#mage!Ghost

[humongouspeachinternet]

Pomegranate-flavored promises

Mage!Ghost x Princess!reader

It started out small when the wars of the Northwest began. A rogue mercenary attempting to sneak into the castle, a wickedly curved knife concealed beneath his cloak. Poison in her tea, the side effects nearly killing her and putting her on bedrest for a month. One of her "subjects", after being frisked and searched for weapons upon entry, wrapping their hands tightly around her throat before her knights could get to them to rip the old man away.

Even now, sitting in front of the castle's mage, she wore the bruises of this latest attempt, deep purple blossoming around her delicate throat like a necklace of dark amethyst, as well as the pallor and paleness from her earlier bedrest. The young princess, once a lively and active royal amongst her people, looked small, frail almost in the large leather seat of the mage's workspace. She didn't miss the pity in his eyes nor in the eyes of the bodyguard assigned to her, an armored man squeezed into a tiny chair in the corner of the room to give the mage space to work on the princess.

The castle's mage was a rather large individual himself, all tense shoulders and muscle beneath the civilian clothes he wore. Seeing as he worked behind the scenes most of the time, he didn't have to don the normal armaments of a knight, a royal, or anyone else in the castle. He was free to dress as himself, even if that meant that his visage was obscured by a dark balaclava and a ghostly mask.

Did it make many uneasy? Perhaps. However, he had been in service to the crown for many years now, keeping the royals safe and alive and remaining loyal despite numerous uprisings over the years. Time and time again, Ghost had proved his fealty to his wards, and this time was no different.

Except it was.

It was her this time.

"This is far too much attention... you both should be doing much more important things than babysitting me. I really am fine." She sighs into the silence of the room, voice scratchy from both trauma and disuse as she watches Ghost cross the room towards her, a mortar dwarfed in his large hands. Her bodyguard bristles slightly as the large mage approaches, trying to play off his movement with a stretch of his arms over his head. Hazel eyes watch Ghost like a hawk, unsure as to if he could trust this man with the princess. He'd only ever heard whispers of this mysterious man and the havoc he could wreak if he truly wanted to. He was a force on and off the battlefield, but anyone could be out to get the poor princess nowadays, even a trusted friend in the castle.

Ghost brushes off her comment, coming to kneel in front of her in his chair, hardened brown eyes looking over the deep bruises that he couldn't prevent. How could he have? He was always tucked away in a separate wing of the castle, trying to keep the kingdom afloat with the wars raging outside, always watching from the shadows and stealing glances when he could. He didn't even know of the first few assassination attempts, but now that he did, he knew he couldn't just remain on the sidelines.

"Quiet down. You'll hurt yourself if you keep whining like that." He chastises lightly, his voice deep and soothing despite how he tried to sound stern. How could he with her? He'd never seen her look so... tired. Never seen her struggle for breath, never seen such deep-seated sadness in her gaze, never seen such... resignation in his princess. God, what he'd give to take all of these worries from her. Let him shoulder the burdens, he thought, dipping his fingers into the healing salve before reaching up to gently rub it into the bruises on her throat, his jaw tightening when she flinched at the sight of his hand approaching the tender area. A quiet whine escaped her before she could swallow it down as he massaged the paste into her skin, the soft noise catching the attention of the knight in the corner who moved to the edge of his seat, armor creaking and eyes narrowing with concern for the princess's safety.

Ghost's eyes flicker to the uneasy knight at the slight movement, dark eyes narrowing on him in the dim candlelight in response. That bastard. He'd let someone hurt her and now he tried to play the concerned hero? If Simon had been there, the assailant would never have gotten within two feet of the poor girl sitting upon his chair, but he'd been squirreled away.

He hadn't been there.

And now here she was: injured and in pain.

The thought brings his gaze back up to his princess, a frown tugging at his concealed features as he continued his work, the bruises slowly fading thanks to an enchantment he'd imbued the herbs with. It worked to break up the congealed blood beneath the skin and to take the pain of the marks with it, making it seem like it had never happened, but it did nothing to absolve the princess of the trauma of the event.

The old man had seemed so kind. So genuine. He'd received assistance from the charity organization she'd organized months ago, having run most of it herself before roping more royals into helping their people. War times were hard times, after all, but her subjects didn't deserve to suffer because of it. But it was when he came up to express his gratitude to her, his arms wide for what had seemed like an innocent embrace - something she allowed quite often - that he'd struck. Aged, worn hands wrapping as tightly as they could around her throat, calloused from years of working fields and tending home, fingers overlapping to stop her breathing. It took the guards a few moments to realize what was transpiring, but the man was swiftly pried from her and dragged away, kicking and screaming about how she wasn't safe from this war so long as he lived, as soon as they did. The flurry of activity that ensued around her was lost upon her as she gasped for breath. The man had been so angry, his sunny demeanor from just moments ago morphing into pure rage and bloodlust as he tried to strangle the life from her.

