#she’s a guide and experienced death young

[lilia-calderus-pet-goat]

Headcanons for a³'s coven of chaos, part 6, Lilia's history edition:

(previous part of headcanons, here.)

Lilia wasn't born into sicilian aristocracy. She was born in the carpathian mountains. Her parents were romani, victims of persecution, and so she was orphaned & taken in by her maestra.

As a little girl, Lilia was insanely self-conscious, shy and withdrawn.

She used to have a pet goat. Hence my username. Now, she's upset that it's become some sort of satanic-associated stereotype that witches talk to goats.

When she started showing signs of her forgetfulness, her visions, her flashes—people will have treated her as 'defective' and 'faulty.' One of those kids that just 'isn't very bright.'

She hated the texture of those darn dresses. Her Maestra eventually noticed her discomfort and passed down the shirt and coat we see her wear on the road—since the costume designer said they were indeed passed down to her.

Her maestra taught her how to sew, knit—and a great deal of sicilian, Italian and greek recipes. Her maestra enjoyed cooking, and she enjoyed drinking tea.

She'd get easily distracted, she wouldn't pay attention when others spoke. She'd struggle with eye-contact. Her voice would trail off. Once in a while, she'd get really excited about something and go on a long rant, until breathless—which would be met with judgement. She'd space out and others would laugh at her.

But despite the fact she was considered strange, even by her sister witches—her covenmates did love her. Like you live siblings even as you tease them—and she was one of the youngest, if not the youngest.

The maestra was undoubtedly a strict, no-nonsense woman. But she was also the first, perhaps the only person, who sat down to understand Lilia's unique condition. Whenever she'd catch her 'visiting,' which was often, she would focus on guiding & keeping her calm.

She was desperate to toughen Lilia up, seeing how afraid and insecure she was. The maestra worried for her and didn't want her to end uo helpless. So, she taught her everything she knows—like a mother—even if everyone else thought she was wasting time, since Lilia struggled a lot initially. (“tea-leaves, i was bad at tea-leaves...”)

Lilia's Maestra had known about the fever that will wipe out their coven since before little Lilia hot the vision—since on their first lesson, 450 year old Lilia time-slipping from the Witch's Road told her. Despite this, the maestra didn't tell Lilia, because having seen how dark and sad her future is, she wanted her to feel safe and happy for a little while longer.

The first time Lilia met Jen (and afterwards, the rest of them) was exactly then. As adult Lilia was talking to her maestra, little Lilia was in the tunnels, experiencing her life out of sequence as she always had. She simply couldn't remember the flashes of her future coven or make sense of anything.

Lilia tried to warn everyone of the fever despite the fact it was set in stone, because of her own denial. None of her covenmates believed her—'Looney Lilia is at it again'—but her maestra, who already knew it would happen, simply repeated that death comes for us all.

Lilia would see Rio all the time in her full-skull form when she was young, in flashes. Rio's been following her! She thinks they're besties! Lilia is scared shitless!

Lilia's first girlfriend was one of the Doñas de fuera. In the historical folklore of Sicily, Doñas de fuera (Spanish for "Ladies from the Outside"; Sicily was under Spanish rule at the time) were supernatural female beings comparable to the fairies of English folklore. In the 16th to mid-17th centuries, the doñas de fuera also played a role in the witch trials in Sicily. In historical Sicilian folklore, the doñas de fuera} would make contact with humans, mostly women deemed to have “sweet blood”, whom they took to Benevento ("the Blockula of Sicily"), by mounting them on magical, flying goats.

Compared to surrounding countries, the witch trials in Sicily were relatively mild: in most cases, the accused were either freed, sentenced to exile, or jailed, rather than sentenced to death.

In Lilia's case, after the death of her coven, when she was left alone, she was eventually put to trial and exiled from Sicily.

She traveled from medieval village to medieval village across Europe, chased with pitchforks each time. She thought every tragedy was her fault.

She was in Strasbourg, France, to witness the Dancing Plague. She tried to warn everyone, but they called her crazy.

Another old friend of Lilia's, while in France, was Carabosse, based on whom the wicked fairy/Maleficent was created. Lilia watched once more as she turned into a racist caricature after her death. MANY years later, she went and watched Tchaikovsky sleeping beauty ballet—and then proceeded to go and punch him also.

Heinrich Kramer tried to hit on her. If you don't know, he was a German churchman and inquisitor. With his widely distributed book Malleus Maleficarum, which describes witchcraft and endorses detailed processes for the extermination of witches, he was instrumental in establishing the period of witch trials in the early modern period. Professor Malcolm Gaskill has described Kramer as a "superstitious psychopath."

And Lilia, in fact, was good friends (potential fling??) with Helena Scheuberin, an Austrian woman who stood trial accused of witchcraft just because she herself had rejected Henrich Kramer's advances. During the trial, thirteen other people were accused. Lilia was one of them. Luckily, the trial was dismissed.

She stayed in Germany for a while, to live with her good friend (perhaps even girlfriend.) Aka, the witch from Hansel & Gretel. She watched her, later, be put to death in her own over—persecuted for witchcraft. And then, she watched again as her tale was combined with other medieval stereotypes and bastardized into an antisemitic stereotype that painted her as a cannibalist, child-stealing villain. Lilia hates it. She says it's a tale that celebrates the order of the patriarchal home, seen as a haven protected from the dangerous characters that threaten the lives of children outside, while it systematically denigrates the adult female characters, which are seemingly intertwined between each other.

She met Evanora Harkness when she was pregnant and deeply disliked her.

While in Germany, she was subjected to yet another witch trial. She survived, hasn't talked about how, but she has scars from it that she will not show. (Würzburg witch trials. The Würzburg witch trials of 1625–1631, which took place in the self-governing Catholic Prince-Bishopric of Würzburg in the Holy Roman Empire in present-day Germany, formed one of the biggest mass trials and mass executions ever seen in Europe, and one of the largest witch trials in history.)

After Germany, she went to England to escape that mess of trauma. And so she witnessed the Great Plague of London, lasting from 1665 to 1666, was the most recent major epidemic of the bubonic plague to occur in England.

She lived in Styria for quite a few years, where she dated Carmilla, from the lesbian vampire novel. Eventually, they broke up. Lilia had been empathetic at first, but grew tired of being fed off of and punched her.

Out of spite, she spent a decade or two in Transylvania, helping other vampires escape vampire hunting trials. She witnessed a lot of friends be killed.

She lived in Greece for a few years after the Greek War of Independence. Later spent time in Asia Minor, until she had enough of Greek and Turkish witches arguing about who coffee reading belongs to.

She became an opera singer in spain, for a while. One of the many jobs she took over the years. It's when she met Tchaikovsky, in a trip to russia, as mentioned earlier, and bitch-slapped that twink into oblivion.

While in russia, she also met Alexandra Kollontai.

She met Rosa Luxemburg during the First World War. She also met Clara Zetkin.

She went to Argentina for a few years, met Virginia Bolten.

So, America it is... She wasn't happy about it. She went to Massachusetts, like a moth to the flame. Not Salem, no—Boston.

She was friends with Sylvia Plath. Maybe they even kissed a little!! Lilia tried to help her, but couldn't.

Her mental health was so terrible that she couldn't hold jobs for too long. She worked as a seamstress, as a stenographer, a governess, a maid.

She got married to a gay man, one time, for a few years, because people grew suspicious. He died.

She decided she deserved to be alone, because she was a bad omen. A jinx, a habringer of doom. She chose the life of the hermit.

She was at the Women’s Suffrage Parade in 1913 in Washington, D.C.

During the roaring 20's she became a jazz singer. She wasn't able to continue, because she was getting some really bad mental health episodes.

She had to sell a lot of her old sicilian jewellery and good dresses for money after the economy crashed on 1929. The Great depression made her... Greatly depressed.

She was unable to keep paying for a house and started traveling with a caravan. If she'd stayed in Boston at that time, perhaps she could have met Jen. She didn't.

She was attacked & robbed three separate times while in said caravan.

Obviously she's a polyglot, familiar with the language of every country she's lived in. But even as she forgets words and confuses details between languages, she never forgets anything about her native tongue. She hasn't been in Italy for centuries, but all her notes & personal writings are in Sicilian. She really misses speaking it and she feels like she can never truly, genuinely express herself in English.

Before whichever war, due to all the death she was predicting, she'd scream and cry like a banshee. It's one of the reasoms she repressed her magic, put it away, ignored it.

She was in The March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom on 1963.

She was in the stonewall riots in 1969. She made some friends again, non witch folk.

She was also in Woodstock, again, in 1969.

She did activism during the AIDS crisis. She lost the friends she made.

At one point she got bored and got a history degree.

At another point she got bored and got a philosophy degree.

She's taught in schools, once or twice, but was deemed unfit after a few years even though the students loved her.

She moved to New Jersey, opened Madame Calderu's Psychic Readings and Lilia's Leggings, but the money from that is still not enough. I mean, her house is decomposing, her bed is her wall, and her food is scarce enough that she doesn't mind a lapsed expiration date. Girl is dirt poor.

She does a lot of children's parties. She often hates the parents, though.

She has very few clients on the daily, but one of her regulars (in both businesses) is Madisynn King from She-Hulk.

[fenharrel]

i always get elgar’nan and falon’dins vallaslin mixed up

[daenerysaizie]

𐔌 . ⋮ REALM’S DELIGHT .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

MK1 x Targaryen!Reader

Note:

Game of Thrones concept included in MK 1. Even though, Game of Thrones is kanonically a show in the MK world (shown in the DLC), in this fanfic it’s not lol. Also, I will be changing plots and details for the both. Will get confusing as I’m not an experienced writer and yes :3 OH! You’re also basically Daenarys, sharing the look of classic Valyrian (only hair and eye color) and characteristics. If you don’t know anything about Game of Thrones, don’t worry I will explain it in the fic? But do realize it’s heavily rewritten so it’s not the same as the kanon one. Heavily inspired by “Kombat Hearts” by @ilykirara and “New Era” by @atlasofthestaars . I love this two fics so so much<3 female reader? But read however you like.

Edit: changed the story lil bit to fit the flow🩷

Chapter 1 — Everytime a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin.

In the year 283 AC (After Conquest) on Dragonstone, Westeros, a storm raged, with fierce winds and crashing waves echoing the pain that consumed Queen Rhaella. She lay in labor, her face pale and drawn, haunted by fear—fear of soon losing a husband to his madness and sons to a brutal world. Yet, she clung to her strength, whispering, “This child is of House Targaryen,” as though breathing life into the fire in her womb.

At the storm’s peak, the child was born—a girl with silvery hair and eyes like amethysts. Rhaella looked upon her newborn daughter with a bittersweet smile. Her breaths grew shallow, each one softer than the last, yet her gaze held firm. She would not yield to death, not yet. Her lips parted, and with a fragile voice, she spoke her child’s name—a final act of love and defiance.

—

They called you Stormborn. The youngest child of King Aerys, princess of Dragonstone—a darling of the fortress that rose dark and forbidding from the rocky, windswept island, surrounded by an endless sea. In your early years, you grew up there, often found by the beach, close to the waves, with sand in your hair and the scent of salt in your nose. You loved the sea; it made you feel free. The cold, unyielding stones of Dragonstone comforted you, and to your young eyes, this was home. Warm and protective.

You were never alone. Upon your mother’s death, the King, your father, appointed guards and servants to remain by your side at all times, just as he had for Viserys, your elder brother. Before you or Viserys, Queen Rhaella had suffered multiple miscarriages and stillbirths. This led the King, who was starting show signs of insanity, to suspect her, and he sent her away to Dragonstone from King’s Landing. He would visit her only after executing someone by fire.

Raised on the island, you knew little of the world beyond—King’s Landing, the Seven Kingdoms, or even your eldest brother, Rhaegar, whom you met only twice. You have met your father supposedly just once, when you were a babe. Viserys was your only guide, the voice that taught and reassured you. Sharing quite the big of age gap, he knew beyond the misty, cold walls.

When conditions grew too dangerous, you were too young to understand why you had to leave.

“Brother, please come with me. I’m scared,” you whispered, clinging to him. Viserys held you tightly. “I must stay. I am the Prince of Dragonstone, It is right for me to stay,” he replied, pressing a small bag into your hands. “Sister, I promise I’ll bring you back home. Protect this at all costs. It is the crown of King Jaehaerys I.” You clutched the bag close, nodding.

A man with clad in blue took your small hand and led you away from the only home you’d known to a place far, far away. Clutching the bag with the crown, you looked back at your brother for a final look. The maids and servants who had raised you weeped as they watched you leave.

In time, you would soon forget the feel of home and the memories it bore, but never the promise your brother made or the vow you’d taken to guard the crown.

—

You stayed at a placed called the Lin Kuei when you fled from home. The Lin Kuei's former Grandmaster knew your father personally. How? You didn't know. All you knew was that the Grandmaster was kind enough to lend a hand to your father and save his only daughter. "Do you know why you are here, little dragon?" He bent down to your toddler body. You gripped the golden crown to your chest. "Home is dangerous." you replied as you looked at the Grandmaster. He had the face of a strict man, but deep in his eyes, you could see honor and kindness burn. He hummed as he nodded, "You will be safe here." he told you as he put his hand on your head. And you were, for years.

Obviously, being in the clan, you were destined to meet the three sons he had. You became close to the youngest one, Tomas. He bore almost the same burdens as you and understood your pains and discomfort. Eventually, you got close to Kuai Liang too. He took care of you and guarded you away from the clan's considerably cruel side. However, as for Bi-Han, you never got the chance to get close. He was heir to his clan, making him busier than his brothers. To your memory, he was cold and strict, stricter than his father. The only vivid memory you have of him is him asking you how your hair and eye color were so... different. You could not give him an answer that satisfied his curiosity.

As you got older, when you showed the sign of maturity in body and mind, you were sent away once again. Somewhere much safer and peaceful. According to the former Grandmaster, the clan was not made for you; you were meant to live a life that was peaceful, not a life to become a skilled warrior. Thus, Madam Bo, a former Lin Kuei warrior, took you to the village where she resided. You would keep contact in with the Lin Kuei brothers through letters. Though, the last letter you got from was a year ago now.

You lived with Madam Bo for many years now. She taught you everything you needed to know, from tough love to combat (for self defense). You remember the moment she brought you to Fengjian as clear as day. The night was as silent as death when she brought you to this quaint village. Her horse's gallops echoed through the stillness, bringing little bit of life to the sleeping village. She had you firmly seated in front of her on her horse, your hair skillfully concealed beneath her deep purple scarf. Madam Bo took great care to inform you of the local norms and the dos and the don’ts. She explained that your unique features, which were considered royal in Westeros and the Essos, would seem different and will be only met with curiosity. You were also strongly advised to not speak of your old home or family name.

Through Madam Bo, you were able to meet Kung Lao and Raiden. "Thick-skulled boys," she would call them. Growing up, the three of you sparred, trained, and played together. Being homeschooled, Raiden and Kung Lao were diligent in ensuring that you didn't miss out on any fun experiences. After grueling training sessions, the males took turns to take you out for treats. In return, you helped them with various tasks around the farm. This included harvesting the freshly grown vegetables, a labor of gratitude from you. They were also vigilant in ensuring that no boys with ‘ill intentions’ ever bothered you with courting or whatever. Whenever you insisted you could handle yourself, they would respond with a confident "I know," followed by a statement that they knew even better because they were males. In retort, you would often ask, "In that case, should I be cautious of you two as well?" to which they would simply shut down.

—

It was early in the morning, 5 AM to be exact, as you sat on your bed staring at the golden crown in your hands. It was the last thing you had that represented your family's existence and was evidence of your royal heritage. The crown had a large sigil of a three-headed dragon at its center, while seven smaller gems of different colors decorated the rest. You had the same dream again. At this point, you could recall every detail.

"BURN THEM ALL! BURN THEM ALL!" A hoarse, old voice boomed through the room. An old man with a long white beard and crazed eyes yelled, ordering his pyromancers (who used some kind of chemicals to start major fires) while he sat on the Iron Throne, a seat made from thousands of swords. The pyromancers hesitated. It was your father who sat on the throne, though you didn’t know it was him; his unmistakable Valyrian looks—white hair and purple eyes—gave it away. He continued to yell until one of his guards, a golden-haired man with blurry face, drew his sword, stabbed him in the back, and slit his throat. The golden-haired guard watched your crazed father bleed to death as he sat on his throne, yet your father still whispered the same thing as he bled on the floor: "Burn them all."

You ponder if the dream was a real event or not. After all, you were never there to witness this event, and you were extremely young when you fled from home. Plus, you had no memory of ever meeting your father or what he looked like. What if it was a cruel joke your mind played?

"No use thinking about it," you whisper to yourself as you put away the crown into your nightstand's drawer. With one swift move, you get up to get ready for the day. After all, you had so much to do. You start your morning routine and change from your nightgown into more proper clothes for the day.

—

The day went by rather quickly. From getting fresh vegetables and produce early in the morning to serving customers until closing time, the day went smoothly. Almost too smoothly. You sigh and hum as you watch your two friends put away food like vacuums, with Kung Lao doing most of the work as usual. It was amusing - how did his stomach not burst? It was superhuman, you swore. Soon, you saw Madam Bo approach the two with a massive bill in her hand. Poor Raiden and his wallet.

Despite closing hours arriving, a few drunken uncles from the village stayed behind. One made a mess on the bottom floor, which you had to clean up. You mopped the floor as the drunken man apologized. "Ahhhh, I'm sorry! Here, here, have this," he slurred his words as he handed you an unopened bottle of beer. You shook your head and refused his token of apology. You chuckled inwardly as you washed away the mess from the floor.

Suddenly, Madam Bo came down to the bottom floor and crashed into the table, breaking it. She was unconscious. "Madam Bo?!" you exclaimed in horror. The drunken uncles behind you seemed to sober up and stare. You looked up to see the culprit with wide eyes.

The man with very familiar hair jumped down to the floor, landing next to Madam Bo's unconscious body. He wore mask that covered his face. Your chest tightened as fear clouded your mind for her. You tried running towards her as the previously drunken guy, now sober from the shock, grabbed your wrist. "Are you crazy!? He's going to kill you!" he whispered as he tugged you, preparing to run. "Go" you whispered back to him. The once-drunken guy thought for a moment and let your wrist go when he saw your determined face. He dashed out of the place with a few other people. You still gripped the mop in your hand as the man approached you. He had grey hair that reminded you of Tomas from your childhood. Was it truly him? You hadn't seen the man for years!

"Surrender to the Lin Kuei! Or end up like her," he replied as he prepared his karambit, aiming it at you. It is him! Is this what the Lin Kuei does now? you thought anxiously. "I thought the Lin Kuei protected people from harm. I never thought you would stoop this low," you spoke calmly, with a hidden wobble in your voice. How could your childhood friend do this?

Kung Lao and Raiden shout your name from the floor above after taking out the other members of the clan. They try to go down to help you, but Bi-Han and Kuai Liang stop them in their tracks. "You interfere with Lin Kuei business. Leave, or face our wrath!" Bi-Han warns as he dramatically stands on the rooftop. Kuai Liang approaches the two with his weapon from behind, swinging it in the air. "Abandon Madam Bo and her? Not happening," Kung Lao replies. After his reply, Bi-Han launches himself at Raiden while Kuai Liang grabs Kung Lao, pulling him towards himself as he yells ferociously, "Get over here!"

Tomas slowly approaches you with his karambit, closing the distance between you two, as if he were a hunter and you were his prey. You contemplate your actions as you grip the mop tighter until your knuckles turn white. When the gap closes, he swings his karambit at you. You dodge his attack and use the tip of the mop to strike his stomach multiple times before hitting him hard on the head with the mop's end. He falls down. "No, it can't be that easy," you think to yourself as you look at his ‘unconscious’ body. Emotions surge through you the more you look at him, unsure how to feel, but you take the result for granted, leaving the mop near his head and running towards Madam Bo.

The noises around you seem to blur as you barely breathe. You gently turn her body to see her, and your hands shakily brush her face to sweep away the strands of her hair. "Madam Bo?" you whisper with great worry and fear. Soon enough, Kung Lao and Raiden come running down to you. They ask about your condition first before turning to Madam Bo. "Oh no. Is she—" Kung Lao is cut off when Madam Bo suddenly opens her eyes and looks at you three. "Dead? Not yet." You three can hear the playfulness in her voice as she stands up. You and Raiden are quick to help her, but she brushes away your hands as she swiftly lights up her cigarette. "Madam Bo, how are you—" Kung Lao gets interrupted again. Raiden points at the stairs, "Guys!"

