#blade of the phantom master

[dg3zero]

[alpaca-clouds]

What Remains [Sando-centric Darkfic]

Going through all my old fanfics I found this one, that I... Well, I am well aware that nobody knows this fandom, because it is another one of those unknowns. But I love this manga so much.

What Remains

Fandom: Shin Angyo Onshi (Blade of the Phantom Master) Character: Sando Genre: Darkfic

A girl saves a small village from a group of bandits. A girl, who has lost everything in her life once again.

[beesbiteandwillowrites]

DP x DC Prompt: "Rematch"

Back when Jason was still a wee baby Robin, Bruce was in business negotiations with some company from out west. Jason wasn't paying attention to whatever it was that Bruce did during his day job, CEO is a boring job anyway, he wants to be a doctor or something so he can help people.

But he notices when Bruce starts acting strange.

It's subtle, yes, and Jason doesn't think most people would even notice something amiss, but he's Robin, he's Batman's partner, he knows Bruce better than anyone except maybe Alfred or Dick, but Alfred is on holiday in England for a week or two, and Dick is on one of his "no talking to Bruce unless the world ends" binges, so Jason really is the only one in a position to do anything.

It's up to Robin to save the day.

Jason investigates Bruce's comings and goings and the CEO of this potential new business partner of WE is kinda shady. He's slimy. Definitely keeping secrets. Jason dislikes this Vladimir Masters right away. Especially when it becomes apparent that he's doing something to Bruce during one of their business dinners that makes Bruce's eyes glaze over in a very worrying manner.

Jason is so not going to let this guy mess with his dad's mind.

It ends with Vlad being beaten up and chased out of Gotham by an enraged Robin. Bruce turns out to be fine and doesn't remember the incident. Jason doesn't tell him, just types up a report and files it in Bruce's archives. Alfred comes back from England, and Dick drops by again to steal Jason away for some brotherly bonding, and everything is fine.

Jason never forgets Vlad Masters and how he tried to manipulate Bruce. Not even a resurrection and a Lazarus pit swim will make him forget that guy.

So naturally, when he starts coming around the manor more and more, and hears that Vlad Masters is sniffing around Tim in hopes of manipulating WE's CEO, he is ready for round two. He's got a bone to pick, and he's bringing the big guns (All-Blades)

And if this round two happens at a gala where Sam Manson is present to see and capture the whole thing with her camera, well, Jason has gained a couple of fans back in Amity Park.

[starry-bi-sky]

i made a rough timeline for the clone^2 au, just for my own convenience sake when dating things. some things might be out of order from the episode date, and thats also for my convenience.

September 3rd: Danny, age 14, has the accident in the lab that turns him liminal

September 10th: Danny is discharged from the hospital and given two weeks leave from school

September 24th: his sick leave ends, and Danny returns to school

October 14th: Danny sneaks into his parents' basement and releases the ghosts they have trapped in cages. Official birth of the vigilante, Phantom

November 27th: Danny fights Pariah Dark, and wins

December 24th: the Ghost Writer torments Danny

February 12th: Danny's 15th birthday

March 3rd: its been six months since Danny's accident

March 7th: Danny fights his evil future self

May 8th: Danny meets Ellie [age 15] and they become twins

December 14th: Danny finds out from his parents that he's a clone

February 12th: Danny's 16th birthday

Early-Mid April: Danny meets Damian [age 6] :)

Mid-Late April: Damian runs off for the first time, damages Danny's hands the first time

May: Damian runs off two more times in the span of three weeks, he damages Danny's hands both times.

Early June: Damian runs off one more time, damages Danny's hands again, resulting in permanent nerve damage.

Mid-Late June: Damian finally gives up on the League coming to get him and joins the Fenton Family.

July: Damian finally coaxes Danny into letting him come along with him on patrol: Wraith is born.

[majorasmask-headcanons]

The Fierce Deity, being the blacksmith of the Gods, forged not only his great sword, Demise's Broadsword and the Goddess Sword, he also forged the Great Fairy Sword, Lokomo Sword, Koholint Sword, Magical Sword and he taught the Picori and Zauz how to forge magic imbued weapons. The Sword of the Six Sages was an attempt to replicate The Fierce Deity's work.

[vonbaghager]

One Must Imagine Ganondorf Fucking Exhausted

[ljaesch]

HIDIVE Announces English Dubs Coming in Winter 2024

HIDIVE has announced the English dubs that will be streaming on its service during the Winter 2024 anime season. THE DEMON SWORD MASTER OF EXCALIBUR ACADEMY Release Date: TBA Release Schedule: Weekly Synopsis: Leonis Death Magnus, an undead sorcerer and powerful Dark Lord, entered magical stasis during a climactic battle one thousand years ago. When he awakens, he finds a beautiful silver-haired…

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt. Family? Assemble!

Reporter: Gotham News, and we have a new supervillain on the line. Mr Phantom, what are your demands at the moment? Phantom with lack of sleep and with tears: I..I want a titanium model of a spaceship! And to get a good night’s sleep and to go to the local school…and some fudge and.. Reporter: Oh, my bad. Just one question for clarification, are you by any chance an orphan or are your parents villains? Phantom: I prefer the term mad scientists Reporter: Okay. So, Gotham news! And with me on the line is the new potential child of Wayne or Batman. Want to know how two serial adopters will share a child leading a double life? Stay with us and find out. Now let's check in with Jessie for our weather report. Phantom: Wait, what?

~~~~~

Danny spends the night running from the Red Hood with a bag of fudge, Red Robin with a pot of coffee, Batman with the adoption papers and, for some reason, Brucie Wayne with an idea of internship at a space station. Ha! The Justice League will never let a ghost into orbit. Not that Wayne can blackmail superheroes or smth. Danny: Fuck you all! I’m done with vigilante activity, I’m not your competitor! What do you want from me? And I’m done with crazy billionaires too. I swear, I’d rather be adopted by a local mob boss just to piss you off! ~Later~ Danny *sees peering out of the corner Matches Malone*: Are you kidding me?! Robbie *jumps off the roof and lands right behind Danny*: Stop running, lil brother, No one’s left the family yet. Minnie: What about Neal? Robbie *shakes a knife with a bow on the handle negatively*: He’s on sabbatical, that doesn’t count. Anyway, it’s a gift for you, cub. Danny: Um, thank you, but my lab scalpels are definitely sterile, and your blade was in who knows who before you brought it here. Robbie: It’s brand-new! And Archie decorated it with a ghost on the handle. Look! It's cute! With a smile and… Dick: Hands up! You’re under arrest for trying to steal our new member! Minnie: Why is he yours, damn cop? Selina: Boys, don’t fight. He’s mine. Schrodinger’s cat is still a kitten. Killer Croc: No way, my niece is staying with me. Danny: Uncle Waylon? Long time no see. Ra's: My grandson needs steady access to ectoplasm. Danyal, come with me. Danny: Over my dead body! Oh shiii…I mean no. Anyway, don’t you think the alley’s getting a little crowded?

~~~~

Killer Croc: Is he still mad at me? RR: Danny doesn’t talk to uncles who tried to eat his beloved brother Red Robin. Killer Croc: He wasn’t even your brother then. What do you want? An apology from me? RR: That would be nice.

~~~~

Danny: I didn’t think the GIW agents would really fear the reputation of Gotham and not follow me. What a relief! Jason *quickly throws the knife into the sink*: Wow, you got lucky. Alfred: Master Jones, why don’t you eat your steak? I thought last week you were complaining to Batman that 'cause of him you got not many prey. Croc *pulls a piece of white robe from the teeth*: Well, now there is a lot of it. Bruce *gives Jason and Croc the side-eye*.

