#shes like 'well did you want him dead as your son or alive as a stranger?'

[berryblu-ocs]

No one:

Someone's grandma after stealing an entire toddler: I'll be damned if I let you burn your whole country to the ground, you're going into customer service once you can reach the register

[starry-bi-sky]

There are two things that Damian knows that he knows Father doesn’t.

He has an older brother

He was dead

(And a secret third thing: Damian was glad he was dead. They did not get along.)

Well. No, correction, they were two things that Damian knew that Father didn't. Past tense. Strange magic swirled through the air and created a mirage before his eyes, and immediately a scowl forms across his face.

The mirage shifts and shimmers like the light hitting a slowly turning prism, and then it settles into a memory. One that Damian does not recall. Like looking into a tv screen, it shows, faintly, a room, with most of the magic going into the image of a crib.

His mother was standing on one side, and next to her, standing on his tiptoes was a small five year old boy looking up at her. With dark hair and skin that was only few shades lighter brown than Damian's, the little boy's resemblance to Damian was undeniable.

However, his eyes were blue. Not green. Damian's scowl deepens, and he sinks back. "Danyal." He mutters, and feels eyes turn on to him.

Danyal Al Ghul. Damian's older brother. A prodigal swordsman like Damian, and five years his senior. He'd be fifteen if he was still alive. His memory of the last time he saw his brother was still clear in his mind.

(A sword to Danyal's neck. Stars were glittering through his window. Damian was five, Danyal ten. He is not sure why Danyal had snuck into his room, all he remembers is hearing a sound and on instinct reaching for his sword.)

(His brother had intercepted easily. But had not shoved the sword away. Moonlight hit his blue eyes, and Damian remembers seeing the pupils shrink to let the light in. His eyes looked almost silver.)

(His brother bares his teeth at him. Damian wants to slice his neck more than anything, and he bares his teeth back. "Good." Danyal says, his voice low in a hiss, "Your reflexes are good, little brother.")

("Of course they are," Damian remembers snarling, and presses the sword closer. But it does not budge. "I am an Al Ghul.")

(Something unrecognizable passes through his brother's eyes, and his mouth twists into something like a smile. "I know." He says, and tilts his head downwards at him. "And you will be great.")

(His brother shoves the sword back, causing Damian to stumble. And like the wind, he is gone.)

(The next morning, he goes on a mission with mother and a few others. Mother is the only one to return with Danyal's sword, and a red-eyed look in her eyes. Damian does not mourn. Now there's only one of them.)

"Momma." The little Danyal-mirage speaks, a furrow between his childlike brows as mother lowers a bundle into the crib. His blue eyes watch her, and lifts onto his toes to peer into the crib as she sets the baby down. "Who is this?"

Their mother's hand comes to rest along his back. "This is Damian, my son." She murmurs, voice low. "He is your little brother. Protect him well."

Damian scoffs internally -- not likely. He remembers every spar he ever had with Danyal, every harsh word and insult. His pushing, pushing, pushing for Damian to get up. To try again. Do it again. The only kindness he ever showed him was when his fingers bled. And even that was harsh, firm. Rolling gauze around his wrist and scolding him, telling him how to wield his weapon better.

(It was the same as everyone else, but somehow it hurt worse coming from his own brother.)

But he watches his older brother's youngest self tilt his head to the side, and then reach his chubby hand through the crib's bars. He runs small, blunt fingers over the baby's arm, and the baby jerks. Through the crib's bars, Damian sees himself grab Danyal's fingers.

And he scowls even deeper.

And Danyal's eyes... widen. He lets out a little gasp, and a small smile Damian's never seen him wear tilts at the corner of his mouth as he looks up at their mother. "Mother," he whispers, "he grabbed me!"

Damian... his scowl falters, for a moment.

He doesn't wait for a response, he looks back to the baby with sparking eyes. His expression melts like sugar as he bounces the finger being gripped tight by the small hand. "Hello, little brother." His brother says, voice its of usual firmness, but there's more fondness underlying it than Damian's ever heard. "My name is Danyal."

The mirage shifts before Damian can comprehend his older brother's voice. It shows the crib again, appearing as if a few days had passed. There is night lilting through the nearby window, and a creek of the door. The baby doesn't stir.

Danyal sneaks in, still wearing his training clothes and a sword strapped to his side. Damian's scowl returns, watching him creep over to the crib. Of course -- the last night he saw his brother wasn't the only time he'd snuck into his room.

Would he go so low as to attack an infant? Damian wonders, watching his brother cross the room to his crib. But while his fingers rest against the hilt, they never curl to unsheathe.

His brother peers into the crib again, and there it is again, that smile wider in the corner of his mouth. It's not a full one, but its as uninhibited as it gets. Dripping honey-sweet with awe. "You are so tiny." Danyal whispers, and pokes a finger back through the crib. It wriggles, then pokes Damian's cheek gently. "Was I as small as you when mother gave birth to me?"

There is no response from the baby. Not a coherent one anyways, the little thing snuffles and turns his head, mouth open to latch. Danyal stills, his eyes grow ever wider again.

Danyal says nothing else, just rests his cheek against the crib and watches the baby sleep in silence. The affection never leaves his young face.

Damian feels unsettled. Off-foot. This Danyal is foreign to him... He wonders what happened to have changed his brother's mind on him.

There's a scuffle, quiet, but there. Danyal picks up on it just as Damian does, and his head pricks up like a deer, head already turning away from the crib. The affection leaves his face, falling away like water into something serious. His blade is already slightly unsheathed.

Two assassins, belonging to grandfather, burst out of the shadows. Their swords swinging into the air and ready to strike.

Danyal kills them both, his back to the crib. It's not without struggle, and when the two assassins lay dead on the floor, the baby is wailing at the top of his lungs. Danyal has a laceration cleaving down diagonal of his cheek. It's close to his eye, just barely missed blinding him.

Damian never knew how he got that scar. He does now. (He doesn't know how to feel about it.)

His brother clutches his bleeding face, sheathing his sword as tears well up onto his face. But he turns towards the crib, and hurries over. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay." He hushes rapidly, the League-drilled seriousness fallen away to reveal a panic-stricken five year old. He sticks one hand into the crib, the one not clutching anything, and grabs little Damian's hand.

Their mother comes bursting in that moment, and Danyal turns his head towards her. "Mother." He says, his voice cracks un-wantingly. Their mother steps over the bodies of the assassins easily. "They tried to kill Damian."

"But they did not." Talias says, kneeling down next to the crib to inspect Danyal's face and Damian's well-being. When she finds nothing of concern beyond the injury, she continues. "You killed them before they could, Danyal. Well done."

The mirage of his brother nods, his eyes teary and red.

Damian... is discomfited. he never thought Danyal would kill assassins for him. He would have thought his brother would sooner look the other way. The mirage shifts again, and it quickly shows time passing.

Danyal sits in Damian's nursery every night, after that. He lays at the foot of the crib with his sword, a pillow and a blanket with him. Some nights there is nothing but peace -- or as close to peace as a baby could achieve -- and some days assassins break in.

Danyal kills each one.

The mirage shifts again, and it shows more memories of Danyal interacting with Damian during his youth too young for him to remember. His first steps, his first words.

"Danya." The small toddler of Damian says, arms reaching for Danyal.

A frown curls across Danyal's face, and pulls Damian into his lap. "No, no, little brother." He scolds, voice firm but.. softer. "It is Danyal, Damian. Danyal."

"Danya!"

Damian's brother sighs, but there is that same-small tilt at the corner of his mouth. A glimmer in his eyes. A glimmer... that Damian is finding he recognizes.

(He always thought his brother got that look in his eyes when he was mocking him. Was he wrong?)

The mirage shifts again, and this time it shows only mother and Danyal, alone. Danyal is older, taller. Seven, if Damian had to guess. Mother has a stern look on her face, her hands tight on his shoulders. "Damian will be starting training soon, my son."

Ah, then close to eight then. Training starts, always, at three years old. He watches Danyal nod, his expression mimicking their mother's. His arms are folded, always folded, behind his back, always neat.

"You can no longer have the relationship with your brother as you did before." Mother says.