"So, Madam Bo, are they ready?" A man comes down as he takes his hood off, revealing his glowing eyes and chiseled face that bears a small, proud smile. You notice it's the same man who caught your attention earlier today. Madam Bo was fondly standing at his table as she served him tea. You anxiously fidget with the ring on your middle finger. Raiden notices your fidgeting and gently takes your hand, holding it firmly with care.

Madam Bo stands in front as if to present you three. "These two are a bit thick in the head, perhaps... But they are ready," she says, referring to Raiden and Kung Lao. "However, I did not think my child would be included in the exam," she chuckles as she glances at you.

"His eyes are glowing," Raiden blurts out to Kung Lao, who is on his right side with you on his left, still holding your hand.

"I am Lord Liu Kang, God of Fire and Protector of Earthrealm," the man with glowing eyes introduces himself as he connects his hands together and folds his arms. In response, you gently let go of Raiden's hand to bow to the god. "God? Earthrealm?" Kung Lao asks with curiosity as Raiden observes the god, silently mourning the loss of contact with your hand.

"Madam Bo has been preparing you for this moment since you were boys. Today you have proven worthy of joining my champions," he explains further.

"This fight was a test?" Raiden asks. The god smiles and nods, "Of your ability and character, yes. Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, Tomas," he calls out to the Lin Kuei members. Bi-Han and Kuai Liang come down the stairs while Tomas, who was already on the same floor, stands up and positions himself behind the god.

"So these three aren't thugs?" Kung Lao asks suspiciously, eyeing them. You can only send an apologetic look to Tomas, who returns it with soft eyes.

"The Lin Kuei is a centuries-old clan dedicated to Earthrealm's defense," the god explains.

"You keep saying Earthrealm. Don't you mean Earth?" Raiden asks, confused. Madam Bo chuckles as you smile. You already possessed a little information of this topic. "You boys have so much to learn," she says.

"Earth is only part of Earthrealm. Earthrealm itself is one of many realms. Together they comprise the whole of the universe," the god explains, gesturing with his hands. "The realms can be fierce, bitter rivals. That's why we need champions to defend ours," Madam Bo adds. "The time draws near for the grand martial arts tournament between Earthrealm and the realm of Outworld. Held once each century, it allows each realm to demonstrate its strength. While our realms are at peace, there are Outworlders who would prefer us to be at war. Our victory in the tournament will... temper their zeal," the god concludes.

Madam Bo turns to the boys and partially to you, "I've taught you everything I can. You must finish your training with Lord Liu Kang," she informs them.

"More training? These three couldn't defeat us," Kung Lao asks skeptically. At his remark, Bi-Han scoffs audibly, which makes Madam Bo chuckle along with him.

"They were pulling their punches," she explains. You nod at her words as you remember the Lin Kuei being so formidable and strong. "Had we not held back, you would not have survived," Bi-Han says proudly and threateningly, stepping forward slightly. Lord Liu Kang blocks his way and interrupts him. "Come. The monks at the Wu Shi Academy await to continue your tutelage." The god offers the choice, which Kung Lao accepts without hesitation.

"And you, Raiden?" the god asks. Raiden hesitates, "Leave Fengjian? I'm needed here," he replies. Madam Bo steps in, "Earthrealm needs you, Raiden. You'll best serve the village by being one of its champions," she assures him. After considering for a moment, Raiden agrees to the god's offer with a simple "I understand."

"How about you? You have proven yourself to be worthy as well," the god turns to you as he utters your name. You, who had been silent the whole time, gape at his question. You point towards yourself, "Me?" you ask, to confirm. Madam Bo chuckles. "Come on! You heard the god. The three of us could train together like we always did!" Kung Lao says as he steps forward towards you as Raiden nods in agreement. You were unsure. "But I do not fight well and I cannot leave Madam Bo." you answer bluntly. At your words, Madam Bo chuckles as she pushes you towards the god by your waist. "Forgive me, Lord Liu Kang. As you can see, she is timid, obedient, and so humble. But she has the spirit of the dragon." she says. The god and everyone else only looks at you and awaits your answer. You sigh and nod, which earns a proud smile from Madam Bo.

"Excellent. I will join you soon. First, there are other champions I must gather," the god says.

—

Lord Liu Kang departed the tea house to gather his other champions with Kung Lao and Raiden shortly after him, to prepare for the Wu Shi academy.

The Lin Kuei stayed behind to clean up the aftermath of their physical test, during which you exchanged subtle glances with them. It had been over a decade since you last saw them, and they had transformed from boys into men, now towering above you easily. Their faces had become more defined and chiseled, contrasting the young boys you remembered.

“You dyed your hair.” Tomas remarks as he approaches you. You were setting the chairs upside down on the table to sweep any debris or broken objects. “Ah, I had to” you return his greeting with a warm smile and stand up straight. A moment of silence hangs between you, filled with the unspoken words and nostalgia.

“You and your brothers haven’t written for a year now. Why?” You ask with curiosity. As you ask about the lack of communication from the brothers, Tomas chuckles softly and explains, “Many more new initiates. How about you? You haven’t written to us as well,” He then turns it back on you, wondering why you haven't written either. You answer in a soft voice, your smile revealing a hint of melancholy. "Life hasn't changed much for me," you reply. "I didn't want to bother you or your brother."

Tomas can only hum in response and before you could speak. “We will leave” Bi-Han commands, followed by Kuai Liang, as he walks up to you and Tomas. You immediately bow to them in greeting, and Bi-Han responds with a nod. Kuai Liang, on the other hand, returns your greeting with a slight bow.

"It was lovely seeing you three again," you say, your smile lighting up the conversation. "I hope we'll meet more in the future." There was happiness in your voice as you express this sentiment, despite the awkwardness, it was still refreshing to be in their presence. Kuai Liang responds with a simple, but sincere "I agree." Bi-Han quickly guides his brothers and the members of the clan out of the tea house, after finish repairing.

As the repair work on the tea house concludes, you realize that the only task left is the chore of cleaning. With a sigh, you mentally prepare yourself for the tedious process of scrubbing and tidying up, accepting the fact that it's part of your responsibilities. Madam Bo helped you, as always.

[thelargefrye]

THE YULE DRAGON … holiday one - shot ( 17+ )

pairing : poly!dragon!ateez x witch!f!reader

genre : dragon au, fantasy au, holiday au, fluff, angst

word count : 4.3k

warnings : language, mentions of dragon hunters, talks about death, light injury but nothing major, one death threat

suffer tag : @sanjoongie and for anon who asked about any new chapters

note : very excited to write this, so let me know what you think! also here is a link to what y/n's dress at the yule gala looks like!

the winter month draws near and the clan prepares to celebrate the yule dragon festival for the first time in years. knowing this is wooyoung's first one with an actually clan, you want to make sure everything is perfect.

when you woke up in the morning, you noticed how snow had slowly begun to fall and lay on the ground. you also couldn't help but notice how the dragons around you seemed to have been in good moods. smiles on their faces as they walked around and some even greeted you with warm smiles.

when you arrived at the nursery, the hatchlings all immediately greeted you. most of them run up and tackle you to the ground.

"miss y/n! miss y/n! did you see the snow?" one hatchling, jiyu, asked and you couldn't help but laugh as you nodded and pushed some hair out of her face.

"yes, i did. very beautiful isn't it?"

"not as beautiful as you, miss y/n!" another hatchling, minjae, said. the other hatchlings couldn't help but agree with minjae and you couldn't help but laugh at them all.

"prince mingi said that we will be able to celebrate the yule dragon festival this year!"

"the yule dragon festival?" you remember wooyoung telling you about the holiday years ago when you first met. you can't help but feel excited knowing he's going to enjoy a real one this year.

"yeah! it's been years since the clan last held one," seeun says and that quickly catches your attention. years? you thought the holiday was a yearly thing?

"alright, little ones, let's go ahead and get ready for the day," mingi comes in and ushers the hatchlings away from you in order to gather them in a line so they could eat.

you push your curiosity down for later as you go over to help mingi with the hatchlings. you watch the hatchlings with a warm fondness as they eat and talk to each other, and the rest of the day goes by in flash with you and mingi taking care of the young dragons.

"miss y/n, have you ever experienced a yule dragon festival before?" one of the hatchlings asked as they were laying down for a nap. the question of one hatchling seemed to have caught the attention of a few others around you two.

"not a proper one with a true clan, but me and wooyoung used to do a small celebration before we came to the clan," you said as you remembered your time with wooyoung back in your cottage. you can feel your cheeks heat up as you remember the first time you both celebrated the yule dragon together.

"do witches have any special holidays?" another hatchling, siyu, asked.

"we do but they're not like the yule dragon one. we focus more on what we are thankful for and mourning those that have left us," you explain.

"that sounds sad."

"sometimes it is sad, but then you have to remember that even those that left this world are still with us in spirit. watching over and guiding us on the right path of destiny," you say.

"but miss y/n, you don't have to be sad anymore because you have all of us!" one hatchling said with the others immediately agreeing and you couldn't help but smile at all of them.

"okay, okay, everyone," mingi says as he comes in and immediately calming all the hatchlings down. "its time to rest, not get excited."

"but prince mingi," minjae says looking towards the tall prince, "don't you agree that miss y/n doesn't have to be sad anymore, since she has all of us now?"

"of course," mingi says as he bends down to pet minjae's head, "but miss y/n still has a right to miss those that she lost. we all do. now come on, everyone, time to rest!"

you can't help but smile at how some of the hatchlings groan at mingi's words, but nonetheless all lay down in their little nooks. you and mingi go through and make sure each hatchling is comfortable before you leave the nesting room.

you watch as mingi closes the door behind him before he's offering his arm to you. you take his arm with a smile as he escorts the two of you back to the main palace wing.

"i meant what i said though," mingi begins and you look at him with a raised eyebrow, "that you have a right to be sad about those you lost, but also know that hatchlings are right as well and that you have all of us now. the hatchlings, me, wooyoung, yeosang, the others, and even the clan. you have all of us."

"thank you, prince mingi," you say, reaching up to press a kiss to his cheek and he smiles at you before quickly pressing his own kiss to your lips. "also," you speak up after you two continue to walk, "what did the little ones mean when they said its been years since you all had a yule dragon festival?"

"well... we haven't had one since hongjoong's parents and brother were killed. hongjoong didn't want to have a large one with the whole clan, so this is the first time in five years that we have celebrated it as such," mingi explains and you nod your head in understanding.

"what caused him to suddenly change his mind?"

"well you and wooyoung of course," you wanted to laugh at mingi's answer. more like just wooyoung, you think. you decide to remain silent as mingi guides you through the palace.

"this will be wooyoung's first yule dragon with an actual clan in years," you note as you notice many dragons setting up and decorating the palace corridors with festive decorations. you can't help but feel excited knowing that wooyoung will be able to experience the real thing after so many years of not having it with an actual clan.

your mind goes back to when you and wooyoung would celebrate together back at the cottage. both of you dressing up, decorating the cottage, and spending the entire night together. wooyoung taught you the dances that he learned. even when you weren't celebrating the dragon holiday, you would find wooyoung and yourself dancing and just enjoying each other's company.

"hey, mingi?" you caught the dragon's attention and he turns towards you as you continue to speak, "is there... a way i can help set up the festival?"

"oh! umm, i think so. seonghwa is usually in charge of things like this, but i volunteered to help him this time, so..."

"do you need help?" you ask, feeling an excitement bubble up in your stomach.

"of course you can help," mingi says, a wide smile on his face and you mirror his smile, beaming up at him. the two of you share a quick hug, mingi lets out a small laugh at your excitement, almost not expecting it.

"thank you," you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek before you are separating yourself from him. you notice the blush that covers his cheeks and ears and you have to stop yourself from pouncing on the tall dragon from how cute he is.

as the next week goes by, you spend your time helping the dragons in the clan to decorate for the yule dragon holiday. at first some of the dragons were reluctant at accepting your help, but slowly and eventually they allowed for you to help with the decorations. sure they didn't trust you with the important stuff, but that was okay.

you only wanted to make sure everything was perfect for wooyoung, he needed to have the best yule dragon after everything he has done for you. you also wanted to make sure the clan had a good one as well, but wooyoung took priority in your heart.

"wow, look at these decorations, darling," yeosang's voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you look down from your spot on the wooden ladder to see your lover looking up at you with a smile. you finish hanging the silver garland before climbing down the ladder and yeosang is quick to press a loving kiss to your lips.

"thank you, me and the hatchlings made them," you say, feeling rather proud from how all the decorations have been turning out. many of the other clan dragons complimenting you on your hard work.

"you've been working so hard, a lot of the clan members are grateful for your help," he says as the two of you begin walking out of the grand hall, where the yule gala will be held tomorrow night. other dragons are busy around you all finishing up last minute details, with most of them stopping to bow at yeosang before scurrying away to finish their task.

"i have something for you, princess," he says once the two of you are out of the grand hall and you give him a confused look which only makes him smile. "it’s custom for everyone to wear special outfits, rather a little too fancy if you ask me, but people really enjoy it," he begins as the two of you continue to walk down the hall.

"and i bet you completely forgot to make sure you are prepared for the gala," yeosang teases and you felt yourself get flustered at his words. "but don't worry because you wonderful mate has taken care of you," he says as you both stop in front of your chamber doors. "i hired a seamstress to make you a dress and thankfully she managed to finish it in time."

"wait, yeosang– you... you didn't, you shouldn't have."

"but i did, and i wanted to. my darling, you have done so much, let me give you this," he says, cupping your cheeks before leaning over and kissing you. you feel yourself melt into the kiss as you press yourself closer to your lover, arms wrapping around his waist. the two of you only separate when you're out of breath and yeosang presses one last kiss to your lips before he's pulling away and opening the door to your bedroom.

when you stepped inside, you were completely shocked at the dress that rested on the mannequin in the center of your room. you had honestly never seen a dress more beautiful in your life and you felt yourself tear up because of it. you felt like you didn't deserve a dress as gorgeous as this.

"it's beautiful, yeosang."

"you look absolutely beautiful, my fire," seonghwa says when he sees you walk into the grand hall.

the gala had been going on for several minutes, hongjoong lighting the ceremonial flame that burned in the center of the clan. you were amazed at the flame and its rather unique color, and mingi explained that this flame could only be lit by the leader of a clan and that it in order to celebrate the first dragon.

you honestly couldn't look away from the flame, almost like it was meant to entrance you.

"thank you, prince seonghwa," you said, bowing slightly to the eldest dragon prince. seonghwa could only smile as he took your hand into his before pressing a kiss to the back of your hand.

"make sure you enjoy yourself," he says, not yet letting go of your hand. "i want a dance before the night is over."

"of course, your highness," you say, a small smirk taking over your lips before seonghwa is nodding and making his leave. he does unfortunately have other people to see and talk to.

your eyes scan around the grand hall, looking for the head of familiar red hair and you feel your heart skip a beat when you finally find him. wooyoung looked absolutely handsome in his outfit and you were glad to see that he matched the other princes. it made your heart flutter knowing that wooyoung was being accepted by the clan.

you made your way over to your first lover, your feet picking up speed when you two made eye contact. you felt like it had been forever since you last seen wooyoung – however it had only been a few hours. you had been so caught up in making sure the festival and gala were perfect for him that you had completely forgot to pay the red-headed dragon attention.

so you immediately wrapped wooyoung in a tight hug once you were close enough. wooyoung was quick to return the hug, holding you close to him as he inhaled your scent before pressing a kiss to your neck.

"my y/n, you look so beautiful," he says as he twirls you around, the white-silver fabric that was decorated with beautiful shimmering stars and moons. wooyoung had seen the dress, yeosang having shown him before you and he knew you would look beautiful in it. but of course, seeing you actually in it he was blown away by your appearance.

"are you having a good time, woo?" you ask, heart beating rapidly waiting for his answer.

"of course i am," he says with a smile, "mingi mentioned how you helped out with this whole thing. any reason why?"

"you, of course," you say, both your hands linking with his. "this is your first yule dragon with an actual clan in a long time. i wanted to make sure it was perfect."

"oh love," he says, gently pulling the two of you off to the side, "you didn't need to do that. it would have perfect no matter what because i'm celebrating it with you. back at the cottage... i saw the two of us as our own little clan. and the yeosang joined," wooyoung says and you can't help but laugh at his last comment. despite mating and bonding with yeosang, wooyoung still couldn't get over the other dragon coming in basically setting up camp in your little cottage.

"you love yeosang, don't try to fool yourself," you tease and wooyoung grumbles a little bit before rolling his eyes.

"whatever."

you were about to say something when the sound of a familiar tune filled the grand hall. you turned to see a lot of the people gathering at the center and began dancing. you noticed mingi pulling yunho behind him to the dance floor with many of the other dragons cheering for the two tall princes. following them, you see yeosang and san dancing and you were a little surprised at seeing the blonde guard dancing and smiling as him and yeosang looked at one another.

"wow, who knew san could smile," wooyoung says and you crack a smile before turning to your lover.

"shall we join them as well?" you ask and wooyoung nods before he's pulling you towards the dance floor and you two quickly fall into a rhythm of the dance. the music easily guided you as you and wooyoung danced, you felt your whole attention center in on your lover and it felt like it was just the two of you.

you got flashbacks to when you and wooyoung would dance in your cottage. how back then it really was just the two of you and no one else, but now you were surrounded by people that even if they all didn't welcome you, they welcomed wooyoung. and even if you didn't feel welcomed at first, you have mingi, yeosang, the hatchlings.

seeing wooyoung smile and laugh and enjoy himself made you feel like you were on cloud nine. even if he wouldn't say it out loud, you knew wooyoung enjoyed being a part of the clan.

you felt the music guide you and your thoughts, as the music began to slow down you found yourself and wooyoung also slowing down. wooyoung pulling you close to him, his arm coming to wrap around your waist to hold you close to him.

"i have you had your ceremony?" wooyoung suddenly asks, snapping you out of your happy daze. you knew immediately what he was talking about.

"not yet, i was waiting till after the gala was over," you say, feeling a lump form in your throat at knowing what you would have to do later.

just like dragons, witches also had their own traditions and such. not as public as the yule dragon, but more intimate to each witch. celebrating those that you left you in this world. wooyoung has been with you during this ceremony like you have been with him for his. you don't know how many nights you have fallen asleep, crying in wooyoung's arms because of all the witches that have died.

"do you want me there with you?" he asks, and it takes you a moment to think about it.

"no, i'll do it alone this time."

"are you sure?" you nod your head, you didn't want to ruin wooyoung's good time here with your own traditions and ceremonies.

when the music changed once again, you pressed a kiss to wooyoung before stepping away, telling him you needed some fresh air.

"let me come with you," he says as he starts to trail after you, but you stop him.

"it’s okay," you say, hand out to stop him, "i'll be right back."

you don't give wooyoung a chance to say anything as you're turning and making your way to one of the many garden doors that lead out into the courtyard.

once the cold air hit your skin, you let out a sigh as you made your way over to one of the stone benches that overlooked most of the courtyard and even down further into the clan. the yule flame burned brightly a short distance away and you couldn't help but walk over to it. the flame reminded you of the flame that you would light for the umbra ceremony.

the flame burned brightly and you almost felt like a moth from how you were being drawn to it.

which is how you found yourself in front of it. the noises from the grand hall behind you is like static as you look at the flame, letting it consume you. you got flashbacks to when you would set up a room of candles for the witches that you lost, the flame from those candles burning brightly into your mind.

"why are you out here," the cold voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you turn to look at hongjoong with wide eyes. the prince looks at you with a stern expression, his cold eyes burning into your body.

"i was just... just getting some air," you tell him, refusing to fully make eye contact with him.

hongjoong lets out a 'tsk' sound before he's coming to stand next to you, looking up at the flame. you're surprised by how close hongjoong, this is probably the closest he has ever gotten to you without trying to kill you.

"mingi told me how you helped decorate for the festival," he said out of nowhere after the two of you stood in silence. "i guess witches can be good for something," he adds and you feel yourself deflate at his harsh words.

"i did it for wooyoung," you said wanting to make it clear that you were only doing it for your first love and no one else. "this is his first yule dragon with an actual clan in years," you add.

"and i'm sure witches are the reason why he had gone for so long without experiencing one with a clan," he says back.

