#death posture sigil

[strixessabre]

Death flags for all!

I got Mitelli's 'Se Conoscermi Voi Mi Scoprirai and Spare's Death Posture Sigil.

Both are hand painted and are ready to be hung up!

( Strixes' Sabre )

[mayullla]

Title: The Wedding is Today

Character(s): Viscount (Unnamed character/original work)

Summary: The wedding is today as you look at yourself in front of the mirror, wearing a white gown. Are you scared or are you broken? You weren't sure. Yet your time was limited till you become whole his.

Warnings/tags: Yandere Viscount x Fallen aristocrat!reader, F!reader, general yandere themes, manipulation (both physical and mental), power imbalance, forced marriage, loss of control, womb tattoo that is not sexual, forced servitude, 2k words

This is part two, click here for part one!

Dressed in the most beautiful white wedding dress, decorated with lace and pearls, you looked at yourself in the mirror.

You had always dreamed of wearing a wedding dress; after all, it was something that you had always been told you would have. And you had always been fascinated by the idea of wearing a dress that was the image of purity and elegance. In the past, you thought you would have it with your ex-fiancé but instead of him you were to wed another man, someone so infatuated by you.

Even with carefully done hair and makeup, it could not hide your empty eyes.

Was this the result? It had been a long time since you last saw your face in the mirror. In that dark room, forced into the whims of that man, you didn't have much. There was no mirror there, just a bed, table, and desk, with most of your clothes and necessities brought by the silent servants.

Hollow eyes covered by a black cloth.

You felt weak, your body shivering as you pulled your eyes away from the mirror. Tears threatened to fall as you tried to hold them in, worried that you might ruin your makeup and irritate him, who only wanted perfection.

You didn't want this… you didn't want this at all.

You were marrying a monster.

Even if you wanted to escape, there was no way you could. He had made sure to snuff out all your ideas or thoughts of running away. That man had placed his hands all over you just to ensure that you could think of nothing but him, making sure you would never be able to run away even after you were finally let out from your prison. You still felt like a trapped bird.

Invisible chains locked your wrists, legs, neck, and hands, forcing you to dance to his orders. You could not stand up; it was as if something was holding your stomach down, a weight keeping you still on the chair as you waited for the time drawing near, challenging you to even think of trying. A white choker necklace tightened around your neck, making you conscious of every breath. Your back was straightened with a corset designed to keep your posture rigid, preventing you from even bending slightly.

He said that he had to make sure, after all, worried that you might hunch and cry while walking down the aisle, your face would be hidden with the white veil, but he just had to make sure of your shoulders and your back.

“Your tears are pretty. But if you don't give the crowd a happy cry then we shall keep most of that in private. Oh love, you are my precious and it is the same with your tears also. They should only be seen by me.”

Yet nothing could be as shameful as the womb sigil placed on your stomach the glowing ever so bright under the dark room when you were told to go to sleep late at night. A warmth it created that you didn't want. You would have preferred to freeze to death that feel this.

The viscount rambled about how much he adored you, his perfect doll, during the carriage ride, and how much you have improved in the past days that you stayed here. He commented on your suffering and how hard you were working just to please him. You flinched the moment he said that he could not wait to make it official that you were his. “In just a few hours my dear and all the world would know that you are mine forever.”

You didn't want to look at him. You didn't want to look at anyone.

“My lovely bride," his comments made you want to vomit as tears fell down to your skirt in the carriage. His hands touched your cheeks as he gently lifted your face. Your eyes met his, and not even a lick of pity or guilt was in them, nothing but obsession, lust, and thrill. "Aww… Let your tears out now, dear, so that later when they put on your makeup, you won't ruin it," he whispered as he moved his thumb to clean your tears from your cheeks. 

“I am the only one here with you right now. It is okay to cry.”

“My little dear is just so pretty. Sometimes I don't know if I could hold back later when you finally become fully mine." Lowering his head, you flinched again when he placed his chin near your neck, his hands wrapped around your waist. You could feel his cold skin against yours, hot from your emotions.

“I worry that I might just break you one day..."

None of the guests touched you when you arrived at the wedding hall only able to greet you with a bit of a distance; maids that worked under him had made sure of that. Small adjustments in the dress or helping you reach one place or another were all done by them. They worked efficiently, but you knew that their main job was to be watchdogs.

You could never stare into their eyes for too long, though. To someone who knew or who was sharp, it was obvious that the shine of life in them, meant to fool outsiders, still looked somehow fake.

You stared at the floor of the dressing room, zoned out. The music from the orchestra outside was loud yet muffled. You could hear people talking, enough to realize that the Viscount made sure that everybody attended just to see him put a lock on your finger.

In just a few minutes, you will belong to him, and you can do nothing to stop it.

It was difficult to breathe.

You didn't want to move at all when your feet started moving, tried to stop yourself when you felt a certain buzz in your core under your stomach again, warning you not to try anything.

You remember after all that time when you so desperately wanted to run away and were so close to doing so. Back then when the Viscount left the room without locking the door, you thought you could run away at that moment and that this was your chance. Even if your feet hurt from dancing the same steps for hours just moments ago, you forced yourself to move, so desperate to leave.

There was no one in the halls as you ran, careful not to cause any sound that would let servants or him notice your presence. And you were close… very close to the door to the outside.

Only to feel a shock in your core running through your whole body. It was like fire burning your skin inside out, licking your skin, leaving trails of fire that grew hotter and hotter. You fell down in the hallway, unable to move as waves of pain threatened to melt your body. You couldn't scream at all, barely a gasp.

The sigil on your stomach had reacted violently to your escape.

And the pain didn't stop, no matter how many tears fell from your eyes. No matter how much you wanted to escape from the pain, it kept you wide awake. The pain in your stomach was gruesome, while your veins felt like it was lit on fire. At one point, it did dull down, as if someone deemed that your punishment had been properly given… but you could not move, and he made sure of that. You covered your face and sobbed still feeling like every body part was burnt to a crisp.

Later, when the Viscount came back from a meeting and saw you on the floor he tutted at you… no anger in his eyes when he picked you up in a bridal carry. “My dear honey, you shouldn’t have done that. What if you had gotten hurt while running away?” He asked you with a smile, his grip on your leg painfully tight.

You received another punishment from the Viscount himself.

You watched him place a chain on your ankle, securing it to the bed. You flinched at his touch, whining when the cold metal touched your skin.

“I made sure to go lightly on you. But don't think it will be the same next time, dear,” he told you as he carried you to your bed, giving you pecks on your forehead while combing your hair as if to comfort you. “It will be even worse than this..”

Let me remind you that as long as you know that you belong to me, I will spoil you more than kings and emperors could ever do for their queens. But if you could not understand that, then we could only just fix it… and you already know what I mean by saying that.”

“Right, Love?”

“It will be your turn soon. Please get ready,” a servant spoke up. In public, they removed all their masks around their eyes. You had expected their eyes for a moment to be dead just as they were before, yet instead, you saw a liveliness that didn't belong to the person. “Please wait a moment, and we will finish up a few remaining touches,” the servant spoke in a cheerful voice, as other servants walked around with similar smiles.

You disliked how fake it was, but more than anything, you were scared that this would be what you would finally become if you even made the Viscount mad enough, pushing the thought that maybe you already were deep in your mind.

A long veil attached to your hair, the Viscount had a favor towards longer hair and told you to grow it if it was short. The dress was cleaned from any fold marks, wrinkles and small imperfections. 

A white bouquet held by another maid given to you.

Your hands took the white bouquet without listening to your fear and hesitation. Again, you wondered if you were broken, already a marionette that he sometimes called you.

Walking out of the bride's room, you stood in front of huge doors in the long hallway, your own eyes empty of any delight but hidden by the innocent white veil, sheer enough to see your face just a little. Your neck moved by itself when it heard the announcement of the bride, your chin being forced up as the doors opened. You could hear the clapping first, and as you started to walk down the aisle alone, you could see some nobles who once watched you be humiliated by your past fiancé and his girl. 

You didn't care about them anymore.

Your eyes moved to see in front of you, and you saw your parents, both smiling as you walked down the aisle, almost as if proud parents when in reality you knew it was a picture the Viscount wanted of something perfect.

Looking at the man again, watching you walk towards him with a satisfied smile on his lips, you could see the madness and obsession swirling in those eyes, knowing that you have been placed into a corner where all he must do is choke you even more.

Standing in front of him, you looked at him, the same sly smile on his lips as the day you first arrived at his mansion and fell into his trap. The marriage officiant continued to speak, yet most of his words you could barely hear as you were too deep in your thoughts. This moment, these last few seconds would be the last that belonged to you until it becomes official that you would be forever trapped and controlled by the man's obsession and delusions for you.

You heard the Viscount speak for a moment, bringing you out of your thoughts immediately. You had become too sensitive to his voice. You noticed the marriage officiant turn to you after hearing the answer of the Viscount and asking you the question, “Would you take this man as your lawfully wedded husband?”

Looking at the Viscount who stared at you lovingly yet at the same time knowingly, waiting to hear you say the words that will bind you to him forever. This breath would be the last that you breathe for yourself and not for him. He was a serpent, he had already bitten into your skin, letting poison seep into your veins. Any hope now would be too late. 

You closed your eyes, letting tears fall down your face.

“Yes… I do.”

[cdragons]

I'm Yours, But You Can't Be Mine | Dark!Robb Stark x fem Knight!Reader

Summary: The Freys and the Boltons were so close in their attempt to assassinate Robb Stark and switch the tides in favor of the Lannisters. But a knight's devotion to her king should never be tested. Her loyalty always remains true, even if she breaks the heart of the man she loves in order to protect him.

Trigger Warning(s): MDNI 18+, blood, gore, graphic violence, forced abortion, violence against women, canon character deaths (not Robb or Starks), graphic smut, more hurt than comfort, Talisa is a spy (and a ho), Reader has post-murder clarity and guilt

A/N: A couple of days ago, I woke up and chose violence (emotionally and "literature"-ally) ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ. Also, Theon Greyjoy never betrayed Robb in this fic bc I said so - HOORAY! Also, if anyone can tell me how I can use different fonts in my posts, that would be great.

Walking out from the tent where the emergency council meeting was held, you steeled yourself for the information you would have to discuss with your king. With each step falling to the ground, bringing you closer to his tent, the boulder in your stomach grew more and more heavy.

“This is a bad idea,” you thought to yourself. “This is a bad idea and a mistake; he will never forgive you if you go through this.”

But you made a promise – and as Ned Stark taught you, you would keep it because it was right and honorable. Because when choosing between what is right and what is easy…you must always choose what is right.

You stopped before the two Northmen who stood outside your king’s tent as guardsmen. Their postures straightened and appeared as imposing as possible when facing you.

“Turn back, Ser (Y/N),” one guard said. “No matter how familiar with King Robb, we are on strict orders from Lady Catelyn that no one but her and Princess Arya are permitted to enter His Grace’s tent.”

“I need to speak with the King,” you spoke in your best militant and authoritative tone. “His lords and I just held an emergency council meeting to discuss House Frey’s betrayal. I need to ensure that no information is held from him.”

“Perhaps it be best you let His Grace rest,” the other guard spat out. “He had just lost his queen and future heir at the hands of Walder Frey – even if his wife was a spying, traitorous cunt sent by Tywin Lannister. We could all use some time to mourn.”

You snarled and grabbed your dagger when you saw the sigil sewn on her sheath. He belonged to House Blackwood. Your eyes softened as you recognized him as Bywin Blackwood, cousin to Lucas Blackwood, one of the four hundred casualties slain by Hosteen Frey. Taking a deep breath, you tried to appeal to their sympathetic natures.

“I concur, Ser Bywin,” you said. “But you cannot deny that time is of the essence. Three days have passed since the failed Red Wedding, and word has surely reached Tywin Lannister and the rest of the Red Keep of their failure. I fear for Princess Sansa’s life if we do not take action soon. Her well-being is entirely dependent on King Joffery and his bitch mother’s whims and wishes. The faster I can bring our king up to speed, the faster we can retaliate and bring our former liege lord’s daughter back.”

You watched them glance at one another before delivering the final blow. “And then we can all go home so that we may finally properly mourn and honor the lives lost in this war.”

They let you through, and you entered your king’s tent. Seeing your friend lying so still on his cot broke your heart. His chest was wrapped entirely in gauze and bandages, and the memory of seeing the arrows puncture his body swept chills down your back. Grey Wind sat beside him as dutifully as ever and did not even turn his head to look at you when you entered. Like his master, Grey Wind was a beast of discipline and strength. He and Robb shared the same qualities of holding the stoic appearance of a leader – even when the world around them came crumbling down. But here, at this moment, Grey Wind was neither a beast nor a leader. At this moment, he was simply the pet whose mind was running rampant with worry from fear of his dearest friend never waking up.

You held out your hand and called out his name. “Grey Wind.”

His head finally turned to face you. You often wondered if he was more man than beast, sometimes based on how soulful his eyes looked alone. You crouched on the ground and beckoned him to you.

“Come here, boy. Are you thirsty? I brought you water.”

He immediately trotted to you and showed his joy in seeing you were alive by licking your face and nudging you with his wet nose. You softly laughed at his eagerness to shower you in love while also inspecting your body to see if you were injured or carrying weapons. His body stilled, and his fur stood as he stopped to sniff the sword resting on your hip. He took a sniff and bared his teeth to let out a low growl when he recognized the scent of Talisa’s blood soaking the metal of your blade underneath the leather sheath.

You petted him and spoke in low whispers to calm him down. “It’s alright, boy. She met her end – you and I both ensured that.”

A pained voice rasped out. “I don’t suppose you got any information out of it?”

Your eyes widened at the only other voice in the room, and Grey Wind immediately returned to Robb’s side.

Tears filled your eyes as relief flooded your body. “Robb,” you sobbed out.

Before you could stop yourself, you flung yourself to hug him. “You’re alive! Oh gods – you’re alive!”

Returning your embrace, Robb held you close. “I am, and so are my mother and most of our men—all thanks to you.”

But the happy atmosphere became sour and somber when he looked down at your sword. The memory of your hands covered in his wife’s blood as you stormed into Frey’s Great Hall with the rest of his men was fresh in his mind. Fury swirled and thundered inside him as he learned he had been played as a fool by Tywin Lannister. Using one of his vassal house’s daughters as a spy while disguised as a healer so that she could seduce him was a low he never thought those fucking lions would stoop down to, but they had, and he will have their heads on spikes.

His grip on your arms grew harder. “Did she suffer?” he asked.

You looked him straight in the eyes. “Every second until she had her last breath.”

“Good,” was his only response.

“Robb,” you started. What you were about to tell him was cruel, but he needed to know. “I tore her child out from her womb…it had blonde hair.”

Robb let out a bitter laugh and clenched his fists. “So not only was she a spy, but she was also a whore.” He shook his head. “I was a fool.”

You took his hand in yours. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. She had us all fooled.”

Robb shook his head. “Not you. She never fooled you. You hated her the minute you saw her, and you were right, too.”

You never once hid your distrust and dislike for her from the moment she and Robb locked eyes, a distrust that only grew more intense when Robb decided to marry her, thus breaking the vow he made with Walder Frey. But despite your skepticism of Talisa Maegyr, you never suspected she was a spy under Tywin Lannister. Eventually, though, you began to trust her after observing her for countless hours.

She wasn’t a Frey girl, but she might be good to Robb. Maybe she would make him happy.

Robb tucked in a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Who would’ve thought that your natural hatred and distrust for anything pretty would come in so handy?”

“I do not hate all things ‘pretty,’” you scoffed. “I just have a natural distrust for things that seem too good to be true that happen to be pretty. Why do you think I ran away from you for so long?”

Robb smirked. “But you always trusted my father?” he chuckled.

"Ned Stark was someone who was born into privilege and knew it," you shrugged. “Besides, he was old and fat when he found me. And I didn’t think it would be useful until now.”

You thought it strange to see her leave the feast so early, claiming that she felt ill, and one of Bolton’s soldiers escorted her to her chambers. You whispered to Theon that you needed some air before quietly following them. You found them discussing how everything was set and how House Stark would fall that night. Talisa’s true name was Joy Marband, one of House Lannister’s vassal houses in the Westerlands. Tal- Joy ensured Lord Bolton that House Lannister would reward him for his loyalty to the crown. Horrified by this revelation, you rushed to where Grey Wind was locked up and freed him after slaying the guards that stood in front of his kennel.

“Grey Wind, gather the men,” you ordered. “Gather as many as possible and lead them to the Great Hall! We don’t have much time!” Grey Wind howled before doing exactly as you ordered. When he parted, you set off to find the spying whore. On your way to find her, you slew every son, guard, knight, squire, and steward that came across you.

You found her all right – found her in her chambers getting fucked from behind by one of Lord Frey’s many bastard sons. You took out your dagger and gutted him from balls to the chest before cutting off his pathetic cock. It gave you a sick amount of pleasure to see how his blood sprayed across the room – from the walls to the bed, on the traitorous cunt’s back he was fucking to on your clothes. His body went limp as a massive puddle of blood surrounded him. After watching him die, you turned your attention to her.

“Please,” she cried while clutching a blood-splattered sheet close to her chest. “Please, I am with child – Robb’s child!”

You reached out, and your hand squeezed around her throat as she tried to claw her way out of your grasp. Anger being your drive, you slammed her head against the headboard of the bed and watched as her lips turned blue from lack of air.

“Don’t you say his name,” you growled. “Don’t you EVER say his name!”

You flung her like she was a simple ragdoll as her body slammed against the stone wall adjacent to the bed. She coughed and gasped for air while rubbing her throat – the bruises were already forming. You stalked towards her before she could crawl away.

“Robb trusted you!” you thundered. “Lady Stark trusted you! The North trusted you – I TRUSTED YOU!”

You towered over her, grabbed a fistful of her umber-shaded locks, and forcefully yanked it until her face was only inches from yours. “AND WHAT DID YOU DO? YOU TOOK THAT TRUST AND REPAID IT WITH BETRAYAL!”

