#perhaps gods walk among us

[bigolbard]

I just finished a book that made me cry and then opened Spotify and it was like “here’s a song you might like sire” and the art was pretty so I listened to it and it perfectly encapsulated the sorrow and mood of the book and my soul in both its music and lyrics and idk maybe there are gods out there and maybe one of them is looking at me

[entitled-fangirl]

Lost.

Cregan Stark x Pregnant!reader

Summary: the reader accompanies her brother and Cregan to the Wall to discuss an alliance. But the news of Luke's death causes turmoil among them.

Warnings: Blood, cursing, grief, death, miscarriage, Cregan fucking crying

A/n: based on this ask!

Masterlist

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She had to practically beg him.

"No. No, and you need to drop it," he said as he began to lace up his boots.

She whined and pulled herself from the bed, her hair a mess and still only in her shift, "Cregan."

Cregan let out a soft growl, "You dragons just don't see reason, do you?"

She smiled and neared him. Her hands rested over his, keeping him from lacing his boots. "I want time with my brother again. Is that so terrible?"

"It's a two week trip to the Wall."

"That's at least a month with him." She gripped his hands tighter, "Please, Cregan."

He sighed, "The prince will have plenty of time with you before and after. I won't have my wife and unborn child far from the maesters." He let out a forced laugh, "Or near the men of the Wall, for another matter."

"There are maesters there, Cregan. And we all know I am safest with you."

He stared at their connected hands for a while, a million thoughts ringing loudly in his head, but all unvoiced. 

"We still have a few months until the birth," she continued to reason. "And you know I grow cold at night when you're gone."

Cregan smiled up at her. He pulled his hand from hers to rest over her small swollen stomach. 

As much as he wanted to lock her away from the threats of the world, he knew doing so would hurt her more than letting her go.

He chewed at his lip. "If I let you," he began, "You will take no chances. On anything."

"None," She agreed. "Nothing at all." Her hand joined his on her stomach. "I'll stay by your side. I promise."

"Alright." 

…

"Ready to go?" Jace smiled as his sister neared. 

She grinned back as she took his arm, "I've been ready since I heard you were arriving, brother."

He chuckled lightly as the two began to walk to the stable, "Must I say, you practically glow like the sun nowadays."

She huffed, "Do not lie."

"I don't," he said. "There is more color to you."

"That is only the cold nipping at me and coloring my cheeks."

He laughed again, "Maybe so. But either way, You are a natural, my dear sister. A healthy boy is on the way, I know it."

"A boy?" She asked with raised brows. "Oh no, Cregan and I think it's a girl."

He hummed in thought, "No. It's not. I know these things."

She laughed and playfully hit his arm, "You know nothing of this!"

He grinned and shrugged, "All the same. You'd raise a wonderful boy-"

"-Or girl."

"-or girl. Either way, I shall be a very proud uncle."

"Oh, you must wed Baela soon brother, please."

"So eager?" He asked with a smile.

"Our children would be such wonderful friends." Her eyes lit up and she squeezed his arm, "Or such a beautiful betrothal! Think of it!"

Jace look away in thought, "Perhaps so. I hadn't considered that."

"Only," she began again. "I shall pray your boy does not inherit your unruly curls!" 

"Ah, you're the one having a boy first. I said so."

"Oh. So, you wish to have a girl, brother?"

He bit his lip, "If the gods wish it, then yes."

"You'd be wonderful to a daughter, Jace."

His brows furrowed, "Let us focus on the baby at hand, please. And get you to the stables before Cregan has my head."

…

Cregan helped her into the lift at the bottom of the wall, pulling her to him to make room for Jace. 

"I sent a letter to mother before we left," Jace began. "About the child. Luke, Joffrey, and I will choose a dragon egg and send it to you upon my return home."

Her eyes lit up, "Thank you. That was… That was very thoughtful."

Jace looked up to Cregan, who looked at Jace as if he was going to explode any second. 

A dragon? In Winterfell? Around his child? 

But he said nothing. 

"Do have Luke pick it." She finally said. "He has the best taste in such things."

Jace laughed lightly, "I will. But I will not tell him you said so. I can't have him getting prideful."

A silence fell over them as the lift brought them further and further up the wall.

"So, what is this that falls from the sky and shivers my bones?" Jace asked.

"This is only a late summer snow, my prince." Cregan finally spoke, "In winter, it will cover all you see."

"It's quite beautiful, Jace." She smiled, "If you have a warm cloak, that is."

…

Cregan and Jace walked together along the ice halls of the Wall, the Lady Stark behind, making her rounds around the men at work, thanking them, and chatting as she moved. 

"Starks do not forget their oaths, my prince." Cregan began, "But you must know that my gaze is forever torn between north and south. In winter, my duty to the Wall is even more dire than the one I owe to king's landing. I need my men here." 

He looked behind him to his wife, who was in an intense conversation meters back, a hand resting on her stomach as she nodded along with the man that spoke.

"While your men guard against wildings and weather, the Hightowers plan to usurp the throne." 

The two began to walk up to the outlook, Jace continued, "If my mother is to defend her claim to hold the realm united, she needs an army. War is coming to the whole of the realm, my lord." He looked out over the wall. "We cannot wage it without the support of the North."

Silence filled the air, save for the sound of the wind blowing loudly. 

"Do you think my ancestors built a 700-foot wall of ice to keep out snow and savages?"

"What does it keep out."

"Death."

A man approached the two, "My lord, a raven's arrived. Urgent news from Dragonstone."

Y/n's head perked up, and she immediately excused herself from her conversation to go to her husband.

Cregan unraveled the note, his eyes flitting across the paper hurriedly, and a furrowing in his brows formed.

She moved to Jace and his arm wrapped around her side, pulling her to him. "Cregan," she said. "Is everything alright?"

He looked up at the two Velaryons.

Then held the paper out to Jace.

Cregan then reached out and took his wife from the man, having a new sense of needing her near him.

When Jace read the note and his hand covered his mouth, she became worried, "Jace?"

He didn't answer, but Cregan's grip on her tightened and one hand rested protectively over her swollen belly.

"Jace. Please."

"It's alright," Cregan whispered into her ear, "We're alright." He looked up to Jace, a silent plea to keep calm in front of her.

Jace's jaw clenched, but he forced himself to smile with gritted teeth, "Just a slight hiccup, dear sister."

He gripped the note with an iron grip, not caring of the tears or crinkles it could bring.

He shook his head and began to storm off.

"Jace…" "-It's fine!" He shouted. "Everything is just fine."

He stormed off before she could get it out of him.

She turned around in Cregan's grip, "My love. Please tell me what has happened."

He shook his head and brushed a piece of hair from her face, "No. You needn't worry about these things. It's bad for the babe."

"Cregan-"

“Please do not ask me to bring you torment, my girl,” Cregan said with a tilt of his head.

“Cregan, you torment me by keeping me in the shadows.”

“Trust me when I say, I am not.”

She pulled herself from his hands, “No. You do. Now, tell me.”

Cregan’s jaw tightened and his voice became stronger, “I won’t.”

“Speak the words, Cregan.”

He stared back.

“Say it.”

Silence.

Her voice grew desperate, “Say it.”

He simply stared, a slight tilt to his head.

“If you love me as your wife, you’ll not keep this from me.”

He immediately took a step and his voice lowered, “Do not use such words-“

She growled, “then fucking say it.”

He took steps to her, their faces not far, “You won’t hear it from me.”

“Then I will find it elsewhere," she sneered in his face.

She stormed off, Cregan left to stare over the wall.

He wanted to chase after her. Stop her and correct it all. But he just couldn’t.

This news changed everything.

…

She opened the door, finding Jace in the midst of a fit of rage, throwing his cup against the wall.

“Jace?”

He looked up at her, forcing himself to calm. She moved to him and held her arms out.

And he collapsed against her, weeping into her neck.

“Jace. Jace, it’s alright.” She cooed lightly to him.

“He’s gone. He’s gone and I wasn’t there.”

Gone? Who? 

Her mind began to race and her heart dropped.

Surely not Daemon. Jace wouldn’t weep as if his world crumbled.

Gods, Jace hadn’t wept at all since the day Ser Harwin died.

“Jace. Look at me.”

She pulled his face to look at him, “What happened?”

“I promise you, I’ll kill them all. I will.”

“Calm yourself, dear brother.”

“CALM MYSELF?” He roared and pulled back from her. “Our brother is dead and you tell me to calm myself?”

Hot tears sprang to her eyes and she sniffled lightly. 

A hand shot to her stomach.

“Luke?”

Jace brows immediately relaxed, “gods, you didn’t… Stark didn’t…”

“Luke is dead?” She whispered as a shaky hand covered her mouth.

“I didn’t mean to… please, come here.”

The two siblings embraced, Jace holding her tightly against him and brushing through her hair as she began to wail against him.

Her hands clutched at his cloak and it quickly became wet with her tears.

Cregan threw the door open and his entire body stiffened at the sight.

She turned her head against Jace’s chest. She spoke through broken hiccups, “Luke…”

Cregan’s eyes softened as he saw her puffy eyes, “I know.”

Jace tightened his hold, “Aemond hunted him down on his dragon.”

Cregan watched her eyes completely glaze over and her breath quickened.

She let out a low groan.

“Sister? Sister, please.”

She pulled away and a hand quickly moved to her stomach, her brows furrowed.

“Cregan…”

“Fuck…” Cregan immediately moved to her and pulled her into his arms. “My love, please steady yourself.”

A few more tears slipped from her eyes, “It hurts, Cregan.”

No.

No. No. No.

He gripped her biceps in an iron grip, “No. No, you’re alright.”

She shook her head, “No. I’m not.” She gritted her teeth and her eyes closed. “I’m not. Please.”

“My girl.” He cooed, “Let us sit you down.”

She gasped at a sudden feeling.

“Sister…” Jace took a step towards her.

“Please," She begged and held a hand out, stopping him. “I…”

A low and pained groan and her knees buckled.

Cregan caught her with ease, holding her up. “My prince. Bring me that chair.”

Jace moved immediately, pulling a wooden chair across the floor with a loud scrape.

Cregan lowered her into the chair, cringing at the whimper that left his wife’s mouth.

“Perhaps a maester…?” Jace asked.

“No-“

“-Yes,” Cregan nodded. “Yes. Please.”

“Cregan,” she cried. “I can’t. I can’t lose her-“

“-if we do not fetch the maester, then she will be.” Cregan’s eyes were set, as if challenging her to fight him on it.

“Fine. Fine, please.”

Jace quickly left in practically a sprint.

“It’s not your fault, you know.”

She turned to the Stark, “What?”

He looked like he was ready to cry. His bottom lip quivered, “if you do lose her.”

Her eyes saddened and her hand moved to his face, “I can’t.”

“You will, my love.” He forced a deep breath to hold back the tears and let out a breath, “She is gone now, I’m sure of it.”

If she wasn’t in pain enough, that multiplied it.

…

Four hours later, Jace and Cregan sat in the opposite end on the room, watching the maester work endlessly.

But they were silent. Their eyes were both fixed on the blood that stained everything.

She had fallen asleep long ago, from the pain or loss of blood, they weren’t sure.

But it gave their ears a break from her piercing cries that rang through the entirety of the Wall.

When the maester moved to the two men, they stood.

“My lord, my prince,” he began. “The Lady has lost much blood.”

“Will she live?” Cregan immediately asked.

“I…” he bit his lip. “She will, my lord, but…”

“That is all I need. You may go.”

“Lord Stark-“

“GO!” He growled.

The maester bowed his head and quickly left, pulling the door behind him.

Silence filled the room. Both men still stared at the poor woman who slept away the pain.

…

Jace had left not long after, wandering the halls of Castle Black in thought, so it was only Cregan in the room when she woke.

She let out a low groan, and he held her hand in his. "Lovely, how are you feeling?"

Her eyes studied him before a light sob racked through her.

He lightly kissed her knuckles, knowing that was the only comfort he could bring to her at the moment.

"I told you it wasn't your fault."

"But I…" She hiccuped and wiped her face with her free hand, "I pushed for you to tell me. I… I forced you to let me accompany you here."

"You did not do any of that," he reprimanded. "None of it."

Her eyes held a hollowed look to them, "I lost the future of Winterfell."

Her brows furrowed and his hand smoothed the hair from her forehead.

"A boy," she sniffled. "Would've been."

He felt a punch to his gut.

He'd seen battle before, but nothing caused him as much pain as this moment. 

He looked down at their intertwined hands, "It does not mean that all is lost, my girl."

"Then why does it feel like it?"

His eyes watered, and his nose scrunched in frustration. He wanted to curse as his bottom lip trembled for the second time today, "I don't know."

A single tear ran down the Wolf's face.

"But I promise you," He sniffled. Another tear down his face as he let out a soft breath, "You have not lost me."

"I couldn't give you an heir."

"And I do not know how to comfort you through it."

She pushed herself up and he shook his head, "No, you need to rest."

But she managed to sit herself up against the headrest.

Her hand brushed his cheek and he couldn't stop the tears that began to rush down his face.

"Oh, Cregan," she cooed.

His hand brought her other one up to his lips again, kissing her knuckles fervently this time, as if she would disappear if he didn't.

"Hey. Stop," she tilted her head. "Cregan. Stop."

His eyes looked to her through a blurry haze.

"It's not your fault either, you know." She finally said.

He forced a laugh and shook his head. "I fear I'd go mad without you, my girl."

"As I with you."

The two managed to catch their breath in the silence that followed, a promise that things would get better if they only let it.

He leaned forward to her, gently connecting their lips. 

She let out a whine, accepting his kiss eagerly. 

His hand moved to the back of her head, pulling her to him. He hardly cared about the salty taste of the tears on their lips.

He pulled away first.

"I'll promise our graybeards to the queen," Cregan stated as he sat back down.

She huffed, "Don't pity me and feel as if you must defend-"

His grip tightened on her hand, "I will have the head of that boy on a fucking spike." Cregan growled.

"He did not lose our child, I did!" She said with a raised voice.

His jaw clenched as his eyes bore into hers, "Aemond Targaryen lost the war the second he chased your brother with Vhagar. The graybeards will march when the time is right. In exchange for Aemond's head by the time the war is done."

"Cregan-"

"-He is why our son is dead. And the North will remember that."

She looked down to her stomach, rubbing a hand over what used to be there only hours before.

Cregan Stark's gaze became more rigid than the ice around them. 

"Winter is coming for the Greens."

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A/n: Okay, hey, now that you're depressed from this fic, let's talk. I'm making a Cregan Stark tag list! Let me know if you want on it!

[celesterayel]

the it couple | luke castellan

request: I’m not really sure what qualifies as a request but could you write a Luke x reader where they are like the camp it couple? 🫶🫶

summary: common knowledge is how irrevocably in love luke castellan is with you.

"you know i adore you, i'm crazier for you than i was at sixteen lost in a film scene" - t.s.

w.c. : 702

warning(s) : none

pairing : luke castellan x reader

the campers of camp half blood don't quite remember how or when it had happened. It just always was: you and Luke Castellan, that is. where you went, he followed. the shadow to your guide and you the balm to his sorrow. annabeth used to whisper to the younger children–the ones who had been taken to camp far too young and therefore had little knowledge of love–that you and Luke Castellan were soulmates: seamlessly bound to one another. 

you yourself had never believed in fate despite the fact that you had met them–old bitter hags. you preferred to believe that life was not set in stone, unbreaking and withered to a timeline. it perhaps led to your brash attitude and ‘ride or die’ mentality but your mannerisms only made luke castellan fall in love with you all the more. some things were just beyond the gods' control. you and luke were one of those things.

you had first arrived at camp a decade ago, where you were then claimed by hades. of course news of you spread like wildfire: you were gorgeous, your talent with your bo staff was unmatched, and your father was one of the three–strong power ran through your blood and you showed it everyday during training. but that wasn’t exactly what caught the attention of everyone, rather the fact that the popular gaze of a certain brown-eyed boy always strayed to you. when you laughed, he smiled. where you went, he strayed. you were magnet and he was never far away.

you both tipped toed around one another, constantly drifting toward the other. playful banter slipped between you two and those around you wondered when you would finally just get together. the first time you guys finally breached the delicate line between more than ‘obviously pining friends’ was after an exciting rivalry game.

despite the strategic planning of annabeth–who clearly eyed the tension between the two of you–and the excellent swordsmanship, house ares had won the game because of you. You had been the one to distract luke castellan after clarisse had forced you to use your charms. it was fun to see the cute blush adorn his cheeks when you approached the head of the Hermes House.