Ghost, focused on the task at hand, was confused as something wet began to drip down his hand, cutting streaks through the smears of herbs. Upon looking up, he'd discovered that the princess had dissolved into tears beneath his careful hand, quickly withdrawing to set down the bowl in his clean hand and wipe the tears from her face with it. He understood the faraway look in her eyes before she squeezed them shut. He'd seen it many times before, in the eyes of men scarred by battle, but it looked so utterly wrong on her.

She didn't deserve this.

"Get out." The burly man growls out to the knight in the corner, tearing his eyes away from her face to stare the man down as he hesitated to move. His job was to keep the princess safe by staying at her side for all hours... but the look in Ghost's eyes told him that he wouldn't be able to do that job much longer if he stayed in the room. Stiff with tension, the knight stands and nods, coming over to the princess to kiss the top of her head and whisper that he'd be right outside of the door if he needed her before exiting the room.

Bastard, Ghost thinks, trying to hold his tongue in front of his ward.

If only she knew what he'd seen that knight do behind her back. Secret lovers were never the most faithful within the walls of castles, but having watched the two from the shadows for so long now, he couldn't bring himself to dull the smile that the man brought to her rosy visage.

How he wished she'd look at him like that.

The slam of the heavy door made the princess flinch beneath Ghost's attentive hands as he thinks, more tears slipping down her flushed skin as the memories quickly became too much for her to handle.

"Was it me, love? Did I hurt you?" He questions gently, unsure as to what he'd actually seen for a moment. Perhaps he'd gotten distracted and pressed a little too hard on a bruise?

A quick shake of her head absolves him of the guilt that threatened to crawl up his throat, swallowing it back down with a deep inhale. Scarred fingers drifted gently over pink-splotched cheeks, wiping his other hand on his clothes to catch as many tears as he could for her, wondering how to best comfort her. His princess. His princess?

"Shhhhh, it's alright. He's gone, it's over." Tear-dampened fingers, careful to avoid her neck, moved to rest against the hair at her nape, his cloth-covered forehead coming to bump gently against her own. He'd seen his fair share of war, of death, of the in-between place. He knew it well. Why did she have to? "Deep breaths, come back to me, yeah?" Taking a deep breath of his own, he waited for her to peek her eyes open and mirror the action, helping her to work through it a few more times before she felt that she could breathe again without her world collapsing in around her.

Growing up, she'd been prone to attacks of the nerves, and, growing up right beside her as the apprentice to an abusive mage within the castle, Simon had figured out that getting her to breathe through it was an almost surefire way of calming her. If that didn't work, holding her to his chest until she could cooperate enough to breathe worked just as well. How useful to him now, locked away in the basement of the castle and far from the woman he adored.

A soft sniffle escapes her as she reaches up to rest her hands atop his, reddened eyes slowly coming up to meet his steady brown ones, tears threatening to spill once more from the amount of concern in his gaze. "I-I'm sorry..." She murmurs, embarrassed to have broken down over something so small when people were dying outside of her kingdom walls, a gentle scoff meeting her words as he shakes his head in response.

"Only you, princess, would apologize after almost dying." Ghost grunts, slowly withdrawing his forehead from hers, but keeping his hand firm on the back of her head to look her over. The bruises that marred her skin were almost completely gone by now, replaced by the sickly pale color that her skin had taken on lately. Curse that poison. If they had caught onto it sooner, maybe she'd have been feeling better by now. "I don't want to hear those words from you again, understood? You went through something traumatic and you're allowed to be upset about it. If anyone says otherwise, you come find me and the problem will be resolved within the hour, I promise."

Listening to the firm promises of her childhood friend, she nods slightly, another sniffle escaping her. "Luke said I was being dramatic... that it had only been a few seconds without air, but it felt like forever, you know?" A delicate whisper, her eyes glancing to the door behind them, knowing that Ghost would understand her position more than her sheltered lover would. A curt nod meets her words, his chest burning with the anger beginning to rise within him. What a proper prick that knight was. And he was her lover? What on earth did she see in him?

"I know. It's not a position you should have ever been put in, your highness." He pauses, hand slipping from her hair to glance at his workbench behind him. An idea had slowly begun to form, pieces falling into place as he remembered an experiment he'd been working on for the king. Eyes slowly returning to the princess, she could see a slight crinkle at the corners of them as the gears continued turning, murmuring quietly into the space between them. "And you won't ever have to worry about it again if I have anything to say about it... wait right here."