She tried to crawl away before you stomped on her hand and felt it being crushed underneath the sole of your boot. Your former queen wailed in agony from the pain that almost hid the sound of her bones cracking. The dagger you used to fill the bleeding corpse was still in your other hand, and you knelt to trace Lady Marband’s pretty face with its tip.

“W-w-what are you going to do to me?” she pathetically sniffled.

“I have – STOP CRYING! I have only one question for you,” you harshly whispered. “Did my king truly sire the child in your womb?”

“YES!” she cried out quickly…too quickly. Your jaw clenched so hard you thought your teeth would break from all the pressure.

“…Liar,” you hissed.

With nothing left to stop you, you took your dagger and stabbed it into her body. Dragging the blade until her insides were spilling out into your hands, you dug your find to find the child. Her screams howled louder than any beast at night, and you were almost worried that her wails would give away your position. But all those worries went away when you tore the fetus from her womb. Pouring water on it, you found tiny wisps of hair…straight, blond wisps of hair that more resembled the color of golden wheat than Robb’s dark, russet curls.

Hearing Grey Wind’s howl outside the window, you knew it was time. Still holding the whore’s limb and bloodied bastard in your hand, you raced to find Grey Wind. If your suspicions were true, most of the archers for House Frey were already inside the Great Hall while the feast was happening. If you didn’t hurry, you and the men Grey Wind gathered would be too late. You managed to locate him quickly and were relieved to find thousands of men behind him as he immediately trotted to your side.

“Queen Talisa Maegyr is a traitor working for the Lannisters!” you loudly roared. “She belongs to House Marband—one of their vassal houses! Tywin Lannister had sent her to spy on and seduce your king!”

You raised the dead babe high above your head for all the men to see. “The babe in her stomach is not even Robb’s! If you wish for proof, see for yourself!”

You flung its body to the nearest man. He picked it up, and you can see his eyes widen and fill with rage before confirming your words as truth.

“BLONDE!” he bellowed for all his comrades to hear. “BLONDE LIKE JOFFERY AND HIS WHORE MOTHER, HIDING IN THEIR RED SHIT-STAINED CASTLE!”

Cries and shouts of outrage and anger amongst the men. You watched with bated breath as the surge of revenge and the need for bloodshed filled their hearts. You then revealed that Walder Frey and Roose Bolton were also in a secret allegiance with House Lannister and watched as enraged spirits filled the men with enough fury to take down an army of ten thousand. The North needed something to boost morale, and here it was. You looked down at Grey Wind. He stared back into your eyes with the same loyalty he gives Robb, and you know what you must do.

With one swipe, you unsheathe your blade, ‘Purge,’ and raise it above your head as the men go silent.

You shouted before leading the charge into the keep. “COME WITH ME AND LET’S TAKE THESE FUCKING FREYS TO THEIR GRAVES!”

Grey Wind howled to the sky, and the men raised their weapons to let out their battle cries as they followed you, storming into the keep. You shouted orders for the Riverland archers to run to the upper levels to take down the Freys perched there. Your king’s direwolf raced ahead and took down any soldier that tried to cross him. By the time you and the men reached the doors leading to the Great Hall, all of Grey Wind’s face was soaked with spilled red liquid life save for his golden eyes.  

You pushed the door open just in time to see Robb stagger back from the arrows piercing his chest. Just when Roose Bolton tried to deliver the final blow, Grey Wind let out a booming bark before dashing to Lord Bolton and clamping his teeth into his neck. Meanwhile, you went to where Theon was held and removed the heads of the men who were pinning him down with a single swing. You grabbed him by his doublet’s collar, yanked him to his feet, and shoved a spare sword in his hand.

“Grab Robb and his mother, and get out of here!” you ordered.

He shook his head. “I’m not leaving you–”

“Dammit Theon! Don’t argue with me!” you shouted. “Just get Robb and Lady Catelyn somewhere safe!”

Theon looked at the chaos unfolding around him. “What about Queen Talisa?”

“She’s dead! I killed her!” you answered.

 “WHAT?!” Theon’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head.

You rolled your eyes. “Tywin Lannister sent her to spy and fuck Robb – NOW, GO!”

Once you saw Theon take Lady Stark and they dragged Robb’s bleeding body to safety, you could finally focus on the fight. You focused your sights on every man who wore a Frey or Bolton sigil and didn’t stop until each one was lying at your feet. The blood spilled from each slash, stab, and chop from Purge soaked your clothes and caked your face. But it was as if a dark ritual had taken place, as their blood only seemed to empower each and every one of your attacks. Before long, it was too late for House Frey and House Bolton. Walder Frey and Roose Bolton were bleeding at the Northmen’s feet, and any reinforcements called were immediately subdued and taken into custody.

As far as you were concerned, the only Frey left in the hall was Roslin—but whether she and the rest of her sisters would keep their heads after their surviving brothers would soon lose theirs didn’t really matter to you.

“I’m alive,” Robb began while cupping your cheek, “because of you. The North survived because of you. How can I ever repay you?”

You held his hand. “I didn’t save you for your gratitude, Robb. I didn’t save you so that you could repay me with titles, money, or lands. I saved you because it was my duty. I saved you because I swore to that night Joffery called for your father’s head, and we named you ‘King of the North.’ I saved you because I…”

Robb titled his head. “Because you what?”

“Don’t make me say it,” you whispered.

“Because you love me?” he softly asked. Pressing his forehead to yours, he continued. “Because I do…you know I do.”

You shook your head. “No, Robb – please. Please don’t do this to me. Don’t say things you don’t mean to make me look less foolish.”

You tried to move back and away from the man you’ve longed after for as long as you could remember. But Robb took your hands and pressed them close to his chest as he implored you to remain by his side.

“That night, after they named me ‘King of the North.’ Do you remember? We were in my tent. I told you I wanted to be alone, but you refused to leave me. I cried and lashed like a screaming child, but you never left.”

This was getting too far. This wasn’t why you came here. “Robb, you need to listen to me–”

But Robb didn’t stop talking. “You just stood there – taking it until you finally took me in your arms and held me. You didn’t say a word; you just let me cry out my pain. Like that time when we captured the Kingslayer, you held my hand when I kneeled in front of the Whispering Wood to mourn the men I lost. You didn’t speak of how brilliant I was or how the lives lost were for a good cause; you let me be me and mourn.”

“Robb–”

“That’s when I knew I loved you – that I’ve always loved you. And then, when we kissed–”

“I’m leaving,” you blurted out, “to Maidenpool tomorrow morning.”

The silence between you two seemed to echo louder than any wind that howled during the fiercest storms. Shock was the first thing on Robb’s face before complete and utter horror took over.

You may have spoken too quickly. “Well, no…technically, I and…a few other riders will be headed to Maidenpool tomorrow morning. We need to prepare a ship for your voyage to Dragonstone.”

“…What?” His voice sounded so broken that you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

You combed your fingers through the stray hairs in front of your face. Then, you took a deep breath to prepare for the little speech you had prepared for this moment. This was the plan you and all lords agreed on. It was a good plan, and it was going to work. That’s all you needed to believe to convince Robb.

“Stannis is the realm’s best chance for peace. Perhaps he’s too stubborn but needs more people on his council. Your lords and I decided it was best if you traveled to Dragonstone to try and convince him to become allies with us. But you still need a few more days to recover. So, by the time you arrive at the docks, the ship will be ready. That’s why I – we’re traveling to Maidenpool… to travel to Dragonstone.”

“And after?” Robb breathily asked. His grip on you tightened in desperate hopes of keeping you close. “After we speak with Stannis, we’ll come back? You and me—we’re coming back together?”

You looked away. “You’ll be coming back…along with everyone else. But I…I won’t be coming with you.”

“But I…I won’t be coming with you.”

Robb dropped his hands as if you burned him. You were lying. You had to be – you weren’t genuinely thinking about…about leaving him.

“No,” he panted with terrified eyes. “No, no, no, please.”

You cupped his face. “Robb, please understand–”

“What’s there to understand?!” he cried out. “I love you! And you love me – and yet you’re leaving me! Why?”

“You don’t love me,” you countered. “You’re only saying you love me because you’re angry and hurt by Talisa–”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about that whore,” he spat out.

You rolled your eyes. “Robb, please. You married her. You took her as your wife and nearly ruined the North because of that choice. Of course, you loved her. And, understandably, you’re lashing out because she betrayed you. But don’t lie to me and say you didn’t love her.”

“(Y/N), love,” he beseechingly thought, “you have no idea how wrong you are.”

Robb snarled like the wolf he was at your words. “I married her because I thought she was carrying my child, and I didn’t want my future heir to be a bastard.”

“Even so, that doesn’t explain why–”

You were going to hate him for what he was about to say. “Because you refused me.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his shameful reveal. Robb never felt more rueful and penitent of his naivety than now. The last thing he wanted was your disgust and hatred, but he needed you to understand how long he’s loved you. He needed you to realize that you were always the one who held his heart and sanity – without you, he was nothing, as was proven by the Freys and Boltons’ betrayal.

“Robb, I…I don’t – I don’t understand,” you stammered. Your eyes showed that your mind was running amok with questions and a desperate need for clarification. “Wha-…what are you talking about?”

Robb took a deep breath and tried to swallow the lump lodged in his throat.

“That night when my bannermen named me ‘King,’ you followed me to my tent. I kept lashing at you like an angry child, but you never left my side. And then…we kissed, and it led to more. The following day, I wanted to find you – to declare my love for you fully. But every time I got near you…you turned away like I was poison. That’s why I turned to Talisa…to try to forget about you.”

Your eyes widened in horror as your chest moved up and down with shaky breaths. “You broke your vows with Walder Frey…was because of me? You bedded and married Talisa because of me? …I hurt you… a-a-and–” You let out a trembling sob. “–Oh gods, this is all my fault! I-i-if I hadn’t confused you that night–”

Robb could feel you slipping away and continued to try to tether you to him.

“No, my love,” he cooed. “You never confused me. You’re not listening to me. I’ve always loved you, even before that night.”

Robb tried to hold you close, but you harshly shoved him back and stood. He watched as tears continued to fill your eyes, and your face carried an expression that could only be described as overwhelming guilt. Robb flung the covers off him and tried to walk towards you, but each step he took closer to you made you step further back.

You stared at him with a shameful expression. “Robb, I…I was wrong to let things escalate between us. You had just been declared king and were grieving for your father, and I took advantage of your grief and vulnerability–”

Robb tenderly held your face. “No, no, no—you didn’t, though. (Y/N) That night…you gave me your love. You didn’t say it, but you gave me your love, and I gave you mine. I never regretted that night or laying with you. How you spurned my attempts to connect with you afterward—that was what hurt me the most.”

“Robb…” you sobbed his name as tears strolled down your cheeks. “I never wanted to hurt you. I just wanted…I thought if I weren’t beside you…I’d also be protecting you from distractions from the war and your duty to the Freys – oh gods, I’m so sorry.”

You put your hand over your face. “Robb, if that night never happened…if I never followed you to your tent then…then, we wouldn’t be in this mess! All of this is my fault! Talisa, the Lannisters, the broken vow with Walder Frey – the North is more vulnerable than ever, and it’s because of me! …I mutilated a pregnant woman and murdered her unborn child.”

Robb helplessly watched as you continued to blame yourself for his foolishness. Knowing you would want your privacy, he sent Grey Wind away to guard his tent. Gods, his father would be so ashamed of him if he saw him now. He watched as you fell to the ground and began to weep out apologies to every soldier who was murdered by the Boltons and Freys at the Red Wedding.

…Lucas Blackwood…Dacey Mormont…Patrek Mallister…Robin Flint…Ser Wendel Manderly…Owen Norrey…And over three hundred other men and soldiers whose blood were spilled that night.

You even begged for forgiveness from the old gods and new ones, for the blood that belonged to Joy Marband that will forever remain on your hands, along with the stolen breaths of her unborn son.

But then the tears stopped…and an eerie calm cloaked the tent. Your eyes were red and swollen, but a spark of mad clarity was dancing in them. Very slowly, you stood with your head still bowed.

“I have to leave,” you whispered. “I have to leave and never come back. If I stay, I’ll only continue to ruin you and our cause more than I already have.”

You turned away to leave, but Robb reached out to stop you before you could take another step. He begged you to look at him, pleading for you to listen to reason before making any rash decisions. When you stubbornly refused, he grabbed your jaw and forcefully turned your head to face him. His crystal-blue eyes were wide with fear and misty from anguish. He had to make you understand that your leaving was not an option.

“(Y/N), look at me—please, love,” Robb implored. " If you leave me, I will never recover. If you dare leave my side, I will tear all of Westeros apart—leaving no stone unturned, no cave unsearched, no village left unplundered. We belong together. You and me – ruling the North, side-by-side in Winterfell. Us, together, spending every night in each other’s arms, with each morning beginning by being greeted by our children.”

He pulled your face closer until your lips were only a few inches away, and your individual breaths intermingled to become one. You want that life with him—just as he wants that life with you. So why can’t you embrace it and share it with him?

You shut your gaze from him and tried to choke down the pain. “It doesn’t matter what either of us wants. All that matters right now is what we need. What matters is how we can gather ourselves from these losses and try to form allies. And if me being here distracts you from that, then…then I need to leave.”

Robb determinedly shakes his head. “No, no – I don’t accept that.”

“Robb–” you tried to reason, but all of your pleas were cut off when he pressed his lips against yours.

And just like that – all words floated away like debris falling into a steady river.

A warm and tingling sensation ran down (Y/N)’s body as their lips met, and she closed her eyes to fully succumb to the sensation. She knew that she should have pushed him away immediately. But as Robb continued to hold her face gently to deepen the kiss, all sense of reason fled from (Y/N)’s mind when his lips moved against hers with gentle and firm urgency. In that moment, nothing mattered – not the messy past, the unstable present, or the uncertain future. At that moment, (Y/N) felt completely free of all worries and fears as Robb’s hands began to trail down to wrap his arms around her waist to hold her closer while (Y/N) wrapped her arms over his neck.

Despite the constriction of their lungs, neither wanted to part. If they could die in this embrace, then so be it. (Y/N) felt every hard, warm muscle of Robb’s body pressed against hers as they began to walk back until the back of his knees hit his cot’s edge. They tumbled onto the cot, and the fall caused Robb to fall on his back with (Y/N)’s soft and supple frame to press further against him. He slightly winced in pain, which caused the two lovers to finally part. As (Y/N) stared down at her king with a concerned expression, Robb thought an angel was with him.

He stared at her flushed cheeks and lust-glazed eyes with naked longing. Her (h/c) strands tumbled to form a curtain hiding their faces. Staring at the mythic beauty over him, Robb knew he wanted this with (Y/N) forever. Meanwhile, (Y/N) gently swept his curls from his face before trailing her hands down his bandaged chest to search if any wounds had been opened.

“Do you need me to stop?” she asked, her heart beating a hundred miles a minute. “You’re still healing, it might be best if we–”

“If you even think of finishing that sentence with ‘stop,’” Robb interjected. “I’ll bind your hands and take you from behind over and over until the only word you can say is my name – just to show you and everyone else that I could be dying from a cut-off leg if it means I can have you.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and giggled. “You’re so dramatic sometimes. I just don’t want you bleeding out and dying before I finish.”

Robb sat up, wrapped his arms around her, and forced her to straddle him. The sudden realization that Robb had been naked this entire time had somehow escaped (Y/N)’s attention as she felt the evidence of his heavily growing arousal against her body. His lips hovered as his warm breath hit her skin, and his low-timber voice whispered into her ear.

“At least you know where this night will take us,” he huskily growled. “Because I don’t plan on stopping until your womb is so full of my seed – it leaks from your cunt.”

He lowered his hands to grasp her hips before trailing them down to sink his hands over her ass. Showing his canines with a lecherous grin, Robb teasingly ground his hips against hers. He rubbed his hardening manhood against her warm core and reveled in the gasps and whimpers escaping her plumped lips. (Y/N) threw her head back as she could no longer hold back her cries of ecstasy. Taking full advantage of her exposed neck, Robb latched his lips just under her and traced the column of her neck with his soft, hot lips.  The feeling of his lips combined with the scruff of his beard against her skin was nothing less than euphoric.

“Oh, Robb,” she breathily panted as their bodies rocked together in sync. “Gods, don’t stop!”

Her hands roamed until her fingers fisted around his dark copper curls. (Y/N) felt her lower body clench when he bit on a pulse point before giving languid strokes of his tongue on it. The contrast between his hot, wet tongue and the chill of his breath when he blew on it gave her goosebumps. (Y/N) softly pushed him back as she longingly gazed into his sapphire-ice pools with her (e/c) eyes and twirled one of his russet curls with her finger. Robb leaned forward and pressed a small peck on her lips as an overwhelming feeling of love encompassed him at her smile.

“I love you,” he sighed out, “do you know that? I love you, (Y/N). I love you so much.”

(Y/N) wanted so desperately to say it back, but the words failed. Seeing how much his love struggled, Robb cupped her cheek and reveled in her warmth as she nuzzled into his palm.

“You don’t have to say now,” he reassured her. “I just—I just want you to know that. Promise me no matter what, you know that.”

(Y/N) nodded. “I promise,” she said with a trembling voice. “I…I want it to say back. But I just…with everything that’s happened—I can’t help but feel like…if Red Wedding wasn’t going to be the thing that causes us to lose this war, I’m so scared of what will.”

Robb pressed a soft kiss to (Y/N)’s temple. “Don’t be scared. I know we’ll make it. We will win this war and take King’s Landing from the Lannisters. And when we do, Sansa will finally be free, and we can all return home.”

“To where you’ll rule the North as King in Winterfell,” (Y/N) mused in a wistful tone. “It feels like a sin to even dream of it now.”

Robb stroked his thumb over her cheek. “It’ll be your home, too.”

(Y/N) gave her beautiful king a genuine but sad smile. “I don’t want to talk about the future right now.”

Robb’s brow furrowed at her foreboding words. “What do you want to talk about?”

When (Y/N) pulled away and stepped off his lap, Robb was prepared to chase her through the camp naked if she dared run away while he was in this state. But she just stepped to the center of the space before removing her boots, followed by her stripping the dark leather breeches slowly down until the bare skin of her legs was revealed. She then lifted her tunic over her head along with her chest binder.