Danyal's expression... falters. It shifts, it fluctuates. He looks surprised, thrown off. Like he isn't quite sure he heard what mother just said. His brows furrow. "What... do you mean, mother?"

"I mean what I said, Danyal." Mother says, stern, "Ra's will be keeping a closer eye on Damian now that he is of age to begin his training. He will not like if he sees you both getting along."

"I am sorry, my child. But your relationship with Damian ends here. You are rivals now, not brothers." In a cruel form a gentleness, mother raises her hand and tucks a stray curl out of Danyal's face.

Of course. Damian never had a relationship with his brother because of Grandfather. Of course. No, he's not feeling a little bitter. No. There's not an inner child that still, like a candleflame, wishes that he'd had a bond with his only flesh and blood.

Danyal is dead now. So it's not like it matters. He's happy about this.

Danyal frowns, and he steps back. He looks lost in thought. "We are still brothers, mother," he says, argues, and looks up to meet mother's eyes. "Let me train him, I will make sure he gets the skill he needs. If we must be rivals, then I will teach him how to defeat me. If he can defeat me, he can defeat anybody."

Their mother, and Damian, both blink in unison. Then mother smiles something sharp, calculated. She folds her hands behind her back. "Then do it. But you will make him hate you."

"...So be it."

Damian.... Damian is silent. His world axis has been tilted on its head. He is sliding, and sliding, and sliding down. Spinning. Many things click into place at once.

More memories from the mirage show. It shows Danyal training Damian. It shows their arguing, their bickering. It shows Danyal going to their mother to praise Damian and his skills, how fast he is picking up on the sword. How one day he will surpass even him.

It shows Danyal sitting outside Damian's bedroom door every night, listening in for anyone who dares to break in. His knees drawn to his chest, his sword at his side. Sometimes he sneaks in, sword drawn, when he hears a sound.

Some nights, Damian wakes up. He remembers those nights. Danyal standing over his bed with his sword unsheathed and tight at his side. He remembers the instant terror as he immediately reached for his own weapon.

His brother always scolded him for his lack of vigilance. That had he been anyone else, Damian would have had his neck cut. He would've been dead already. It only made Damian's hatred of him grow.

But he understands now. Because there were assassins in the room that Damian, four years old, three, did not notice. Not until later. He always assumed the attacks on him after Danyal's death had been because now there was a new heir to target.

It had been the only lesson he'd been even somewhat grateful for.

Then finally the mirage shimmers, and it shows Danyal, ten years old, in one of the training rooms, mid-spar with Mother. It's fast, sharp, impressive and like a blur. Damian is unsure if at ten which one of them was the better swordsman. Some of the assassins who have never met Danyal said Damian was, but the ones who had said it was Danyal. He'll never know.

In a lull in the fight, when their swords are crossed, mother speaks. "Ra's wants you and Damian to fight." She says, teeth grit into a deep scowl. The cross breaks and Danyal jumps back, he frowns.

"We have fought, mother." He says, and dives in first, swinging for mother's feet. Mother dodges, and slices at his arm. He swerves out of the way, twisting on his feet like a dance. "We are always fighting, doesn't he see our spars?"

"Not a spar like that, my son." Mother says, a snarl in her voice. She lunges, and Danyal blocks her blade. "A fight to the death. Father has grown tired of having two heirs."

That gets Danyal's attention -- or, more accurately, it distracts it. His eyes widen, and his sword lowers for a single moment. A mistake. "What?" Is all he gets out before mother has him on his back, her blade pressed to his throat.

He freezes. As does Damian. Danyal's brows furrow, then unfurrow, only to knot up again. "Mother, what do you mean a fight to the death?" He flips to his feet when mother removes the sword. She walks over to grab her water.

"Must I repeat myself, Danyal?" Mother snaps, rubbing her forehead before swigging from her canteen. "Father wants to find out which one of you is the stronger heir, and so you will fight to the death after your training in a few days."

Danyal's tan face loses a shade of color, he looks ashy. "There must be some mistake!" He exclaims, his arms gesturing out as he peers around mother. "There is a five year disparity between us, Damian has only just started training two years ago. It would be an unfair fight!"

"Do you think me unaware?" Mother whirls on him, and there is a grief-stricken look on her face. Like she is already mourning Damian's death. Damian feels ill. "Your skill is far beyond what Damian can accomplish right now, and there is nothing that I say that can convince Father otherwise."

Danyal wears an expression like he is scrambling for answers. A white knuckle grip on his weapon. There is a long silence, and his lower lip curls up. His throat bobs, he swallows. "Is there really nothing we can do?"

Mother makes a frustrated sound, pushing her loose hairs out of her face. "Not unless Father changes his mind, or I send one of you away. But Father would surely send someone to look for you or Damian."

"What if one of us faked our death?"

Mother stills. As does Damian. No, he thinks, stiff as a rod, no way. These mirages were lying, nothing but figments of an imagination. Of some quiet what-if that Damian had not yet stomped out.

Mother's expression shifts, and then turns contemplative. Danyal notices, and keeps pushing, he looks as hopeful as he could get beyond his usual unwavering, stone-like expression. "One of us could go to father--"

"No." Mother cuts off, voice sharp. Danyal wilts, confusion flittering across his face. Damian, from the corner of his eye, sees Father tense as stone. His white-slit eyes have not left the mirage. Nobody's has.

"Father will undoubtedly check there first, it would not be a good idea. You or Damian will have to go somewhere where he would not think to look. Someone unaffiliated with the League."

Danyal's face falls, shutters, and then closes up again into stone. Mother begins to pace, and Danyal's blue eyes follow her. "So a stranger?" He asks, and there is disgust lilting into his voice.

Mother nods, and she looks just as offput as Danyal.

The mirage of Damian's brother rolls his shoulders back. "Then I will do it, mother." He says, voice unwavering. There is a stubborn note behind it all, one that Damian recognizes. "I will fake my death, and Damian will stay here."

Mother's eyes turn sharp on him, and she stops in her spot. She pivots. "Are you sure?" She asks, eyebrow raising, "There is a chance you will never meet your Father if you leave. Nor will you see I or Damian again, if you do this."

Something like fear flickers across Danyal's face, eyes widening momentarily -- as if that very thought had not crossed his mind. But then it smooths over to sharp determination. He nods. "It would be the same for Damian if it was him instead. I will do it, Mother."

Damian feels ill again. Father has a strong set in his jaw, his teeth grinding.

Mother stares at Danyal, and then her expression softens. And like before, it is grieving. "In a few days time, I and another member of the League will be going on a mission to the American States. I will tell Father that you will accompany me, once there we will dispose of the other member and then orchestrate your death."

The American States. Danyal was here, in the country. He was out there somewhere -- but no this was fake. It had to be. Danyal was dead. A fool who got himself killed on a mission with mother and left the title of Heir to Damian.

Or maybe it had been his plan all along. His and mother's both.

...Was mother ever going to tell him?

The mirage of Danyal nods, sharp. Understanding. There is a gleam in his eyes that is not pride, it is tears. And when Mother leaves the room and leaves him alone, the stone-like expression on his face crumbles and falls.

His brother, ten years old, curls up his lip in an ugly way. It wobbles as the tears in his eyes do, and he brings up his hand to slam it over his mouth. And sinks to his knees, a yell-like sob muffled behind the skin.

His brother, ten years old, looks smaller than Damian remembers him being, and cries.

Damian has never seen Danyal cry. Not once in the mirage of memories, nor in his own.

The memory holds for a minute, and then disappears. And no new one shows up. The magic is gone, and it leaves a silence in its wake. Heavy, staticky, and full of revelations.

So there are two things that Damian knows that his Father now knows too.

He has an older brother

His older brother is alive.

(And a new secret third thing: Damian wasn't sure how to feel about it.)

[somereaderinblue]

Warrior!Penelope God Games

After writing Odysseus's Challenge, I was still on a creative high & decided to do this too. NOTE: The swaps between gods were taken from @too-much-flynnolium’s art.

[ARES]

Mother, God Queen, rarely do I ask for favours

Now, I'm kneeling on your floor

With hopes to save a friendship

With one who's a prisoner far from home

Penelope

[HERA]

Divine intervention, so that is your wish?