"perhaps," you say as you clench your fist together tightly, "but wooyoung is here now with a clan," you turn your head to look at hongjoong, taking in his form once more. his lavish outfit and vibrant blue hair standing out against the dark night. he was the epitome of what a leader of a dragon clan should be in the fact that he always had that air of authority around him. everyone respected him and if they didn't respect him then they feared him.

you, unfortunately, feared him more than you respected him. the dragon oracles say that you two are mates like you are with the rest of the princes, but you knew hongjoong refused to acknowledge you as his mate. you were a witch, the thing that killed his parents and brother and forced him to take the role of leader too soon. you wondered if you and hongjoong would ever get along.

you notice how the flame reflects against hongjoong's skin and then something hits you.

"please excuse me, prince hongjoong," you say suddenly before you are rushing past him. hongjoong doesn't say anything and you don't know if he watches you leave as you are too caught up in rushing back into the palace.

you run to your room, feeling out of breath as you enter your chambers you share with wooyoung before going over to the large trunk that rested at the foot of the bed. you quickly dig through the trunk and pull out a set of candles. all three a beautiful rose color and it reminds you greatly of your mother.

"what are these for mother?" you asked, looking up at your mother as she handed you the three candles. they were different from the ones you were use to lightly for the umbra ceremony and you wondered why she was giving them to you.

"these are special candles, y/n, i made them myself so you can use them when you need them the most," she explains, her voice seeming ever cryptic.

"when i need them the most?" you echo and she nods, a tight-lipped smile painting her features.

"they are for the one who will need to say goodbye the most."

you gripped the candles tightly as you raced back to the courtyard and was surprised to still see hongjoong standing there. somewhere deep inside wants you to believe he waited for you, but you know that's impossible.

"prince hongjoong," you say as you approach him. "i want to thank you for letting wooyoung into your home. i know that... you despise me and my people, you lost your parents and brother after all. and i know you probably don't care but i want to share something with you."

hongjoong turns to look at you, his face void of emotion as he watches you set the three candles down between the two of you. you crouch down, kneeling front of the candles as hongjoong stands towering above you.

"the umbra witches have their own ceremony, we light candles in order to remember those that have left us and this world. we do this as a way to remind us that while they have left this world physically, they are still here with us spiritually," you pause in order to take a deep breath, licking your lips before continuing.

"my mother made me these candles when she was still alive. she told me that they were for someone who needed to say goodbye, and... i think she made them for you."

"what the hell are you talking about?" hongjoong asks, voice full of surprise and anger. "i don't need any of you stupid umbra witch shit," he adds and you notice his fist clenches with his rage.

"please," you beg, voice straining as you plead with the prince, "take the candles, it will bring you peace, prince hongjoong."

you feel a sudden shock as you are grabbed by the collar of your dress. you're pulled up from your kneeling position, face dangerously close to an enraged hongjoong as he bares his teeth at you. in the moment you are reminded that you are at the mercy of a clan full of dragons whether you liked it or not.

"i will never," he jaw clenched tightly as he speaks, "ever, forgive your damned people for what they did to my family. my people. so don't think so damned candles will change that. you will never be my mate and just know that if it wasn't for yeosang and mingi that i would have burned you at a stake a long fucking time ago."

hongjoong waste no time in throwing you to the ground, your hands skidding across the stone pathway harshly and you flinch at the sudden burn of skin. you turn to see hongjoong's eye burning, like he will kill you if you say anything else to him.

you then watch him destroy two of the candles, his foot coming down harshly on them and you feel like a part of you is being ripped apart as you watch him. he's about to do the same to the last one, but you move and grab the last candle. the last one your mother made.

then without thinking you stand up and run away from the prince. you clearly made a mistake in thinking that you could get hongjoong to open up just a little bit. you felt tears begin to form in your eyes as you ran, clutching the candle close to your chest as you collapsed in the one of the many decorated halls.

you looked down at the candle once more, the image of your mother's smile flashing inside your mind as you caressed it. you knew this candle was for hongjoong. he was the one who needed to say goodbye to those he lost, but it was obvious that now wasn't the time.

"y/n!" the sudden call of your name makes you snap your head up to see yeosang rushing towards you. face full of concern and he drops down to the floor next to you. "y/n, what's wrong, why are you crying?" he brushes the tears away and you open your mouth to say something before a sob escapes instead.

you throw yourself into his arms and he arms them around you protectively. you hold your mother's candle close to you as you allow yourself to cry in yeosang's arms. yeosang doesn't say anything, only letting you cry as a comforting hand runs over your hair.

"it's okay, y/n, i'm here," he says softly, holding you closer to him. "whatever made you sad, don't think about it anymore, okay? cause i'm here to protect you."

and so the night comes to an end as you spend the rest of it in yeosang's arms, allowing him to hold you closely as you mourn for the loss of your mother and the hate hongjoong bares for you. 

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[darkside-writing]

Spoiled

WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY, Incestuous relationship, dubcon(?), manipulation, slight infantilization, oral sex (M receiving), female pronouns

Pairing: Father!Shikamaru Nara x Daughter!Reader

Words: 3.7K

The moment Shikamaru learned of your existence he knew that he would do absolutely anything within his power to protect you. Despite being a teen father Shikamaru accepted fatherhood with effortless ease, taking on the role of caregiver and protector naturally. While Shikaku was admittedly disappointed in his son being reckless, he soon accepted this outcome and supported his son’s choices. Your conception came from a simple one night stand with a girl from an unknown clan, she had visited Konoha to attend a festival where they met briefly. While the revelation of getting a one night stand pregnant should have angered the Shadow Nin, he accepted the responsibility of his actions quickly. Shikamaru did not have any feelings for the foreign woman, he only used her pussy once just to temporarily satiate his needs. They would eventually sit down together to agree that a relationship was not viable. However, Shikamaru did push for her to bring the pregnancy to term so he would raise his child on his own. It would not be long before the pregnancy flew by and you were left with the single father to raise on his own.

Fatherhood became something Shikamaru embraced. He practically spoiled you rotten, never having the heart to deny his princess of anything. The Nara was especially weak to your tears. Once those crystal drops brimmed your eyes, Shikamaru would have thrown himself onto the blade if it made them go away. Your childhood would soon breeze by and eventually lead you becoming the young, beautiful woman he sees now. Shikamaru would be lying if he did not feel a swell of pride whenever he saw you. Your beauty is something that Shikmaru knew drew attention to all around you no matter where you went. However, he would also have to admit that the Nara genius also skipped your pretty little brain. Don’t get him wrong, Shikamaru loves you regardless of your intelligence. However, he just knows that your naivete is something that he would have to keep a close eye on. He doesn’t want any boys to take advantage of you. Which is why when you approach your papa and bring the news of your new boyfriend, the older Nara is completely stunned. Even more so when you tell him it is Naruto’s very son that you are dating.

Of course he knew that someday you would get boyfriends, he isn’t blind to your attractiveness. Like a young minx seducing every man that crosses her path, her papa was also affected by it. Shikamaru, feigning as much boredom as he could, brushes off his princess’ news of her boyfriend. However, anyone who knew the Nara could easily see the turmoil building inside. It was much too early for you to be dating! He is also no fool to what all boys are after, he was once one with the same mindset as well. It leaves a bad taste in the Shadow Nins mouth at the thought of his precious daughter losing her virginity to Naruto’s son, or any boy for that matter. No one is good enough for his daughter, they do not deserve the honor of getting to stretch open her virginal walls with their pathetic cocks.

Yet as Shikamaru thought over and over about the prospect of you having sex with other boys, a peculiar bubble formed in his chest at the idea of being your first. It is disgusting and immoral but he can’t get rid of the feeling of arousal at the idea. So what if he was the one to take your virginity? No other man could take care of you like he can. He is more than experienced enough to guide you through the throes of passion.

Shikamaru curses as he feels his cock stir at the very mental image of spreading your legs open, exposing your perfect virginal pussy to him. Your little twitching clit just begging for him to suck and lick to your first orgasm. He would also rather take it to his death bed than admit he has masturbated over his daughter before. With a frustrated sigh Shikamaru unzips his pants and pulls out his cock, springing up at full attention against his abdomen. The tip is drooling precum and a thick engorged vein pumping blood travels underneath the shaft. He needs to make this quick before you come home. It has been so long since he has been buried in a tight wet pussy, ever since you were born he has sworn off any relationships. With practiced calloused hands wrapped around his member, he brings his hand up the thick shaft in a slow motion before stopping. His palm teasingly squeezes the tip of his cock before sliding down his shaft again, repeating the motion in a hasty jerk off session. His balls ache from how full they are that it has him going feral at the thought of depositing his entire load inside your young pussy. Oh Gods how he wished he wasn’t a sick pervert, jerking off to the thought of his own flesh and blood.

“Shit..” he cursed underneath his breath as he stroked his cock in a hasty rhythm. Desperate to drain his balls before his baby girl came home to find her perverted daddy masturbating. With a mental image of you in his mind, he quickly found release all over his hand. Thick cum oozing over his cock that began growing soft, leaving Shikamaru in post-climactic haze as his mind comes to terms with the fact that he just masturbated to his own daughter. He lights a cigarette to take off the edge of his sins before getting up to clean himself up.

Later that night when you returned home on your first date with Naruto’s son, he could tell something was on your mind. Usually you filled their small home with mindless chatter and giggles, yet he could clearly see on your face that something was wrong. It filled Shikamaru with rage at the thought of Naruto’s son offending you, or worse, making you do something you did not want to. His mind quickly becomes dark with the idea of you being forced to perform any sexual acts without your consent. This is the exact reason he was so overbearing when raising you, he knew how easy it was to manipulate your little dumb mind.

“Princess..” Shikamaru said sternly, as he watched you pick at your dinner plate with a crestfallen face. You have not eaten a bite of the dinner he prepared for the both of you. You perked up at your papa’s voice, as if finally noticing the other presence at the dinner table. “Yes, papa?” you answered quietly, wide-doe eyes falling onto your father sitting across from you. Your reply brings a mental sigh of relief to him, at least you are finally talking. He knows you like the back of his hand and probably better than you know yourself.

“How did your date go with that Uzumaki kid?” he asked delicately, quizzical eyes watching for any facial expression. He could tell that you were holding back by the way you avoided his gaze and bit your lip nervously. “It went well, papa..”

He hummed at your response but was still unsatisfied with the answer. He wanted to know exactly what happened during your time out with that boy. He can obviously tell this was a subject you were not comfortable with, and normally he would have backed off to avoid your tears. Shimakaru had to press further to get to the bottom of why his princess was not smiling anymore. With a pointed look towards you Shimakaru patted his lap, a signal for you to take a seat on his thigh just like you always did so obediently. Getting up from your seat you sat your plush bottom onto your papa’s lap and looked up at him meekly, awaiting whatever lecture your daddy always gave you when it came to boys or things he deemed too “grown up” for you. Shikamaru wraps a strong arm around your waist and looks deep into your eyes,

“You can’t fool me, princess. Tell papa exactly what happened.” he said sternly. Shikamaru watched as you twiddled your thumbs together, avoiding his authoritative gaze. It was practically impossible to lie to your papa. Many years of trying have led to you learning that your papa is the smartest man in Konoha, nothing gets by him. However, he can feel that he is on the edge of discovery when he watches your chest heave with burgeoned submission. “It’s embarrassing, papa.” you admitted finally. Shikamaru was almost stunned, he had never known his daughter to hold anything back from him. You have always been open and honest to him, never shying away from your papa no matter what. It was unusual that you were holding back this time, especially after your date with that Uzumaki kid. It only reaffirms to the Shadow Nin that this needed to be addressed immediately.

“You know you can tell me anything, baby, right? We have no secrets.” Shikamaru reaffirms, heart thumping inside his chest at his promise. “You can always tell papa anything, no matter what it is.” His tone is soft and reassuring, instead of that indifferent one he uses around everyone else.

You sighed and nodded at Shikamaru’s words, feeling comforted by his promise of no judgment. With a deep breath you opened your mouth to tell your papa what was bothering you. Revealing in detail how Naruto’s son had brought you to a nice dinner date before things began to heat up quickly. His fingers found their way into her panties as he fingered her under the restaurant table. It was a feeling she never felt before, being stuffed with fingers inside her virgin cunny. However, she was upset because she did not feel any release at all. She creamed over his fingers but did not reach that orgasm awaiting over the edge. It was unsatisfying and left the poor girl feeling stressed out from not getting any release.

Shikamaru listened to every word of his daughter’s confession. It burned him inside that the Uzumaki kid made such a brazen move on his daughter, especially on the first date. The boy’s unskilled fingers inside his daughter made the older Nara’s frown deepen. Of course boys like him know nothing about pleasuring a woman. All they care about is getting their rocks off and leaving afterwards. However, that will just have to wait for another time as he thought about his poor little girl being sexually frustrated.

“Baby, why don’t you let your papa sort you out?” Shikamaru asked gently, as if approaching a small animal in a trap. He wanted to make sure it was completely your choice before even thinking about taking actions. Shikamaru was hesitant with his proposal, hoping that you would not scurry off from his sight at his perverse request. The very thought of you never looking at him again is enough to make the lazy man panic internally. It stunned you that your papa made such a proposition, isn’t it wrong to let daddies play with their little girls’ bodies? Yet, the more you pondered it, the idea just makes sense! No one has ever provided for you like your papa has, or ever will. It only makes sense to you that your papa should be the one to take your virginity.

Without any hesitation you nodded at your papa’s request, the very thought of him helping you with your first orgasm bringing a rush of excitement through your body. Shikamaru leaned back on the chair and laid you against his chest, spreading your thighs apart easily. Your short skirt doing nothing to hide those cute panties peeking out underneath.

“Show papa where it hurts, baby.”

Spreading your thighs over your papa’s lap, you pulled your frilly panties aside to finally show your weeping pussy, all wet and twitchy from the tension of what is to come. Shikamaru sucked in a breath at the sight of his daughter’s pussy, finally having the one thing he has longed for right in front of his eyes. His tongue peeked out and licked his dry lips at the very sight, cock already throbbing in his pants pushing against your plush bottom. He takes a finger and swipes it against your slit, testing the waters for your reactions. He is pleased to see how sensitive you are and how you practically jumped in his lap from just a simple touch. It just lets him know that you are such a good girl, probably never masturbated before or know how to play with your pretty pussy.

Shikamaru presses his fingers deeper into your slit, searching for that little button he is just dying to play with. When you gasp and shake in his lap he knows he found exactly what he was looking for. His thumb gently rubs slow circles on your clit, watching intently as your eyes cross at the foregn feeling. Even when Naruto’s son had his fingers buried in her pussy it did not feel nearly as good as her papa playing with her pretty pussy. A crooked smirk appeared on Shikamaru’s face, satisfied with his princess’ reaction to him playing with her virgin body. However, he had to hold himself back from going off the deep end just yet. This was after all your first time, and he wanted to make this as pleasurable as possible, like the good father he is.

“This is your clit, baby. When I rub it like this it feels really really good,” he enunciated while rubbing quick circles around your throbbing clit, accentuating each of his words with the finger actions. You thrashed around your papa’s lap at the sudden intense pleasure, borderline overwhelming from his skilled fingers. It felt so good yet something was building up inside that it made you panic at the feeling. You were a babbling mess as Shikamaru continued his exploration of your pussy, even dipping a single finger inside your virgin pussy, careful of your unbroken hymen. The feeling was too intense and you couldn’t get out any words, just grabbing onto your papa’s forearms to try and warn him of the building pressure. Without any warning you squirted all over Shikamaru’s lap, leaving a wet sticky mess all over his pants.

Shikamaru stared in awe at the mess you created, he has never seen anything more beautiful or sexy in his life. The very sight made his cock throb and ooze precum, desperate for any semblance of relief. He doesn’t recall ever feeling so turned on by any woman he has fucked before, even your own mother. Shikamaru waited until you calmed down from your first orgasm, kissing and sucking on your neck to help bring you down from the intense shock. He pulled his finger from your fluttering hole, coated it in your cream and brought it to his mouth to clean. His mouth practically drooling at the taste of your pussy. Just as he was about to let you off his lap, Shikamaru jerked at the feeling of your small hand pressing against his bulge.

“F-fuck princess! What are you doing?” he gritted through his teeth. It has been so long since anything besides his own hands has touched his cock, even through his pants. You looked up at your papa with those doe-eyes he has always been weak for, “I…I want to make you feel good too,” you can’t help but feel an intense blush come over your face from the confession. You wanted to thank your papa for the pleasure he brought you by returning the favor. Shikamaru was stunned at your words and cursed under his breath once again, since when did you know how to say sexy things like that? He was going to have to lecture you about that later, but right now he has more important matters at hand needing to be taken care of.

“You don’t have to do that, baby. This is only about you,” he replied, trying to take back some semblance of authority after committing such a lewd act with his own daughter. His mind was reeling from the lust he was feeling for you. He patted your butt as a signal for you to get off his lap, his bulge was becoming almost unbearable and needed to be attended once he was alone again. Just when he thought you were going back to your seat to finish eating dinner he watched as you suddenly dropped to your knees, small hands scrambling to lay on top of his thighs, just mere inches from his obvious bulge. “Please, papa… I want to know how to make you feel good,” you responded sultrily, just like the little minx you always were, you knew how to manipulate your daddy to get your way.

Shikamaru was at a crossroad; on one hand, this is the exact moment he has dreamed of. Yet on the other hand, he was your father and someone who vowed to protect you with his very life. However, when has Shikamaru ever been known as a righteous man? He was weak to the touch of an attractive woman, even if it was his own daughter. Not to mention he has never been able to say no to you, and probably could not start now. With a nod, he allows you to unzip his pants and pull his cock out, albeit clumsily. Shikamaru was a patient man, he allowed you to work at your own pace and watched closely as you stared at his aching cock, standing straight up begging for any attention. You looked at his cock bobbing up against his abdomen, it was so thick and huge. You just knew you had to have your papa’s cock inside you and be the one to take your virginity.

With words of encouragement from the Shadow Nin, you took your hand and delicately wrapped it around the base. Your small hand barely fits around the shaft all the way. It made your pussy drip at the feeling of your daddy’s throbbing, heavy cock in your grasp. Shikamaru could sense your hesitation and gently brought a hand behind your head, grasping your hair into a tight ponytail. “Just open your mouth, baby. Let papa fuck your pretty mouth, okay?” No sooner than after opening your mouth Shikamaru pushed the back of your head towards his awaiting cock, easily sliding the thick tip inside your small mouth. The older Nara had to hold himself back from completely fucking your throat raw, the feeling of being inside a wet warm mouth after so many years bringing a feral instinct to surface. However, being the good father he was, the older Nara allowed you to hold his cock in your mouth to get used to the feeling. He sat back in his chair and watched as you explored his cock with your tongue, getting used to the heft and taste. After a while of tasting his cock on your tongue you hummed onto his shaft, a signal that you were ready to continue.

Shikamaru smiled at your reassurance and pushed your head further down his shaft, centimeter by centimeter just to get you used to having something in your throat. He could feel your gag reflex slightly as he held your head tightly in place, just long enough for you to get used to the feeling of his large cock inside your tight throat. After what seemed like hours, Shikamaru was bringing your head up and down on his cock in a steady rhythm. The sound of gargling and drool coating all over his cock filling the room while he fucked your tiny throat. “Fuck baby… just like that. Let papa use your throat like the good girl he knows you are, okay?” he gasped out, jutting his hips in rhythm with fucking your mouth. Your gurgling and muffled moans were all you could reply as tears brimmed your eyes. Being used like this by your father should have been scary at least, but all you could feel was your thighs getting sticky from how much it turned you on. Meanwhile, Shikamaru was losing himself to the feeling of his daughter’s tight little throat.

“Baby, when I cum you have to swallow it all, okay? You should always swallow everything your papa gives you when he breeds your tiny little throat,” he gasped. Both hands were now holding your head tightly as the older Nara fucked into your throat as if it was the best pussy ever. He wanted you to swallow every drop of his cum and deposit it all into your belly. “Don’t let any boys do this to you, okay? Only papa’s should be doing this to their princess’,” Shikamara gritted out, making it clear that only he has the right to play with your body.

You hummed the best you could, with a cock lodged into your throat as a response. You could practically feel your papa’s cock throbbing, a signal of his approaching release. The very thought of your father letting you taste his cum was enough to make you feel light headed. With a few more rough thrusts into your mouth, Shikamaru held your head down at the very base of his cock with your nose buried into his pubic hair as his load shot straight down your throat. The load of cum went straight into your belly, making you feel slightly full and satisfied.

The older Nara held your head down until his cock grew completely soft, gently sliding out of your drool covered mouth. He gently brought you into his lap again as he wiped your mouth clean with his sleeve, whispering affirming words of love and praise into your ear. “You’re such a good girl for your papa. I love you so much, Princess,” Shikamaru whispered. Drowsiness was easily coming over you as you made yourself comfortable in the crook of your papa’s neck. The Shadow Nin looked at the untouched dinner and sighed at the mess he will have to clean up. However, he will just have to focus on that later because he has more important things to attend to. As he wraps an arm under your legs and waist to carry you to your awaiting bed, he can’t help but think about teaching his princess how to accept cock in her virgin pussy next time.