Robb was so painfully hard just from looking at her. He cursed himself for thinking he could ever be happy with Talisa, knowing that perfection was standing before him in his tent. His eyes drank in the sight of (Y/N)’s naked body as if looking away would kill him. He took it all in, from every scar that faded to a pale sliver to every beauty mark unique to her. He wondered if she truly knew how beautiful she was…if she understood how much she had completely and utterly bewitched his soul just with her presence. He wondered if she knew how much he wanted to kneel at her feet so that he could beg for her permission to let him worship her for the rest of his life.

(Y/N) began to walk toward him, and it felt as if the world around them was fading into incoherence, and only the two of them were left. When she finally reached him, she took his hand and placed it over her heart. She wanted him to feel it racing from his touch, from his gaze. Then, she lowered herself until her eyes leveled with his as she sat on the cot’s blankets. With her hands, she cupped his face and poured all her love for her king from her eyes.

“I’m tired,” she sighed. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t want this…of pretending I don’t want you. But most of all…I’m so tired of pretending that I…that I don’t love you.”

It felt like an enormous weight had been lifted off her shoulders as (Y/N) finally confessed her love for her king, Robb Stark. The man she marched with from Winterfell when Joffery first imprisoned his father. The man whom she fought beside and watched mourn for every good man who fell fighting for him. The man she’s loved since before she knew what love meant.

(Y/N) let out a heavy sob. “Because I do, Robb. I do love you. Gods, I love you so much – not just as a soldier loves their king, but as a woman who loves a man.”

Robb hadn’t realized he was crying until (Y/N) wiped a tear with her thumb. He took his hand from her chest and pulled her face towards him until their lips met again. Wet laughter mixed with tears and kisses made for a strange sight for an outsider, but it was a moment filled with more love and happiness than these two dared to hope. The way their bodies moved and swayed before (Y/N) fell on her back underneath Robb Stark as he hovered above her looked more akin to an awkward entanglement of limbs than an impassioned embrace. But for the two lovers, kissing each other seemed as easy as breathing and soothing like a gently falling summer snow. (Y/N) marveled at how easy it was to kiss Robb. It almost felt organic, with how naturally drunk they became by the taste of the other.

Soon, the kiss became more heated as (Y/N) and Robb grew more hungry to explore more of each other’s bodies. The more heated Robb kissed her, the more eager (Y/N)’s hands grew to explore his strong, muscular body. Her hands caressed his warm skin, and her fingers softly traced the scars that made him all the more desirable. His lips trailed to her chin and traveled down her neck until he had just reached the tops of her breasts. Grinning at how hard she was breathing, he took one breast in his hand and twisted her nipple. A needy cry left her lips at his harsh tugging before turning into a high-pitched whine when he bit the other.

Pleasure coursed through (Y/N)’s body like blue-hot lightning as her back arched into his body, and her entire frame felt paralyzed from it. She felt her core leaking from arousal as Robb’s hard, throbbing member was pressed against her stomach. Deciding that if he waited any longer, then he would likely burst, Robb used one hand to roam down (Y/N)’s body until he settled in the special place between her legs. He then took the other breast and tugged its nipple between his teeth before using his other hand to tug and twist the one previously in his mouth. Meanwhile, (Y/N)’s mind was so clouded in lust that she could not feel Robb stroking her clit with one finger before sinking two fingers inside her walls.

“Fuck…your walls are so tight on my fingers,” he huskily groaned as (Y/N) wept in ecstasy. “Such a wicked girl…avoiding your king and keeping this sweet cunt away from me. Every time I laid with that whore, I had to fight the urge to call out your name when I spilled into her. But you won’t do that anymore, will you? You know better to run now, right?”

“I-I-I won’t run! I’m yours, Robb! I only belong to you!” She stammered as Robb began to rub tight circles with his now-soaked fingers on her clit. She thrashed against the covers, fisting the furs on his bed to somehow anchor her. Her core tightened, and no matter how much she wanted to close her legs, his hips prevented her from doing so. As a result, (Y/N) had to take it and continue drowning in the pleasure that was Robb Stark’s love.

“Good girl,” Robb darkly chuckled as he straightened his back and placed his hands on the back of her thighs to spread them wide. He took his cock in his hand and rubbed its leaking tip against her folds. “Are you ready for me to take you? Are you ready to know how a wolf breeds his mate?”

(Y/N) quickly nodded. She couldn’t take the waiting any longer. “Please, Robb,” she begged. “Please take me—make me yours!”

With a single thrust, Robb plunged his entire length inside until he bottomed out, and the tip of his manhood kissed the entrance of her womb. The stretch of his thick, hard member against her walls gave the most delicious burn that made (Y/N) peak from the feeling of how deep he was inside her.  Meanwhile, Robb’s face snarled at how warm and tight (Y/N)’s cunt felt around him. As her walls tightly clamped down on his length, he bit inside his cheek so hard that the coppery taste of blood coated his tongue to prevent him from erupting right then and there. His hand traveled to her hair and sharply tugged it back so that he could roughly kiss her. His blood only further aroused (Y/N)’s lust for the man inside her as she considered it another sign that she had tasted more of her king and another piece was inside her. Emboldened by this action, she wrapped her tights around his hips to further mold their bodies as one.

The way (Y/N)’s body was pressed against his inflamed Robb’s ardor as he pulled out until only the tip was still inside before roughly thrusting himself in fully. Each time he pulled out and pushed back in, she gave him a symphony of cries and begging that could be heard throughout the camp. The slapping of their skin from each thrust inside of (Y/N) made him grip her hips so tightly that she could already feel the bruises forming on her skin as a steady pace had been reached.

Sweat built on both the lovers’ bodies as (Y/N) began to dig her nails into Robb’s skin and claw long scratches down his back. The twinge of pain only made the young king want to sink deeper and deeper into her until they became one inseparable being. Robb tried to remind himself to go slower to avoid harm (Y/N), but one look in her eyes told him there was no need to hold back.

“Take me,” her eyes begged. “Make me completely yours from this day until my last days.”

Upon her request, it felt as if a dormant beast had taken over Robb, as all he could think about was how much he wanted to take her faster, harder, and rougher – until the only word she could say was his name. As he set off at a new pace, (Y/N)’s eyes rolled back as she began to babble out incoherent cries and moans. It felt like there was no part of her mind, body, and soul that wasn’t wholly drowning from waves of pleasure crashing into her.

She was sure the following day, she would do everything in her power to avoid everyone’s eyes, as they all likely heard her moaning for their king like a common whore. But for now, at this moment, she wanted to only exist for Robb and continue drowning in his love.

Soon, it wasn’t long before the familiar feeling of a knot tightening inside her began to coil more tautly as Robb continued to lavish her in his adoration. (Y/N) could feel her pleasure climbing higher and higher until the knot grew so tight that it snapped. It felt as if a dam had burst, and a heavy flood of pleasure crashed into every muscle of her body. The release had made her feel as if her body had reached new heights of pleasure so immense that it became almost painful as tears started to roll down her cheeks. (Y/N)’s eyes shot wide, and she opened her mouth as her back arched into him, but no sound was made. There was nothing that could adequately convey the

Feeling (Y/N) release on his cock, Robb growled as he felt the last vestiges of his sanity snap and lost all composure. He began to increase his pace until his thrusts became rough and frantic to chase his end. He pushed her thighs until they were pressed against her chest before wildly thrusting deeper inside her walls to feel more of her heat. He was able to fuck into her once, thrice, ten more times before his body went taut, and he spilled his seed into (Y/N)’s womb. Her soaked, vice walls gripped around him and tried to milk all of him in desperate want to carry his child.

As Robb felt the last of his cum leave him, a wave of exhaustion crashed into him, and his arms were no longer able to prevent his body from falling atop (Y/N). Panting for air and resting his head in the crook of her neck, Robb turned to rest on his side while making sure her body was still connected to his. His touch became soothing and gentle as he whispered his dreams and hopes for a child with her hair and his eyes to be borne from this night. She tiredly giggles as he delicately kisses her cheeks, nose, temple, and brow while he talks.

He wanted to weep tears of joy. He felt almost…blessed. After aimlessly wandering in a barren wasteland with no clear end, Robb felt as close to peace as the first time he shared a bed with (Y/N). Robb wraps his arms around her frame and brings furs to cover them as a chilling breeze enters the tent, and (Y/N) shivers from the chill. He tightens his embrace as sleep takes over him.

He whispers in her ear, “I love you, (Y/N). We will be so happy together. I know we will.”

She slightly hesitates before replying. “I am yours, Robb. I swear this to you.”

Her king was so lost in his bliss that he didn’t notice the sadness in her eyes and the tremble in her voice.

A gentle stream of light stirred Robb awake. He stretched his arms and blearily rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Based on how loud it was outside his tent, it was late in the day. He reached out to hold you once more…when he felt your side of his bed feel cold. Immediately alarmed, Robb shot up and looked around his surroundings.

There was no sign of you anywhere.

Your clothes…your bag…your sword…even your bloody scent was gone!

Robb shot out of bed and hastily dressed himself in only his breeches and doublet to begin searching for you. But just as he was about to leave after putting on his boots, a small scroll had been placed in the middle of his desk. He dashed over and quickly opened it. The instant relief from recognizing your handwriting cruelly died as he read over your words, and he could feel his heart breaking.

Every word I said last night holds true – from this day to my last day. I am yours, Robb Stark. But you cannot be mine.

Also, I plan to make this a...3 part series? Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Please comment your thoughts and reblog if you think more people would like to read this!

Tagging: @valeskafics, @asa-do-your-thing, @aphroditesmoon, @llonelygoddess, @arcielee, @countrymusiclover, @yns-world, @axelsagewrites, @bre99, @katzoinks, @asongofrhaenyra, @rise-my-angel, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @anewpersonthatexists, @bogbutteronmycroissant, @sylasthegrim, @writingsofwesteros, @julessworldd , @dipperscavern

[doodle-pops]

Turn Back the Sands of Time

Feanor x daughter!reader

Request: Can I request a fic for Feanor, coming back to Valinor after hia death, finding out Nerdanel had been pregnant when he left and she gave birth to a daughter. And if possible, this daughter has Miriel's sewing gift. – anon

A/N: I took a different route to how their interaction would occur and made this quite sentimental than I intended :)

Warnings: female reader, soft angst, softness and comfort, reconciliation

Words: 2.4k

Synopsis: With the return of your father to the Blessed Realm, an attempt at rekindling what was never forged, is pursued.

“Leaving so early?”

Your mother’s voice reverberated through the morning air, clear yet carrying a stern undertone. The sun had ascended over the hills and forest, casting its benevolent warmth upon the damp, fertile earth, coaxing the crawlies to retreat to their hidden abodes.

Startled by her sudden intrusion, you jerked in surprise, twisting your neck to find your mother positioned in the doorway. Her hands firmly rested on her hips, already adorned with small flecks of clay and dust. A hasty bun confined her hair, and she wore the familiar work coveralls that marked her dedication to the tasks at hand. “Oh, you gave me a fright!” you awkwardly chuckled, your attention momentarily diverted from the contents of your basket. “I’m... heading out.”

Her bare feet made no sound on the polished floorings as she traversed the distance, positioning herself beside you. With keen observation, she watched as you hastened your packaging, attempting to conceal the contents within the basket. Despite your efforts, you weren’t as clever as you believed. However, she remained silent, extending her left hand to rest against your waist. Leaning in, she placed a tender kiss on your cheek.

“At least be safe on the road. You can borrow a few of my cloaks, they’ll keep you warm, and good luck. I cannot tell you how to decide, but when you do, know that it is something you will have to live with.”

Suddenly, she vanished through the backdoor, setting you on the arduous path to Formenos after brief stops at Tirion’s market to procure supplies. Pastries, breads, salted meats, and fruits were gathered in an attempt to ease any potential awkwardness.

Alone on the road for five days, you revisited regions where you had once stealthily ventured. The surroundings were steeped in familiarity as you leisurely strolled by. The rhythmic clopping of your horse’s hooves on the gravelled road, the subtle rustling of trees and bushes, vast open fields where the wind hummed its tune, and the delightful symphony of birdsong and frog croaks accompanied your journey. Small creatures scurried at the feet of your horse, some perching on your shoulders or head. Nightfall descended, only to be swiftly replaced by the break of day, marking the conclusion of your expedition.

As you arrived at your destination, the wear and tear on the landscape became evident. Paint had faded, stones were missing from pillars and posts, wood showed signs of decay, and windows lay shattered. Face-to-face with the relentless march of time and the scars of neglect, you confronted the tangible evidence of one’s transgressions.

Dismounting from your majestic stallion, you carefully secured him to an apple tree before continuing on foot. The path led you through a gateway and into a garden adorned with a subtle array of colours—some signs of life still blossoming. Your keen eyes noticed the adjustments since your last visit, becoming attuned to the intense presence and weight that the surroundings now bore.

With each step, the gravel and dust beneath your sandals resonated against the cobblestone, creating a symphony of soft crunches until you abruptly halted before the colossal red door, proudly displaying the house sigil in shimmering gold. Tightening your grip on the basket and assuming a more composed posture, a sense of tension gripped your throat, akin to barbed wires constricting around it.

Summoning your courage, you knocked on the door, the sound echoing three times in tandem with the palpitations of your heart.

Initially, it seemed like no one was home, but an imposing presence lingered in the air, prompting you to raise your hand for another attempt. However, before your knuckles could make contact, the hinges groaned, and a towering figure emerged. A giant of an elf with fiery red hair and silvery eyes loomed before you, meeting your tentative gaze. While a hunch suggested his identity, he was not the person you had come to meet. An acute observation of his appearance left you trembling at your core.

His features were the same as the portraits hung in your mother’s workshop, a stark difference to the descriptions your uncle Arafinwë explained. There were no scars, missing ligament or whitening of his hair, but it was still enough to elicit fright in your bones. The stories were enough, running their course to remind all of his actions.

“No trespassing, this is private property. Whatever business you are conducting, take it elsewhere,” he muttered under his breath with emptiness in his eyes before shuffling to slam the door in your face.

Luckily, you stuck your hand out. “Wait, please don’t! I uh…” you fumbled and exhaled, “I came to speak with Lord Fëanáro. Is he in?”

“If you are here to lay blame on him for his actions, I would suggest that you get in line—”

Waving your hands frantically in his face, you panicked. “No, no, no, no! You have it all wrong. I’m not here for that; I’m here to simply speak with him.”

“Speak with him?” Maedhros meditated. “Did King Arafinwë send you?”

Your eyes widened in disbelief at the surprising intensity with which your own brother reacted to your simple desire to speak with his father. It was truly perplexing that, despite all that had transpired, he continued to share living quarters with Fëanáro. Your assumption that their relationship had soured after recent events was swiftly proven incorrect.

Clearly, his perspectives on Fëanáro differed significantly from yours, and he held personal convictions that he preferred to keep to himself. The intricacies of their business remained shrouded in mystery.

“Uncl—King Arafinwë did not send me, I sent myself,” you stated with pride, straightening out any fears in your posture and stretching a confident smile across your lips. “Can you tell him that a…a Lady Y/N is here to speak with him?”

The moment your name fell past your lips, you saw the micro-expression of your brother’s eyes widening before composing themselves. His stance changed from no longer blocking the entire doorway to standing aside and granting you a peek inside. You were half expecting him to make a scene, yet he proved otherwise.

Maedhros’ eyes fluttered and flickered around your frame, contemplating on his next decision. Exhaling, he stepped outside, shutting the door behind and ushered around you figure to the left of the house. “He’s situated on this side of the house. It’s quicker and less…obstructive. Follow me.” And you partially understood what he meant—the bloodstains from where your grandfather was slain, still staining the floors. However, it was the unwarranted meet-and-greet of the rest of your brothers.

You weren’t here for them, and Maedhros was kind enough to spare you.

The journey unfolded in a discomforting silence, compelling you to tighten your grip on the basket as the minutes passed. Your elder brother guided you through a labyrinth of twists and turns, eventually leading to the distant sounds of a babbling stream and the faint rustling of paper being crumpled. As you approached an archway, entwined and covered in an overgrowth of vines, the scene unfolded before you—Fëanáro, seated on a bench, holding a charcoal, and engrossed in fervent scribbling on parchment, an expression of exasperation etched across his features.

Despite the openness of the surroundings, the air felt stifling. The heavens above offered a solution to wash away the lingering muskiness, and yet, it persisted. How could anyone discover peace or find reprieve in such conditions?

“I’ll leave you to speak with him.” He offered a polite smile, and with a bow of his head, Maedhros departed, leaving you to face his father in privacy.

Acknowledging the bow with a graceful return, you redirected your attention towards the man seated on the weathered wooden bench. His appearance had undergone a noticeable transformation since your initial encounter—his once neatly tied hair now cascaded loosely, and his attire, less polished, resembled something reminiscent of what your mother wore when she was in her element. Absent were the ornate rings that had adorned his fingers, and there was a notable absence of any jewellery embellishing his clothing. In this particular moment, he existed simply as Fëanáro, the man who had seemingly returned from the realm of the deceased. The elf who had…

“How long will you linger in the shadows, child?” came his soft voice. It was much mellow that the confrontation shared with your mother.

Taking a large gulp of air, you crossed the archway, entered his space to stand at the entrance and called out. “Greetings Lord Fëanáro.”

A resounding cry escaped his lips the moment his eyes fell upon your timid figure. Joy and agony intertwined in his heart as he realized that his child had come to visit him. With a swift, almost spring-like motion, he abandoned his seat, forgetting the letter that lay there, and hurried over to stand before your magnificence. It was the first time he had a clear image of the daughter he had denied himself the knowledge of. In your features, he saw not just you but also your mother and the reflection of his eldest.

An intense yearning surged within him, a desire to reach out and grasp you, to finally experience the touch of a creation that bore no marks of his mistakes. However, hesitation gripped his mind, as the unexpected loomed overhead like ominous clouds threatening to unleash a storm. The uncertainty lingered, questioning whether the rain would be cold or warm, if it would bring wrath or peace—or perhaps an outburst of everything.