To untie apprehensions that were placed on that Greek?

You are braving such dangers for a girl full of shame

But if she's worth the risk of going under

Why not make it a game?

Convince each of them that she ought to be released

And I'll release her

[ARES]

Who's them?

[HERA]

Artemis! Hestia!

Dionysus! Athena!

Demeter! Or me

What do you say?

[ARTEMIS]

Sure.

[HESTIA]

Very well.

[DIONYSUS]

Hic!

[ATHENA]

Alright.

[DEMETER]

Interesting.

[ARES]

Bring it.

[ARTEMIS]

You all know I'm a fan of nature and all

So with so many sirens gone

I think Penny's in the wrong

[ARES]

They had planned to do their worst

All she did was reimburse them

Now they'll tread with caution first

To live another day and sing even more verse!

[ARTEMIS]

Good point, release her.

[HESTIA]

Trust is not wasted, it’s forged

Why should I give her my support?

She turned her back on her cohort

[ARES]

Did you forget they failed to listen?

She was betrayed and now imprisoned

But if you make the right decision

She can still have a future with those who miss her!

[HESTIA]

Fine, release her.

[DIONYSUS]

Your little high and mighty Penelope

Claims to love another, but keeps him chained to a broken heart

[ARES]

She was busy fighting

[DIONYSUS]

More like busy spiting the cyclops

Let her feel the pain that the others feel and rot

[ARES]

Wait!

You must reconsider this!

[ATHENA]

Really now, Ares, no new tricks?

[ARES]

Athena!

[ATHENA]

What kind of so-called fighter holds back her power

Just lets her friends get devoured?

She couldn’t fight Scylla, but didn’t even try to outwit her

Hides with naught but a sword to get the job done

Tries to handle things upfront

Dim-witted and weak like her son

[ARES]

Hold your tongue now, her son's my friend!

And tell that drunkard that all kinds of hurts can mend

You want more mind games? Then set her free

To get back to her homestead, she'll make everyone’s brains bleed!

[ATHENA & DIONYSUS]

Then release her.

[DEMETER]

So many talents, so many tales

Give me one good reason why yours should prevail

[ARES]

She's got the hands of a weaver!

[DEMETER]

Dig deeper

[ARES]

She's pretty skilled with words!

[DEMETER]

You can do better than that!

[ARES]

She's very sassy…?

[DEMETER]

Eh

[ARES]

Never once does she give up on her child.

[DEMETER]

Release her.

[ARES]

I’ve played your game and won! Release her.

[HERA]

You dare to defy me? To give me more shame?

No one beats me, no one wins my game!

Marriage, bring her through the wringer

Show her I'm the judgement call

The one who makes the final call!

.

.

.

.

[ATHENA]

Is he dead?

.

.

.

Penelope had told Ares that for mothers, childbirth in itself was a difficult battle and the parenthood that came after a race with no finish line in sight. Personally, Ares would’ve likened it to war. If family had truly been something as linear as a race then surely Hermes would be on their father’s throne by now.

She placed her spawn in his arms. Said spawn miraculously didn’t squirm or squall against his battle-hardened muscles and cold gauntlets. 

“His name is Telemachus.” Far from battle. The irony wasn’t lost on anyone. Then again, considering how eerily squishy the infant was, perhaps the name was fitting.

Ares blinked as tiny fingers gripped his, the pudgy digits unable to full wrap around it. Yet, the grip was strong. No, it was simply alive. He’s bathed in blood so often that he’s forgotten even the tiniest of hearts can still beat.

“Telemachus.”  Penelope and Odysseus smiled. Smiled at him, smiled because of him. They were happy. He was happy.

.

.

.

[ARES]

Let her go…..please

Let her go……

[aphroditelovesu]

Yandere Viserys I Targaryen w/Second Wife!Reader Headcanons (Romantic)

❝ 🐉 — lady l: Happy New Year!!! First headcanons of the year and I hope you like it. I hope you have a great year, good things come to you and good reading! Forgive me for any mistakes ❤️✨️.

❝tw: unspecified age gap, overprotection, not compatible with canon and Reader is the mother of Aegon, Helaena, Daeron and Aemond.

❝🐉pairing: yandere!viserys i targaryen x female!reader.

Viserys never wanted to remarry after the death of his beloved Aemma. The idea of ​​replacing her with another woman made him sick. He didn't want to get married again, but he was the King and he had his obligations to the Realm. To have a strong bloodline and strengthen the House Targaryen.

Although he didn't like the idea, Viserys after a period of time began looking for a potential bride. He received several powerful offers, such as the Velaryon and the Hightower, but he did not feel comfortable marrying Lady Laena or Lady Alicent.

So he kept looking and that's how he met you. An attractive young woman, but older than the last ones, and from a house powerful enough to provide strength to the Realm. Viserys was immediately attracted to you and knew he wanted to marry you.

The preparations were made quickly and well, Viserys was excited to be able to call you his wife, but in the days before the wedding, he spent time by your side, getting to know you better.

With that, Viserys found out as much as he could about you, about your childhood, your family, and your likes and dislikes. He was more than pleased, especially seeing that you were as interested in history as he was.

Rhaenyra also liked you, although she was apprehensive about the idea of ​​a stepmother, about the possibility of you providing a male heir, she liked you. You were kind to her and assured her that even if you have a son, you will not try to replace her on the Throne.

When you became the second wife of Viserys, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, he was already in love. Much faster than he would like to admit, Viserys was already in your domain and became yours even sooner than anticipated. At first, he felt guilty, guilty that he might be betraying Aemma's memory, but quickly, those thoughts went away. Aemma was dead and you were alive.

Viserys was more than happy to see that you and his daughter were getting along, it made him feel relieved inside. He couldn't wait to have children with you, to grow his family. When he learned of your first pregnancy, Viserys almost cried with happiness, but there was concern. What if you died during childbirth? He couldn't take another loss, couldn't lose you.

You were very much in love with each other, you had learned to love your husband and he was deeply in love with you. Your mannerisms, your personality, everything enchanted him. Your favorite moments together were when you talked about history, whether it was your House or House Targaryen. Viserys cherished every moment, every smile and look shared.

When you gave birth to a healthy son, Aegon, Viserys was very happy, not only because he had a son, but because you were alive and the birth was peaceful. The next pregnancies were no different, with Helaena, Daeron and Aemond.

You assured him, assure Rhaenyra, that you would not let Aegon usurp or anything like that happen when it was time for Rhaenyra to take the Throne. You adored your stepdaughter and she adored you too, seeing you as a second mother. Viserys would never admit it, but if you asked, he would name Aegon his heir if that was your wish. This shows how much he is in love with you.

You tried your best to fulfill your duties as Queen, mother and wife as best you could, discouraging any possible rivalry the children might have and reassuring your support for Viserys and your stepdaughter. Your main priority was to avoid a war. You presided over the Small Council, advising your husband as best you could.

You hold all power over Viserys, it soon became clear to everyone who really ruled the Seven Kingdoms. You could ask for anything, from the most insignificant to the most absurd thing, and Viserys would fulfill it instantly.

He is extremely overprotective, Viserys fears losing you more than anything and every time you have an entire armada comes out after you. When you are sick, he sends the best maesters to take care of you and will not leave your side until you get better.

If something were to happen to you or one of your children, may the gods be good. Viserys tries his best to avoid war and resolve any conflict with diplomacy, but all that changes when it comes to you. Any insult to you is like an insult to him and any way of hurting you will not be taken lightly.

No matter how peaceful he is, no matter how calm and rational, Viserys is still a Targaryen, a dragon and you should never mess with one of them if they don't want to get burn. Not only will you have your overprotective husband by your side, but also your children who love you deeply and will do anything for you.

You are not Aemma's replacement and Viserys doesn't think so. He thinks of you as yourself and loves you for it. He will always love Aemma, but he loves you in a different way. A more overprotective and possessive way. He can't lose you and he won't.

[noxturnalmoth]

What Could Have Been

Silco, the Eye of Zaun, the Industrialist, was first and foremost a son of Zaun who wanted his motherland free. After an altercation in which is adopted daughter shot him in a fit of rage, he is left dying while the world goes on without him. His life's work and ideals soon trampled to nothing as his memory fades from the world. But what if he was saved?