[casino-lights]

King Alistair vs Warden Alistair discourse always seems to resurface, like all of the other character-centric discourse, with each resurgence of the dragon age fandom. fandom veterans are probably tired of this by now, but since a lot of new people are playing origins and the old arguments about players making Bad Choices in this rpg are getting rehashed, here's my two cents on this topic in particular. 

I was watching my girlfriend play through some of the early levels in origins when I suddenly had a lot of thoughts about Alistair and she encouraged me to share them. throughout his introduction and his subsequent role in Ostagar and the Wilds, we see Alistair being quick-witted and snappy with his humor, but also very focused and dutiful. we see him being (mostly) respectful and polite, but also fairly confident and surprisingly authoritative considering his behavior later in the game. Alistair is comfortable here in Ostagar, and he's comfortable as a Warden not only under Duncan's command, but also over these new recruits. he doesn't shy away from his role as a mentor, the one who's supposed to show everyone the ropes and keep them on task and on schedule. he kindly yet firmly puts Jory back on track when he stumbles, he takes charge when he finds out the Tower of Ishal has been overrun, and he displays thorough knowledge of both the plan and the original expectations of what would be found in the tower. he's also knowledgeable about Blights and some Warden history, and he takes it upon himself to inform Duncan of Morrigan and Flemeth instead of just letting the player talk like he does later on.

speaking of that scene, Duncan is a bit firm but not angry or mean when he says he tells Alistair not to focus on the fact that Morrigan and Flemeth are likely apostates. he tells Alistair in no uncertain terms that this is not his concern and he needs to return his attention to the task at hand. this is not dissimilar from the way the player can later tell Alistair that people are taking advantage of him and he needs to make sure he's standing up for himself, but I'll get into this more a bit later.

what I'm trying to get at is that when we meet Alistair, he's a little closer to his hardened self than to the chronically unserious and incompetent manchild that Morrigan, DA2 and Inquisition, and some parts of this fandom treat him as. post-Ostagar, even Alistair himself seems to see himself as some class clown who can't do anything right, and characters like Wynne enable this by treating him like an ACTUAL child. while Alistair is almost certainly young, he has already proven shortly after meeting him that he's not even remotely stupid and he can obviously take care of himself. Duncan refers to the player, Jory, and Daveth as Alistair's "charges," showing that Duncan clearly trusts Alistair with a lot of responsibility and the safety and guidance of three strangers. he is far from stupid, he's far from childish, and he's obviously a layered character.

this has been said countless times before but a big problem in every fandom is the slow reduction of characters to one or two notable traits, and Alistair is no exception. I have a theory as to why. we know Duncan's death affected him deeply, but I don't think that alone explains his sudden switch from respecting the player while continuing to guide them and share responsibility as the senior Warden to almost blindly letting them lead him around and acting like if he led for five minutes they'd all die horrible deaths because he's just that incompetent. I think that during the time the player was unconscious in Flemeth's house, Alistair experienced an offscreen breakdown where he retreated behind desperate attempts at humor and making himself seem dumber and sillier to appear less competent in the hopes that someone else would be in charge so he didn't have to. if you think back to what age he was when he last experienced such a sudden, tumultuous, confusing loss of stability, routine, community, and a father figure - Eamon sending him to the Chantry as a child - you might even consider this to be a form of partial age regression. when we see him outside Flemeth's hut, he pleads with the player to not abandon him because he doesn't know what they should do or where they should go. he hasn't had this lack of direction ever since he was sent to the Chantry because after that, they dictated his life until Duncan recruited him and then the Wardens dictated his life. he's terrified and tired and grieving, and he begs us to make the decisions and help him figure out what to do. 

Morrigan gives him some shit for being quiet and sad, and he snaps at her, but otherwise we don't see a lot of that confidence and willingness to stand up for himself after this. I don't often play a character who is openly mean to any of their companions, so I don't really take any of the more dismissive dialogue options toward Alistair, but he's obviously hiding behind his humor and trying to make himself seem insignificant. in one line he even jokes that he'd hide behind his shield instead of his humor but the player would see him behind it. I think he really does just wish he could hide and grieve on his own and wait for someone else to give him a purpose again, and I think that if we actually saw the process of this breakdown from his more comfortable, confident, capable self into the Alistair we get post-Ostagar and pre-Goldanna, fewer people might be coddling Alistair and enabling this unhealthy coping mechanism. I wish the dialogue options to harden him were a bit kinder, but as we saw, Duncan was willing to tell it to Alistair straight up, and maybe that's the directness he needed from the player too. maybe Alistair needed to be told in no uncertain terms, by someone he respects and trusts, that most people he interacts with have some kind of ulterior motive and he needs to be more aware of this and stand up for himself and his beliefs. once he understands this, we can see him shift from reluctantly taking on the role of king because you and Eamon think it would be best to taking on the role of king because he understands it would be best.

bioware basically canonized this firmer, more responsible version of Alistair in their comics and even during some parts of Inquisition. we know King Alistair is their canon, but even though he shows some uncertainty about his ability to be King, we don't see any unwillingness. yet bioware also made the unfathomable decision to simultaneously show Alistair being a confident, capable king and then immediately fuck that growth up by having him look like a bumbling idiot who still doodles on royal documents at the fair age of thirty-something and still doesn't know how dictating a letter works after ten years of ruling Ferelden. they somehow invalidated both of his paths in origins at the same time, and perhaps most frustratingly, they just won't let go of the "swooping is bad" style of writing for him. let him grow. let him be as competent and brave and determined as he is in your comics. his progress has been so inconsistent it's painful.

if it wasn't already obvious, I think the best path for Alistair as a character is to harden him and make him king. he just doesn't get to prove himself as a Warden as much as he does when he's king. he's mostly alone, he doesn't seem to have a great rapport with other Wardens outside of his renown as one of the heroes of the Blight, and he just acts tangibly sadder. this could be because of the fake Calling, sure, but if he was still joking around with us during an actual Blight, I don't see why this event would have him this drained of personality and life, especially because he knows that this is not the real Calling. his line when he's left in the Fade - "tell Morrigan... tell her I just stood there looking foolish" - is another testament to the fact that he has not grown at all from his self-deprecating humor and he still hasn't come to see himself as capable and worthy of respect. we don't get to see enough of him as king, but from what little we get he seems to be wielding his power and authority well, and he's an incredibly well-respected and well-loved king. especially with Anora or a Cousland queen at his side, he's brave, commanding, and - just like he was back in Ostagar - he seems COMFORTABLE. he knows what he's doing, he sees his worth and accepts it, and he's more than willing to be firm and tell Fiona in no uncertain terms that Ferelden will not tolerate the events in Redcliffe. he's taking command and he's leading and protecting his charges, even though they're a lot more than just three Warden recruits this time. 

on a personal note, as someone who has dealt with mental health challenges, tough love from someone I respect and trust actually really helped me and I wouldn't be where I am without the occasional "you need to snap out of it." I'm not saying it's best for all scenarios, but I have experienced this firsthand. Alistair hiding from his responsibilities because they're overwhelming and he's terrified does resonate with me, but so does him actually healing a bit more and becoming more confident when someone shows him that they know he's better than this and he just needs to act like it. 

lastly, I think it's important to clarify that I don't believe anyone is playing any rpg the Wrong Way, regardless of what bioware made canon in their comics and other external media. I also think it's stupid to try and say ANY choice or route is inherently right or wrong, and every player is entitled to their opinion and preference. choices made in role playing games are usually done for the sake of playing a role, immersing oneself, and/or exploring the game's full library of content. as I said, I personally find hardened King Alistair with Queen Cousland to be the most satisfying version of his character arc, but I don't mean any of this to shame anyone if they choose or believe otherwise. no hate is intended, so don't purposefully misunderstand or misinterpret my words. no offense is intended if you just prefer one of Alistair's storylines or character arcs over the other. full offense is intended if you're the kind of person who bullies, shades, or otherwise belittles people who don't agree with your super special headcanons because you need to be the most correct player in the fandom.

thanks to everyone who isn't one of those people for reading all this <3

[sincerelyverena]

⟡⁺ VAYA CON DIOS

. . . OLIVER QUICK X GN!READER ‘in a world so fake, i say your name praying. you are my angel and my saint.’ @ajs-222 @michael-loves-chickens @surazim @soocore

in whichꕀ

✦ ﹒oliver and you form an unlikely bond over his hatred for the cattons and your thirst for revenge. but when you dance with the devil, you're bound to fall. for satan himself or something far more sinister...

tagsꕀ

✦ ﹒implied sex ﹐major character death ﹐strangling (non-sexual) (sorry yall) ﹐ drowning

inspired by the pure energy of hot, smothering justice and betrayal kali uchis vaya con dios radiates. enjoy, my lovelies! also felix is so babygirl, y'all just don't like him in this.. ;]

Oliver Quick was your saving grace.

You were more willing to admit he was your soulmate. Oliver Quick. Meek, unsocial, glasses-wearing Oliver Quick. He took you by the hand — and the heart — guiding you into Oxford's inner circle. A place for you to unravel your sabotage and a root for Oliver to plant his destruction in. A place for your ascendancy to seep through the cracks and weave between the breaks.

More specifically, Felix Catton. The college's golden boy, the beloved playboy of Oxford, and why you were so dedicated to fitting in in the first place.

Felix Catton and the entire Catton name were the root of all your problems. They took every opportunity you could've been offered in their palms, tearing it to shreds, and pummelling it into dust. Without even realising it, they had sabotaged everything you could've known.

The limelight of one of the downtown bars you all had travelled to flickers upon Felix, the neon glow outlined every discreet detail he bore proudly on his face. The captured appeal in every crook and dent, to the extent that any flaw he may have possessed is gone and buried before anyone could've noticed.

Felix Catton had the school population wrapped around the slimness of his fingers. Hell, even the once hardened aquamarine of Oliver's eyes softened ever so slightly with every passing grin of Felix's mouth. Every clasp of his back. Every manipulative lie that he’d utter with a smirk pasted on his face. Every sickly-sweet word that sweetly left his lips.

But not you. Even after four rounds of whiskey martinis, you felt like the only sober person in the room. You knew Felix and his family for what he was. 

Selfish, all-wanting, all-ruining rascals.

Your own family once had close-knit ties with the Cattons. Years before your mother was even impregnated. Your grandmother had whispered tales of summers at Saltburn as if it was a fairytale. Endless courtyards, wide, luxurious estate grounds. Wild parties. Even wilder sex. At a young age, you had grown a thirst for experiencing anything that remotely came close to the experiences bored into you time and time again. You needed to quench your cravings, but nothing came near.

Things may have been different if the Cattons sunk your parent's business. For good.

Even the most naive garnered a sense and even an adoration for gossip and rumours as soon as they'd step onto Saltburn grounds, reputation was adorned upon a gold-plated pedestal. The root of striking words and poison-tainted oaths is Lady Elspeth. A wheat-blonde-haired bitch that brought your family so much misery.

A couple of words that escaped the snake's mouth destroyed generations of work. A whole family business deteriorated into the dust, and she didn’t even bat an eye.

This series of unfortunate events resulted in your mother passing you onto your grandparents, fabulously wealthy (but not as wealthy) and luxurious in their own right. 

They raised you under their family name. Esmeray.

This granted you easy access into the prestigious inner circles of Oxford, invited by Felix Catton himself. He had noticed you a few scarce times prior, typically on Oliver’s arm, Ollie, who took it upon himself to sneak you into various VIP parties for the cause. Any remotely attractive person is enough to catch Felix's eye, and lucky for you, you were drop-dead stunning.

That's why you weren't the least surprised when he extended an invitation to stay the summer at Saltburn. The next step is avenging the Marzena family name. For good this time.

Saltburn couldn’t have ever compared to the fairytales whispered in your ear during your childhood days. Those tales did it no justice compared to how stunning and profound the estate truly is.

The molten sunlight disappeared beyond the horizon, and flecks of pure gold ascended throughout the gradually darkening sky. Pure summer drifted through the air, sending a warmth of contentment to settle in the pit of your belly. But your job here wasn't done. It was far from done.

The warmth in your belly reverberated through your shoulder as a firm hand clasped upon the brink of your silhouette.

"We're going to be late for dinner, sweetheart." Oliver's slow words reached your ears, his thumb gently tracing circles into the shining glimpse of skin that wasn't enwreathed by the inky, silk fabric you wore for the Catton’s strict dress codes.

Even though Oliver's hands were glacially cold — practically comparable to ice — the molten glow of his touch rolled throughout your frame pleasingly. This causes your lips to unfurl into a not-so-concealed smile. His words could engrave themselves into your mind, and he knew it as fact. "Come along now."

You tore your eyes away from the purely otherworldly scenery available at your will. In the minute or so that Oliver managed to garner from you, the radiant golden brinks of daytime were gradually drowned out by the raven shadows of nightfall.

"I think I’m in shock." The words escaped your lips with a half-suppressed laugh that reverberated lightly from your chest. Your mind raced to piece together the proper syllables necessary to describe the unfiltered beauty of Saltburn. “This is all so…”

"...unreal?"

Oliver finished your sentence for you in a matter of seconds, as if he plucked it out of your fluttered head. His hand shifted, arm rolled over the base of both of your bare, garmentless shoulders. Draped. Practically protectively he wordlessly guided you towards the door of your temporary suite. Temporary. For now, at least.

"Mmm… something like that." You quipped in turn, deciding with promptness to sink into the mere gentleness of his touch. The work of his hands alone arrowed straight to the pump of your heart and occasionally the heat of your core. These newly established sentiments that you’ve garnered for Oliver Quick had brought you a whirlwind of devotion to successfully come to fruition.

It wasn't an unacknowledged fact between the two of you that a spark had conquered itself, gradually. Every touch. Each glance. Every word that two of you had come to share. Oliver's intensity, his willingness to take you into his hands and never release you. And your revering homage, your tendency to treat him as if he were a god. 

The Catton's were the most oblivious. Oblivious to their guest’s steadily swelling obsession. For each other and the downfall of their own, the destruction that played as a constant in their heads.

In order to play the part, you and Oliver separated from each other in front of the rest of the household to confide in both your constant alliance and devotion. You found sociability and acceptance in Farleigh and Venetia. Stingy, ego-brimming relatives to the Catton name. Oliver confided in Felix and even Elspeth, that as much as you disliked that fact. Alas, you weren't a stranger to the occasional lingering glance. The crinkle of Oliver's midwinter blue eyes, the tug of his sensually plump lips into a gradual, subtle smirk that occupied a lump in your throat. You drove him crazy the same. Or so you thought.

In the quietest hours of Saltburn, you found yourself curled up against Oliver’s silhouette. His godly arms inched around the frame of your torso, pulling you towards his strapping — and occasionally bare — chest. You often found yourself with your head buried in the crook of his neck. Inhaling the fragrances of honeydew and tangerine, the scent that virtually dripped off of Oliver’s altar of a body. A newfound pinkness tainted your cheeks.

"We live in a cruel world, don't we, darling?" Oliver proceeded to fill the silence one sleepless night with his deliberate drawls. His wide palms combed through your scalp absentmindedly. You could feel his warm breaths misting your ear every other second.

"We're living proof of that, Oliver." You gently reminded him.

"They sit on their golden thrones," Oliver raved onwards, irritation hung on every word. You didn't have to advert your eyes upward to know that his chiselled jaw was clenched, the muscles in his neck flexed accordingly. "While I had to grow up with an ignorant weasel for a father and a pill-popper for a mother."

You propped yourself up on your elbow, the pillow under your head sunk under the weight as you essentially crawled towards him. Captured his lips with your own, the taste of spearmint toothpaste meddled within your tongue as he proceeded to tangle into you. The kiss alone was fiery, frantic as Oliver poured his past and present into the serene bubble the two of you had formed, together.

"That'll all be behind us soon." You reassured him with each brush of your lips.

"Very soon, my love. They'll be the ones on their knees begging for our mercy."

Those meaning-filled kisses transitioned shortly into something more, the noises of willing gasps and the frantic rustle of garments echoed throughout the suite. In the head-whirling cloudiness of lust, you weren’t to notice the boy who stands with his ear pressed against the other side of the door. Lips thinned. Eyebrows drawn together.

Felix had heard everything he needed to know.

The racketing denouncing of the door caused your head to snap toward the cause. You’ve spent your morning in solitude, with a cup of steaming tea and a handful of your thoughts. Yet the peace you’ve marinated in over the past few hours dissipated as you witnessed Oliver stand there with promptness, hand still pressed deeply against the door handle. The silence drew throughout your suite, disturbed the slow, heavy grunts that reverberated from him.

Something was wrong,

Oliver sucked in a sharp breath.

"We're leaving after the house party tonight." He announced at last.

Your teacup almost slipped from your palms. Your breath quickened, fumbling to set the object aside before you made a start towards Oliver. And the man — who seemed more like a boy at the moment — inclined his toned arms around the sleight of your waist, clutching for dear life. He held you close. Chest to chest. Heart to heart. You felt each puff of breath escape and fill him, emptying him and deeming him whole. Your arms secured around his shoulders, triceps tucked behind his neck.

"24 hours is more than enough." You deemed.

"You think?"

"I believe."

As you spoke, you felt the muscles that once rippled rigidly against your hands loosen the slightest. Your digits traced absentminded patterns into the hem of his shirt.

“You’re tense.” You pointed out, falling back momentarily in the process. Your eyebrows drew together as you took in the strained look blatantly playing on his face. With the amount of stress filling his ocean-remanent eyes, he had looked to have aged a decade.

Oliver's hands braced towards your jaw, long digits framing your face as he leant in. He peppered a feather-weight kiss to the top of your head. You couldn't have missed his shaky inhales grazing the cuff of your ear as he inched forward.

“I have a plan.”

That's how you and Oliver found yourselves occupying the brink of your unmade bed, the cup of half-drunken tea still allocated in your hands and a look of fierce determination glowering in his unwavering gaze.

Wordlessly, Oliver lapsed a singular, broad hand in the vicinity of his dark dress pants, fingers gliding beneath the denim material. Your breath is lodged in the centre of your throat at the very sight. Your thoughts began to drift, internally perplexing if his grand plan was to fuck his griefs out on you. That was until he retrieved a ziplock bag from his briefs, cocaine weighing the plastic down.

"Oliver Quick. You are a fucking genius." You whistled at the glimpse of the thin, pale powder. Oliver's intentions were as clear as day and the motions for revenge were just as evident.

The pressure and strain that pulsated behind Oliver’s eyes softened with every syllable that escaped your lips. His gaze never left yours, deliciously prominent. A somewhat startled squeal echoed throughout the bedroom suite as Oliver hauled you up using the agency of your hips. Your legs sprawl on both flanks of his thighs as he reposed you across the sleight of his lap.

"C'mere 'n say it to my face then, princess."

The house party that arose thereafter that evening was open to all extravagant guests who were deemed worthy enough to be invited personally by the Cattons. You were bursting at the seams with scorching adrenaline at the thought of all of these unsuspecting capitalists, oblivious of what was about to transpire.

You and Oliver remained on contrasting sides of the estate, a fact that brought a sense of yearning. And you yearned for nothing more than to blow the night with the man you deemed to be your beloved. Alas, the two of you weren't established. And you both had a murder to fulfil.

One day.

"Shh..."

Oliver's voice was hushed, his whispers interlinked with a domineering raspiness as the two of you venture away from the club scene of heroin, alcohol and the prominent hue of arousal and cigarette smoke. You spied Felix, his celestial silhouette still visible from a fair distance away. He's accompanied by one of the well-heeled invitees, one of his idolizers who had spent the majority of the night garnering his undivided attention.

You crushed your drug stick underneath the heel of your footwear as you proceeded to wander behind the individuals ahead. They advanced towards the vast bridge that adorned one of the numerous rivers the estate occupied. Which acted as a hook-up spot for most, obvious by the number of condoms and cigarettes scattered upon the planks.

You gave a wordless prayer for the estate maids for their grounds inspection at dawn. But you knew God couldn't help neither you nor Oliver now for what you were about to accomplish.

It was childishly easy. Snag one of the champagne bottles from the downstairs kitchens and instil half of the ziplock bag's contents into the beige substance. Shook it until it was dissolved. Oliver seized it by his side.