“You…” He laughed breathlessly with disbelief at the tip of his tongue. “You’re all grown up. I was told about you during my return, unsure if a meeting would occur. I had glimpsed you at your mother’s, hoping to be acquainted. Unfortunately, I had not been blessed.”

“Hm, I decided to come see you on my own after…” your voice trailed off, indicating his reunion with your mother. “Well, she had the inclination that I was coming to see you, yet she did not stop me. I wanted to hear from you on my own.”

His facial muscles engaged in a silent struggle, battling the instinct to react to every nuance of your words. His hands, twitching with the desire to pull you into a comforting embrace, held back, understanding that such a gesture might inflict more harm than healing. Your perceptions of him were coloured by his transgressions. You possessed ample reasons to maintain a distance, not just from him, but also from your own brothers.

“What is there for me to tell you when you are aware of everything, my child?” he responded with reservation.

“Why?”

Your question lingered in the air, a stain that defied any attempts at removal; not even the heavens’ rain could cleanse it.

One question. Millions of reasons. One answer, and yet, he chose to walk away with his back turned and head hung in shame. His body collided with the bench with his head in his hands facing the floor.

“What answer might I give to you that would satisfy your perspective of me?” he uttered. “You’ve heard it all; I chose the Silmarils over my family… Why you ask? Pride, maybe arrogance or my blind foolishness. I led my children into death and one by one I watched them succumb to the same madness as me.”

“But you have me who was spared from the doom. I exist, someone you can change for. Someone who can be the answer to why.” Were the words wanting to spill from your lips, however, now was not the time. There was much to be possibly kindled to know how much your words weighed.

Stepping closer to where he sat hunched, you placed the basket beside him and knelt. Your hands were hesitant to touch his, but you managed to pry them off his face. “You know, there’s a saying that ammë says,” you whispered akin to the wind, “it’s something along the lines of, ‘second chances don’t come around often, but when they do, they appear in mysterious ways. It’s only if you desire it, then possibilities will arise’. If you want forgiveness, you can start with me. Show me the you who wants better.”

Fëanáro lifted his head, his mismatch teary eyes locking on your compassionate ones. He was stunned at your sympathy when his wife would not spare him the chance. If only he had not been so foolish, the family he desired would have existed before his very eyes. “You do not truly mean your words? Your mother would not pardon me—”

“I am not ammë; your quarrel with her is between you both. I am Y/N and this is between us. I choose to try building this relationship so long as you work with me,” you corrected with confidence laced in your voice. Your eyes were stern, filled with assertiveness and the reflection of faces you’d never met. “You have to want this.”

He considered with sorrowful eyes, too fearful of repeating his past and ruining his last blessing. With deliberate actions, he shifted to sit upright and meet you head-on. “Then I make no promises...no oaths.”

“Good, because I was prepared to convince you anyway possible since I brought treats for us to indulge, and I would hate for them to waste.” Your eyes darted to the basket filled with delicacies for you both to snack on during your formal meet-and-greet. “Imagine how awkward it would be had you rejected, and I had to return with a filled basket of treats.”

“You could have left it with your brothers. I’m sure they would be thrilled to learn their sister brought treats for them.” Fëanáro felt a surge of pride at the flow of your interactions, lacking awkwardness and tension. It gave him a sense of purpose to understand that all good things were not lost.

Though his refusal to utter the words of “Thanks” remained in his heart, for he knew Eru had heard and seen his gratitude.

Snickering as you reached for the basket to produce a blanket, you threw him a whimsical side eye. “I doubt that. You should have seen how the giant redhead was staring at me. I thought I was about to be thrown like a javelin out the yard,” you giggled.

“Maitimo?”

“Ay, I thought he was going to toss me out! Though it seems that the others are here as well?”

“Would you be willing to meet them?”

“Maybe another time, I only came with enough energy to deal with you.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @mysticmoomin @rain-on-my-umbrella @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @sakurayaxd @ladyenchanted @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @aconstructofamind @addaigio @lamemaster @hermaeuswhora

[brights-place]

hihi!! i didn’t see that asks were closed but if they are then please ignore:)

can you do an alastor x fem/gn mafia boss? (from 1920s)

tysm!! soz if it’s too specific:(

Alastor x Mafia boss! Reader

Pairings: Alastor X F!Reader (platonic!)

Warnings: Death, murder, Drugs, Weaponry

A/N: Alastor Is aroace so I'm making it platonic because well as an person under the aroace umbrella since I'm an pansexual person who is an mix of an cupioromantic and demi-sexual person so yeahhh! Anyways hope you enjoy the request! <33

- When you first arrived in hell you were confused looking around the area their were beings and strange creatures walking around - The area appeared to be a rundown city and industrial area with rampant criminal and gang activity as the sky was filled with red stars and an flipping coin that was suppose to be the moon...?

- You stood up looking down at yourself and back around seeing signs that had the word 'Mammon' on it or an sigil of an M which made you confused

- You staretd to walk around eyebrows furrowed at whoever or whatever tried to reach you as you easily took them down.

- Next thing you knew after a day you were ruling a spot in the greed ring… you don’t know how! You just DID - You were soon known as 'Lady Ploutos' the woman who held wealth and power which made you an target but it was very easy for you to take them down with an snap of your fingers - You soon became an 'overlord' whatever that mean't to you. You were soon invited to an 'Overlord' meeting which you complied to go to due to the fact you were bored and you currently weren't gun smuggling or committing some more crimes

- Due to having relations with Mammon and helping him gain more wealth that the greedy man wanted he'd allow you to leave and come back whenever you pleased

- As you left the greed ring after having permission from mammon you stared out the window of the car watching everything shift as you were now in the pride ring.

- Your driver dropped you off as you hopped out of the car and glanced behind you to the driver who whipped his gun up swiftly towards your direction as you didn't turn around to face him once more as an blood curdling scream was heard after some moments later you glanced back to the car - His body was limp against the steering wheel eyes rolled back and his jaw ripped off showing only the top layer of his teeth and face as one eye was popping out his head like an caterpillar or an worm peaking out from an apple his body pale and numb as the deads driver bottom half of the jaw was on the car floor with blood pooling out of what was left of the males mouth as an wound was noticed coming from the nape down to his abodoem.

- You couldn't care less as you continued to walk up to an elevator noticing an male with an strange posture standing there with small eggs? following him with an taller slender male beside him as the two turned towards you as you walked past them and entered the elevator

- After the meeting you were absolutely confused scratching your head "What the fuck was that?" You uttered as you glanced across the table to Zeezi who was laughing as you glanced to the angel head that was being poked by Alastor the radio demon who glanced towards you as you muttered an “The fuck?” In an confused tone

- When you both left the meeting you entered the same Elvator as alastor spoke “You are Lady Plotous right?” “Yeah People call me that but I’m actually called (Name) my title is something those imbeciles call me” You said waving your hand dissmisvly as Alastor smiled “Alastor. Charmed to meet the person who controls the greed ring! Didn’t think their was someone outside of the pride ring who controls that half” You raised an brow “Uh huh” you said shaking his hand

- You both created an bond about how you both enjoyed peoples sufferings and making deals

- Your company is good for him since you both waited for frank to come down after snopping and being an spy.

- The news of Angels being killed made you smirk and chuckled as Alastor smirked you two sharing an look

- You flipped open your phone and texted your right hand man to get ready to order some angelic weapons since you HAD the money. - As an Mafia leader well people thought you were the Mafia leader but you were actually the god father of the mafia's around the greed ring even crimson was an puppet of yours. - Godfather also known as (The Boss of all Bosses) or (The King) It is a phrase used mainly by the media, public and the law enforcement community to indicate a supremely powerful crime boss in the Sicilian or American Mafia who holds great influence over the whole empire. It has seldom been given to specific bosses because it could create tension between different factions (otherwise known as families) within the Mafia. Typically the title is awarded de facto to the boss of the most powerful Mafia family which was you. - You were ruthless and cruel yet sometimes gave pity which some said was an flaw but secretly you needed some people to think you were low ranking unaware that you were above them.

- Whoever asked you for money you would give you were technically an loan shark yet you still killed whoever disobeyed you and ere you were right now

- You were in the pride ring beating the shit out of someone who had owed you money with brass knuckles as Alastor was walking down the street to hear the grunts

- He smiled when seeing you with blood coating your fingers and some on your face as you smiled "Alastor! My favorite Overlord!" You called out chuckling walking over smirking as Alastor spoke "My! What have you been up to?" "beating the shit outta an asshole who owed me" You said shrugging

- Alastor would visit you and would smirk just to ask if he could make deals with your victims which you allowed sometimes since you enjoyed how Alastor worked

- When Alastor was gone for 7 years you were annoyed to lose an close friend- I MEAN Colleague!

- When he returned you invited him over to have some drinks and wanted him to tell you about where he had went yet he didn't tell you anything which you found annoying but understood.

- You enjoy listening to Alastor is stories and when he cooks some Jambalya he says you have good taste

- You both bond on liking Jazz and sipping Whisky together

- You figured out he was Aroace the second when an woman tried to hit on him. It was entertaining

- When your stressed and overworked with your useless Soldiers not doing their jobs properly Alastor dosen't mind pulling an few strings... and limbs to help you out - You enjoyed Alastor is company I mean he is the radio demon he is the most cruel overlord with you coming second since you weren't as bad as him - Your bond was strong and tight for an Mafia leader and well an Radio man.

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

©brights-place 2023 — do not repost on another platform, copy, translate or edit my works! if you fit my DNI list please don't interact

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Thirty-One

Prince Aemond's room, set aglow by the soft, flickering light of candles, exuded an air of understated elegance in the tranquil night. Neat and tidy, it bore the mark of a disciplined mind.The predominant hue of the room was black, from the rich drapes that hung by the windows to the polished obsidian wood of the furniture. Against this dark backdrop, accents of silver and steel gleamed like stars in the night sky.

Aemond sat in his chair by the hearth, a stark contrast to the regal and composed demeanor he usually exuded. His attire was unconventional, draped in a white undershirt that hung loosely from his form, revealing an expanse of his chest. Gone was the restraint of his tightly bound silver hair; it cascaded freely around his face. Feigning obliviousness to the tempest that had just blown into his room, he continued reading his book, as if her presence was of no consequence.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he glanced up from his reading. His voice, laced with a calculated calmness, cut through the charged air. "Lady Maera. Your impropriety is noted," he stated casually.Maera's rage surged to new heights. With an abrupt and violent motion, she slammed Aemond's chamber doors shut and locked them, sealing herself inside with the source of her frustration. Her Targaryen blood boiled with fury, and there was no escape for Aemond now.

With a determined stride, Maera approached Aemond, her candlelight flickering wildly as she slammed it onto a nearby table. Her dagger, concealed beneath her night dress, slid free as she unsheathed it. Dark brown curls tumbled down her back in wild disarray, framing her face like a storm cloud. Maera brought the dagger to Aemond's chest, her grip steady, her expression a mixture of anger and frustration. She didn't expect him to flinch, and he didn't. Their gazes locked in a tense standoff.

A seething question tumbled from Maera's lips, her voice low and simmering with anger. "Are you going to deny it?" she demanded. Aemond leaned back in his chair, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his lips, as if savoring the moment. He responded with deceptive innocence, goading Maera, who loomed over him in his seat.

"Deny what, my lady? You'll have to be more specific in your accusations."

Maera's patience, worn thin by Aemond's relentless games, reached its breaking point.

“Lord Warren Tully,” she he spoke under her breath, a subtle but potent twist in her revelation. A spark of triumph danced in Aemond's eyes as her words hung in the air, and he couldn't resist the urge to play his hand.

Rising from his seat, he showed no concern for the dagger's cold steel pressed against his bare chest. A casual brush of her presence sent him toward a table, where he picked up a jug adorned with the Targaryen sigil, his posture unyielding. As he poured himself a generous glass of wine, he responded with a mocking edge, "A true shame that Lord Warren Tully hasn't proposed marriage yet. Perhaps he finds other ladies in King's Landing more intriguing."

In her desperation, Maera moved in once more, the blade of her dagger now pointed directly at his throat. Her voice shook with sincerity as she questioned the betrayal she felt. "I thought we had a truce," she implored, her words laced with vulnerability. "I thought we were friends." Her eyes locked onto Aemond's, searching for any sign of reason. She couldn't comprehend why he would intentionally sabotage her chance at marriage. Her voice cracked with emotion as she asked him the question that weighed heavily on her heart. "Why, Aemond? Why would you do this?"

Aemond turned to her abruptly, his eyes narrowing as he met her gaze. He retorted sharply, his words carrying an edge of possessiveness, "Lord Warren is not worthy of your hand."

Maera's laughter, tinged with both incredulity and frustration, cut through the tension in the room. She shook her head, her curls swaying like a dark halo, and retorted, "You've gone mad." Her tone turned sharp, a mixture of anger and defiance coloring her words. "My marriage prospects are none of your concern."

Aemond's eyebrows lifted in a challenge as he countered, "Oh, but you seem quite interested in mine."

Maera's head shook once more, a strand of hair falling over her brow as she asked with genuine confusion, "What in Seven Hells are you talking about?"

The Prince's gaze bore into hers. “Your little conversation with my intended?”

Maera scoffed in response, her voice dripping with disdain. "Showing the Baratheon woman the way out hardly qualifies as 'interest.' Frankly, I couldn't care less about the unfortunate soul cursed to be your wife."

A sly smile curled at the corners of Aemond's lips as he took another leisurely sip of wine, still standing at his table. He turned the conversation, his words calculated and his gaze sharp, causing Maera's composure to waver. “I wonder what your motives are here, my Lady. You have burst into my chambers, alone and unchaperoned. In the dead of night when there are no guards at my door, wearing scarcely anything but your nightdress.”

Maera stammered for a moment, flustered by his inquiry, and glanced down at her attire, realizing the vulnerability it presented. It was a much more sheer fabric than her gowns and against the light of the hearth, the shadow of her full chest, rounded hips and larger backside could easily be made out. Her voice regained some of its edge as she deflected, "You still haven't answered my question, Aemond."

A mischievous spark gleamed in her eyes as she aimed to provoke him further. Maera taunted, a hint of bitterness in her words, "Are you truly so insecure, Prince Aemond, that you fear another lord might snatch away your 'plaything'? Because that's all I am to you, isn't it?"

She placed her dagger on the table with deliberate care before standing right beside him, allowing her finger to trace a path up his clothed arm, her feather-light touch a subtle challenge.

The room was charged with tension, and Maera could see that her words were stoking the fires of anger within Aemond. "It's not surprising that you don't want another man to take away your toy, Aemond. You're like a petulant child who can't share,” Maera purred, fingers continuing up and down his arm, his clenched jaw betraying the effect of her words. She decided to push him even further, to provoke him to the brink. Her lips curled into a taunting smile as she said, “Of course, I would expect nothing less of a second son.”

Aemond's reaction was explosive. He whipped around, knocking over chairs in his path as he closed the distance between them with determined strides. In a moment of sheer dominance, he pushed Maera back against the wall, his grip on her shoulders like iron. Her body hit the unyielding stone, and she felt trapped, unable to escape his unrelenting force. Desperation surged within her, and she struggled against his hold, trying to break free. But Aemond's proximity was suffocating. His hips pressed firmly against hers, pinning her to the wall, their chests heaving together with a mixture of anger and a strange, volatile tension. Maera thrashed her head in a last-ditch attempt to resist, but Aemond's hand left her shoulder, fingers burying themselves in her hair. His grip tightened on the roots of her scalp, and he pulled her head back, forcing her to look into his smoldering gaze.

In that charged moment, as their breaths mingled and their eyes locked in a battle of wills, Maera couldn't help but feel the palpable intensity between them, a dangerous dance of power and attraction. His one eye bore into her with a fiery intensity that both frightened and thrilled her.

"You're nothing but a hypocrite," Aemond hissed through clenched teeth. His words dripped with venom. "You play with the hearts of others as if they're your toys."

Maera's response was defiant, her voice edged with anger. "I'm nothing like you, Aemond," she retorted, her words almost a snarl.

Aemond's chuckle was mirthless, a dark sound that echoed in the room. "Oh, but you are, Maera. You're just as much a player in this game as I am."

This had to be a dream surely? Any moment now I’ll wake up, and this nightmare will be over, she thought. But as she squeezed them shut and opened again, she found herself still stuck in the same position, the Prince looming over her. As they locked eyes, Maera couldn't deny the allure of the man before her. His physical presence was overpowering, his primal strength evident in every muscle that flexed beneath the fabric of his shirt. Despite the anger and pain that coursed through her, a deep desire stirred within her, a primal attraction she couldn't ignore.

Aemond's voice lowered to a dangerous growl as he accused, "You didn't want Lord Warren. He was just a mere tool to get to me."

Maera's laughter was bitter, a sly smile playing on her lips as she taunted, "Jealous, are we?"

The room seemed to pulse with their charged emotions, and Aemond's grip moved from her scalp to her throat, sending shockwaves through her and prompting a wetness to form between her legs. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she felt the heat of his body pressed against her.

Aemond tensed his jaw, his eye searching her face. He frowned before taunting her once more. “I should’ve known all that time ago that you a maiden by the pathetic kiss that you shared with that Tully cunt.”

His harsh words hung in the air, his gaze locked on Maera's face as if searching for a reaction. She seethed in silence, her anger simmering beneath the surface, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

A dangerous intensity continued to emanate from him as he shifted his hand on her throat upwards, his thumb now grazing her bottom lip. Maera's heart raced as her eyes met his, a mixture of fury and desire burning within her. Aemond smirked at her reaction. “You have definitely never known the touch of a man.”

Angrily, Maera spat back at the Prince, “What are you-?” Before she could finish demanding an explanation , Aemond's lips crashed onto hers, catching her off guard. It was a stark contrast to the gentle, cautious kiss she had shared with Lord Warren. Aemond's kiss was raw, unrelenting, and devoid of any tenderness, and Maera hated herself for the effect the Prince was having on her.