~~~~

Ra's: You do realize that Malone, Wayne and Batman are the same person, right? Boy, you were born into a family of geniuses, don’t disappoint Grandpa. Danny: Triple pocket money, triple gifts for the holidays, the opportunity to complain about the same family member three times. No, Grandpa, I definitely don’t understand. Ra's: Smart little weasel.

~~~~

Selina: Okay. Purely theoretical. Do you like to steal? Danny: I wouldn’t say that. But somehow I stole the sword from the fright knight. And also stole few jewels but then I was under the mind control. I returned them. Well, the crown and ring of the king of the ghost zone I also took without permission. Oh, and the answers to the test once. And I’m really sorry about the last one. Neal: I feel the story behind it but I prefer to know nothing about it.

[samodivaa]

Deny the truth,set my world on fire (Part 1)

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Winter Soldier x Reader)

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ Part 2⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ Part 3 ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆* Part 4⋆*･ﾟ:⋆* He knew that she was having an affair...she denies, but the love marks on her body are still there. She can't tell him the truth, it will break him - the Winter Soldier is indeed inside of him, fucking her at night and Bucky doesn't remember. ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ Warnings - heavy angst, betrayal, smut, non consensual, dom!Soldat. rough!Soldat Words - 2000

Bucky was already waiting on the couch, tormented by the decision he has made – to confront her. Y/n enters their shared apartment, carelessly smiling at him. She seemed so generous about her love – a constant presence and support since the fight on the airport years ago. Grace and patience and consideration is what she made him master once again, these little qualities are in his control, thanks to her kind soul. Y/n helped him forgive himself and he chose to return love and compassion, chose to fight his past. Wakanda was their secret - beautiful and peaceful. Her heart was born open and although his hands were empty at the time, he filled them with the soft fire made from the two ember eyes. The dreamy mind is full, overflows with tender memories… When she enters a room, it blazes with red, pink, roses, but behind her blossomed spirit stood a façade he was not aware of. The floral presence is poisoned, spreading into him. And just like the deadly nightshade, she is indeed is a poisonous flower.

"How long has this been going on?" he asks coldly, taking a sip of his bottle before putting it back on the table. A stressed dove, mournfully looking at her as he gets up. "How long?" he asks again. „Bucky, what is the matter with you?“ There won’t be a chance of escape, he steps closer, towering over her as some sort of a warning. He just came back to life, laying under the warmth of it and is already being burned by the person who he trusted the most. Abstained for far too long, he needs to hear her says it – he needs the truth to devour his life. "Can I ask what happened to your neck?" pointing to her neck, his tone is still neutral, but his eyes are exhausted by the phantom following his mind the past days. Love makes knots, now it is brutally tearing them apart. He ran from the darkness of his nightmares for so long, only to find himself in a situation darker still. „I don’t know“ she is wearing a turtleneck shirt, she hates those – inside she is crumbling as much as her lies. “You don’t know?” his tone strays to the realms of anger – it consumes him, fear ensnares her until her back hits the wall behind, Bucky not withdrawing from her face even for a moment “Who was it?“

"No one, Bucky" she manages to retain her posture, not giving him the satisfaction of telling the truth. The blade of her words hit a nerve. "You’re terrible at lying" He crosses his hands, nails digging into his arms. Silence looms for a while before he nods, his dearest love painting his misery and his eyes ache with the weight of the unspoken truth. “So no explanation, got it" „I don’t know how I got them…“ Bucky’s eyes narrow slightly, trying to shackle his intention of breaking something. "So you have no idea what happened to your neck? Are you making fun of me or do you have brain damage“ his tone finally rises as he takes the collar of her shirt between his metal fingers, pulling it down rashly to reveal the bite marks. The image wraps around his throat as a wreath of spikes. “Who did that to your neck, because I am sure that it was not me“ „Jesus Bucky, why are you so angry, I didn’t do anything. We literally spend most-“ He laughs devilishly, still holding her by the colar. “Just so many bad things happening in my life. Nothing important, nothing new, just one thing after another, you know?” There is no such thing as life for him , it's just catastrophe. Unmoored and alone, his eyes become full of tears. The only still part is his body. He gives her one more chance to say something, to explain herself in any way, but the silence is pain chiselled forever into his chest, it hurts more than words. "Don’t be angry, please…let me go…“ "Don’t be angry…don’t be angry" he whispers as a lullaby, staring into her teary eyes. His eyebrows furrowed at her audacity to even cry. "We shared a life and you to cheated on me" His favorite beauty and terror on myriad levels keep her silence. He decides to let go of her collar, his fingers clenching to fists as their drop weightlessly to the sides of his body. "You expect me to believe this…? Really, y/n?” he says , his expression is still angry, but it appears softer "If you didn’t want to tell me because you‘re afraid, it‘s fine. Just be honest and tell me that, why are you still lying? That hurts me more than you think." „I am not…“ He stands there unmoving, staring at her and it seems like he‘s still processing this realty of her not having any concern towards him. Her mind is resting whilst his is grieving, wondering and reasoning. He can’t gain control of his dreadful spirit, he is the shell he was back at Wakanda. A tear runs down from the wet, dreamful eyes, landing on his cheek as he looks down, trying to hide it from her. Bucky takes a step away from her and rubs his eyes. His hands are shaking and it‘s obvious that he doesn’t want to cry in front of her. Their love is his apparition, a figment of his imagination. He observe her for a moment, he is dying in that house, buried underneath the floor of their shared past and she just watches it unfold. Bucky finally shakes his head in disbelief. "So you‘re telling me you have no idea where that bruise came from?" a weak laugh escapes his lips, choking back a sob. „You’re lying, I know it“ he says in a calm voice, but there was a quiet threat hidden beneath it. „I don’t want to leave, Bucky“ "And I don‘t want to get cheated on" he counters with an angry scream as his pain is infinite at this point. All kind of thoughts stirring inside of him. „I won’t say it wasn’t meant to be, because it was. We were. Only for a short while, maybe. But we were.“ It makes him tremble to remember their daily life, but now he is unsure which pain is worse: the shock of what happened or the ache for what never will. „I can’t tell you...I can’t...I will leave“ she whispers, having found a comfort in hiding. "Fine, leave then!” Bucky snarls, before he spins around as his heavy footsteps resonate through the quiet room, but he stops himself to look at her for the last time – the end of the line.

Bucky watches her leave, already nostalgic for his love. He doesn’t say a word, not even bothering to close the door as he stands in the doorstep, watching her go. Y/n notices him staring from the darkness of the doorway as she makes her way into the world. Bucky’s inner self is shutting down more and more, as though to protect himself, but it became inaccessible even to himself. Over the next couple of days, Bucky shuts himself completely in his lonely home. He only leaves the apartment to buy alcohol and some food. His days are spent either drinking or sleeping, and when he‘s awake and sober, he just sits on the couch blankly, staring at the wall. He is composed of nothing, but illness – a phantom built out of pain. The days turn to weeks. With his heart broken, he despises life. Rising from a grave with each morning, wallowing in his sadness and alcohol. („What went wrong...Did I do something wrong?”) he wonders for weeks repeatedly, tears again rolling down his cheeks. „What did I do to deserve this“ he screams, slamming his metal fist into the wall, there is nothing but a stain in his heart, it grew – infecting the whole heart. He slowly slides down, sitting on the ground as he buries his head into his arms and starts to cry.

- Two days before she left - „Bucky, baby…I don’t wanna do anything tonight, let’s just sleep“ he was getting harder and harder, pressing into her back to let her know. He whispers in her ear, but the voice is huskier than usual and filled with seduction „Цветок...“ (Flower) Bucky’s control is slipping once again and y/n gups at the realization. The metal grip tightens on her hip, drawing her even closer to his clothed cock. Fingers pass through the fabric of the nightdress, pulling it upwards to reveal her butt cheeks. His warm hand, spilled under her body proceeding to lightly trace his fingers over her nipple. She knows to her remove the panties by herself, not wanting to anger the Soldier from the very beginning as it happened last time. He groans, closing his eyes to savor the scent of her hair. Vibranium fingers digs his into her soft skin, leaving prints of evidence. „No, don’t…please…he will see“ she desperately tries to voice her concern, knowing there is no way of fighting him in this state. „Пусть он увидит…“ (let him see) His breath fanned the skin of her neck, sending chills to the bone.