Standing from his kneeling position, he was loathe to leave her side at such a sensitive time, but if he thought that he could help keep her safe from now on, he'd do just about anything.

Now, had he tested this new experiment very thoroughly? Not quite.

Would it hurt her though? Never. If he thought it wasn't safe, he'd have ended the experiment as quickly as he started. It was a tense time for everyone and the last thing he needed was someone accusing him of trying to take out the crown.

The young woman curls up carefully in the well-loved chair as she watches Ghost make his way to his worktop in less than two long, graceful strides. It really had been too long since she'd spoken with him like this, just the two of them. Sure, he was invited to every dinner and engagement, but she never seemed to get close enough in the past couple of years to even just talk to him. With the war and the dwindling royal engagements, she hardly even saw him anymore, unaware that he'd never really left her side. He truly was like her shadow, her ghost following her around just in case. In case of what, he wasn't exactly sure, but he was there. Just never when she truly needed him it seemed.

No matter. He'd fix that, he thought, pulling out a few vials of muted colored liquids and powders. "Now I do have an important question for you, your highness..." He speaks, his voice slightly muffled by his mask as he mixes various ingredients together in a beaker, its color... interesting, to say the least. "Pomegranate- or cherry-flavored?" Stirring the beaker, he turns to her, watching with a small smile as her brows knit together in slight confusion, a small chuckle reaching her lips at the thought of him flavoring the concoction just for her.

"Such a hard decision." She rasps out softly, her voice still a bit weak from everything that had occurred, "Pomegranate is always a welcome flavor... what are you putting it in though? I'm not sure I've seen you make something like this before."

Watching him take a bottle from a drawer, the flavoring, and drip a little bit into the mixture, she tilts her head curiously, listening as he stirs it all together and brings it over to place it into her shaky hands. "It's something your father's had me working on lately. He's been worried about getting hurt on diplomatic missions to the battlefields and wanted a way to keep safe before danger reached him." Carefully, Simon places his hands over hers around the beaker, meeting her gaze once more, warm skin over cold hands. "It will tether you to me from now on. My life will be tied to yours and I'll know if something is going to happen to you before it happens."

She purses her lips for a moment, looking down to the swirling liquid in the glass before looking to his hands overlapping hers. Had she always been so pale, so thin, so small? Had all of this stress really done this to her?

"Simon... I can't do that to you. What if I get hurt and it hurts you as well?" She whispers to him, chewing on her bottom lip as she thinks, "Tying yourself to me like this... I can't ask something so large of you."

"You misunderstand, princess. I am not asking this of you. I'm begging you to allow me to do this for you." He corrects, the chill of the floor seeping into his knees as he kneels in front of her again, "Please. This is the absolute least I can do for you, and I am more than happy to give my life, my health, my everything to keep you safe. I don't claim to know exactly what will happen if, gods forbid, anything happens to you, but if it means the end of me, I'd die the happiest man, knowing that you will live on to bring such joy to your people."

The woman before him was stunned into silence, eyes wide and brimming with tears at the thought of him giving his life so freely for hers if that's what it came down to. And he'd do it with no regrets, it seemed. No hesitation was visible in the warm brown eyes boring into hers, but a gentle, begging plead to please let him do this for her. It was just about the kindest thing anyone had ever done for her... and he looked so sincere. Who was she to say no?

With shaky hands steadied by his own, she holds his gaze as she tips the glass to her lips, the scent of pomegranate filling her nose as she took a mouthful and swallowed. Carefully pulling the glass from her lips, Ghost reaches up to pull the cloth of his mask over his nose before guiding both of their hands to tilt a mouthful to his lips as well, swallowing his sip of the potion right after she did, a gentle smile upon his scarred lips all the while.

(Author's note: Hi hi!!! I hope you enjoyed this!! I'm planning on making a part two soon! :) )

[starvulture]

anyway, since im in financial aid hell with my school rn....

simon riley who really is only an acquaintance to you, some guy you're friendly with because you seem to have a similar routine when it comes to the cafe two blocks from your house and the physical therapist office you both attend.

simon, who's on extended medical leave from a torn rotator cuff surgery and six weeks into twelve of his own physical therapy treatment.

simon who overhears you with a friend in the cafe one morning venting your frustrations with the cost of school and the limits of your own finances. who doesn't mention it until you're both in the waiting room, sitting with one chair between you as usual (he's a big guy, he likes the space to spread his legs. he pretends he hasn't seen your glances).