She eventually surrendered to the kiss, her hand sliding up Aemond's chest, fingers tracing the contours of his muscles through his shirt, feeling them flex beneath her touch. His teeth tugged at her bottom lip, eliciting a gasp from her, which only seemed to fuel his desire. Aemond's tongue invaded her mouth with a fierce hunger that left her breathless, struggling to match the intensity of his attack. He then moved his hands, the one her throat reaching around to the nape of her neck to tilt her head back, deepening the kiss further. The other made it’s way down her body, tracing a path from her shoulder, grazing her breast causing her to shudder, then past her waist, before settling just above her hips, causing her skin to burn under his touch

His hips pressed against hers, the stiffness in his breeches quite evident, causing a soft moan to escape her lips through the kiss, a coil tightening in her lower stomach, desire radiating from her heat between her legs. Instinctively to create more friction, her hips rolled against his, causing a low rumble to emanate from his chest. Her hand then grabbed desperately at the fabric of his undershirt, pulling him closer, needing more of that overwhelming sensation.

As swiftly as the kiss ignited, Aemond abruptly pulled away, leaving Maera yearning for his warmth. Her fingers instinctively tugged again on his undershirt, attempting to draw him back to her, but he resisted her pull. Her gaze lingered on his face, his lips slightly parted, his single eye hooded, smoldering with desire as he met her gaze head-on.

In an instant, a smirk tugged at his lips, and he withdrew his hands from her, taking a step back. An inferno of fury ignited within Maera as the realization hit her - once again, he had been toying with her emotions. Her frustration surged, and she brushed past him, swiftly moving to her table to retrieve her dagger, securing it to her thigh. Her candle was next, and she gathered her shawl from the floor where it had been discarded long before.

As she approached the chamber doors, she glanced back at Aemond, her anger unabated. She unclasped the lock but paused, her eyes locking onto his, and her voice dripped with indignation. "Targaryen's are poison," she hissed, the frustration evident in her voice. "All you do is drain the life out of your subjects and mess with them for fun."

Her words hung in the air as she continued, her voice rising in anger. "First, the crown demands my land, something that is rightfully mine, with no reward, compensation or assurance for the safety of my family. And now, you've scared off the one suitor I could actually bear to consider building a life with." Her smirk returned, a wicked glint in her eyes as she taunted him, "But it doesn't matter that Lord Warren didn't propose. My new inheritance will attract plenty more suitors." With a final, sarcastic suggestion, she advised Aemond, "So, get to work meddling in my affairs if you want to scare them all off."

With that parting shot, she stormed out of his chambers, slamming the door behind her, and made her way back to her own room, leaving Aemond behind, his disheveled appearance reflecting the tumultuous encounter.

Maera's steps carried her swiftly to Queen Helaena's chambers, well aware that her friend would likely still be awake following the earlier intrusion by Aegon. The guards granted her entry, promptly closing the doors behind her.

Inside, Maera spotted Helaena sitting up in her bed, cradling a gigantic spider and allowing it to crawl along her hands as she muttered to herself. The Queen glanced up, her concern evident, and asked, "Are you alright?"

But before Maera could reply, her turbulent emotions overwhelmed her, and she burst into tears. Helaena, worried for her dear friend, carefully placed the spider in its case on her bedside table. With a warm and inviting gesture, she pulled back her covers, silently inviting Maera to climb into bed beside her.

Maera clung to Queen Helaena's embrace, her tears soaking into the soft fabric of her friend’s nightgown. She poured out her heart, recounting the evening's turmoil: the unexpected inheritance of Morne, the absence of a proposal from Lord Warren Tully, and the treacherous betrayal by Aemond that had shattered her hopes of a marriage match. Helaena listened attentively, her brow furrowing in thought.

In a hushed tone, Helaena murmured, "The eye of the Maelstrom is a nest for the dragon."

Startled by the cryptic remark, Maera pulled back from Helaena's comforting arms, her eyes filled with bewilderment. She couldn't help but inquire, "What do you mean, your Grace?"

Helaena, ever perceptive, inquired further, "Are you certain it was Aemond who caused Lord Warren not to propose?"

Maera's anger flared, and she nodded vehemently, replying, "Yes, it's his doing, I know it."

Helaena pressed further, concern evident in her eyes. "Have you confronted him about it?"

Maera hesitated, unwilling to reveal the intimate details of her confrontation with the Prince. Instead, she opted for a half-truth, saying, "Yes, I spoke to him briefly in the corridors on my way to retire for the evening. He admitted it to me himself.”

The queen's gaze drifted for a moment, as if recalling memories long past. "Aemond has always been… complicated.”

A deep sigh escaped Maera's lips, and she leaned back against the plush cushions, her gaze fixed on the ornate ceiling. "It's his mind games, Helaena. One day, he's by my side, treating me with kindness and the next, he's humiliating me and being exceptionally cruel, for no apparent reason. It's as if he takes pleasure in toying with my emotions."

Helaena's fingers ran through her silver hair thoughtfully, pondering her friend’s statement. "Could it be that there's something more to his actions, Maera? There has always been something deeper between you two, even from when we were children. And it seems to have intensified since your return.”

Maera's cheeks flushed slightly, her eyes flickering away for a moment before meeting Helaena's gaze once more. "I assure you, Helaena, there is nothing more than a mutual dislike between us. I find it difficult to fathom any other sentiment towards Prince Aemond."

Helaena's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Perhaps it's not as simple as you think, Maera. Sometimes, the strongest emotions stem from the most complicated relationships."

Maera couldn't help but laugh at the notion, though her laughter held a bitter edge. She shook her head, dismissing the idea. In her heart, she believed Aemond to be nothing more than a tormentor, a demon sent to plague her existence.

Yet, deep down, Maera knew that her own feelings for Aemond were a tumultuous blend of desire and resentment, a torment simply on their own. It frustrated her to no end that she couldn't control these emotions, but she firmly believed that his cruelty outweighed any affection she might have harbored for him. If this was how he treated someone he supposedly care for, then she would not like to see how he treated somebody he loathed. In fact, Maera already knew how Aemond treated them. He simply killed them in a torturous manner using Vhagar.

With a gentle touch, Helaena reassured her friend. "It's late, and we both deserve a longer rest come morning." Taking Maera's hands in her own, Helaena continued, "Tomorrow is the day of the Maiden, and my mother has invited us to the Sept for prayers." Her eyes sparkled with sincerity as she implored Maera to join them.

Maera smiled, the warmth of her friend's invitation easing some of the turmoil in her heart. She nodded in agreement. "I'll have my maids ready me in the morning, give you some time to sleep in longer. Meet me in Queen Alicent's chambers to break fast, and then we'll go to the Sept to pray, the three of us.”

Maera expressed her gratitude for the invitation before taking her leave. She walked past Ser Arryk, not exchanging a word, and closed the doors to her chambers behind her.

As she lay in bed, tossing and turning, her thoughts were consumed by anger and frustration, directed squarely at the one-eyed Prince. She cursed him for toying with her emotions, for scaring away Lord Warren, her potential suitor. And, in the quiet darkness of her room, she cursed him even more for not taking their passionate encounter in his chambers further.

Notes: Thirty-One chapters and we made it!

Tags: @blue-serendipity @marvelescvpe @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[hompunkulus]

Cyber Magic Theories

Frater U.D. comments that when performing cyber-magical operations there is a reported feeling of coolness or tingling on the top of the head. He also mentions that the mage should have a working understanding of kundalini. That means you need a working understanding of energy modalities to effectively work cyber-magical operations and may just be a refined form of energy or spirit magic. This is not a criticism, but an observation.

It takes computers and wi-fi for information to pass from one data base to another. It is more or less an electrical action, such as psi moving from our spine to our brains effecting change. He admits cyber magic has been around for centuries albeit in different terms. That suggests I can learn this modality with less computer oriented terminology. Austin Osman Spare is a good example of a cybernetic magician as his sorcery took place in the mind with the help of trance through the semiotic web.

What we learn from Spare is the art of simplicity. An artistic rendition of a desire creates a trance effect that can be used for magical purposes. Art is information, trance is a way to integrate that information into the subconscious, sigils are how the subconscious connects that flow of information to create a magical effect. Spare was said to be able to change weather and summon and banish elementals with pen, paper, and vacuity. That is information magic at its finest from a proper cybernetic foundation.

Words and Images, Songs and Effigies

Words and images, songs and fetishes, have been part of the magical world as far back as history and anthropology can trace its roots and becoming. The concept started as a spirit then an energy model, but as our concepts of spirits and ideas of energy evolve so does magic. Sadly, not so much for religion.

An easy way to differentiate the spirit, energy, and information models is through the power of an effigy with sympathetic magic. In the spirit model the effigy is representative of the target and upon burning it the spirits are sent forth to actuate the curse. In the energy model the creation of the effigy creates a sympathetic link to the target and through the burning of it there is a transfer of energy. Those models assume you have blessings from a spirit, or a host of them, or are skilled in the art of sensing, directing, and overall managing, various types of energy. Both models suggest the world is teeming with variety of either concept.

Animism is a belief that the world is animated by spirits existing in every little and large thing, from dirt to mountains. Animism is a dance of spirit and energy because the animist has to understand the gross and subtle elements of their spirit and how it effects their energy and what that energy does to the living world around them. The information model is much simpler, almost childlike. The effigy works because the magician intended it for it to work.

Conclusion

Magic at the level of information is magic in it's simplest form, almost as if a thought itself can be magic. That is true to an extent, but that thought still needs juice behind it. Spare used sigils and the Death Posture, Frater U.D. talks about a working understanding of kundalini, and Anton Channing talks about a magical force called the cybermorphic. Because early chaos magic was inspired by chaos mathematics and theoretical quantum physics it makes sense that an advanced form of magic would now utilize machine theories. There are even magicians tinkering with AI.

In conclusion, 'cyber magic' intrigues me. I am finding ways to understand and utilize this method but away from scientific, mathematical, and robotics jargon. My backround is very down to earth and humble so I approach my magic from that angle. While I believe it is good to learn and adapt, which is why I started to focus on the information model and cyber magic specifically, magic is always more powerful when you follow your intuition and do what works.

Cyber magic is really just a theory on how magic works because you are essentially doing the same things mages have been doing for thousands of years, just using the materials and technologies available at the current zeitgeist. It so happens to be a time of exponential growth rather then one of hunting and gathering.

What I've come to understand about cyber magic is the concept that thought itself can act as a sigil and with enough focus can effect change on a target. It's 'empty hand magic' at its finest.

Frater U.D. mentions that it takes a new pracitioner of cyber magic maybe 2 minutes to cast a spell and a seasoned pracitioner about 30 seconds, or less. If you can really cast a spell in 30 seconds, you can do hundreds of spells a day. To be honest, it seems a little far fetched and over simplistic, but there's no reason not to dive in and try it. The worst thing that happens when we try new things is the same as the best possible outcome - we learn something new.

If information magic is anything, it's applied knowledge to manufacture a magical effect. What will you do with it?

[ome-magical-ramblings]

The Crossing of magical currents, Egregores, and Transformation through Death.

In this post I will offer a pet theory I have that's not backed by any historically provable(? is that a word) way, I hope that by writing this that I offer different way to look at things in modern point of view but not so near our history. I hope that this view isn't seen as definitive and I hope people push it BEYOND it's sphere. I find people get too academic or too smug or too too too many too, even irony poisoned and damaged by the whole affair that they get too...insincere and if anything this posts I want to deliver forth is BE SINCERE that's it.

Apollonius and Levi

I think there's this assumption of "oh Eliphas levi just scared himself when contacted Apollonius", an not everything is mentioned in the high magic book by Levi. I am personally of the belief that the whole idea of magical chain and egregore that Levi was conjuring up was all in effort to create a cord/chain to link the modern occult practices he had. That was the whole work in the his chapters to create a fulcrum for reviving magical practices. Was the whole necromantic evocation a sham, was it real? what was the plan of Levi? If we divide 22/2 then we find the middle point of the whole chapters and book that was his master plan, his book was a literal hypersigil for linking the practices of modern occultism to a chain reaching back to Apollonius, he warns about necromancy but then does it himself, he calls him a divine ghost but say that normal people shouldn't work necromancy. I can't in good faith look at this and tell you look, yeah he was just larping. Regardless of the whole process, Levi inevitably linked the whole practice with the Nuctemeron. My intention here is that the 12 hours of initiation of Papus. Are in background of all of this. Following Screencap with my highlight, Resurrection is Zayin(7, Chariot) combined with Mem(13, Necromancy) lead us to Resh(20, Thaumaturgy, Universal Medicine) and what do you think the title of the 20th chapter in that chapter...resurrectio

Olive Pixely and British Occultism

Here we enter with a different whole character that barely have any online presence for people, and this is a funny contiuation to Levi because in this sense Olive is channeling christian mystical practices from her dead brother..The reach of Olive's teaching is immense, it jumped through the Atlantic and we see it in the writing of Geoff-Cobb's New Avatar Power in his Dee-Hay-Thooth ritual, Gareth Knight talked about the same ritual, and her Cosmic breathing was also found in the writings of Jacobus G. Swart. Sadly her system isn't known by a lot, and the ripple of her work went further than what she thought her work would touch many many people. The main point here is that the practice itself centered and start with the same fulcrum preceding by Levi. Death(of her brother) was the start which this transformation of her and other people took place! In this sense, we don't know how far her teachings, influences, and techniques reached but intuitively speaking on my part...I feel like she did cause major change in British occultism that's hidden in nature.

Stele of Revealing, Austin Spare, Crowley, Thelema, Chaos Magic and DEATH.

The Stele of Revealing is an older text in this sense but it carried the same force and same momentum of other works above I talked about. Crowley had his book of the law after he saw this Stele:

Austin Osman Spare created this Stele embodying the secret glyphs and sigils of the Cultus:

AOS and Crowley are both definitely influenced by this Death Posture, by Transformation through Death. The Thelemic current is transformed and upraised by the funerary tablet of Stele of Revealing and when people do Liber Resh..Why Resh? Zyin + Mem = Resh, Resurrection of Death by Will Power. That's the whole of Liber Resh. The people telling you about it being related to Great Work or to some Thelemic concept aren't looking at the deeper symbol going on, Even AOS bring the topic of the death posture. I think it is in hsi book The Focus of Life he mentions: “By the Death Posture the body is allowed to manifest spontaneously and is arbitrary and impervious to action. Only he who is unconscious of his actions has courage beyond good and evil, and is pure in this wisdom of sound sleep.” The Death posture is a sympathetic magical representation of the thing that Stele of Revealing, Olive Pixely, and Eliphas Levi all did and shared in one form. The death posture for all intent and purposes is the sigil of the operation of conscious sacrifice toward transformation. In the book of Pleasure AOS mentions: “The new law shall be the arcana of the mystic unbalanced 'Does not matter-need not be'; there is no necessitation, 'please yourself' is its creed (the Belief ever striving for denial is kept free by retention in this state). Let's talk Crowley's channeled book of Law, specifically the sections that are important: Chapter 1: 12. Come forth, o children, under the stars, & take your fill of love! 13.I am above you and in you. My ecstasy is in yours. My joy is to see your joy 20. The key of the rituals is in the secret word which I have given unto him Chapter 2: 7. I am the Magician and the Exorcist. I am the axle of the wheel, and the cube in the circle. "Come unto me" is a foolish word: for it is I that go 13. for why? Because thou wast the knower, and me. 20. Beauty and strength, leaping laughter and delicious languor, force and fire, are of us

Now I know it's weird that I would be quoting these specific sections but if you look at them you can start to see that Crowely just became a chain of this work, he become the ring in the chain of this Stele that's reaching until today. All the work we have of PGM related magic nowadays, Arabic magic, and so on is touched by this Stele metaphysically/astrally if you think about it. Anyway I am going a bit out there with my rambling, to sum it up. The Stele itself is an astral door(Daleth), Olive Pixely is a channel(Beth), and Eliphas Levi is a nail/peg/hook(Vau). As letter, they're all manifestation toward the Mem(Death), they are all qabbalistic gematria waiting to be unlocked and explaining each meaning of their manifestation: 2 + 13 4 + 13 6 + 13 The post is getting a bit too long but I hope with this I can offer some area for connecting and explaining the mysteries and a space for the manifestation of wisdom. Clearly, you the reader are currently thinking oh he must be saying that death or anything related to death is important. That's true, and more on that we see the most sacrifice in the figure 12-13 the sacrifice of the hanged man lead to the transformation of creation. It's by conscious sacrifice or by sacrificing our conscious that we transform the world. It's not JUSTICE, people think of a Just World but the world is Justified through Sacrifice. I almost forgot... BE SINCERE!

[polluxhale]

May DWC Day 1 - Forgiveness, Shadowflame

Pollux stood at attention, unnaturally blue eyes following the General as the older man paced back and forth in front of him. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen the man this torn; there was a mix of annoyance, pride, and confusion all rolled into one facial expression. If he didn’t know any better, he probably would have laughed. 

“At ease, Hale.” 

Pollux’s posture loosened just a little bit as he scratched at the burnt sleeves of his uniform, causing another chunk of the blackened material to flake off and float to the ground. He looked, for lack of a better phrase, a hot mess. Literally. Skin and hair coated with soot and ash, and uniform completely tattered and crisped up by what appeared to be fire. It was a wonder how this man had escaped any sort of bodily harm with…whatever had happened to him.

“You were ordered to evacuate from Loamm after we got the call that Fyrakk was on his way.”

“Yes, I was.”

“But you were seen repeatedly running back in. Is that true?”

“Yes, that’s true.”

The General stared at him, clearly awaiting some sort of explanation.

“Sir, I knew I could help more of the inhabitants of the city make it to safety, so I made the choice to do so.” Better to ask for forgiveness than to get permission.

“-While- Fyrakk was blasting the entire place with shadowflame. Do you have a death wish, Hale?”

Pollux hesitated a moment. Did he? He was often the one that did all the ‘brave’ heroics, landing him with a half-prosthetic body in the process and a multitude of stories where he should have died - and some where he did die. “Sir, I had a hunch that I would be immune to the shadowflame.”