He dragged his length through her wetness, pushing in fully leaving y/n with no time to adjust. Tears roll down her beautiful face, why this keeps on happening? The warm touches of his human arm move to from her nipple to her stomach „Я хочу ребенка...да.“ (I want a baby…yes) She takes a deep breath, sometimes regret settles in for not telling Bucky that the Winter Soldier was very present and real. He never seems to remember, they operate as different people. She whimpers at the cold touch to her clit, he was flicking it, making her body shake. His hand returns to her hip, grabbing it harshly as he starts thrusting deeply. His pace becomes erratic, being closer to his orgasm. Soldat forcefully holds her in place so he can fill her with hot cum. Her reality hurts so much. She wants to get away, but when she had tried before – resulted in him being close to sadistic. His fingers trail to her hair, removing it from her neck and he sinks his teeth. Goosebumps trickle up there, from fear, from pain as he slowly turns her head towards him – there is no sight of Bucky.

[the-artist-grimm]

one thing im very complexed about is what were baal and ayms rection to narinder after getting resurected. surely they would feel a lot of anger towards him because of what he did.

When Aym and Baal are revived they’re more concerned for Narinder than anything else. Like how can their master, their father go from agonizing for MONTHS over ways to spare the lamb, to in the span of a single week telling them he’s found a way but not elaborating, looking completely heartbroken the next few days after, then when the day of reckoning finally comes telling the lamb in this muted, emotionless tone to sacrifice themselves out of the blue? It didn’t make sense. 

While Aym and Baal are 11 year old kids but they’re not stupid-they know this isn’t how their father usually acts, and something’s wrong. It's why they intentionally get hurt (and accidentally) die fighting Anthea, they're trying to snap him out of it since they didn't know what else to do since he didn't want to talk.

From there it takes 4 months to revive the twins-during that time their souls are trapped inside the gateway by the remains of Narinder's metaphysical chain. Not quite awake, but not quite asleep either-only able to tell they were alone until the voices of their parents wake them up before being yanked into the mortal realm. They’re scared, they’re shaken, they put brave faces on while dying yeah but they can feel the phantom of blade and mana caught in their flesh all over again, but their twin is beside them, and before they know it their Baba has them in their embrace wailing, yet their father is nowhere to be seen. 

Cue them being seemingly ok-ish (read: in shock) while being fussed over by Anthea for the rest of the day (given warm meals, constant hugs and kisses to the head, warm bubbly baths then a long brushing, soft nightgowns that smell like lanolin, all while their comfort kitten plushies they'd given the lamb a day prior to the betrayal in preparation for the 'move' have been returned to their arms), and while they keep asking what happened, the Lamb doesn’t know how to answer them anymore. A month before they would've said Narinder betrayed them all, but they're no longer sure anymore.

(Narinder betrayed them. He betrayed them, but then why did he help them with the resurrection? Why did he stabilize them as they struggled to break the chain, why did he lose sleep the whole week leading up just to help? Following their every word, their every order perfectly, never getting upset when they got snappy?  Why did he the leave the chapel without greeting the boys he mourned over. Why hasn't he tried to take back the crown since his arrival? Why isn’t he fighting them, angry, bitter, anything? Why is he making it so hard to hate and ignore him?)

Anthea eventually has to take the twins over to Narinder later that night since the nightmares are setting in now that the shock's worn off and they both wake up crying for him (they can’t remember the 4 months but that isolation left both with intense separation anxiety from both each other and their parents, and not having seen Narinder was really messing with them), and while that first reunion is them just launching themselves at him to cling to his nightshirt crying, followed by them then refusing to let Anthea leave either and thus both parents are stuck trying to get the boys to fall asleep in Narinder’s room, come morning they’ve calmed down enough that Anthea can leave to do cult things and they can question their father.

They just want to know what happened, and is he ok-he scared them by acting so strange and they're worried. Which kinda breaks Narinder a little because he left the chapel expecting that they hated him. That they wouldn’t want to see him since he betrayed Anthea, is the reason they died, and that their Baba deserved them more than him but here they are worried for him, and it’s the first time in months someone’s said they’re worried about him and he actually believes it. So he tells them everything.

He heard something he wasn't meant to hear, took it out of context, and in his fear over being betrayed again made a mistake. A mistake he thinks he can NEVER fix, and was a mistake he thinks he should NEVER be forgiven for. 

(He didn't trust them. Why didn't he trust them? The Lamb was his friend why would they ever betray him he's terrible Shamura was right to 'hate' him why can't everyone just abandon him already he doesn't understand-)

He thinks that’ll do it, but rather than the twins getting mad, it just clears up what they had already assumed-that something went wrong, and their dad thought he had no choice. They're not angry because he made a mistake since why should they? That just means he has to apologize.

It's that childishly innocent idea that all mistakes can be fixed by talking things out, and while it's more complicated than that, it does hold weight. Aym and Baal are the breaking of the cycle of hiding your emotions, hiding your pain, assuming the worst and self-loathing and destroying yourself as a result. The cycle of not talking to the people in your life and just letting things boil over. Narinder may have held back in some ways when raising them by not telling them to call him ‘dad’, but he raised them as he wished he’d been-teaching the twins that it’s ok to be hurt, scared, to make mistakes, and that they can go to him for anything and he won’t get mad. Anthea’s presence reinforced that-that you gotta talk to people when something’s wrong or else they can’t help. 

The boys are very empathetic and emotionally aware, and thus if they can make mistakes and fix things, why can’t the adults? So no they're not mad at Narinder, they just don't understand why he thinks it's not worth trying to make amends.

[halfagone]

A Mandalorian Halfa Jedi?

I am thinking... about my Danny Phantom x Star Wars AU again. I mentioned this in the Haunting Heroes discord server, but imagine this:

Danny gets lost in the Star Wars universe, maybe they're part of the same universe, maybe not. We know that Earth technically exists there, so it's possible. Nonetheless, Danny gets lost and is eventually picked up by the Jedi. It is during the Clone Wars era, at the height of the war. Ectoplasm either functions the same as the Force out in larger space, or it easily passes off as the Force. Therefore, Danny is considered Force-sensitive and brought to the Jedi council.

He's far too old, older than even Anakin was, but he already displays some skill with the blade (thanks to his mom's training), and he's far too powerful with the Force to leave for the Sith or Dark Side users running about to find him. Those like Count Dooku or Asajj Ventress or whoever Dooku's master is (and, depending on the timeline, Maul and his brother Savage as well).

It's decided that Obi Wan should train him, since he did well with Anakin despite Anakin's older age for a youngling and lack of familiarity with Jedi customs and culture. As well as Obi Wan's own young age as a Padawan himself at the time. Surely, Obi Wan could whip him into shape and they need all the help they can get on the field.

Anakin does not like Danny at first. Not at all. He might have joked all he liked beforehand about Obi Wan getting another padawan, but seeing it happen is an entirely different experience. Danny gets along well with Obi Wan, with his dry, witty humor and his tendency for unorthodox strategy. Worse still, Ahsoka likes Danny. These two are peas in a pod, partners in crime. It feels like he's been forgotten and replaced and by someone seemingly better.

And then one day, when the 212th and the 501st are stationed together, he finds Danny shaking with night terrors, the Dark Side so strong in him Anakin is literally freezing from the cold. It's only then that he understands Danny a little bit better, and sees himself in this kid. Danny fights the Dark Side within him just like he does, and he never lets it consume him. Maybe for once, he can learn a little something from this kid too, and not let it overwhelm him.