"going back to school, then?" he asks, quiet and gruff as always.

you wrinkle your nose at the reminder of your current stresses. "yeah," you say, staring down at the carpet. "dunno if i can afford it, though. rent's already so high, and groceries, and then this..." you gesture vaguely, but he knows you mean whatever condition it is you're here for is bleeding you dry.

"shame," he says, and leaves it at that.

"what do you do?" you ask after a long moment of silence. a muscle in his thigh twitches.

"military," he says, meeting your eye when you finally look at him.

you nod, a puzzle piece sliding into place about why he must be here in this office with you. "ah."

"benefits aren't bad," he says, quietly. "medical's paying for all o' this." he nods around the room, a much more leisurely mirror of your earlier hand gesture.

"i should hope so, considering they probably put you where you got whatever it is you're here for." the corner of your mouth lifts in a wry smile.

the conversation stops there when one of you is called in to your appointment. simon doesn't bring it up again, not until something changes.

you run into each other at a bar.

simon's got a beer in hand, something cold and refreshing while he catches up with soap and gaz in the corner. they're on a brief leave and stopped by to visit for an evening before fucking off for a week to wherever it is they have plans to be. simon won't ever say it in as many words, not right now, but he's glad to see them, happy to listen to whatever story they're telling him, until he sees you.

he downs the beer for an excuse to go get another, waving off the two men who offer to go get it when he says "need to stretch my legs," eyes fixed on you the whole time.

"celebratin'?" he asks when he slides into an empty space beside you at the counter, catching the bartender's attention for a refill with a lazy raise of his empty bottle.

"simon," you greet in surprise. he nods at your drink and your slight smile slides away. "not really," you reply to his question. "more like drowning my sorrows. i don't think school's gonna happen this time."

simon frowns, eyes scanning you up and down. your drooped, sad shoulders, the sad, slightly bitter smile that doesn't reach your eyes.

"you know," he says, slowly, as if hesitant. normally wouldn't even dare to think it if he hadn't had just enough to drink. "there's plenty scholarships for military spouses."

it's a wonder he can keep a straight face at the shocked raise of your eyebrows.

[sanestkanadefan]

‼️ANY MELANIE MARTINEZ STUFF IS NO LONGER INCLUDED, WE DON'T STAND SA'ERS HERE‼️

[arcadia-smith]

Smoke of the future

Moodboard/masterlist

Pairing: King Simon Riley x Mage!Reader

Summary: You are King Simon’s most trusted ally, gifted with the ability to glimpse the future. With your guidance, he has risen to become one of the greatest rulers the kingdom has ever known. But when forgotten memories begin resurfacing, unraveling secrets buried in time, everything changes. What will he do when forced to choose between you and his people? And when love and duty stand at odds, which path will you take?

Word count: 2.2k

Chapter 1

You’ve spent enough time in this court to grow accustomed to the whispers and wary glances the nobles cast your way. Yet, they never dare to speak their disdain aloud or meet your gaze for too long, as if fearing you might curse their blood.

You’ve always felt more at home among commoners than the noblewomen, whose greatest worries revolve around whether they’ve underdressed for an event. So, whenever an opportunity arises to slip beyond the castle walls, you take it—venturing into the village to offer herbal remedies and practice magic-infused medicine for those who plead for your aid time and time again.

It’s not as if King Simon has ever forced you to stay by his side. More than once, he’s told you that you’re free to leave whenever you wish. But every time you so much as mentioned retiring to a quiet little cabin by the borders, he's given you that look—the one that says, You can’t really leave me. I need you.

"You're terribly quiet," Simon's voice pulled at your thoughts as he leaned closer.

You shot him a look before turning your attention back to the old nobleman droning on across the table. For what felt like the fifth time this week—though the week had only just begun—he was rambling about the situation down by the coast.

"He should worry about his wife sleeping with their servant, not about something you've already gotten under control, my king."

Simon let out a quiet laugh. He’d always loved how there was no filter between your thoughts and your tongue—whatever crossed your mind inevitably spilled out.

"You've seen the future of his marriage?"

You shook your head slightly, gaze shifting to the side. Staring was impolite, you reminded yourself.

"Saw his wife sneaking away with the servant boy at the last gathering."

Simon huffed out another quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. "You do have a habit of noticing things you shouldn't."

You merely hummed in response, fingers idly tracing the rim of your goblet as the nobleman droned on, still oblivious to the fact that neither of you were truly listening.

"Should I tell him?" Simon kept his voice low "Or let him waste his breath on a matter that’s already resolved?"

"Depends. Do you want to be entertained, or do you want to be merciful?"

Simon glanced at the old man, who was still gesturing wildly, lost in his own speech. "Mercy isn't my strongest trait," he admitted.

"Neither is patience," you murmured.