Chapter 1: Alive

Panting, lungs on fire as if someone had poured gas and lit a match, legs pained as if you had walked through bear straps, back hunched as your arms, screaming and groaning in intense pain, you carried the unconscious man.

You were alive, but he was very well on his way to greet Kindred at the doors to the afterlife.

He was not a heavy man by any means, he was lithe, but he was cumbersome, as if he carried more weight than what could be seen, and from what you knew of him, he did. As your exhausted body rushed through the stabbing pain, jumping from rooftop to rooftop as you made your way down to your home, you still took breaks to check his pulse. Everytime it got fainter, but everytime he was still alive despite it all. So you pushed forwards, through agonizing pain as you cut through the lively streets of Zaun, no one paying any mind to a girl holding a man in her arms while she rushed above the roofs. Perhaps it was the first and only time of your life you've been grateful for Zaun's misfortune, no one would question you and that was good enough for you to push forward.

Your home was nothing great, an appartment at the top of a building at the limit between the Entresol and the Sump in a quaint square, it was safe, calm, the people were kind and the Chem Barons' influence didn't matter to such a small community. A hole in the wall, almost as if blessed by Janna herself. But as you entered the building, kicking the door open, the calm subsided.

"Are you okay?" Asked the worried voice of the landlord's son, Jarren, his sweet brown eyes looking at you panicked. "I'm alive, run upstairs and open my door for me please kid, because he won't be for long." He nods, his small body taking on the stairs two by two, speeding to the top as you did the same, your ankle twisting as you landed badly on a step but you pushed forward, determination fuelling your body like coal and vapor fuelled Piltover's machines. At the top your apartment was open, Jarren sitting at the small dining table as his knee bounced in worry. Scared your adrenalin would run out soon you hurried up the stairs to the mezzanine where your room was, curtains acting as both walls and door while you rush into them, too panicked to properly open the fabric as you lay the dying man in your arms on the comfort of your bed. "Is that..." I hear a whisper as I take the man's pulse again, for a second you freeze believing him dead, but you felt it, a weak pump of blood beneath your finger, a soft breath on your cheek; he was still hanging on. And so would you. "No matter who he is, he's a Zaunite and he's dying, and I'll be damned if he dies in my arms. Get me my kit Jarren." You turn to him, panting voice strained from thirst and exhaustion while you reach for the desk chair, sitting near the person you've saved, or at least were actively trying to.

Silco, the Industrialist, the Eye of Zaun. A man who, in a decade gained much more power than anyone ever had in Zaun other than Vander. A man of great contradiction, flooding the streets with drugs yet protecting those under his hand from any evil done by the other Chem Barons. Ruling with an iron fist, imposing his violence and control over the entire city, yet fending for it by slowly and intelligently gaining on Piltover's enforcers. Some deemed him a traitor, a monster, some deemed him a hero. But in the world there was no dark black or pure white, there were though, millions of shades of gray, dirty and mixed, a contradiction to themselves. You didn't know him personally, and you doubt that anyone really did, but you still didn't want to judge whatever was said by whomever on the streets. He had once been a revolutionary, fighting for Zaun, and in your mind you wagered that he still was in a way. What changed him so drastically from a bright eyed boy to a bitter comandeering man, you didn't know. Nor did you want to, especially at the moment.

All you knew was that he was a Zaunite, and that he was dying. And that was enough for you to want to do anything in your power to save him.

When Jarren came back with a chest, big enough to cover the upper half of his body, he set it next to Silco on the bed shakily watching the bleeding man tainting your sheets red. Then you, your upper body stained with oxydizing blood, crusting at the edges, the ruby red becoming a burnt umber. "Go Jarren, and please don't tell your folks? I'll deal with that myself, so you can rest easy." You kiss his forehead and send him on his way, hearing the door click downstairs, you then begin working on the older man laying before me. Trying to undo his vest clasp by clasp, which were very inconvenient when trying to save him so you just cut through them preferring his wrath over ruined clothing over a dead man, and opened his shirt throwing it on the ground as it was ruined, bullets having ripped about a handful of holes through the delicate fabric. You turn the man over, checking if any bullets had come out, a couple had, but that meant you had to remove a few yourself. "Shit." You mutter roughly to yourself, picking tweezers, a needle, a spool of suture wire, alcohol and leaning over Silco, and after shakily passing the wire through the eye of the needle you cleaned and closed the wounds which held no bullets. Then came the most harrowing moment, picking up the tweezers and cleaning up the wounds you search for the bullets remaining in the man's abdomen, checking on his disappearing pulse as you go. Pulling out one, two, three, four bullets. And after wiping out your sweat with an arm, of which the strength was waning, you pushed yourself further, suturing the body, praying for it to not grow any colder as you quickly put ointment on the freshly stitched wounds and dress them. He had lost too much blood, and before you pumped air in his lungs you had to make sure he had enough. So, weakly you grab a tube, a needle on each extremity connecting you with a pinch as your blood transfused to him, your fist clenched and a newly tied elastic band around your bicep.

After what seemed an eternity of providing blood and checking his pulse, which had thankfully stabilized, you decide to help him breathe deeper, the last step to what you hoped and prayed was a successful endeavor. "Forgive me." Is muttered as you take away the tube and elastic, getting closer to his face and angling his head backwards with a careful and soft grip, placing your lips upon his and breathing out in his lungs as hard as you could to get oxygen back into his declining body. Switching to cardiac massage after a while, pumping his chest with two strong cupped hands, before going back to breathing out, and so on so forth in a morbid dance. His lungs expanding as yours deflated, your warm hands pushing against his frigid chest.

You had kissed death, and he felt cold.

But as cold and pale as as he was, a soft flush of pink came back to his skin, warmth returned as his blood pumped once more through his heart and veins, no longer the soft pulsing of an half empty body but the thrum of a survivor's. Tears of relief escape your eyes as, when you go give him oxygen one last time, his breath fans your face, an almost imperceptible breeze no more. And then came rushing all the feelings you had locked away during your mission, tears fashing your grimy face and replacing soot by salt, heart beating madly like a derailing train, your blood too hot for your body like bubbling lava right beneath the crust of Runeterra. Skin not quite feeling like your own as you try to claw it, at your arms and chest to rid yourself of his blood and so that the pain forces you to snap back to reality. Your lungs gulping air voraciously as if you had been drowning, and in a way you had been, under the weight of someone's near death. Under the weight of The Eye of Zaun's mere existance within your microcosm. And as you shuddered, choking out sobs that you were trying to quiet behind gritted teeth, you felt the rise of his chest as he took a large breath, and another. As if it was guiding you to do the same.

So you did.

In, hold and out.

In, hold and out.

The blood and sweat covering you, both your own and his, felt stickier now, your skin hotter, but your vision was clearing and your sobs stopped piercing through your chest like lances. He was alive, you had saved him and you were alive as well. No matter what else would happen, you'd deal with that in due time. Today you had saved someone, and you were proud of it. The demons of your mind taking steps back as this warm and bright flickering flame gained on them, calming their hissing and screaming for a moment as you caressed Silco's forehead, feeling the fever coming as you raked the few stands of hair that fell on his forehead back into the slick back crowning him with silver and obsidian. It was well into the night, but still only the beginning of it all, so with a deep breath you get up from the chair, immediately falling back at the pain in your left ankle. The adrenalin had completely suppressed your pain for the time you were actively trying to maintain Silco alive while he couldn't do so himself, but now that most of the pressure had gone, so had the one thing keeping you from being distracted. And so, groaning while your ankle felt like the clawed hands of the damned were dragging it to hell, you lifted your foot up bandaging it to the best of your ability while hissing, tying it hard so keep it nice and safe.