And here is the part where I realized a golden opportunity:

What if the Jedi think Danny is a Mandalorian that was cast out for being Force-sensitive? Danny has an affinity for weapons beyond the blade, like cannons and guns and snipers. He talks about how his family taught him to use these weapons, that he's known this all his life. He talks about how his family wears suits all the time and hardly ever takes them off. He talks about always being afraid to reveal his powers to his parents, and how ultimately he ran away because of them.

Oh all the scenarios that could come out of this~

But now I'm also thinking about how strong Danny would feel in the Force. How much Danny could do on the battlefield because now he doesn't have to hold back. Droids might have more intelligence than a lot of sentients give them credit for, but if it's between the very alive, flesh and bone, clones of the Grand Republic Army and the Separatists' metal droids, Danny is absolutely going to be ruthless if it means the clones are safe.

Danny can literally control the weather. Imagine what happens when Danny creates an electrical storm for the first time to take down an enemy starship and the clones just look between themselves, whispering about how: "I didn't know Jedi could do that." "Is that how the Force works?" "Kriff if I know-"

And that's another thing! Clones! Danny would be absolutely appalled that so many clones were created and their freedom at the end of the Clones Wars is still up in the air.

It also ties beautifully with his love for space and now he's living the dream! Except space isn't what he thought it would be. And there are planets out here that have barbaric standards. It's the adventure of a lifetime! But there's a part of him that still wants to go home.

Just- all the possibilities and shenanigans this could bring. ✨

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Alliance of Shadows (5)

A/N: I'm thinking this will end up being between 10-12 parts so we are only halfway through!!

Pairing: Adar x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: slight violence, no spice yet but I SWEAR it's coming- patience is a virtue lovelies.

Taglist: @zoya-olenko, @annatartastic

Previous- Next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The path to Eregion stretches out before you, winding through dense forests and craggy hills. The air is crisp, the scent of damp earth and pine heavy in the air. Your horse's hooves clatter against the uneven stones as the path narrows, forcing the party closer together. Two of your apprentices, Revan and Ysha, ride slightly behind you, ever-watchful, their dark blue robes marking them as members of your inner circle.

Adar rides beside you in silence, his eyes sharp, scanning the wild landscape with a practiced gaze. His Uruks—silent, powerful figures draped in shadow—move with an eerie coordination around your group. Though they had been bred for war, there is an undeniable discipline to them, a loyalty you hadn't expected.

The tension between you and Adar had only grown since your duel, the memory of his hand around your throat, the burning fire in his eyes, lingering like smoke in the back of your mind. While you might have claimed victory then, it had opened something—a crack in the walls between you. That spark flared with every passing glance, every moment of silence.

Still, you focus on the task ahead. Eregion lay far to the west, and there are many dangers between you and your destination. The farther you travel from your hidden domain in the mountains, the more exposed you become. Wildmen, beasts, and worse roam these untamed lands.

Adar’s voice cuts through the stillness. “We are not alone.”

He didn’t need to say more. You feel the ripple of foreign minds brushing against the edges of your awareness—wild and unfocused, but dangerous. The apprentices sense it too, their postures stiffening, hands inching toward their staffs.

Then, from the shadows of the trees, they appear.

Wildmen, scraggly and desperate, with crude weapons raised high. They surge from the underbrush with guttural cries, their faces twisting with greed and hunger. Their disorganized charge is met with the thunderous roar of Adar’s Uruks, who spring into action with frightening precision. The clash of steel on steel fills the air as the two forces collide.

The first attacker comes at you, swinging a rusted axe in a wild arc. You extend your hand, drawing on the magic that hums just beneath your skin. His eyes widen in surprise as reality itself shifts around him—the air rippling, bending—and then his body stiffens. You’ve reached into his mind, twisting his will with the ease of a puppet master. The axe falls from his hand as he turns and, without hesitation, buries a dagger into his comrade’s side.

Beside you, Ysha’s magic flares in bursts of violet light, weaving illusions that send the wildmen stumbling, attacking phantoms that aren’t there. Revan, more brutal in his methods, unleashes waves of force that send enemies flying through the air, crashing into trees with bone-shattering impacts.

But the wildmen are relentless, their numbers greater than you had anticipated. More spill from the forest, overwhelming the Uruks with sheer volume. You feel the strain as you pull harder on your magic, manipulating the minds of those around you, sending them into confusion or turning them against one another.

Next to you, Adar fights like a storm incarnate, his blade slicing through flesh with deadly precision. He moves like a shadow, slipping through the chaos with terrifying grace. His Uruks follow his lead, cutting down the attackers with practiced efficiency. One of his lieutenants, Sherak, shouts orders in their guttural tongue, and they respond as one—unstoppable, ruthless.

Had you a moment to spare, you would be more than a little impressed. Still, the battle presses on. You feel the sharp sting of fatigue creeping into your limbs, the constant strain of bending reality and controlling minds weighing on you. From your peripheral you notice a rogue figure moving toward you—a wildman, silent and quick, slipping past the Uruks’ defensive line, eyes locked on you.

You turn too late.

The wildman lunges, a wickedly curved blade aimed directly for your heart. In a heartbeat, you raise your hand, ready to summon a defense, but exhaustion makes your magic falter. The world seems to slow as the blade comes closer—too close.

Then, a shadow slips between you and death.

Adar.

With a roar of fury, he slams into the wildman, knocking him aside with brutal force. His sword flashes, and the wildman crumples to the ground, lifeless. The space between you and Adar shrinks to nothing as he turns, his face inches from yours, his chest heaving from exertion. His hand lingers on the hilt of his sword, the other hand brushing against your arm as if to steady you.

For a heartbeat, the world falls away—the battle, the danger, all of it fading into the background as your eyes lock with his. His breath is warm against your skin, his gaze intense, burning. You can feel the weight of the moment—the pull between you, raw and undeniable. There is something primal in his gaze, something that mirrors your own desires.

His hand moves from your arm, up to your neck, his thumb brushing the line of your jaw. Your heart pounds, the air between you thick with the possibility of what could happen if you just leaned in, closing the distance. His lips hovered so close, the taste of the moment electric.

“My Lord!” Sherak’s voice slices through the tension, shattering the fragile spell. “We need to move. Now.”

Adar’s expression shifts, frustration flashing briefly in his eyes before he steps back, the connection between you severed. You swallow the rush of disappointment, steadying yourself as you turn to face Sherak. The Uruk is covered in blood, his eyes sharp with urgency.

“There are more coming,” he growls. “We must move quickly.”

Adar’s jaw tightens, but he nods. “Fall back,” he commands, his voice steady once more.

You are regrouped quickly, with Revan and Ysha taking up the rear as you press on. The battle has slowed your progress, and now the urgency to reach Eregion weighs heavier on your shoulders.

______________________

You ride hard for the next several days, the adrenaline of the battle slowly ebbing away, replaced by exhaustion. You glance at Adar, who has resumed his silent vigil at the front of the party. His presence is steady, his leadership undeniable, but there is something else—a tenderness beneath the stoic exterior that you hadn’t noticed before.

One of the Uruks, a scarred creature with a sharp intelligence in his eyes, rides beside you. His name is Ghor. He speaks in a low voice, careful not to draw too much attention.

"You fight well," Ghor grunts, his voice respectful. "But our Lord Father... he saved you."

You raise an eyebrow. “And?”

“He does not save lightly,” Ghor continues, his gaze flicking to Adar. “He calls us his children, and he means it. He fights for us, protects us. But I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He would fight for you too- if you asked it of him.”

The words send a ripple of realization through you. You glance at Adar again, seeing him in a new light. He is not just a leader of his people, but something far more complex. His devotion to his Uruks is fierce, paternal, and their loyalty in return seems unshakeable.