His gaze flicked to you "And yet, I’ve had plenty when it comes to you."

The nobleman's voice droned on, and you felt Simon watching you. It was moments like these—where duty and formality blurred at the edges—that reminded you why you'd stayed by his side for so long. He didn’t treat you like the others did, with fear and suspicion. He listened, laughed, and—despite never saying it outright—he relied on you.

"You're patient with me, because I am quite useful." You shrugged, eyes darting to Simon "And we're friends."

Simon scoffed quietly, shaking his head "Drink your wine, little witch. We've got a long night ahead of us."

You tilted your head back against the chair’s backrest, letting your eyes slip shut. This was the part you hated most—sitting through these mind-numbing meetings. Even without your visions, they all blurred together, the same discussions looping over and over.

Simon knew how much you despised them. Hell, he hated them just as much. But he refused to suffer through them alone, so he made sure to drag you down with him every single time.

The noble's voice, along with the occasional uninterested hums from Simon, faded into the background as your mind drifted elsewhere.

The thing about your visions was that you had no control over them. You couldn’t summon them at will, and you couldn’t make them leave you alone. Some came like fleeting whispers, indistinct and blurry. Others were sharp—too vivid, too real. But one thing was certain. They were never wrong.

This time, it came quickly. Whispers swirled around you, a flickering image of a new threat looming over Simon’s life. The voices were frantic, the words blurred together—only the sharp sting of panic cutting through. Someone was screaming, but you couldn’t tell who.

A cold ache spread through your chest, a familiar weight pressing down, and then there were warm palms on your waist, grounding you.

A figure moved in the shadows, their silhouette ominous, shifting like a predator. You couldn’t see their face, but you could feel them, the weight of their presence, the sense that something was coming.

The scream—the one that had echoed so faintly—became clearer. It wasn’t just anyone. It was the King. Simon’s voice, raw and filled with pain, was unmistakable.

Your hands were hot. And wet. Blood. The blood was on your hands.

You snapped back into the room, gasping for breath, heart pounding. Your hands shot out, instinctively reaching for Simon, your fingers brushing against his sleeve.

“Did you…?” Simon straightened up, his full attention now on you.

You couldn’t find the words, so you just shook your head. Without a second thought, you pushed yourself out of your seat. Your hands curled into the fabric of your skirt, fingers gripping it tightly as you moved quickly toward the door, the sound of your hurried steps echoing in the room.

The hallway was quieter, and it gave you a moment to breathe, but the unease churned in your gut. Your palms were still warm from the vision. You rubbed them against your skirt, as if trying to erase the lingering sensation, but it didn’t help.

The sound of your own footsteps grew louder, mirroring the frantic beat of your heart. You barely registered the soft hum of the lights overhead or the distant conversations behind you. All you could think of was that scream—the rawness of it, and how much it had felt like it came from Simon.

Your hand pressed against the wall as you slowed, trying to collect yourself, trying to make sense of what had just happened. But there was no clarity, just confusion.

"Hey," Simon’s voice broke through the fog of your thoughts. You didn’t turn around.

He was right behind you, his steps purposeful, but not chasing. He was giving you space, letting you come to him on your own terms, but you knew he wouldn’t let you run for long.

“Talk to me,” he said.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath before you turned to face him. "Just one of those... vivid visions."

Simon gave a slow nod "Do you need to lie down?"

Your hand tightened it's grip on your skirt "Yeah... I'll find you once I've collected myself. You go back to your duties, my King."

His gaze roamed over you, a moment of hesitation on his part, before he returned to the meeting.

His touch was warm, almost burning. You could feel your breath catching, bodies moving in sync.

"God, you're so beautiful." He whispered into your ear, arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer, his breath hot against your parted lips. "I love you, my lady."

Fingertips traced the curve of your spine, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You shivered, tilting your chin up, inviting him closer, needing more. His nose brushed against yours, foreheads resting together.

"Say it again," you breathed, hands threading into his hair, anchoring yourself to him.

Simon's lips found yours in response, slow and lingering, a promise sealed between shared breaths. "I love you," he vowed, voice breaking ever so slightly, as if the words had been carved from his very soul. "I always will."

You jolted awake, a sharp breath tearing from your lips as you pushed tangled strands of hair from your face. The remnants of his touch still lingered—phantom kisses against your skin, the steady echo of his heartbeat against your own. But it wasn’t a vision. It couldn’t be. You’d seen the same thing night after night, the scenes playing on an endless loop, like a cruel trick of the mind. And now, with the whispers growing louder in the castle halls, you wondered if the nobles were right. Perhaps you were losing your mind.

