#seers tower

[above-the-foldd]

okay but can we talk about how when you play illinoise songs on spotify you can watch the dance as you listen to it?

i was listening to the soundtrack and starting bawling through most of it 😭

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP Fanfic Idea: Burst your Bubble

Danny makes a small mistake that spirals out of control three years later. It starts on a fateful day while working in Clockwork's Tower, covering for the Time Lord. He had pushed for the man to take a break after hearing he hadn't been on vacation since the death of dinosaurs.

It was also recommended by Frostbite. Apparently, the stress of his job was causing Clockwork to lose grip on his age shift. Much like a human grinding their teeth in sleep due to stress, Clockwork's core was rapidly shifting him through his ages, causing aches along his core. When Danny met him, the way he went from child to middle-aged man and finally old adult was just physical proof of Clockwork's stress.

His shifting got under control after they defeated Dan, but that didn't mean his muscles had a chance to relax. He was a little better off the second time Danny saw Clockwork, but when Danny asked if he could return to his parent's college days, Clockwork's form quickly started shifting again.

Danny felt horrible about it, but he was fine taking over for the ghost to relax on vacation. It wasn't even that hard. All he had to do was watch the various timelines and record large catastrophes and bursts of hope. He also had to watch hourglasses that indicated the natural flow of time in multiple worlds. Sometimes, the sand would get stuck, so he would need to stir it with a large spoon, careful to not let anything else touch the golden shine of the time sands.

It helped that the Tower was semi-sentient. It overheard him making up lies about what he was doing on a call with his parents. Danny had told his parents that this summer, he was going away to work as a summer camp counselor, while Clockwork had selected a timeline that was moving at a different speed.

One month in Danny's home dimension was a hundred years in the one Clockwork was relaxing in. When Danny's school started again, his friend would have a lovely four hundred years to enjoy. Of course, this was a tiny break for a being like Clockwork, but Danny promised to take over every summer until he graduated.

The Tower had created a room that looked a lot like a log cabin whenever his parents attempted to video call. It even created a paycheck with actual funds directly deposited into his teen account that his parents had access to.

Their doubts about Danny lying vanished when "Camp Kronos" placed a rather generous amount of money under his name. His dad was even proud of Danny going out of his way to earn his own money. It's been a long time since his Dad sounded like that when talking about his accomplishments.

Clockwork had told him the Tower spoke to him mentally because it was his Haunt, but since Danny was only Haunt sitting, he was directed to a chalkboard that the Tower could use to write messages to him. That's how he knew it was the Tower's doing that his cover was safe back home.

Danny thanked the Tower by cleaning it from top to bottom. When he asked it what its name and pronouns were, the Tower requested to be called "it" and to stop using a capital T when referring to it.

Danny tries, but he still mentally changes tower into Tower since that is its name in his head. The tiles shake in irritation whenever he accidentally says it out loud.

Besides that, the Tower didn't really interact with him. Danny made his own food, did his own laundry, and did his work. There was never a clock in and clock out; the only time he wasn't attending the timelines was when he took short breaks to sleep, eat, bathe, and clean.

But the only time he wasn't watching the time was when he was asleep, and that was because of Tower. It somehow found a way to throw the timelines in his face whenever possible.

He did enjoy using the large tub to soak in bubbles, but Tower shifted the bubbles to reflect different scenes of the timelines he was watching, causing them to flout like the tower was blowing bubbles while Danny sat in the water. If it went that far to ensure that Danny was constantly working, he could see why Clockwork had such a hard time with the core shifting.

Then, one day, while soaking, he closed his eyes, ignoring the shifting tiles and the slight rumbling of the walls as Tower grumbled. He told it that he was taking a short break and it could wait until he was done. He would rest his eyes, no matter how important it was for him to watch.

He couldn't have them close for more than a minute, but that was all the mistake needed. At that time, one of the bubbles' timelines shifted because someone in it was being an idiot and messing with time, and it started to glow with new times and forming.

Sand that Danny accidentally touched when the bubble popped right on his nose. Tower was throwing a fit, shaking everything like an earthquake as the sand fell into the soap water.

He blinked open his eyes, startled, and much to his horror, came face to face with the sand, forming a miniature window into that timeline. A human teenager was staring right back at him, jaw dropped with a healthy building flush rising on his cheeks, as the time sand danced around his eyes, though he seemed unable to look away from Danny.

Windows were often granted to specific individuals favored by Clockwork, causing them to become Seers. It was not a common blessing because, more often than not, mortals could not handle future knowledge.

Even ghosts long dead struggle with the power. The only reason Danny was able to cover for Clockwork was because his brain was both dead and alive at the same time. Madness cause time couldn't touch him because, technically, he was already crazy.

Tower shook again, the stone groaning under its disapproval as Danny became uncomfortable, aware that the only thing protecting his dignity was the white foam low on his stomach. With a yelp, he sank further into the water, his hands covering his important bits out of habit, and he waved his hand to close the window.

The teenager moved his mouth in a silent plea, but he vanished in a swirl as quickly as he appeared. It was only a few seconds. Not even ten. Surely nothing could come from that?

A mistake he pushed to the back of his mind.

Surely, not paying attention for just a tiny amount of time could not have caused anything to be too bad.

_____________________________________________________________

"Hey dude? You okay?"

"I just....I just saw an angel...."

"What?"

"An angel. He warned me....showed me....I have to tell Mr.Wayne!"

"Wait! Where are you going!? Tell Mr. Wayne what?!"

"His son is going to die next week!"

"What!?"

"Jason Todd! The angel showed me! I have to warn them!"

_____________________________________________________________

Tower didn't tell on him, and Danny didn't bring it up. Clockwork returned in mid-adult form when the summer ended, looking far more relaxed and no longer shifting forms so rapidly.

He apparently spent four hundred years on a small paradise island, sipping coconut and dancing with locals who thought him a god. He hugged Danny, another large bonus for his paycheck, and sent him on his way.

The following summer, Danny completely forgot about the little accident and never bothered to check on that timeline. Clockwork was unaware there was a major shift in it, so he assumed that the world was moving as it should, though he complained that he had to unclog it a lot more because of a Seer who often opened too many Windows.

It was a testament to how much he needed that vacation for Clockwork to forget he never chose that Seer, despite the young human proving he had the will to handle his visions.

\Danny never realized that Seer was the same teenager he saw back then until one day three years later when Seer was an established fortune teller working as a consultant with some hero society and had used some of the said heroes to try and contact Clockwork.

"Danny." Clockwork started watching the young human set up an altar. "Why is a human attempting to use himself as a virgin sacrifice for me?"

"Ummmm"

"Danny, why does my Haunt claim you gave him the Sight."

"Well....."

"Danny why is Timothy Jackson Drake, who fated to be the third Robin in this time line, now a mere consultant who use his power of Sight for money gain? He's not a hero, did you know that? He merely lives next door to one of that world's greatest heroes and is obsessed with finding his Angel"

"I may have....made a mistake when I was fourteen."

"Danny," Clockwork's faux-friendly tone grew sharper as his form shifted from the three stages of age. "What did you do?"

"I can fix it!"

"How."

"I'll....enter that timeline and set it on the right path? I can answer his summons and convince him to become a hero with the Bats?"

Tower shook as if laughing at him.

"How." The hiss that came from the Time god was almost incomprehensible, with the amount of rage crammed into one syllable

"I'll-I can-Honey pot him!" Danny whimpered, cowering under the withering death glare Clockwork was aiming at him. "I can convince him that being a vigilante is cool and hot, so he'll be Red Robin, and the timeline can be saved?"

Clockwork's eyes darken. "You better not fail me. Send him away, Haunt"

Tower- the traitor- moved instantly. It shifted its stones to drag Danny to Red Robin's cluttered hourglass. It flung him in before he could protest, using Danny to unclog it. He is nearly down in the sinking sand, scrambling for purpose before he falls flat on his bum, and the sand vanishes.

A soft gasp has him looking up. Standing before him is the Seer Tim Drake, who looks beyond happy.

"It's you! My Angel!"

[judahmaccabees]

original sin, graphically represented:

COBR|A ->

CBRA|

(Idolatry, Force, Sorcery, Man•ipulation)

(Using language/law to lie in order to press upon reality as a tool against God, taken by steps through pattern and form, repeated through the theft of the twisting of Truth, ungiven, unmerited, urned)

🔨

[impossiblesoul13]

[silvertonguedcharlatan]

My favorite veilguard plot point is that mages rights are confirmed to only have been a problem in ferelden, orlais, and the free marches, so anders WAS right

[tarot-and-stuff]

Hi! If you're doing free readings, can I have one? 🥺

Basically, I haven't seen AL in a while because of the pandemic and all. We haven't seen each other for almost three years. All the closeness we had 3 years ago kinda disappeared because maybe it's been so long and we don't really know how to act around each other anymore, it's a lil awkward. But gradually, she's been starting to get closer to me again, giving me subtle touches and stuff. And that kinda confuses me, like I wanna know her intentions.

So yeah, I was wondering if I can ask what she feels exactly for me at this point, and what her intentions are?

I'm so sorry, this is kinda long, I just really wanted to put in the context as well. Thanks so much!

- CL

Hi! Thanks for the background, it helped me get better context with how to interpret the cards for you! Hopefully this'll be helpful to you! The tarot portion was mostly based on her feelings towards you, while the oracle portion was more of her intentions (although I feel like the oracle portion also included some feelings too).

Tarot

The first thing that stuck out to me was that all three cards that came out (not including the 4th card from the bottom of the deck) were Major Arcana. Major Arcana can be associated with things that beyond your control, so she may feel as though there are signs that bring you guys back together since you've said that the two of you are just recently reconnecting. It also stuck out to me that the cards are going backwards numerically (16 to 15 to 14). I feel like this could represent how the closeness that you guys had three years ago disappeared.

The first card to come out was The Tower. This can be an unexpected, sometimes chaotic event. I feel like The Tower from her perspective would be what bought about the reconnection between you two after three years.

The second card to come out was The Devil. While this wouldn't be good to see if this were referring to her intentions towards you, I do feel like this stuck to the emotional aspect. I feel like this is more of the obsessive aspect that can be associated with the Devil. I don't think this is necessarily a bad thing at this time, since it may simply be saying that you are on her mind quite a bit. It kinda gives me Honeymoon-stage vibes.

The third card to come out was Temperance. This card is associated with patience and moderation. I do feel like this suggests that AL is trying not to rush anything with you just yet, which may be why all the hints are more subtle and confusing for you. This card is pretty different from the Devil, which could suggest that AL's feelings are a bit conflicted.

Under the deck was the King of Pentacles. This generally represents a reliable, stable individual. They tend to be good with the finances. I feel like this is how AL views you, so basically a reliable stable person.

This was a bit odd to interpret for emotions since there weren't any Cup cards, which tend to be the more emotional suit for me. I do think that could be because AL is still in the process of figuring out her feelings for you (with those conflicting Devil and Temperance cards). I don't see anything in this portion that causes concern since I feel like that Temperance basically shows that The Devil and The Tower aren't negative in this spread.

Oracle

Quite a few oracle cards fell out and all were positive, which suggests to me that AL doesn't have any negative intentions at this time.

The first card to fall out was Romantic Feelings - Your Feelings Are Real And Worth Exploring. I feel like this is likely what she is doing with the subtle touches and stuff.

The second card to fall out was New Love - A New Person Has Stirred Your Romantic Feelings. While the two of you did know each other, I do think this still references you. Possibly coming up as a New Love with the time that has passed and the changes that come with that passage of time. Also could be since you guys may not really be 'exes' if you were just talking in the past.

The third card to fall out was Heart To Heart Conversations - Honestly Discuss Your Feelings With Each Other. I do feel like this could be coming up for you soonish with this coming up in regards to her intentions. I do feel like this will give you some more clarity on her feelings and intentions towards you.

The fourth card to fall out was Passion - Allow Your Heart And Soul To Sing With Joy. I feel like this is more about her emotions rather than her intentions and it reminds me a bit of that Devil card that came out in the tarot section.

From the top of the deck was Children - Your Love Life Is Being Affected By Children. I do feel like this could be interpreted as her intentions being for a long-term relationship with you that could lead to children in the future and the caption part not applying much in this case.

Pic

[alexiroflife]

"i missed you"

MDNI, so much suggestive everything, a little fluff but in the sukuna kind of way

ryomen sukuna x reader

Synopsis: sukuna will never say i miss you, but he will surely show you how much he does when you come home

to sum it up: just a late night thought

WC: 1,816

Warning(s): smut, literally just porn, sukuna has a dirty mouth, a whisper of overstimulation

Sukuna would take out a whole city before he openly admits that he misses you, which unfortunately isn't something you would entirely put past him.

You don't expect him to tell you when he wants to see your face, but you do, however, grow rather accustomed to the way he blows up your phone while you're away with family. When you're given a second to check your notifications, text after text after text lines up from your boyfriend, demanding to know where you are and what you're doing every second of the damn day.

And when he's not making inquiries about every little detail of your life from the moment you wake up to when you go to sleep, he's demanding you return home with empty threats that you know will never be carried out.

-> come home before the next sunrise or you will no longer be welcome within the estate.

-> i've changed my mind. come home tonight, or i am moving your stuff out of our room tomorrow morning.

-> are you seeing my texts? i know you can read. uraume taught me about what this device calls read receipts. answer me now. you are returning home, yes?

-> dammit, woman, just bring your ass back here. what more do you want?

You snort at the texts, your chest warming with endearment at his funny way of expressing his longing for you. He will pull every card, every bluff, every trick besides physically saying that he misses you, and you expect nothing less. After all, if he didn’t, he wouldn't be the Ryomen Sukuna you fell in love with. Somehow, this is more entertaining... just more Sukuna.