By the time the couple approached the bridge, Felix already propped his midnight flings up on the fencing, palms grappling behind their thighs to keep them fixed in place. Their calves squeezed around the roundness of his hips, digits fumbled urgently to undo the leather clasps of his belt.

Within a minute or two, a strangled moan rang throughout the otherwise hushed air as Felix buried his head into the crook of their neck.

Anticipation pounded through you with each step you made. The heart of the Cattons. Soon to be executed under the guise of revenge. And what a bloody revenge it would be. Oliver's vacant hand intertwined with your own for a beat of a second, a rapid squeeze capable of sending any possible doubt into destruction. Replaced by a flutter of warmth that uncoiled in your chest.

Felix had taken notice of you both hastily, balls deep in his oblivious affair – who was spluttering and whimpering around his shoulder. The chorus of smacking flesh subsided, the strike of Felix’s hips diminishing as the man stared at his former friends with a bewildered expression.

"The hell are you doing here?" Felix demanded, grunting a half-hearted apology to his now flustered entanglement as his palms clung to their waist, pulling out with a fluent jerk of his hips. He was in every respect flaccid now, no doubt.

Oliver wasn’t phased in the slightest. "We need to talk, Felix."

“What the hell?”

The individual who once occupied the bridge had already recomposed themselves, looking daggers up at the colossal man that towered over them. Felix scarcely spared them a glance. They seethe at his lack of response, before steamrolling past you to rejoin the commotion back at the estate.

Rendering them alone.

"There's nothing to talk about," Felix contended. He broke his gaze as he heeled momentarily to adjust himself. Sloppily. There’s a shakiness in his hands.

In your eyes, he's the remnant of a fallen angel. Shadowed eyebags dominated the space beneath Felix’s whisky-glittering eyes, his wolfish-like face wiltering, hollow cheeks thinned out excessively to be presumed normal. You acknowledged it was a fact that everyone else's value of him wouldn't budge. Not even a dent. Not even in the grave.

Oliver thrust the sabotaged bottle against Felix's Herculean chest with a forceful arm, prompting him to grab hold. Your pulse rang in between your ears. You wished you could’ve engraved this moment in time into your mind.

"You're right." You reasoned. Your words seemed foreign to your ears as if it were someone else that was speaking. You could only pray that the ecstatic nervousness that jolted throughout you wasn't manifesting outwardly.

Oliver’s fingers laced within your own. The sweat that prickled along the curve of his palm signalled to you wordlessly that he was experiencing the same, intense elation that grappled at your abdomen and twisted. "We'll see you back at Oxford, yeah?"

Felix scrutinizes the somewhat empty champagne bottle in his palms (courtesy of you pouring it out an hour prior). His words falter and for a moment you begin to ponder if his perception of you two was corrupted for good. Nevertheless, Felix fixated immensely towards your linked hands.

"Yeah. I'll see you back at Oxford."

As you and Oliver diverged from Felix, you could hear the droughty gulps of the spiked substance. It was apparent to you that you'd never see Felix again after this moment. The reassurance of that fact, set in stone, brought about a flutter of relief to overtake the apprehension you once esteemed.

A slow, deliberate smile crept onto your lips.

As predicted, the entire Catton household fell apart after Felix was found. He collapsed on the wooden tiling of the bridge, sprawled out with a mouthful of his puke pooled around his ever-paling silhouette.

It was obvious he suspected. He trusted them anyway and attempted to save himself in the process.

Even though you both were invited to the funeral a couple of days after the fact, the rock-tossing (an off-putting tradition in the Catton family) was regarded as family only.

You sat, only an hour later, bare feet dangling off of the edge of the bridge as Oliver attempted to retrieve each rock from the drafts of the flowing river current.

"Don't fall in and drown, Ollie!" You exclaimed, playfulness irking your tone as you grinned down at him. The sight of Oliver, ass-up, in an attempt to grasp the smooth, memorial rock was a sight to witness indeed.

Oliver turned his head and snapped out of his focused determination to flash you a similar smirk. "I'd have to be bound and gagged for that to happen, sweetheart."

His words caused a particular imagery to pollute your thoughts.

Alas, your plans towards the Catton family and their demise were practically writing themselves. Venetia was becoming heavily depressed by the absence of Felix and Farleigh (whom Oliver framed and resulted in him having to exit Saltburn for good).

With a few metal blades smuggled into a porcelain bath and a few encouraging words from Ollie, the woman was found bathing in her crimson remains. Funeral. Rock-tossing. Rock-retrieving.

"Be careful the rock doesn't weigh you down, Ollie!"

You continued to tease him as he soon approached you. Oliver's typically straight, combed-over locks of caramel were drenched. The waterdrops highlighted the olive of his skin, and you wished desperately to kiss all the droplets away.

Oliver took hold of your waist, pulling you in. A droplet of water splashed against the end of your nose, causing a stray laugh to rise out of you.

"If I'm goin' down, you're goin' down with me."

Oliver lowered his head, his water-dripping, plump lips placed a long kiss on the end of your nose. The sudden shake of his wet strands caused water to spray all across your face.

You groaned in protest. You kissed him back anyway.

Laughing felt foreign to you. Especially when you were smuggling a dissolvable pill or two in the alcohol-infested substance of both Sir James and Lady Elspeth's glasses. It lies atop the tables decorating either side of the king-sized bed. They were preoccupied with the purposeful ruckus Oliver was causing downstairs and lurched up from their sleeping quarters to investigate.

Like all the victims before them, it was elementary. James and Elspeth evolved into a habit of indulging in a few (or five) drinks before bed. The tendency to stress drink evergrowing with the funerals and departures that lined up before them. Before their own.

Oliver slid the build of his toned arms around you, sensing his biceps straining straight into your waist. You watched as the drugged solution dissolved into nothingness while he watched you. A singular reached upwards towards your mouth which was pulled back into a grin. He bore a cool palm over your lips.

"If you keep laughin' like that, you're gonna give us away." His voice rumbled into the curve of your ear. The assertive husk of Oliver’s tone was enough to cause you to fall silent, only the ghost of a smile flickering upon your lips.

Elspeth dreaded the idea of the lovers ever considering their departure from Saltburn. James desired the absence even more. You both decided to make it easier for them.

A choked cry echoed out, barely five minutes later.

Oliver towered over the end of the bed. He never wanted it to transpire this way, but Elspeth refused to bloody die off. Your lover's fists decorated the weak column of her throat like a collar, harsh palms proceeding to crush down against skin and bone without a sleight of hesitance.

"Sweetheart, look away." He evoked.

You couldn't.

Elspeth gawked up at Oliver with wrinkled eyes. Once brimming with adoration. Now dull with despair, her calloused hands went as far as to claw against the relentlessness of his hands. Elspeth's air supply grows limited, a strangled outburst that escapes her at this realisation.

It didn't take long for her to stop fighting, and collapse against the paled corpse of her husband. You peppered lightweight kisses along the gaping nail marks dressing the skin atop Oliver’s hands. Oliver's blood was left smeared across the frame of your lips. Like he was your sacrifice. Like you were a god.

He looked at you like such.

Disposing of the bodies was even simpler. As you laboured to wipe the bedsheets clean of any possible evidence, Oliver tossed the carcasses into the wide, sprawling woods a mile or two away from the estate. The wild animals are bound to eat away at the rot infecting the pale, cold meat.

From scum, you came. Now scum you become.

The Catton Family Players music box is anchored to a table, presented in the middle of the foyer. Four smooth rocks perched on top. Even though there wasn't a funeral explicitly necessary in this case, it grew to be a game. You and Oliver took turns tossing the engraved rock into the rivers before plunging after them.

In no time at all, whatever garments you possessed were cast aside. You were shoulders-down submerged in the pummelling waters, each movement rippling the moana-blue waves.

Oliver bore his arms around you, encompassing your waist to keep you afloat so you would be able to soak in the scenery ahead of you. Submerged in the serenity of nature. With only the limelight of the sun sinking below the horizon to keep you two company.

You trusted him not to drop you. Of course, you trusted him.

Why wouldn't you trust him when he gave you everything you had ever wanted? His lips pressed warmly against the curve of your forehead. You were both skin to skin, but it didn't feel enough to you. He could’ve been inside you (in whatever way that struck the imagination). And it’d never be enough.

"What's happenin' in your pretty little mind, sugar?" Oliver hummed, his articulation was in the form of a mere whisper. Yet, the rumble of his words solicited you with so much warmth you had to take a second to respond.

"You." His eyebrows raised at the simplicity of your words. "How lucky we are."

The familiar warmth of that chuckle you love so much leaves his chest in a glowing reverberation. "We are a lucky pair, aren't we, darlin'?"

You would've never guessed for revenge and lust to be written on the same page. But through vengeance, and the motions of murder, you had gained your other half.

You had never felt happier. Never felt more whole.

And you loved him. You loved him so immensely. Nobody could have ever doubted that fact in the first place.

That's why you were the most bewildered when you stirred from rest, aroused into waking. You had foreseen residing in Oliver's arms, in the master suite the two of you now occupied. You were in Oliver's arms, yes. But not in the way you hoped for.

That's exactly how you got to this point in time.

You strain and challenge the thick ropes constricting the frame of your ankles and wrists, alerting Oliver to your consciousness. You incline your head over the brink of your bare shoulder, catching a glimpse of nothing but fields surrounding the two of you.

A river draws closer and closer in the distance.

You attempt to will yourself to speak, but your lips are harshly taped shut. Oliver doesn't need to receive your words of interrogation anyway, as he proceeds to speak.

"You were always a feisty one." He comments loosely, voice casual as if you weren't bound and gagged in between his defined biceps. His bare feet hit against the ground beneath him, muffled by the field's natural grass dressing,

"What a shame it had to be this way."

As the river grows nearer and nearer in your line of view, you spy something bland and metal perched on the rocks beside the streaming current. It's rougher today. A contrast in comparison to the passive waves you and Oliver bathed in the few days prior.

Your eyes rounden in realisation.

Fully aware of the restraints diminishing your speech, you attempt to grill the man above you on why the hell he possesses a weight. No properly audible sound manages to slip out.

A dry snigger escapes Oliver. "It would've been too obvious, my dear. I mean, we're the last ones standing." He falters in step, the waves of the river's current join the throbbing of your heart, roaring between your ears. Oliver inclines downwards, fingertips as gentle and purposeful as ever as they tease the edge of the tape. "What a tragedy it'd be for my lover to be taken away from me as well."

Tears prickle at the edge of your eyes.

The tape rips away from your lips, strangling a cry from deep within your throat at the throbbing pain that overbears you. Oliver tosses the tape aside without a second thought, the pad of his thumb rubbing easing circles into the somewhat swollen attributes of your mouth. "Shh..." 

"Oliver, this isn't fucking funny."

"I know it isn't, sweetheart."

The man you thought you loved lowers his head and meets a feathery kiss against your lips. Once. Twice. Thrice. He leans upwards, and an indescribable emotion flutters in the whirling aquamarine of his eyes. "But it has to be done."

Oliver's broadened palm takes hold of your mouth harshly, sinking his slender digits into the flush of your cheeks. A sharp distinction to the flutter of his lips seconds prior. You howl your protests into his fingers, writhing in his overpowering arms as he works to lock the weight onto the rope decorating your ankle. Your howls turn into sobs that wrack your chest with each breath, the colour promptly draining from your face. Oliver stands right at the edge of the rocks lining the river, decorating the roaring waters below.

Molten tears ride down your cheeks. Your voice rasps. "Ollie?"

"Yes, princess?" He still garners the ability to serenade you with the sweet tinges of his words, as if you weren't on the way to your inevitable death.

"Venetia was right about you. You're fucking sick in the head."

There isn’t a trace of aggravation that crosses Oliver’s face. His unruly eyebrows raise for a moment, overcome by amusement as he scrutinizes you darkly.

"Now, now. Let's not forget who was by my side the entire time."

He's right. You know he's right. You glare up at him with a twisted combination of loathing and horror at the enlightenment. You took down every one of the Cattons by his side. He took you under his wing and assisted you in getting your way against the people you've despised for the majority of your life. This was your way of repaying him.

"I'll see you in hell, bastard."

These are the very last words you manage to seethe before your bound silhouette is freed from Oliver's bone-chilling palms. Before your entire physique sinks into the freezing waters, swallowing your entire body whole as the weight anchoring your leg propels you further downwards.

Your last breaths escape you in a gust of bubbles, rising desperately to the top as you reach the bottom of the makeshift hell you were tossed into.

The last thing you see is a rock with your name on it.

—Pues mírame a los ojos, dime si ves el vacío que deja amor perdido— "LOOK ME IN THE EYES, TELL ME IF YOU SEE THE VOID THAT LOST LOVE LEFT BEHIND"

WORD COUNT: 4K MASTERLIST

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

(Not) Salvation

AU Reverse Therapy

Next Part: New Home

Summary: One of the agriworlds is attacked by heretics and the young girl finds salvation in the arriving Space Marines. Not suspecting that it was they who brought death to her planet.

Pairing: Chaos!Lamenter/fem!OC/Chaos!Flesh Tearer

Characters: Malina (fem!OC), Luka The Angel (OC Chaos Lamenter), Virgil (OC Chaos Flesh Tearer)

Warnings: yandere, violence, cannibalism

Word count: 2244

Author's note: In this part I wanted to focus more on the space marines and the atmosphere of horror. Hope you were interested in my OCs. In future there will be more interactions between this trio but here only meeting.

Song: Inkubus Sukkubus - Wild Hunt

It was scary. Screams were heard everywhere. The air smelled of blood and burnt flesh. From afar came cries and pleas for help, the hooting laughter of heretics. Someone was less fortunate than her. No one had found her yet.

And it is unlikely that they will.

“God-Emperor, do not abandon me, guide me to the light, I will not fear the darkness for I believe” - she repeated the prayer dryly, like a memorized text from school.

Because it was a lie. Of course she were afraid of the darkness. Afraid of death. And even more so of torture. The endless pain that the enemies of the Imperium promised to bring with them. Yes, the clergy would say that she was a heretic. But in the last hour, she did not want to lie, at least to herrself.

Soon her agri-world will drown in the blood of its inhabitants. And if the Imperium returns the planet to its bosom, resumes the delivery of food, then other people will do it. Your fate is to become meat in the hands and mouths of heretics.

She felt new tears running down her cheeks. They haven't found her yet, but soon, soon they will find her small and weak body. Soon they will tear her apart, eat the meat, throw away the bones, and put the skin on thier armor like a cloak. She already saw how the heretics did this to an elderly couple.

Sudden steps pulled her ark thoughts and returned to an equally dark present. Her heart fluttered like a bird in a cage. These were too heavy steps for a human. Too metallic a sound. The smell of imminent death hit her nose and she held back from screaming in horror at the imminent meeting with the most terrible shame of the Imperium.

A Chaos Space Marine.

And at that moment, when the legionary appeared before her in full height, when she almost bit her lip until it bled, just to keep from screaming... only then did she notice the armor. Golden as the sun, with a distinctive sign in the form of a bloody heart. The Lamenter.

She burst into tears like a little girl.

“The G-God-Emperor h-heard m-my prayers.” - her world was under siege, she had already managed to lose loved ones, she had the right to tears, but she still tried to wipe them away. - “I-I am too weak to walk. Please save the others.”

The Space Marine did not say a word, listening to her sobs. He came closer until he knelt down on one knee next to her. Only then did she notice that his armor was covered in blood, and in some places there were signs drawn that were unfamiliar to her. If she had any doubts, they were dispelled as soon as the Astartes removed his helmet.

He was quite handsome. Pale-faced, with a snub nose, a scattering of freckles and bright cheeks. His wheat-colored hair barely reached his shoulders. His face was clear and bright, with only one scar crossing his left eyebrow. But what stood out most about the young man were his eyes. Blue as the sky of her planet until the heretics attacked it and it turned red.

“You really are an angel.” - she switch to a reverent whisper. For the first time, a happy, albeit tired, smile appears on her face. Her eyes are still shining from recently shed tears before she plunge into the saving darkness. She could no longer remain conscious after what she experienced. She were too tired.

For a second before she finally lose consciousness, it seems to her that the Astartes' ears are red. Like an ordinary young man who heard a compliment from a pretty girl.

Hah, what a heresy.

***

The mortal soldier of the Corpse on the Throne writhed helplessly in Virgil's arms, unable to resist him. In truth, Virgil would not have minded playing with his victim, but the thirst for blood was stronger. But it doesn't matter. The planet they had landed on promised rich loot.

Quite a long time had passed when he joined the Red Corsairs. And when he realized this delightful feeling. The ability to not pretend. The ability to kill as he pleased, torment as he wanted. Maybe the Black Thirst was a curse, but such an opinion was imposed on him. The veteran never thought so.

"Virgil!" - a completely joyful cry rang out across the battlefield.

But having a roommate like this one is a curse. And to his great dissatisfaction, quite scary and uncontrollable. Although a narrow-minded mortal would probably think that a flesh tearer covered in someone else's skin is more dangerous than a lamenter with an angelic face.

But to be fair, he thought so too.

The veteran sighed and threw the soldier's body away from himself. And judging by the convulsions, he was still alive despite the loss of blood. On another day Virgil would have liked to watch mortal’s suffer longer, but the plundering had only just begun, and man had to deal with the young pup before he did anything wrong.

“Vergil, look who I found. She mistook me for a loyalist.” - the young man, unusually softly holding the limp body of a mortal girl, looked at her face with almost love in his eyes. - “I saved her.”

Vergil rolled his eyes, scratching his poor bald head. Why, why, did he get Luka?

“Of course she thought so. Not only did you not change your armor, but she also apparently passed out before you spoke.” - the lamenter, to Vergil’s irritation, ignored the fair remark. - “Why did you even bring her here?”

“What do you mean, why? I saved her, now I have to marry her.” - the blond answered as if nothing had happened. Seeing how his pale partner’s eye began to twitch involuntarily, he raised his voice in displeasure. - “Don’t look at me like that! She will behave well.”

“Like the previous girls, huh?”

“First of all, I liked them, but I wasn’t going to marry them. Secondly, we met when they already knew which side I was on.” - Luka again gazed tenderly at the sleeping girl, burying his nose in her cheek. - “And she said that I looked like an angel.”

A little more and Virgil would throw up, he was sure of it. Of course, he was a sadist. He liked to torture and torment. He liked to hear screams. And yet, when it came to intimacy, it was unnecessary. The cultists screaming in strange ecstasy irritated. Some went completely wild, so after a couple of blows, he had to fucks their still warm corpses.

And the captured slaves... well. They cried. Of course, it was beautiful, but their constant attempts to escape and crawl away also irritated the man. Why couldn’t they just lie quietly and wait for him to finish his business? Why are they all so disrespectful?

It's annoying. Everything annoys him.

But the girl's calm, sleeping appearance was apparently one of the few exceptions. Virgil would even say that he liked the way her eyelashes twitched slightly, and her lips parted just a little. Serenity itself. Innocence itself.

Even as a loyalist, Virgil didn't care much about mortals. But still, even in such a callous person as he, there was a hidden desire to protect the innocent. Now he likes to torture them more (everyone, to be precise). But after his desire was returned, the need to possess lovely ladies settled in him. Alas, but he no longer serves the Emperor, and the girl expects exactly this from them. Luka, an idiot, does not understand this and dragged her to her death.

Although-

"Let's tell her that we are fighting for the Corpse on the Throne."

"What?"

“You just said that she took you for a loyalist. So why try to convince her otherwise?” - the veteran smiled with all his sharp teeth, enjoying his genius. - “She has had it tough enough as it is. Let’s lock her in the quarters. She will see and listen only to us.”

The boy stared at him blankly for a while until the whole plan dawned on him. Luka opened his mouth joyfully, causing the blood of the dead to slowly flow inside. Virgil involuntarily stuck out his black mutated tongue at the sight. Hmm, he would have to keep that abomination in his mouth if he didn't want to scare the girl ahead of time.

"Oh, that's a great idea. She'll be so thrilled to have ended up with the good sons of Sanguinius. But, Virgil, what if she finds out that we're fighting against the Imperium?" - Luka hugged the girl tighter, burying his nose in her hair. - "What should we do in that case? Will she cry? Hate us? What if she wants to run away??"

"By that time, she'll be used to us and her new home. She'll come to terms with it, you'll see." - the veteran growled with displeasure and slapped the blond on the back of the head. - "And stop squeezing her like that! You'll break all her bones."

"B-but she's so pretty!"

He was right. She really is pretty. By the Ruinous Powers, Virgil hated the False Emperor and the Imperium. But he had to admit that some of its citizens were better looking than the cultists.