Without bothering to dress properly, you slipped out of your chambers and made your way beyond the castle walls. The cool night air wrapped around you as you hurried toward the lake house just outside the village, where the only person who could understand you awaited.

You didn’t have to knock. The elderly woman sat on the porch, hands clasped in her lap, her sharp gaze already fixed on you as if she had known you were coming.

“I made tea,” Kate said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “It will ease your mind, my dear.”

You stopped a few feet away, your arms wrapping around yourself as you struggled to steady your breath. “I think I’m losing my mind.” Your voice wavered.

Kate had been your advisor for as long as you could remember. She had practically raised you, guiding you through the burdens of your gift—the same gift she possessed yet never used to rise in rank or secure a more comfortable life.

“The visions I’ve been seeing…” You swallowed, forcing the words out in a single breath. “They feel more like—”

“Memories,” Kate finished for you.

You nodded, dread settling deep in your chest. “But that’s not possible. They can’t be my memories. How could I forget something like—” You cut yourself off, rubbing your hands over your face as panic threatened to overtake you.

Kate lifted her tea, blowing gently over the steaming surface before taking a slow sip. Then, she met your eyes with a knowing look.

“Sit down, Y/N,” she said softly. “I saw this day coming. And I have been waiting for it.”

"You had a vision?" You were rooted in the spot, not moving an inch.

"Didn't need a vision to know that memories will come back. I warned you about that, but you didn't listen. Same as I've said time and time again, you cannot change the future, the visions are as they come and they're bound to happen, even if you try to delay them, sweet girl."

Your eyebrows furrowed but before you could get a word in Kate continued.

"If you're remembering, the King will soon too." She hummed, fingers curling around her tea mug. A knowing look flickered in her aged eyes. "Do you remember how you became King Simon's advisor?"

You exhaled, trying to steady yourself. "Yes.. you guided me to him when I had the vision about commotion at the border just after he took the throne."

"But that wasn't the first time you've met him, Y/N. You had known him for years before that."

Your stomach twisted, confusion settling deep in your bones. That couldn’t be true. Kate must’ve been mistaken, her age catching up to her. You would remember something like that, wouldn’t you?

"And the King, before he was who he is now, spent many quiet summer nights here."

Your frown deepened. The lake house had always been your safe haven, untouched by the weight of courtly life. If Simon had ever been here, you would remember. You should remember.

You squeezed your eyes shut.

Blank.

Your mind was blank.

No visions. No flickers of familiarity. Just empty space where a lifetime of memories should have been.

"It's gonna come back," Kate hummed and you could feel her gaze on you as you tried to make sense of her words.

You shook your head "How... how is it possible?"

Kate sighed, taking a slow sip of her tea before setting the mug down with careful precision. "I remember that night like it was yesterday. You came to me crying, begging me to tell you how to change the future. You were desperate." Her eyes darkened, her voice softening with something like regret. "But when I told you, again and again, that the future cannot be changed, you left. And when you returned, it was as if a part of your life had been erased.”

Her gaze pinned you in place. “The part that was Simon.”

You took a step closer. "Tell me everything."

Kate exhaled, the weight of years pressing into her shoulders as she gestured to the chair across from her. "Sit down, Y/N."

You hesitated, every instinct screaming at you to run—to demand answers from someone else, anyone else. But you knew Kate wouldn’t lie to you. She never had. So, with a deep breath, you lowered yourself onto the wooden chair, hands gripping the edge of your cloak.

"Before he ever sat on that throne, before the crown ever weighed on his head, before the war—he was yours. And you were his."

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

Kate sighed, her gaze drifting toward the horizon. "You saw something in a vision—something terrible. And when you realized you couldn’t stop it, you did the only thing you could."

She looked at you again, her eyes filled with something that looked an awful lot like pity.

"You erased him from your heart."

[lizzybeeee]

You just know that Alistair absolutely agonized over asking a Warden Cousland about if they've ever lost anyone, only to be hit with the reminder that yes their entire family and pretty much everyone else living within Castle Cousland was effectively massacred.

Alistair - "Have you...had someone close to you die? Not that I mean to pry, I'm just..." Cousland - "My entire family was murdered just recently." Alistair - "Oh, of…of course. How stupid of me to forget. Here I am going on about Duncan and you…I'm so sorry."

If you're any other origin then it's the first time you've brought up something like this - while Alistair is aware from the get go about Cousland's loss. Likely because it's big news - Loghain even comments on it (as he should!) - and because the Warden can press to try and find Fergus as soon as you leave Ostagar. Not to mention that of all your companions Alistair is easily the most emotionally intelligent imo.