When you finally do return home, though, you're in for it. You're hardly even rolling your suitcases to the doors before Sukuna is swinging them open with an aggravated face upon seeing you. You grin widely.

"Kuna! I'm back!"

"Get the fuck in here."

He grabs you by the waist and lifts you up, abandoning your luggage and calling for Uraume to take care of it later. You giggle to yourself as Ryomen carries you with one arm to his chambers, kicking the door closed behind him and tossing you onto the large king bed that the two of you share.

"Well, don't act too excited," you tease.

"Quiet," he demands, voice menacingly low. Sharp hunger swirls in his crimson eyes as he approaches you, the shadow of his burly figure enveloping your frame as he towers over you at the edge of the bed. Your eyes go wide and your heart suddenly pounds in anticipation.

"Wait," you start, reaching a hand out. "Hold on-"

You yelp, the king of curses dragging you harshly by your ankle to the edge. He leans over you, his nose brushing against yours as his blood-red irises seer into your own. He studies you like a predator analyzing its prey before pouncing, devouring. You gulp, innocent lashes batting up at him as heat consumes your body. You know exactly what’s coming to you.

Just then, in his closeness, you remember how much you've missed him while you were away. His scent enrobes you, his eyes undressing you sinfully before he can even rip your clothes from your body. You rub your thighs together in a poor attempt to ease the sudden ache between your legs, and his gaze grows darker.

"You're never leaving this room ever again without my say so," he seethes, a declaration so firm that you almost believe he is being serious, and perhaps in his mind he is.

Your lips quirk up slightly. "Did you miss me that much?"

"Silence," he growls, hooking his fingers into your shorts and tugging them down harshly. You gasp and he tosses them over his head, caging you beneath his mass. "We're not going anywhere until I feel like I've successfully made up for all the time we’ve lost while you were away."

This is your favorite part of returning home from trips, though you don't go away without Sukuna often unless it's to see your family. You hate being away from the king of curses, even if it's for longer than a day. He's got you trained by his hand, somehow, yearning for his touch as though you'll crumble to pieces without it.

But the second you reunite, he has your thighs pressed up with your knees to your ears, hunched over your quivering bare frame, your stomach and legs already coated with three layers of your own fluid. He works his dick into you like it's the last time he ever will, slamming into the warmth of your sloppy pussy as you clench around him helplessly.

You’re whining, begging for more though you've already been given so much, your pretty eyes a fucked out daze as you stare up at him behind low lids, pretty lips parted and slick with his spit. He missed this. He missed seeing you ruined for him, seeing you lay back and struggle to take his fat cook as he bullies it into you with no remorse, feral for impossibly deeper access. And hell, he’d never say it, but he missed you. Your pretty face, your sounds, the smell of your sweet sweat and juices invading Sukuna's senses that are absolutely mouthwatering.

"You keep tryin' to keep this filthy cunt away from me, huh?" he pants, watching as your body rocks back and forth wildly against the mattress. "Fucking shameful. You know you can never take her from me, so I'm not sure why you continue to try..."

"M-n-not," you gasp, your words hardly audible as they melt into the plethora of pathetic moans that string from your swollen lips.

Sukuna presses himself down against you, bare chest to your tits as he fucks you into pace, his lips turning to your ear. "No?" he grunts, pulling back to blow harshly into you, his thick length ramming against your walls and nudging that sweet spot inside you over and over. You cry, clinging to his back and digging your nails into his tatted skin. "Then why the fuck didn't you come home when your king demanded?"

"Pl-hah-pleaseee, k-kuna- nghhh- was with my-my parents," you babble.

"You were with your parents," he repeats mockingly. "Do you think I care for something so unimportant? I called for you. Not your parents."

His hips thrust harshly with the gruff groan of his voice, and he feels your puffy, greedy walls tighten around him.

"Oh? This pussy loves being punished, doesn't it?" he smirks against you. "You're such a fucking whore for my cock, aren't you?"

"Mmmm!"

Sukuna rips himself back, reaching down to clench his thick fingers around your throat. Your jaw hangs open, eyes threatening to roll into the back of your head while his other hand claws at the plush of your damp thigh. "Answer me properly, brat," he hisses. "Use your fucking mouth."

"Y-Yesss!"

"Yes what?"

"M'a whore for your cock, Kuna! Only for you, all for you," you whimper, tears streaming down your pretty face.

"Fuck, I fucking know you are." He spears his dick into, rough, deep, heavy thrusts as the sound of your arousal squelches around him. He looks down, watching with a twisted grin as you coat him in a creamy white ring. "How the hell could you think to hold out on me like this, peach? She'so fuckin' loud."

"S'all yours," you whimper, and Sukuna squeezes harder at your throat, leaning in to brush his lips over your gaping mouth.

"I know that, I don't need you fuckin' telling me," he growls. "All mine. You're mine. You belong to me. You’re not going anywhere else without me. Don’t you even think about it.”

And you're nodding dumbly, eyes barely open.

"You better look at me, girl," he demands, and you snap your eyes back open to peer into his consuming, lust-filled stare. He smiles deviously. "Yeahhh. Keep looking at me while I fuck you stupid."

"Goddd, it's so good..! So good, feel'so good," you slur. Sukuna hums, eying every detail of your face as you curl your brows and moan beautifully into his mouth.

"Fucking gorgeous slut," he grunts. "You better not fucking leave me again, brat, you better fucking not. You've got a lot of nerve, thinking you can take this pussy away from me. You do it again, and I will break you."

"Y'already breaking me- ah fuck!" you cry, screwing your eyes shut the moment his tip brushes your cervix. His hand around your throat moves to grip your cheeks. He pulls you up to his face, smearing a hot kiss against your squished lips, then grabs your hips harshly, plowing into you impossibly faster. "Kuna! Can't! I can't, m'gonna cum again!"

"Yeah? Good. When you do, you're gonna take mine too while I fuck my cum into you. Maybe then that'll make you fucking remember to come to me when I call for you."

The noises coming from your room are obscene. The bed is rocking dangerously against the floor and the wall as Sukuna practically splits you in half, throwing your legs over his shoulders as he traps you beneath him again, sinking his fangs into any patch of skin he can find as you scream out, scratching angry red lines down his well-toned back.

"Mmm, that's right. Keep screaming' for me. Take it like a good fucking slut."

He's filthy, balls smacking against your ass as he seeks your release, and he can feel you clenching tighter and tighter. He groans, pushing in deeper, pressing into you harder.

"Oh shit, please- m'cumming, m'cumming, please let me cum!" you beg, trembling beneath him.

"Fucking do it. Cum all over this cock, peach."

You curl into him, face falling into a mute moan as your eyes disappear into your skull and you rub up into Sukuna. His hand flies to your arched back, holding you against him as he pumps you full, riding out your high until his hot load shoots into your dripping heat soon after, painting you white.

There's so much of it, too. It seems to never end as it drips from where you're connected and runs down your legs. Sukuna growls out animalistic sounds, biting hard into your neck and burrowing his nose in your shoulder as he continues his pace, slowly, then back to a normal space.

You jerk against him, trying to push away. "Oh fuck! N-no, Sukuna, ple- hah! Please, I can't! Too much!"

"Shut the fuck up," he demands, lifting up to slap a hand over your mouth. Your dizzy eyes stare at him widely as he works his cum back into you with his hefty strokes. He exhales harshly, brows angling. "I told you I wasn't letting you leave. You left me, now I expect you to make up for it." 

Yeah… he sure did miss you alright.

[fr0stf4ll]

A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 15

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 6k

Trigger warning; anxiety, panic attack

notes; Hey everyone, hope you had a great week ! I'm back with a new chapter hehe. This chapter is covering pretty hard topics so please be careful while reading it. I think it's something that we all expected to happened at some point... Still I hope you will enjoy it ! bisous and see you next week ;)

previous ✧ next

The sky was painted in hues of deep blues and soft golds as the sun barely began its ascent over Velaris. The cool morning breeze brushed against your skin as Azriel landed smoothly in front of the clinic, his arms still securely wrapped around you.

You had kissed him before he left, your fingers lingering on his before he took off, his powerful wings spreading wide as he ascended into the sky. You watched him until he was no more than a speck in the distance, disappearing beyond the towering peaks of the Illyrian mountains.

A soft sigh left your lips. What the hell had the past few days been?

As you turned to enter the clinic, the warm scent of herbs and fresh linens greeted you. The usual quiet hum of early morning preparation filled the halls as healers moved about their duties.

And right at the front desk, arms crossed and eyes narrowed in playful accusation, stood Elira.

“Well, well,” she drawled, an eyebrow arching in amusement. “If it isn’t Y/N—or someone who just took her place because I refuse to believe that the Y/N I know suddenly started going out with someone and miraculously stopped working herself into an early grave.”

You let out a soft laugh, stepping past her and setting your satchel on the counter. “What can I say? Maybe I was kidnapped and replaced with someone new.” You smirked, shooting her a wink.

Elira gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her chest. “So, you mean to tell me that there is a version of Y/N out there still holed up in this clinic, working until collapse? And here I thought the world had ended when you left early last night.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “Well, that version of me is still in here somewhere, I assure you. I just… found some balance.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “Balance? More like Azriel.”

You shot her a playful glare, but before you could retort, she slid a note across the counter.

“Speaking of which,” she continued, “you got a message from the High Lady this morning. Apparently, her sister is waiting for you today for an examination.”

You nodded, taking the note and scanning the brief, neat handwriting. Elain. Waiting for you at the town house today.

Elira watched your expression carefully before tilting her head. “What’s going on?”

You exhaled and leaned against the counter, tapping the note against your palm. “She had a vision last time. But unlike usual, this one caused convulsions.”

Elira’s expression shifted instantly, her usual playful demeanor replaced by concern. “Oh,” she said simply, straightening. “It’s the seer one, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” you confirmed. “Elain.”

She frowned, rubbing her temple. “Convulsions are bad.”

“I know,” you murmured. “It’s rarely a good sign.”

Elira clicked her tongue, thinking. “Did she say what the vision was about?”

You hesitated.

Yes.

But saying it aloud—admitting that the vision had been about you—felt like opening a door you weren’t ready to walk through.

“She hasn’t shared all the details yet,” you finally said, voice measured. 

Elira studied you for a moment before nodding. “Alright. Just be careful.”

You gave her a reassuring smile, then glanced around the clinic, feeling that familiar pull to stay and work through the growing list of tasks. But you had a promise to keep.

You grabbed your satchel and pushed off the counter. “Let me know if anything urgent comes up. Otherwise, I’ll be back later.”

Elira smirked, crossing her arms. “Sure, sure. Go off, be a real person for once. But if you start slacking too much, I will drag you back here myself.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Duly noted.”

With that, you headed for the town house, the weight of the day settling onto your shoulders—but beneath it, beneath all the uncertainty, a quiet warmth remained.

Because somewhere above the mountains, Azriel was flying.

And tonight, he’d be coming back to you.

The town house was still. A rare, peaceful quiet settled over the space, the kind that only came when the house was nearly empty. You stepped inside, closing the door softly behind you, and let out a slow breath. The air carried the familiar scent of cedar and old books, a faint trace of lavender from the fresh-cut flowers Elain often arranged.

It felt... open. Welcoming in a way few places did.

For years, this house had been a place of gathering, of warmth, of family. And though you had never lived here, never truly claimed it as yours, it still held that same familiarity. Like a place that had always been waiting for you to step inside, to belong.

You glanced up the stairs. Nyx was still asleep, the silence thick enough to tell you that much. The others were all gone—Nesta training, the rest of the Inner Circle in Hewn City. That left only you and Elain.

You made your way through the quiet halls, the soft sound of your steps the only disturbance in the stillness. Reaching Elain’s door, you knocked gently.

A pause. Then, after a moment, her voice carried through. “Come in.”

You pushed the door open, stepping inside.

Elain was seated by the window, a book resting in her lap, her delicate fingers lightly tracing the edges of the pages. Sunlight streamed in, catching the golden hues in her hair, casting a warm glow over her soft features. She was beautiful. It was impossible to deny. No wonder Azriel had fallen for her.

You shoved that thought aside, forcing yourself to focus.

Offering her a soft smile, you spoke gently, “How are you feeling?”

She didn’t look at you immediately, her eyes still fixed on something beyond the window, something far away. But after a moment, she nodded slightly. “I’m fine.”

Not exactly convincing.

You exhaled, moving further into the room. “I’d like to take a look at you. Make sure everything’s alright after your last vision.” You gestured to the bed. “It’ll be easier if you lie down.”

Elain hesitated. Just for a second, but it was enough.

Then, she set her book aside and moved to the bed, sitting stiffly as you pulled a chair closer.

You worked in silence, your hands steady as you checked her pulse, her breathing, running your fingers lightly along the base of her skull to check for tension. She remained mostly still, barely responding, her posture rigid.

“Elain,” you murmured, trying to keep your tone patient, professional. “I need you to talk to me. Answer my questions.”

She gave a small nod but said nothing.

You sighed, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear. If she didn’t want to cooperate, that was her problem. You were only trying to help.

“Did you feel anything unusual before the vision started?” you tried again.

A small shake of the head.

���Have you had any more since then?”

A pause. Then, another slight shake.

“Elain—”

“I don’t need a healer,” she interrupted, her voice quiet but firm.

You stilled.

Her brown eyes finally met yours, something guarded lurking beneath the softness.

You studied her for a long moment. Then, keeping your voice even, you said, “That’s not for you to decide. If your visions are causing convulsions, that’s something we need to address.”

She looked away. “It was a one-time thing.”