As the final stretch of your journey comes to an end, the dense forest gives way to an open plain where Adar’s legion of Uruks have made camp. The setting sun bathes the rugged terrain in a deep crimson glow, though you notice most of the Uruk stick to the shadows where they can, pulling up hoods when they must step into the fading sunlight. It is a stark, harsh place—little more than a collection of crude tents and hastily dug fire pits scattered across the rocky ground.

The air is thick with the smell of sweat, blood, and earth. It is a people that have known no peace, no luxury—only survival.

Your horse slows as you approach the camp, and your eyes sweep across the scene before you. Uruks move about in near silence, a few sharpening weapons, others tending to their injuries. Their faces are hard, lined with the scars of countless battles. Their armor is mismatched and battered, but there is a determined resilience in their movements, a kind of discipline borne from years of hardship.

You catch sight of the tattered furs they wear to protect themselves from the sun, the meager rations they share—little more than scraps of dried meat and stale bread. Even the water they drink is drawn from muddy streams, unfit for any other race to consume. Yet they endured.

Your gaze lingers on the ragged tents they sleep in, barely enough to keep out the cold of the night. And though their eyes are sharp and their bodies strong, you can see the toll their endless war has taken. The Uruks have known no home, no place of peace. Only this. Only the battlefield.

"They’ve lived like this for years?" you ask, the question slipping from your lips before you can stop yourself.

Adar, riding beside you, gives a small nod. His expression is unreadable, but you sense a deep, quiet sorrow beneath the surface.

“They have had no home," he replies, his voice low, steady. "The one they gained they may lose just as quickly."

You pause as you take in the weight of his words. These Uruks—his children—had been cast out, much like you and your people. They have lived in the shadows, in exile, scraping by with nothing but each other and their will to survive.

Your heart aches as you watch a young Uruk, barely old enough to fight, crouch by a fire, his eyes hollow and tired. The living conditions are brutal, a testament to their resilience, but it is clear they can not continue like this forever.

"They deserve more than this," you say softly, almost to yourself.

Adar’s gaze flicks to you, his eyes dark and intense in the fading light. “That is why I fight,” he says, his voice carrying a deep, unspoken promise. “To give them the home they deserve.”

There is something in his tone—something raw and true—that stirs something deep within you. You have always believed in protecting your own people, and have kept them safe in the hidden sanctuary of your mountain. But now, as you look out over the Uruks, you see a reflection of your own past, your own people’s struggle.

They have been denied safety, denied peace. And in Adar’s eyes, you see a fierce determination to change that.

"I will ride with you," you say, your voice firm with newfound conviction. "Not just for my people’s sake, and our allegiance, but for your children as well."

Adar’s gaze holds yours for a long moment, something unspoken passing between you. Respect. Understanding. And something more. He gives a slight nod, the corner of his mouth lifting in the faintest hint of a smile.

“Good,” he murmurs. “For they will need someone as powerful as you by their side.”

As the moment lingers, a slow awareness of your shared purpose settles between you. You had both fought your own wars, built your own defenses, and now—perhaps for the first time—you were aligning your strength with another.

The night was creeping closer, and the urgency of your mission pressed in. In a few days time, you would leave this camp behind, and the true battle would begin. But tonight, as you stand at the edge of the Uruks’ camp, you make a silent vow to fight for more than just power. You would fight for something far greater.

And you know Adar will be at your side.

[sapphicseasapphire]

ok, so, this has been bugging me for a bit today, but, what was Sky's reaction to when he first met Warriors? like there's got to be a strong emotion there given that Fi is also a sword spirit.

so yeah, I'm just wondering what you have planed for that.

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(also great artwork it's absolutely stunning and looks really yummy)

((dont question it))

SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO RESPOND TO THIS, I HAD TO DRAW IT.

(Lore under the cut. Sorry, I have a lot to say about this haha)

Sky’s reaction when he first meets Warriors? Awe.

They find Wars last- or, well, they find his sword. The others are notably confused because they were looking for the hero. The temple that they were led to is completely empty except for a single sword atop a pedestal. Surely their lead was wrong- this can’t be it. Maybe this is the hero’s blade? And he will return to the temple? Or is this just the wrong spot entirely?

While the others are arguing with each other about what to do next, Sky steps up to the blade. It’s… a lot fancier than the ones that the heroes are accustomed to. Gems are inlaid into the guard, fabric is woven around the grip in a familiar pattern. There are diamonds that run down the blade and a piece of blue fabric is tied around the ring of the pommel. This level of decoration is not usually suited for a sword to be wielded in battle. In fact, the only sword that he’s known to be this beautiful and but also effective is currently strapped at his side. As Sky walks closer, he can see the blade glow unnaturally, and his voice echoes through the temple:

“It’s a Sword Spirit,” he’d say, reaching out to the blade but not touching. Not yet.

There’s a mix of emotions when Sky looks upon the blade. He’s relieved, for he had feared that Sword Spirits had been forgotten entirely. His heart aches at the cold weight of Fi at his side, empty and quiet where she used to be full of life. It’s good, he thinks, to see a new sword shine so bright. He’s a little afraid, he’d admit, since he has unsavory memories of a different Sword Spirit. Phantom hands at his shoulders, tongue at his ear, black blades arcing in the air.

Still, Sky can’t repress the way his heart leaps in excitement, a smile at his lips, even as his hand falters in the air. Another Sword Spirit, here, right in front of him. Another opportunity to make things right, to fix things. Oh, how he misses Fi.

“This is the hero we’re looking for.”

And the others would approach, their curiosity piqued by the reverent tone of Sky’s voice. (Note that Sky had just joined them about two-ish days ago? He was the second to last to meet the Chain, the last being Wars).

No one else has met a Sword Spirit before, not even Wild or Time (who, at this point, everyone thinks is a spirit), so they’re all a bit hesitant to accept Sky’s words at face value. Sky explains that he’s met Sword Spirits before, that the Master Sword herself is a spirit. Puzzle pieces click into place but they still need more convincing. They’ll believe that Sky’s correct: that the sword in the pedestal is indeed a Sword Spirit, but they don’t agree that it’s the hero that they’re looking for.

At least, not until the spirit bursts from his sword in a flash of white light, floating in the air as Fi had done so long ago. The eight heroes stand, eyes wide, before the glowing metallic figure. Sky could cry in at the joy he feels as the spirit utters his first words to them:

“Hello, Masters.”

. . .

• Sky inherently trusts everything that Wars says because he trusted Fi. Fi didn’t lie, she was always helpful, and she told him exactly what he needed to hear every single time, even if he didn’t like it. She was calculating and intelligent and Sky (well… Link) could not have survived on the Surface without her. He trusted her with his life. Sky has no reason to think that Wars would ever lie to him, either. Especially in the early days, when he’s more robotic and less human. And so, he trusts Wars to always be honest.

• This will totally definitely 100% not be a problem guys, I promise. Wars would never lie to Sky about something dangerous. And it totally would never result in Sky getting hurt. And it’s definitely not why Wars looks so upset in the sketches I did yesterday. You can trust me. I promise.

• Sky and Wars talk a lot about Fi. Wars is curious about her, since he’s met her before in his own era and doesn’t know what happened to her. So Sky would explain that she went to sleep after his first adventure, and Wars would stare at him blankly.

“Sword Spirits do not necessitate sleep, Master.”

“I-” Sky would look away, something terribly vulnerable in his eyes. His voice would be sad and quiet as he continued: “I know.”

• I know I’ve talked about this before, but Sky is the most knowledgeable about Wars. He understands. And so his interactions with Wars are a lot easier for the Sword Spirit than with the others. The others don’t like being called “Master.” They don’t like the matter-of-fact way he talks, how he calculates every sentence before speaking it, how he uses percentages and simulations to back up his arguments. (How he always wins arguments). And Sky doesn’t necessarily like these things either, but he’s always patient. Always gentle. He allows Wars to call him “Master” because he understands how much Wars needs it. When Wars goes off on tangents and describes every bit of data he can think of, Sky sits and listens and they talk and it’s just so easy. Sky is probably Wars’ favorite, just for that.