"Don't. Squeeze. Control. Yourself. Or better yet, drag her on board before she wakes up."

The blond immediately went thin. The veteran involuntarily cringed as he saw tears gathering in his blue eyes. You wouldn't know from Luka that he was wreaking heretic.

"But we've only just begun the massacre! I've never even come across any children!"

You wouldn't say he was a pervert either.

"Then it would be in your best interest to quickly take her to the flagship and return to us. I don't know how you'll do that. But since you've picked up the girl, have the respect to take care of her."

“Fine! But then I’ll choose her name.” - the blond possessively hugged the limp body and headed towards the ship. Virgil only sighed heavily, raising his red eyes to the sky. How hard it was sometimes with the young man.

But on the other hand, he was still useful. The idea of ​​playing the role of the Emperor’s loyal servants was hilarious in itself. And an unhappy and lonely lady in distress was an extremely pleasant bonus after the massacre. Surely, such a good girl was followed by crowds of vile fanatics of the Corpse on the Throne. But never mind, now her saviors will take care of her.

“We are the Emperor’s Angels after all.” - Virgil muttered under his breath, pleased, turning his attention to the soldier who dared to shoot at him. It seemed he would finally change his cloak.

What a great hunt they made on this world.

[the-great-fusilli]

I’m pro-delulu and I too believe in shipping characters that don’t canonically end up together BUT… I will never get behind Zutara (my mind changes often, but rn no🙅🏽‍♀️.)

Maybe it’s because I don’t take colonization and eithnic clensing lightly, or maybe it’s because I disagree with the “Katara is like Aang’s mom” statement. Either way they should not be end game. People often bring up how Zuko helped Katara release a lot of pent up emotions concerning her mother’s death and who killed her, but the Fire Nation (his people) were responsible for that death. And up until that specific arc Zuko was upholding the beliefs of those people.

“Zuko doesn’t need Katara to be his mother like Aang and the rest of the group do, they’re on equal footing.” Except Aang and the rest of the group don’t need Katara to be mother either. People just view Katara as a maternal character because of her personality and that’s the only role they’ll acknowledge her having in the group. Katara’s mother showed her a love so deep and protective that she died so Katara could live. Of course the trauma of losing her mother in that way at such a young age would cause her to take on the role her mother had. Whether it be because of obligation, or simply because that’s all she knew.

Aang and all the other characters have experienced a lot of trauma, but Aang was raised by monks. He doesn’t need a mother figure because he’s never experienced gender roles in the way the other characters have. His idea of a family is being shaped as the show progresses because aside form Monk Gyatso, they are the first real family he’s had. He’s curious, fun-loving and light hearted because that’s how Monk Gyatso raised him to be, not because he’s an irresponsible little 12 yr old without a mother. His people were eradicated, so Katara doesn’t raise Aang she guides him through grieving the loss of his people. A loss she knows all too well.

Toph is blind and her family is overly protective. They don’t give her the space or freedom to be her own person or earth bend. Another experience that Katara knows all too well. Her grandmother never let her leave the southern water tribe or water bend so she gives Toph the same thing she gives Aang. Sokka is Katara’s brother… he also experienced the loss of their mother except Sokka is a boy. He’s been made painfully aware of gender roles because he watched their father leave to fight in the war instead of staying to help him and Katara. He wanted to be more like his Father because be believed that was his role in the family (to fight). So the responsibility of taking care of the both of them fell on Katara.

Katara and Zuko are not on “equal footing” especially not before he leaves the Fire Nation. He’s a prince from the Nation that has been opressing her family, her people and the world for 100 years…(he literally calls my good sis “water tribe peasant” meaning at some point he believed she was inferior because he had royal blood.) He has changed now of course and I love both Zuko and Katara, but them being end game makes no sense to me. Even in terms of chemistry… I don’t think they have any at all. Majority of their screen time together is just them fighting with each other (verbally and physically.)

People also like to use the episode where Zuko takes Katara to find the man who killed her mother as proof that Zuko was the only one who truly helped her grieve and get closure. Which honestly I don’t understand. I think he definitely aided in helping her move past what happened, but it could’ve went painfully wrong & I think it was a bit misplaced. For one, Zuko’s whole reason for doing that was to get on Katara’s good side. He said himself that everyone else had forgiven him already except Katara. He understood that his role in the group was teaching Aang to fire bend, and helping the gaang defeat his father. Which is why he couldn’t grasp why she wouldn’t put her personal feelings aside for the sake of the team. He needed to gain Katara’s trust for the sake of better team work when they fight. Katara was also extremely hypocritical that episode, and spoke from a place of anger and hurt. Aang wasn’t invalidating her feelings, he only did for her what she’d done for him. He reminded Katara that her rage and anger needed to be fueled into defeating the Fire Nation, NOT revenge. Because revenge doesn’t help you grieve & it wouldn’t help them achieve the REAL goal. {Not to mention she was so disappointed and upset with Jet for wanting revenge (a character who truly reflects her), but because the man she was going to kill wasn’t innocent somehow her revenge was different and therefore justified?…No.}

Katara would tell Aang all the time how much seeing him so enraged in the Avatar state genuinely hurt her. Yet for some reason she couldn’t fathom that he’d feel the same way seeing her blood bend in the same emotional state? No…I think in that moment she just didn’t care & wasn’t thinking about it. Zuko was counting on that, and he used Katara’s pain to get her to trust him (it was smart and it worked but still not cool.) Zuko understands Katara’s pain to an extent, but it’s not the same at all. Zuko’s mother was banished, but Katara’s mother was killed… and by Zuko’s nation at that. The only people in the group who TRULY understand Katara and that pain… are Sokka and Aang.

Aang and Katara to me are like 2 halves that make a whole. Their characters are tailor made for each other and I love it. I’ve believed they were soulmates since the moment she broke him out of that Iceberg. Katara felt a higher calling, not only to be a water bender fighting for her people, but also to be apart of something bigger than herself, fighting for everyone. Her first time experiencing freedom is when she was took on a mission to give that same freedom to others around the world as well. Its not a coincidence that in the first episode where she feels her biggest emotions, she showcase her strongest bending yet at that time in her life, AND she broke THE Avatar out of an iceberg he had been in for 100 years. It was FATE. Katara helps Aang grieve, gives him a family after losing the one he had, teaches him water bending, teaches him that the world may be counting on him, but the amount of death and pain he sees is not his fault and most importantly teaches him how to use his power to stand up for and fight for the people who can’t fight for themselves. She shows up when he needs her the most. Aang also helps Katara finally step into her own power. His arrival gives her the things necessary for her development… freedom, fun, opportunity to master water bending, a new addition to the family after the loss of her mother, and a partner in justice. The way Katara is capable of truly seeing and understanding Aang, speaking to his soul when they had just met… reflects how meeting him helped her heal. They connect so much because despite their differences they understand each other. Some of Aang’s own words were “Why would i choose cosmic energy over Katara?” He had an opportunity to master the avatar state land directly in his lap, but instead he chose her.

IM TEAM KAANG TIL I DIE

Also I think personality wise Zuko and Katara are too much alike for it to work romantically imo. They’re both sassy as hell, sarcastic, stubborn momma’s babies, who resent their fathers a lil and went through hell for a couple years because of their siblings (+ losing their moms.) In some ways they ARE opposites (especially their bending & colors,) and i agree they have character development arcs that fit together like puzzle pieces…BUT they are more alike than they are opposite. I absolutely LOVE both characters, but I fear people look at Zuko with rose colored glasses on alot of the time. Especially when it comes to Katara. Zuko did what needed to be done for the world’s sake, but he’s no super hero when it cones to Katara and she has a deep wound related to getting revenge on people people who harm her family. The main reason Zuko broke her trust in the first place was because he helped Azula kill Aang after letting Katara believe he was on their side… Aang is her family It was never about her mother when it came to Zuko’s forgiveness. She even said she would kill him if he even thought about hurting Aang when he first joined the gaang.

With that being said… I don’t have a problem with people who just like to see them together, but pls stop with the justifications because… It genuinely makes no sense to me at all.

[ikarasu]

🍫White Chocolate🍫

Yandere Carlo/P x Reader

Warning: spoilers, yandere behavior, broken bones, and death

P/Carlo’s Perspective: 🍫Dark Chocolate🍫

Final Part: 🥀Tummy Ache🥀

Word Count: 1715

🥀~🍫~🥀~🍫~🥀~🍫~🥀~🍫~🥀~🍫~🥀~🍫~🥀~

At a young age, Carlo and I knew that we were to marry. My parents were successful vehicle inventors who were very interested in Geppetto’s works. Geppetto wanted his son to marry the perfect spouse. So our parents took an opportunity and formed an arranged marriage. I knew that Carlo hated me, because of the arrangement. Feeling that now he has no chance of experiencing real love. I, on the other hand, fell in love at first sight. Everything that Carlo did felt so honest and pure. I watched Carlo grow up into a fine young man, but our relationship never improved. He would always avoid me at any chance given. Yet I still loved him despite his bitter nature towards me. Loving Carlo was like savoring dark chocolate. It’s so pure and rich but leaves nothing but a bitter aftertaste.

As the plague worsened my family had us move away from Krat. Yet my parents still caught the disease and eventually passed away six months after contracting it. I returned to Krat in hopes of finding Geppetto and Carlo. Only to return to the beginning of the puppet frenzy. I found Geppetto and was told of Carlo’s passing before he rushed me to take refuge at The Krat Hotel with a few other survivors.

I don’t know how long it has been since I’ve taken refuge here. But I’ve grown to enjoy the company of others. Usually, I help around with Polendina or chat with Sophia and Eugénie. I have not heard news from Geppetto recently, and I can’t help but worry. Leading me to think about Carlo and how I wasn’t there for his final moments. It hurts to think that I never got to say bye and tell him the truth about my feelings.

The loud creaking of the front entrance doors opening pulls me out of my thoughts. Like a bitter pill, I swallow up my feelings and head downstairs to greet whoever had just entered. As I head down the stairs I hear Sophia chatting. ‘It must be another survivor…’

“Sophia, who’s the newcomer-“

I stop as I look up at the face of the newcomer. Suddenly I feel sick to the stomach and I take a step back.

“I-it can’t be….”

There stands a confused familiar face. His unfamiliar blue eyes are glassy and dull, but his freckles are a constellation of stars I have memorized by heart.

“Oh, (name), I want you to meet P” Sophia says as she looks over at me with concern.

P raises his hand slowly as he stares at me. He almost touches my hand but I run. I headed to my room as fast as I could. My breath is erratic, my heart is pounding, and my mind is spinning. I feel like the world is collapsing on me and I fall to my knees and cry alone in my room.

🥀~🍫~🥀~🍫~🥀~Time Skip~🥀~🍫~🥀~🍫~🥀~

*knock knock*

I refuse to move from my bed after the events from earlier today. The confusion and feeling of being lied to is conflicted inside me.

“(Name)… it’s me, Geppetto. May I come in?”

He sighs as he hears no response from me.

“I’m assuming you met my latest creation…..”

The door whips open revealing my angered expression.

“Is that what he is, Geppetto? Just another toy to you?! Some sick way to make up for your shortcomings as a father figure to Carlo?!”

My fists are trembling and the hot tears spill from my cheeks. Geppetto holds one of my fists gently before making me look at his face.

“Let me explain everything to you… there’s more to it…”

We sit in my room as Geppetto explains his whole plan to revive Carlo. I hesitate at his words, everything about it seems inhumane. Yet he tries to reassure me with promises of me getting my chance to love Carlo again.

“I can’t Geppetto… none of this sounds right. I miss Carlo as well, deeply, but this is too much for me.”

I guide him out of my room to let me process everything that has been said.

The next few days I try to go through my day as per usual. Trying to ignore those same blue glassy eyes following my form as I pass by. Despite their beautiful color, they’re too fake and doll-like for me to appreciate.

I go to the library to browse some books to read. On the top shelf, I notice one of my favorite books sitting on it. I try to reach for it as best as I can. My fingers barely graze the spine of the book before suddenly I feel a cold form pressing against my back. A larger hand easily grabs the book I was reaching for. Turning around slowly I refuse to meet his eyes. I quickly take the book and give him a quiet thank you before running off. If I had taken the time to look I would’ve noticed the way his eyes showed something new, longing.

I try to avoid him whenever he is in the hotel. Until one day I was feeling more somber than usual. Today would’ve been Carlo’s birthday. Sitting alone at the piano I play an old tune, one that I thought Carlo would’ve enjoyed if he and I got along. The tears drip from my face as I continue to play. Quietly the front doors of the hotel open and P walks in. P’s footsteps go unnoticed by me as I drown myself in my sorrows. He feels something deep down in his heart pulling him towards me. The feelings ran deep and made the ergo in his veins flow more. He felt like he had no control over these feelings. Remembering Geppetto’s words in his office after defeating the watchman at the city hall.

“(Name) and Carlo were made for each other. Treat them well, even if they’re a bit rough around the edges at the moment. They’ll come around sooner or later”

The song comes to an end and the room is now only filled with the sounds of my quiet sobs. I gasp as I feel a hand touch my shoulder. P stands there and looks at me with concern.

“Go away… You’re the last ‘thing’ I want to see at the moment” I say resentfully.

Instead of listening to me, P pulls me into a hug. I freeze and then I let myself melt. Carlo would’ve never hugged me so comfortably. The tears spill more and for once I look back at those blue eyes. He stares at me so lovingly and kindly. Maybe this is okay…maybe I can love again…

As P progressed on his journey our relationship bloomed. He was patient when I was stubborn and he was loving when I needed it. Loving P was like milk chocolate. The perfect balance of sweetness with no bitter aftertaste. He was perfect and I gave him all of my heart.

P came into the hotel and came to my room. One look at his face and I knew what he was thinking. We lay together one last time before he had to go off and finish off Simon. Our tears and hearts are shared one last time.

“I promise to come back… I won’t leave you again, (name)”

🥀~🍫~🥀~🍫~🥀~Time Skip~🥀~🍫~🥀~🍫~🥀~

Screams are all I can hear ringing through the hotel. I hide in my room crying as I fear for my life. They’re all gone. Eugénie, Venigni, Antonia, Polendina, Pulcinella… they’re all gone. I hear footsteps approaching my room and I feel sick to my stomach. I pray for them to turn away and move on. It’s silent for a few moments before I hear the handle of the door turn. I hid in my wardrobe before the door could be opened. Holding my breath as I stare through the crack of my wardrobe. The room is empty and everything is silent. I let out my breath before suddenly brown eyes appeared in front of the crack. A scream is ripped out of my throat as I’m yanked out of the wardrobe.

“My love~ I promised you I would come back”

I tried to push at his form but his body wouldn’t budge an inch. Staring at familiar brown eyes that are now filled with bloodlust. Familiar constellations of freckles are nowhere to be found. Only splatters of blood and oil speckle his face.

“Let me go! You monster!” I scream as I continue to thrash in his iron-like hold.

“Now, now, that’s not very nice of you love~” he says in a sugary tone

I continue to thrash as tears fall from my eyes. Praying to any gods that all of this is just some nightmare. Suddenly he pulls me by the hair to force me to look at him. His tone taking a dangerous turn.

“Father promised me that we were made for each other. So start acting like it, love.”

I tremble in his hold submissively. He smiles and releases my hair before leaning closer to my face.

“That’s a good spouse~”

Before he could lean any closer I grabbed the vase behind him and smashed it on his head. He staggers and I make a run for it. Skipping over steps as I make a dash for the exit. I manage to run out the doors into the rainy entrance before I’m tackled down. Grabbing onto my leg he gives me a dangerous look. A sickening crack and a scream were all that could be heard. I cry as the pain shoots up my leg.

“See? That’s what happens when you’re not a good spouse. I have to clip your wings” his tone has returned to that sickening sweet voice.

He pulls out a ring and looks at me. I try to crawl away but he pulls me back cradling me. I cry as he slips on the ring and pulls me into a possessive kiss.

“That’s right, love! Cry! It’s a joyous moment for both of us. Now we can be together forever just as we were meant to be”

This ‘love’ is like white chocolate. Its overly sweet taste is there to cover up the fact it isn’t chocolate. Only this time it’s all that you have left.

🥀~🍫~🥀~🍫~🥀~🍫~🥀~🍫~🥀~🍫~🥀~🍫~🥀~

Notes: I will edit this eventually rippppp

[throneofsapphics]

have your little girlfriend, part four

Rowaelin x f!Reader 

Summary: At first she thought everyone was so nice but the nasty things came quickly. Whispers when they thought she couldn’t hear, why a lowly common girl would be paired with such powerful people, even if she’d ensnared them somehow. If anything, they had ensnared her.

Warnings: dark-ish aelin/rowan, light d/s, blood, death (not shown), injury, bit of smut, drinking, minors dni!

Word Count: ~5.1k 

A/N: I intended for this to be the last part but I mentally can’t control myself 

series masterlist

She’d been close to giving in to their request, for her to move into the castle with them. And stay permanently. They promised she’d have her own space, and wouldn’t have to give up any of her work or other parts of her life. 

But, something happened to force her hand. 

Someone she never thought she’d see again showed up on her doorstep, after five gods-damned years. The one real heart-break she thought she experienced. They had met during the time she spent with the Wolf Tribe, waiting for their summons to battle. Maybe because she was young, she fell hard. And deep. 

But, after the battle was over, and she’d finally startled to settle into her new life, he told her he was done. 

“Why? Can you please give me a reason?” She nearly begged. Anything except, ‘I'm done.’ 

“I don’t feel enough for you.” The words were cold, and harsh, and something snapped inside her. 

“Get out.” She didn’t wait for an answer before shoving him out the door, slamming it behind him and locking every single one. She heard a few knocks, a few pounds, and knew what he wanted - some kind of break-up sex, a goodbye of sorts, but he wouldn’t be getting anything out of her. She could scent another female all over him. 

“I made the biggest mistake, leaving you.” He looked desperate. 

“It’s been three years.” She said through gritted teeth. 

“And I’ve been thinking about you still, ever since. Doesn’t that mean something?” 

“No.” Her voice was cold, but something akin to anger flashed through his eyes, and he shoved against the door, enough that she stumbled back in surprise, and he pushed his way inside. 

“Get out.” She demanded, and cursed herself for not having a dagger on her. Mentally she tried to figure out where the nearest one would be … behind her - on that counter. She slowly stepped back, watching as he pushed forward. Her door was still open, good. 

“Let me explain.” He matched each of her steps, moving slightly closer each time. She pressed back against the counter, hands seeming to clutch the wood - but one fist clenched against the small, recently sharpened - thanks to Rowan, knife. 

“I’m giving you one more chance to get the hell out.” She warned him. 

“Not until you listen to me, hear me out.” He grabbed her shoulder, hand digging in tight enough it would bruise, and she swung, cutting sideways across his bicep. 

“You bitch,” He snarled, and she twisted her hand to strike again, but a large gust of wind blasted him away from her, her hair flowing back slightly. 

Aelin and Rowan were by the door. One second later Aelin was above him, knife pressed sharply against his neck, saying something she couldn’t hear, and Rowan was before her, blocking her view, his eyes taking in every inch of her body. She winced as she shifted her shoulder, and saw his eyes darken. 

His magic healed the sore spot before she could say another word. 

“You’re carrion.” Aelin snarled, and y/n angled her head to try and see, but two fingers pressed against her cheek to guide her gaze back to Rowan. 

“Are you okay?” She nodded, keeping her eyes on him, but wondered if a male would be murdered in her living room today. Maybe she could convince them not to, to just let him go.

“What happened?” his voice was low enough only she could hear. “Who is he?” 

“An … he’s an old boyfriend. He wanted to talk.” 

-

Rowan snarled softly, his head turning to look at the male, his eyes meeting Aelin’s. 

He tried to get her back. To take her away. He hurt her. 

The look in Aelin’s eyes told him the male wouldn’t live the night. 

“He didn’t mean to -” 

“Don’t.” Rowan cut her off. Y/n would try and argue, try to get them to just leave him and let him go. They didn’t have to tell her exactly what would happen. But … he hurt her, and tried to take her away from them. Every primal instinct in him was flaring. “You’re moving in with us.” He told her. She’d stay where he could keep her safe, keep her away from anyone that might harm her. 

Her throat swallowed, but she nodded. 

“We’ll come back for your things later.” 

Are you taking her back, or am I? He asked Aelin. 

I’ll take her. She answered after a moment, standing up. Good, his wind could drown out any screams. The male seemed to sag with relief, until he caught sight of Rowan approaching, every step lethal. 

-

She was close to saying yes, to moving in of her own will, but now it felt a bit like she was forced to. She reasoned with herself, saying it would have happened soon enough anyways. 