You held back a sigh, your patience thinning. “You don’t know that.”

Another beat of silence.

You didn’t miss the way her fingers curled slightly in the sheets, the tension in her shoulders, the way she was barely holding herself together.

And suddenly, you understood.

It wasn’t you she didn’t want here.

It was the fear. The vulnerability.

Elain Archeron, the one who had spent years trying to carve out something normal, something stable, was losing control over the one thing she had left—her own mind.

Softening your tone, you said, “I’m not here to force you into anything. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.

For a moment, you thought she might let you in, might tell you something real. But then, she only nodded, a practiced, polite nod, and murmured, “I know.”

You watched her for another long moment before exhaling through your nose.

Fine. If she didn’t want help, you weren’t going to force it.

Something shifted in Elain’s expression. The soft, polite mask she had been wearing cracked just enough for something sharper, something venomous, to seep through.

Her brown eyes darkened as she spoke, her voice quiet but cutting.

"Do you actually think you can replace me?"

You stilled.

"For Azriel, I mean," she clarified, tilting her head slightly. "He loves me. He still does. I know that."

You didn’t move, didn’t blink.

Elain’s lips pressed together before she continued, her words deliberate. “He pulled away because of Rhysand—I know that. But you, Y/N, should remember one thing.”

The air in the room felt colder.

"You are going to die soon."

Her words were so matter-of-fact, so absolute, that they sent a chill down your spine. But you didn’t react. You kept your face carefully composed, unreadable.

Elain took your silence as permission to keep going.

"We both saw it," she murmured, her fingers brushing over the fabric of her dress. "The moment you will be heartless, dead. And when that happens—when you are nothing but a lifeless body—who do you think Azriel will turn to for comfort?"

Your fingers curled slightly at your sides, but still, you didn’t let it show.

"Don’t get your hopes up," she whispered, her eyes gleaming with something almost triumphant. "He’s only sticking with you until then. After that, you’ll be nothing. No one will remember you, just a forgotten memory lost to time.”

Silence settled between you, thick and suffocating.

Slowly, you stood, keeping your expression blank, unreadable. You met her gaze with something colder, something far older than she could comprehend.

Your voice, when you finally spoke, was steady. Controlled.

“I don’t know what it is about your family that makes everyone treat you like a spoiled child,” you said, tilting your head slightly, “but I’m not here to do the same.”

A flicker of something crossed her face—shock, perhaps.

“I don’t know how you were raised,” you continued, stepping away from her bed, “but where I come from, people tend to show some respect to the ones who save their lives.”

Elain’s lips parted slightly, but you didn’t give her a chance to speak.

"Whatever is going on in that little head of yours," you said, voice cool, “you need to stop.”

She inhaled sharply, as if to protest, but you simply shook your head.

“Grow up, Elain.” Your tone didn’t waver. “I’m twenty times your age. I’ve seen enough girls like you to know that the only thing you sound like right now is a bitter, jealous fool.”

She flinched, but you continued.

“If you want to throw your life away, then fine. But when you collapse in your next vision, don’t expect me to be there to save you.”

You turned for the door.

Elain tried to say something, but you cut her off with one final, emotionless glance over your shoulder.

“And about Azriel?” You smirked, but there was no humor in it. “Like you said—I’ll be too dead to care.”

Then you walked out, leaving her in stunned silence.

Your mind was a battlefield, a relentless storm of thoughts crashing into each other, over and over, like waves against jagged rocks.

She was right.

Elain was right.

You were going to die.

The words echoed in your skull, bouncing off the walls of your mind, multiplying with each breath you took. The air felt heavier, the weight of inevitability pressing down on your chest until it was almost unbearable.

You are going to die soon.

Your fingers dug into the wooden surface of your desk, trying to ground yourself, trying to convince yourself that this wasn’t true, that you still had time. But the more you tried to push the thought away, the louder it became.

What if it wasn’t just a vision?

What if it was fate?

What if it was the Mother herself, setting a fixed end for you?

What if—what if everything you had built, everything you had worked for, everyone you had come to care for—what if it was all leading up to nothing? To an end that no one could stop?

You will be heartless.

You shuddered, suddenly hyper-aware of your own heartbeat, the rhythmic drum inside your chest. One day, it would stop. One day, it wouldn’t be there anymore. One day, you wouldn’t be here anymore.

Your breath hitched. The edges of your vision blurred as your hands began to tremble.

You needed air.

You needed out.

Now.

You grabbed your coat with frantic fingers, barely registering Elira’s voice calling after you as you shoved past her.

“Y/N? Are you—”

You didn’t answer. You barely even heard her.

Your feet carried you through the halls, down the stairs. You crashed into one of the younger healers, mumbling an apology you couldn’t even remember seconds later.

The doors to the clinic burst open, and you ran.

You didn’t know where you were going. You didn’t care.

You ran through the streets of Velaris, past familiar buildings and warm lights, past the scent of fresh bread from the bakeries, past the murmurs of lovers walking hand in hand, past the echoes of laughter spilling from taverns.

None of it reached you.

Your thoughts were screaming too loudly.

You ran until the city disappeared behind you, until the cobbled streets turned into dirt paths, until trees surrounded you on all sides.

You ran until your lungs burned, until your legs screamed for you to stop, until the weight in your chest became too much to bear.

And when you couldn’t take it anymore—when the world felt like it was closing in, when your breath came in short, desperate gasps—you fell.

Your knees hit the cold, damp earth of a clearing.

The silence of the forest swallowed you whole.

You curled forward, gripping the ground as if it could hold you together. As if it could keep the panic from swallowing you whole.

But it was still there. The truth. The inescapable reality.

You were going to die.

The moment your knees hit the ground, everything shattered.

The world twisted, spinning and turning, the trees around you bending at impossible angles, the sky shifting and warping as if reality itself was breaking apart. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps—too fast, too shallow. Your chest tightened, a crushing weight pressing down on your ribs like they would crack beneath the pressure.

You are going to die.

The words thundered in your mind, over and over again, a merciless mantra that you couldn’t escape.

You are going to die.

And it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t just the knowledge of your end—it was the inevitability of it. It was the way everyone else had already started preparing for it.

Azriel.

Azriel, who looked at you with that careful tenderness, with that unreadable depth. Azriel, who held you at night, who kissed you like you were his whole world.

He only pities you.

The voice slithered into your mind, venomous and cruel.

He doesn’t love you. Not like you love him.

You clutched at your chest, fingers digging into the fabric of your coat as your heart pounded against your ribs, too fast, too wild.

He will go back to her.

A choked sob left your throat.

He was always meant to be with her. He loves her. He will always love her. And when you’re gone, when your body is cold and forgotten, he will go back to her. Back to what was meant to be.

The voices were multiplying now, a cacophony of whispers, of taunts, of truths you had tried so hard to ignore.

None of them truly love you.

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut, gripping the damp earth beneath you.

Rhys and Feyre? They are kind, yes. But it is only pity.

Your breathing hitched, your throat tightening as your fingers curled deeper into the soil.

Cassian, Mor, Amren? You are just another friend to them. Someone temporary. Someone to mourn for a brief moment before they move on.

No one ever truly loved you.

A violent shudder wracked your body, the weight of the words pressing down on you, suffocating you.

Look at you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, nails digging into your palms.

Who would ever want someone like you?

The breath you dragged in was sharp, broken, as if your own body was fighting against you.

Your parents left you.

Your stomach twisted painfully, nausea rising in your throat.

No one ever adopted you. No one ever wanted you. Not then, not now.

Your fingers dug into the ground so hard that your nails scraped against stone, the sharp pain barely registering against the flood of voices in your mind.

Even the Mother made a joke out of you.

A ragged sob tore through you.

She brought you back only to throw you away again.

Your body trembled, every breath a struggle, every thought a war you couldn’t win. You were drowning, suffocating beneath the weight of it all.

Maybe… maybe it would be easier to stop fighting.

Maybe it would be better to just… let it happen.

To accept what was coming. To let go.

Because what was the point?

What was the point of clinging to a life that had already been written off?

You clutched at your chest, gasping for air, for something, for anything to pull you out of this spiral. But there was nothing.

Just you.

Just you and the knowledge that this would end.

That you would end.

And there was nothing you could do to stop it.

The moment Azriel's arms wrapped around you, it was as if the world finally stopped crumbling.

You barely registered his presence at first, the overwhelming noise in your mind too deafening, too consuming. But his warmth—his touch—broke through.

“Hey, hey, Y/N,” his voice was urgent, but gentle, his grip firm as he held you against his chest. “Calm down, love. Just breathe.”

But you couldn’t. Nothing made sense. Your hands flew to your ears, trying to block out the voices, the relentless, merciless voices that wouldn’t stop whispering in your head.

Azriel’s hands came up to yours, gently but insistently pulling them away. “Look at me,” he urged, his golden eyes searching yours. “Just look at me, Y/N.”

You tried. Mother above, you tried. But your vision blurred with tears, your breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps, and you could barely even comprehend how he was here—why he was here.

How did he find you?

Why had he come?

Your body shook violently, the last remnants of the panic attack wracking through you, but Azriel held you through it. Unmoving. Steady. His arms wound tighter around you, his warmth bleeding into your freezing skin.

“Breathe with me,” he murmured, his lips pressing against your hair, his voice an anchor in the storm. “In… and out.”

He breathed in deeply, exaggerating the rise and fall of his chest. You tried to follow, but your breaths still hitched, your body still trembling.

But he didn’t let go.

He rocked you slightly, his hands running up and down your back, brushing away your tears as they continued to fall. His fingers found your face, tilting your chin up to him, his thumbs swiping the wet trails from your cheeks.

“Shhh, love,” he whispered, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You’re safe. You’re here. Just stay with me.”

The last of your ragged breaths shuddered out of you, and you finally—finally—managed to look at him.

Azriel’s face was tight with worry, his brows furrowed, his golden eyes dark and searching.

“What happened?” he murmured, his voice so soft, as if one wrong move would break you apart again. “Talk to me.”

You swallowed hard, trying to find the words, but they lodged in your throat, thick and unbearable. Your lips trembled, your chest still rising and falling too fast.

Azriel’s hands cupped your face again, his thumb tracing your cheek. Then, gently, he kissed you—just a soft, featherlight press of his lips against your damp skin. Another on your forehead. Then your temple.

He was showing you love.

You weren’t sure when you started crying again, but it was different this time—less panicked, more relieved.

Azriel rested his forehead against yours, his own breathing uneven, his hands still holding you like you might slip away if he let go.

“Hey, love,” he murmured, his voice raw. “What’s going on?”

And this time, you could answer.

From the moment they had returned from the Court of Nightmares, Azriel felt it.

That gnawing sense of unease, like a shadow curling deep in his chest, whispering that something was wrong.

The mission had been exhausting—more so than usual. Politics with Keir and his wretched court always drained him, but today, today, all he wanted was to be with you. To bury himself in your presence, to hold you in his arms and let your voice fill the spaces in him that had long been hollow. It didn’t matter what you talked about—whether it was serious or something as mundane as the best way to brew tea. Whatever it was, you—your voice, your laughter, your warmth—felt like heaven.

Maybe that was why he had finally asked.

On the way back to Velaris, he had turned to Rhysand, voice quieter than usual. “I need a few days” he said. “Out of Velaris.”

Rhys barely reacted, his lips twitching. Knowing why Azriel wanted to leave so bad. “Do you think a few days will be enough for you two?”

Azriel had chuckled, shaking his head. “Fine. A week, then.”

It felt ridiculous, almost selfish, to ask for time away when the war was looming closer by the day. But he needed it. Needed time with you, time to figure things out. To figure you out. And, if he was being honest, to figure himself out, too.

Still, the momentary ease of their conversation did nothing to quell the growing dread in his chest. The feeling only got worse as they reached Velaris, a clawing urgency building inside him.

Something was wrong.

He didn’t even wait for the others to disperse before he turned on his heel and made his way to the clinic. His steps were fast, purposeful, shadows slithering around him, restless.

Then he saw Elira.

She stood near the entrance, looking stunned—almost frozen in place. Her eyes flickered to him, and she exhaled as if she’d been holding her breath.

“If you’re looking for Y/N,” she said, still slightly breathless, “she just left. Running.”

Azriel frowned, his heart slamming once in his chest. “Running?”

“I—” Elira hesitated, glancing toward the doors as if trying to make sense of what she had just seen. “I’ve never seen her like that. She just bolted. And to be honest, she’s been off ever since she got back from her visit with the High Lady’s sister.”

Elain.

A sharp pang of something cold flashed through him.

Then—

The panic hit him like a physical force.

Not his. Yours.

His breath caught as the bond roared to life, a wave of pure, suffocating terror slamming into him.

He didn’t hesitate.

Azriel ran.

He followed the thread between you, through the streets of Velaris, through the winding paths leading out of the city. His wings flared behind him as he took to the air, scanning, searching—until he found you.

Collapsed in a clearing, shaking violently, your breaths ragged, your hands clutching at your head as if trying to silence something only you could hear.

Azriel dropped to the ground without thinking, without breathing.

“Y/N,” he called, his voice sharp with urgency. You didn’t react, barely seemed to register his presence.

Then he was there, grabbing you, pulling you into his arms.

“Hey, hey—” His voice softened, but his grip did not. He held you, firm, grounding, his heart hammering in his chest. “Y/N, look at me.”

Nothing.

Your entire body was trembling, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. Your hands flew up to your ears, fingers digging in as if you were trying to block something out.

His own panic flared, but he shoved it down, focusing only on you.

He shifted, wrapping himself fully around you, cradling you against him. His hands stroked your back, firm but gentle, his head dipping close to yours.