“so, does this mean you agree to go out with me?” he breathed out, hands twirling his sword as he was once again bested by you in capturing the flag.

you laughed out, “i was just waiting for you to ask, castellan.”

no sooner after you had begun dating did the infamy of you two reach an all high around camp. how could it not? 

you two were the all anyone could talk about–the best of the best.

luke castellan was already the best swordsman at camp; a prodigy in the making. his brown curls and dimples only made him more popular among the girls and young teens. he was one of the highest placed leaders around camp; one of the few that clarisse actually respected and the one that annabeth regarded most. 

you were a gem in the rough: bold and brash at times, but calculating and quick-witted. you were the one to turn to when those around camp felt alone, always ready to take care of others and offer words of wisdom. you were a living definition of rules being broken and your power only highlighted the height of your placement around camp. 

when you two walked by, the eyes of the others strayed. newcomers learned of your names before they learned what exactly camp half blood was. 

when you threw your head back and laughed, people watched as Luke curled his lips in pride at being the one behind your laughter. when he sat round the fire and sang songs with the campers, you sat right beside him; head laying on his shoulder and hoping the moment would never end. he willingly allowed himself to lose camp games if only by your hand, time and time again.

yes, you were the it couple of camp half blood but none of that mattered, when he was the one for you.

[yuelun]

Tag drop #2: Character things and dynamics (more will be added).

[utilitycaster]

An ongoing theme, with regards to the gods (as opposed to Predathos and the Imperium) is that of free will. The gods are stringent in collecting on promises made, and the Betrayers will use initial consent as license to act freely, but it’s notable, in a campaign where nearly all the main player characters are shaped by entities that never once gave them a choice, the gods require an invitation. Except, worryingly, Predathos, a being of nigh-divine powers who does not seem bound by this limitation. And, of course, mortals can do as they will.

When Lolth overtakes Opal, the fact that Opal assumed both the crown, and the title of champion, willingly, is repeatedly mentioned, in DM narration and by Lolth herself. Lolth also mentions to Dorian, (perhaps untruthfully, though the events of EXU indicate this might be genuine), that she wished for him to become her champion instead - but he did not put on the crown, so she can’t have him. Obviously, Lolth takes many liberties with Opal once given entry, but she can only speak to people or act through someone who has permitted her. We see this too with Asmodeus: it is ultimately Zerxus’s choice not to walk away and face his death, but make good on his pact; some degree of initial consent is needed. K’nauth and Judicators are also both explicitly described as voluntary: once permission is given, they are bound, but this is no different than the contracts of warlocks and notably, with the gods, while we’ve seen them make deals under dire straits, we’ve never seen such unwitting participants in their pacts as Fjord with Uk’otoa or Laudna with Delilah among the gods. All entered in control of their faculties, to our knowledge, though not necessarily with the full knowledge of what it entailed.

The Prime Deities are differentiated from the Betrayers in that they continue to provide free will to their champions and their faithful. The Raven Queen accepts Vax’s trade of his life for Vex’s, given without any direct communication from her, but she quickly does begin to communicate clearly; when Vax communes with her in Duskmeadow, she tells him what she wishes, putting him much more at ease. Later, after his death, she gives him an option to either remain dead, or to have a little more time left with Keyleth, Vex, and the others of Vox Machina before he completes his task and returns to her, and he makes a choice. When Morrighan asks for guidance, the Raven Queen’s response is to ask “why are you fighting, and what are you fighting for?” and stresses that she wishes to lay out the exact terms before Morrighan agrees to anything. When Percy asks her what to do she, ironically enough for a goddess of fate, tells him he possesses the capacity to do great things of his own accord. All of Vox Machina’s divine favors come willingly, only after a conversation; the Wildmother first reaches out to Fjord before he decides to accept. And mortals have the capacity to resist even these promises; Opal is only partially successful but she does not give the Spider Queen two deaths and she does not leave alone. Fy’ra Rai finds herself able to go against Lolth’s wishes even when the Wildmother does not wish to intervene; it is her choice not to kill Opal but to go with her.

When mortals express doubt in the gods, it’s typically not their actions. It’s because they don’t think they meddle in the matters of mortals enough. As mentioned, Percy struggles with the open-ended nature of the Raven Queen’s advice. Essek, frequently considered an “anti-god” character is actually quite mild in his doubt and ultimately more frustrated at the clerics of the Kryn Dynasty than the Luxon itself (put a pin in that). Ludinus Da’leth states the gods should have prevented the Calamity, despite us knowing that the Prime Deities avoided intervention and that ultimately, while the Calamity had a number of causes, mortals (Vespin, Laerryn, much of the city of Avalir) were at the root. Ashton and Imogen’s frustrations with the gods have both ultimately been that they asked for assistance and did not receive it.

The extension of the Prime Deities’ belief in the free will of mortals is sufficiently strong that even during the Age of Arcanum, when many mortals rejected them, and when they did not require mortal intermediaries, they still chose to preserve it until the Calamity began. Each major action by the gods as a group is ultimately one to preserve themselves (the sealing of Predathos; the destruction of Aeor; the current campaign’s truce) or to preserve mortals (the Primes during the Schism and in creating the Divine Gate).

Contrast this with Delilah, who seizes control of Laudna and who is never stated to have asked permission for any of her actions. Compare to FCG, designed by Aeorians to lose control and kill. Compare to Chetney, bitten by a werewolf in the wilderness (and the others of the Gorgynei as well) - indeed, what control he has is the legacy of magic granted by the Raven Queen and by a nature spirit tied to the Wildmother. Contrast this now with Predathos, whose Ruidusborn had no say in this connection and indeed, many are motivated in service to Predathos with the goal of freeing themselves. Enforcers within the Kreveris Imperium refer to themselves as The Will, and Elder Barthie refers to those who oppose them as being made “pliable”. Chetney’s loss of control under Ruidus is deliberately triggered by the Weave Mind, with whom he made no deal.

If we (in my opinion, rightfully) reject any argument that denies the right of sentient entities to self-preservation, we are left with the following accusations of the gods: failing to stop wrongdoing by mortals (both in their name and unrelated); and acting in accordance with pre-existing agreements. The latter we can also reject; it is not perhaps kind of the gods to hold people to their contracts, but this is not unique to them and as discussed extensively above, they do require that, at least initially, the promise be made willingly.

The former, unfortunately, will not be stopped by destroying the gods. Ultimately, such people as Tuldus, Bor’Dor, and the people of Hearthdell were oppressed by their fellow mortals. In-world, we have seen zealotry in the name not just of the Prime Deities but that of countless lesser ones, notably Uk’otoa; if only the Prime and Betrayer gods are at stake, this simply creates a power vacuum to be filled by other entities vastly more powerful than mortals. On the other hand, should all power-granting entities be devoured, setting aside the upheaval this will cause in society, this leaves no shortage of room for oppression on the basis of race or political affiliation, both of which we’ve seen. The Tal’Dorei Campaign Setting’s original incarnation, prior to the further development of Wildemount for Campaign 2, even stated the Dwendalian Empire forbade all religion and was still an authoritarian one. Colonization is the end goal of the Weave Mind and indeed the motivation for killing the gods per Edmuda. It also is not unheard of on Exandria for reasons not attributed to religion, notably the settling of the Menagerie Coast by Marquesians, and Tal’Dorei (formerly Gwessar) by human settlers from Issylra. And, of course, as we know in our real world, you do not need provable deities for religion to develop nor for colonization and oppression. Mortals do these things in reality and Exandria, whether or not the gods exist, and destroying the gods in Exandria achieves no prevention, only carnage.

Returning, finally, to Essek: when we look at the major characters who are PCs or are aligned with them who have expressed frustration with the gods, the only one who has much of a case for being influenced by the actions of a deity is Percy, who is staunchly on the side against Predathos. One could split hairs and note that Vecna was not a deity at the time of the murder of Percy’s family, his own torture, and the destruction and occupation of Whitestone, but rather merely a power-hungry wizard extending his lifespan via unscrupulous means, but Percy’s own choices render this moot. Meanwhile, the gods simply did not alleviate Imogen and Ashton’s experiences, both of which were in part due to powers caused by entities the gods, in fact, failed to sufficiently destroy (Predathos and Ka’Mort specifically) and mostly perpetuated by mortals reacting to Imogen’s abilities or Ashton finding themself orphaned on the outskirts of a notoriously rough city and later, caught as the fall guy in a failed heist by a morally questionable wealthy collector.

It is my belief that Keyleth’s anger is, on some level, extended towards someone who can’t respond nor change and who she feels she cannot be angry at, and that is Vax. Vax made the deal and the Raven Queen collected; Vax decided to take the Raven Queen’s second offer. He was forced into neither, and as discussed later, he likely would have responded poorly to a True Resurrection attempt given his faith. Vax is dead because of Vecna, but neutralizing Vecna didn’t fix it. I think Dorian’s anger at Lolth meanwhile is valid, but it’s also something I’d imagine he feels he cannot direct towards Opal, even though her actions are a part of it. And I’m sure both Keyleth and Dorian blame themselves, to an extent, whether or not that is rightful. The gods make just as convenient a scapegoat for those hurt by mortals as they do an excuse for cruelty.  But I don’t think killing them will bring back Vax, and certainly not Cyrus. Much as Derrig and Will and four other Ashari lie permanently dead at the hands of Otohan Thull despite her demise, and Orym’s trauma remains, killing the gods will not undo what happened to Imogen or Ashton. And since their main crime is considered to be inaction, killing them does not end suffering (and, indeed, should we dig into the infrastructures of Exandrian society and cosmology, may very well drastically increase it). It merely confirms that no one will receive their favor rather than only some; a bringing everyone down to your misery rather than striving to elevate all. An apt, if slightly tongue-in-cheek comparison to the real world is the fact that the cause of student loan forgiveness has been hamstrung and neutered by people furious that, since they didn’t receive help, no one else should - it is a self-centered and retaliatory mentality to lash out so far in jealousy that one would willingly destroy the life of another with the goal of increasing universal suffering.

Sources:

Timestamps available upon request but here are the episodes I’m drawing from. Printed works include pages.

Lolth, Opal, and Dorian: see 3x92-93; see also EXU Prime episode 8, EXU Kymal episode 2 for Opal willingly accepting and EXU Prime episodes 5 and 7 for the Spider Queen trying to get Dorian to put on the circlet.

K’nauth: EXU Calamity episode 2

Asmodeus and Zerxus: EXU Calamity episode 4

Judicators: 3x43

The Raven Queen and Vax: notably 1x44 (initial deal), 1x57 (Duskmeadow communion), 1x103 (her offering him the choice to pass or to become a revenant). Percy is also in 1x57.

The Raven Queen and Morrighan: 3x93.

Vox Machina’s divine favors: 1x104-1x106

Fjord and the Wildmother: 2x65; powers granted in 2x76.

Fy’ra and the Wildmother: 3x93

Essek’s feelings: see the final portion of this excellent post from essektheyless

Ludinus on the gods: 3x45

For causes of the Calamity, see EXU Calamity in its entirety, but Vespin specifically is episode 4, many of Avalir’s actions (including ignoring the hall of prophecy) are episode 2, and Laerryn denying the Arboreal Calix needed energy and casting Blight are in episode 3).

Ashton on the gods: 3x65

Imogen on the gods: 3x79

See page 12 of The Explorer’s Guide to Wildemount regarding the Prime Deities’ choice not to enforce their will during the Age of Arcanum.

Sealing of Predathos: 3x43; destruction of Aeor: EGTW 121; Truce mentioned in 3x67 and has appeared in 3x89 (Vezoden) and 3x92-93 (The Wildmother and Lolth).

Schism: EGTW 12; Divine Gate EGTW 13-14.

Delilah seizing control: 3x23

FCG’s design: 3x32 and 3x45

Chetney and Gorgynei (history and control): 3x40-41

Weave Mind control of Chetney: 3x91

Goals of Ruidusborn: multiple but see 3x48 and 3x89, 3x92 for a strong example with Liliana.

Imperium practices: 3x84

Tuldus: 3x44. Bor’Dor: 3x63. Hearthdell: 3x60-61.

Actions of Uk’otoa: much of Campaign 2 but notably 2x98 and The Mighty Nein Reunited.

Original description of the Dwendalian Empire: Tal’Dorei Campaign Setting (not Reborn) page 99

Goals of the Weave Mind: 3x85

Colonization of the Menagerie Coast: EGTW 17 (largely a peaceful one); Colonization of Tal’Dorei: Tal’Dorei Campaign Setting Reborn page 18 (explicitly stated to be against the wishes of the elves; led in part to the rule of Drassig and Scattered War).

Percy and Vecna: Vecna ascends in 1x106; the events of the Whitestone Occupation begin prior to campaign 1. Percy is in multiple war councils against the Vanguard and notably appears in the plans for a distraction to allow Bells Hells to take the Bloody Bridge in 3x81.

Imogen and Predathos: the revelation that Predathos may be within exaltants comes in 3x92; 3x83 and 3x87 both have involuntary experiences due to Predathos and see Liliana’s arguments in 3x48 as well as Imogen’s discussion of Gelvaan.

Ashton and Ka’Mort: emotional fallout most notably in 3x78; Evontra��vir’s description of what happened with the shard in 3x74. Memories of the Hexum Manor heist can be seen in 3x35.

[glassrowboat]

Daydream in a Nightmare

Authors note: I read a soulmate au where with dream sharing. Everytime you fall asleep you and your SM would meet in a world that would reflect your consciousness and who you were. So down below are the boys and what I think the places their dreams would depict.

Mondstadt

Diluc: The cathedral. His mom, back when she was alive, used to play during service and afterwards Diluc ran over greeting her with the biggest smile, asking her to play him one more song. She never failed to. Maybe that's why there's always a gentle melody playing whenever you see him as he rests his fingers over the same white tiles, simply trying to remember how to play.

Kaeya: The Dawn Winery. Or at least parts of it. Behind closed doors there's the scent of grass, of dirt, and the faintest smell of ash. He says it's simply the vineyard that in the real world would be right outside, but he knows well as he pulls your hand from the doorknob that it's ruins of a fallen nation haunting him right on the other side.

Albedo: Glass walls. A maze of mirrors and reflections. If you ever have stopped to bother to count between Albedo’s musings as he shares with you the secrets of the world, you'd notice that for some reason he always has more reflections in the walls around you than of your own figure. Like there's more of him than there is of you.

Venti: Old Mondstadt. Back before the revolution, back when there were people in the streets wishing their God weren't so unjust, but in his dreams that wall of spiraling wind is never there. A warped perception of a life he wished to have lived as he sits in your lap not as Venti the bard, but a wind sprite trying to bury into your clothes for warmth. Just don't call him pipsqueek or he'll try and bite your fingers. Playfully. You think.

Liyue

Zhongli: A place that no longer exists, one torn away by this world during the archon war. It's unlike him not to comment on a place, a trinket, an item, as you pick something up and fiddle with it, but this place he never goes into full detail on. However, he will tell you all about the artisanship of the table you two are sharing tea over.

Baizhu: His home back in Chenyu Vale, back before the illness hit his village, back before his parents passed away. Just a modest home that shows signs of being truly well lived in and loved. Mindlessly while you two talk he'll be cleaning the place, just the way he always does at the pharmacy. Though it does help give him something to fill the silence. It turns out he's a lot more used to Changsheng chiming in with comments than he thought. He just hopes you two get along when the time to meet in person finally comes about.

Ga ming: A festival. There's water kicking up at everyone's feet, up to everyones ankles as people with their face covered in all manner of masks walk you both by. Ga ming would pull you along from booth to booth, trying his best to win prizes despite the fact you both know they'll be gone by the time you wake.

Xiao: A Chinese pavilion in the sky. You walk among the clouds as you follow the path of the street, looking over the accents that seem somehow both rich in color and dull, muddied all at the same time. Something you've noticed from his dreams compared to yours, his always have a lingering black fog creeping in at the corner of your eyes. It makes you feel like someone else is in this world with you, like there's eyes waiting to do more than just watch.

Inazuma

Kazooha: A meadow. The wind passes you both by, stirring up pages of books you two sit reading in silence. You can't help but wonder if these are all books he's read before, especially the ones that wax poetry or something else. His thoughts, perhaps? Maybe Kazuha's very own writings? But that matters little as his head is resting on your shoulder as you try to catch words between the fluttering sheets of paper.

Itto: A kabuki play. It always ends up in you two hiding away in the back room where the performers would get ready before getting back out on stage for the next act. You would see the brightest of colors, richest of fabrics, and practiced movements so fine tuned that you can't understand why Itto is so focused on taking the makeup on the vanity in the back simply so he can paint your face with red marks just like his. To each their own you suppose, and who are you to complain when it means drawing hearts on his arm when Itto isn't paying attention?

Gorou: A tea house. It's a small place, simple, but certainly not lacking charm as Gorou pours you a cup. At first the fact you could actually taste the rich herbs on your tongue in this dreamscape threw you off, but now it's just another part of this odd reality. But saying that, the first time you spat out the drink he offered as soon as the bitter taste hit you. Apparently he never expected you to not already be used to green tea. The poor fella was apologizing for the rest of the night, ears laid flat on his head and tail tucked between his legs. It's okay though, you made it even by trying to give him dog treats. It was you having to beg for forgiveness then.