Walking back downstairs was painful, long and chronovore, especially when you came back, a basin full of cool water and a rag held tightly in your arms as you waddled back up. Now, was a twisted ankle the worse you had? Not by far, not in the fissures and especially not for someone like you. It didn't mean that you felt any better about the scalding flashes of pain burning your foot alive every time you set it to the ground though. But no matter when you have a man to take care of, man who was the most notorious person in the lanes and who almost died in your arms. And while his face had a frigid, pained frown, tight jaw and a deeply set furrow in his brows before, what you saw now as you entered back into your room through the curtains was akin to a child falling back asleep into their parents' arms after a nightmare. The storm had passed, even his body knew that, but now was going to be a different kind of conundrum. Unlike the fast paced, angry and tumultuous waters that you were sailing as you inched his body away from death little by little, now you'd have to face dead calm. No wind to push your sails, no waves to rock your boat, no cloud to paint abstract shapes in the canvas of the sky. You'd be at a standstill, fighting off his fever and protecting his body while he healed enough to gain back conciousness. And so after placing the cold wet rag on his forehead you pulled another couple of blankets, placing them on top of his frail form after wiping his body a little bit of the blood and sweat, focusing on his feet and upper body as you wished for him to keep as much of his privacy and decency. They were all he had left after all.

The world was unmoving and Zaun was cruel, not by its own fault at first, the separation from its sister Piltover by her elites having created disparity and a life of slavery at the hands and under the feet of comfortable Piltovans. The Undercity had to move fast to keep up with its sister's demands, and while many were just exhausted hard working folks, many also turned to depravity and horrible methods to get whatever they felt entitled to have. After all, if no one in Runeterra cares about you, would you be seen any more wrong if you did whatever it was you wanted? And so, through the fast paced life riddled with death, exhaustion and people fending for themselves as well as people taking it all, the trenchers had more than enough on their plates. Even if someone as infamous as Silco were to die, not much would change unless someone ambitious and powerful enough entered the game. The Eye of Zaun, as soon as his heartbeat started to fade, was already doomed to be forgotten, nothing more than old news as the new status quo was left at the hands of miscreants that had it all yet again. Just another day down in the Undercity, where everyone is but a chunk of coal getting burnt through by their neighbor or by the gilded Piltovan "Progress", while you are left in the soot and chemicals.

Deciding to stay up until he showed any sign of waking, you sighed as you slowly made your way back down, preparing a pot of strong tea and a quick meal to take upstairs on a metal tray. The cold wood of the floorboards groaning as you make your way back up and the clinking of the tray on your desk clashing with your sigh of relief when you sit down for good, drinking your tea and eating as you stared absentmindedly at the wall in exhaustion. While the physical exhaustion was something you were used to as a blacksmith, the mental exhaustion, albeit not new either, was catching up to you. The events of the night overwhelming you, filling you with dread at what would happen next, at how Silco would react towards you or towards his situation as a whole. You didn't know all that happened, but what you heard was enough, he was crumpled on a high chair when you stepped out of the shadows.

You were trying to find your way to a Chem Baron meeting to listen in, your own plans of revolution like a flame stoked by despicable Zaunites and elistist Piltovans alike as you fought off your own secret war. You made your way to a building to take cover as you waited for the meeting to take place a few hours from then, in a building right next to it. Stopping your nonchalant trek into the empty place as you hid in the shadows, having heard a girl, presumably Silco's daughter, have an episode while her sister, a young adult named "Vi" it seems, was trying to reason with her. Silco sounded desperate, fearful, and angry, and while you knew the last one as something that could be a normal feeling from him, desperation and fear were far from what you expected in the man. A woman with a high Piltovan accent named "Cait", apparently the sister's friend, tried to reason with her zaunite companion, telling her that "Powder" was gone and they needed to end "Jinx". The last name you knew at the very least. But after a lot of arguing, the younger girl entered a state of frenzy, as if she was hearing much more than any of us in her fractured mind, and a fast and heavy noise was heard. A machine gun. After that, listening was a blur up until the girls had left and all you had in mind was saving whoever got shot, which just so happened to be the most powerful man in all of Zaun.

Hours pass while you're at his bedside, food eaten, tea drunk and eyes heavy but still holding on. Two days without sleep and this would be your third, but you couldn't falter, you had to take care of Silco and you would no matter what. No matter if you were sweaty and bloody, no matter if everytime you went to prepare a snack and tea your foot would scream at you, nothing mattered but this singular thing. Making sure that the man in your bed was safe and sound. Any shift in his expression or breathing were known and taken care of, more blankets, another wet rag, a check of his pulse, redressing his wounds and then wait. Again and again, for days, you give your all taking care of Silco. No rest, enough strong tea to kill a Noxian warrior, enough food to keep your energy levels as much as a sleep deprived metal worker can were how you spent your days; refusing to spend more than five minutes away from him. You were dirty and the stench of caked blood on you was horrible enough that you threw that shirt away and replaced it with a cleaner one from your wardrobe, using the cold water basin and a second rag to provide yourself with the smallest bit of hygene.

After eight days without sleep, and six days of caring for Silco, you gave out, body leaning forward from its position on your chair and leaning your chest on your bed, head on the mattress as your arms cradled it, hair spilling like an inverted halo as sleep forcefully took you. Usual nightmares trapped your mind, although your exhaustion was such that you couldn't wake up from them, forced to live and re-live through them like you were a puppet, manipulated by invisible strings as you were shackled within your own head. A gasp waking you up with a start and making you fall backwards from your chair as a younger you punched a man through his chest, gripping his heart and squeezing it as cheers were heard all around. Groaning, you drag your weak body to the bed, sitting yourself on the edge of it slowly while minding the pulsating pain in your overstrained ankle. Your elbows settle against the tops of your knees as your head burrows itself in your hands, gripping at the tendrils of hair as you try to swallow your shivers. Eyes closing to forget, then reopening at the visions of horror engraved beneath your eyelids. Ears filled with remnants of noise as your room rings with ghost filled silence. And as you take one last steadying breath running your hands down your face to wipe away at the last of your nightmare your airways are blocked, a wet rag wrung tight around your windpipe.

"You have five seconds to explain what happened before I snap your neck."

m.list || next

[whyse7vn]

Us -

[ot7 x reader]

AGUST DUI 🛴🔥

7 participants - 7 online

———————————

tae: ok raise your hand if you think yoongi should of died in the crash

namjoon: why would you say that?

tae: jungkook raise your hand

jk: ok

tae: not in real life the emoji please

jk: ok sorry

wait how did you know i raised my hand in real life??

tae: just do it

jk: like nike LOL

tae: i’m going to skin you alive

jk: sorry

🙋🏻‍♀️

tae: why are you a woman

jk: gender is a construction

hobi: construct

jk: control

hobi: we are not playing a game

i am correcting you

jk: oh

tae: connecticut

hobi: stop

tae: i wanted to play :(

hobi: it wasn’t a game can you read

jk: omg i know someone from connecticut

i think

jin: you have no friends don’t lie jungkook

jk: no i swear i do

tae: he does

hobi: don’t act like you know

tae: i know

hobi: who is jungkooks friend then?

tae: jungkook tell this idiot ☠️

hobi: i’m asking YOU to tell me

jk: i don’t know who it is

but i know

i’m going to go insane who is it ohmygod

y/n: jaehyun lmao

hobi: oh

jin: yikes

jk: i’m sorry

tae: how dare she lmao like she didn’t just cook my first born alive by saying that name

jk: she typed it btw

tae: that’s not the point jungkook

i’m throwing up

jk: ur right me too

i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry

y/n: ???

don’t be sorry

jk: >.<

yoongi: lol

jin: tf he laughing at?

yoongi: we’re always talking about jaehyun for some reason

hobi: be fr

yoongi: …

y/n: shouldn’t you be dead from the crash or something

tae: IM SAYING LIKE

jk: maybe he’s still drunk

hobi: LMAOOOO

yoongi: i did not crash

namjoon: he just fell over guys

yoongi: right

jin: ofc the bitch with no license is defending the other bitch with no licence

y/n: typical 🙄

yoongi: why do you know he’s from connecticut

y/n: what????

namjoon: uh??