“A hunch. So you ran into the flaming building on a hunch.”

“Yes, Sir.” He balled up his non-prosthetic hand, feeling a familiar burn from the sigil branded onto his palm about a decade ago after an unexpected trip to Helheim.

“Are you going to elaborate on that?”

“Magic, Sir.” It was easier than saying that he had been blessed by the Vrykul after surviving Helheim and unknowingly made into one of their Berserkers. At least that was his running theory. 

Magic was always the simplest explanation; a lot could be done with magic, including shielding oneself from fire for a short period of time. Although this hadn’t been a short period of time, and the shadowflame had most definitely touched his bare skin. Yet here he was, with not even one hair atop his head harmed. How strange it was to now be immune to the one thing that had taken so much from him in the past. And maybe that’s why he had become so willing to jump head first into these dangers; he had a vendetta to settle.

The General’s expression softened, the two always had a good rapport so Pollux knew he wouldn’t be in trouble for too long. Especially since his actions had ended up saving many innocent lives. “Alright Hale. Go get cleaned up and for fuck sake put on a new uniform, you look like shit. You’re going into Aberrus with us.”

@daily-writing-challenge​

[savage-rhi]

Mending Shadows // Chapter 4

Summary:

Y/N was a simple Scavenger of Lucis, until meeting a deadly blow at the hands of an infected creature. At the crossroads of death, they are found by Niflheim’s cryptic Chancellor with his own agenda. Now bonded to Ardyn Izunia, and tossed into the world of Niflheim, Y/N struggles to cope with their new life as an Imperial Icon all the while battling their feelings toward their fate and that of Ardyn’s.

Click here to read on AO3

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open to a wall of metal and flickering light. The soft echo of their gasp bounced throughout the Niflheim airship as Y/N processed that they were alive. Their mind felt like a blank slate until their breath slowly began to return, then a flood of memories came rushing back into their skull. First came the goblin attack, being shipped off to the MedZin Company, their hollow corpse of their dreams, and ambitions, and then a pair of dangerous yet alluring golden eyes staring right into the recesses of their spirit. 

“Alas, the dead come forth.” 

Y/N jolted up and weakly scrambled backward from the cot they had been sleeping on. Their back rested against the cold metallic wall while their chest heaved, and their terrified eyes slowly began to make out the features of a familiar face. 

“Oh dear,” Ardyn raised his brows. He stepped away from the shadows of the inner ship. As he drew near, he smiled warmly and chuckled. “It was not my intention to scare the daylight out of you. Not when you’ve endured oh so much!” 

“W-who are you?” Y/N ignored the dishonesty in the man’s tone, going straight to the first thing that popped into their mind. 

Ardyn made a face, disappointed and somewhat irate. “Surely you can’t be serious? Not when you saw me command magitek soldiers!” 

Y/N shook their head, eyeing his intimidating form and watched Ardyn puzzle over the fact he wasn’t recognizable before he sighed. 

“I suppose Lucian propaganda keeps much of the players of the war hidden these days.” Ardyn rubbed the back of his neck.

“What are you talking about?”

“Where are my manners?” Ardyn ignored the blunt question and laughed while getting a load of the confused look that plagued Y/N’s face. He cleared his throat, took off his black fedora and placed it over his chest, and performed a cordial half-bow. 

“Ardyn Izunia. Niflheim’s Imperial Chancellor, at your service my dear!” He returned to his normal posture and placed his hat back on top of his unkempt hair. 

“What?” Y/N was flabbergasted. It didn’t help that the pain from their bullet wound began to strike, causing them to wince.

“I must implore you to take it easy,” Ardyn gestured with his hands for emphasis, trying as to not encourage them to move about. “Even with the best the empire has to offer at this time, I can only ensure so much when it comes to your health. You’ve lost a lot of blood on the way here.” 

Y/N didn’t say a word to him. Their gaze traveled elsewhere, taking in the intricate details of the ship's interior. From afar, Y/N could make out a medium-sized flag with the imperial crest. Two dragons facing each other, one gold and one black. Their tails somewhat intertwining down the middle. Red, white, and gold danced in the background of the fabric, further making the draconic entities pop out. To the left were signs that had sigils written out in the imperial text. Y/N guessed one of them said exit, but it was hard to be certain. Whatever doubts Y/N had about this man being in league with the empire, fell on the wayside. 

“Izunia,” Y/N muttered to themself, closing their eyes. A vague memory of Y/N’s time at a pit stop began to surface, recalling an update about the war over the radio. They could smell the fries the head chef was making. Y/N imagined the salty texture hitting their tongue, and how good it would feel to get some comfort food while the reporter went off.

…A recent bombing near the western shores of Galahd has displaced many Lucians. Representatives of the empire claim it was an accident while transporting goods from across the seas. Over three hundred deaths have been reported thus far.  King Regis had this to say about the recent calamity. “…I have gathered a team of strong men and women to investigate the situation firsthand. Imperial envoys have been contacted to leave the main ports until our team reports back. I cannot guarantee their safety given the strife the war has caused within the region. I encourage the Lucian people of Galahd to seek sanctuary eastward while Lucian patrols prepare to offer aid.” While King Regis refused to meet with empire representatives at this time, in a rare engagement, Niflheim’s Imperial Chancellor decided to make a statement regarding the tragedy.  “…On behalf of Niflheim, I humbly give my condolences to those who have perished in this tragic event. Such a waste of precious lives. Although our great empire has been at war with Lucis, we still hold in our hearts a soft spot for those who have been caught in the crossfires of war.”  Chancellor Izunia further added, “…While it’s understandable that King Regis cannot guarantee the safety of my esteemed peers, I would like to demonstrate the empire’s compassion as a token of peaceful ceasefire in Galahd. On my own gil, rations of clothes and food will be given freely to Lucian citizens near imperial checkpoints who have been displaced. On my word, they are to be given safe passage to the king's designated refugee zones. I ask for nothing in return other than implore the king to find in his heart sincerity for my own country's kin. It would be most dreadful to let emotions sway the best of us during a time of crisis.” 

Y/N quietly contemplated the words that stemmed from Niflheim’s Chancellor. The richness of his voice hid the quiet contempt that was scattered throughout his charismatic speech. It seemed the chef from afar was thinking the same thing, for Y/N made eye contact with him and watched as he huffed.  “Generous, but there’s always a catch with imperials.”  Y/N smirked and gave a nod. “I don’t think imperials are the only ones limited to that kind of thinking.”  “Ah,” The chef furrowed his brows while he put a fresh batch of potatoes into the fryer. “You’re one of them imperial sympathizers?”  “Absolutely not,” Y/N shook their head and took a seat at the front of the bar. They sighed, and ran a hand through their hair, not minding the debris on their palms from a recent scavenging expedition. “I’m tired of hearing about people killing each other for whatever greater good they preach of. Goes for Niflheim and our own kingdom.”  “Something we can agree on.” The chef gave a nod, then gestured his head to the radio and caught Y/N’s attention. “Do you think he was being sincere about helping them folk?”  “The Chancellor?”  “Hmm.” “I think so,” Y/N nodded. “I don’t think he was lying about being peaceful. Although it’s clear he’s got a grudge. The whole thing reeks of someone wanting to score public points while throwing the king under a bus.  If it were me, I would’ve withheld the jabs.  If he stuck to the compassion piece, he might’ve had a chance of winning over more Lucians if that’s his angle.”  The chef smiled big, raising his brows in disbelief.  “What?” Y/N chortled.  “I know you’re a scavenger, clear as day given how worn your clothes are. What are you doing out in the dirt when you could’ve settled for being a politician?”  “For probably the same reason why you’re a chef.”  The chef let out a sincere hearty bellow at Y/N’s sarcastic counter-strike.  “You’d be a damned good one alright. You got the smarts and the fuck all personality.” The chef grinned, taking out the fries from the fryer and began seasoning them.  “I’m actually quite friendly, you just caught me on a bad day.” Y/N smiled.  “I rest my case,” The chef shrugged then eyed Y/N with a sassy look. “If you want the fries, it’ll be 100 gil for the future Lucian envoy.” “Jerk.” Y/N laughed. 

The memory left Y/N when they opened their eyes and were staring right at the man they had heard on the radio months prior. Ardyn was now sitting on a chair in front of the cot, watching them intently. The smile had never left his face. It was hard to read what he was thinking, much less comprehend how dire the situation was that Y/N found themself in. The pain of the scourge and their wound took precedence over the fact they were in custody of someone, who by all accounts, was a criminal in the ongoing war between Niflheim and Lucis. 

“What do you want from me?” Y/N murmured weakly. 

Ardyn raised his brows in surprise, and canted his head. “Why, I merely wish to help you! I take you are not used to such pleasantries?”

Y/N shook their head, recalling the words of the chef. “There’s always a catch.” 

“Wise words indeed from someone so perceptive.” Ardyn sighed after he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. The manner was akin to a child who had been caught red-handed sneaking somewhere he shouldn’t. Alas, his intrigue began to grow and he examined Y/N carefully. 

“Those other people,” Y/N swallowed. “They’re dead, aren’t they?” 

“Oh yes,” Ardyn coolly stated. His demeanor took a turn as he appeared genuinely morose.  “Unfortunately, not even my own charity can rescue those infected from the scourge. Not in the later stages, anyhow. You’re quite fortunate I happened to be lurking about on business.”

Y/N wasn’t sure if they heard that last part correctly. There was no cure for such a curse. With what little knowledge Y/N had of the empire, they knew the imperials struggled with the starscourge just as bad as Lucis. 

“How come you--” Y/N’s upper body lurched forward. Their hand immediately covered their mouth as a series of harsh coughs began to erupt. Warm black fluid gushed through Y/N’s fingertips, and a foul sweet smell began to permeate. A wave of constricting pain ensnared Y/N’s nerves and they whimpered while trying to contain the scourge seeping out of them. 

“Oh dear,” Ardyn made a face. He scooted closer to Y/N and grabbed a hold of the hand that was covering their mouth. When they attempted to keep it in place, Ardyn’s grip tightened and he yanked the limb back, causing Y/N to cry out. 

“Take it from me, it’s best to let this pass,” Ardyn stated firmly. He used his free hand to grab a silver tray nearby the medical desk next to the cot and placed it under Y/N’s chin. His face scrunched when Y/N violently began to spew the scourge out into the dishware. His nose flared while he had a brief memory of himself going through a similar ordeal. "Lucky for us both it seems I caught you at the final throes before stage three. That's it. Don't fight it. Another day or two and you would've been sharing the ground with your brethren." 

Y/N gasped out loud when they felt a final push of sludge exit from their lips and into the tray. Their chest heaved as if they had been at the bottom of the ocean and rose to the surface too quickly for breath. The taste on Y/N’s tongue was horrid, reminding them of a time when they had eaten an overripe fruit. The fermented texture nearly made them gag again while they watched Ardyn put the tray down. 

“Stage three?” Y/N gulped. “How do you know so much about the starscourge?” 

“You can say I am a personal expert on the subject,” Ardyn mused. He got up from the chair and went to a small cabinet and sink. His hands combed through the shelves after opening the door. 

“Your head is likely filled with a plethora of questions I can imagine. Unfortunately, my patience can only withstand so much courtesy. We don’t have much time before your body begins to seize. Ah, there’s the little devil!” 

“What the hell do you mean by--gah!” As soon as Y/N felt a minutia of strength begin to return to them, it felt like an instantaneous sunburn had swallowed their body, and the heat against Y/N’s flesh continued to rise. Out of instinct, they started flailing around the cot trying in vain to press their tender flesh to the cool walls of the ship. 

“This medicine will buy us some time for negotiation. Beyond that, I fear you’re done for. Unless of course, I have your compliance.”

Ardyn casually walked up to Y/N and grabbed a hold of their face tightly. He glared when Y/N attempted to slap him back. 

Ardyn’s hand adjusted, forcing Y/N to open their mouth. He wasted no time shoving three green tablets down Y/N’s throat, tilting their head back so that they’d swallow. After he heard an audible gulp, Ardyn let go of Y/N and crossed his arms while peering down at them. He watched Y/N cough for several seconds, then decided now was good of a time as any to forward his proposal. 

“Where to begin…” Ardyn teased with a smile. He met Y/N’s eyes, watching terror and then calm start to worm its way through their body. Their erratic breathing moments ago became gentle as did the burning sensation upon their flesh. 

“W-what did you give me?” Y/N coughed, reaching for their throat to rub at a tender point where Ardyn had pressed too hard. 

“A suppressant. It won’t cure the scourge, but will help you remain cognitive while we have a little chat.” 

Y/N trembled. Besides the draft that filtered through the imperial airship, they felt a cold fear start to take root despite the aid Ardyn had offered thus far. With the aggression of his gestures, Y/N understood they were still very much in a hot seat. Anxiety pooled in Y/N’s chest, wondering what exactly the imperial Chancellor would want with the likes of a scourge-infected Lucian. 

“What do you know about MedZin?”

Y/N was taken back. “M-MedZin?” 

Ardyn nodded. “I know I have asked you this before, but I need a thorough answer, unlike the one you gave before losing consciousness.” 

Whatever was in the medicine Ardyn forced them to take was certainly having an effect. Y/N wasn’t sure if they liked how numb their limbs were beginning to feel, however. They lied back down on the cot and closed their eyes, before speaking up. 

“They are looking for a cure, for the starscourge,” Y/N winced. “If you’re infected, and caught by the glaive or guard, they send you away to them. They’re privately funded by the king, and not many know about it except those who had to send away loved ones. That’s all I know. I swear.”

“Do you happen to know which outpost you and the others were being sent to?” 

“Outpost 98,” Y/N murmured. “It’s where the infected go to be tested before they--” 

“Perish.” 

“Yeah,” Y/N swallowed. Ardyn sounded so calm when he said the word that Y/N tensed. “At least that’s what I heard in passing. Everything’s a blur. I can’t think.” 

“I’m surprised you’re this coherent given everything that has happened.” Ardyn chuckled. He paused for a time, watching the scourge veins on Y/N’s arms rise and fall. He didn’t bother to hide his fixation. When Y/N caught on, he smiled at the alarmed look they wore. 

“I require your assistance for a mission on behalf of Niflheim. Do try to pay attention for I’ll only say my piece once. The clock is ticking as we speak.” Ardyn began. His honey eyes locked with Y/N’s worn features as he sighed. 

“MedZin, the company upon which you were to be discarded, has stolen valuable intellectual property from the empire. I was sent forth to retrieve it back. Given the private nature of the company, I’m having trouble finding the outpost I need to infiltrate. 98 is the one I seek.” 

“And you need me to get in…” Y/N whispered to themself. 

“Precisely,” Ardyn purred with a grin. “As you can imagine, with our two countries at war, I can’t easily waltz my way inside.

Negotiating with your precious king is out of the question given the current stalemate. If MedZin were to unleash the sensitive information I’m after, I fear the war will come to a catastrophic end for both parties. It’s that serious I’m afraid.” 

The damned war… Y/N thought to themself. It was hard to tell if Ardyn was telling the truth or not. His features were honest in Y/N’s eyes, but the cunning of his tone with the few enunciations here and there had them questioning the validity of his statement. Y/N knew they were in no position to question him. Not when he held all the cards in his hand. Not when Y/N knew he could easily turn around and hurt them just as easily as he helped. 

“What’s your plan?” Y/N hoarsely croaked. 

Ardyn’s eyes lit up while he smirked. “I intend to bring you to MedZin’s doorstep as a bargaining chip. At least that’s how I wish to present you. That’ll give me access to the facility. Once inside, I’ll need your help looking for where MedZin stores its research.”

Y/N felt an uncomfortable tremor throb in their shoulders. They weren’t sure if it was from the way Ardyn spoke of them like an item, or if it was due to the scourge rising back to power due to the suppressant weaning off. Either way, they felt unsettled by it all. 

“What happens when I’m done helping you?” The question had been in the back of Y/N’s mind the entire time Ardyn spoke. “What will happen to me?”

“You may have anything that you want from yours truly,” Ardyn gestured at himself with pride. “Riches, land, it be not extravagant nor chaste. We will go our separate ways after the dust settles and I’ve paid out my dues on your behalf. The extension upon your life I will be gifting unto you is more than enough, but alas I am feeling rather generous.” 

“Extension?” 

“Why yes,” Ardyn’s voice lowered. His golden eyes glanced over Y/N as if they had something peculiar on their face. “I’d say you’d roughly have a few months to enjoy living before the scourge engulfs your body and soul, should you choose to accept my proposition.” 

Between their head pounding and pain pulsing through their bones, Ardyn wasn’t making a lick of sense to Y/N. There was no way anything he said was true. The guard made it clear the night Y/N killed those innocents, that there was no cure for the scourge. There was no miracle pill to make it completely go away. Ardyn himself said they only had a few days before ending up like the other infected. So why all the contradictions if not to mess with their mind? That’s the only way Y/N could justify it. He was playing tricks. 

“N-no.” 

“Beg pardon?” Ardyn raised a brow. 

“No, I won’t help you.” Y/N weakly shook their head. 

The face Ardyn made was like that of a patronizing parent; disappointed that their kin couldn’t see for themself what was ahead of them. There was also an uneasy anger in his eyes that was brewing with each passing second he allowed Y/N’s declaration to resonate. 

“Whatever it is you’re selling, I don’t want it because I don’t want to live.” Y/N’s voice tremored. The corner of their eyes began to water. “Y-you don’t have to be so cruel as to trick me that I’ll have more time. If you need help, just ask but don’t lie to me.”

The irritation that graced Ardyn’s features dwindled down as he listened. When it dawned on him that his initial assumptions of Y/N’s rejection were false, he couldn’t help but darkly chuckle. He tilted his head up, glancing at the ceiling of the airship, and closed his eyes. 

“Oh my naïve friend,” Ardyn’s voice teased with a dark rumble. He lowered his head, and opened, revealing a pair of wide gold and black eyes. Scourge marks instantly began to travel along his flesh, blood receding to make room for the darkness that dwelled under his skin. A purple miasma-like aura began to leech from his body, imbuing Ardyn with heavy energy that Y/N could feel calling out to them. 