“Shhh, love,” he murmured, brushing his lips over your temple. “I’m here. I’ve got you. Just breathe with me.”

You barely responded, your body still shaking violently, your nails digging into his leathers.

“Breathe, Y/N.” His voice was lower now, softer. He inhaled deeply, exaggerating the movement, hoping you would follow. “In… and out. With me.”

His thumb traced slow circles against your skin, his wings curling protectively around you as he rocked you slightly. He pressed his forehead to yours, trying to draw you back, trying to pull you out of whatever hell had seized you.

“Please,” he whispered, voice breaking.

And then—

A breath.

A deep, shuddering inhale.

Your body still trembled, but the suffocating tension began to ease, the shallow gasps turning into something slower, steadier.

You blinked up at him, your eyes glazed over with panic, but you were there.

Azriel exhaled shakily, his hands moving to cradle your face. He wiped away the fresh tears that streaked your cheeks, his heart aching at the sight of them.

He kissed them away, soft, reverent presses of his lips against your damp skin.

“Hey, love,” he murmured, voice raw with emotion. He rested his forehead against yours, his thumbs brushing slow, comforting strokes along your jaw.

“What’s going on?”

Your breath hitched as you tried to speak, to put words to the chaos swirling inside you. But everything—everything—felt like too much.

Your hands clenched against Azriel’s chest, your fingers curling into the familiar fabric of his leathers as if holding onto him could anchor you. Your breath came fast again, shallow.

“I—” Your voice broke, and you swallowed, squeezing your eyes shut. “Everything just… it fell too much. I couldn't breathe, I— I—”

The panic started rising again, clawing its way up from the pit of your stomach, threatening to consume you whole. The words tangled in your throat, your chest tightening all over again.

Azriel felt it before he even saw it.

Your breathing hitched, your body tensed, and his arms tightened around you immediately.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice steady, soothing. “Don’t rush. You don’t have to hurry. It’s fine.”

He cupped your face gently, his scarred hands warm against your skin, his thumbs brushing away the tears that continued to fall silently.

“Breathe, love,” he whispered. “Just breathe.”

And then—

Azriel kissed you.

It wasn’t desperate or frantic, but firm. A grounding touch, meant to pull you from the edge of the abyss. His lips were warm, steady, patient. He kissed you with a quiet kind of intensity, as if willing you to feel every ounce of reassurance, every piece of him holding you together.

His hands moved slowly, one slipping to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling gently in your hair, while the other remained firm at your waist, keeping you here. With him.

Your entire body softened against him, the tension in your limbs slowly melting away as you inhaled him. The scent of night-chilled wind, cedar, and something uniquely Azriel filled your senses, grounding you, tethering you.

You clutched at him, not out of desperation, but because his presence, his warmth, him—Azriel—was the only thing in this moment that felt real.

The moment the kiss broke, he kept you close, resting his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the crisp air.

His golden eyes searched yours, still laced with worry but filled with something deeper—something you couldn’t name.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I’ve always got you.”

Azriel brushed his thumb gently over your cheek, his gaze unwavering as he spoke, his voice calm and steady.

“You don’t have to talk about it now,” he murmured. “Not until you’re ready. And even if you never are, that’s okay too.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight.

“The past weeks have been insane for you, Y/N. It’s normal that at some point, you can’t keep hiding everything anymore.” His golden eyes softened, his expression unreadable yet filled with so much understanding it made your chest ache.

“Maybe you should take a break.” He exhaled, his hand sliding down your arm until he could lace his fingers with yours. “Maybe we should take a break.”

Your breath hitched slightly at his words.

You shook your head, your heart racing. “But Az… the war, the people, the clinic— I��can’t leave like that, we can’t just leave—”

Azriel squeezed your hand, cutting you off gently. “For once, Y/N, stop thinking about everyone else and think about yourself.” His voice remained calm, composed, reassuring. “Because it’s killing you. Slowly, quietly, piece by piece. And I won’t just stand by and watch it happen.”

The truth of his words hit you like a crashing wave.

He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t demanding.

But he was right.

You had been holding everything in for too long, carrying too much. You were exhausted—physically, mentally, emotionally. And yet, you had convinced yourself that if you just kept going, if you just kept working, it would all be fine.

But it wasn’t fine.

And it hadn’t been for a long time.

Azriel’s unwavering presence, his certainty, the way he was looking at you now as if he would do anything to pull you from this downward spiral—it finally made something inside of you crack.

You took a shaky breath, blinking away the last remnants of tears before meeting his gaze.

Finally, you nodded.

“Fine,” you whispered. “Let’s go. The both of us. Far away.”

Azriel’s lips parted slightly, almost surprised at your agreement, but then—he smiled. A real smile, rare and breathtaking. And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t a kiss of urgency or desperation. It was a promise.

A promise of escape. A promise of time. A promise of you and him, away from everything that had been weighing you down.

As you walked back through the streets of Velaris, Azriel kept you close, his arm draped securely over your shoulders, his wing shifting subtly to shield you from the cool evening breeze. The warmth of his body against yours, the steady weight of his presence—it was grounding, calming, as if the past hour hadn’t happened at all.

Your hand remained in his, your fingers entwined as you both moved through the city in silence. No words were needed. He knew. He felt it. Just as you felt the unspoken comfort he was offering.

When you stepped back into the clinic, Elira was already waiting. The moment she saw you, relief flickered in her features, but it was quickly replaced with something softer as she stepped forward, pulling you into a tight hug.

You let out a small breath, a faint smile tugging at your lips as you murmured, “I���m sorry.”

Elira pulled back just enough to look at you, her expression filled with something between fondness and exasperation.

Azriel, still standing beside you, spoke up before she could respond. “We’ll be gone for a week,” he informed her, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Elira’s eyes flickered between the two of you, her gaze sharp yet knowing.

You exhaled, nodding. “I’m leaving the clinic in your hands, along with the paperwork. I made sure to—”

“You’re not about to list out every responsibility before you leave,” Elira cut in, placing both hands on your shoulders.

You blinked in surprise.

Her gaze softened. “Y/N, we’ve got it handled. You need this. And if there’s anything urgent, Madja is still in town. But please, just rest.”

A lump formed in your throat, but you managed a nod. “Thank you, Eli.”

She squeezed your shoulders one last time before stepping back, offering you a small smirk. “Now go before you change your mind.”

You let out a breath of laughter, hugging her quickly before stepping away, Azriel’s hand finding yours once more.

The moment you were outside, Azriel turned to you, his gaze searching. You barely had time to process before he was kissing you—slow, deep, a quiet confirmation that you were his to care for.

You melted into him, letting yourself be held, letting yourself take the comfort for once instead of offering it.

And then, before you could think too much, before your mind could try to convince you otherwise—

Wind whipped around you as Azriel pulls you against his chest before winnowing the both you out of Velaris. 

The familiar pull of winnowing faded as your feet touched solid ground, the crisp mountain air immediately wrapping around you. You shivered slightly, not from the cold but from the sheer change in atmosphere—the quiet, the stillness, the peace that settled over you the moment you arrived.

Before you, nestled between towering pine trees and overlooking a breathtaking view of the Night Court’s vast mountain ranges, stood a cabin. The structure itself was modest, but it exuded warmth, comfort—sanctuary. The soft glow of faelights flickered inside, the wooden walls standing strong against the whispering winds. Snow dusted the rooftop, the steps leading to the front door barely visible beneath the pristine white.

You exhaled, breath visible in the crisp air, and turned slowly to take it all in. The mountains stretched endlessly beyond the cabin, their peaks kissed by the last lingering hues of sunset, fading into a velvety night. The stars had begun their slow emergence, blinking awake one by one, their glow reflected on the frozen lake in the distance. It was silent here—so utterly still that it felt as if the rest of the world had fallen away, leaving only the two of you behind.

Azriel’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, as if anchoring himself to this moment. You looked up at him, finding his gaze already on you. Something in his expression softened as he watched you take in the sight, the way your lips parted slightly, the way your shoulders seemed to lose some of their ever-present tension.

“You like it?” His voice was low, hesitant in a way that made your heart ache.

You turned back to the cabin, then to the vast, endless sky above, to the mountains that held secrets older than time. Likewasn’t the right word.

“It’s breathtaking,” you murmured.

Azriel’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, a silent understanding passing between you. No more words were needed.

This was what he had wanted for you—for both of you. A place away from the weight of war, of responsibilities, of everything that had nearly broken you. A place to breathe, to simply be.

He led you toward the cabin, his presence steady beside you. And as you stepped onto the wooden porch, a thought settled deep in your chest—

For the first time in centuries, maybe even forever, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

You were finally choosing yourself.

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[novaursa]

Caught by Fire

- Summary: A story where Daemon's daughter falls from the sky. And by some strange events orchestrated by fate, Otto catches you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Otto Hightower

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: the daughter

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround

The streets of King’s Landing were alive with noise and color as the festival in the lower city reached its peak. Crowds pressed against one another, the air thick with the scent of roasted meats, honeyed wine, and the tang of the Blackwater rushing nearby. Musicians played bawdy tunes on lutes and pipes, their notes dancing over the clamor of merchants hawking their wares. It was a scene Lord Otto Hightower had no intention of witnessing firsthand.

Yet here he was, against his better judgment, striding through the chaos, his brocade cloak trailing through the muck of the streets. Beside him, Lord Jasper Wylde, known for his rakish charm and devil-may-care attitude, laughed heartily at Otto’s perpetual scowl.

“Come now, Lord Hand,” Jasper chided, slapping Otto’s shoulder with mock camaraderie. “Even the most dour of men must loosen their chains every now and then. You’re beginning to make Ser Harrold Westerling look positively jovial.”

Otto’s glare was as cold as the winds of the Reach. “I’ve no business in this rabble. My duty is to the Crown, not to trifling entertainments.”

Jasper waved a dismissive hand. “The Crown will not collapse because the Hand of the King partakes in a cup of mulled wine and watches a few fire-eaters. If anything, it might remind the people that their lords are not entirely made of stone.”

Otto sighed heavily but allowed Jasper to lead him further into the throng. He was keenly aware of the eyes upon him—common folk staring with mixtures of awe and suspicion at the austere man in his fine attire. It was rare for a lord of Otto’s stature to mingle so closely with the smallfolk, and rarer still for the Hand of the King to do so.

As they turned a corner, Jasper grinned and pointed toward a colorful tent pitched near the edge of the square. A sign hanging from its entrance read, Madame Lysara: Seer of Fates, Whisperer of Truths.

“You must be joking,” Otto muttered, his tone flat.

“Not at all,” Jasper replied, already tugging him toward the tent. “What’s a festival without a bit of harmless folly? Let’s see what the stars have to say about the great and mighty Lord Hightower.”

“I’ve no patience for charlatans.”

“And I’ve no patience for your endless brooding,” Jasper countered, shooting Otto a wicked grin. “Humor me, my lord. Consider it penance for dragging you out of your tower.”

Reluctantly, Otto allowed himself to be ushered inside the tent. The interior was dimly lit by flickering candles, their wax pooling onto an intricately patterned rug. The air was heavy with the scent of incense, sweet and cloying. Madame Lysara, a woman of indeterminate age with piercing eyes and a dramatic cascade of silver hair, sat behind a low table strewn with cards, crystals, and curious trinkets.

“Ah,” she purred, her voice low and melodic. “A man of great stature, though burdened by the weight of his own making. Please, sit.”

Otto remained standing, his expression carved from granite. Jasper, on the other hand, plopped down onto a stool with the enthusiasm of a man half his age. “He’s a stubborn one, isn’t he?” Jasper quipped, jerking a thumb toward Otto.

“Such men often are,” Lysara said, her gaze never leaving Otto’s. “But the stars speak even to the unyielding.”

Otto crossed his arms. “I’ll not pay coin for empty words.”

“Then you risk hearing the truth for free,” Lysara retorted smoothly, drawing a card from her deck and placing it face-up on the table. The illustration depicted a tower struck by lightning, figures tumbling from its heights.

Jasper leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. “What does it mean?”

Lysara’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “A great change approaches—a shift that will shake the very foundation of his life. And at its heart, a woman.”

Otto’s brow furrowed, his patience wearing thin. “If this is your attempt at flattery, it’s wasted.”

“Not flattery, my lord,” Lysara said, her tone soft but insistent. She drew another card, this one showing a figure falling through the air, arms outstretched. “The woman destined for you will arrive as if from the heavens, a gift of fate. She will bring chaos, but also clarity. And you,” she added, fixing Otto with a penetrating look, “will catch her as she falls.”

Jasper let out a bark of laughter. “Falls from the heavens, you say? Well, Otto, I do hope you’re prepared to catch an angel.”

Otto’s lips pressed into a thin line. “This is nonsense.”

“Perhaps,” Lysara allowed, gathering her cards. “But nonsense often carries a grain of truth.”

Jasper clapped Otto on the back as they exited the tent, his laughter echoing into the night. “Well, my friend, it seems your days of solitude are numbered. A woman falling from the sky—what a sight that will be!”

Otto ignored him, his mind already dismissing the fortune-teller’s words as the drivel they were. Yet, as they walked back toward the Red Keep, a faint unease settled in his chest. He told himself it was the incense clinging to his clothes, the noise of the city, the sheer absurdity of it all.

But the image lingered: a figure falling, and his arms reaching out to catch her.

The day began like any other, the city bathed in pale sunlight, the streets bustling with their usual chaos. Lord Otto Hightower stood on the steps of the Great Sept, flanked by a small retinue of guards. A heated discussion with Lord Beesbury over tariffs had drawn him away from the Red Keep, and though Otto’s attention was fixed on matters of governance, his thoughts were distracted by the open sky above. The festival's fortune-teller, and her ridiculous prediction, had faded into the back of his mind. Yet, when his gaze drifted upward, he found himself momentarily lost in the endless expanse of blue.