This is the kind of shit that would have me lying awake in bed at night - unable to fall asleep, smothering my face with a pillow. No shade to Alistair, he was in the middle of his grief, but I can 100% picture him lying in bed at night one month, five years, a decade later being like...fuck.

[elizabethemerald]

Aquaman DPxDC Prompt

Real Life Mermaid Danielle

Ellie has explored a lot of the surface world over the last couple of years, but now she has a new place to explore, the entire ocean! Obviously to explore the ocean a little easier she changes her form to that of a mermaid so she can live out every little girl's fantasy (at least according to Jazz) At least until Aquaman finds a child mer exploring the ocean. He and Mera always wanted a daughter. His rage when he finds out she's a clone made by a man she calls "The Bastard" against her template's will will be breathtaking to see.

[asphodelis]

ghosts are canon in jugdral

[its-leethee]

-- 7x06 // 4x04

i think about these two mirrors every day. gnawing my arm off

...metaphorically. these two might've been doing it literally tho

[thesoulbox]

I LOVE THEM WITH ALL OF MY HEART, THEY ARE SO SILLY AND I WANNA PICK THEM BOTH UP AND SHAKE THEM AFFECTIONATELY, THEY DESERVE NOTHING BUT THE BEST AND THEY ARE MY FAVORITEST DUO IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD, ENJOY MY DOODLES..

[humongouspeachinternet]

Hot.

Hot.

Hot.

When had it gotten so hot in here?

Sweat gathers at the hem of a dark balaclava, damp and tacky against flushed skin.

It's suffocating, he thinks, unable to control how his breath comes in short pants or his heartbeat in a manic staccato against his ribs.

Thump, thump, thumping away to a beat that is not his own, but that of his delicate charge, his heart lurches, squirms between his aching lungs like a fish caught between hands. His skin crawls like there's something chomping at the bit to free itself from the fleshy confines of his body, hair standing on end.

An alert.

Something to pay attention to.

It wasn't the first time he'd felt like this.

Since indulging in the potion, a spell tethering the princess to her faithful mage, Simon had many a night like this. Lying awake in a stuffy new room, one closer to the princess in the event that he needed to defend her, he could not sleep.

How could he when all he could hear was you?

Pitching higher, higher, higher, your breathless gasps weren't as inconspicuous as you'd hoped, the noises carrying down the hallway, seeping under doors and through ventilation ducts. The stifled noises saturated the night air, drenching Simon in a slimy, strange feeling once more. Envy? Jealousy? Disappointment? It was hard to put a name to it when it was crushing him. The pleasure he could feel through your bond, the torture of being able to hear you but not have you, the absolute anguish that washes over him as the building pleasure suddenly ebbs, leaving just as it was about to reach a fever pitch and crash over the both of you.

Left on edge, it had been like this for weeks. The only touches of yours had been phantoms, whispers on his skin that weren't truly there, and the only way he knew how you'd been feeling was through this arduous, torturous bond the two of you shared.

Your knight, Luke, was reliably awful at making you feel good, but he still made you happy, even if he only really visited at night and left you unsatisfied time after time.

Work, he claimed, working to keep her safe.

Safe from what? The maids in the broom closets he visited? The servants he'd "find" in the empty kitchen?

Simon wanted to put a dent in that silly little helmet the man wore every morning after a night like this. Metal on knuckles, metal to the skull, perhaps it would rattle awake a few braincells in the knight's head. Maybe get him to realize what an absolute treasure he had before Simon did something about it.

And you? You had no idea what you'd been putting him through.

The noises you made in the night. The way you didn't seem to notice your knight's wandering gaze. The smiles you gave away despite your past injuries like it was nothing, like the sight of it didn't absolutely turn his world upside down, like he wouldn't raze the earth to keep that little smile safe from the dangers of this life. The way you'd been avoiding him lately to try and appease the jealous bodyguard at your side.

What was the mage supposed to do when all he wanted was just two doors down the hall? When the woman he wanted wasn't his and never could be?

He'd be patient. He'd get a chance to prove himself soon enough. He'd just have to wait a little longer. Ripping the soaked fabric from his face, Simon chucks his mask across the room, running trembling fingers over scarred flesh before turning in for the night, trying his damnedest to ignore your quiet tears just down the hall after your lover left you all alone again.

He'd never leave you like that. He'd sooner die than let you feel the way you did right now.

But you weren't his to comfort right now. Not yet.

He just didn't expect that his chance would come so soon.

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

Pain, quick and searing, shot up the mage's arm while he was working away in his basement laboratory, causing him to drop the flask of chemicals he'd been working with a surprised grunt. The feeling came only weeks after the last attempt on your life, but no blood nor injury stood out on his muscled forearm as he turned it over with his other hand.