“I’ve been nothing but honest with you.” Ardyn finished, his voice no longer rich but low and daemonic. 

Y/Ns heart pounded a million miles in their chest. The sound was so powerful, they could feel their pulse in their ears drumming away; canceling out everything but what was staring them down. There was also a faint but distant screeching in the back of Y/N’s skull. The entity that came from the miasma at the caves wanted to flee; to get away from this higher life form within its family tree.

 

“W-what are you?” Y/N’s voice quaked. They fought desperately against the intense fight-or-flight response that surged through them. 

The horror and familiarity in Y/N’s eyes had Ardyn entranced. He lowered the upper half of his body to theirs, hands on either side of Y/N's head on the cot while his daemonic eyes stared right through them. He slowly parted his mouth, revealing teeth that were slightly sharper than normal.

“I am Eos's best-kept secret,” Ardyn whispered. “I am Adagium and I am eternal. Such is my curse and blessing. Believe me when I say the scourge that resonates within your body will destroy you in due time, and I can halt the process; make it less painful.” 

Y/N shut their eyes tight, gasping when Ardyn’s left hand cupped their cheek. His palm felt so warm to the touch that it stung, thumb carding gently over a trail of black veins pulsating along Y/N’s jawline. 

“The darkness within you is a lower lifeform in the collective,” Ardyn began. “The scourge works like a hive, and you can say that I am the queen bee. If you consent to consume my essence, the scourge in my body will override what dwells in you. I will share with you my power, and that power will keep you afloat. In return, you’ll lend me your strength to take down Medzin. On my word as Chancellor, you will be well taken care of until the scourge naturally kills you after my influence wanes. Doesn’t that sound marvelous?”

Y/N felt his voice worming its way into their mind. A horrible sensation began to fester along their muscle and nerves. Y/N had never been through a meat grinder before, but they imagined it would be as awful as this. Despite how terrified they felt, their body yearned for relief more than anything.

“Can you grant me death?” Y/N faintly muttered, finding it difficult to speak. 

Ardyn’s daemonic features slightly softened, taken aback. “Death?” 

Y/N nodded against the cot weakly. Even in the void of his eyes, Y/N could see he was swimming away with thoughts. 

“I told you before, I want to die. If you promise to kill me after I help you, I’ll do whatever you ask.” 

“There must be some ulterior motive on your part,” Ardyn said in disbelief. He peered deeply at Y/N’s eyes, trying to find deception in their gaze. “No one is that idiotic.” 

“I have nothing to lose,” Y/N winced. “Just don’t make me kill anyone, please.” 

There it is… Ardyn thought to himself. The melancholy in Y/N’s final remark painted a grisly picture in his head. He knew they had killed before. He could see it in the way Y/N shuddered. The circumstances had him curious, but time was of the essence. Ardyn needed to leave Lucis within a certain frame, and Y/N didn’t have much longer. 

“Very well,” Ardyn murmured. “I will hold you to your vow, Y/N.” 

Carefully, Ardyn removed himself from the cot. He traveled over to his long coat that was hanging up, and took out a dagger from one of the inner pockets. Bringing the tip of the blade to the flesh of his wrist, Ardyn cut deeply. He grimaced with a grunt and felt a warm trail of blood fall from the wound. A black sludge began to leak soon after. 

With an outstretched arm, Ardyn walked over to Y/N and presented his wrist above their lips. Droplets of his blood began to fall on their face, and Y/N’s head jerked to avoid it. 

“Open your mouth,” Ardyn coaxed. “It’ll be fast, I assure you.” 

Y/N wasn’t sure what they were expecting when Ardyn mentioned they would consume his essence. They felt gross, but desperation was a wondrous power. Another throb of pain deep inside their body was enough to get Y/N to part their lips. Ardyn’s hand lowered further, and then they felt it. His blood and darkness dribbling down their tongue and throat, tasting bitter and metallic. Then it hit them; an explosion of a million faces.

Y/N’s eyes constricted, and their pupils fully dilated. They choked on their gasps, enduring an onslaught of visions. Lucis, Niflheim, Tenebrae, and Accordo all came and went in the blink of an eye. Snapshots of experiences danced in and out of Y/N’s peripheral. They could no longer see Ardyn nor taste the earthy texture of his blood. Time had no beginning nor end, everything that had come to be was everywhere all at once. 

The flashbacks came to a halt when Y/N saw themself sitting under a tree. The smell of wheat combed the air, and upon their shoulder, there was a weight. 

Y/N looked down to see a radiant patch of blonde hair and felt the warmth of a giggle. A woman in white looked upward to meet Y/N’s gaze and smiled brightly. Y/N had no idea who she was, but this woman emitted an aura of kindness that they desperately wanted to cling to. 

Before Y/N could stroke the woman’s hair, they suddenly were pulled back into a void. There was no glimmer of light in this darkness, only a sensation of dread and power. The power. It was like a drug, and Y/N started to swim further out to sea in it against their own will. The being known as Y/N might as well had not existed, for they were a part of a collective of screeching souls. That was the last thing Y/N could remember before they fell unconscious.

“Here’s your stop!” 

The intrusive exclamation caused Y/N to jolt awake. The memory was gone, and all that was left was the present and a feeling of weakness. 

“What?” Y/N asked tiredly, not comprehending what the driver said to begin with. 

“We’ve arrived at Galdin Quay. This is the place you wanted to get off at, right?” 

“Yeah,” Y/N nodded and adjusted their body against the seat of the car. Their arms stretched before a yawn left them. “Sorry if I snored at all.” 

“No biggie. You looked tired as hell, anyway, you best be leaving now.” 

“Right,” Y/N nodded again. Even though the man who gave them a ride was generous for doing so, they knew it was best to never overstay a welcome. After paying up a few hundred gil for the trouble, Y/N got out of the passenger side of the vehicle and shut the door. The man sped off not long after, and Y/N watched as the tires churned up sand and dust clouds. 

As the heavy debris began to wade, Y/N took in a deep breath. Galdin Quay and all its splendor greeted them through the fog of dirt. The beach was teeming with life: there were travelers from Lucis to Accordo, flocking to the resort, fishermen trying their luck at becoming legends, and Hunters mingling with Scavengers on the docks swapping tales of adventure. Children ran through the surf, and campers from across vast regions were set up near the cove. There was no doubt they’d be dealing with the giant crabs that loved to emerge from the sea of Cygillan when it became cool. Y/N felt a temptation to venture down and warn folks, but their sadness drowned whatever altruism tried to rise. 

There was so much spirit at Galdin Quay, that Y/N had to remind themself this wasn’t a reunion. No. This was their first step toward saying goodbye. With a heavy heart, Y/N forced themself to begin their final walk. 

Less than a half hour, Y/N found themself in front of their apartment with a spare key. The waves along the cove rolled in, creating a whooshing noise that normally would’ve soothed Y/N had circumstances been different. With a sigh, they shuddered while unlocking the entrance and stepped inside. 

Y/N flicked on a light near the door, and they were greeted by a life frozen in time. An old blanket was balled up on the couch. A stale bag of potato chips lay on the table in front of the TV. Shoes caked with dirt from previous expeditions were tossed here and there. A small lamp toward the kitchenette flickered on and off, Y/N having forgotten to get a new bulb in town. There was the old cuckoo clock that came with the rental when Y/N moved in, but the chocobo didn’t come out of its nook when the hands struck twelve. It was amazing, how everything was as Y/N left it before traveling to Leide. The small space didn’t lose its charm because its owner perished. 

There was a weird feeling that dwelled within Y/N as their brows furrowed when looking at the calendar nearby. The previous month remained present. Had it truly been that long since this nightmare began? They didn’t allow themself to think about it for too long, out of fear they’d lose the strength to pack. 

Two hours flew by, and the apartment slowly began to revert into a blank canvas; prepared for a new owner to give the skeleton flesh once more. It perplexed Y/N how much of their life could fit into so many boxes. The insignificance of it all compounded with each material possession being a measurement of a life lived had Y/N contemplating just how unfinished their story was. They never aspired to be anyone of major significance, and that was fine by them. A life of peace and enjoying Eos for what it was, was enough for one person. Y/N would be lying to themself though if they didn’t feel a twinge of anger at their being for not working harder.

Maybe if they stayed in Insomnia and continued to work their two jobs it would’ve paid off. Maybe if they hadn’t been so nonchalant or indecisive with their job as a Scavenger, they would’ve had enough gil to move out of their shack at Galdin Quay. Maybe they would’ve had their dream house and land in Duscae. Maybe they would’ve found a better career. Maybe they could’ve aspired for education. Maybe, just maybe, they never would’ve encountered that damn goblin, and maybe the corpses of the people they slain wouldn’t be in their mind at all hours. Maybe they shouldn’t have gone after that turbocharger. Maybe they should’ve brought someone with them to the caves. Maybe they would’ve heard the goblin…

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. 

The what-ifs plagued Y/N’s mind to the point where they screamed, and threw a glass vase against the wall. The crashing sound was fragile as were their sobs. Their life would be over soon, and Y/N had nothing to show for it. Maybe though…maybe that wasn’t so bad. 

Y/N wiped away at their eyes after sobbing for a while, remembering a conversation they had with fellow Scavengers years ago. The subject was about the meaning of life. As cliché as it was, there were some interesting insights that Y/N took to heart that evening. One of which was a camper's philosophy of “leaving the ground better than when you found it” or making sure no trace of your trespasses remained on Eos. The thought brought comfort to their emotional wounds, giving Y/N the energy to pack the last of their belongings and leave a note to the landlord with directions. 

“Until next time,” Y/N murmured as if the small apartment could hear their plea as they finished the last of their will. They departed without looking back. 

After taking a brisk walk along the cove to clear their head, Y/N now contended with the most important task of their trip: breaking the news to loved ones, and they were finding out real quick how there was no right way to tell someone they were sick and dying. It didn’t matter how many times Y/N rehearsed it, for nothing would suffice each and every hypothetical outcome. 

Over the years of being a Scavenger, Y/N had gained many friends and allies. People who didn’t mind that Y/N constantly had to travel for work, or would be out of the Quay for weeks at a time. Once home, Y/N would be greeted as if they had never left. For the life of a Scavenger, Y/N felt blessed in this regard. Not many in the field could say they had such a strong social network. Being a Hunter was lonely, but there were always guilds; packs that would take in the lone wolves when the work became a burden. That couldn’t be said for Lucian Scavengers. Not many clients longed for artifacts of the past or discarded goods. The community was small, and mostly filled with old timers who couldn’t cut it at regular jobs. What Scavengers lacked in being social, they more than made up for it in trust, and Y/N once upon a time prided themself on being someone loyal to a fault when it came to their work. It reminded them yet again of the better choices they could’ve made with their life, career-wise. Yet the thought of never being able to explore Eos on their terms stung like a hornet's kiss; it burned with an ache that would never truly fade. 

From afar on the docks leading to the port, Y/N saw several familiar faces light up upon seeing them from afar. Hands shot into the sky, and hollers of joy bounced along the beach. Only the waves crashing into the earth silenced the cheers. 

With a morose smile, Y/N stuck their right arm up and waved back. For a moment, they forgot about Ardyn and their death. The gift of the present coiled around their heart, soothing their ills, until they winced. 

Y/N looked down at their palm. The scourge and its black web pulsated under their skin. Whatever peace they had faded, and their eyes peered back up. Though Ardyn proclaimed they couldn’t infect others now, it didn’t tamper down the petrifying thought. 

The beaming smiles and enthusiastic calls grew louder, and as their friends came rushing toward them, Y/N wondered if their relationships could withstand the tyranny of the scourge robbing them of the community they worked hard to build and love. 

[tornsurvivors]

"I learned that mythic creatures and immortality exists ever since I died the first time, but what the fuck was THAT?" Isabel cried out incredulously, heartbeats still POUNDING like hell from the latest encounter they had with a violator-- or rather, violators of humanity. She was breathing hard, wide blue eyes staring at Andy and one of her hands pointing in the general direction where they came from.

It was making her sick to her stomach... the stench of death. The creatures materializing from mists of shadow, they reeked of it. The menacing glow in hollow eyes were going to stick with her for a long time. Though that wasn't the worst part of it.

Andy's response wasn't what Isabel wanted to see. It's the look of deep concern, instead of the calm and rational posture because she's the oldest immortal who had seen everything. The immortal who could offer reassurance and a solution. "It's the first I've seen something like that."

Isabel was an unique immortal -- she developed an ability after her first death. The ability to see spirits all the time, even if there was no intention to show themselves to the living. It was like having the veil between the living and dead ripped right out of it's place. But oh, that still wasn't the worst of it.

It was sudden, another wave of dizziness crashing over her and she stumbled to the side, jaw clenching as she grew violently nauseous. She could still hear the echoes of their screams ringing loudly and taking a severe toll on her emotionally. It wasn't anything like the demon she encountered in the shanghai tunnels.

That ability also came with a hefty price. It takes a little chunk of her every time, in the sense of where she is forced to witness their last moments before their deaths, and after. To hear and feel what they had right before they died. Suffocating terror and unlike them, she doesn't die. She's left with the effects for weeks. Nightmares plague her mind and the danger of it is they could potentially make her numb to humanity. The more it happens, the more she is in danger of going mad.

"But I know someone who will probably know." It wasn't much, but still just enough reason for Isabel to fight harder for the sake of her sanity.

"Off to Switzerland, we go."

Seeing their deaths... what they were murdered by, it was only something that could be described straight out of a nightmare from hell.

~ * * * ~

Not even the breathtaking scenery of Switzerland could distract her, nor could it compare to the immortal Andy introduced her to. The rich energy she felt in the atmosphere was nothing like she had ever encountered. Werewolves were different. Isabel was mesmerized by the glow of sigils that seemed to be burned into her flesh along the sides of her face and the woman's eyes -- they gave an almost unearthly glow of blue.

"Here." Andy simply responded to the mysterious immortal, handing off her phone. Isabel was baffled at how little the woman reacted to the captured footage from Andy's body cam, not one bit horrified. However, she did catch the concern flashing across the immortal's features.

"It can't be." The woman murmured and sighed deeply, returning the phone to it's owner. Her attention flicked back to Isabel then, making the taller woman shift somewhat nervously under her scrutinizing stare.

"Your energy... it's rather unique too, Isabel. I'm sure you probably have a thousand questions, so let me save us the time. My name is Jaina, and I come from an entirely different world from yours. Apparently I was one of the chosen few to contain the evil that may leak from damaged timelines, which is pretty shitty of fate, huh?" That little scoffing chuckle at the end told Isabel that Jaina still retained a sense of humor and strangely enough, it gave her comfort.

She still couldn't help but watch as Jaina pulled back the hood of her shirt and nearly inhaled sharply. Her hair was as white as the snow, but she noted a small streak of blonde. Though what had her attention the most was how the bluish-purple glowing sigils appeared to continue down the immortal's neck. She wondered if Jaina's body was covered in it.

Must be one hell of a tale to share.

"This... however, is something we cannot ignore. If my assumptions are correct, another Lich King - or Queen is likely to rise if they manage to find all the pieces of a weapon that cannot be brought into this world."

Isabel swallowed and breathed out shakily, steeling through the lingering effects of the brutalized souls. Before she could even open her mouth to ask another question... Jaina finished for her.

"It's not your typical terrorist crap. We're talking apocalypse-tier here."

[ possibly a TBC... ]

[deep-at-night]

Sora's eyesight had been reduced to shadows, shapes and colors. The orange aura of her Susano'o still towered over her after she had protected herself from Sasuke's lightning attack and rid him of the curse his former mentor had put on him. The combinations of her Susano'o's divine weapons made it practically invincible, but summoning and maintaining it for as long as she did would have been draining for most people, for Sora's weak body especially so. She was spent. But the siblings had both reached their limits. They mirrored each other's postures. Ten or so meters away from each other they could barely stand up straight. Shoulders slumped and panting they had no chakra left to activate their Sharingan. Sora's right eye was bleeding and the corners of her mouth were smeared with blood. It was time to get this over with. Sasuke seemed to be in a state of shock that would allow her to close the distance between them. "Your eyes are mine." she told him as she had done several times already. The occular power of the Uchiha Clan was famous across all Hidden Villages, but even most wielders didn't truly understand its' potential. Threatening Sasuke with ripping out his eyes and claiming them for herself was meant to unveil the secrets of the Sharingan to him, so he would use the knowledge to unlock its' full strength after her death. Sora had barely finished her sentence when she felt her heart burst in her chest. This not being her first heart attack but the most painful yet she grimaced in pain. She clawed at her shirt and gasped for air. It triggered another cough, so she leaned forward and caught a splash of blood in the hand she covered her mouth with. It trickled through the gaps between her fingers. She wanted to get a grip on herself, but broke into a coughing fit instead and was forced to her knees. More blood came spilling out of her mouth as Sora wrapped her arms around herself. Unable to focus, the Susano'o around her lost some of its' armor. Sasuke, in panic but not stupid enough to leave the opportunity unexploited, threw an explosive at her. Whatever the result of the attack, Sasuke couldn't see it. The smoke the explosion had created protected Sora from her baby brother's eyes, only to reveal later that she hadn't only been able to protect herself but summon the Susano'o's shield again, too. She was standing again, but barely. Her head not fully raised she stared at him through the strands of her hair that had come undone throughout the fight. When Sora started moving forward, one painful step at a time, Sasuke moved back. As if he had only now realized that he was out of options he panicked and threw his last kunai. The sigils on it caused another explosion. Her Susanoo protected her once again with its' shield. Not having stopped she emerged out of the smoke, slowly, every step demaning a silent groan of pain. "Just... give up... already." she demanded and turned Sasuke's panic into anger. He reached for the only tool left at his disposal, his sword. He took a far leap and added as much force as possible by raising the ninto over his head with both hands around its' grip. It didn't have the intended effect. Instead of piercing through the shield it absorbed the strike and turned it against Sasuke. With the same force he had used he got flung back. Having landed hard he needed a moment to get back onto his feet. It was all Sora needed to fully catch up to him. Realizing how close she was Sasuke stumbled backwards, but found his back pressed against a wall quickly. As his eyes were wide open with fear, his legs shaking, she raised her hand to threaten him once again. Almost fully exhausted she felt only one emotion, deep regret. In another life she could have made him happy, could have been the sister he deserved. But in this one she would die knowing that she had brought him only fear, sorrow and hatred. Instead of ripping his eyes out she stopped and smiled. It was genuine, no tactic to provoke him. "Forgive me, Sasuke," she whispered gently. While she could barely keep her eyes open his almost burst out of his eye sockets. "This is it." Her hand closed the distance. The bloody tips of her index and middle finger came to rest on his forehead with a gentle tap. One last time. No more maybe next time. This was the last time. Sora couldn't focus anymore. Her eyes wandered off, into emptiness and her body became heavy. First, her fingers ran down her brothers face, leaving a trail of blood as she couldn't hold her hand up any longer. She couldn't keep herself up any longer. Sora tumbled forward, hitting her head on the wall Sasuke was pressed to. It didn't offer any support and she collapsed. Somehow she made it onto her back, her arms limp next to her body. The sky above her turned into darkness. There was no pain anymore as she felt her last breath leave her lungs. The life faded from her eyes and she was embraced by nothingness. Feeling like her life's purpose had been fulfilled she was glad to let go.  