“My lord,” Ser Arryk interrupted, snapping Otto from his reverie. “Shall we return to the Keep?”

Otto adjusted his cloak, nodding briskly. “Yes, the king waits on no man.”

The party began its descent from the Sept, Otto leading the way with measured steps. He barely noticed the city around him, his mind preoccupied with the endless demands of his position. But then, a shadow passed over the sun. A large shadow.

Above the city, a dragon’s roar pierced the air, its deep, bone-shaking timbre sending the smallfolk scattering. Otto froze, his head snapping upward as a magnificent beast streaked through the sky—a dragon, its scales glinting like molten bronze in the sunlight. It swooped low, its rider clinging tightly to the saddle.

You had taken to the skies on a whim, your dragon restless and your heart yearning for the open air. Vermithor’s powerful wings carried you effortlessly above the city, the wind tugging at your hair. Below, the world seemed so small, so inconsequential, and you reveled in the freedom that came with flying. But then, as Vermithor banked sharply to avoid an incoming flock of ravens, the unthinkable happened.

The saddle strap—worn from battle and flight—gave way.

You barely had time to gasp before you were tumbling, the air rushing past you in a deafening roar.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sensation of falling. Panic clawed at your chest, but instinct kicked in. You tried to right yourself, arms flailing, the ground rushing closer with terrifying speed. Vermithor’s roar echoed somewhere above, the dragon circling back too late to catch you.

On the ground, Otto saw you before anyone else did—a figure hurtling toward him from the heavens. The memory of the fortune-teller’s words hit him like a physical blow.

She will bring chaos, but also clarity. And you will catch her as she falls.

“Seven hells,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the commotion.

The guards around him shouted, some scattering while others moved to shield him. But Otto stood rooted to the spot, his eyes locked on the falling figure. Instinct, or perhaps fate, took hold. As you plummeted toward him, he stepped forward, bracing himself.

You collided with him in a tangle of limbs and motion, the force of your fall driving him backward. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs, and the two of you tumbled to the ground in an ungraceful heap.

“Gods,” Otto groaned, his body aching as he struggled to push himself upright. “Are you—”

“Get off me,” you hissed, shoving at his chest.

Otto blinked, stunned. He hadn’t expected the woman in the prophecy to be so…fiery.

“Forgive me, my lady,” he bit out, his tone clipped. “But you are the one who fell from the sky.”

You scrambled to your feet, brushing yourself off and glaring at him. “I didn’t ask you to catch me.”

“Should I have let you splatter against the cobblestones, then?”

Your retort died on your lips as Vermithor landed behind you with a thunderous roar, his massive frame dwarfing the surrounding buildings. The dragon’s eyes burned with protective fury as he lowered his head toward you, his hot breath ruffling your hair.

“Easy, boy,” you murmured, placing a hand on his snout to calm him. “I’m fine.”

Otto watched the exchange with a mixture of awe and disbelief. “You… you’re Daemon Targaryen’s daughter.”

You turned to him, your silver hair catching the light. “And you’re Otto Hightower.”

He inclined his head, his expression unreadable. “I suppose that makes us…acquainted.”

“Hardly,” you replied, your gaze flickering over him. “But I suppose I owe you thanks.”

“Thanks?” He raised a brow. “I’ve just saved you from death, my lady. I’d say you owe me more than that.”

You smirked, a spark of mischief in your dark violet eyes. “A debt I shall repay. Perhaps I’ll save you one day, Lord Hightower. If you’re lucky.”

Before he could respond, you swung yourself onto Vermithor’s back with practiced ease. The dragon let out a low rumble, his wings unfurling.

Otto stepped back, watching as you rose into the sky, the dragon’s powerful wings stirring the air around him.

Jasper Wylde appeared at his side, his face alight with amusement. “Well, Otto,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder. “It seems the fortune-teller was right. She fell from the heavens straight into your arms.”

Otto scowled, brushing Jasper’s hand away. “Not a word of this to anyone.”

But as the dragon disappeared into the horizon, Otto couldn’t help but wonder if fate had just played its hand—and if he was ready for what was to come.

The Great Hall of the Red Keep buzzed with conversation as courtiers gathered for the day’s proceedings. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, but the warmth of the room was undercut by the ever-present tension that came with power games and politics. Lord Otto Hightower stood near the dais, his face a mask of composure as he observed the assembled nobles.

He was in the middle of a conversation with Lord Beesbury when the heavy doors swung open, and the clamor in the hall faltered.

Daemon Targaryen strode in, his presence commanding and unmistakable. His long silver hair caught the light, and the black-and-red tunic he wore bore the three-headed dragon of his house, the fabric rich and imposing. His dark violet eyes scanned the room with a mixture of boredom and disdain, and the edges of his lips curled in the faintest smirk as courtiers parted before him like leaves before a storm.

Otto’s spine stiffened.

It had been moons since the incident with you—Daemon’s daughter—had left him both bemused and bruised, and while the Hand had worked to compartmentalize the events, he knew well that Daemon had likely heard of them by now. Targaryens, after all, had a way of knowing things they shouldn’t.

Sure enough, Daemon’s gaze landed on Otto. The Hand braced himself, his grip on his staff tightening as the Rogue Prince began to make his way toward him.

“Ah, Lord Hightower,” Daemon drawled, his tone dripping with mock civility as he approached. “Still alive, I see. Good. I was beginning to think the gods had finally grown tired of you.”

Otto inclined his head slightly, his expression carefully neutral. “Prince Daemon. What an unexpected pleasure.”

“I’m sure it is,” Daemon replied, his smirk widening. He glanced around the hall before leaning in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make the exchange feel intimate—and pointed. “Tell me, how are your arms? I imagine catching my daughter must have been… taxing.”

Otto’s jaw tightened, but he refused to take the bait. “Your daughter is fortunate to have been spared a far worse fate. Though I must say, her impulsiveness is… troubling.”

Daemon barked a laugh, drawing the attention of nearby courtiers. “Troubling? Coming from you, Hightower, that’s rich. Impulsiveness is a Targaryen birthright, or have you forgotten?”

Otto met Daemon’s gaze evenly. “A birthright that often ends in disaster.”

Daemon’s expression hardened for a moment, but then he smiled, sharp and wolfish. “And yet, here she stands—alive and well. A miracle, wouldn’t you say? Perhaps the gods themselves decided to spare her and gift you the privilege of her company.”

Otto resisted the urge to roll his eyes, keeping his tone measured. “I consider it my duty to protect the realm, regardless of who requires aid.”

Daemon tilted his head, studying Otto as though he were some peculiar creature on display. “Duty,” he mused, his voice dripping with disdain. “You wear that word like armor, don’t you? As if it can shield you from everything—including the truth.”

Otto’s brow furrowed. “And what truth is that, Prince Daemon?”

“That no matter how high you climb or how tightly you clutch your precious titles, fate will always find a way to humble you,” Daemon said, stepping closer. His voice dropped to a near-whisper, the words meant for Otto alone. “And if fate doesn’t… I will.”

The two men stood in tense silence for a moment, the air between them charged. Finally, Otto straightened, his face carefully impassive. “If that is a threat, my prince, I would advise you to reconsider. The king does not take kindly to such talk.”

Daemon’s grin widened. “Oh, it’s not a threat, Lord Hightower. Merely a promise.”

With that, he stepped back, his posture relaxed once more as he cast a casual glance around the room. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must find my daughter. I hear she’s taken a liking to… wandering.”

Otto’s lips thinned, but he said nothing as Daemon sauntered off, his presence drawing the eyes of every courtier he passed. The Hand of the King remained where he stood, his thoughts swirling as he replayed the conversation.

If there was one thing Otto Hightower knew, it was that the game of thrones was never without its challenges—and Daemon Targaryen was one of the most unpredictable of them all.

The private solar of Lord Otto Hightower was a haven of calm compared to the bustling chaos of the court. The Hand of the King sat at his desk, a pile of correspondence before him, his quill moving steadily across parchment. Outside, the muffled sounds of King’s Landing filtered in—distant voices, the clatter of hooves, the occasional toll of bells. It was the sort of environment Otto found productive. Or at least, it usually was.

Today, however, Lord Jasper Wylde’s persistent presence threatened to unravel Otto’s carefully maintained composure.

Jasper lounged in a chair across from Otto, sipping from a goblet of wine and grinning like a man with a secret. For the past few minutes, he had been circling the same topic with infuriating persistence, and Otto’s patience was wearing thin.

“When will you act, my lord?” Jasper asked at last, setting his goblet down with an exaggerated flourish.

Otto didn’t look up from his parchment. “Act on what?”

Jasper chuckled, leaning forward conspiratorially. “The prophecy, of course. The fortune-teller. The princess.”

The scratch of Otto’s quill stopped abruptly. He slowly lifted his gaze to meet Jasper’s, his expression carefully neutral but his tone as cutting as a blade. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t be coy,” Jasper replied, waving a hand dismissively. “The gods themselves have practically handed her to you on a silver platter. A Targaryen princess—Daemon’s daughter, no less—falls from the heavens and into your arms, and you mean to tell me you’re not even considering the possibility?”

Otto set his quill down with deliberate precision. “Considering what, Lord Wylde? That I should ‘act,’ as you so vaguely put it? On the basis of a festival charlatan’s ramblings?”

Jasper smirked, undeterred. “Oh, come now. You and I both know it wasn’t just ramblings. The woman spoke true, did she not? She said a woman would fall from the sky and into your arms. And lo and behold, the princess did exactly that.”

Otto’s jaw tightened. “The circumstances of her fall were nothing more than a cruel twist of fate. There is no grand meaning to be found in it.”

“Isn’t there?” Jasper pressed, his grin widening. “You’ve spent years advising the king, orchestrating alliances, and navigating the treacheries of court. Yet when fate hands you a moment as undeniable as this, you choose to ignore it? Why?”

Otto leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. “Because she is a princess, Lord Wylde. A Targaryen princess. The daughter of Daemon Targaryen, a man whose disdain for me is well-documented. To approach her in any manner beyond what is strictly required by duty would be… unwise.”

Jasper raised a brow. “Unwise, or inconvenient?”

“Both,” Otto snapped, his voice low but firm. “She is not some court lady to be wooed with flattery or gifts. She is a dragon’s daughter, bound by blood and fire to a family that would see me undone given the slightest provocation. To involve myself with her would be folly.”

“And yet,” Jasper countered, leaning back with an infuriatingly smug expression, “she has already involved herself with you—whether by fate or accident. Tell me, Otto, has it occurred to you that this could be an opportunity? A chance to strengthen your position, to bind House Hightower even more to the blood of Old Valyria?”

Otto’s eyes narrowed. “At what cost? My life, perhaps? Daemon would kill me before I could so much as utter a word of intent.”

“Daemon wouldn’t dare,” Jasper said with a dismissive laugh. “Not openly, at least. He may be reckless, but even he wouldn’t risk the consequences of spilling the blood of the king’s Hand.”

Otto stood abruptly, the movement silencing Jasper mid-laugh. He placed his hands on the desk, leaning forward as he fixed Jasper with a piercing glare. “Listen well, Lord Wylde. Whatever foolish notions you have conjured up regarding myself and the princess, I suggest you abandon them at once. I will not jeopardize my position, my life, or the stability of the realm on the basis of a prophecy whispered in a smoky tent.”

Jasper met Otto’s gaze evenly, though the amusement never left his eyes. “Very well,” he said, rising to his feet and brushing imaginary dust from his tunic. “But mark my words, Otto. The gods are not so easily ignored. And neither, it seems, is the princess.”

With that, Jasper turned and strode toward the door, leaving Otto alone in the quiet of his solar. For a long moment, the Hand stood motionless, his thoughts a tempest of frustration and unease. At last, he sank back into his chair, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Foolishness,” he muttered to himself. But as he resumed his work, he couldn’t shake the memory of you falling from the sky—and the strange, inexplicable feeling that his life was no longer entirely his own.

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 6 part 1

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

ooh the "magick" mitzvah? I've been puzzling about the connection between william and billy, that's an interesting detail. I'll elaborate in a minute

I've seen a lot of irony about joe locke clearly not being 13 here, but the thing is, sometimes boys do suddenly hit puberty and have an insane growth spurt! and then you get the hilarious visuals of some guy sitting in a tiny desk in a classroom full of children.

my point being, they should have had joe dancing with a bunch of actual 13 year olds, it would have been so fucking funny

I love mama and papa kaplan, and it really gets to me that they lost their boy and don't even know it. I was worried about billy's episode because I thought it would be just a bunch of marvel tie-ins with no heart. glad to report I was wrong

lilia who hates witch stereotypes performing those very stereotypes in order to not fucking starve

william's reflection is billy reversed

lilia foresees william's death and billy's takeover, and she is SO sorry for him. patti as usual conveys so much, you can tell her heart is breaking but she's being kind and lying in order to not scare this poor kid. and this is exactly why being a Seer has always been a burden to lilia, how do you form any relationships, how do you love someone when you've already seen the day you're going to lose them?

“The Tower Reversed.” disaster, destruction, sudden upheaval. but reversed, it means miraculous transformation.

and there is something about lilia choosing this moment as the most representative for billy, a moment that symbolize both billy and william. this is future!lilia embracing her own strength and reclaiming the coven and the community she denied herself her whole life. and not only she includes billy in it, but also william as a fundamental part of billy, a kid that she protected and cherished despite meeting him only briefly.

not only lilia goes above and beyond for william, hiding the truth from him, inviting him to enjoy the party she knows will be his last. she hides the sigil on him so she can protect billy too, because she knows that another little boy is about to wake up in a strange reality and be so lost. she tells william he's a good egg, but she is the goodest egg.