Thoma: It was different this time. No glowing blue flowers and a forest that you two would stroll through mindlessly while chatting for hours. No, this time Thoma was sitting on a wooden platform below a giant stone statue. Intriguing, yes, but mattered little compared to the rope burns around his wrist. He tried to tell you not to worry about it. That it was an accident. But that mattered little as your lips pressed to the red, irritated skin and he gave you a strained smile. You knew better than to ask about it more from there.

Ayato: It's ever changing. It's like he is constantly thinking of something whenever He falls asleep and it reflects in his dreams. Once it was a Japanese styled room the next it was some room in Fontaine's architecture. But it's always a bedroom. A place of relaxation as Ayato buries his head in your lap like it was a pillow. He'll whine about being overworked until you're tempted to pull on his hair just to make the man shut up for once, but last time you did that it led to the bed being used for a lot more than just rest. For now just pat his head and let him vent, the man needs it.

Sumeru

Kaveh: A sketch brought to life from his mothers blueprints. One he saw his mother sketching back when Kaveh was a boy and she would let him sit on her lap, let him comment on the drawings. She would always find some way to incorporate his addictions into the sketch. Nowadays he knows the building that was actually constructed in the end to be simpler, duller than the one his mother wanted, but in his dreams with you it stands tall and proud.

Al Haitham: An attic. It's dusty and it clearly had a hole in the roof that was covered over by some wooden planks and nails. A patch work job that needs to be fixed but if you ever take the time to bother with it while Al Haitham sits in an old rocking chair covered by a quilt reading the night away it will only be there the next dream cycle. It pisses you off. He pisses you off. All nonchalance and an apathetic look even as you plop yourself in his lap and take that book away. And what pisses you off even more? How he dares to call you needy as he holds you close. It's best to ignore the fact he started reading over your shoulder.

Tighnari: Pardis Dhyai. He'll sit on the walkway watching you kick the water of the ponds around, paying no mind to when you splash at him. Not anymore at least. He's learned quickly if he makes a snarky comment you'll give one back and it'll go on and on until somehow it ends in him getting dragged into the pond with you. Both dripping algae filled water as he wondered what gods made this numbskull his mate.

Cyno: Lambad's Tavern. Everytime he would come back from treks in the desert he would go there, get a drink, and play a round of cards with whoever was willing. It was a pattern. Work, work, rest, and more work. But now he didn't have to constantly be on work mode as he sat with you in the old booth shuffling cards as he tried to explain to you how TCG works. So far everytime you lose you've thrown those elemental dice and him, and with a smile he lets them hit him in the head despite being fully able to dodge them. His soulmate is such a sore loser.

Wanderer: Shakkei Pavilion. He hates it. Hates that this is the place his unconscious has chosen to sink onto so stubbornly. His wooden fingers would slide over the paintings depicting Scaramouche’s past that has now been severed from him in everyone's eyes but Nahida and the Traveler. If you knew, would you still hold his hand? Would you still trace the details of his joints and comment that you find his pretty face such a stark contrast to his sharp words? He's afraid to find out, the idea that you might be his fourth betrayal always lingering in the back of his mind.

Fontaine

Neuvillette: Under the water where the currents would carry stray bits of seaweed and fish swimming past. The first time you shared a dream with him here he had to calm you down as instinctively you held your breath, taking your hands in his and assuring you if he can talk like this, you can suck in air just as well. It took some time getting used to, but now he watches as you grab starfish off the ocean floor and bring them over to him like a prize to be presented. This is what humans must be like Neuvillette tells himself as you braid them into his hair.

Worcestershire sauce: A home. A nice one at that. Big, had decent furnishings, pictures of kids hung up on the wall. If you listened closely enough you could even hear children playing outside from the cracked open windows that showed the brightest sky outside. Wriothesly would walk behind you as you would watch the grass blowing in the wind, not saying a word as he rested his chin on top of your head. He never thought he'd be back here again. The very place made him feel sick to his stomach, but with you? It was bearable. Even as you tried to grab his handcuffs from him.

Snezhnaya

Childe: His childhood home. Back before the renovations he bought for the place with his money as a harbinger, back before the redecorating of rooms to fit more children, and back to what the house was like when he was just a boy yet to fall into the abyss. Back when everything was simpler. He would pick up toys that have gone missing, never to be seen again and stare in wonder how it all is exactly how he remembers it. It makes it so much easier to be Ajax with you, rather than Tartaglia.

Dottore: The hospital he was working in when trying to help Eleazar patients. For the life of him does he hate it, being back in the desert always having to tip his shoes out of sand that never seems to fully clear off. It doesn't help you try and pour sand down his shirt, but in a way he supposes it's better you two stay out here under that blistering sun than you going inside to be met with the smell of death. No, you don't need to know about that side of him just yet.

Pantalone: His office. It always makes it hard to tell at first if he's awake, not when the same scene greets him either way. You always joke about him being married to his work and you're the mistress in this relationship. At this point he counts on the comment as soon as his eyes flutter open and he's greeted with the sight of you sitting on the desk he's been using as a pillow. Still, he can never help the genuine smile at seeing you once again.

Captain: A flower field. The snowdrops peek out from under the fluffy blanket of white powder, crunching under every step he takes. Even in his dreams the cold of Snezhnaya is ever present, ever biting. It only makes sense you are shivering behind him even as he lets you steal his cloak that is more of a blanket on you than anything. This field, he knows it well, knows that what waters these flowers is more blood than anything else, but that matters little as he wraps his arms around you. Maybe he can find a way to dream you a proper jacket.

Pierro: A grand hall. It reminds you of the way ballrooms are described in romance stories as the couple depicted would dance the night away. Columns so high you have to tilt your head back just to see where they meet the ceiling covered in paintings you've never seen before. That is until Pierro steps into your view. He always offered his hand to you before you could ask, and as your fingers interlocked he would tell you about them. Always ready to answer your questions. It meant someone was curious about a part of his long lost nation. So, of course, he was always happy to share.

Scaramouche: A never ending fire. It's a small shack, engulfed by flames that never seem to dwindle or burn out the wood it feeds on. Like this place was stuck in time in his mind. He doesn't talk to you, not any more than a sharp shut up. The only time that glare he showed you disappeared is when you pulled your hand back from the curious fire with a hiss, not expecting it to actually hurt in this fake reality. For a moment you could have sworn he took a step towards you, but he never came any closer than that as he hissed at you to be careful. Dumb mortals should at least know not to burn themselves.

[chimggukk]

The Enigma [II]

Synopsis: Two different worlds collide together, his and yours, resulting in something entirely unexpected. He had been living his life, walking through the pre-planned path. But what happens when a simple strawberry cheesecake navigates his course of life in a completely different direction. One that needs him to live, breathe, love, kill. Genre: strangers to lovers au, smut Characters: foreigner readerx native jk

You

The bustling hall symphonized sight and sound, the cacophony of it was a sensory overload. Students hurried past obligating to their job. Warm white lightings illuminate the surroundings, the glossy mahogany plywood reflecting the rays in all directions.

Professors and in-charges barked commands, motioning the poor juniors in various directions. Chairs and tables were arranged on the stage , bouquets of flowers placed on them beside each placard.

Small plastic bottles laid on tables near the walls, the cool condensing on their surface, leaving droplets of water behind.

Picking one from the table, I unscrewed the cap, the seal yielding to the gentle pressure of my fingers left a satisfying a pop. Bringing the bottle's opening to my lips, I chug the water down, the icy liquid numbing my insides.

Detaching the bottle away, I inhale a long mouthy breathe, relieving my teeth. Leaning my rear side on table edge, folding my right arm on my front, placing my left elbow on it, I sipped the water leisurely.

Glancing around the hall, I peer at each moving thing, taking in the atmosphere.

Medallions and title badges were meticulously being placed in trays. Carrying out the task with a smile across her lips, the young girl, possibly a freshie, really seemed overjoyed.

Her cautious actions, seemingly calm, having a frantic manner of their own, perhaps overwhelmed with the responsibility of such prestige.

The feeling of revulsion churns within my stomach, like a dark cloud it persists over me, raining down judgmental thoughts even though I fight to maintain a neutral perspective.

Taking pride in holding other's achievement?

Averting my gaze, I try not to entertain the thought again, but my conscience as always crawls back to the negativity.

"오, 진짜? 몰랐어. 그럼 많이 놓치겠네."

A deep voice echoes near me, drifting in my direction pulling me out of my trance, the face of the voice pretty known to me.

Dressed in a crisp white shirt and black trousers, he holds a hard disk under his black coat with one hand and a cellphone to his ear with the other.

Sending me a cute smile, he waves his hand in the air, the device greeting me before his hand could, his trailing voice a familiar chime in among all.

Unfolding my arms, I place the used bottle back on the table, mentally noting to throw it right away after this.

Sliding his phone into his pockets, shifting his complete attention on me, the guy extends his palm out infront, gesturing for a handshake.

Clasping his palm in mine, I once again get reminded about his size. His fingers engulf my small(er) palm while I barely manage to get a hold of his.

"Was definitely not expecting you." remarking in a smug tone, he lets go of my palm, my fingers involuntarily clenching into a fist.

"Yeah I am sure you did not." I respond in a sarcastic tone, "But you know, I like disappointing people."

He reciprocates my shrug with a cheeky nod, chuckling at the act.

His voice trails in my ears as he continues the conversation while I try to savor the visual infront of me with the utmost subtlety.

His hair, slicked back with gel, gleamed under the soft light. A silver chain, its links glinting, adorned his wrist. The first two buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a hint of his toned chest. He was a vision of masculine perfection, a masterpiece crafted by the gods themselves.

I snap out of my frenzy of thoughts, a sudden pitched voice calling out a name brings our conversation to a halt.

"Namjoon!!"

A girl his age appears out of the blue, her shriek voice paining my eardrums as she continues to interact with him, her actions best categorized as annoying atleast by me.

Jungkook

Aiming the ball at the rack of balls in the storage area, focusing my vision, overlooking the huge distance I purposely widened, I threw the ball with all my last strength and bingo!

Seeing the basketball coach approaching me, his hands busy clapping as words of appreciation left his mouth, praising my shot, I walked upto him closing half of the distance in between to not bother him taking more steps.

"Great shot Jeon!!", he praised, hands coming up to pat me on the back making me retreat, not wanting him to have touch my all sweaty back.

"It's fine my boy, I have been a sports person too. There's no problem in appreciating my captain's great game." his palm came in contact with my left bicep nonetheless, patting the skin with pride and praise.

His rough voice and appreciative tone continued as he reminded about the upcoming national university basketball match, the qualified teams, and how it was necessary for us to win.

"The upcoming match is a big deal for us, we are the only ones worthy for the win. We have to bring the trophy home Jeon. We can not miss this." he amplified, hands offering me my handtowel, holding onto the water bottle with other.

"I know sir, I promise to not let you down. I will bring the trophy home.", I affirmed, conforming to his command as I wiped the sweat off of my face, taking the head band off.

Nodding at my response with a confident smile on his face, he strolled around, his walk having the hint of a limp as he approached other team mates.

"Let's freshen up! We have to attend the seminar as well. Only an hour is left before our phones start ringing to no shit.", Taehyung peeked, seating down on the bench nearby, drying the sweat off of his hair.

"Yeah I thought so too, let's go your place. I don't want to shower in the locker rooms today. They must be reeking by now.", rolling my eyes back as I spoke, my voice gagging, disgust evident on my face.

Nodding in agreement to my suggestion, "Yeah. Let's just change into tracks and get the hell out of here. I can't bear the sweat any longer. Gosh I can wait to jump in the shower holy mother," standing up from his seat, he tossed the towel back in his bag before pulling out the tracks.

The cold water drips down from the showerhead, washing away all the sweat and dirt, the low temperature of water creating a dense mist that obliterates the view of the tiles and glass.

The sound of the water falling is soothing as I comb my hair back with my fingers and rub my face. The earlier shivering now fades away, my body accustoming to the cold water.

Cleansing myself for the last time, I step out of the shower, grabbing the towel nearby before wrapping it around my waist.

Peering at my reflection in the mirror, flexing my muscles a couple of times, I check myself out.

Lathering a generous amount of moisturizer on my skin, my skin absorbing the foam, I sprayed the sweet dark musk perfume on my neck, the fragrance leaving a heavy and sensual atmosphere around.

The scent birthing a thought about a certain wooden rose fragrance as I looked down, the shining colored glass only fueling the sensuality in the air.

The evocation of the thought moved my head upwards, my eyes scanning over my own features in the mirror with an unsettling gaze.

Shaking my head side to side, physically dismissing the thought, I untangled the clothe around my waist to dress up, not wanting to waste any time.

Chugging the cold juice down my throat, I pushed another glass infront offering the guy as he stepped out of his own room, hands occupied with his own hair.

Taehyung picked the glass up from the table before muttering a thank you, walking past me to open the fridge to take the strawberries out.

Strawberries.

"Ahg... have some, these ones are really good, Minnie bought these..", Minnie, his girlfriend, had a real sweet tooth.

Picking one out of the basket, bringing my hands near my mouth, I bite onto the red gem, the sweetness melting like ice into my mouth, my eyes closing on their own.

"These are really good, where did she get these from?," I inquired as I took another bite of the berry, my tongue not wanting the taste to fade away.

"I don't know, but I'll let you know" he answered as he placed the basket down, going back to the fridge.

Placing two cold water bottles on the counter in front, he reminded " Let's hurry up before they get started with their shit, I don't want them to even ring my phone" stating in a flat tone, he expressed his displease for the poor council students who were simply obligated to do so.

"Yeah, let's go."

Stepping inside the lobby, we were engulfed in the buzz of activity. Constant moving of students here and there, some carrying huge boxes, others just walking by, some volunteering, some enjoying their drinks in hand, some leaving their classrooms, some just causing chaos.

We walked towards the elevator, eliminating the option for stairs, to not bother our already spent legs.

Pressing the ground floor button, patiently waiting, I looked around just to have a tea and remembrance of the people passing by.

Pinging of the elevator indicated it's arrival, making me turn back straight as we boarded inside.

Another ping sounds in the machine after a few seconds, the elevator doors open revealing the second floor. The particular space out of the whole campus was the most crowded, reason: A Honoring Ceremony For The Achievers Of The University.

Disregarding the piling soreness inside me, I careened in the forward direction, mindful not to collide with someone in the way.

A sudden wave of vibration erupts through my pockets, making me pull my phone out of the space.

"Dong-jae"

Sliding the toggle towards right, I placed the phone next to ear, my head turning sides to look around.

"Turn right, then look straight", the guy on the phone speaks as I followed his directions.

Waving his phone in the air, gesturing me to reach upto him, there stood Dong-Jae in his usual, black fit, his face mirroring my disinterest.

Brushing past a few people on the way, I adjust my position, shifting my weight back and forth to avoid any mishaps.

Suddenly, my steps halt in their trance, my body going all stiff. Waves of shock and surprise come crashing down on me as I try to process the past few seconds.

An unexpected physical interaction, a mere nudge of shoulders, sent chills running down my spine, the electric touch spreading through my chest.

A hypnotizing aroma of deep wooden rose scent lingering in the air slides into my olfactory senses, my eyes going saucer wide recalling the face that wore the scent.

Her.

Jerking my head around, my body moving as if a reflex, my face in the direction a certain someone might have gone.

Engaged in a conversation with the student council president, hands holding onto the hard disk, my front facing her side. The familiar aroma of wooden rose, carried by the cool air around, confirmed my suspicions.

It was her.

"Jeon!!", a sudden forceful shove, aimed at my back, jolted me forward, "You deaf or what?", the two guys flanking around me, one clearly more pissed than other, spoke in unison.

"Huh?", snapping out of frenzy, my voice tumbling as I spoke, my confused reaction doing little to no help improving the expressions on either of their faces.

Letting out a pair of indignant huffs , Dong-Jae shook his head at me, grabbing me by elbows to drag me inside, beside me walked Taehyung, seeming unfazed by the play.

Looking straight ahead, I spot the young woman entering the hall, stopping for a moment near the barricaded ribbons to get her ID checked.

Her raven hair, seeming shoulder length from my spot, moved in a soft motion from side to side, her hands coming up to her face to rake the strands aside.

The knot in my stomach grows again as I blink my eyes without a halt, moving eyeballs to sides to clear my vision. A flurry of thoughts emerge in my head, the core of all: Why is she here?

'She is a student here as well', the thought disrupts the growing tension in my head, my hearts races as I eye her hands on the table, the blue strap of the ID card wrapped around on her wrist affirming to my conclusion.

[ellewritesalright]

The Ward

Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Masterlist - Part 2

Synopsis: Aemond has a fascination with you, his mother's pious ward from a vassal family of House Hightower, but he has a peculiar way of showing it.

A/N: Hi!! this is set in and around the last few episodes of season 1. Reader is unnamed but comes from a noble house from the reach. I made up a Tyrell lord because I just wanted a name to throw about, but it's not that serious :) I wanna do another part of this, so lmk if you're interested and would like to be tagged

Warnings: mentions of the war, burning, Aemond being a flip-floppy bitch to reader, Aegon being a bit of a creep, and pls lmk if I've missed anything

Word Count: 3900

The halls of the Keep were quiet, despite the impending ruling of Lord of the Tides and the huddles of highborn folk who were visiting for the occasion. You walked through the grand passageways, a shawl over your shoulders for your journey outside the castle walls.