“You did well.” Rowan said later that night, he came back after a few hours. He must’ve cleaned himself somewhere, because only a faint hint of copper remained. 

Y/n hugged her arms tightly around her chest. “With what?” 

“Defending yourself.” He answered, but there was a tension in him, a tension through his whole body. 

“I wasn’t in any real danger.” 

He looked at her incredulously. “Someone forced their way into your home, and you ended up cutting them.” 

She’s almost completely confident she would’ve been fine. He crossed the room, and gently grabbed her hands. “You’re safer here.” 

“I was safe enough in my own home.” She snapped, looking away from him. He curled his fingers around her chin, forcing her to look at him. Y/n expected some kind of remark, something that would undercut her, but his eyes only fixed on hers, on her face, before drifting to her shoulder and back up. 

“He hurt you.” There was so much rage in those three words. “I wasn’t there to protect you.” Her face softened slightly. 

“It’s not your fault.” She emphasized, but it didn’t seem to get through to him. “Rowan.” Her fingers brushed against his cheek, and his hand slid down to rest on the side of her neck. “I’m fine, you came. You came for me.” 

She didn’t think those words exactly fit the scenario, but could tell he needed to hear them, or something along the lines of that. Her finger brushed back and forth against his cheek, until some of the tension seemed to leave his body. 

“I won’t fail you,” he murmured, wrapping her up in his arms. “Not again.” 

“You never failed me.” 

-

A male was murdered in her living room. Rowan and Aelin didn’t say anything about it, but she knew. By the time she got back to gather her things, no scent of blood or copper remained. No trace of him, or what happened yesterday. But there was some kind of stain in the house. She couldn’t live here again, not knowing that happened. 

Both of them hovered as she packed everything up. There wasn’t much to take beyond her clothes and books. The rest of her work things - she decided she could at least work from here, until she could find a different place. Perhaps sell the townhouse and set up some kind of shop or get a small apartment and modify it. Or even expand beyond the markets and have her own little store. 

-

Aelin seemed to be bouncing on her feet when they got back, insisting they had something to show her. 

“We promised you a private space.” She led her down a few halls, to a more secluded portion of the castle, and on ground level. 

A large room, with a door leading out to a garden, and … a workshop, just for her. She turned around in awe, examining the space. Shelves for her books, a full kitchen area to make chocolates, and it looked so much like her own space - almost modeled after it. “You had this made,” she said softly, turning to face her. 

“Yes,” Aelin had a wide grin on her face, and y/n strode across the room to hug her and thank her. 

-

It took another week for her to realize how long they’d been planning this. It must’ve taken some time to re-do the space, and to have it done before she even decided to move in with them. That had never been a permanent thing, something set in stone that would happen. But to them, it was. A tiny bit of doubt crept into her, but she shoved it down, deep deep down where it wouldn’t emerge again. They’d transformed an entire set of rooms just for her. So she would feel more comfortable, feel at home. She let gratitude fill her instead.

Rowan grew to love y/n, it was natural. But - as an immortal, there’s some things he never forgets. Couldn’t forget, and hurting Aelin - in any form - was one of them. When Aelin took her first trip away from both of them, he took his chance. 

- 

“This is for making Aelin cry,” Rowan tugged her over his lap, her bare body brushing against his, feeling the rough fabric of his pants scrape against her. The female in question was gone on a diplomatic trip. Visiting Perranth, she thought, but couldn’t be too certain. Rowan and Aelin mostly kept her separated from court business. Y/n, however, was confused. Had Rowan waited specifically for when she’d be gone? 

“I didn’t, I never -” 

A swat landed against her ass. Instantly reddening it, and she squealed, her body squirming to try and move away, but he held her down with one arm. He rubbed the sore area, soothing it gently before striking again - this time hitting the other cheek. 

Pain lanced through her as she whimpered, but stopped struggling. 

“I wouldn’t make her cry, I swear.” She whined. But - arousal started slipping through her, something tightened in her stomach. Why would that happen?  

“She came back, after you told her you were going to leave, and cried.” He said roughly, before laying a harsh series of smacks against her ass, ignoring the way she whimpered, the tears dripping from her eyes, but y/n didn’t tell him to stop. If she’d made Aelin cry … Gods she hated herself for that. Felt like she deserved it now. But … her core started to throb, that confused her. 

“Months,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, “that was months ago.” 

“I don’t forget.” Immortal. They were all immortal. Six months is nothing to them. It was six months ago. 

The hits grew more intense with each one, starting to spread through her entire body. The last one jolted her forward, rocking her against his knees. 

“You liked that, didn’t you?” His voice was mocking, teasing, and made a few more tears stream down her face. He pulled her up, moving her to straddle his lap, and pulled her tight against his chest, his arms wrapping around her. She stayed stiff, the fabric against her ass stinging. 

“I don’t like making her cry,” y/n mumbled into his chest. 

“I know.” It sounded like a warning. It was a warning, not to do that again. Not to hurt Aelin. She’d never would - couldn’t, not intentionally. “But you liked when I spanked you, didn’t you?” Words wouldn’t come to her - she couldn’t speak, didn’t know what to say, but he dragged two fingers through her core, her slick arousal gathering on them. 

“If I ask you a question, answer me.” 

“My - my body liked it.” 

“A little painslut,” he crooned, lips grazing just above her ear. “You took that so well.” 

The praise made her body shiver. Both him and Aelin had already figured that out about her. Just how much she liked it - being praised. 

-

Aelin returned without much fanfare, and made her way right to where she knew y/n would be at this time of day. Rowan, she knew, was likely stuck in a meeting - but would find them directly after. 

Sure enough, she found her fiddling with something. As soon as the doors opened, y/n dropped the tools and smiled, bounding across the room to wrap her in a hug. Aelin breathed in her scent, nutmeg and honey, and squeezed back before pressing a kiss against her forehead. “Have fun without me?” 

“Without you?” Her head tilted, “never.” 

But, something seemed off. She was hesitant - had something she needed to say. Aelin started to worry, she still had a fear that y/n would wake up one day and decide to leave. Not that she’d let her, not easily, but the fear still lived in some small, dark place deep inside her. 

“I’m sorry, for making you cry.” 

Aelin frowned. Y/n hadn’t … that day, when she said she was done. Rowan, he probably remembered it and took the first chance he had to - well she isn’t sure what he would do. 

“You’re forgiven,” she pulled her into her chest, stroking one hand through her hair. “More than forgiven.”

-

“We never see you any more,” her friend groaned, leaning back in her seat. It was a rare night when she could make her way out of the castle. They didn’t exactly keep her from her friends, but between her business and their close proximity, they took up most of her time. Despite everything, the bond was still new - they’d just fully accepted each other as mates a month or so ago. Well, she’d fully accepted them. 

“I’ll make more time.” She promised and accepted a glass of wine with a smile. 

One turned to two, to three, to four, and after that she lost count. She was hiccuping and smiling, sharing old stories and listening to her friends extravagant details about her love life. 

“Y/n,” she said in a sing-song voice. “Spill.” 

“I already spilled,” she frowned, looking down at the small red stain on her shirt. That would be a pain to get out, but it was a problem for tomorrow. 

“No,” she moaned, “your love life.” 

“Oh,” she squeezed her glass a little tighter. “It’s … fulfilling.” 

“Details,” she wiggled her brows, the liquid sloshing in the glass. 

“Maybe another time,” she grinned. Not. The details of her love life were private and she didn’t need her friend knowing how the Queen of Terrasen likes to tease her to unbearable levels, trailing her fingers dangerously high on her thigh during public dinners or how the King throws her over his lap and turns her ass red enough she feels it the next day.  

A polite knock sounded on the door, and her friend shot up, spilling her glass as she set it down on the table before darting to the door. Y/n scented the pine and snow before the door opened, and her temper flared. What the hell was he doing here? 

-

“I don’t need you to fetch me,” she snarled at him as he nearly dragged her out to the street. He rolled his eyes, scooping her up with one arm around her back, one under her legs, and ignoring her protests and grumbles of complaints. 

He deposited her on the couch, and she crossed her arms. Eyes glazed over, an alcohol flush covering her cheeks and chest - how much did she drink? Considering the stink of wine and spots on her shirt, more than she could handle. 

“You’re a bastard,” she hissed - spitting like a cat. And a mad one. 

“You were incapable of getting yourself home.” He dismissed her argument, turning his back. He felt the shift in the air, heard the whizz of something flying, and ducked in time to avoid a pillow launched at his head. 

“How dare you?” She nearly screeched, and he winced slightly. Aelin was away on one of her queenly duties, leaving him stuck with their pissed off mate. Who likes to throw things when she’s particularly upset. Maybe it’s a good thing Aelin isn’t here - when it comes to tempers, although it takes y/n a lot longer to reach hers, Aelin tends to match her energy. She rose to her feet, swaying slightly and clutching the arm of the couch to keep her balance. 

“Sit. Down.” A muscle in his jaw clenched. 

“Incapable? I’m not some gods-damned child who needs minding. I’m a fully grown female, fully capable of handling myself.” 

“Obviously not.” He hissed at her, and realized his mistake as tears pricked in the corner of her eyes. 

“Y/n,” he called, his voice softer than before as he forced himself to relax and held his hands up in a show of piece. 

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” She announced, and flopped herself back down, tucking a pillow under her head and turning to face the back of the couch. 

Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose. He could, and would clean this up. 

“I’ll take the couch.” He stalked over to her side, pulling her up by her arm and ignoring her protests. She was unsteady on her feet, enough that he visibly could see her swallow her pride and lean on him for support. That satisfied the part of him feeling the need to be useful, to serve in some way. As soon as he safely saw her to bed, making sure she kicked her shoes off and turned on her side, he left. One hand braced on the door, he turned to find her dozing into sleep, mouth parted - a few tears dripping down her cheeks, the flush from earlier still present. 

Space, he needed to give her some space. Not invade her privacy, just let her cool down some. His eyes shuttered closed and he gave himself a few moments to breathe before doing his best to make himself comfortable on the couch. That didn’t stop him from checking on her every hour.

-

“I’m sorry.” Rowan said over breakfast the next morning. She lowered her mug, her lips had just pressed against the porcelain, about to take a sip, but now she wondered if she was hallucinating. 

“Really?” It stung something inside of her that she doubted. Doubted his apology, or if he actually meant it. 

“Yes.” A muscle in his jaw flexed, but she couldn’t scent a lie on him. “You are capable, and it was wrong of me to say otherwise.” How long had he rehearsed this? Maybe had all night to think of it on the couch - too short to comfortably fit his body. 

“I’m glad you see reason.” He wouldn’t get a thank you out of her, not for something he should’ve already known - or for taking back hurtful words. It wasn’t some magnanimous gesture, and y/n refused to give him the expectation it was otherwise. Something else gleamed in his eyes, an emotion it took her a minute to place. Respect. For holding her ground.

“Fair enough,” he shrugged, and jerked his chin towards her cup of tea. “Drink that before it gets cold. Aelin isn’t here to warm it.” 

She rolled her eyes this time, a small compromise - but better than him dragging her out of her friends house. 

The small cracks started to appear, but they were easily mended for now. 

-

“Did he behave himself?” Aelin asked as she returned, peppering her face with enough kisses her mate let out an adorable laugh. If Aelin could record that sound and bring it with her everywhere, she would.

“He admitted to his mistake.” Y/n’s mouth indented at one corner. She already had Rowan wrapped around her finger, in her own way, if she could cow him into that. 

Her eyes glinted and a mischievous grin crossed her face. “And, pray-tell, what was this mistake?” 

“Something already taken care of.” Rowan grunted. Aelin huffed a laugh and let it go for now, knowing she’d pry the details out of him later. 

-

Y/n sighed as she sorted through some of the paperwork associated with her work. Permits, deals with local shops, orders directly placed through her. With her relationship public knowledge, interest in her goods had taken off over the course of the last year. Of course, she loved the new business but it became overwhelming. Enough that she drew away from the market she loved so much, instead working with local shops and private orders to long time customers. Exclusively. She missed the Saturday mornings, socializing with the other vendors when she was still a nobody. Well, not quite a nobody but not a public figure, in a way. When nobody tried to buy her things to gain advantage with her - to try and get an ‘in’ with her mates. 

She pinched the bridge of her nose and slumped down on her desk, fighting the urge to bang her head against the wood, instead settling for a groan. Resentment, ugly, vicious, and unwarranted resentment had settled inside of her - aimed towards her mates when none of this was their fault. There was no one to speak of it with, no one to confide in, and she didn’t dare write it down where they could read it - or any spies who might get a bit too snoopy, a bit too eager to look for any cracks in the relationship they might exploit. She caught Aelin skimming through one of her journals once, and launched into the most explosive fight they’d had so far. 

The castle, too, suffocated her. Maids - who she took great pains to become friendly with, given how skittish and closed off they were at the beginning, used to slip into her workshop to clean things. It came from a good place - or a sense of duty, but she didn’t let most people into her space, into her own little sanctuary. Even Rowan and Aelin had learned to knock and wait for her to allow them inside. Only one person was allowed to enter without asking, mostly because she couldn’t manage to keep Fenrys out, no matter how much snarling she would do, or things she would toss his way. 

She’d asked them to stop, but it took Aelin saying something to get them to actually quit. At first she thought everyone was so nice but the nasty things came quickly. Whispers when they thought she couldn’t hear, why a lowly common girl would be paired with such powerful people, even if she’d ensnared them somehow. If anything, they had ensnared her. 

Another ugly thought. Maybe if she took a trip back to the Staghorns and breathed some clean, nearly untouched, mountain air. Visit the cousins she hasn’t seen frequently, ones who chose to stay with the Wolf Tribe after the battle. They always came to Orynth, and she rarely went there. Yulemas was coming up in around two months, and it would be a lengthy trip. They already sent word they couldn’t make it this year and guilt rattled at her that she never went there, always assuming they liked to visit here.

When was the last time she shifted? Or used magic beyond what she did for her work. On another thought, had she ever showed them her animal form? In three years … she can’t remember doing it, or remember then asking. 

Pine, snow, jasmine, and lemon verbena flooded her senses, followed by a knock on the door. “Come in,” she called. If she was going to plant the idea, now was the time to do it. 

“You look exhausted, my love,” Aelin frowned as she approached her, perching on the one empty corner of her desk. Rowan surveyed the room, finding all of her tools still out - the benches and desks a complete mess. 

“Can I clean for you?” He asked and she nodded. Aelin was still banned from ‘helping,’ and finally stopped pouting over it. 

Aelin flicked her nose when she gazed off again, drawing an indignant cross between a grumble and a yelp, and grabbed one of her hands instead, running her thumb back and forth over the top of it. 

“What’s on your mind?” 

“I haven’t visited home in a while.” 

Tension flooded the room as they both stiffened. Rowan kept working - quickly, much quicker than she could, putting everything back in it’s proper place, but the silence disturbed her enough she started squirming. 

“Are you thinking of visiting?” Aelin said tightly. 

“I am,” she said cautiously. Not thinking of it, planning it, but she’d take baby steps. Would they stop her if she really wanted to go? She didn’t know, and it unsettled her. 

“It’s a long journey.” 

“Not if I shift.” She sucked her lips inside while checking Aelin’s reaction. Shock quickly passed, followed by curiosity. 

“I never asked what it is.” Y/n nodded her head in confirmation. 

“It’s a fox.” Rowan said over his shoulder. 

“How does he know everything?” Aelin grumbled. “Show me.” 

“It’s been a while.” She ran her hand through her hair. 

“That’s fine.” 

Aelin wouldn’t let this go until she showed her. Grumbling, y/n stood and gave herself some space, focusing on drawing inside of herself, to her magic, and finding that small vulpine part - and finding it nearly pleading and begging to be let free. So she did, and with a flash of light her body morphed, senses becoming sharper. 

Aelin cooed at the little white fox before her, ignoring Rowan’s snort. 

She reached a hand out, and y/n snapped her teeth, letting out a chitter of amusement as Aelin withdrew her hand with a huff. “Feisty.” 

This felt nice, and right. She wanted to stay here, to live where everything was simpler. Where human emotions didn’t interfere, and she could just exist on one plane. 

-

Rowan cursed himself for not encouraging y/n to shift before. He knew what her form was, but hadn’t told her how necessary it was for Fae to let out the more animal side of them on occasion. He doubted she’d want to come out of it anytime soon, and was certain it would take lots of coaxing to get her to. 

He caught Aelin’s glance, his eyes saying “she won’t come out of it anytime soon.” 

Aelin frowned, watching their mate almost prance around the room, investigating everything through vulpine senses. 

“Why?” 

“She probably hasn’t shifted in a good while.” 

“So there’s going to be a fox in our bed?” 

Rowan grimaced. “Maybe.” 

It took Rowan 24 hours, and several promises he’d take her out to the mountains before y/n relented. 

-

“I heard you’re looking to visit home.” Fenrys said three days later, barging into her workroom, as he always did when he was bored and in town. 

“I’m trying.” She huffed, cutting the fabric with a bit more force than necessary. 

“I’m due to visit the Wolf Tribe soon.” He said mildly, his eyes fixed on her knife. 

“Did they send you?” She made another slice, holding the fabric firmly. 

“No.” He sounded vaguely offended and rounded the table to stand in front of her. “I thought you might enjoy my company.” A hint of amusement was in his voice, “considering you need a break from them.” 

“I never said -” 

“You didn’t have to.” She frowned at the interruption, and he sighed. 

“They’re overbearing, at the best of times, and already driving you to the brink of insanity. You need a break before that happens.” 

“A break from my mates?” Before she had a mental breakdown, went unsaid. 

“You forget I’ve been stuck with them for much longer princess.” 

“Don’t call me that.” She snipped at him. 

“Why not?” He pulled out a seat, leaning back in it so it was precariously balanced on its back two legs. If it falls - good on him. “It annoys you. It’s my job as an older brother to annoy the shit out of you.” 

“I’m not your sister.” She hissed. 

“Might as well be.” He shrugged his shoulders. The thought warmed her heart more than she cared to admit. 

“I’ve …” she hesitated. He motioned for her to continue. “I missed being a nobody.” 

“You were never a nobody,” Fenrys said sharply, his chair slamming back forward to rest firmly on the ground, his hands gripping the edge of the table. 

“That’s not what I meant,” she sighed, and abandoned the knife. “I mean not having constant eyes on me. Not being called a ‘lowly commoner.’” 

His head tilted, and she saw the dangerous look in his eyes. “Who?” 

Y/n didn’t need to question him further to know who he was asking about. She shook her head instead. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t remember.” 

“Liar.” He purred, leaning back in his seat again. She knew Aelin could be insistent, but if Fenrys set his mind on something - if he decided one of his friends, or in her case his adopted sister, had been wronged - nothing could stop him from tracking down and making sure vengeance was served where it was owed. 

“Let it go, please.” She pleaded, and his lips pressed into a tight line. Fenrys narrowed his eyes, and she spent a few moments in anticipatory silence before he spoke.

“If you make a bargain with me.” 

Her back straightened. Bargain - there’s a lot of power in that word, especially amongst Fae, and they didn't take it lightly. “The terms?” 

“I accompany you to the Staghorns whenever you visit.” That would keep Rowan and Aelin off her backs. 

“What do I get out of it?” She had a feeling it wouldn’t be much. 

“I don’t tell Rowan and Aelin, and I don’t rip the tongues out of whoever you’re trying to protect.” 

She crossed her arms and leaned back. “That’s nowhere near fair.” 

“I could go tell them right now.” He said with an edged chuckle. 

“Fine.” If only to keep them from overreacting. 

“Shake on it.” He extended his hand, and she took it - reluctantly. Y/n would keep her promise, and knew he would keep hers. 

“You need to listen to the wording more carefully,” he sighed. “I’m almost disappointed.”

She thought over what he said, again, and her jaw dropped. Whenever. Not when, but any time she visits. “You conniving little bastard.” 

“I’m an emissary anyways, I like to visit there.” She gave him a soft smile in understanding. To visit, maybe even to be around the wolves - fresh mountain air far from the confines of a capital city. 

“Looks like we’ll have to make some more trips.” 

“You deserve to,” his throat bobbed, “spend time with family.” 

She kicked his shin lightly. “You’re my brother, aren’t you?” The grin on his face and lightness in his eyes made her think it wasn’t too bad of a deal. 

[eshalstuf]

Halit and Ahmet passed through the Gateway Of Truth, but what about Esra…

Halit, upon passing through the gateway, had his feelings of love for Esra amplified, but also his anger and aggression. In the first season, he was more controlled, but after passing through the gateway, he became more impulsive, not hesitating to eliminate any threat he believed was worthy of death. The gateway, for him, intensified the violence and obsession.