I love the little choices here. wanda's voice on the radio, pretending she's in an idyllic sitcom marriage. and a real life marriage where wanda's 1950s tropes are reversed, rebecca is the one who drives and grabs her husband's hand to reassure him.

another great detail: the dissolving Hex reflected in the car window.

the parallels are taking my breath away. two moms, agatha and rebecca, fiercely loving and protective. both would blame themselves for their sons dying.

but sometimes, boys die. and to quote jac shaeffer, that is tragedy enough to fill the universe.

you can hear william's heart slow down and stop. then, when billy takes over, it starts beating like crazy.

and here's alice, who's also never met william (or billy) before, but she will unquestionably do her utmost to help.

I miss you so much, alice

he's so scared. the way he shakes his head and doesn't know where to look.

imagine being born yesterday, and suddenly you are in a different body and your head is cracked and you're surrounded by strangers. and your brother is nowhere.

that is the worst omelet I've ever seen in my life by the way

(also I know billy is used to instant growth, but imagine switching from child to teenager just like that, it's like going through puberty in two seconds. kafkaesque nightmare fuel)

and it's just so realistic and so moving that the kaplans are presenting a united front even though they are crumbling underneath. and they won't say any of it out loud because they are good fucking parents and it's their job to protect and worry without their kid ever feeling guilty about it. (billy does end up reading their minds because they're not equipped to parent a superhero yet. not that they wouldn't RAISE TO THE FUCKING CHALLENGE. I love you rebecca and jeff kaplan)

william liked classic movies, board games and magic tricks. there were budding hints at a goth vibe too, with dario argento quotes and creepy victorian posters. it doesn't seem at all incompatible with the person billy will eventually grow up to be, I know he had to settle into william's life, but he didn't revolutionize any of it, he kind of followed in william tracks. I think that yes, william died just as wanda dissolved the hex and it was a wrong place and wrong time kind of situation, but he also had to be a compatible donor - as similar as billy as possible, I don't know if genetically or soul-wise or what. they even look a bit similar, same ears, same nose, same eyes, same chin, same triangular face.

these guys really like doing mirror shots, don't they

by the way I will keep calling him Boyf because it's so damn funny, but I do know his name is eddie and I'm really really happy for the representation. there won't be any particularly deep meta about these two because gay boys are so, so far from my realm of interest or expertise, I'm sorry if you were looking forward to it. if you want to add context or ideas about them please do!

another possibility is that billy's soul, while not having any of wiliam's memories, was still shaped and conditioned by his dna and brain chemistry and past experiences, so in a sense william is still in there. you put software in a different hardware, it's gonna affect its performance.

I'll say this about boyf, he's very sweet. billy gives him this crazy story and he doesn't flinch, he just tries to understand and be supportive.

*cough cough* nerd

but look, he's pulling a detective agnes! he really is an agatha mini me.

ah yes, the future coven looking after billy even before meeting him. lilia giving him the sigil, alice being first responder on the site of the accident, jen saving his dating life by teaching him good skincare (he's a teenager! he's got pimples!)

you guys, I hope you don't mind me dedicating some time to billy alone, but I do like this episode a lot.

and tomorrow: it's the return of butch agatha!

go to episode 6 part 2

[the-mortuary-witch]

THE MORRIGAN

WHO IS SHE?

The Morrigan is a triple goddess from Irish mythology who is associated with war, fate, and sovereignty. According to myth, she is often depicted as a crow or raven, and is said to appear in both a positive and negative guise, sometimes as a nurturing mother and other times as a destructive force. She is said to be the phantom queen of the Danaan People, the ancestral spirits of Ireland, and is sometimes depicted as a powerful seer or prophetic figure.

BASIC INFO: 

Appearance: the Morrigan is often depicted as a fierce and powerful woman wearing a long, flowing black cloak or gown, and sometimes with feathers or a crown of feathers. She is also commonly associated with a black crow, which is said to be her messenger and the vessel of her power. Her appearance is usually associated with darkness and mystery, embodying the enigma and unpredictability of war and fate.

Personality: she has a complex and multi-faceted personality, often embodying multiple aspects of femininity. She is said to encompass aspects of the traditional maiden, mother, and crone archetypes, representing youthful zeal, maternal nurturing, and wise counsel, respectively. She is also known for her vengeful and bloodthirsty streak, embodying the brutal and ruthless nature of war and the chaos of fate. Despite her fierce and sometimes fearsome reputation, she is also viewed as a powerful protector and defender of the Irish people.

Symbols: cloak, spear, chariot, sword, and shield

Goddess of: magic, war, battle, life, death, sovereignty, fresh water, destiny, prophecy, and fate

Culture: Celtic

Plants: willow, aspen, rowan, snapdragon, hawthorn, yew, belladonna, mugwort, rose, and nightshade (do not consume, handle with care!)

Crystals: ravenite, yeomanite, schorl, arsenopyrite, harlequin opal, black opal, skye marble, pyrolusite, biotite, feldspar, black agate, hematite, smoky quartz, bloodstone, onyx, charoite, black obsidian, labradorite, shungite, and black tourmaline

Animals: crow, raven, horse, eel, rook, serpent, and wolf

Incense: frankincense, myrrh, sandalwood, rose, cedar, juniper, and dragon’s blood 

Practices: death witchcraft, spirit work, divination, shadow work, ancestor worship, psychic abilities, and necromancy

Colours: red, black, white, blue, and green

Numbers: 3 and 6

Zodiac: Scorpio 

Tarot: The High Priestess, The Tower, Queen of Swords, The Devil, Justice, and Death

Planet: Moon

Days: Monday, Imbolc, Lammas, Mabon, Samhain, Halloween, and full moons

Parents: Cailitin and Ernmas

Siblings: Ériu, Banba, Fódla, Gnim, Coscar, Fiacha, and Oll

Partner: The Dagda and an unnamed shapeshifting goddess

Children: Mechi

MISC:

Crows and ravens: the Morrigan is often associated with crows or ravens due to her nature as a deity of death, fate, and transformation. In Irish mythology, crows or ravens were often seen as messengers between the worlds of the living and the dead, and could be seen as omens of impending change or transformation. For the Morrigan, these birds served as her messengers and helped her carry out her duties as a deity of war, fate, and the supernatural. Additionally, the Morrigan herself was sometimes depicted as a crow or raven in the form of a woman.

Death: she is often associated with death because she is seen as a deity of fate and transformation, which can include death and rebirth. In Irish mythology, she is often depicted as a battle goddess who wields a spear or sword, and is seen as a bringer of violence and change. She is also associated with the concept of death as a natural and inevitable part of life, and is sometimes seen as a guide for the souls of the dead as they cross over to the afterlife.

War: in Irish mythology, she was often seen as a fierce and powerful warrior, who would appear in the form of a crow or raven to guide and aid the soldiers of the Tuatha de Danann, a group of gods and mythological beings. She was often invoked by soldiers in order to bring them victory in battle and could also be seen as a symbol of the chaos and destruction that can occur during war.

Triple goddess: she is often associated with the triple goddess archetype due to her connection with the number three and her role as a goddess of transformation and female empowerment. In Celtic mythology, the number three was often seen as sacred and powerful, and the Morrigan is sometimes depicted as embodying these three aspects of femininity: maiden, mother, and crone. This association reflects her nature as a powerful and multifaceted deity who encompasses the different phases of a woman's life, from youth and fertility to wisdom and maturity.

Samhain: in Celtic mythology, Samhain is believed to be a time when the boundary between the world of the living and the world of the dead becomes thin, allowing the spirits of the deceased to return to the world of the living. The Morrigan, as a goddess of death and transformation, is seen as playing an important role during this time, guiding and assisting the souls of the dead on their journey to the afterlife.

Magic: was seen as a powerful force that could wield the energy and power of these natural forces, and the Morrigan was often invoked as a source of magical power and insight during certain rituals and spells. Additionally, the Morrigan is sometimes depicted as a sorcerous figure in some myths, casting spells or curses and using her supernatural abilities to influence events on the mortal plane.

FACTS ABOUT THE MORRIGAN:

She owns a herd of enchanted and magical cattle. 

Contrary to some interpretations, the Morrigan is not necessarily seen as an evil or destructive deity. In many myths, she is depicted as a protective and wise figure who aids and guides heroes on their journeys.

She is sometimes portrayed as a shape-shifter, able to take on the form of a crow or other animals.

The Morrigan is often associated with the number three, representing the three aspects of maiden, mother, and crone.

She is also associated with the Fae and the Banshee—a creature that generally takes on the form of an old woman who wails in mourning to announce the coming death of someone in the family.

The name "Morrigan" comes from Old Irish and means "phantom queen" or "great queen."

She is often associated with ravens or crows, which were seen as her messengers between the worlds of the living and the dead.

The Morrigan is known for appearing in the form of a woman with long, flowing hair, sometimes carrying a spear and/or a shield.

HOW TO INVOKE THE MORRIGAN:

Working with the Morrigan often involves building a relationship of mutual respect and trust with her. You can approach working with her in the following ways:

Research and study her mythology, folklore, and symbology to gain a deeper understanding of her nature and characteristics.

Set up an altar or sacred space dedicated to the Morrigan, and make regular offerings to her.

Perform rituals or spells in her honor to seek her guidance and power.

Meditate or visualize her presence in your life, and work on developing a direct channel of communication with her.

PRAYER FOR THE MORRIGAN:

Hail Morrigan, maiden, mother, and crone.  We call upon you, great and powerful deity, to guide us on our path, and protect us from harm. Teach us to be strong and fearless in the face of adversity and help us to find balance in our lives.

Bless our endeavors, and grant us success in all we do. In your name, I give thanks for your presence in our lives. Hail to you, the Morrigan.

SIGNS THAT THE MORRIGAN IS CALLING YOU:

Repeatedly seeing signs of crows or ravens, which are associated with the Morrigan.

Feeling a strong connection to the themes of war, fate, and sovereignty.

Having vivid dreams or visions of the Morrigan or her symbols (e.g. a raven, a battle flag, etc).

Feeling drawn to read or learn about the Morrigan or Celtic mythology.

Experiencing strong emotions or changes in behavior that feel linked to the energy of the Morrigan.

Feeling the urge to explore or embrace warlike or competitive activities (e.g. sports, martial arts, strategy games).

Finding yourself drawn to stories of powerful women, goddesses, or wanting to honour and empower yourself.

Having a sudden urge to explore your own shadow or unconscious and to confront and transform it.

A sudden urge to create or engage in art, poetry, or music that connects to the Morrigan’s energy and symbolism.

OFFERINGS:

Red meat.

Mead. 

Red wine poured into the ground. 

Apples. 

Milk. 

Whiskey. 

Storm water

Crow or raven feathers. 

Knives and daggers. 

Scrying. 

Artwork and poetry. 

Red foods. 

Deep green, black and red stones/crystals. 

Honey. 

Dark chocolate. 

Coins. 

Studying Celtic mythology. 

Blood (especially menstrual blood). 

Traditional Irish foods. 

DEVOTIONAL ACTS:

Creating sigils or magickal symbols associated with the Morrigan and her aspects (such as battle, war, death, etc) and charging them with your intention and energy.

Performing war dances, warrior rites, and ceremonies of protection and victory.

Paint your nails black or red while thinking of her. 

Shadow work. 

Exploring magic and divination related to the Morrigan, including the use of rune stones, scrying, and spirit communication.

Draw or paint her. 

Participating in activities where you are willing to take risks and venture into the unknown, as the Morrigan is known for pushing individuals to embrace their destiny and seize control of their life.

Respecting the dead. 

Working to protect and uphold your own personal sovereignty and destiny, and resisting outside influence or control.

Make a playlist that is dedicated to her, or listen to music that reminds you of her. 

Lighting a black candle. 

Feeding your local murder (crows). 

Celebrating the changing of the seasons and honoring the cycles of life and death.

Praying and making offerings to the Morrigan, seeking her guidance and power for your magical and spiritual practice.

Screaming your heart out when alone in the woods. 

Performing blessings and healing rituals for fresh water bodies, such as lakes, rivers, and streams, to honor the Morrigan’s association with water.

Standing up for yourself. 

Exercising (especially if it’s challenging). 

Celebrate Samhain. 

[evilwizard]

The Lich Who Stole Christmas

Every tumblrina in tumblr liked Christmas a lot.

But the lich, who lived just north of Tumblr, did not!

The lich hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season! Now, please don’t ask why. No one quite knows the reason. It could be his skull wasn’t screwed on quite right. It could be, perhaps, that his skin was too tight.

But I think that the likeliest reason of all… was his heart was encased by a strange lead-lined ball.

“Last year I made something that I thought in would usher

A new age of magic—my prized OrphanCrusher.

But my patents were stolen, and my sweet new invention

Is now being used… with good-ish intentions.

You see, Christmas wishes contain lots of magic;

And my device extracts it through methods so tragic

That I dare not mention them directly here

Though the name might clue in certain readers, I fear.

The Wizard Council, now that they possess this device,

Might use it, this year, to stamp out wizard vice.

Though the process might turn quite a few kids to carrion,

The Wiz Council’s ethics are utilitarian.

So what shall I do? What is to be done?

It seems rather clear that this Christmas can’t come.

But I’ve read a few books, and I know a few tricks

So this year I’ll steal Christmas, while dressed as Saint Nick!”

So the wizard of evil returned to his lair

Stitched a red suit, and did up his hair

Built a sleek sled—and—who among us,

Could hope for a much better Rudolph than Krongus?