"Where are you off to this afternoon, my lady?" You heard Aemond's smooth voice from an alcove you'd just passed. You took a step back towards the sound as he made himself known, his tall frame coming out into the corridor.

"To the Sept, Prince Aemond. I'm going to pray," you answered.

He gave a slight nod and echoed, "Going to pray."

"Yes."

His eye was so focused on you, so attuned to your face that you felt he was trying to read your mind.

"You're aware that your presence is required at dinner this evening?" He inquired, folding his hands behind his back. “Rhaenyra and her brood will be in attendance.”

"Yes, your highness. I'll be back before the festivities begin," you assured him. "I only wish to say a few prayers on holy ground, several of which will be for the royal family."

Aemond's lips twitched into the smallest smirk. "You would pray for us?"

"Of course," you nodded. "I pray for everyone in this house. I always begin with King Viserys and pray for his health, then I thank the gods for Queen Alicent and her kindness in making me her ward, Ser Otto for his unending wisdom, I pray for Prince Aegon, Princess Helaena, and their children that all of them prosper, then I pray for you, my prince."

"And what do you ask for when you pray to the gods for me?" He raised a brow, complete curiosity on his pretty features.

"For the gods to protect you," you answered.

He let out a quiet laugh, one you almost mistook as a scoff. Perhaps it was a scoff.

"You think I need protection, my lady?" He smirked.

"Everyone needs protection."

"But I most of all?" He raised his brow again. "Do you think I'm not strong enough to protect myself?"

"I never said such a thing. I only said that I pray for your protection."

"Hm, well, how considerate of you, my lady," he appraised, a foreign glint in his eye. "Take a guard when you go out."

You nodded softly. "Yes, of course."

He looked at you for a moment longer, then he turned and walked away.

……….

The conversation before dinner was dull, even despite the tension among the family members. No one mentioned lord Vaemond, the dead man in the bowels of the Keep being cared for by the Silent Sisters. Though the lack of mention for his severed head was not the root of the ill mood this evening; you had only known this group to dislike each other.

You didn't fully understand why the family had splintered so, since you became Queen Alicent's ward only after Princess Rhaenyra and her family had moved to Dragonstone. You knew it happened after the funeral of Prince Daemon's second wife and had something to do with Aemond's missing eye, but you had never been given the full story from either side.

The tension in the family was only exacerbated by the king's poor health. King Viserys should have been resting, not hosting his entire family to dinner, but alas, you were all gathered at the table waiting for his guards to carry him in.

Across from you, Prince Aegon was expectedly fidgeting in his chair, prisoner to his boredom and wishing the night would end so he could sneak off and do something depraved. Beside you at the head of the table, Prince Aemond, ever the calm and dutiful brother, sat back in his seat, his lips pursed in that unknowable way he seemed fluent in, especially as he stared down the table at Lucerys.

You made polite conversation with Otto Hightower where he sat to your left. He had always liked you, seeing as he had been the coordinator of your guardianship under Queen Alicent. Ser Otto was even the one to bring you on the carriage journey from the western lands of the Reach to King's Landing when you were just fourteen. You had learned much at court since then, growing to be whispered about as a fine young lady.

"Lord Denton Tyrell sent his regards to you, my dear," Otto turned to you, ignoring the smalltalk between Rhaenyra's group.

Aegon scoffed into his wine across from you.

"Did he?" You smiled kindly, though you were not sure it reached your eyes. Lord Denton was fifteen years your senior, and quite a lumbering fool.

"Mentioned you in a letter I received from Highgarden. Seems you made quite the impression on him at the last hunt."

You reached for your wine. "I barely spoke to him during the hunt, I wasn't aware I made any sort of impression."

You felt a stare on you, and you didn't have to look to your right to know that Prince Aemond was watching you, as he often did. But another prince was watching you too.

“We know what he's interested in, don't we, my lady?” Aegon smirked at you.

“Not another word, grandson.” Otto leveled him with a look across the table.

“Marriage,” Aegon said in an innocent tone, holding his hands up. “He is sure to be interested in a union with our lovely, pious ward. A coupling, if you will.”

Otto gave him another look, and Aegon looked as though he wanted to continue his impish teasing, but just then King Viserys was being carried into the room. Everyone stood beside their chairs as he was brought to the empty spot at the middle of the table.

The family sat back down and dinner proceeded. After a moment of heavy air, King Viserys began to speak to his family, addressing them as equals and not as their king. Rhaenyra spoke, then Alicent, and it seemed any animosity had disappeared from their memories. Dinner progressed further, and you watched Rhaenyra's sons--mostly Jaecaerys–butt up against Aegon and Aemond as the three stood and seemed square for a fight. But then, finally, the three of them sat again, and a temporary peace was made. The musicians returned to playing, and Ser Otto began engaging you in casual conversation again, both of your stares straying to Jacaerys and Helaena as they danced.

You caught Aemond glaring across the long table at Lucerys, and your eyes flicked down to his hand in his lap, how it clenched into a fist. Without thinking, you lowered your hand beneath the table and reached for him. Your fingers settled over his knuckles, and he broke his glaring at Lucerys and instead looked over at you, his eye losing its hard edge. The bones of his knuckles rippled under your hand, and you felt a chill run down your spine as he flattened his fingers then folded them around yours. Aemond gave you a slight nod, then looked over to his sister and nephew dancing, his hand still in yours.

From the corner of your eye, you could vaguely see King Viserys being carried to his room again as dinner trays were being brought in. You let go of Aemond's hand as servants approached your end of the table with a suckling pig. Above the music, you could faintly make out laughter, and you looked all the way down to the other end of the table to see Lucerys smirking at Aemond and the pig.

Before you could take his hand again, before you could so much as look at him again, Aemond had slammed his fist on the table and rose to his feet.

“Final tribute,” he called, eye intent on Lucerys and Jacaerys. “To the health of my nephews Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… strong.”

You went rigid in your seat as the ensuing tussle broke out. There was nothing civil about how Aemond shoved Jace to the floor as soon as he stepped closer, and how Aegon pinned Luke to the table when he tried to join Jace. Ser Otto rose beside you, and you watched as guards tore the Velaryon boys away from Aemond and Aegon.

Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenyra seemed to admonish their respective children--though you weren't sure how effective the scoldings were considering the glares their children still sent one another–and then the Velaryons and Daemon's daughters were sent to bed. You watched as Aemond squared his shoulders, then stalked away.

“I shall also take my leave for the evening,” you said to the Hand. “Goodnight, Ser Otto.”

You kept your pace steady as you left the room, but once you were in the hall you were hurrying.

“You shouldn't have done that,” you said as you caught up to Aemond.

He didn't even look over at you. “I was complimenting them, my lady.”

“No one at that table took it for a compliment, your highness.”

“It is remarkable how when you speak, my mother's voice comes out.”

You frowned at him. “You know I'm right, you just won't admit it.”

“I know you believe yourself to be right.” He stopped in front of you, his eye narrowed to a knife's point. “Does your arrogance stretch so far as to think I should heed your wisdom?”

You buckled under his cold eye. “I only meant–”

“You meant to belittle me for my behaviour and tell me I am in the wrong for not taking the righteous path the gods would have me seek. If you didn't lack the worldly understanding of so much as a dormouse, I might be inclined to listen. But as it stands, I am not obliged to heed you."

You had no time to respond, as he turned on his heel and stalked down the royal family's wing. You stood in bitter silence, thoroughly lashed, as you watched him leave.

……….

The library was empty this morning. None of the maesters were hanging about as they often did, all busy after Aegon's crowning yesterday. Barely twenty-four hours had passed since you were informed that King Viserys was dead, yet the world felt upturned. Your warden, the now-Queen Mother Alicent, had brought you a dress to wear for the coronation, and you wore it again today, just without the ornamentations of jewelry. It was a deep green, a departure from the usual grays and blues you often wore, but you were grateful to her for it. It was difficult to not appreciate all she had done for you by bringing you to court, even if her son had scorned you.

You huffed and closed your book, setting it on the small stack you'd accumulated. You heard the far door open, but no footsteps. When you looked over your chair at the other patron of the Keep's library, you hurried to stand.

“Your highness,” you nodded at Aemond, watching him come further into the room. He seemed light on his feet today, not as angry as you had seen him as of late.

“Why the forlorn expression, my lady?”

“It is nothing, your highness.”

Your words lost their conviction the longer he stared at you, his eye seeming to peer into your soul. Aemond had stood beside you at Aegon's crowning, not looking at you the entire time. Whether that was due in part to his harsh words for you the night of the dinner, or more because his envy forbade him to look away from Aegon, you could not tell. But right now he was staring at you like you were the only thing in the room.

You let out a small breath and prepared yourself for a second round of insults today. “I was merely wondering how the Princess Rhaenyra must be feeling this morning.”

“Why?” His response was quick.

You struggled to keep your fingers still and indifferent to tension as you clasped them together in front of you. You glanced away from his hard stare.

“Why, my lady?”

You pursed your lips. “It just seems unfair, is all. It couldn't be easy for her, hearing what happened yesterday.”

“King Viserys changed his mind, my lady. Would you like to take it up with the queen mother?”

“No.” Your eyes snapped up to his face. “No, my prince, I would not dare.”

“And yet, I detect dissent."

"Not dissent, your highness," you shook your head lightly. "I have always known your mother to be the most trustworthy of figures. If she says King Viserys changed his mind, then I believe her. It's just that I feel some remorse for princess Rhaenyra; this has been her life's trajectory for some twenty-odd-years."

Aemond looked at you, his eye piercing. “My half-sister is not fit to be queen.”

“And his grace, King Aegon, is?” You said it quietly, but you knew after they had slipped out that your words could be interpreted as dangerous. “I only meant… King Viserys didn't ready his grace for the throne, not like he did with Princess Rhaenyra.”

Aemond looked at you with measurement in his brow. He leaned in slightly, looking at you with that veil in his eye, the one that hid him from any discernable emotion.

“Perhaps your thoughts are best kept to yourself, my lady. Do not speak to any other how you have spoken today.” You felt his breath on your face. “They may not be as forgiving as me.”

You nodded, closing your lips and taking a quiet inhale through your nose. He raised a brow, as though prompting you to respond, and you did, “I won't repeat myself to anyone, my prince. I'll stone the sentiment from my mind.”

He looked at you a moment longer, then pulled back. “Don't leave the Keep, my lady. Not even to visit the Sept. You must pray from inside these walls for the next few weeks.”

“Why?”

You could tell he didn't want to say at first, his shoulders tensing just a modicum. “It is for your protection, my lady. Who knows what Rhaenyra's side would do to you?”

“I have no part in this conflict among your family.”

“You do.”

“I don't, your highness,” you said more firmly. “I am a mere ward, there is no cause for any harm to befall me.”

“Rhaenyra's Council will see yesterday's events as an act of treason. Everyone who was on the dais yesterday, including you, my lady, will be treated as committing such treason.”

You closed your mouth.

“So,” he spoke with a slightly softer tone, “for the love of the Seven, stay inside.”

He once again prompted you with his brow, and you nodded, “I understand, my prince.”

……….

The evening had been strange for you.

After your library run-in with Prince Aemond that morning, you spent most of your day with Helaena, helping her care for the twins as she worriedly stitched. You had dinner in your chambers, feeling uncomfortable about being near most of the royal family right now. They were all busy, anyway; word had traveled yesterday with Rhaenys on the back of Meleys, informing Rhaenyra of Aegon's ascension, and your ward's family would undoubtedly be fortifying themselves, shoring up support for the crown in whatever way they could. An inkling whispered to you that they would surely marry you off to some lord to gain favour or loyalty, though you prayed that would not be the case. There was not a lord in the kingdom you'd met thus far whom you felt compelled to wed.

You did not prepare properly for bed that evening. All you did was take off your dress and collapse on top of your sheets, only your shift covering you as you quickly passed out. You had meant to just rest your body before you prepared a bath for yourself, but you did not rise again.

You dreamt of Aegon's coronation; all came to pass in the same way as reality, except as Ser Criston put the crown on his head, the people began to stir in outrage. Angered screams filled the dragon pit, and by the time Rhaenys and Meleys rose from the ground the crowd seemed to praise her for interrupting the ceremony.

Prince Aemond stepped in front of you again, as had happened in reality, except this time Meleys had opened her throat and fire had torched all in her path. You felt the heat of it, and as the line of fire came towards you and Aemond, your body jolted awake.

You gasped, moving to brace your hands over your face and save yourself from the flames. It was then you realized there was a warm weight on your stomach, something your hand had knocked against as you startled. Adrenaline returned to your veins and you pushed at the weight, but it pushed back, hands coming out to stop you at your wrists.

By the gods, it was a person.

You started to scream, terror taking reign as your mind raced with the possibility of who could be about to harm you. Was it an assassin sent by Rhaenyra to kill you in your bed, or a thief who had somehow crept into the Keep to defile you?

A hand quickly covered your mouth, and your jaw trembled so that you bit down, but there wasn't enough force to truly harm your assailant.

“Shh,” a voice came through to you in a quiet tone. “It is only me, my lady.”

Familiarity struck you, and you noticed the outline of long hair and the strap for a patch running over it. Your eyes caught on a lit carrying candle across the room, sitting on the dresser near your door, and you saw the way its light bounced softly off of white-blond hair. Your body stopped struggling.

“Aemond?” You murmured into his hand.

“Tis I.”

He removed his hand and you let out a breath with the realization it was just Aemond. But you weren't able to settle completely, especially not as he snaked down your body again, returning the weight of his head to your stomach.

“My prince, this is entirely inappropriate,” you muttered, your muscles freezing as he clung to you.

"I would never defile you, my lady," he whispered into your thin shift, his voice strained. "I only sought you for your familiarity."

Despite his arrogant behaviour towards you as of late, the weakness in his voice appealed to you, and you hesitantly set your hand on his head, your fingers lightly stroking along his scalp. You noticed then that his hair was damp. It was not raining outside the Keep, and Aemond looked too disheveled to have just cleaned in a bath. He must have been on dragonback this evening. Thinking this, you could smell traces of Vhagar on him. A sigh escaped you as you looked down at him.

"What is wrong, Aemond?" You asked lightly.

He would not say for a moment, then he pushed his face somehow closer to you, as though he wanted to burrow himself inside your body. “I have sinned.”

“What have you done?”

He shook his head slightly. “It is grave. Too grave for your ears.”

“Speak it.”

He shook his head again.

You sat up, trying to move out from under him as you huffed quietly. Aemond would not let you move more than this, his hands on your thighs and head having slipped down to your lap as you sat forward. You let out a soft scoff.

“Speak it, my prince, or I must ask you to leave.”

His fingers gripped your thighs, and you were reminded of how near he was to your skin despite your shift, his breath warm along the apex of your thighs. He loosened his hold again, and took in a deep breath.

“I was in Storm's End. Lucerys was there as well, and we quarreled in the sky. Vhagar… she… his dragon was so small in her jaw.”

You felt your heart drop in your chest.

“Aemond, tell me you didn't,” you whispered.

“I cannot lie to you.”

The resignation in his voice did you in, and you ran your palm along your face to stave your anxieties. You felt his nose pressing to your lower stomach but you weren't in a state to push him away, not when he'd all but admitted to slaying his nephew. You set your hand on his head, not stroking his hair but simply putting some weight on him in hopes it may provide comfort. When you next spoke, your throat was dry and you had to swallow your fear in order to make a sound.

"All you can do now is go to the Sept and pray to the gods for forgiveness."

His head shook on your lap. "There is no penance or prayer for what I have done."

You huffed, running your fingers through his hair. Aemond shifted, his hand on your thigh flexing as he tilted his head to the side to look up at you.

"Forgive me," he said. "Absolve me of my sins so that I may continue my life and end this conflict for my family."

"I'm not the one you need absolution from," you shook your head.

"It wasn't a request, my lady."

His lips were pursed and his eye was trained on you, assessing your face with scrutiny. You felt his hand on your thigh gripping just slightly too tight.

"Aemond, I…" you started, feeling your throat dry again. "Your highness, I am not comfortable with you here any more."

"It is not my wish to impose." He spoke as though he didn't see anything wrong with his actions. He made no move to get up.

"It is late, your highness. You must go."

He reached up, palming your cheek with a gentle but assertive touch. "You're warm."

"Prince Aemond, please," you muttered as you tried to shift him off of you. "You mustn't be here any longer."

"Just say it. And I know I will have the strength I need to end the rest of them."

"The rest of who?"

He shook his head yet again, pressing his face into your stomach once more. "I need you to say it. Tell me you forgive me."

"Aemond, you must leave."