[vixtionary]

"You. . . you chose me." (from Caitiff)

IN THE WARHOST OUTSKIRTS machines groaned incessantly throughout the night; soldiers and warmasons alike were often sung to sleep by the clanging and fuming, their nostrils filled with smoke & the stench of charred metal. Albeit chaotically vast in their expanse, however, the furnaces worked in tandem, harmoniously forging death for all who dared oppose their collective will. Amidst the outposts, wagons from the mainland would transport fresh blood & hardened arms in quantities one may have only witnessed disembarking from Shuriman trade ships. 

  On the wake of the supply wagon chain, a small band of Trifarian legionnaires rode on bulky steeds; Light Vindorians, the Empire’s homebred mount. A rare occurrence; it sparked a few rumors pertaining to their arrival. More so than that, a sprinkle of trepidation when the gate guards recognized the Grand General’s emblem on their cloaks. Amidst them, a particular parade helmet stood out. Glowing embers burned in the darkness of its visor. White horsehair adorned its crest. Each beat of the General’s stallion was a pang of anxiety for those awaiting behind outpost walls; for they knew well enough that their fate was at stake.

 They slipped quietly between each section. A brief inspection of the forging grounds ensued; the procession left workers undisturbed, save for those unable to resist the tension in Swain’s unyielding glare. Rumors accompanied the parade in its circulation; all supervisors were to report to the central post at once, along with a selection of warmasons. They were to be led into a main tent, wherein Trifarians had set up an array of missives. A scroll awaited them at the table’s center; and upon their arrival, the soldiers spread it wide to reveal a map of Valoran.

 Each area was littered with a number of notes in slanted ink. Several names had been crossed out and replaced with others. Red marked the stations on several outposts throughout southern Valoran, sprinkles of blood over the Argent Mountains. Grand General Swain stood silently between his two personal guards. His barbute rested on the table, revealing a pallid mien; tainted by the passage of time and marked by war. Strands of white fell from taught temples on broad shoulders as he skimmed over a document adorned with signatures & wax. 

  Once he was satisfied with the warhost’s response to their call, scar-adorned lips parted with gravity, each pregnant pause a premonition. 

“Citizens; warmasons of Noxus. You know our goals well, in regards to the southern front.” Eyes parted from the paper to briefly roll over the warmasons’ faces. Somewhat like a teacher may have paused to assess whether his students were well-studied. Red pupils settled upon a particularly blank expression and his brow twitched. The soldier tensed up in response. “The time has come.” Swain’s posture heaved. “All of you here; you have been summoned to oversee preparations.” 

  A silent gasp filled the room; eyes widened. Swain merely pointed to the missives sprawled out on the table; it was clear now that these were numbered after the warmasons in the room, bearing the Empire’s seal. 

  “Your letters of recruitment have been filled out for you; please, do go over them as they include further instructions as well as the location of your service.” He concluded, palm resting on his cane’s crest ( that of a bird skull, carved in silvering ore ) A minute detail; his glove was taught with pointy fingertips - perhaps an adornment to aid in painting an inhuman allure. Once the missives had been handed out, Trifarians began to lead the warmasons back outside where they could pack their belongings and brace for their promotion. 

  Most scrolls were sealed with two stamps; that of the Empire, and that of the appointed Stewardship in the area one was to serve. But the one that had been handed out to a specific troop ( a girl, younger than most present) bore the Grand General’s personal sigil, one matching the embellishment on his cane. She would soon be approached by his personal guards with further instructions, given to understand that her departure was far more urgent than the rest. And thus, the startle in her voice was well justified as Jericho limped past her, halting upon the stupefied remark. Deep set eyes narrowed upon the girl’s visage. He peered at her over his cloaked shoulder.

“Your merit has exceeded the Empire’s expectations. And so, you shall be rewarded." A sharp retort, albeit his gaze crawling over her form - never meeting her eyes. "I trust you are aware of the common saying. With great power..." He trailed off. The tent’s dim lighting cast a deeper shadow over his eyelids, dim as it was. From a distance, those eyes would be naught more but two red dots burning in darkness. And in the way he so studiously took in every miniscule aspect of her appearance, it would almost feel as if a weight had been lifted off of her chest — the burden of something hidden deep within, drawn into the light. A revelation. A secret released...

His jaw clenched solemnly as he dragged one final growl.

“... Caitiff, of Nockmirch.”

[campbluelake]

Little Crow || Trial 6.10 || Max || RE: Abbie :(

What is Abigail Bradley?

She is a human; a person.

She was a human; was a person. Max knows how to be human, but he doesn't know how to be a person. Crowned by twisted horns and a halo of unhallowed sigils, Abigail has forgotten how to be a person too.

This fact does not make it easier to understand her. The demon in front of them is just as hard to understand now as she had been when Max watched the person named Abigail Bradley cry on the Ferris wheel.

And so, for a moment -- just like he did back then -- he thinks of Abbie as something else.

[♫♫♫]

She is a barely fledged crow, and she seeks to return to her nest after her first flight. The forest is on fire. Their nest is on fire. Every nest, burrow, and den is on fire. Her family burns. Every life she has known and loved burns, and there is nothing she can do but call to them.

Crows are social creatures, you know. They mourn, just like humans. Just like people.

This is where the metaphor ended last time.

Now there are tracks in the soot. Cloven hooves pad over charred brush and bones until they reach the little crow in the hovel she has made for herself. She intends to mourn herself to death here.

The cloven hooved beast soothes the little crow. It offers heart and hearth, warmth and kindness. All it needs in return is every feather on her body. 'Is this not a fair exchange for being loved?' it croons.

The little crow painfully plucks each healthy feather from her skin one by one. Carefully, eagerly, they are laid at the beast's hooves.

By the end of it, she is a raw, bloody, unrecognizable mess, but the lonely little crow is loved. 

Such was the beast's promise, was it not?

The little crow is happy. She smiles, she dances, she laughs in bright birdsong, paying no mind to how her new forest's brambles cut into her now bare, unprotected skin. She is more festering lesion than she is flesh, and the little crow is happy.

It's no secret that Max despises the cloven hooved beast in this retelling and its ilk. This deep seated hatred is what inspires his low warning screech, one, two steps taken towards the tree the beast's beloved thrall now stands in. His wings are spread, posture dipped low, every muscle tensed in preparation for a quick reaction.

But this is where he stops.

This is where the fury finds itself without any suitable target. There is no evil worthy of each talon's craving to rend flesh from bone.

Not here. Not when the fire that birthed the demon in front of them is--

This is the sort of thing he was made to prevent, you know. He has seen many a vision of lit torches and razed villages. Such manmade disaster born of bigotry and fear is an all too common sight. It is his duty to share such visions-- to give those that would be slain a chance at escaping their terrible and undeserved fate.

Had he seen Briarwood burn those many years ago? Had he watched Abigail's family die? Had he warned them?

Or had a prison of too tight skin kept him from sharing a warning so far away?

Had the disillusionment already set in?

Had he given up?

He can't be sure.

And he can't be angry.

Not at her, at least. Not right now.

Max scrapes furiously at the ground with one of his feet, wings spreading wider as he lets out another bestial screech in Abigail's direction, human speech entirely foregone. She may not be the target of his ire at this very moment, but she is still a threat to the humans that stand here.

He does not hurt people. Abigail Bradley is not a person.

She is his friend.

And he will rip the happy little crow limb from limb if he must, no matter how terribly he doesn't want to.

[hompunkulus]

Magic is a Way of Life

An Introduction

I have a busy life. Well, I work a full time job and balance my partner, cat, and hobbies along with it. I am sure many of you are also working stiffs (or full time students), balancing relationships and hobbies and find it hard to find time for your practice. Maybe you want to get into a practice but still haven't because of time or the ridiculous process of attaining magical power.

This why I am writing this essay and have been working on being more proactive here. I want to share my sorcery with you. Sometimes that is sharing blogs with perspectives I agree with, lyrics of my favorite songs, essays like this, meditations and rituals I love and develop, or personal works of art.

Simplicity

I am a nobody as far as you are concerned, and that is exactly the perspective I believe we all need! I have no titles and gain nothing but some views. I just want to share my perspective on a topic I love and wish it helps you, be you neophyte, adept or the Gods Themselves!

I love simplicity, although I also don't mind working hard. I am a lifelong martial arts enthusiast and practitioner and there is no easy way to excel as I have without hours a day and years of work. Magic isn't martial arts, though. Yes, it takes time to get comfortable with magic and to be worth your Blessed Salt. Yes, it will take hard work. And yes, you will get burnt out time and again (I've been at it for over 20 years!) but don't let that stop you!

Magic is also fun, engaging, and wild. It will test your resolve and it may even scare you at times - sometimes results are quick and raw. Sometimes they are gentle. Worst of all, sometimes it won't even yield a ghost's fart. That's the process of any progress, though. There will be ups and downs, good and bad times, and times you wish you never picked up that Hand of Glory with only three fingers left... that means two wishes were made and they decided to rid themselves of the cursed object...

Getting off track, my apologese.

The (not so) Great Work

My Principles of Magic

1. Imagine. Imagination is the gateway to all realities. Supergirl isn't physically real, but she gives me Hope and holds Council as one of my spirit guides.

2. Believe. If I can't believe in the impossible then I am not utilizing my imagination to its fullest potential.

3. Enact. If you do not practice your Craft you will not gain anything. If sorcery is the work of the Imagination and Belief then you have to Enact in Ritual to bring about change.

4. Ritual. Any act of creation. This can be a magical act as simple as Death Posture and blasting a sigil to carving a wooden wand to call forth your deepest desires. It can be as simple or extravagant as you wish as long as you are creating.

5. Consistency. This doesn't mean you have to dedicate yourself to any single paradigm, but you should at least have a standard practice, or practices, you perform on a regular basis. It doesn't even have to be daily, just enough that you are maintaining progress.

6. Journal. The best friend the sorceror ever had! I suggest up to 100 different journals. Don't trust anybody at face value, but trust me on this.

[viadescioism]

How to charge a sigil:

Once you have your sigil representation made you can go through the process of charging it. The charging process goes through the act of giving the sigil the kna it needs in order to work. This kna will be a combination of spiritual kna, and the imprint of it in your mind, and in the minds of others. All of this will be able to be built up by interacting with the sigil, usually in an altered state of consciousness. The altered state of consciousness allows you to access the subconscious parts of your mind more easily, while also connecting you closer to the spiritual plane of existence, so that you will be able to draw upon spiritual kna more effectively.

Every sigil needs to be charged in order to have kna to manifest things into reality, if the sigil is not charged in anyway, then it will not be able to manifest. If a sigil is activated, then it will have to be recharged before it can be used again, unless the sigil has reached the point where it contains its own kna, and no longer needs to be charged, which will happen to sigils that are constantly reused especially by multiple people. By going through the act of creating a sigil, drawing out the sigil representation, acknowledging its existence, and seeing it with your own eyes will already give it a small charge to work with, though this is usually not enough for it to manifest anything that would be substantial. It does have its own amount of kna built up simply from its ability to exist, which will still be used in the manifestation process.

Charging can be done in a lot of different actions. These actions are regarded as charging methods, and can vary in how effective they are at building up kna for the sigil to use, though all of them can do it in some capacity. You can choose to do one of these charging methods, or many of them in order to charge the sigil. You will want to make sure that you charge the sigil thoroughly, so that you can be sure that you have filled it with the kna it needs to manifest things into reality.

Active charging:

Active charging is the act of putting kna into a sigil using a charging method that is directly focused on giving that sigil kna, because of this it will be done intentionally with the use of your own will, or the will of others.

Passive charging:

Passive charging is the act of putting kna into a sigil using a charging method where the sigil will get kna overtime through an indirect method of charging usually by being interacted with regularly throughout a specific time. Sigils can be unintentionally charged using passive charging methods.

Charging methods for sigils include such things as:

Pushing kna into the sigil by using kna work.

Focusing, or meditating intensely on the sigil.

Dancing around the sigil.

Working out with the sigil.

Chanting over the sigil, usually with things in regard to its intention.

Burning candles around, or on the sigil.

Rubbing blood upon the sigil.

Anointing the sigil with essential oils.

Anointing the sigil with holy water, or any other type of magickal water.

Spitting on the sigil.

Putting the sigil in the sunlight, or moonlight.

Having the sigil by a crystal grid.

Placing a charged crystal on top of the Sigil.

Submerging the sigil in water.

Talking to the sigil as if it was a person, trying to convince it to do its job.

Having people see and/or interact with the sigil.

Speaking about the sigil to other people.

Having the sigil on your person while going through your day, keeping it with you so that it can feed off your kna.

Having the sigil on you while you do something that gets your adrenaline pumping.

Having the sigil near you, while you are playing video games.

Focusing on the sigil while being in a intense emotional state.

Asking a higher power to charge the sigil for you.

Praying over the sigil.

Singing over the sigil.

Using the death posture to charge the sigil.

Making contact with the sigil through any form of contact such as tapping touching, or moving.

Walking on top of the sigil.

Place the sigil in front of music speakers, while music is playing.

Allowing the wind to blow the sigil.

Placing the sigil in front of a fan, and allowing its air to blow it.

Breathing on the sigil.

Having the sigil outside in a thunderstorm, storm, or the rain.

Placing your phone on top of the sigil, while your phone is charging.

Placing the sigil underneath your pillow, while you sleep.

Crying on to the sigil.

Reading holy scripture to the sigil.

Saying the names of God to the sigil.

Using a Tibetan singing bowl, or bell near the sigil.

Link sigils to the sigil, so those sigils can charge it.

Sprinkling herbs, and spices on top of the sigil.

Tell it to draw kna from something, or a link it to some other construct to feed off of.

Tell somebody about the sigil.

Acknowledge the sigils existence.

Placing the sigil somewhere with a lot of negativity, or positive kna.

Placing the sigil at a ley-marker.

Heating up the sigil.

Cooling down the sigil.

Placing the sigil in your underwear, or bra.

Masturbating on to the sigil to anoint the sigil with semen, or vaginal mucus, or masturbating while looking into the sigil.

Having sex around the sigil, on top of the sigil, or while looking at the sigil.

Giving birth over, or near the sigil.

Looking at the sigil while causing pain to yourself, or another. (not recommended)

Something dying, or being killed near, or around the sigil. (not recommended)

Ways To Know If Your Sigil Is Charged:

Once you have charged your sigil there are a couple methods that you can use in order to figure out, if you have charged it. This is also very helpful if you did not go through the process of charging the sigil, and you would like to know if it is built up any charge over time through other sources, or if it has reached the stage where it does not need to be charged. The following lists are things you can do in order to check for charges in sigils.

Deduction Method:

This method is more a form of reasoning rather than something you do. It allows you to know that the sigil is charged, because you have done something to make it that way. If you go through the process of doing a charging method, then most likely the sigil has been charged in some form of way, even if you don't have another method of telling that it is.

Pragmatism, and Induction Method:

This is another method that is more a form of reasoning rather than something to do. The drawbacks on this method is that it works through pragmatism, so you only know if it is charged once it starts using that charge. If you go through the process of charging a sigil, and then you activate that sigil, and then it manifest something, clearly that sigil was charged.

Consciousness Method:

In this method you will be able to feel that your consciousness is focused upon the sigil, and is ready to be activated. This will probably be a very subtle feeling that you will have in your mind that is there, but is not very noticeable. This feeling will tell you that this sigil is charged at least in some way, and is ready to be activated.

Divination Method:

In this method in order to find out if the sigil is charged you go through the act of using any form of divination in order to ask if the sigil is charged. It does not matter what form of divination you use for this purpose, and all you need to ask is a yes, or no question on the charged state of the sigil. This method is quite easy if you know how to use divination, and can get you your answer quickly.

Adalama Method:

If you are able to feel spiritual kna you will be able to tell if the sigil is charged by simply running your hand over the sigil, or you will be able to tell by simply looking upon the sigil, through the feelings that you get. Everyone has a different way of going about feeling kna, and what it feels like to them. It can feel hot, cold, like a tingling sensation, or even can feel like a magnet pushing against your hand. By trying to feel into the sigil you will be able to get something if you are open to it which can help you figure out whether, or not the sigil is charged.

Spiritual Sight Method:

If you are able to see kna you will be able to use this method to see the kna in the air, and the knama around the sigil in order to tell if it is charged. To do this all you have to do is gently gaze at the sigil, while having your mind open, so that you will be able to see the colorful particles up the kna in the air, or the knama expanding off of the sigil. The more of this kna that you see, the higher likelihood that the sigil is charged.

Entity work method:

You could always ask your divines, along with any other form of entity, If the sigil has been charged. This will allow you to get a very quick response from a spiritual entity who is a lot more connected to these spiritual planes of existences, and will be able to tell you, if the sigil has gone through a charging method, and now holds power.