They took to the skies, that next Christmas Eve,

And tailgated Santa, whom they hoped to deceive

At every house he left presents, they quickly descended,

And stole the decor and the gifts he’d intended.

And when the dark wizard’s sleigh was full-loaded with gifts,

He tugged at the reigns, and they made for The Rift!

A place where the veil between worlds was thin…

And a brilliant place to dump the gifts in!

“You see,” he told Krongus, as they approached that strange crack,

“Once something goes in, it can never come back!”

“Moreover, it’s perfect,” the wizard did sing,

“For The Rift destroys every part of that thing!”

“Every instance, every atom in all multiverses,

Will be undone as though by my special dark curses.

Not a gram, not a dust speck or mote shall remain,

And no one will even remember their name!”

“But sire,” muttered Krongus, “would it not be more precise,

If you simply put in the OrphanCrusher device?”

The evil wizard thought of this, parking his sleigh in the snow.

He’d made quite a trip, and this seemed quite a blow.

“I do have one here,” he told that weird devil.

“But destroying Christmas seems rather more evil!”

Then, far behind him, and the gifts he had pillaged,

He heard a small noise coming from Tumblr Village.

It was simply a song, of holiday spirit,

But the wizard was utterly shocked just to hear it.

“It came without ribbons! It came without tags!

It came without packages, boxes or bags!”

Then the lich thought of something he hadn’t before.

Could it be Christmas was some kind of contagion or spore?

What happened next? Well, in Tumblr, they say,

The lich’s dead heart exploded that day!

And the combustive force of that villainous blast,

Airlifted the sleigh, and brought it right back,

To the village, where Tumblrinas rejoiced!

Then continued to sing, and lift up their voice.

And back at the rift, the lich, with head in a spin,

At the edge of the rift dropped the OrphanCrusher in.

So Christmas was saved, by accident mostly,

Though performing a good deed turned the bad wizard ghostly.

“Come, Krongus—we must now return to my tower,

While I wait several months to return to full power.”

And at Wizard Council HQ, certain strategist seers,

Saw all this occur through the orbs that they peered.

They smiled, and high-fived, and struck up the band,

Pleased that these events had gone just as planned.

[kiruamon]

A false bride for the false gods AU - Introduction

A new year and a new AU to ramble about, but first have some sketches of the cast. (More sketches are also after the text.)

Let's start with the plot:

Y/N lives in a small village together with their sister. While their sister is a seer and can predict sometimes events from the future, Y/N has no such gifts.

In their little village two local gods are worshipped. Said gods being Sun and Moon. They do visit the village every now and then. Mostly to collect some of the offerings that the villagers are leaving for them and listening to their supplications. They never show up in the village together and usually Sun visits it more frequently and making his presence more known to everyone as Moon who sometimes strolls simply through the village during nighttime not minding if his presence goes unnoticed.

But there comes a day where Sun declares that he and Moon have choosen to take one of the humans of the village as their future spouse. And their choice fell onto your sister. Sun demands that the ritual for the wedding will be performed during the summer solstice next month. It should be a great honor. A happy occasion. Everyone else in the village is thrilled. But you know your sister's heart is in pieces, because it already belongs to someone else.

It takes some days of thinking and turning different ideas around in your head. Plans about just leaving the village with her and her beloved before the wedding. But that would be difficult with so many eyes on them. But you also could not simply hold still and do nothing. And so you came to your sister with a better plan. Telling her to switch roles with you on the day of the wedding ritual. The gown for the ritual with it's hood already would obscure enough of your face and other features so that you doubted that anyone would be able to tell the difference between you two during the ritual. With all the distraction in the village during the event it would give her enough time to leave the village with her partner. It needed a lot of convincing and begging. But in the end she agreed and even as you did not know what to do when your trick would be found out by the two gods, it didn't mattered too much to you as long as you would know your sister being safe and happy.

So the time comes. Everything goes as planed. Your sister had told you all you needed to know for the ritual, helped you prepare and dress up while staying hidden in the house until the other villagers came and took you with them to the place where the ritual would be performed. Sun is there. Accepting what he thinks would be your sister as his and Moon's bride. He takes your hand and as you left the border of the village it's like you stepped into another place. It looks like the same forest, but it doesn't feel the same. The village is gone and the air feels different. More clean and serene. But despite all, Sun who is guiding you is short on words. Almost ignoring you. He comes of as absent-minded. Until you reach a little shrine where he stops for the first time and turns around. His tall figure towering over yours. His hands reach for your hood. "Time to take it off," he mumbles as it slides down your head. It's the point where everything goes down. His eyes flicker in surprise before his mouth turns into a grimace and a deep scowl shows his growing displeasure of what he sees. "You are not the one we asked for!"

And yeah, that's the start of the main plot of the story.

Sun and Moon have to deal with being tricked to marry the wrong human. And Sun is not happy at all with it. He will constantly scowl and looking disgusted at you. Rambling about his displeasure of having to stick with the a plain and useless human like you and pretty much giving you the cold shoulder.

Also, surprise, surprise, you will find out during your first night that Sun and Moon are sharing the same body as they change by nightfall. And while you're already expecting an equally cold greeting from Moon, who you always had imagined to be the more reserved, serious and colder one out of the two gods... he simply broke out into laughter, finding the situation quite hilarious and complimenting you on your little trickery. It's a big surprise, but you are somewhat relieved not to have to deal with two upset gods.

Additional facts:

Moon is a pretty chill guy in this au. He is showing from the start a bigger interest in you. Not minding that you are 'just' a normal human without any power. He also think it's pretty funny how much you have upset Sun with your trick. Which causes some back and forth talking between the two in their shared mind and only adds to Sun's foul mood. While Moon does tend to take things more light-hearted and not as seriously as Sun, he can read the room pretty good. If he does act on it or puts more fuel into the fire depends on the situation though. Moon is also the one who explains more about themselves and their realm to you at the beginning. He also spends willingly more time with you. As an example, he will take you on midnight strolls through their realm for stargazing and taking you back home to the shrine if you fall asleep.

Sun on the other hand like mentioned already is so not pleased with the events. He will be snarky, constantly reminding you how much he despises you and how awful it is that he is now married to you without no way for him to reverse the bond between you three since you made your vows to each other through the ritual. He spends as little time talking with you as possible if he can. Being annoyed if you failing to do tasks right at the first try or having to ask him questions about the new place you found yourself living in. Communication with him is hard and a real challenge. While Sun doesn't make it obvious and it's easy to forget, he does can see and hear very well the same things as Moon does and vice versa. So if you are spending time with Moon and talking with him, Sun also will be aware of the conversation and what is said and happening. And it's through this way that Sun will slowly soften up a bit around you. Even more so when one night you pour your heart out to Moon about the difficulties you have with Sun and to get along with him, but without seemingly any efforts, even as you are trying very hard to be on friendly terms with Sun. It makes you feel a bit at a loss what to do anymore and also as if failing over and over. Moon knows that Sun is listening in. Even as he doesn't tell you. And he already knows that his counterpart will come around eventually which is why he simply tells you not to worry too much about it. That it will be all good at the end. It's a slow progress but Moon is right and Sun does become less hostile around you. Slowly, he will start to see you less and less as the useless human he had been annoyed over and put his prejudices aside. He has a hard time showing it at first. Not always finding the right words and often comes up as too rough, when actually don't wanting to push you away anymore. It's a bit awkward, but gets better with every day and interaction. Sun will open up more around you. Enjoying your presence more and being quite chatty. Smiles will become less rare as well as him reaching out to you, to hold your hand or yourself in his arms to make some physical contact.

The reason why he was so frustrated over having not your sister but you as your bride will also be revealed. Sun had hoped with a seer as their spouse their might be a chance for him and Moon to find out a way to be accepted as real gods.

Because the other gods do not view them as such and it had scratched on Sun's pride so much that it had grown into an obsession of his. The reason for this is that he and Moon had been created as tools from the gods Sol and Luna a long, long time ago until they had not been needed anymore and simply had grown into the roles of the smaller local gods of the mountain villages. And Sun had always wished for more. That he and Moon would be finally accepted into the ranks of the others gods. Not looked down upon any longer. So yes, Sun had tried to make the village seer through the marriage a tool for them to use. Which had not worked out in the end. But as his relationship to you got better, he finds himself surprised at the notion that he lately cares less about his original goals and plans.

Y/N is just a normal human. Maybe they and their sister are twins. I honestly would find it a tad more funny if Y/N would be male just for some extra giggles at the reveal when Sun lifts up their hood. But I will let it open for everyone to choose for themself what they like best. Other than that they are a kind, not too confident and somewhat timid person, I imagine. To come up with the switch and even going through with it, had been the boldest thing they ever had done in their life. They struggle a lot, because of Sun's early demeanour and take his words much to heart which is why Moon is trying so often to distract them when it's their time together and reassures them that they are doing well. Also the chain around Y/N's neck was part of the ritual and gown. There is probably a line in the vows close to something like this: "Like the links of this chain our fates will be connected from now on to eternity."

And then there is Eclipse. Which I... honestly don't have too much plans for at the moment, other than him being an additional form of Sun and Moon. Maybe they will get stuck in the form of Eclipse for a while due to getting in trouble with a higher god. Maybe it could be a situation where Sun got really riled up about one of the other gods speaking badly about their little human spouse so that Sun uses his powers against said god. Just to get himself and Moon cursed into this form where they have trouble controlling their body or to speak. So they and Y/N will have to find a way to reverse things. Yeah, I think that sounds kind of nice.

[cluelessteam]

Whispers Through Time: {~A New Arrival~}

Summary: After being mysteriously transported into the world of House of the Dragon, a modern-day woman poses as a seer to gain entry into the Targaryen court. Armed with knowledge of the future, she secretly warns Rhaenyra and Daemon of looming dangers while hiding her true identity. As she grows closer to both, romantic tension builds, but so do the risks of her deception. With Daemon's suspicions rising and Rhaenyra’s trust deepening, the reader must navigate her lies while trying to alter their tragic fate—before everything unravels.

Characters: Rhaenyra & Daemon

Pairing: Rhaenyra x Fem!Reader x Daemon

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1293

Chapter 1 --- Chapter 2

The biting chill of the wind gnawed at your skin as you stumbled through an unfamiliar landscape, its vastness stretching out before you. It was hard to pinpoint exactly when the world around you had shifted, but the change was undeniable. Your memory still clung to the familiar buzz of the modern world—the sound of car engines, the hum of streetlights, and the constant tap of your shoes on concrete. But now, all that was gone, replaced by a stark silence that only heightened your disorientation. The horizon before you seemed endless, filled with tall hills covered in thick mist, and in the distance, a looming structure—a castle—stood proudly, its towers piercing the dreary sky.

This couldn’t be real. It felt too surreal, like a dream pulled from the pages of some historical fantasy novel. You had always been fascinated by the medieval period and Westeros in particular, but that fascination never prepared you for this. And yet, everything felt too vivid to be a dream—the sharpness of the cold, the heavy scent of damp earth, the distant call of gulls swooping down from the cliffs nearby.

Your breath caught in your throat, and a familiar panic began to rise. You could almost feel your heart pounding, each beat growing louder in your ears. Logic screamed that this couldn’t be happening. You were walking home after a long day, when—there! That light. The blinding flash that enveloped you and carried you here. You clenched your hands into fists, grounding yourself, and let the question form properly: Where am I?

Slowly, as you took in your surroundings, the faintest flicker of recognition sparked. That castle, those towers—it looked eerily familiar. The realization hit you hard, and your knees weakened. This was not just any castle, but one you had seen countless times in books, on screens. Westeros. You had somehow, impossibly, been transported to the world of the Targaryens, Velaryons, and the Seven Kingdoms.

"Gods…" you whispered, though you weren’t sure if you were calling to them or cursing them. How could this be possible?

Panic began to bubble up in your chest, but you bit it down. Now wasn’t the time to lose your head. Whatever force had brought you here, it clearly didn’t care about your confusion. You were stranded in a world you had no right to be in, with no clear path home. But you were nothing if not resourceful, and survival instinct kicked in fast. First things first: you needed a cover story.

You looked down at your clothing—your jacket, jeans, and shoes entirely inappropriate for this world. You’d stick out like a sore thumb if you didn’t do something, and quickly. And then, as if fate wanted to test you immediately, you noticed a figure making their way toward you—a villager, maybe, wrapped in furs, their weathered face twisted in confusion at the sight of you.

Without hesitation, you pulled the hood of your jacket up, hiding as much of your appearance as possible, and let an idea form. You needed to be someone important, someone with a skill that would grant you entry into the castle ahead. You thought of the people in this world—superstitious, often lacking in medical knowledge, and prone to reverence for those who claimed to possess sight beyond the ordinary.

A midwife. A seer.

That was the way in. You straightened up, quickly rehearsing a story in your head. You could remember enough of the history of this time—enough about the impending conflicts and players involved—to convince someone of your abilities. And if you could do that, you might just survive.

The villager had reached you by now, his eyes flicking over your strange attire, suspicion evident in his gaze.

"You… you lost, stranger?" His accent was thick, the words harsh against the wind. He looked you up and down, frowning deeper as he noticed your modern shoes.

Clearing your throat, you adopted the air of someone who belonged here, someone important. "I’ve come from far away," you began, your voice steady, "I am a midwife, and a gifted seer. I’ve been summoned—by fate itself—to serve the realm."

His eyes narrowed. "A seer, eh? And who exactly called ye?"

You squared your shoulders. "Not who. What." You let the pause linger, allowing the weight of your words to sink in. "There are things at play in this world that go beyond your understanding. I see them—glimpses of what’s to come. And I’ve come to ensure the safety of those in power, to warn them of the dangers that await if they do not heed my counsel."