As you moved to lean back against your headboard, trying to shake his weight, he sat up and braced his hands on either side of your lap. His slender, callused fingers dug into your bed sheets with a tense ruffle. His face was so close to yours, his breath warm on your cheeks. The look in his eye was impassioned, wide, and with a blown out pupil. His shoulders rose and fell with a heavy motion. Warm air puffed in and out on your face. You couldn't escape the feeling of his breath, or him for that matter.

The next breath you drew bordered on a gasp, however hard you tried to contain it. His eye dropped down to your lips, and you saw his mouth twitch before he could steel his expression and slip back into that impassive Aemond you knew best. You felt another breath on your skin, warm from his parted lips.

He pulled back, his eye losing that feral quality as he steadied himself before standing.

"I am sorry," he murmured, "for disturbing your evening."

His head dipped almost indistinguishably in a soft nod, then he left without a word.

You were still on your bed, crowded against the headboard despite being alone now. You blinked, looking at the candle on your dresser. It was the only evidence that Aemond had been in your room. You watched as the wax dripped in the dish, the wick burning nearly to the bottom. It was hard to say how long you watched the flame burn, but by the time the wick ran out, you had tucked your knees up to your chest, holding yourself as securely as you had Aemond.

……….

A/N: Thanks for reading! Feel free to like, reblog, and comment--I really appreciate the feedback! I'm gonna do more parts of this dynamic so please lmk if you wanna be tagged in them. Also if you want to request a fic for hotd, I will write for Aegon, Aemond, and Jacaerys, so please feel free to send in an ask. Otherwise, I hope you have a great day/night :)

[serendipitous-girl]

warnings: suicidal thoughts, ideation, reckless behavior, depression, the works

You don't know the sound of the end until you hear it yourself. The last words you ever hear, are they harsh? Are they loving? Do they beat at your heart until it's a bloody and bruised mess of an organ? Or do they hold onto your fading love and cherish it like a generational heirloom.

Perhaps you did know what it sounded like, although you hadn't realized at the time. Saying the last love yous to your parents, kissing your baby brother's forehead for the last time. Joking around with your friends. It all came to an end, so suddenly and abruptly.

You were a ghost and surely this was some sort of hell. Trapped without those you know, struggling to survive in the strange unknown.

Your heart was empty, drained of all the blood and love it usually needs to survive. You were less than a ghost, you were a corpse. Maybe you should bury yourself alive, let the dirt swallow you whole until you are nothing but fleshy food for the creatures of the ground.

Sometimes, you wondered if you even still had blood beneath your veins. If you were to take a dagger and slice it across your palm, would that ruby red drip past or would it stay silent? Would your body cry out or would you stay forever mute?

How long have you been in this place? Months or years- it was hard to keep track when your brain had shut off long ago. A puppet for others pleasure, to be used and used. He didn't see you, not truly. He just wanted you to be useful, not to be a human.

Did you do something cruel in your old life? Was this some sort of divine punishment? Maybe this was the universe telling you, you don't deserve love or affection. You deserve this.

To be worked like a dog day and night. To be forced to save those you don't even know, all the while sacrificing your own sanity. None of these people can understand the way your body is nothing but a bag measly holding onto your soul when all you wished to do was let go.

Could they see the haunted look in your eyes? The dark bags under them? The sickly pallor of your skin? The way you dragged your feet as if it took too much energy to walk properly.

Or worse, did they see the way you treated your life with reckless abandon? The way you were so willing to die, like you were wishing it might happen already.

The night grows tired and the day awakens, more moments that you are away from your home. A fish out of water, a monster among gods.

You would have to get through another day, you would have to force yourself through it all. Just for those you didn't seem to even care for you nearly as much as you did for them. Would they die for you the way you would die for them? would they live for you the way you are for them?

One day, maybe, you might be able to feel that rope hug your neck. Or feel the liquid fill your lungs like an elixir of peace. One day, you might die. So you can once again feel alive.

But that day is not now, and it feels nowhere close. You have to protect those who can't protect themselves. You need to be there for them, even if they may not return the sentiment. Were you a hero? Perhaps, but it didn't matter. You'd take the chance to die if it were an option.

“Someday,” you whispered, your voice croaky and dry from lack of use, “I will return home.”

lori © 2024. please don't copy, modify, or do anything weird with my writing! i like reblogs and comments but please be kind as this was my writing.

[lavellane]

very still, without reaching

(ashara lavellan x solas. 2250 words. post-solavellan ending. hurt/comfort. major veilguard spoilers. read on ao3)

The nature of her own regrets become apparent soon enough. Mostly, as they appear to her in the fade, they relate to her regretting so very little.

There are exceptions, of course. She and Solas pass them sometimes on long, silent walks together; small, ugly things carved into barren rock, almost impossible to catch in the shadow of Solas's own towering monuments of despair. But they are there, and Ashara can always sense them before she sees them. Her least favorite recurrence pertains to a rock she threw at some shemlen farmers when she was a girl. They had returned later in the day, but they could not distinguish the difference between Dalish vallaslin , and so chose to take out their vengeance on the whole of her clan, instead. 

They had never truly forgiven her. Of all the statues of contrition this place has manifested over the months they've been here, this is the one she can't yet bring herself to face.

But there are, unexpectedly, great works of beauty here, too. Oftentimes she sees herself and Solas carved into the cliff faces, or jutting out of canyons. Old echoes of embraces, stolen kisses, intertwined fingers. She suspects their prison doesn't quite know what to do with these complicated memories, but it does its best to use them against her even so. She had regretted those moments once, after all. Or at least she thought she had. Her time in this place offers an alternative school of thought; that she had never truly regretted the choices leading her down this dinan'shiral of theirs, but rather the heart of her shame is more that she could never truly bring herself to regret them at all.

Once the fade understood this, it course-corrected. Now if she sees those statues at all, it is because she wants to.

Solas has made little progress. It is harder for him, with his regrets so numerous and so at odds with his ego. On a good day he makes her worst mistakes look infinitesimal by comparison. Sometimes he disappears for days on end, wandering aimlessly, pulled one way or another by the compass of his guilt alone. When he returns, as he always does, he says nothing, only holds her very tightly and does not let go.

In all the months (or perhaps even longer) that they've been here, they have spoken very little. More time is needed before either one of them is ready to face that looming conversation. For now, quiet comfort takes priority. For now, sex suffices. For now they sit on the edge of yawning chasms for hours on end, watching the shifting rocks, the starless skies, the shadows in mournful, flittering dance at the edge of their vision, and find solace through a tender silence in which no words are yet necessary. And when he begins to get it in his head that perhaps they are necessary, she stops him with a long, languid kiss until she feels those worries melt away between them.

It is a terrible place he's built, but it is not so terrible facing it together.

And it gets easier still. The nature of the Evanuris' prison was always to contain the regrets of beings who thought themselves gods, but she is not a god, and neither is he. Her regrets are not so insurmountable to overcome, given time, and soon, slowly, she finds the world around her starts to mirror the world inside her. At first, a singular star in the sky. Then, below it, a wisp of elfroot growing between the crack of a barren rock. The fade cannot be mapped by mere cartography or magic, but a learned mage can always find their way with enough discipline. And Ashara was, before stepping through that final rift, a very learned mage.

When Solas departs on his lonely journeys, she cultivates the place in secret. She was never one for dishonesty, and so it's the only real secret she has. She shapes the space sporadically over many months in the image of her late mother's patch of camp among their clan. With some . . . creative liberties here and there. The tent is warm and green like her mother's was, but with all the ample space and utility (and — admittedly — luxury) she had grown accustomed to over her many years as the Inquisitor. Some ugly shemlen cottage wouldn't do, and she never had a full night sleep in her Skyhold quarters, anyway.

She dreams up the smell of incense, and many multicolored rugs, and a bed that's warm but not too soft. Books; a table with two chairs; a big bathtub to share. The small fire pit in the centre might have burned the whole tent down around her were it abiding by the laws of the physical world, but it does not. It abides her.

The hardest part was the damned trees. Several times she nearly lost everything, locked in a seemingly endless standoff against the will of the very prison itself. But Solas made this place to contain monsters, and Ashara need only remind herself that she is not one. She never was. Whether the magic of this place recognises that — or if she truly did best the fade by sheer audacity alone — she couldn't really say. All she knows is that one day the trees stood tall — leafless but very much alive — as if they'd been there all along, and her impossible little clearing was all but complete.

"I've found a place I think you ought to see," she tells Solas soon after, reunited in their usual spot after several long days apart.

He seems especially exhausted this time around. He buries his face in the crook of her neck and breathes deeply. "Then I am yours to guide, as you see fit." 

He clings tightly to her hand as she leads them on, aided by the lonely light of her beloved star. Samahl , as she's come to calling it — named after her nephew. Solas would see Samahl too if he ever looked up, but he keeps his eyes defiantly low, avoiding the overhead statues of a handsome, crumbling man with Mythal's vallaslin , whose wounded gaze seem to follow Solas wherever he goes.

He will find it in himself to meet those eyes one day, a long time from now. In the meantime she lifts her head to the sky for both of them, and presses onward through the gloom.

He stops short when he sees the clearing of trees in the distance, bordered by infinite wasteland. Ashara squeezes his fingers with her own and urges him forward. "Come."

"That . . . cannot be."

"It is. Come."

Soon the cracked earth beneath their feet sprouts small, unassuming blades of grass. The riverbed they pass remains as dry as bone, but carries the unmistakable smell of wet earth after recent rain. Closest to the centre of the clearing, Ashara herself notes leaves on trees that were not there the day before. 

Solas's brow furrows, and he makes a strange noise when they reach the point where the grass is most concentrated. As it exists now, the grass is too patchy to be called a meadow, and yet it grows strongest and greenest in a perfect circle around her little tent as if it were the sun itself, nourishing by proximity. 

The tent glows faintly, lit up by the hearth and candlelight within. But it is a strange glow, which seems to extend to the whole of the outer clearing, cutting through the endless mist and shadow. For months her world has been a haze of muted gray and monochromes. This space, by comparison, bears a subtle vibrancy she might've missed if she hadn't grown so used to its absence.

The violets of his eyes are clearly visible for the first time since they arrived, shining as they scan about the clearing. "How can it be that I feel you so vividly in this place?" he finally whispers, incredulous.

"I made it," she says. "It's mine. Will you come with me a little further? I didn't bring us here to watch grass grow."

She had hoped he might at last be baited into a smile, or a sultry retort, but he only frowns at her with those same sad, uncertain eyes, and takes her hand once more. 

"It's much larger inside," she says. "Come."

"As you say."

He has to duck his head to slip inside the tarp, but the interior is as large and spacious as promised. Her fire bathes the walls in bright flickering hues of yellow and orange, and Ashara watches him give an involuntary shiver of pleasure as its warmth passes over and through him. It's a nice sight. Her pyromancy has inspired no shortage of pain and terror over the years, but in truth, it was always watching the relief of her companions faces when she warmed their soup in midwinter that had made her feel the most accomplished. 

Maybe she could dream up soup next? There are several potted plants next to her little bed. Elfroot and crystal grace, and some others even she doesn't recognise. Not quite right for soup, and yet . . . Had she put those there? Or has this dream of hers now taken a life of its own? She ponders as much, settling in amid her thick fur blankets, waiting for Solas to compose himself.

"I made this place for you as well," she tells him when he makes no move to join her.

He shakes his head despairingly. "No."

"What?" Ashara scowls. " Yes ."

"No."

" Yes ."

"This cannot be, Ashara," he snaps. "The very will of this domain is such that —"

"I don't know what to tell you. I outwilled it."

He scoffs. "The greatest tyrants of the Evanuris could not outwill it."

"I am not the Evanuris. Neither was your little bird friend, and she flew free."

"That is different. Rook had —" 

He stops himself. For a moment he looks briefly shocked, as if struck. And then his features settle. Lips pressed tight, eyes down. He seems impossibly small inside this place, and not just because it's bigger on the inside. The light doesn't touch him quite so eagerly as it touches everything else. His very presence in her room casts a long, misshapen shadow which seems to crawl unnaturally across the floor, cutting through the glow of her fire until it's very nearly pooled at her feet. 

A chill follows. 

" Varric ." Ashara holds his gaze in silence until he looks at her. "Deiadre had Varric ."

Beside her, a candle flickers. "Yes."

Ashara reminds herself: his regrets made this place. They unmade Skyhold, and nearly the world itself. They will do worse to them both now, if she allows it. 

"She had Varric, Solas."

Even in the rapidly dimming light, she can make out the unsteady rise of his chest. "She had Varric," he echoes.

"And you have me."

Solas's face falls. But then the room brighten. A little. 

He lets out a long, unsteady breath and closes the distance between them. Her little wooden bed creaks under his weight. She shifts the blankets to better drape over his broad shoulders, and he reaches out in turn, hesitating before resting his hand on her thigh. He leans down to press a kiss to the gooseflesh raised on her clavicle, courtesy of the lingering chill.

"That you would offer such a thing at all is more a testament to you than any clemency I've not earned," he murmurs against her collar. He tilts his head up as if to look upon the room, though his gaze remains soft and steadily focused on her. "This is a gift, asha'era. I did not mean to undermine your efforts, or the feat of having made this. It is perfect, just as you are. But it may not survive my presence."

"Why not? I did." 

Now Solas looks away. She cringes; inhabiting the fade has done nothing to improve her eloquence. Quickly she continues, "But even so; if it does not, we'll just have to get over it and bring it back come morning."

"And do you think you'll feel the same a dozen centuries from now? Perpetually warring with my regret?"

"I know which side I'd place my bets in a fight between regret and love."

If he has a retort for that, he's wise enough to keep it to himself.

Time in the fade passes imperceptibly. Surely their kiss lasts days, and what comes after even longer. The candles are less a gauge for the passing minutes but instead the strength of her resolve when his own doubts creep in. When the light flickers, when the incense sours, when the wind outside picks up to a roaring howl; then she focuses her efforts. Her fingers scraping down his chest, a well timed roll of the hips, a kiss with enough tongue to remind him how much he used to enjoy using his own. And still does, apparently.

In the morning — or what, at least, finally feels like morning — the trees have dried up and grass outside their tent is dead. But the tent itself is warm as ever and the air outside feels crisp and fresh and, above her, if she squints, she can make out the faint but ever-present glint of her Samahl in the sky. 

The grass will grow back. She will see to it . . .

. . . Tomorrow. This morning, she would sooner crawl back into bed and see to other things.

[yzzaqczec]

Beneath the moons glow

Idea: @sametsyun

Once, there was Y/N, a divine being created by the gods to watch over the moon. She was an angel with a silvery glow, her presence a soft luminescence among the vastness of the cosmos. The moon was her kingdom—silent, serene, and lonely. She spent her days attending wishes of the mortals below them. Their hopes whispered up to her through the night, which sounded all the more silent with them, till she heard their promises of the soul.

Except that one who came often was making her heart beat with something which she could not identify.

Lucifer, that was his name and was a fallen angel driven from Heaven long ago. Every time he would come to her place, that always would carry the promise of more than words: the excitement of seeing what the visitor may bring - small things- a bunch of ducks, flowers in star shape, anything whimsical and sweet. Y/N in turn gave the man her wishes for trivial things, moments of glee, for laughter. Alone no longer was Y/N in the company of her visitor. The days turned to months, and the months grew into years. A quiet affection for each other blossomed.

Their bonding grew in the silent nights that were lit by the moon. Lucifer never asked for anything extravagant, and Y/N would always find herself wanting to provide him with whatever he desired. She had fallen in love with him, although she did not know what to call it. Love? She never dared to ask, but she knew he was of the same thought. He smiled every time he saw her his smile shines brighter than the stars in the sky. She would do anything for him, and so did he seem.

Then one day, Lucifer just stopped coming.

Initially, Y/N thought it was just nothing. "Why haven't you come by? I wait for you each night, when the stars shine bright and the moon protects us both. Was this something I did?" she silently asked the empty moon.

Days became weeks, then weeks turned into months, all without him. She still waited, lonely and clueless. She searched the heavens for him, but he was nowhere to be found. She could not help but wonder whether something had happened, whether she perhaps had done something wrong. "Had I failed him in some way? Did he no longer want me to grant his wishes?" Her heart felt heavy as the cycles of the moon increased, and she began to feel a deep sadness that no star could chase away. The only solace was the fact that one day, he would return, and everything would be okay.

One day, Lucifer showed up. His smile was as broad as ever, but something was different. It did not feel the same. The warmth that once seemed to emanate from his presence was now gone, replaced by an emptiness that cut deeper than she could have imagined.

"Y/N" he greeted, the name slipping from his lips like a familiar song, but with a hollow tone. He handed her a small, delicate gift wrapped in glistening paper, but there was no joy behind his eyes.

Y/N heart skipped, her hopes rising for a moment. "It’s been a long time," she said softly. "I’ve missed you."

Lucifer's eyes flickered briefly, then he quickly covered it with a chuckle. "I've been busy. But I've come to ask for a wish."