Remembering that violence has always been part of Halit, he sees it as a form of self-defense, acting at the right times. Even in extreme situations, he managed to maintain control over his actions. However, the gateway destabilized this balance, taking away his emotional control and making him more reckless and impulsive. Now, his violent reactions are no longer guided by the cold calculation of before; he acts more impulsively and uncontrollably.

Ahmet, in turn, appears to have experienced a completely different effect. He, who already had childhood trauma, returned with a more childish mentality. His pain, caused by the absence of a father present, was amplified, and the lack of that emotional bond seemed to have returned him to a more vulnerable and sensitive state. The gateway, for Ahmet, seems to have exacerbated his emotional neediness and his need for affection.

But Esra… Esra, who until now has not passed through the gateway, carries a set of traumas and scars that are particularly complex. From a young age, she was rejected and raised in an orphanage, without ever being adopted. She discovers that her mother had her with a man who despised and would possibly abort her, and her father was a misogynistic and tyrannical man, who believed that the world should be dominated by men, making him a hated being to Esra. Both parents died, leaving an even bigger gap in his life.

Furthermore, Esra lost Halit, the love of her life, and the impact of that loss was profound. She was left alone, again. His life has always been marked by constant struggle, by the feeling of being adrift. In moments of extreme vulnerability, she makes thoughtless decisions, such as when she puts herself at risk to save the one she loves – whether with the fake kidnapping of Leyla, or handing herself over to the organization that kidnapped women, always willing to put her own life at risk.

If the gateway amplifies your feelings and trauma, what would be the result? Esra, who is already an impulsive person and full of emotional wounds, could become even more unstable, plunging into a spiral of anxiety, fear and insecurity. The pain of loss and the fear of losing yet another loved one could become even more overwhelming. What would she do to protect Halit and Ahmet, now that Halit is back in her life? She was already risking her life without thinking; however, with the gateway, this trend could become even more extreme.

If Esra's deepest feelings, such as her fear of loneliness and insecurity about love, intensify, we can imagine her making even more desperate decisions. She could become even more prone to emotional suicide, risking everything to save others, even if it means putting her own life in real danger. The question is: how far would she go to ensure that those remaining in her life didn't disappear too?

Esra is in an impossible love with Halit, a relationship that is not accepted by Ahmet, her best friend and almost brother. Ahmet still carries the weight of not having had the father figure he always wanted. For him, the love between her and Halit probably represents more of a risk than genuine happiness. He can't see Halit the same way Esra does – not just because there's the "just protecting her" issue, but also because he seems to have his own emotional wounds related to family.

At the end of the season, when Esra declares that she will never leave Halit again, she finally takes a stand, and this could lead to conflict between her and Ahmet.

For Esra, the gateway may intensify not only her love for Halit, but also her feelings of guilt and anxiety about the pain she may be causing Ahmet. Her relationship with Halit may become even more difficult to manage, as she has an emotional loyalty to Ahmet, who was the only "brother" and friend she ever had. However, love for Halit is something that goes beyond any logic or reason – it is something that makes her happy and completes her in a way that nothing else can.

The gateway could exacerbate Esra's obsession with wanting to protect Halit at all costs, to the point where she completely loses herself in a cycle of self-sacrifice and extreme compromise. She was already risking her life for the one she loves, but now, with the gateway enhancing her emotions, she could become even more intense and impulsive. She would probably try to do anything to keep Halit by her side, even if it meant disregarding Ahmet's pain and needs.

Esra may find herself increasingly torn between the need to keep Halit by her side and not lose Ahmet. The situation could lead to a temporary rift between them, where they both need to confront their own insecurities and the limits of their loyalty. This could create increasing tension and perhaps even a final emotional confrontation between them.

If the writers follow the logic they created and don't ruin Esra's arc, this would be the dilemma the gateway could create for her. Her impulsiveness, which already puts her at constant risk, could become an overwhelming force. And what could she do when the losses began to weigh even more heavily on her shoulders? Perhaps she became so caught up in the need to save others that she lost herself in the process, pushing her to the edge of emotional survival.

[maeljade]

Alright, you all asked for it to be put to text so I shall give you all the Mael lore and backstory! With occasional annotations to explain decisions!

Firstly, a short introduction for those not familiar with her! She is an Au Ra Xaela and if you'd ask her she'd say that she is of the Dotharl.

Her actual story and history is a tiny bit more complicated then that. Born to a small, peaceful tribe (*1) she grew up relatively well, learning hunting, reading and writing during visits to Reunion and learning to herd the animals of her tribe. As she became a teenager she was deemed old enough to travel to Reunion alone to trade for some items her tribe required-

On her way back from Reunion she saw several animals of her tribes herds running away from their encampment, with smoke billowing out of it. Rushing towards it she found naught but death and destruction, with her family either slain or nowhere to be found(*2). Searching the entire encampment the only thing she could find was a dagger with her name engraved upon it, which her parents had planned to give to her as a birthday gift and marking her as a full member of the tribe once she returned from Reunion.

Falling to despair she mourned her tribes fate until she heard the sounds of people approaching. Hiding in the ruins she watched as a group of blue clad Xaela approached the village and explored it. Blinded by her grief she thought them responsible for the destruction she decided to claim vengeance and ambushed several of them as they explored the ruins, knocking them unconscious. She succeeded at these attacks until she tried to jump their leader, a young woman only a few summers older then herself. Unfortunately for her this young Xaela was Sadu Dotharl and she saw herself outmatched and quickly defeated and disarmed.

One of the men that she had knocked out had since recovered and demanded they kill her for embarrassing and defeating him in an ambush. As he moved for the kill Mael defiantly spat in his face, awaiting a blow that would never come. Impressed by her bravery in the face of death and the strength she had shown in her ambush Sadu had stopped his blade before it could touch her and instead offered an arm towards her, congratulating her on a fearlessness of death befitting a Dotharl and offering Mael a place with them. From that day forth Mael was known as one of the Dotharl, a brave young fighter who looked up to and aspired to be like Sadu in all things.

The next few years went by without many things of importance happening until Mael was sent to Bardams Mettle to become a full warrior of the steppes and to join the Dotharl in the next Naadam. Clearing the first challenge with ease, she arrived at the Tests of Bardam. Seeing the falling star something inside her broke free and she collapsed unconscious, beset by visions, sights and memories. Places she had never visited, people she didnt know, events she never witnessed. In these visions she saw faces she was certain she had never before seen yet their names of these people were at the tip of her tongue, places that did not exist in the steppes she had never left but she knew what would happen next anyways. Plagued by these dreams she was found several days later by a group of Dotharl who had come in search of her, returning her to Dotharl Khaa and caring for her.

After a short while she made a full recovery, recounting what had happened to Sadu and saying that ever since the trial she had heard a faint voice calling for her to travel westward and explore the world. Looking into her eyes and soul Sadu declared that Mael had a Travelers Soul, yearning to see the wider world and decreed that she should follow her souls desire, the visions she had experienced her previous lives memories and guide.

After some preparations Sadu and the Dotharl wished her farewell and Sadu commanded her to grow strong on her travels and to show her strength by challenging her once Mael returned from her travels.

And thats Maels backstory, what happened before the games begin and how she came to Eorzea! Thank you all for reading and if you have any questions I will happily answer them!

[aethon-recs]

Themed Rec List | Harry-Raises-Tom Riddle Recs

Another one of my all-time favorite Tomarrymort themes is when Harry decides to raise Tom Riddle. Below is a selection of wonderful fics where Harry is Tom's primary caretaker for some or all points during his childhood, such as going back in time to adopt Tom, or existing as a disembodied voice in Tom’s head, mentoring and guiding him through the ups & downs of his unfortunate childhood circumstances.

Many of these fics ask the question, could Tom have turned out differently if he had experienced a better, kinder upbringing? How much of Tom's nature is nature versus nurture, and how much influence can Harry even exert? These questions and more are explored in the >1 million words of Harry-raises-Tom Riddle fic linked below.

See here for Part 1 of this theme: Voldemort-Raises-Harry Tomarrymort Recs 🤍

*

47 Days to Change by snow_owl01 (E, 201k, complete)

Harry Potter and Tom Riddle are enemies, born adversaries, prophesied leaders of opposite factions. An unfortunate tale of one man's failed attempt to mold young Tom into a decent, law-abiding citizen. Instead, as Fate will have it, young Tom grows up to become the same twisted psychopath, who is hell-bent on winning the love of his adoptive father, Harry's consent be damned.

A Single Love by Vera_DragonMuse (E, 23k, complete)

If Tom had been raised by Harry instead, would he have grown up to be Lord Voldemort?

Animus, Anima by @maiathoustra (M, 145k, complete)

In limbo, Harry doesn't choose to go back to the Forbidden Forest to face Voldemort. He makes another decision and finds himself in a baby's body: little Tom Riddle. Years pass that intimately bind the orphan and his imaginary friend into a hopeless and incestuous relationship. Indeed, all the odd events of Tom Riddle's life happen in spite of Harry's presence: could he be the one who provokes them? This is Tom Riddle's entire life, as close to canon as possible, if he shared his body with Harry Potter (and fell in love with him).

complete by @cindle-writes (E, 9k, complete)

Everyone had always said that Voldemort was an alpha, and Harry didn't have any reason to presume otherwise. When he travels back in time to adopt Tom Riddle out of the orphanage, it never occurs to him there'd be any issue. What Harry doesn’t realize is that Tom is actually an unbonded omega.

Eudaimonia by @duplicitywrites (E, 16k, complete)

Harry travels back in time to save Merope Gaunt from dying. He takes her in, heals her illness, helps her when she gives birth to her son... and then falls prey to her love potion.  Despite his lack of exposure to the outside world, it doesn't take Tom long to realize something is off about his parents' marriage. It takes even less time for him to decide his loving father deserves better.

Growing Pains by @whisprchrysalis (M, 113k, WIP)

June 24th, 1995. The night that Lord Voldemort regains his human form and attempts to fight Harry to the death, their wands collide, shared by a beam of gold light. And then, Lord Voldemort's volatile, recently-regenerated human form morphs into something else entirely. Into his seven-year-old de-aged self. Now he's young Tom Riddle, fresh out of Wool's Orphanage.

Paved With the Best Intentions by @perhaps-sunlight (M, 81k, WIP)

Instead of dying during the Battle of Hogwarts, Voldemort de-ages into an infant. Until he becomes old enough to be legally executed, he will be magically bound to Harry.

The Abyss by AislingSiobhan (E, 36k, complete)

Nietzsche was right: when fighting monsters, Harry should have been more careful not to become one himself. That didn’t matter anymore. It was too late to save himself, yet he could still save the world from Voldemort. But who would save Voldemort from him?

the babytrap series by @cindle-writes, @crowcrowcrowthing, @duplicitywrites (E, 5k, complete)

This little boy, barely five years old and Tom Riddle in miniature, boasted beautiful emerald eyes. “A piece of you,” Tom said lightly, kissing Harry’s cheek in greeting, “and a piece of me.”

the eternal flame by @duplicitywrites (E, 25k, WIP) — with lovely art by @kagariasuha and more lovely art by @chiocchi

There’s a well-dressed older man who enters the orphanage asking after Tom Riddle.  The man’s green eyes fix on Tom’s face, searching and searching. His expression is conflicted, sad and hurt. Almost like he’s grieving, only that doesn’t make any sense because Tom is right here. “My name is Harry Gaunt,” the man says, the tenor of his voice soft and faltering, a reflection of Tom's deepest, most secret anxieties, “and I’m here to adopt you.”

Times, he remembers by SpitFire97 (T, 4k, complete)

A green-eyed stranger whisks Tom to a distant future to prevent the Dark Lord from getting to Tom. It’s not his fault he misunderstands.

Three Turns Should Do It by @vdoshu (M, 284k, WIP)

When Harry tried to cast a Patronus to save himself, Sirius, and Hermione from hundreds of Dementors, he created a paradox, and found himself ripped out of time entirely. Many years earlier, Tom Riddle was just a lonely boy who wanted to be happy. But history was written by the victors, and the monster of Lord Voldemort was not what Harry found when he was no longer adrift. Time was a tricky thing, and fate, even trickier. It would take plenty of friends, and family, and just so much time, but maybe—maybe—together they could change fate.

What He Grows To Be by @k-s-morgan (M, 267k, complete)

Tom Riddle is a frightening coil of darkness, cruelty, and greatness, and changing him is Harry’s only hope for saving people he loves. Going back in time, he takes Tom from the orphanage, but his optimism shatters with every year they spend together. Tom still longs for darkness. Tom stifles him in his possessiveness. Tom is fixated on him to the point of destroying the world just to keep him. But Harry loves him. And the future changes.

“Would you like to come with me?” by @chiocchi (SFW, art)

The Wool’s Orphanage adoption scene. Adorable heartwarming art piece.

*

[faun-the-fawn77]

"ᵀᴴᴱ ᴺᴵᴳᴴᵀ ᵂᴱ ᴹᴱᵀ"

Rengoku Kyojuro x F!Hashira!Reader

Genre: literally just angst.

Word Count: 718

Warnings: Major Character Death, grief, depression, 1(one) mention of a miscarriage, talks of future death, please do not read if you're in a fragile state of mind. I am not responsible for the media you consume. read at your own risk.

Desc: The 7 stages of grief. It seems like I'm stuck on stage 4 and yet...I'm not.

Note: The way people process death varies from person to person. I know not many people have experienced that. I mean, you wouldn't want to. I, myself, have never truly processed that my grandpa is gone. I went from going to bed one night to being woken up by mom crying and telling my brother and I to give our grandpa love. Next thing I know is we have him being loaded into the back of a hearse and seeing him in a casket. We moved a year later and I guess since I was going into the 8th grade in a new state, I didn't have time to think and process. I was stuck in stage 4 for years. I've come to learn that, while I do miss him, I'm glad that he still managed to teach me something. That death could happen at any time and to anyone. It does not matter how strong they are or if they are young or old. Death takes when it is their time. I hope to the people who are or have gone through something similar: you are not alone. Yes, it's scary but it does get better. They are watching you and guiding you. You may not see them but that doesn't mean they aren't there.

It's like seeing everything from someone else's eyes. Your thoughts don't feel like your own. Your body is on autopilot.

Grief. People say that there are seven stages that your brain goes through. The first is denial. When I had received the news of my husband's death, I couldn't, no, wouldn't, believe it. There was just no way that the kindest and strongest human I knew, was dead. Then that boy, Tanjiro, came. He told us Kyojuro's last words.

Next was anger. The anger I felt towards the demon who took the life from my husband was easily seen on my face. I wanted so badly to just search search for this thing. Senjuro was quick to talk me out of it but that does not mean the feeling went away. I also hate to admit that I felt anger towards Kyojuro. How could he just leave us like this? Leave me and Senjuro alone. Our baby...

Bargaining. If I wasn't pregnant, I could have gone on the mission. I could have saved him. If I told him about the baby then maybe he wouldn't have left. He would've stayed and Kagaya could've sent another hashira instead. Maybe...

Depression likes to creep up on its victims. It slowly wraps itself around your brain and then constricts. When Senjuro pointed out how I didn't act like myself anymore, I knew then that depression had sunk its claws into me. My body moved on autopilot. Wake up, eat, sit at Kyojuro's grave, sleep, repeat. Senjuro made sure I took care of myself. Made sure I went to Shinobu's for baby check-ups. She told me how surprised she was that I haven't lost the baby from all the stress I'm under. She proceeded to tell me that it's probably because their father is Kyojuro so they're a fighter.

Shinjuro stopped drinking. He hasn't had a drop since the news. He helps Senjuro around the house and forces me to eat. He's worried about me. Senjuro as well.

I've been told that I talk in my sleep now. That I always cry. I've woken up to the two standing over me with concern and worry written on their faces.

Acceptance. I don't think I will ever accept his death. Accept that he is gone. He will never know about his child. That he was going to be a father. I remember how he used to tell me about what he wanted in his future. No demons, a nice house in the country, and kids. Of course, his vision was us with 10 kids but I talked him into having at least 4. He wanted all girls and I wanted equal number boys and girls.

I don't plan to court another. I don't plan to remarry. I don't think I could ever love another. Not as much as I love Kyojuro. While my friends want me to move on, to find someone who will help take care of my child, I just can't. Kyojuro will always be my child's father. I'll paint pictures so they know what he looked like. Tell them stories about the battles he fought in. I want them to know that their father loves them and is always watching over them.

The story of how Kyojuro and I met will be a story they will come to cherish. Maybe...this is hope?

Processing grief is the last step. I feel like I am stuck on step four. Shinobu says that while depression may be constant in my mind, I have processed my grief. It may have been processed differently, I have come to accept that Kyojuro is gone.

"I love you, Kyojuro. While you may not be here physically, I know that you are up there. You are waiting to see your child be brought into this world and live knowing that you love them and that you will guide them. When they are born, I will be called back onto missions. The fight with Muzan is closer than we think... and I hope to live to see our child grow but... I know that might not happen and you and I will be reunited sooner than we'd like."

I got up slowly, hand on my belly, and left a single flower upon the stone.

A blue spider lily.

Kyojuro would definitely have more than 10 kids if he could. He wants his own personal army so he can antagonize Sanemi. He'll spread them out evenly amongst the hashira when they need babysitters. a majority go to Uzui and his wives mainly because the wives adore the kids and they band together to pull pranks on Uzui. Mitsuri makes a comment about finding a husband and having kids which about kills Obanai. Shinobu is worried about you but you wave her off saying it makes him happy and you'd do whatever you could to make Kyojuro happy considering he almost died during his last mission(mugen train). Muichiro is definitely intrigued with the set of twins you had at one point. Giyuu actually cracks a smile when he sees 5 tiny Rengoku's climbing on Sanemi like he's a tree.

[quotergirl19]

“When I was a girl, some centuries ago, I was afraid even of my own reflection. I entered a room and attempted to dissolve into the shadows. But there is only so long one in a position such as ours can hide. I knew I would have to step in to the light someday, and I could not very well be frightened. So, instead, I made myself frightening. I sharpened my wit, my wardrobe and my eye, and I made myself the most terrifying creature in any room I entered.” - Lady Agatha Danbury to a young, frightened, Simon Basset

I am SO looking forward to seeing friendship form between Lady Danbury and Penelope Featherington. I genuinely believe she will understand Penelope on so many levels. I think she will see herself in Penelope and be reminded of her love affair with Lord Ledger when she sees the friendship between Penelope and Colin. Lady Danbury will want Penelope to be able to step out of the shadows and into the light where she can claim the life she wants with a true partner as her husband.

The relationship Agatha had with Lord Ledger was simple. He was the great love of Lady Danbury’s life because they understood each other. He was her most special friend, but he also understood society and that they could not be obvious or possibly have anything more than those few afternoon walks and that one passionate encounter with each other.

Lord Ledger was a lonely man whose greatest love was his daughter Violet because he did not have a love match with his wife. His marriage was tolerable but lacking. It’s beautiful but sad that Lord Ledger and Lady Danbury could not be together and had to hide their deep connection, friendship and love.

Honestly, I see so much of the Queen and Lady Danbury’s friendship in Eloise and Penelope.

The Queen & Eloise are both rare and unique examples of entitled young ladies. Both of their father’s had untimely deaths and they were under the control of older brothers. Both are highly educated, headstrong and impulsive. Both follow their hearts even when people with a better understanding of the side of society that they have not experienced. Agatha & Penelope are their closest friends but their warnings often go unheard but it does not stop their friends from trying to warn them to be cautious for the sake of themselves and others like them.

Lady Danbury has a secret ladies club with the married women of the ton. She has worked hard to be a leader in society. She is sharp, intelligent, witty, clever, fashionable and the sort of woman people fear and respect much like Penelope’s alter ego Lady Whistledown. Neither woman is the sort to be trifled with. But they are also kind hearted and loyal by nature but have been placed in situations where their loyalty was tested. They care deeply about their friends and try to guide them towards whatever they genuinely believe is in their best interests.

The question is, will the rift between Eloise and Penelope be mirrored by a similar break in the long standing friendship between Agatha and Charlotte? Will Agatha protect Penelope’s identity from the Queen to give Penelope and Colin a chance to have a loving and happy marriage away from the scrutiny of the ton? And if so, will the Queen find out anyway and distance herself from one of her oldest friends for keeping the secret, only to ultimately agree to give Polin a fair chance at a future by supporting them publicly and offering Lady Whistledown the crown’s protection?