jin: wasn’t he JUST complaining about how much we talk about you know who…

hobi: kook was right this man is still off the juiceeeee

ha juice by shinee

i’m so funny wow

tae: if we think about it wtf is connecticut

what the fuck is that srsly

i hate that

what does that mean

america is so strange

another white thing i don’t get

i hate white people

jin: ur borderline white

tae: wtf is wrong with you never say shit like that again

ur borderline old

ur borderline dying

AND ur paler than me

like wtf

this poc erasure

someone get him

jk: connecticut more like connectiYUCK 🤮🤢🤮🤢🤮🤢🤮🤢🤮🤢🤮🤢

EWWUUUUUU 🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤮🤮🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮

hell on earth

yoongi: what

namjoon: ?

yoongi: are we talking about again

i just lost my train of thought

hobi: choo choo

y/n: chuu chuu

namjoon: jaehyun…

jk: 🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤮🤢🤢

tae: AND we are talking about poc erasure if you even care

you probably don’t

because you’re a racist

just like your father namjoon

jk: yoongi is older than namjoon

btw

tae: ok???

maybe i wasn’t even talking to yoongi

jk: ok i’m sorry

tae: it’s ok son

hobi: who the fuck were you talking to then?

tae: well yoongi but like maybe i wasn’t at the same time yk?

y/n: shut up

jk: yes

y/n: ?

tae: ok raise ur hand if you think hoseok is being unnecessarily mean to kim taehyung the 3rd today

namjoon: anyways

yoongi are you ok??

yoongi: yeah sorry my head is just all over the place rn

forget everything i said

hobi: is this due to your alcohol consumption

or is it your age getting to you LOL

since your old

older than namjoon

jk: older than namjoon

jin: jungkook is 27 btw

y/n: 23 forever

jin: that’s almost 30 yk?

hobi: at least it’s not 31

yk…

like you

jin: ok

jk: ok !!!!

namjoon: yeah i don’t know what you wanted to get out of that one…

jin: kys

ALL of you

hobi: ❤️

jk: love is love

y/n: awoman

jk: awoman

tae: if you all loved me you would send me a stack

hobi: notice how no money is being sent to your account

take that into consideration

tae: how about you consider my fist in you face

ok i take that back

hobi: don’t

y/n: bryson tiller

tae: why not :(

you didn’t even know what i was gonna say hobi >.<

hobi: namjoon tell him to shut up

namjoon: tae please

tae: yeah ok 😔

cuz you know i do NOT want the smoke

he might do me like he did jaehyun 😭🙏🏼

hobi: will you STOP bringing that up

tae: will you send me a STACK?

hobi: no

tae: then NO

namjoon: both of you stop

also where is jimin??

physically i mean

like do any of you know?

yoongi: y/n’s house i think

y/n: no he’s not??

tae: woah

jk: btw that is also my house yoongi

so y/n AND jungkook’s house

yoongi: y/n and jungkook’s house then

y/n: he’s not here

yoongi: but he was

y/n: how do you even know that??

yoongi: i just do

y/n: ok ????

yoongi: ok

jk: ok \ ^0^ /

tae: wait

jk: JIMIN WAS IN OUR HOUSE ?????

jin: keep up ohmugod

jk: LIKE PHYSICALLY IN OUR HOUSE

WHERE I SLEEP AT NIGHT???

y/n: he wasn’t in my room no

if that’s what ur asking

jk: BUT HE WAS HERE???

AFTER HE WAS SO MEAN SO EVIL?!

y/n: it’s been weeks i was gonna talk to him at some point ig

hobi: communication is key!

not key from shinee btw

jk: WHEN DID HE COME????

WHY DID HE COME????

y/n: he came a few weeks ago

august 6th ? i think

to talk about everything and apologise

jk: you let him in?

tae: LIKE…

y/n: yes

jk: and where was i?

y/n: it was a wednesday so ur boxing class?

jk: i’ve been staying back for those classes

so he came late right?

y/n: yeah

jk: did you invite him?

y/n: no he kinda just showed up

jk: and you still let him in??

y/n: yes jungkook

jk: why didn’t you tell me??

y/n: i wasn’t trying to keep it a secret or anything it just a lot

like a lot seriously

i wanted to give both me and jimin some time to process it all before we brought it all back to you guys

but i was going to tell you

all of you

jk: yeah but like it’s been weeks…

namjoon: to be fair i also did talk to

jimin and didn’t tell anyone

jk: namjoon

jin: also did that

hobi: u all know i talked to him so…

jk: guys???

i’m confused like what he said was wrong but you’re all still talking to him

like everything’s ok???

namjoon: he apologised to her kook

jk: FUCK HIS APOLOGY?????

tae you get it right?? you didn’t speak to him right??

tae: no i get it

i get you

i understand fully

but i won’t lie to you

i DID speak to him

on the phone

only for 5 minutes tho

i counted

i just wanted to make sure he didn’t yk like kill himself or something…

you know jimin is weak like that

not calling people who commit suicide weak but like calling jimin weak cuz that’s what he is

jk: TAE?????????????

tae: SORRY SUICIDE IS REAL YK?

AND LIKE IT DOESNT TAKE AWAY FROM THE FACT THAT I STILL WANT TO PUNCH HIM IN THE FACE

i was just

uh

checking?

namjoon: you can say you were worried about him you know that

jk: SHUT UP???£/8/8/8,&&:&,

NO HE CAN’T

YOU ALL HAVE NO BACK BONE /£2&/&&:&:

NO LOYALTY

HE BASICALLY CALLED Y/N A WHORE AND YOUR ALL FRIENDS WITH HIM AGAIN??????

LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED?????

tae: NO I’M MAD IM STILL SO FUCKING MAD THE FUCK????

FUCK JIMIN I MEAN IT

jk: you are a liar

LIKE

guys what£/£/&/&:&:

i thought you guys were better than this ???

i thought you all cared

jin: don’t be stupid

of course we care

jk: then act like it????

y/n tell them

y/n: jungkook

jk: tell them

in fact

jk added jimin to “AGUST DUI🛴🔥”

jk: tell ALL of them

y/n: jungkook please

jk: y/n seriously

jimin: hey

jk: shut the fuck up

tae: dude

i know ur upset and angry but doing this rn isn’t gonna solve anything

namjoon: he’s right jungkook

ur acting on emotion and not thinking properly right now

jk: IM not thinking properly???

was jimin thinking properly when he called her a slut and then ran away like a bitch?? was he????

namjoon: obviously not jungkook

hobi: but they’ve talked it out and he’s said sorry

jk: HIS SORRY DOESN’T MEAN SHIT

WHAT DO YOU GUYS NOT UNDERSTAND?

his fucking sorry means nothing

him saying sorry doesn’t take back the words he said

or any of the hurt he caused

namjoon: jungkook like she told us they’ve talked about it and he’s apologised

i not sure what more you want

jk: I WANT YOU GUYS NOT TO MOVE ON SO FUCKING FAST??

I WANT YOU GUYS TO AT LEAST TELL HIM HOW FUCKED UP THAT ALL WAS

BOTH PUBLICLY AND PRIVATELY

he should be walking around eggshells around us rn

you guys should be giving him a hard time

not wondering where he is or whether he’s depressed or not

and you wanna know something?

after it all happened she cried for hours

hours

i have genuinely never seen her so upset

she told me not to tell anyone but i have to so guys can fucking understand

and the fact that we didn’t even know that her and jimin spoke???

does that not bother you all?????

the fact that she was “so fine” and “okay” about the whole situation but didn’t tell us that they had supposedly ‘made up’

tae: she said that she was planning on telling us

jk: yeah but she didn’t did she? it’s been weeks

she said they spoke august 6th right?

we are quite literally in a whole new month

and you ALL should know that when she doesn’t tell us things it’s because she’s upset

you should KNOW her

and how she deals with things

you all claim to care but i’m yet to see how

you know i was really excited about this

we were all you know realising

and coming to terms with this

us

i thought that we felt the same

but this has shown me that you guys don’t even feel a quarter of what i do for her

and you probably never will

the way that you all just took her word for her being fine and okay about the whole situation without actually genuinely checking in with her is insane and the way you all rushed to make sure jimin was ok was even crazier

i just

whatever

bye

—

as you can probably tell this was supposed to be released last month but i tried to adjust it as much as i could

tags: @piw6n @92jinnies @birdie-vhs @earthela @hob3loveofmylife @jujubiism @bloopkook @ratchetpizza1 @myntalks @arloo00 @watamotee33 @y2kcy3brz @taiwan0618 @freyadanvers @gguksbeloved @raetf @bbsantc @winuvs @medicinemybish @bxnnyhime @seokmyballs @baetukki @zyaaaszn @thelilbutifulthings @jazminethecreator @meowgiz @jmnscutie @threeopossumsinacoat @cynicalyoongs @lightningpussy54 @eunthv @gigiiislife @lowkeykin @iammeandmeisiam @socksfirstalways @knilvr06 @lailaisarmy @thvkives @xstfudaisyx @xxxanimangxxx @solstice34 @ml8dy @hoeforseoks @futuristicenemychaos @featjunranghae @jksgirlfrl @yeetedandoboi @stellamalonesolaria @joonsprettygf

#happytimessoon >.<

[phoward89]

Based on this ask

Obsessed!Coriolanus Snow x Innocent!Reader, Obsessed!Crassus Snow x Innocent!Reader

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is a warning in and of itself. Cussing, obsession, older man/younger woman, father & son both want the same girl, reader is just too sweet for this world and has no idea that the men in the Snow family are toxic...