Her heart leapt, and she smiled. This was it, she thought. "Maybe this is the moment we return to what we had before. Maybe it'll be like it once was." But his words shattered that fragile hope.

He asked for something that felt wrong, something that was against the very rules she had been bound to since her creation. It was a wish that involved breaking celestial laws. She hesitated. "This. This is too much. I can't grant this, Lucifer." But his eyes, those eyes she had trusted for so long, looked at her with something she couldn't place.

"You think I forgot you? You think I stopped caring? No, Y/N. I couldn't forget you. But the moment I walked away from the moon, I knew I'd lost something I couldn't get back," he said, his voice laced with guilt.

She felt the weight of his words, but despite her doubt, she couldn't refuse him. Her heart—"I would do anything for him,"—knew no better. With trembling hands, she granted the wish, though it was wrong, something that she knew she should not do.

What she did not know was the price with which it came.

Lucifer's trial soon followed, and Y/N was left dazed. She had been summoned to the heavenly court, where the angels looked at her with judgment in their eyes. Lucifer stood at the center of the courtroom, his head lowered in shame. And beside him stood Lilith—the one who had been with him all along, the one he had truly wanted all this time.

Her heart cracked, shards of trust and affection shattering. "You think I wanted to leave you? You think I wanted to stop visiting the moon? No. but I had no choice. Sometimes the price of freedom is heavier than you think," Lucifer had said, but his betrayal stung just the same.

As the angels questioned her, "What had you done, Y/N? What wish did you grant him?" this truth struck her like thunder—she was the one that helped him bring Lilith back.

Lucifer, in a moment of panic, pointed his finger at her. "She did it. It was her who granted me the wish."

The words cut deeper than any betrayal she could have thought of. "So this was it. All that I had given to him, all the love I thought we shared. it was nothing."

Lucifer and Lilith were punished and sent down to Hell to stay there forever. However, Y/N was not shown any mercy; however, the punishment she received was a lighter one. They said she didn't know what the wish would do. Nevertheless, she was sent out of Heaven, a beautiful home lost to her for good. She remained there, on the moon, her heart a heavy aching weight in her chest.

"You were my haven. my escape from everything. I never thought that I would ever bring about such pain in you. I thought that I was capable of handling all of this, but it was just too much," Lucifer's words echoed in her head as she looked out to the vast emptiness that the moon surface seemed to offer.

There was her on the bleak, snow cold desert landscape alone, when before she a green bunny that he'd given her years earlier stirred to life, tears fallen into its little soft frame on whose green jade-eyes sparkle lit after these final tears until she saw not alone again. Small creature nuzzled by it and she found this instant comfort.

“I thought I was doing what was right for myself, for Lilith. But now I realize I’ve lost more than I could ever gain. You were everything I needed. and I let you go,” Lucifer's voice, tinged with regret, haunted her every moment.

Years passed, eons even. The moon, once dark and empty, started changing. Lights shimmered, festivals sprang up, and laughter filled the air. It had become a place for celebration, joy, and fun, but Y/N heart still ached with pain for the love she had lost.

Her search for Lucifer never ended. She tried everything: every spell, every ritual, every prayer. But nothing seemed to work. "If you're out there, Lucifer, do you ever wonder about me? Do you ever miss the moon? Or has the Hell beneath your feet become too heavy?" she whispered, looking to the heavens, but nothing came.

One day, she realized that despite everything, she had never truly stopped loving him. "You’ll always be a part of me, Lucifer. Whether you forgive me or not, you’ll always have a place in my heart. I just wish I could show you that before it was too late."

And so, with lights and laughter still burning all around, Y/N made a promise to find him again. No matter the time it took or how long the distance was; she would find her way back to him.

And perhaps, just maybe, the stars will finally align.

---

Will post the pt2 next week:>

OKAY TOTALLY RUSHED THIS

I did not proofread this so mb if there are some mistakes, I totally added chang'e instead of y/n in some of these😭

Idea from!! @sametsyun

https://www.tumblr.com/sametsyun/742930833875353600/i-have-a-fanfic-idea-alright-you-guys-know-that?source=share

TYSM I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO THINK OF AN IDEA(⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

[vigilante24ish]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙 Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1971 Dedicated to: @blackiron11 & @yelenablshop

Finale III - part 2/3 (Rio x Reader ending)

Agatha barely spared him a look, for she knew she could not keep the facade if she saw that annoying but rather persuading puppy face he had. God, he and his mother had that in common, among many other things.

“What?” you exclaimed, finally in tune with everything.

You had been awfully quiet, watching the mental debate between Agatha and Billy. You hated how powerless you were once again, but if any of those two dared to offer themselves, you swore you would fight until Rio had no choice but to kill you.

And then Agatha dropped that bomb... one you should have seen coming.

But considering the other sides she dared to show Billy and even the coven, sides that you had to fight for to see... you thought perhaps all those centuries had changed her. Perhaps she had come to terms with everything.

Yet it seemed she had just made another deal behind your back. Another selfless deal to save her skin and potentially yours, but that was not the point.

“You heard him. The Boy. As promised,” Agatha continued as she walked further away. “Now, let Y/N go and put my yard back.”

The vines holding you hostage released you, and red lines and thorn wounds were evident on your exposed skin, but that was the least of your concerns. You got up, your legs feeling weak from the restricted blow flow, and your body was in desperate need of a rest, but you would bother with that later.

“Agatha... I thought...” Billy said, his voice turning into a whisper, and he tried hard not to lose the last little spark of hope he had within.

He really thought Agatha had changed, that she was a different person. She had shown him a different side of her. Then, why did she act that way all of a sudden?

Was it all a fluke? Just a big plan she had formed from the beginning?

Agatha turned a fake smile on her lips. “What can I say? I am a coven-less witch.” She repeated his words. “Come along, pet. We have things to do.”

She looked at you and then turned to walk away, expecting you would follow her without a second thought. After all, that’s what you often did, and you had made it clear in the last trial that you would be with her until the end.

Well, this was clearly not the end, but she still needed you with her.

You looked at her, walking away like she always did. Like all the other times, she walked away from you after being turned down. All the other times you had chosen to stay back...

This was your chance to change that. This was your chance to be with her for good, to not let her wander the world around.

You took one step and then another, glancing at Rio first. She did not seem surprised by the events, although you swore she was disappointed she could not have fun with you anymore.

She would find ways, though.

You dared look at Billy, seeing his defeated expression that made your heart crack and slowly crumble into a dozen pieces. He was so done with betrayal and selfishness, so defeated by the way Agatha gave him away.

Any light or hope he used to have in his dark eyes was gone, and he was slowly becoming an empty husk, waiting for death to finally take him.

At least his mortal parents would finally be able to grieve in peace, not having to worry when the memory of their son would return. At least Tommy was alive, and he would have a second chance. At least he would reunite with his supposed parents, maybe even Sparky.

“Come along, Y/N!” Agatha called your name when she suspected you were taking your sweet time.

Honestly, you could grieve and hate her later. Now, she truly wanted to just leave Rio and this place behind.

Once and for all.

“No,” you exclaimed as you placed both feet on the ground.

“No?” Agatha repeated as she turned halfway, stealing you a suspicious look.

“I am not letting him take her, Agatha,” you argued. “I was not there for Little Nicky, but I will be there for Billy. “

Your words cut deep into the hearts of both Agatha and Rio, who had different views of their son’s passing.

Rio glanced down momentarily, still hating how Nicky’s death had pushed her and Agatha away after everything. She understood why you chose to take that stand with Billy, and she was certain you would have stubbornly done the same had you been present when Rio came for her son.

Yet again, you had always been the more open-minded between you and Agatha, especially when it came to natural laws and sacred orders that were the foundations of this universe and all the others.

Agatha, on the other hand, felt her throat closing momentarily at the mention of her dead son. The scar he left on her heart had been reopened after the last trial, and the fact that Billy reminded her of Nicky so much was not helping. And now, you chose to stand and try to change things... you really had bad timing.

Billy parted his lips in silent surprise, not expecting you to stubbornly stay by his side. Honestly, he was happy there was someone who still wished him to be around and fight for him. However, he did not want you to get hurt more than you already were. No matter your powers or sudden boost, you were clearly no match for Rio, who had not even broken a sweat.

However, one thing seemed to only fit into some of this... Nicky.

The son of Rio and Agatha, the one no one knew what happened to...why was he brought up now?

A crazy theory popped into his mind, and he turned his focus fully on Agatha, who was hesitating to leave you behind. It took him a strain, but in the end, he managed to get access to her mind, even if it was limited.

‘Agatha!’ he called out her name mentally, the street light nearby flickering passively due to the aura of his power. ‘Is this what happened to Nicky?’

If you mention that Nicholas had wounded her heart, Billy actually crashed it. Memories of her sweet boy got awoken in her mind, threatening to take control and make her drop the mask she had chosen to wear once again.

And as she fought against her emotions, something replayed in her mind... something you had told her not long ago.

"I don't think he will ever judge you, Ags. He loved you too much,"

Perhaps you were right. Perhaps it was time for her to face her fears, the skeletons in her closet.

Before she would do that, though, she decided to take one last risk. No matter what, she would accept your hate after it; she would accept your anger and anything you would throw at her.

But this was the only way for everyone to get what they wanted, the only way to end this once and for all.

And so, Agatha started to march towards Rio, confident as ever. Rio so openly and quickly approached for the hug, obediently yearning for Agatha’s touch after all those years of being kept away and blamed for things she could not control.

The kiss that followed was one that Rio would never forget, and neither would you... not when you spotted the green veins growing across Agatha’s cheeks or the tears threatening to escape Rio’s eyes.

“No... no, no. Agatha!” you shouted, calling her name as you tried to make your way there.

Whether she heard you or not, it was too late to change things. She could already feel the change; Rio’s invading powers were doing their job as they should have all those years ago. Even when she stopped absorbing them, she focused on the last kiss she would have with her.

A kiss also shows that she forgave Rio for everything that happened to Nicky.

She wished she could have kissed you one last time, but she would face the end, knowing you were safe and in good hands.

Your shouts and cries echoed above the winds, your wails of pain and grief being heard across the different houses surrounding you, making the residents wonder what kind of deity was harmed that night.

You rushed towards the couple, tripping more than once from exhaustion and shock. You could not lose Agatha, not after everything you two had been through... not after making up for all the times you stayed behind and let her go on her own.

Yet it was too late. Agatha started to levitate up, a peaceful look on her face, as Rio’s powers gently lowered her to the ground, laying her on the green grass.

You were about to catch her, try to use your magic to heal her, but a pair of arms stopped you.

Rio grabbed you by the waist, holding you back from making a fatal mistake. This was Agatha’s choice and her time was up, there was no saving... no second chances.

“No! NO!” You tried to fight her grip in a desperate attempt, tears running down your cheeks in a never-ending stream. Your white magic went crazy, trying to blast Rio off and resonate with the sudden loss and pain you felt deep in your heart.

Yet Rio remained firm and standing, ignoring the burning sensation your magic caused on her, for she knew she had to keep holding you and let your grief... just as she did, a last tear escaping as purple flowers and mushrooms of different kinds started to grow where Agatha’s body was decomposing.

Your shouts turned into whispers and pleas before you were only left with sobs. You stopped channelling your magic, letting it die along with your broken heart as you held on to Rio for dear life. You buried your tear-stained face on her side, unable to stare at the body of your lover who was no longer there.

Your shoulders shook, and it was one thing Rio never wished to ever sense, your sobs the one thing she never wished to hear... for at that time, her black heart was breaking into pieces.

She mourned the loss of Agatha, the lover that made her truly feel. She would not see her again, for she had promised not to come for her when she would die. And she shared your grief, feeling invisible pain at seeing you so heartbroken and defeated, even though it was an inevitable thing that would come one day.

The sound of steps against the grass reminded you that Billy was still there, utterly crushed by what he had witnessed. Agatha’s selfless sacrifice, her rotting corpse, your pleas and begs... he thought the Road had scarred him, the hex folding... but they were nothing compared to this.

He approached with hesitant steps, still not believing that Agatha was gone or that the patch of purple flowers and mushrooms was her. He wanted to comfort you, offer you a hug, and just try to be there, though he could not do anything to change the situation.

He halted when Rio turned her head to face him, the bottom half of her face just a skeleton.

“You can go,” her deep voice echoed, magically sent out without the need to move her skeleton jaw.

Billy hesitated, glancing at your weeping form. “What about-“

“I will take care of her. Her path is with me.”

Part 3/3

[annwrites]

— aemond targaryen quotes ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖ | sons & daughters

❝You prefer to watch then, niece? Come down, and I will give you a private show of your very own, if you instead join me.❞

❝What is it you pray for, then, I wonder? An advantageous marriage, perhaps. One for love, I’m sure. You always did have your head in the clouds as a child.❞

❝I recently learned yours never hatched, even after taking it such a long way. I could tell you why that might be, but I fear it may offend you. So, let me instead make you an offer.❞ (...) ❝Come join me on mine own. She is the largest in all the world. Just consider what that might imply about her rider.❞

❝At least you have not forsaken your mother tongue,❞ he’d said, coming closer yet again. ❝Mine own is quite adept at it, among other things.❞

❝Then perhaps we steal away in the dark of night, married in secret by a septon. Like something out of a fairytale book, which I know you loved so dearly at one time. Our marriage consummated upon a bed of hay, in a barn where our secrets lay hidden.❞

❝Let us flee across the Narrow Sea, then, for there is nothing left for me here now. Not with you having gone and hidden yourself away from me on that desolate island. Let us finally be free of our gilded cages, beloved niece. Together.❞

❝I see you have not forgotten our games as children we so often enjoyed together in those most private moments. Hm. How well we got to know one another then.❞

❝If I do, you will thus be ruined for all, wholly belonging to me at last.❞

❝Stay. I’ve enough of you walking away from me.❞

❝Have you much thought about it? What we did in the Godswood—alone—with just ourselves and our sweet sin between us? I know I have. Would you like to know what I did about it? Mayhaps you did as well.❞

❝Come, then, let us find a dark corner so I might explore and discover the answer for myself. So I might see in what all ways you have grown into a woman, besides just your disposition.❞

❝Fuck them. Let them watch.❞

❝You know the promise we once made: to never lie to one another. You believe me to have forgotten it? I lost my eye, not my senses, dear niece.❞

❝You belong with me. You are of my blood and I yours.❞

❝I will return it to you when you return to me. Not a moment sooner.❞

❝To my most beloved niece: how good it is to have you returned to me once again. For I have missed you so very dearly. I eagerly await our next reunion. I much hope it is…quite soon.❞

❝We should be together. We're supposed to be.❞

❝Tell me then, boy, if your whore mother did not send you prepared to wield a sword in her name, why did she not send my lovely niece then instead? I do so long to see her.❞

❝She is there, in that northern wasteland they dare call a kingdom?❞ He sneers. ❝She should be instead with me. She is my blood. Mine!❞

❝Y/N belongs to me.❞ (...) ❝Nothing will change that. Including some dull, passionless northern lord. What is he compared to her own uncle? A prince?❞

❝You see,❞ he cocks his head to the side. ❝She was meant to be my betrothed. She was created for me to have. I would not expect you to understand, but it is mine own blood which I am meant to wed.❞

❝Some unwashed northern fucking lord is not suitable for her needs! I am!❞

❝Do you want to know, then, mother? The things we did with only the Gods to bear witness?❞

❝I’m going to get my bride back!❞

❝My niece belongs to me! She belongs with me! Not fucking there! Mine! Mine! She is mine!❞

❝My fucking property! She was born for me! Created to be given to me to have and take to wife!❞

❝I'll burn the fucking North! I'll burn the whole God's-damned Realm if that's what it takes! I'll have Maester Orwyle cut that thing out of her, and fill her instead with my seed! A dragon, not a fucking dog! I'll feed it to Vhagar!❞

❝It is alright, my beloved niece. We're together now. None shall part us ever again, or I will kill them. I'll kill them all. I swear it.❞

❝You will remain always by my side. Until your last breath. You will not—fuck—so much as look at another man. You will remain in our chambers. Safe and sound. Always waiting for me.❞

❝You are perfect. Every single part of you was made for me to love. And I do, and I will, and I shall.❞

❝My beloved niece,❞ he drawls against the shell of your ear. ❝One lifetime of having you will not be near enough.❞

❝You are meant to be with a dragon. Not a wolf,❞ he spits.

❝I am giving you one last chance, beloved niece,❞ he says acidically. ❝Give up this bit of ridiculous pretend before you force my hand.❞

[soullessdianthus]

can i request ghost x reader, kind of like an enemies to lovers/hatefucking type situation 🫣 can be as kinky as you like. thank you <3

A/N: I'm living for this trope with Ghost! Because I believe he could be absolute douche sometimes, but at the end of the day, he would just drown you in sweet affection. (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )

Warnings: enemies to lovers (idiots in love), implied age gap, angst???, smut (p in v, slow and gentle sex, unprotected)

Word count: 4.2k oops

It felt like literal eternity serving within the British Army. But in reality it’s only been three years since you enrolled. Since the very beginning of your personal excursion along the nine circles of hell, the devil was looming above your head – Lieutenant Riley. 