Huh. Strange. Perhaps he'd tweaked a nerve? Slept the wrong way? Overworked that arm somehow? Thinking on how his nights had been going lately, your quiet voice haunting his dreams, he initially brushes off the feeling for the last explanation, and sets to cleaning up the mess he'd made. It was only when the pain reappeared, clawing at the delicate skin of his neck, that he realized something may be wrong.

Reaching up, he once more found no blood nor torn skin, but if the way his heart had begun to race and his breathing picked up were anything to go by, he'd say that it was the potion's doing, a panicked feeling that didn't belong to him clutching his chest.

He wasted no time upon realizing what was happening, discarding his experiments in order to get to you as quickly as he could. For such a large, burly man, he was surprisingly agile, practically flying up the ornate staircases in a mad dash to stop whatever was causing such distress.

Could you imagine his horror when he finds you, dress soaked in blood, trembling frame pinned against the wall with a shard of a broken vase pressing into your throat? The shock? The fear? The sheer rage once he realized that Luke was the one wielding the sharp glass, watching tiny beads of blood bubble up beneath the edge of the weapon? The head knight, the very man entrusted with your life by your father, trusted with your heart, was now the one threatening to take it, to cut the beating muscle from your chest, over what? You finding out that he'd been cheating on you with the entirety of the castle's staff and threatening to leave him over it? How was that your fault?

With the door to your room now barely hanging by its hinges, strong hands grasp the shoulders of the knight and snatch him away from you, grunting with the effort he uses to slam Luke to the ground.

Huffing and puffing, Simon realizes that Luke is covered in your blood as well, the stains on his skin and clothes as red as the wooly haze over Simon's eyes, heart threatening to beat out of his chest as he pounces on the disgrace of a knight before him. It was a messy scene, one that Simon was not unused to in his years of battle and servitude, but one he wished that you hadn't had to witness. He wished that you hadn't seen the way his hands had spilled the man's blood all over the floor, that you hadn't seen the beast he'd become in that moment, that you hadn't seen just how much damage he could cause.

Simon was much scarier than Luke ever could have been, but he hoped that you didn't see him that way even as he beat your ex-lover bloody on your bedroom floor.

He wasn't satisfied until he felt shaky hands pulling him away from the bloodied mass on the floor, short nails digging into his biceps as you pull him from the fray and from the headspace he'd slipped into. He allows you to pull him off of the man, chest heaving with the effort he'd exerted in neutralizing the threat to your life, mask tacked to his face by sweat and blood spray.

It was then that he realized that the potion he'd created wouldn't be enough to keep you safe. Sitting back on sore haunches, he tips the back of his head against your lower stomach, sinewy arms hanging at his side as he looks up to you, his precious charge. Tears spilled in rivulets down your cheeks, skin red and splotched from your sobbing, the crystalline drops dripping onto his face from your standing position behind him.

Blood.

You were covered in so much blood.

A deep gash runs up your forearm, spilling deep red onto the floor in little drip, drip, drips. Jagged and angry, the wound probably came from the same piece of vase that Luke had pressed to your throat, a thin little cut reminding Simon of what could have happened to you if he'd gotten there any later.

Pushing himself up from the soiled floor, Simon gently removes himself from your grasp to turn and scoop you into his arms, stepping over the remnants of a traitorous bastard to bring you to the medical ward. He held you as the doctors bunched your skin back together with sutures, unbothered by the blood spilling from his own split knuckles. He brushed cool cloths over your skin, cleansing you of blood and tears, even though you couldn't stop the tears if you tried. He held you to his chest that night, soothing you until you calmed down enough to sleep for the night, tracing protection sigils into your marred skin to keep the inevitable nightmares and terrors at bay.

[guilhernunes]

scary lovebirds

buy a print

a page with various lovebirds

1- lovebird vampire with a black cape 2- lovebird witch with a wizard hat 3- lovebird on a top of a skull 4- demon lovebird 5- ghost lovebird

[magexii]

gwens

[plokster]

Rose for @brionnechu!

[malky-tea]

Today is the birthday of my friend, as well as a great player and a wonderful game-master in her own right! In honor of that, I drew her character. Sorcerer Nick, a guy with a tragic fate, but the future is uncertain and he tries with all his might to come to a better life. Here he is joined by the ghost of his friend, who died partly through his fault (This friend is still secretly in love with him...). Yes, this guy has a very interesting biography, we can only hope that luck will be waiting for him next

[jaypilledsquared]

we need more argonian mages I think. anyways this is ghost-eyes she has that Born Away From The Hist autism

[stardustamaryllis78]

Ziard is the goat 🙏

He got done so dirty this season 😔

Justice for Ziard 🙏