Masterlist

Part 1:

You've known Coriolanus Snow and his family ever since you were a little girl. When the war started, you were about 5, and Crassus, Coriolanus' father, helped you, your mother, and your brother get smuggled into the Capitol as a favor to your father, a Colonel who served under him in District 12 while he was a General; the Commander.

Sadly your father, Colonel Javanis Halvir, didn't survive the war. Tragically, Coriolanus' mother died during the first bombing strike on Capitol City. She died in the birthing bed, weeks before she was due, because the bombing had triggered off her labor. Coriolanus' little sister died too. Was stillborn.

But since your families knew one another and lived in the same building they huddled together during the war. Your mother wasn't too thrilled about having to receive help from Grandma’am Snow and a seedy neighbor that owned a nightclub, but she dealt with it in order to survive and protect her children: you and your older brother.

General Crassus Snow barely made it out of the war alive. He was nearly killed in the woods outside of 12. But, alas, he survived and returned home to Capitol City, Panem a war hero. He also came back with a heavily lined pocket although District 13 was destroyed and that's where all of his assets, factories, and science labs were located.

Your mother told you and your brother that Crassus was a cold, cunning, calculating man and that she's positive that he somehow brokered a deal to get paid for the loss of his assets.

What nobody knows, except for the higher powers that be of course, is that Crassus still has his factories and labs in District 13. They're nuclear weapons factories and, since 13 went underground as an independent nation via a hush hush backroom midnight deal between the leader of 13 and Panem's President Ravenstill, a deal that went into effect before the Districts surrender and the signing of the Treaty of Treason. Crassus is a black market arms dealer. He sells his nucs to neighboring countries. Countries that include Canada (yes, they never changed their name after the wars and natural disasters that drastically changed the geography of the world) and a small coalition of old world Eastern European countries that survived the rising sea levels that had eradicated some island countries and shoreline countries of old world Europe.

Crassus Snow takes a lot of out of town business trips to broker illegal arms deals between the underground District 13 and the countries that he's constructed alliances with. General Crassus Snow had no loyalties to Panem any more; his only loyalties were to himself and his family. He also had a sliver of a sense of honor when it came to his old comrade’s family and felt the need to watch over your family: the Halvir family.

But after being shot by rebels, left for dead in the woods, and barely being able to survive long enough to trek back to the PK Base D-12’s hospital, General Crassus Snow truly lost faith in the country that he was supposed to serve proudly. But did he ever truly have faith in Panem as a country since he was in the woods, sneaking like a thief in the night, to get to District 13 to check his assets and his alliances there?

Snow lands on top; Crassus was playing both sides of the war to ensure that his family came out winners. And then when his contacts in District 13 told him of the deal between the President and the Commander of 13, well…General Snow's career as an arms dealer was born.

It paid well and kept the Snow family living high off the hog. Crassus also supported your family with his endless money, much to your mother's dismay.

Your mother couldn't stand Crassus, out on a polite face for Grandma'am Snow, felt sorry for Tigris, and cringed with how you and Coriolanus were the best of friends.

And you remained best friends with Coriolanus Snow as the two of you grew up side by side. You always viewed the friendship as platonic, but a teenaged Coriolanus viewed it as more. He developed a crush on you that quickly turned into a dark, possessive obsession.

But Coriolanus was certain that what he felt for you was love.

And when it came to his father, who he was the spitting image of with the same tall, sinewy build, platinum blonde curls, striking icy blue eyes, chiseled jawline, and prominent nose, well…Crassus Snow had an obsession with you as well. But his obsession was rooted in a darker place than his son's.

The esteemed war here General Crassus Snow has a sick obsession with you because you favor your mother. And, well, when Crassus was a young grunt in 12, serving in the Peacekeepers under his father Xanthos who was the Commander of 12 at that time, he fell for your mother, but she didn't reciprocate his feelings. Instead she fell in love with his friend, Javanis Halvir. Thus the reason you and your older brother were born to Colonel Halvir and Mrs. Halvir.

Feeling jilted and betrayed by the object of his affection and obsession not loving him back, Crassus became a cold, cruel, cold, calculating, and cunning man. He put on his charming smile and wooed a young, pretty, naive girl from Capitol City. Demeter: Coriolanus’ mother.

But he never got over your mother, despite her hating him as the years went on. So you looking just like her once you hit your teenage years has Crassus falling down the rabbit hole into dark obsessive head spaces.

So, unknown to you, your platonic relationships with the men in the Snow family are anything, but that in their eyes. And they don't even know that the other has an obsession with you.

You know what they say…like father, like son.

It's mid-May of your senior year at the Academy and you're so ready for the school year to end. You can't wait for graduation and for summer break. You also can't wait for the opportunity to spend your summer break hanging out with your best friend, Coryo.

Coriolanus Snow.

But you call him Coryo. Always have, always will.

But in the meantime you spend your weekends at the Snow penthouse; you also go home with him after school a couple of days during the week- much to your mother's dismay.

And this afternoon’s one of those days where you go home with Coryo after school.

“You're staying for dinner tonight, darling. The cook’s making your absolute favorite and I'd hate for you to miss out on it.” Coryo told you on the elevator ride up to the 12th floor of your Corso building.

The elevator had been broken for a few years, but after General Snow slapped some money at the apartment building association maintenance fixed the elevator and Grandma'am Snow was able to leave the penthouse and go out into the world with the help of a can instead of being kept locked up inside like a recluse.

“I hope you didn't ask the cook to make my favorite meal just to get me to stay for dinner.”

“Of course not. They plan the menu, not me.” Coryo tells you, a lopsided lipped smile on his face.

What neither of you knew was that Coryo's father, Crassus, and told (more so demanded) that the cook make your favorite meal. He knew that you'd be easier to sway to eat dinner with him and his family if the smell of your favorite dish was wafting in the air as you hung out with his son in his room.

And that was something Crassus was going to be putting a stop to. He can't have you spending so much time alone in Coriolanus' bedroom. What if the two of you start to become curious about- things…

Ugh, Crassus can't imagine you with his son. He thinks Coriolanus is a sassy, whinny, bratty, weakling of an heir. Too bad he couldn't toughen that boy up; too bad he's too much like his mother. Has too much good in him, can be easily pushed and pulled by a pretty face and the promise of love.

Crassus would prefer it if Coriolanus was more like him. More cold, more cunning, more calculated, and didn't wear his feelings on his damn sleeves.

Anyways…

The elevator stops and the doors ding open, revealing the hallway of the 12th floor. A floor that was solely inhabited by the mighty Snow family. They had the upper level penthouse that took the entire floor. It was quite impressive. You love it, but your mother hates it.

And talk about your mother…

“I know you want me to stay for dinner, Coryo, but I really shouldn't. My mother's been getting on me lately about how much time I spend up here with you.” You tell the boy with the light golden curls as the two of you exit the elevator.

“Your mother needs to take a chill pill. You're my girl, darling. It's completely normal to be spending all of your free time up here.” Coryo tells you while leading you over to the front door of his penthouse, palm of his hand resting lazily on the small of your back.