• The REASON that Sky is so supportive of Wars goes back to the one thing that drives him through literally everything in his life: guilt. He said goodbye to Fi much too soon. She was just starting to open up, to feel and express her emotions, when their time ran out. He never got to know the person she’d end up to be, and he’s not making that same mistake again with Warriors.

I think I’ve talked about this before? How when Sword Spirits are young, they talk robotically and don’t express themselves, but as they mature and are around more people, they kind of adopt their traits and become a more well rounded person? Fi, for example was only around for what? A few months? Ghirahim had thousands of years to develop. That’s the difference between “According to your social customs, I should provide you with my personal designation. Fi is the name I was given,” and “You may call me Ghirahim. In truth, I very much prefer to be indulged with my full title: Lord Ghirahim. But I'm not fussy."

Sky wants to see Wars grow in the way that he never got to see Fi. He wants to know Wars. Not just as a spirit, but as a friend.

[ravenyenn19]

Six of Crows future head cannon:

Alby Rollins joins the Dregs.

Picture it: 1920’s-esque Ketterdam, 10 years post Sweet Reef/ Ice Court. Slick Rolls Royce cars line the cobbled streets, a city spiraling toward a new age. Rain drenches the obscure signs & hidden arrows pointing to the Speak-Easy halls. In a time of prohibition… down, down, down must one go in the Barrel to find the most notorious of them all. A slice of sin, six feet under. A crowd drunk off vice served in black tea cups.

The young man walks into Kaz Brekker’s office (after fighting his way there), sits himself in a chair opposite a great obsidian desk. Winded & lip still bleeding from his tousle with the men at the doors, Alby wheezes: “Teach me.”

In turn, A near 30 year old Kaz smirks. “I thought lions preferred their pride.”

Alby, barely pushing 17, gives a smile of a golden boy, nervous but strong enough to hold the gaze of a devil. (He’s practiced.) “I thought Crows scavengers. Here I am, a shine for the taking.”

“Still have that crow, little lion?” A feminine shadow whispers from the corner. Unnoticed by the young man previously, he clicks his teeth but still refuses to show fear. A serpent-like bead of sweat slides down his spine, a shiver chasing after. He holds firm, biting his cheek to hide the startle.

He knows this shadow, this phantom. She haunted him, once.

“I buried it with my father,” the Kaelish prince whispers, “or rather, in place of him. Never did find a body. Pity.” He shrugs.

Kaz’s eyes glint like a cat’s, his smile a loaded gun. A gloved hand stretches halfway across the table in offering. “All right, cub. What do you want?”

Alby reaches forward, feeling the cold black leather of Dirtyhands’ grip between his fingers. The moment is a stormy crossroads, a whip between his shoulders reminiscent of his father’s favorite belt. He smiles, for this is a pain Alby has been walking toward since the day he woke up clutching stuffed black feathers.

(His blood never did bleed emerald.)

More than one answer to Kaz’s stinging question come to mind, nettles along the path of his thoughts. Yet, only one pricks Alby into speaking, the rage in his voice real rather than bravado. “Revenge.”

The Wraith giggles roughly, slipping herself to the arm of Kaz’s chair on silent feet. Alby swallows.

“On me?” The leader of the Dregs rasps, a brow peaked with amusement. His wife smiles with closed lips, knives glinting along her body like hungry specters. For here, her teeth are shown. Alby knows she Captain’s a fleet of the deadliest ships in the True Sea. He drags his gaze from her quickly.

“No.” Alby stutters, but he does not lie. Kaz Brekker bested his abusive father, and he does not care about Pekka’s death. In fact, sitting with the suspected murderers, Alby finds he rather prefers their company.

Kaz reclines in his chair, a hand lazily splayed on Captain Ghafa’s knee. He regards Alby with black eyes, a sharpness that pierces through his strength but doesn’t shatter it. A blade meant to probe. A test of mettle. Alby has waited too long for this audience, he cannot lose it. A moment passes.

Dirtyhands looks to his wife, his Wraith. She quirks her head in the silent exchange. Six heart beats have passed, and Alby Rollins is certain he won’t leave this room. He waits for the snap of a cane to bank his vision, a warm blanket of red to cover him from the jugular down.

He waits for death, but does not invite it. It does not come.

Instead, a voice like choking smoke, “Then let us begin.”

Alby Rollins releases a breath. His knuckles loosen in parts. A tattooist is called in.

The Crow & Cup bleeds as it settles, accepting the fresh skin as it’s master’s tithe.

Alby sits taller, a prince of a different kind, a darker throne.

I don’t make the rules but this is now my personal agenda & important that u agree

Crap now I have to put it in a fic

Should I do it?

[i-am-beckyu]

In the Hands of my Tormentor

Yelloooooo! Been a lil bit since I've posted any writing! Been a bit hard getting much written with life and work at the moment but I had this random g/t thought and ran with it to get this lil fic. So enjoy another random oc created for the purpose of this fic lol.

Premise: You've been transported to another world where giants see humans as lesser and have ended up the pet of a Count.

cw: Fear, fear of death, fatal scenes mentioned, panic, mentions of being eaten alive, death mentions (no one dies tho), anxiety, torture, manipulation. Just the opposite of what I usually post lol. wc: 2318

Terror. 

That’s all I could feel as I watched in horror as the giant noble scarfed down their meal. Giant fangs tearing through meat 100x my size, as if it was sliced bread. I forced myself to not react as I heard them swallow, knowing full well should they tire of me- their pet, I may very well be the next one sliding down that wretch’s throat. 

In this world, Giants didn’t see anything smaller than them as intelligent. If you were found, the lucky ones either died or were crushed between teeth as big as boulders like food. And if you think ‘How’s that lucky?! That’s horrid!’ Be glad you’re not the one being digested alive.

But even that was a mercy compared to my fate. 

Every day I tread the thin line of a tightrope; a timer hanging over my head. Forced to live life as a performance, every step perfect in order to please my Master.

“TWIRL!” He’d demand.

“JUMP!” He’d spit.

“SING!” He’d sneer- and I’d do it without hesitation or face death itself.

For as humiliating as it was, being ‘keep’ worthy; even for a derogatory laugh, it was better than being deemed useless and ready for brutal discarding. And with how little manic glee he’d been having with me lately, that may be sooner than not. For if I have no worth, what’s stopping them from doing away with me?

Tonight I was on display at another one of their dinner parties. Parties they threw more to show their class standing and possessions than for company. Sometimes I’d be in a cage forced to sing like a songbird, other times I’d be kept on the table with a ribbon clamped around my ankle to perform tricks or be petted by gloved fingers.

The guests would often have varying responses at my presence.

“Such a rare delicacy humans are and you're wasting it as a pet?”

“What a wretched little thing it is. Why not just eat it and be done?”

“As amusing as it is, why keep it around when it’s a better snack?”

After a while, you learn to tune out the loud voices. It’s just a reminder I’m only seen as food, insignificant, a pest. I only listen to the Master's voice. He’s the only one that matters. I sit just to his right today. The ribbon on my ankle is too tight, and I can feel the way my foot has started to go numb from the lack of blood flow. I look at it absentmindedly, the phantom pain of a blade forced against an angry scar, throbs against the ribbon. Strange I can’t feel my foot and yet still feel the pain of past escapes. I stopped trying a long time ago. Better to submit then endure his sick pleasures again.

I try not to think about the will I’ve given up; the life I’ve submitted to and try to listen to the giants conversing overhead.

Had it not been for the size difference and ignorance to the obvious, the giants were just like us. Take away all the power-hungry madness and torture of the little guy and the giants were just like humans if they were living in a medieval fantasy. Perhaps in another world, I would have been one of the guests…

“Dance, Human.” Master demands, and I stand and let my body move the way I know it pleases the giant. I don’t even think about the steps anymore, I just let myself move as if I were a robot programmed with the steps.

The giants above me laugh, clap and snicker. I know I’ve done my dance right. They’re all talking around the table, some whispering to each other with cruel gazes locked on my form. Others are spitting profanities at me and joking to my Master about making me do more tricks. 