God damn bastard. 

Around a year ago Captain John Price was selecting only a few privates to see if any of the “fresh blood” was fit to join his special forces. You happened to be one of the lucky soldiers. 

During this intense year of service you managed to get promoted to a sergeant, allowing you to be more independent during missions than a rookie or a private. To be honest, you were amongst the youngest sergeants out there in the army, along Soap MacTavish. 

You were good. That’s what Price told you at the end of the selections. You weren’t as strong as men larger and taller than you, but you catch up in the different fields. Swift yet seamless in the way you moved, quietly. A good aim and fast ability to evaluate the situation. 

Sometimes your biggest flaw was panicking during shootouts. Especially when your team was getting slaughtered, one by one and your cheeks were splashed with thick, warm blood. If not your slightly strayed aim and heavy breathing no one would even know. 

You were extremely young for such missions Captain (or Laswell) sent you on, so honestly, the way your body reacted was a basic human reaction to such stress and trauma. 

And there he was, a man soaked in crimson, his skull mask remaining untouched. Ghost walked right by you inside of the helo, when Soap tried to console you by nudging your arm. 

You felt his dark eyes looking at you with scorn, disappointment maybe. Ghost never praised you, not once, even if you saved their arses. All of them. 

━ Pull yourself together, sergeant. ━ Lieutenant snarled, before sitting down on the opposite bench. 

━ Ignore him, lass. He’s just a grumpy sad man.

Johnny was more than right about Simon Riley being a sad man having a sad life. Perhaps that’s why he got so used to crushing each bundle of joy in his life.

You thanked God in situations like this, that there was always Soap or Gaz to ease the tension between Lieutenant Riley and you. Because no matter how much you acted unbothered and tough or how much you tried to ignore his hatred towards you, Ghost’s attitude was painfully scratching your heart. 

Obviously you made some mistakes, all of them had. You were just humans at the end of the day. So whenever you tried to impress the others, looking out for friend’s approval, you were struck by his empty stare full of pity. 

You hated to admit it to yourself, you never wanted to, but you couldn’t just treat him indifferently. There was some fucked up part inside of you that didn’t want to let him go. And it only brought more pain.

There was no logical explanation why Ghost despited you so much. You were humble about your job or abilities and overall polite (well, most of the time, lately you began to talk back to the grumpy Englishman).

But what you didn’t know was that Ghost was actually jealous. 

He couldn’t stand how quick it was for someone as young and fragile as you to climb to the sergeant’s position. Ghost didn’t possess the features you had – the way you made friends so easily among the comrades, how you practically every time executed your job without a slip up or how you put a spell over Soap, Gaz and even Price. They were all fond of you.

Once, when you got hurt, Ghost couldn’t help but to trace the dripping blood from the cut on your cheekbone. The blood trickled down your soft skin over the curvature of your face, which he involuntarily found pretty for a woman. The crimson substance dripped down your chin and onto the cleavage of your shirt. 

Simon swore, he could see your round, full breasts through the tight shirt. Only then he snapped back to reality. Since then he hated himself even more for casually showing such fragility. Ghost couldn’t let you be his weakness. The ghost had none. 

But all you could see in this situation was that your lieutenant was disappointed with you. That you managed to get hurt on such an easy mission. “Such a failure in his eyes, am I?”, you thought to yourself.

The other time, when you followed him along the concrete wall, trying to flee the ambush, Ghost happened to be just too close to you. His broad shoulder touching you almost constantly. 

His presence didn’t bother you, until the lieutenant's tight grip over your upper arm barely cut the blood circulation in the limb. He yanked you backwards so hard, you nearly stumbled. 

━ Have you lost your fuckin’ mind? ━ Ghost growled in a raspy voice, making sure you weren’t shot. He brought you close to his own body, too close. You could feel the warmth of his body, almost welcoming you into embrace. Almost.

━ I got it covered! ━ His gloved hand snatched up to cover your mouth at once.  Both of you stilled upon hearing the enemy walking past your cover. Simon retraced his palm only when he was sure the danger was gone. ━ You’re insufferable, Lt.

━ Congratulations, the girl finally noticed. You want some cheers or a confetti thrown? 

━ Would like one actually ━ you agreed with a pathetic shell of a man, wasting all of the strength not to tell him to fuck off ━ but not from you. Let’s move.

Ouch, that had to hurt his fragile ego. But Ghost wondered why it actually made his blood boil. Why your little back talk got him riled up. 

For years he got used to hearing insults or miserable comments from other soldiers. So why did he feel truly insulted when it came to you and your filthy mouth? He felt similar to a parent who failed to put their child into their place. 

So he desired to torment you a little more. However, this decision ended differently than usual, when he toyed with you, mocking each aspect regarding your life.

This time you smacked him across his face, when you were back in the helo taking a few soldiers back to base. One too many malicious comments from the lieutenant and you snapped. 

Of course you regretted being so carried out by emotions, but slapping Ghost across his stupid mask gave you a sense of relief. Bastard deserved that.

You were surprised when one of the women in the barracks told you that Ghost is asking for your presence in his office. That it’s urgent.

It has been a couple of days since “the incident” and since then you hadn’t been forced to spend time with him, not in the training area nor in the cafeteria. 

You jumped out of your bed and pulled on the high trail shoes and stuffed the legs of your pants inside of them. There were many ideas coming to your mind, why he requested your presence. Perhaps, the little disagreement in the helo was too much. Maybe the Captain was there with him, ready to reprimand you for such disrespect towards the Lt?

Who knew, the only way to find out was to go and see for yourself. So you did. 

The base seemed more empty than ever before, most of the soldiers being sent away on missions. Or on a training grounds, far from the main building. 

So you walked with a steady pace down the hallway until your eyes managed to read the label “Lt Riley” on the doors. Before your hand reached for the handle, you acknowledged the state your body was in – wrist and slender fingers shaking, skin inflamed. Were you afraid of this confrontation? What was wrong with you?

A loud sigh left your mouth and your chest collapsed. You knocked twice and entered the office only when you heard his voice “come in”. 

━ You wanted to see me? 

━ Come, I might need your help ━ such foolishly selected words made your heart skip a beat. You closed the door behind and walked closer to where he was sitting. ━ Fill those just like the example here and then put them aside. 

Ghost pointed to the one singular sheet of paper already filled out and your eyes wandered on the massive pile of those you were supposed to complete. The similar stack was on the lieutenant’s right. 

━ And you can’t do it yourself? ━ You raised your brow, looking in a questionable way at him. Ghost sighed, rolling his eyes.

━ Can’t you just do what your told?

You grabbed the folding chair and set it next to the grumpy man. You carefully watched his reaction as you did so. 

━ Soap wasn’t available?

━ He’s on a deployment, somewhere in Urzikstan ━ the man wearing a balaclava with solid skull sewed to it explained briefly. ━ Besides, I needed a woman to help me out with this.

━ Oh wow, didn’t know you were a sexist. ━ A surprised huff slipped out of your mouth, when you got comfortable on the plastic chair next to him. He sneaked a peek at your wiggling hips and felt a sudden wave of heat.  

━ Fuckin’ hell ━ he cursed, passing you the pen. ━ You think Johnny or Gaz know how to sign their own name? At least you know how to write, yeah?

━ Look, you just said something nice for once. 

A not so fake, but forced smile twisted your face as you accepted the pen he given you. 

━ Don’t flatter yourself. 

━ Nothing coming from your mouth is flattering, Lt. 

Within the last spoken sentence you began filling the papers out just as he instructed. The task itself wasn’t difficult, just repetitive. 

Minutes passed as you sat next to Ghost in silence. Only the sound of paper sheets being moved around intervened with the quietness. You unknowingly started to chew on your lower lip, distracting the man sitting beside you. But how could you know this, he just hummed from time to time, God knew why. 

The tension between the two of you started to fade out as you felt more comfortable spending time with him. Work time of course, doing important things, but in a secluded room and all alone. 

Your somehow guilty mind didn’t want to leave the business unclear, there was a need rooted inside of you that needed its explanation. 

So you gathered enough bravery and finally spoke, breaking the silence. 

━ You’re in a mood for talking, sir? 

━ Not particularly ━ Ghost replied, eyes still glued to the documentation in front of him. ━ But since you addressed me properly… What do you want?

He was right. Maybe it was the first time you addressed him with “sir” since the beginning. 

━ I’m not looking for trouble, alright? But, what is your problem? Why… ━ you paused for a second, your own gaze drilling into the pen you were gripping so hard between your fingers ━ are you so harsh to me? 

━ What did you expect joining the military, eh? Would you like a special treatment? 

━ An equal treatment would be great ━ you emphasized on the words, sinking further into a plastic chair. ━ See, you don’t even understand. 

Why were you sitting there, listening to him taking out his bitterness on you? There was far more you deserve in life than this. You did nothing wrong to be treated as such. 

━ I tried getting along with you, Simon ━ you continued after a moment of silence. You were so focused on the confusing feeling in your guts, that you missed the part when he stopped working to look directly at you. And the sadness painted on that pretty face of yours. ━ I really did. But you're pushing everyone away and that’s not my problem. So don’t dare take this out on me. 

His short, but rough laugh echoed in your ears and blush of humiliations covered your cheeks. There was even a hint of you crying in a matter of seconds, but you kept your act together. That’s what he told you so often, right? 

━ Jesus fuckin’ Christ. ━ The lieutenant muttered, your face twisted in pure anger.

That’s it. That was the fine line. 

Suddenly you stood up, pushing the chair with the back of your thighs. It almost fell down with a thud, but you caught the backrest quickly, before it could actually happen. 

Did he just laugh at you? 

━ What the fuck is wrong with you?! ━ You let the emotions emerge to the surface, raising your voice at the masked man. But despite the wrong he did, what Ghost said to you, you couldn’t find a dash of hatred towards him. It made you feel sick. ━ Why do you hate me so much? I didn’t do anything wrong!

Ghost stood up from his own seat and out of the sudden his larger body caged you in between him and the solid desk. The Englishman placed his hands on both sides of you, over the countertop, taking away the possibility of you escaping. Slipping away through his fingers.

He pressed his chest and whole front of his body into your back. To your (and his) surprise, you didn’t even flinch. Ghost’s head was leaning next to your left ear. The significant skull mask staring directly at you. 

━ I can’t stand your presence, sergeant. It makes my blood boil, especially when you laugh. Because it… ━ he paused, inhaling sharply through his teeth ━ you make me feel things. Though, I’ve no hatred towards you, Y/N.

A confusion overwhelmed your body, when he didn’t snap back or when he didn’t bother to be mean towards you further than that. Your heart was hammering inside of your ribcage.

All these months, he kept pushing you away with his repulsive attitude, just because Ghost didn’t want to allow anyone closer. His heart was cold, so how come you managed to stir something in him? 

In a cold-blooded killer?

━ You’re better than me. All those atrocities we experienced, didn’t change you into a fuckin’ killin’ machine. A monster. Because you shouldn’t end up like me. 

His right hand, not wearing any glove, slowly raised in the air until it reached your face. With the outer side of his palm and knuckles, the more scarred one, he caressed your features. The outline of your cheek and jaw, the curvature of your lips. 

Your body instinctively leaned into his touch, into the tenderness it craved subconsciously. You would never imagine Ghost was capable of such intimate acts. 

━ You’re not a monster, Simon ━ your mind was eased, yet body was inflamed with something more. The skin craved more answers, more clarifications. An assurance. ━ Just an idiot. 

He chuckled softly, his chest tensing for a moment. You could feel it through the layers of clothes that separated you from each other. 

His hand left the side of your face. The lieutenant removed his balaclava along with the skull mask. You knew it, because he placed it on the desk nearby, just in your sight. He was exposing himself to you. He wasn’t fucking around this time. He was serious. 

━ Look at me. 

Ghost tone was firm, a bunch of words sounding like an order. And like a good soldier you followed this one. 

You slowly moved around, before leaning against the desk again, but this time you were facing him – Simon Riley himself. Not Ghost. Not a shell of a man. 

His face was covered with many scars and memories, it was true, but you would never say that it mutilated him anyhow. He was still handsome, especially with his messed up blonde hair sticking to his forehead. 

You didn’t even realize when the corners of your mouth twisted warmly at this sight. You couldn’t devour it for so long, because he grabbed both sides of your flustered face and pulled you into a passionate, deep kiss. 

Something he was restraining himself from for so long. It became agonizing. 

Your fingers shot up, surprised by the sudden grasp, filling the hollow depth between Simon’s knuckles. 

This shouldn’t feel good, this should have tasted like a sin. He was in a way your superior, he was older than you and he made you believe you were his demise. Which in a way you were. He was ready to throw aside his grumpy mask, if that would make you smile more often. 

Simon thought he would never expose himself like this, show his vulnerability to anyone. Until he met you. 

The breathing between each kiss became a heavy panting – lovers stealing the air from each other. He has clearly shown how much he craved your closeness, the smell of your skin and the taste of your tongue. Something that was so prohibited for a long time. 

━ I still can’t comprehend this, Simon. I really thought you hated me. You’re not playing with me now, are you?

You needed answers, you couldn’t just simply fall for his words. You were not a silly girl anymore. Maybe unintentionally, but during the last couple of months with such stupid behavior, he made you question a confession like this. 

He abused your trust.

There was a feeling in your starved heart that Simon didn’t mean to use you or to hurt in any way, shape or form. But perhaps, due to his own life experience, he couldn’t express his emotions or desires otherwise.  

Simon Riley was a strange, secluded man. 

━ ‘m not. I’m sorry. But the way you fell for my teasin’, priceless. 

Simon chuckled into your sensitive ear as he revealed the truth. When his warm breath tickled the skin over your neck, you tried to shield it from him, before Simon latched onto it like a bloodsucking leech. 

He stepped closer towards your figure trapped in front of him, but only when he bumped into you, he realized how excited and bothered he got. How his trousers became instantly tighter against his manhood. 

━ Fuck. ━ He murmured out, head hanging low in shame. 

━ Simon ━ your sweet voice snatched him back to reality from the depths of his worried mind. You clung to his chest, pressing against his toned body, hands sneaking over his frame. ━ Would you like some help? 

Fuck.

Simon barely managed to swallow his own saliva, when he nodded his head. He wanted to hold you, to have you. Entirely. To leave shady stamps over your skin, so the next morning you would remember this confession. You would remember him. 

━ Not so tough now, aren’t we? ━ You jokingly said, when the lieutenant managed to relax a little bit. When he quit being ashamed of his boner. 

━ You’ve put a spell on me, damn vixen. 

━ Keep telling yourself, Lt. 

The blonde man, still with the smudged black paint over his eyelids, squeezed your hip for a moment, before he reached for the thick blanket from the little, old couch. He unfolded it on the ground and you stepped closer.

Ghost grabbed your smaller hand and guided you to get down on your knees along with him. Your glossed eyes, shimmering with lust followed his handsome face. The face that he kept hidden for so long. 

It was a matter of seconds, before the two of you clung to each other, lips connected with desire. Sloppily, you took some clothing off of him and yourself – like heavy, dirty shoes, his warm jacket or your trousers. 

Your curious eyes noticed his tattoo. It wasn’t the first time you managed to sneak a peek, but it was a first look from this close. 

Simon laid you down onto the plaid blanket and sat on his knees between your legs. His broader shoulders leaned over you, casting a shadow beneath. You kept his face close, leaving a trail of kisses over his features. His short beard tickled you here and there.

━ You okay? ━ He asked, sounding a little concerned that the things progressed so fast. But your eager nodding dispersed the worries away. 

━ Still mad at you, it’s all. 

━ I’ll apologize then. 

Simon unzipped his pants, before he slid them slightly down the thighs. You noticed the bright, short hairs over his meaty legs, prior to him grabbing the sergeant and pulling closer to his groin.

He managed to maneuver your far more delicate form with no struggle, it amazed you how aware Simon was of his strength. 

He smudged the flush tip of his hardened length down your now exposed slit. You gasped at the sudden touch there, pressing eyes shut. The soldier kissed gently over your fluttering eyelid and continued pushing forward with his hips. 

When his stomach brushed in a swiping motion against your softer belly, you suppressed a mewl by biting onto your lip. Simon continued thrusting into your heat in a gentle way. In a way, you wouldn’t think that someone who hated you so much would do.

The blonde man propped against his right forearm, placed next to your head. You could clearly see how his bicep tensed with each movement. Simon’s other palm wandered over the side of your body, fingers counting the ribs under the skin. 

In fact, he was so delicate his touch almost tingled. 

Your thighs squished his sides, when the lieutenant speeded up the rhythm of the thrusts. You felt the crude way your bodies were connected and found pure, primitive pleasure with such an act. 

How Simon moved within you, how the sex itself was passionate yet not painful, the way he made you feel secure and protected between his arms. In his arms.