The villager hesitated, doubt still clouding his expression, but he seemed unsure now, weighing your words. Superstition held great power in this world, and the idea of turning away someone who claimed to have foresight was a dangerous gamble. Finally, with a curt nod, he motioned to the road leading toward the castle. "You’ll want to speak to the men at the gates, then. They'll decide if yer needed."

You gave a small nod in return, keeping your expression controlled, though relief washed over you. You began to walk, your thoughts racing. You had taken the first step, but getting into the castle was just the beginning. Once there, you would need to convince people far more powerful and skeptical than a simple villager. Rhaenyra, Daemon, the Velaryons… the very people who would shape the future of Westeros.

As you approached the castle’s towering gates, the sheer size of the fortress became overwhelming. The walls stretched upward, casting long shadows over the ground. Your breath quickened as the guards came into view—men clad in armor, their hands resting on swords as they watched you approach. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself.

One of the guards stepped forward, his face stern beneath his helmet. "State your business," he demanded, his voice rough and authoritative.

"I am a midwife," you repeated, keeping your voice steady. "A seer. I have been sent here to serve the realm, to offer counsel to those in power." You met his gaze directly, hoping to convey confidence. "I see things—glimpses of what’s to come. And I know that there are dangers on the horizon. I must speak with those who rule, for their own safety."

The guard raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "A seer, eh? You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word at face value. We get all kinds at these gates."

You expected resistance, and you had your response ready. "I understand your doubt, but let me offer you this—" You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. "There will be an attempt on the life of someone in power here soon. It will come from within, not without. If I am wrong, you may throw me to the wolves. But if I am right, you will have failed in your duty to protect this castle."

The guard’s expression faltered for just a moment, a flicker of uncertainty passing across his features. He glanced at his fellow guards, then back at you. Finally, with a curt nod, he stepped aside. "I’ll let the master-at-arms know. If you’re lucky, you’ll get your audience."

You stepped through the gates, your pulse quickening. Inside, the castle was a maze of stone corridors, each more imposing than the last. Servants moved quickly through the halls, and you kept your head down, trying to appear as if you belonged.

Your mind raced with the enormity of what lay ahead. You needed to get close to the right people—people who would believe your story. And the first name that came to mind was Rhaenyra Targaryen. The heir to the Iron Throne, a woman of strength and ambition. If you could win her trust, you’d have a chance.

[aiscapades]

dissecting the lost in limbo demo and speculating about literally everything!!

this is just me being insane and connecting dots that probably don't actually connect. assmaster made similar connections i did so i feel a little less silly abt this! :)

just. hear me out

the seer

firstly,

amon is that you

who is the one between? pride? or the tower entity? is the seer on pride's side or the tower's??

now what the hell does our grandma have to do with any of this. does she actually know anything or is she just superstitious and kinda sorta suspects something. she's been working for DECADES to dispel the darkness that hangs over faybourne? FOR DECADES? do you mean trying to convince mc to leave? because she knew all along something would happen to us? + if another dialogue option is chosen, the seer says "life has tried to bend you to the ways of others, and still... you have prevailed." which in my mind basically translates to "even though you moved away, you came back. as you were destined to do." mc says they think they're here by pure chance. the seer says "the one between doesn't believe in such a thing... that you are here today before me, just like they predicted... it can be nothing if not divine [...] providence." so we are absolutely destined for this by some higher power.

oh,, WERE we torn between two worlds. OH WERE WE NOW-

brother (lysander) sees a curse. seer (lazaro) sees a blessing. does the brother see faybourne as cursed bc it suffers unwanted effects of the tower ? or is it simply a curse (i.e nuisance) bc it is producing wanderers for pride (or the tower)? whose side is lysander on? whose side is lazaro on??? does the tower want to consume limbo? also the firstborn (human realm)?? is this why the seer views it as a blessing? do they want these worlds to merge or fall apart all together? is the connection between faybourne and limbo the source of their abilities? i just assume they're originally from limbo, but maybe not. i just wonder why one sees it as a curse and the other sees it as a blessing. (i'm rlly simplifying these characters & their possible motivations lol)

interesting. so the town of faybourne is directly related to limbo. linked. parallels. reflections.

"the scar in limbo's chest" is that the tower? or could it mean something else more metaphorical, like a betrayal?

"for the benefit of both realms" interesting....... is lazaro limbo-born but residing in the firstborn?? is lysander a capitalist

ALL THIS TIME, i'm thinking the seer is on pride's side. but here he is telling us to fight against him! and the seer says "this wasn't supposed to happen! this wasn't part of the deal!" did pride betray them by telling us to fight? we were sent to limbo--was that not their goal? (were they instead trying to disconnect us from the tower? magically protect us? what else was this ritual for?) or did they just not expect to be hurt in the process? * this is all assuming ??? is pride. more on that later

limbo

when the realm turns red w/ hatred, the silhouette almost resembles envy (the hair!) before returning to the original style. young pride? envy? ?????

FURTHER... the tower entity (the narrating voice mc hears) calls this silhouette (represented by ???) the betrayer. pride has betrayed the tower in some way. more on this in a moment.

+ envy is also a traitor (via treason, iirc)

is this a connection? is this why nobody cares about our wound. are we gonna be healed. or was that a one time thing?? were we simply being stitched back together from the inside even after entering limbo? freaky nonetheless..

i speculated a lot on WHO wanted us sent to limbo. but what's interesting is that it seems we land just outside the borders of the woods beyond--a dangerous place clearly marked by the red ropes. mc wanders downhill, however, too close to this border, maybe even going past it and deeper into danger. + later on, it's mentioned that the voidbound have unexpectedly wandered past this border. if we are sent here by some godlike being, be it pride or the tower, why have they sent us into danger? was it pure chance where we'd fall out of the sky? or did pride want us somewhere safe and isolated enough, but we wandered away + the voidbound situation has worsened? did the tower want us in its reach the moment we fell into limbo? the tower wouldn't want us to die. right?? pride wouldn't want us to die! he scolds us when we do..... right???

the voidbound (this is where i get crazy)

now i watched fullmetal alchemist brotherhood as a kid and it forever defined the rest of my life. the themes of creating new lifeforms from scratch, humans trying to attain godhood in this sense, homunculi and other half-formed monstrosities gross me out and scare me in the best way. when i first saw the voidbound in the demo, i immediately thought of the mannequin soldiers (gore warning!). this is why the line "it holds itself like a scared little kid" stood out to me so much. are these voidbound, these disgusting creatures made of melted flesh and mismatched body parts, the children of the tower entity? did the tower entity try to create children the way pride did? did pride sabotage them? is the tower a scorned lover or a sibling (parallel to lysander & the seer)? FURTHER... did pride create limbo in the image of the firstborn (the human realm)? is this why he is called father pride? we know envy isn't their real name, so is it some kind of dishonor or punishment to be named after your greatest sin? did pride see himself a god and therefore create life? did the tower try as well and failed?

the one between

OK SO he did not like that. but i cannot tell if it's bc HE IS "the one between" or if it's bc the TOWER ENTITY is. i thought that because it's his silhouette guiding us to limbo, reforming our body, bringing us back to life if we die to the voidbound, he must not be "the one between." bc if he is, he'd know the seer was sending us to limbo. he'd know about the ritual. instead of an interrogation, there would've been celebration. "guys my new wanderer just got here!! check 'em out!!" but instead we were threatened, questioned, and treated like a prisoner. like we were the enemy. so who was the silhouette? who is the one between? whose wanderer are we? does he know mc is under the influence of the tower? i don't think so. it seems only xal knows (unless pride is hiding things). does he not expect his wanderer to be under the tower's influence? is this where the ritual went wrong? were we meant to be sent to limbo all along, but pride didn't know about our connection to the tower? did the tower plant this seed decades ago, waiting for the moment we found ourselves in limbo? to use us as a weapon against pride? is every wanderer connected to the tower? is that what makes them the wanderer? is every wanderer the fabled "wanderer of worlds" ara talks so highly about, or are we the only real-deal hero?

this bit of dialogue is so interesting to me. obvious god makes humans and garden of eden corruption via humans committing sins references here. pride wanted to create a world in the image of the human realm but free from sin. a perfect version of the firstborn. he was only meant to keep watch over the universe and he thought himself god enough to create a whole new world. does his name make sense or what also interesting they used the word "watchtower" ..... and they pronouns for the one between. but maybe that's just to keep the identity of them secret.

we are not the first wanderer. and if mc continues to die, it's clear we will not be the last. but the game ends when we die. the story ends. this wanderer has to be under the influence of the tower. this is what makes us different from all other wanderers. this is what allows us to not only make it to limbo but to survive in limbo. because we are enacting the will of the one between.

interjection: going back to my fullmetal alchemist connection... if wanderers come to limbo and die immediately, and we as the newest wanderer landed just outside the tower, and when we die, we are dragged into void goop... are the voidbound the reanimated, cobbled-together remains of past wanderers? i want this to be true going off this idea, we as the wanderer are a child of the tower :) so it's like romeo and juliet when we fall in love with one of pride's children! <3

back to regularly scheduled programming: is this why pride reacts in FEAR when we mention the one between? not offense or pleasant surprise. "his calm countenance is shattered by the grip of fear." we aren't supposed to know this name, are we?

if ??? is pride, then he knows his wanderer is under the tower's influence. he knows we are being sent to limbo. if ??? isn't actually pride...

he wouldn't know our intentions. is it just a past manifestation of him? a younger him? like a flashback, caught in time? is it (one of?) his god form(s), while the pride we meet in limbo is his physical "mortal" form? or is it the tower in disguise? WHAT IS GOING ON?? also.. "breaking into my sacred chest"? remember the seer mentioning "the scar in limbo's chest" earlier? i cannot tell if this is just chest (box)/chest (body part) and i'm reading too far into it or if this is very very clever writing to disguise smth.... is chest referring to faybourne in one and limbo in the other? we've already established these two places are intrinsically linked so it's not strange they'd be referred to with the same word. adding onto this, i also noticed the human realm where mc comes from is referred to as the firstborn and the city mc lived in is faybourne. i think that's a clever way of helping players understand they're the same realm--if that was intentional :)

this post is like 98% questions bc honestly idk what is going on (in the best way). the characters' motivations seem obvious one moment then i think way too hard abt it and suddenly everything is flipped. i just wanna know who the good/bad guys are bc that'll clear up a bunch!! honestly it's rlly fun not knowing who to trust/what side MC is actually on. i hope the tower's influence makes us do some questionable things :3

if you made any other connections or have any theories pls lmk!!!

[ravenclaws-stuff]

hii, i hope you’re doing well !! 🫶🫶

could you pls write barty crouch jr x reader if they were both drunk but w fluff ?

thank you and have a great day/evening ! 💋💋

I am so sorry for this taking forever. I just couldn't think of anything to write until this past week. I hope you enjoy it! Have a great day/evening!

Barty Crouch x Reader

Tags: Barty and Reader are both ravenclaw, he calls her sparrow and she calls him eagle, worries about future plans, Pandora is a seer, evan is mentioned, drinking

Not many students know much about the Ravenclaw tower. Sure they could guess the bookshelves lined the walls, overflowing with books. They could imagine the giant statue dedicated to our founder. Yet they would never guess there was a spot on the roof of the tallest tower where two students could sit. Or maybe they could imagine it. Just maybe that might be the reason the call this the eagle’s nest and us birds.

“Here.” Barty passes the bottle of fire whiskey to me. Tonight Barty dragged me up to our favorite spot, said we needed a break from all the books. He said I needed fresh air. “Barty?” I ask, staring off at the forbidden forest. I could feel his green eyes bore into the side of my head. “What do we do after this?” I take another sip of the fire whiskey,my throat warming as it goes down. “What do you mean?” I sigh, handing the bottle back. “Like when we leave this castle. Will you follow in your father's footsteps and work and the ministry? Will my parents marry me off to the highest bidder?” His calloused hand finds mine, a lazy smile on his face. “Sparrow, you really want to know?” I nod, the alcohol lowering my walls. Normally I would have been more guarded about my fears of the future, even with Barty.

“Well first off, we would either get a flat in London or a cottage in the middle of a field. Maybe get a dog or two. You would pursue whatever career you want. I would support you even if you wanted to become a troll milker.” I giggle, leaning into him. The heat radiating off of him as he wraps an arm around my waist. “You would cut contact off from your family that way they can’t guilt you anymore. Dinner would be done every night when you came home. Maybe in a few years, we can have kids. A whole army of themif you are willing. Our house will be filled with love.” His voice tailed off, mind drifting off to another place. “Eagle? Do you really bellieve that?” Barty squeezes my side. “Yeah that's exactly what Pandora said when I asked her last week.” We share a look before bursting into a fit of laughter. “Did you really ask her?” I question between giggles. He nods, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “I did. Though there was one more thing she told me.” He whispered, his face goering inches from mine. “What?” His nose brushes against mine. “We have to give Evan his own room.” I giggle, pushing him away. “Bartemius Crouch! Can’t you ever be serious.” Barty stands up, offering me a hand. As soon as my feet touched the ground, my body swayed, feeling the alcohol flow through my veins. Barty helped me back through the window, making sure to lock it. We do not need another first year to lose a pet. We make our way back to his room with minimal noise, only knocked over two bookstacks. I threw on one of his jerseys, Crouch etched proudly across my back. With my head on his bare chest, one hand tracing the rune on his chest. his fingers ran through my hair, combing out any knots they met. Sleep pulls me into is hold. It was like a warm hug. Just as I almost succumb to its hold, Barty presses a kiss to my head. His hand trails down to the name on my back, tracing each letter.

“Before we leave this castle, you’ll have a ring on your finger.”