There was only one giant that didn’t seem interested in my suffering. They sat at the opposite end of the table silently, and hadn’t moved much beyond drinking from their cup. I didn’t pay them much mind. One less giant drooling over me was a blessing. 

I let their voices blend together as I continued to move, the only voice I was listening for was my Masters, and I knew he was grinning ear to ear with all the attention on his greatest possession. 

His rare and desirable human.

“Now sing.” He says sickeningly sweet and my mouth obeys as I sing old scales used to warm up my voice whilst I continue to dance.

He never said I could stop.

I don’t know how long this continued for, the time always blurred together with every order and step at these events. All I know is the giants are enjoying it for the time being and all hungry eyes are on me. I will do as they want till I’m so desirable, that Master snatches me away- just teasing the lessers with what they can’t have. I can see the manic glee in their eyes at being so close to myself. I know what they want, and I scold my expression to not let the fear show on my face. 

My legs ached, but I pushed on; my voice wasting away from overuse. Everything was starting to burn from the effort it took to do both. I sang a long high note and began to spin, a bad combo but my brain was on autopilot. How much longer till I collapse?

“Stop.” Master demanded; my saving grace but not by much. I stopped immediately, finishing the pirouette and ceasing my song. I didn’t dare move despite my labored breathing, fully aware that the command wasn’t just for me, for in the corner of my eye I saw it. 

An outstretched white, gloved hand reached for me- and it was not my Masters.

That was all that was said before the ribbon around my ankle yanked me back, sending me tumbling forward as I was reeled in. I kept my head down, biting my tongue to stop myself from screaming as I felt the glazed wooden table burn against my hands and knees as I was dragged. My performance was done. And so was the fool of a giant that had tried to take me. 

Or so I thought.

Giants had tried to take me from Master before that was a given, but I was his snack (as he liked to remind me) and those that had tried to take what was his, had been dragged out shrieking. But this one had the room silent. Someone with a demanding presence other than my Master had the room freeze.

“So Ed,” 

“That’s Count Edwin, to you.” Master spat at the other Giant.

“May I remind you who the Duke is here, Count Edwin.” the Duke replied nonchalantly, taking a sip of his drink. I saw the way the Master's hand tensed at the notion. 

He was irritated. 

Very few had the nerve to undermine him and make it out unscathed. So far nothing had happened to this Duke, which made him a threat.

“I understand you invited me here tonight to make a deal.” The Duke asked.

“Yes, that’s correct.” The grit in the Master's voice confirmed my suspicions. He’d interrupted his showing off. They were treading on thin ice. 

“I wish to put a natural water irrigation system to my crops from the south river. The river in question however, borders the edge of your land and in order for me to utilize it, would require access to your land.”

“And you want me to allow your filthy hands access to my river.” The Duke remarked.

Master's hand tightened on his utensils. Whoever this man was really had the Giant getting into a tizzy, which was never good for me. For all the time that I’d been here, it was very rare that anyone dared to go up against Master, let alone insult him. I felt a slight sense of justice from the thought. Even if it would never be me to do it, at least someone would knock them off their high horse.

I couldn’t help but glance up to see what such a person looked like and was surprised by what I saw. It was the uninterested giant from before.

Just like their attitude, the Giants' features matched their blunt, cold attitude. Jet black, side swept hair and dressed in a navy blue velvet coat, adorned with gold trims and fine sapphires bigger than my head, the Duke- the most regal man I’d ever seen in all my life, was listening to my Master with an icy cold stone stare. 

The man seemed bored of this tedious exchange and I could tell their patience was beginning to run thin as my Master blabbered on and on about the Giants river.

I wondered how long the fire would build behind the Duke’s eyes before their tolerance met its peak, and would put my Master in their place. For once I was glad they paid me no mind.

“I have much gold to offer in return for the river and with the greater yields we would produce, I’m happy to offer 5% of the total harvest.” Master’s smile curled into a grin as they folded their hands. They did that whenever something they wanted was about to go their way.

I averted my gaze back to my feet at this. They always got mad when they caught me staring. How sad I knew what his tells were.

“While your offer is good Edwin, as a Duke with the amount of land I have, your offer is insignificant to me. Why give you access to my river when I produce five times the amount you yield in a year?”

Master lost his composure at that, clearly not expecting such a response. Unsurprising when he acts like a toddler who has never been told no. “Well yes but-” 

“If you expect me to share such a precious resource, I expect a greater sum.” The Duke cut him off. “Or an offer with something of rarity to actually compensate for the price. Something like…” 

No. No, he can’t mean…

The duke took a sip from his cup as if contemplating, but only a fool didn’t know he’d already made up his mind the second he set eyes on me.

“That human.”

The Duke slammed the cup down, hitting the table with a clink as my head shot up and snapped straight to the Duke, my worst fears confirmed reality. The Duke’s ice blue eyes bore into my small figure. If I thought my grubby Master was scary then the Duke was sheer terror. 

His eyes pierced my very soul pinning me in place, and I stared straight back, unable to hide the terror on my face despite the consequences. Though it could have just been adrenaline, I swear I saw their eyes soften when they noticed my expression change, though it did little to put me at ease. His presence was terrifying and it hit me then why the room was so quiet. Why Master was so mad he had no control over this Giant.

This was a man with power.

I knew if I was what it wanted, then no one would be stupid enough to say no twice. Everyone in the room knew what his eyes were locked on. 

“You want me to trade my human, for access to the river?” The Count replied as he dragged me closer, pulling me away from my terror. “That hardly seems fair seeing how incredibly rare and delightful they are. It’s just about bored me enough that I'm peckish. I love to break their spirits just enough that they’re kicking and screaming to the end.” 

At this, I was flung into the air with a yelp before the Count caught me in a harsh grip. I cried out in pain as he squeezed my ribs tight to the point I was sure they’d break.

“It would be a waste to let all this time go to not enjoy them myself.”

“It’s the human or nothing.” The Duke insisted. “You have nothing more that I want.”

I risked looking up at the Duke again, the fire in his eyes seemed to have tripled. “It’s as you said, humans are incredibly rare. Are they truly worth a yearly supply of better income?”

My Masters hand began to squeeze tighter around me and I’m only lucky that the air had been forced out of my lungs enough before I could scream. His anger being directed on the only thing he could control in the moment, only for the pressure to leave as quickly as it came and I found myself falling.

“Deal.” 

And that was the only warning I had before everything flashed a violent white. My whole body was in complete and utter agony and yet I couldn’t even scream. I could feel silent tears dripping down my face as my vision began to dance with black blurry spots. This is where I died.

Everything felt cold, until it wasn’t. 

I felt myself engulfed in pure warmth as careful hands moved and cradled my broken body. I could hear muffled voices shouting and moving before the slamming of a door ceased all else. Dark blobs broke in between the black and I knew deep down I was in the Duke’s hands, but the soft warmth they provided blurred all other judgment. I hadn’t been warm- truly warm since I’d been brought here, and yet somehow I was now at ease. 

Perhaps it was just my mind twisting the truth as a last mercy to let me die peacefully.

“Rest now,” A voice whispered over head as the world faded to black. “I’ve got you now.” 

Funny how my mind could create such a promise after so much pain…

✩₊˚.⋆⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆⋆⁺₊✧

Don't worry, the Duke's actually the good guy in this lol. I have it head cannoned that he fixes them all up and helps them get home.

I may write onto this, I might not who knows! The fact I've written in a different pov to me is wild though! Thank you to squishy, xyz and especially munchkin for beta reading this. (Seriously savior on my grammar qwp) Thank you if you read this far and I hope you enjoyed!!!!

Tag List Link here: @local-squishmallow @brick-a-doodle-do @justarandomsloth @veryfunkycheesecake @munchkin1156 @kayla-crazy-stuffs @da3dm @eiscreme135 @orchid-harmony @the-tiny-lurker @colossal-red @nobodywritingao3 @nata2343 @bad-author777 @crazyfoxgirl10 @guppybubbles