When you opened enough for him, a couple of cute moans slipped from your mouth just as he pressed his forehead against yours. 

━ Simon. ━ You whispered, the ecstasy of the moment becoming overwhelming. 

You leaned for a sloppy kiss. No, not one. You wanted more. He kept holding himself back, waiting for your initiations. 

So when you welcomed him inside your mouth, he clung to it tighter. The coiling pressure in your tummy grew stronger, making your fingers numb.

━ Si–Simon, I–

You didn’t have to finish the sentence, he already knew. The lieutenant could read you like a book. His favorite one. 

━ Fuck, me too. ━ He groaned through his teeth, feeling his cock twitch inside of you. 

Your hips bucked vividly into him, when you nuzzled your head into Simon’s neck – exactly where it meets with the shoulder. His scent was heavy in the air. The sound of his loud breaths filled your ears. 

━ Don’t stop, don’t stop. ━ You chanted whispering, slowly drifting yourself into upcoming orgasm. 

So when the coiling feeling of climax snapped inside of you, you let out a breathless moan. Your slender fingers squeezing around Simon’s arm and shoulder, lower half of the body spasming uncontrollably. 

The lieutenant nearly lost himself within the divine sensations your body provided him with. Simon’s shoulders tensed, thighs flexed and he continued to lead you through your pleasure, meanwhile chasing his own. 

And finally, when you started becoming limp on that plaid blanket beneath with a final, eager thrust, he climaxed too. His hips shuttered, mouth fallen agape while riding through his own peak. The Englishman muttered your name on repeat for a moment as his length throbbed.

Simon was so preoccupied with blinding delight that he hadn’t noticed when your hand cupped his jaw, another one sneaking onto his occiput, slowly rubbing circles. 

━ You’re gonna be the death of me, darlin’. ━ He declared amazed, carefully resting down his body over yours. 

You still, up to this moment, couldn’t believe what just had happened. The months of rage and scuffles ended in his office, on the floor. Nearly naked. 

His scent was stronger than ever before – a specific brand of aftershave or a cologne? Nonetheless, it smelled like burned wood, like a campfire on a summer night. Perhaps maybe because of that you felt safe in Ghost’s embrace. 

Since you laid down your head on his chest, he couldn’t stop touching your hair. The lieutenant played with the loose strands of it, flicking between his coarse fingers. 

He had already given you his warm jacket, which you gladly put on and snuggled against his side, like a big teddy bear. One of your shaking legs, hooked over his. Simon pushed you even closer with his arm wrapped around your back. 

━ So ━ Simon spoke softly, making sure you hadn’t fallen asleep prior to it ━ you still angry with me, eh?

━ Still debating about that, Lt. 

━ Quit teasin’, bonnie. 

You giggled like a foolish teenager again, your head adjusting on top of his chest. The lieutenant placed his palm over yours and you could observe how his ribcage was opening up and slowly falling down. 

God, this shouldn’t feel so good. 

━ Simon, shouldn’t we finish the reports? 

━ Yeah, in a minute. Let’s stay like that a lil’ longer.

[whysosincere]

Leverage - MK11 Self Insert Fiction

Lord Raiden, god of thunder and protector of Earthrealm, has betrayed a fatal weakness; one that the nefarious sorcerer Shang Tsung seeks to capitalize upon. A self-insert fic inspired by Mortal Kombat 11 featuring Cary-Hiroyuki Tagawa as Shang Tsung, and Todd Dakins/Richard Epcar as Lord Raiden.

Characters: Lord Raiden (MK11), Shang Tsung (MK11), Female OC/Self-Insert

Chapter 1: Evening in Nara

It is late afternoon in the ancient Japanese capital of Nara when the clouds begin rolling in. There's a distant rumble of thunder, and in a secluded alley, far from the ancient temples of Todai-ji and Nigatsu-do, a lone tourist walks the stone pathways. It is Y/N, and she has just completed meditation among the blooming irises of one of Nara's oldest public gardens. As the first drops of rain begin to dampen her clothes, she quickens her pace, knowing her hotel is still a decent distance away.

Unbothered by the approaching rain, she smiles briefly at the rumbling storm clouds as one might an old friend. The supple curve of her neck and tilt of her jaw from this motion do not go unnoticed. Unbeknownst to Y/N, numerous eyes had been keeping her in their sights since her arrival. She continued on her way, heedless of the danger that had begun brewing in the shadows of the city, and ignorant of the observations of an old acquaintance.

It is said that the crack and roll of thunder is caused by the beating of numerous taiko drums in the heavens; an invocation and performance by the thunder god himself. He held many names: Indra, Zeus, and Taranis were just a few from across the globe. The Japanese had bestowed the titles of Kaminari, Raijin, and during this degenerate age, many had come to know him as Raiden. In truth, this storm was not his performance, but instead the subconscious apprehension of his heart, given form and sound in the roiling clouds that swept over the mountain peaks.

The thunder deity had been watching Y/N from afar, his eyes filled with an intensity that the approaching storm could not match. His eyes flash, and his grimace intensifies as he watches the woman weave around the primitive utility poles and take advantage of the rain-blocking eaves along her path. He knew her from his brief tenure with the American military during Outworld's previous invasion attempt. While he hadn't worked directly with her, her very presence had impressed him. The unmistakable aura of valor and courage that all of his Order of Light shared, had manifested in her. Though to him, this event seemed as recent as one might consider the life of a single stick of burning incense, Raiden knew for a mortal, it must've seemed ages past. This is why he had cautioned his brother so sincerely against involvement with mortal lives – The spark of interest she had kindled had left an indelible mark on his soul, but time had slipped effortlessly away without him realizing.

When it had come to blows, Fujin had rightfully pointed out his hypocrisy – Liu Kang and Kung Lao may as well have been his children the way that he lavished them with attention. That attention stretched time for him, slowing what should have been a moment, into years of training, camaraderie, and perhaps something akin to paternal love – at least that's what Fujin had alleged through a furious gale of blades. Raiden had called him a fool. In truth, he had been fighting with himself – his brother Fujin simply caught in the conflict. For especially now, such a title rightfully belonged to him.

The sight of her brought him back to that tumultuous argument. His heart ached at the memory, and his hands of flesh and bone tightened into fists. Originally created for the purpose of participating in Mortal Kombat, he had not intended this human body of his to remain for as long as it had. This body of his was simply a tool, he had lied. One that he would discard as soon as its usefulness had expired. That is what he had told himself lifetimes ago… Now this heart of his beat faster as he observed the scene below, his eyes never leaving Y/N's graceful form as she moved through the city.

One other gaze observed these motions with equal intensity, but unlike the distracted attentions of Lord Raiden, this stalking creature was fully aware that his quarry was under careful scrutiny. If he acted without proper caution, the game would be up before it had even begun.

The sorcerer Shang Tsung was never without his contingencies. Never found lacking in ways to slip the grasps of fate. And now as he enjoyed an extended reprieve from the beckoning of his master Shao Kahn, and the incessant meddling of Earthrealm's champion Liu Kang, he had detected an amusing inflection in the humors of the skies. One that, should he apply proper leverage to, might remove the most vexing of obstacles from his plans. Lord Raiden had fallen victim to his own hubris: He was in love.

[cotl-flower-crown]

How and why did Lamb fall in love with Narinder to the point that they got married and had children?

Besides, if we consider that Narinder was evil and just wanted to use her to return to the world of the living.

TLDR: Slow burn, very slow burn

Feel free to ready the wall of text I prepared below

Angel (the Lamb) ever since they met The One Who Waits, was deeply devoted to him, so when it was revealed that he had plans to sacrifice them, they were devastated. It took them a long time to approach the Gateway, hesitant to fulfill their purpose, but when they thought they were at peace with their fate, Angel finally met him there.

Their plan was to negotiate. Perhaps if Angel pleaded with him enough, they would spare him, but they could tell from the moment he opened his mouth that he was not open for negotiation. But Angel tried anyway. They tried convincing him that perhaps there is another way to free him and if there is one they would be happy to do so. But what The One Who Waits saw was weakness, he saw fear in his vessel's eyes as they looked at him and questioned their faith in him. Were they not as devoted as they claimed to be? No, they doubt his judgement. Him! The One Who Waits Himself! Their God! Such blasthemy could not stand! He called The Lamb out for their cowardice and shamed them for their lack of faith. He demanded for the final time that they kneel to him, so the prophecy could be fulfilled.

But Angel could not do what their God has demanded. Even their deviotion had its limits. Through out the whole journey to free him, Angel was encouraged to learn to stand up for themselves, even by him. And now he's demanding that they ignore all their teachings and bow to him. It all felt so wrong. If they are gone, what will become of her followers, what will become of the scraps of Sheep folk's culture that they hold in their heart? It will all be gone, THEY will be gone.

They could not stand for that. With tears streaming on their cheeks, they drew an axe and pointed it in his direction. "I cannot leave yet" they whimpered through their tears. And so the battle begun.

As it ended, Lamb had no idea that The One Who Waits would survive this battle and yet, there he was, laying in front of them. A stature not taller then theirs, not even able to hold himself on his legs. But he was alive. Their prayers and hopes were heard. A wave of relief washed over Angel's body, and while they still felt betrayed by their ex-God, they didn't have it in them to finish him off. So despite his protests, they brought him to their cult. They would decide on his fate later.

When brought to Lamb's cult, Narinder felt many emotions. Anger, disappointment, fear even. Mostly anger though. He was angry that his vessel betrayed him, that he's stuck in the cult now and stuck in this weak, needy body that cannot even stand on its own. Lamb would help him get back on his feet and he hated that the most. How long would it take for the Lamb to change their mind and finish off what they started? In the best case scenario, he will be killed, free from this mortal body, but in the worst scenario, they will imprison him again. He could not read their mind anymore, he couldn't even read their face, shrouded with unreadable cold disapproval. It was both unsettling and annoying.

For many months Narinder was dependant on Lamb's help to recover his ability to walk. They would help him stretch, accompany on his walks in case he falls over from his croutches, they were his personal assistant in a way, which without a doubt Narinder liked to abuse. But eventually he would learn to stop it, as such behavior was not acceptable among Lamb's followers. They did not take kindly to him making their leader cry and Narinder will forever remember the day those people locked him in prison and threw rotten food and excrements at him. He also remembers well the night when Lamb came to him to clean off the waste off of his head and let him out of the stocks. He knows that they enjoyed watching him being served with justice a little, they told him as much, but he couldn't help, but help feel relieved by their mercy. It's not something that he would do, that's for sure. Supposedly, it was a good reminder that even if Lamb is not keen on punishing him, they have no issues letting the others do the dirty work.

Angel's grief passed soon enough, seeing Narinder's legs getting better. Witnessing him be able to stand and walk on his own, run even, was the most joyous they have felt for a long time. Still he wasn't exactly in the best shape, so the regular walks were still mandatory. Lamb didn't have to accompany him anymore, but they still did to Narinder's distaste. They would not usually speak much, but when Lamb warmed up to him a little, they begun to try and start a conversation. Though Narinder would usually turn those attempts down and challenge Lamb's attitude, one day he insulted how the cult looks, and when asked what's wrong with it, he couldn't point out specifics and stammered that there's not enough red candles. Lamb took it upon themselves to fix that issue, partially out of spite. Begrudgingly he allowed Lamb to take that win. (Narinder's first quest)

Finally the time came when Narinder was well enough to start working. Lamb assigned him to work at the farm. As he worked around with the camelia flowers he mentions Leshy, before he gets back to work. Time passes and Lamb comes back to bring him the flowers, straight from Darkwood. He expresses how he didn't ask for them, but Lamb could see past his exterior, see that they made him a little happier.

Suspicious of Lamb's intentions Narinder challenges Lamb to go to Anura and bring him mushrooms unscaved. Angel teases him a little before the travel and brings him what he wished for. Then as they talk more, Nari sends them off to Archordeep, wishing to see their crystal walls crumbled. And when that's done, he quietly asks Lamb to bring him silk from Silk Cradle. He waited by the entrance as the Lamb came back from the crusade and handed him the silk. And they brought him tea as he at last allowed himself to process the grief.

Narinder grew attached to the Lamb as there was nobody else he would think of as a worthy company. Although he did not consider them a friend, nor anything of that matter. It was hard for him to describe what his usurper meant for him at that point, but he couldn't help but follow them if he wasn't at work or asleep. They would discuss the common topics, like the weather, the jobs, hobbies and their own health. While he didn't seem to let go of his grievances with Lamb, they noticed that he wasn't exactly angry about them either.

One day Narinder witnesses a follower's death for the XYZth time and he grows curious. He hasn't been exactly a regular attendant of Lamb's sermons and he wasn't planning to be, but he realised that he doesn't know all the rites the Lamb and their flock performs as well as he wished he did. He approaches the Lamb, admiting his apprehensions towards them as worthy of the crown, demanding in his usual fashion that they show the legacy of the new God of Death. Lamb did not plan to bring anyone back from the dead that day, but they will not turn down his challenge, if that mean that they can make him eat his words.

They did not expect a genuine praise though. It felt somewhat offputting to see Narinder laugh and sound proud talking of them. They were put off guard by it and Nari didn't blame them. He was surprised himself too, to the point that had to take a step back, but it was undeniable, he was proud to see that his vessel is continuing what he started. Perhaps they have some wits in them after all. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to attend their sermons more often.

Time passed and while Narinder grew to get used to his new home, the more he stayed there, the more trapped he felt. The cult grounds seem a lot smaller once you learn all their nook and crannies. He was itching to see more of what was left of the Lambs of the Old Faith after the millenia of imprisonment. Angel excouraged him to do so, but at the same time, they were worried for his safety. The outside world is dangerous and Narinder was no longer a powerful god. While it wouldn't be impossible to bring him back to life, Angel did not want to see him dead. They eventually figured out that giving him a company to make sure that he's alive would make them a lot calmer about the expedition. They decide that they will send their most experienced missionary with him. Meanwhile Narinder and Shepherd (one of Lamb's most loyal followers, the leading farmer and the missionary veteran) shared another petty interraction, which this time ended in a fight that Lamb needed to break off.

Later, Narinder learned that him and Shepherd would be stuck together on a mission. He was vocally not happy about it but did not fight it. A human shield is always in value.

They get through their shenanigans and end up becoming friends.

When they come back, Narinder is injured and seems like it got infected, but he insists that he's fine. He stops objecting when Shep fistbumps his arm (very much intentionally) and makes Nari speechless. Angel takes Nari to the med bay, and there Nari thanks Lamb (the end of the final quest)

So, by the time the quests are finished, Nari and Lamb are kinda like friends. Acquaintances, maybe. After that, Nari spends his time either working, sunbathing or hanging out with Shep and/or Lamb. Him and Shep turn into bros, but he doesn't really know what to think about the Lamb. They're ok in his eyes.

As the time went by from then on Nari developed a vague fondness of Angel as a companion. He's not in love or anything tho. Meanwhile Angel develops a little crush on him. They think he's cute the way he is now and they enjoy spending time with him. They don't try anything with him because they don't want to ruin their friendship, but they get jealous when someone else shows interest with him and they may contribute to his dwindling love life.

More time passes and Nari begins to develop feelings for Angel. He's very dismissive about it and denies when asked, but Lamb knows and they are very fond of him at that point and really wants to say something, but doesn't want to jump this ship only to later learn that he's not happy. They made that mistake before and they don't want to pressure him into anything so they wait for him to make a move.

Meanwhile Nari tries really hard to convince himself and everyone around that he doesn't like the Lamb, even though he gets very possessive over Lamb's attention and jealous when they speak fondly with anyone else. He also wants to kill people who just happen to have a crush on the Lamb or those critical of them. He's not sure why, but he can't help it.

Even more time passes, and it finally gets through Narinder's skull that, yes, he is in love with Angel, and it's not a hex. He realises it after him and Lamb share a dance among the crowd and after talking with Shep about it. He finally decides to start courting the Lamb, but the way he wanted to do it was to give his life to them, aka stabbing himself in front of them and Shepherd was like "NOPE, how about you try the more casual ways of courting instead?". So he tries the gifts first. Gifts that consist of bones, snake skins and dead critters. Because cat instincts. Shepherd tells him to stop and try something else. After some trial and errors Narinder decides to just stick with his original plan.

He meets Lamb at night when everyone else is asleep and Narinder begins with confessing, then he pulls out a sacrificial knife and aims it at his chest. Lamb stops him, saying that they don't want to see him dead, but Nari argues with "how am I supposed to accurately show you how strong my feelings are if I cannot give you my life" and Lamb is like "do it by being by my side, not like this" and then Nari lets go of the knife and complains that now he doesn't have any plan B and Lamb proposes for him to "court them like a mortal" by sharing a dance together. Nari complains that there is no music to dance to, but that is easily fixed by waking up one of the followers to play music for the two. They share a lovely soft slow dance that ends with them kissing.

They end up getting married soon after that. And after some time spent getting adjusted to married life, they decided to try for children for one reason or the other.

And that's that. Slow burn narilamb beloved <3