreplay has already soaked your underwear throughout. Ah, and you’re not the only one.

Daniela is utterly wet, her underwear sporting a dark, wet spot where her slit is. You caress her through her underwear, smirking as she gasps and mewls below you.

It’s an easy task to find her little clit.

Oh, and how it has the auburn haired moan and writhe on the bed for you when you target it and rub it through her soaked panties.

Daniela all but grasps your wrist, begging you to keep going.

Her golden eyes are set on you as you toy with her, licking and sucking the soft skin at her thighs.

You can smell her arousal clear as day, and do your best to hold back and not grab her by her hips and smudge her wet core against your lips. Your mouth waters at the mere thought of tasting the virgin on your tongue.

She grasps your hair firmly, tugging and shrieking as her legs start to shake already. The poor thing is inexperienced, eager, and overly sensitive all over.

A filthy thought crosses your mind, how you wish to ruin her for everybody else, so that she may only be yours.

Inhaling, you smell her arousal yet again. Daniela begs previously, her eyes squeezed shut already. You can tell, after mere moments of stimulating her clit she is close already.

Daniela whimpers at you when you pull your hand away, instead lifts her hips to help you guide her ruined panties down her smooth, soft legs. She grasps the bedsheets tightly when you tease the short, dark auburn hair between her legs.

“You smell astonishing, sweet girl”, you coo against her thigh. Still, she feels your breath on her most private part and whines in want. She aches for you, and you can see the wetness that flows out of her like honey.

“Allow me a taste, my darling”, you whisper then- no longer can you hold back from tasting this honeyed core. Her hole is tight and unfucked, all yours to stretch. And stretch it you will, rest assured.

Daniela shrieks for a moment as you lick alongside her slick slit, her cheeks burning and her head falling back on the pillow as you lick her and moan at her tastes.

Her face burns warm as you once again lean against her core, your nose brushing against her pink clit as you push your tongue inside of her.

Your hand snakes down between your own legs, beneath your panties and inside of you- you’re in high time for some relief.

Unsurprisingly Daniela moans and squeaks again in no time, gasping and squirming so much you must hold her hip still with your remaining hand. Your gentle, but firm touch turns her on all the more it seems.

You lick inside of her eagerly, tasting her and pushing your tongue in and out. Each time it comes covered with more of her juices, and each time you dive in hungrier than before.

Her hand tangles in your hair again, tugging and grasping, the other tearing the sheets blow her.

“A-Ahhahhh! My lo-ove, please! I wa-aah-AH!”

You thrust your fingers in and out of your core fast, partly already imagining them inside of her- stretching her tight cunt effortlessly, rubbing up inside of her pussy. The deprived woman is incredibly sensitive for you, so much so you know you could make her cum over and over again from simple touches.

It seems, the closer she gets to her orgasm, the more sensitive she becomes.

Daniela’s legs push over your shoulders when you move closer, her heels digging inside your back occasionally.

She can’t stay still, it seems, too eager and sensitive, now even groping her own breasts for you.

You know, you will need to tie this one down in the future. Clearly, Daniela cannot be trusted to stay still when she is so preciously needy.

Each delve of your tongue inside her honeyed core earns you a small moan and gasp, each brush of your nose against her clit has her hips jerk against the grip you have on her.

Cautiously, you tighten this grip. You don’t want to hurt the dainty creature underneath your fingertips, and it seems to do the trick because Daniela’s movement is minimised.

You curl your finger within yourself and keep thrusting them. Long and sensual licks turn to rough and needy eating out. She’s near driving your crazy with her little moans and whimpers, her tight cunt wrapped snugly around your tongue.

You want nothing but to pleasure her. To hold her down and fuck her, to show her desire among love, shown to her in the form of your kisses and care.

Daniela cums fast, and you eagerly climb onto the panting woman.

“Have a taste, my precious Daniela”, you whisper, your tongue darting across hers when your lips meet. Daniela feels you tease her soaked cunt with wet fingertips, and moans as she sucks her own taste from your tongue.

Never has she been treated this way. She assumed, but had no idea it felt this good.

You watch her pant below you for a moment, the back of your hand stroking along her pink cheek. Never have you met a woman like her. Someone this captivating and adorable, yet seductive without any effort at all. You want to treasure and ruin her at the same time, only in the best way of course.

Daniela opens her mouth and sticks her tongue eagerly when you present your fingers to her, her brows furrowing in what can only be her infamous puppy eyes. You too, it seems, are to fall for them

She moans and hums with your fingers in her mouth, your wetness on top and surrounding them.

“Let’s try something else, my pretty darling. I’ll ensure you’re all mine”, you whisper. The realisation of Daniela’s sensitive clit inspires you. You wonder- how many orgasms can you drag from her without any insertion until she begs for it?

You’re about to find out.

The Dimitrescu daughter squirms as you align your core with hers, a gasp passing her wet lips and warm breath hitting your fingers as she understands.

“Keep sucking them, princess. I want them entirely clean”, you coo. She immediately gets back to work, though wraps one leg around you to pull you closer.

With the first push of your clit against hers, she is moaning and groaning around your fingers already. You press down on her tongue and she shrieks, eyes wide as she helplessly expects you to help her get off. No, to get her off.

“Are you going to be a good girl and tell me how much you love me?”, you coo.

You know you’re feeding into her delusions, but you just can’t help it. As a demon, you are very well within right to be a little wicked. And what sweeter way of portraying this is there than to use the beautiful, naive’s woman delusion and isolation against her.

The lonely princess wants a lover so very bad after all. Very well, she has one now. And you will never let the auburn haired woman go again.

#cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu x reader #dianabetic6

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