(also side note: other wips are still being written. I am aware JORNOS has not updated in months but it's not been forgotten <3)

[d-z20]

The Ballad of Agatha Harkness Chapter 1

Sad about not getting more backstory to Agatha (and Rio lol) so I'm creating my own. We're going right back to the start and I'll probably turn this into a series leading up until the pre-wandavision time. It's gonna be so so gay dude.

Find it here on AO3 | Master List

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Birth Under Darkness

The night Agatha Harkness was born, the skies grew restless. Clouds roiled and churned as if in silent protest, cloaking the moon in a shroud of ominous shadow. A cold wind whispered through the trees surrounding the small clearing just outside of Salem, its ghostly lament slipping through the cracks in the walls and weaving around the chamber where the birth was to take place. The haunting notes of Greensleeves drifted through the clearing, carried on the crisp night air from the nearby tavern where townspeople gathered. Their voices, layered in mournful harmony, wove a prophecy into the darkness, each verse heavy with a sense of foreboding. The flicker of torchlight and the murmurs of conversation added to the charged atmosphere, as if the song itself were an omen, whispered from lips that knew of secrets better left unsaid.

“Alas, my love, you do me wrong,

To cast me off discourteously.

For I have loved you well and long,

Delighting in your company.

Greensleeves was all my joy

Greensleeves was my delight,

Greensleeves was my heart of gold,

And who but my lady greenleeves.”

In the heart of the chamber, where spells whispered through the walls and shadows seemed to have a life of their own, Evanora Harkness prepared for the arrival of her firstborn. The place was aglow with blue energy, pulsating with the power of enchantments that crackled in the air. The scent of yew and nightshade smoke coiled like serpents through the dim light. Evanora was a figure of formidable beauty and authority, standing draped in ceremonial robes that shimmered like a midnight sea, with deep indigo hues shot through with veins of silver. Her raven-black hair was meticulously braided and adorned with tiny, glistening gems, and her eyes - cold and calculating - held a relentless sharpness. The witches surrounding her were loyal but fearful, knowing the witch could bring them to ruin with a flick of her wrist. 

“Your vows you’ve broken, like my heart,

Oh, why did you so enrapture me?

Now I remain in a world apart

But my heart remains in captivity.

Greensleeves was all my joy

Greensleeves was my delight,

Greensleeves was my heart of gold,

And who but my lady greenleeves.”

Evanora’s voice, when she spoke, carried an edge that cut deeper than any blade. 

“Begin” she commanded, her voice steady as the storm brewed above. 

The coven, robed in shades of deep blue, chanted an ancient incantation in Latin, weaving magic into the very fabric of the room. When Agatha’s first cry pierced the thick silence, a subtle change swept through the air. A ripple of movement in the dim corner of the room caught Evanora’s attention -  a shadow deepening momentarily before melting back into the gloom. But Evanora’s glare dismissed it as a trickery of the light; she had more pressing concerns than phantom shapes. Outside, lightening carved jagged scars across the sky, illuminating the expressions of the coven, who stood huddled and silent, eyes wide with both reverence and dread. Once again, the melody of the townsfolk’s singing floated in, seeming almost spectral as it intertwined with the first breath of the newborn.

“I have been ready at your hand,

To grant whatever you would crave, 

I have both wagered life and land,

Your love and good-will for to have.

Greensleeves was all my joy

Greensleeves was my delight,

Greensleeves was my heart of gold,

And who but my lady greenleeves.”

The air was now cool and unfamiliar, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and something older, more mysterious. The shadows seemed to shift, deepening in the corner of the room again. For the briefest moment, a presence stirred, one not invited but always present when life and death converged.

Rio Vidal, the original Green Witch and the living embodiment of death, watched unseen from the veil between worlds. Her presence was imperceptible to mortal senses, yet powerful enough to send a chill down the spine of even the most seasoned witch. 

Rio’s deep, dark eyes, filled with an ageless wisdom and tinged with sorrow, lingered on the infant girl. She watched with an expression of curiosity and something deeper, a premonition whispering through her veins. Her figure was no more than a blur, a silhouette against the shifting shadows. To mortal eyes, she did not exist; to Agatha, she would one day be salvation and damnation intertwined. Rio felt the pulse of the newborn’s soul, a song thrumming with notes both light and dark, a complexity that piqued even death’s eternal interest. She sensed a unique power within Agatha, one that would grow twisted by fate and fear. Evanora, however, saw none of this. Rio’s gaze shifted to the new mother, that cold spectre of ambition, and a wisp of something - pity perhaps - flickered through her ageless eyes. The magic that saturated the room tasted bitter, sharp with control and fear.

“If you intend this to disdain,

It does the more enrapture me, 

And even so, I remain

A lover in captivity.

Greensleeves was all my joy

Greensleeves was my delight,

Greensleeves was my heart of gold,

And who but my lady greenleeves.”

Evanora held her daughter not with the wonder of a mother but the scrutiny of a sorceress appraising a relic. The baby’s cries were sharp and defiant, but even they seemed to falter under Evanora’s unrelenting stare.

“Quiet,” she commanded, her voice flat and unyielding. The room seemed to tighten around her words, stifling Agatha’s wail to a whimper. 

A faint glow of blue energy pulsed from Evanora’s fingers as she whispered, “You will be powerful, or you will nothing.”

Her touch was neither warm nor gentle, and as she passed the child to the waiting hands of a coven member, there was no tender smile or proud tear. Only the glint of ambition. The coven collectively drew their breath, for they knew Evanora’s love was reserved for one thing alone - power. She was known for wielding her blue magic with unmatched ferocity: she could fly with blue smoke trailing beneath her like ethereal wings, hurl beams of energy that shattered stone, and project formidable barriers that deflected even the most cunning spells. Yet despite her outward display of might, whispers of an unyielding fear lingered. It was said that Evanora Harkness feared what she could not control, and Agatha, with her uncanny stillness, became the silent embodiment of that fear.

“Ah, Greensleeves, now farewell, adieu,

To God I pray to prosper thee,

For I am still thy lover true,

Come once again and love me.

Greensleeves was all my joy

Greensleeves was my delight,

Greensleeves was my heart of gold,

And who but my lady greenleeves.”

The witches murmured amongst themselves, their voices woven with a tremble. 

“Born to an eclipse,” one whispered, fingers tightening around her charm, the metal biting into her skin. “A sign.”

Evanora’s lips curled into a thin smile, brittle as old parchment. 

“A sign indeed,” she echoed, the weight of her tone silencing the murmur like a blade to a throat. 

She lifted her hand, and a current of blue energy hummed to life, coiling around her fingers like sentient smoke. Her eyes flickered over Agatha’s tiny form, searching, judging. 

“This child,” she announced, each word heavy as stone, “will be either the vessel of power that secures our legacy or the greatest mistake I have ever allowed to exist.”

The coven nodded in unison, but in the corners of their eyes, doubt glimmered like a secret flame. No one dared question her, not when blue energy hummed in the air around her like a living thing, not when her gaze threatened to turn that energy into something lethal.

Rio’s eyes narrowed, absorbing the scene with a depth that even time could not erode. She felt electric tension, the raw potential in the room that radiated from both mother and child. Yet it was not the cold ambition of Evanora that stirred Rio’s ancient curiosity; it was the untamed spirit that flickered within Agatha, the blend of light and shadow that resonated through the fabric of existence itself. Here was a child who could grow to be a beacon or a blight, shaped by the relentless hand of her mother’s obsession. Rio distrust of Evanora’s intentions, honed over centuries of witnessing power twisted and weiled without conscience, made her decision simple. Agatha’s fate was now bound to her watchful eye. She would remain unseen but ever-present, a silent guardian and, when needed, a guide in the dance between destiny and darkness.

Satisfied with her resolve, Rio retreated, her silhouette melting into the gathering shadows as if swept away by the whispers of the wind. The veil between worlds shifted with her departure, leaving only the faintest chill in her wake. The night resumed, punctuated by the final notes of Greensleeves and the restless stirrings of the coven, as though the very air braced for the storm to come.

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