“I know, Coryo, but my mother hates that we're besties and she wants me to meet new people.”

“Meet new people?” Coryo scoffed, brows furrowed in disdain, as he opened the door to his place. “There's nobody new in Capitol City our age to meet, darling. Not unless you go to the mission in the slums by the rail station and start introducing yourself to those District immigrants that conned their way into our grand Capitol.” The cerulean eyes boy told you while ushering you into his penthouse and down the entrance hallway.

Coriolanus was personally offended by your mother. How dare she tell you to meet new people? You belong to him. You're his girl.

HIS GIRL!

HIS!

Coriolanus was good at schooling his features, considering he's been doing it his entire life to keep from letting his father know how bad his harsh and hateful words affected him, so you didn't catch onto how upset he was with your mother. No, you thought he was fine. As cool as a cucumber as he led you past the kitchen, where the cook was starting on dinner, and into the main room of the penthouse to acknowledge Grandma’am, who's always sitting in her favorite chair watching her soaps on CapitolTV during this time of the late afternoon.

“Oh, Coriolanus, you're home and I see you brought Y/N over to visit with you.” Grandma'am Snow, who was dressed to the nines in her jeweled turbin, silk tunic, extravagant jeweled brooch, and long strand of pearls. She was the epitome of Old Guard aristocratic lady of fineries and class.

“Yes, Grandma'am I'm home and my darling’s staying for dinner tonight.” Coriolanus smiles at his grandmother.

Coryo silently nudges you forward to give Grandma'am a hug while greeting her. It's something you've done you years and he doesn't want you to stop doing it either since his Grandma’am adores you.

If only Grandma'am could persuade his father that you're a good match for him. The old lady gets it, why can't his father get it? You and Coriolanus belong together; make quite the pair.

But if the platinum haired boy with a halo of curls on his head only knew that he wasn't the only one obsessed and lusting after you- well…

“Good afternoon, Grandma'am. It's so good to see you.” You smile sweetly, hugging the regal old woman that you've come to love and think of as your own grandmother over the years.

“It's also so good to see you too, my dear.” Grandma'am replies, patting your back as she reciprocates the hug. “Has our Coriolanus asked you to the prom yet?” She inquired, as a way to push you and her grandson together, your hug broke apart.

“Not officially, but we have an understanding that we'll be going together since we go to all of the galas, balls, and dances together.” You tell Grandma’am while returning to Coryo's side.

Coryo’s fiddling with the strap of his satchel, that's currently across his chest, as he awaits Grandma'am’s reply. Or, a lecture aimed at him to properly ask you. A lecture she's been giving him daily since the beginning of the month.

And sure as shit, Coriolanus gets his prom lecture.

Grandma'am looks at her grandson, who's his father's spitting image, and firmly tell him, “Coriolanus, properly ask her. You're a Snow and as a Snow doesn't assume things, but makes them happen.” Cutting her eyes at her only grandchild, she orders in a grandmotherly way, “Now, properly as her as your prom date before somebody else tries to snatch her up from you.”

You felt a bit awkward. Grandma'am’s lecture was something you felt she should've given Coryo in private, not while you're by his side. It wasn't meant for your ears, or at least you don't think it was.

Coriolanus’ lips draw taunt into a tight line as he tells his grandmother, “Yes, Grandma'am.” He half nods at her before turning to you. Giving you a smile that shows too many teeth, like a wolf baring its fangs before its prey, he takes your hands in his and asks, “Y/N, my darling rose, will you do me the honor of going to prom with me?”

It felt more like a marriage proposal than a promposal. Aren't promposals supposed to be fun and exciting with songs, dances, and glittery handmade poster boards? Not so serious. Right?

Right?

You're already going to prom with Coryo, but since you've been out on the spot with a promposal you have to formally accept. All thanks to Grandma'am.

“Of course I'll go to prom with you, Coryo.” You answered your best friend, causing his icy eyes to sparkle with joy.

It all felt so surreal. A bit heavy too. Honestly, it felt like you were agreeing to give your best friend your hand in marriage right in front of his regal grandmother then agreeing to go to prom.

Unknown to you, you accepting Coryo's proposal was, in fact, you agreeing to a future marriage to him in the delusional minds of both Coriolanus and Grandma’am.

Mhm…

You just signed your freedom away by saying yes to prom and you don't even know it, all because you view your relationship as platonic. Too bad the platinum blonde boy with baby blue eyes and his sophisticated grandma view the relationship as something more.

Coryo's father, Crassus, also views your relationship with his son as platonic. But that's for an entirely different reason; one that would make you gasp from shock if you knew.

After making Grandma’am Snow the happiest lady alive in Capitol City by accepting Coryo's proposal, you went to his bedroom to do homework with him. And when your class assignments were done, you two just laid on his bed while listening to music.

It was a new album that Coryo had to get the neighbor, Pluribus Bell, to smuggle to him because Crassus refused to give his son the money for the album. In fact the former General turned Minister of National Security, and black market arms dealer, hates the music you and his son listens to. Crassus is more of a classical music and soft jazz type, so he hates the poetic lyrics and the vibe of the beats of the alternative indie and pop you and Coryo enjoy so much.

The album was on its second playback while you cuddled into Coryo's side. His large, but lanky frame always made you feel so safe. So protected. And, your best friend's lanky, he does have solid muscles under his skin.

Having you tucked into his side while lying on his bed listening to the new album that an artist the both of you loves just dropped is like being in heaven for Coriolanus. Growing up the platinum blonde boy with a head full of soft curls and striking baby blue eyes always had you by his side. You're his one constant. No matter what, you're always there for him.

It's what makes Coryo crave you like Dean Casca Highbottom craves his morphling fix every 15 minutes. You always being there for him, being by his side for better or worse during your childhood friendship, is what caused him to grow obsessively in love with you.

But the problem is, in his delusional mind, Coriolanus thinks that you're in love with him too. All because of how you're always letting him cuddle you, hug you, and touch you. Letting him call you darling while you often call him ‘my Coryo' while talking about him to others also has him thinking that your feelings for him mirrors the ones he has for you.

You and Coryo are talking about small things, silly things really, whenever the bedroom door opens with a loud band followed by the deep bellowing of Crassus Snow. “Why're you two alone in here listening to this trash?”

“She's not a trashy singer, father. She's one of the best.” Coriolanus retorted, causing his imposing and stern father to fill his icy eyes at him. “Y/N and I were doing homework and decided to listen to some music afterwards.” Your best friend added in, to answer his father's stupid question about why you're in his room.

“General Snow, if me being alone in Coryo's room with him gets him in trouble with you then I'm sorry; I'll just go.” You apologized to the Snow patriarch while making to pull away from Coryo and sit up.

But your best friend wouldn't let you leave his side. No. Actually, his hold around you tightened.

And that made Crassus pissed. His sniveling brat of a son didn't deserve you. You deserved a real man to care for you; to guide you on your journey of womanhood.

Crassus felt that he's the Snow for you. The only man that can mold you into the perfect Capitolite lady you're meant to be. And when he successfully gets rid of old President Ravenstill and wins the next presidential election, well, he plans on making you his wife and his First Lady.

Whether you like it or not.

With a devious smirk painting his lips, the middle-aged man with slicked back platinum blonde hair and cold, hard, bitter icy eyes tells you, “Please, call me Crassus. After all, petal, with as much time as you spend here you're practically a part of the family.”

General Snow's remark went right over your head. You just nodded and simply said, “Okay.”

You honestly didn't think anything of it. If General Snow wanted you to call him Crassus because of all the time you spent around his son, Coriolanus, then so be it.

But Coryo knew that his father had just become, as fucked up as it sounds, his romantic rival for you. As soon as he heard him call you petal he knew, oh he just knew, that his father's lusting after you.

Coriolanus is his father's son after all. Despite being told time and time again by Crassus that he's too much like his mother, too soft and eager for affection- for love. But what Crassus didn't grasp was that Coriolanus didn't just have his father's looks, but his dark tendencies for obsession and over ‘loving’ his intended lover.

And the son just knew that his father was head over heels obsessed with you because, in fact, he was too. Coriolanus saw the way his father looked at you, as if you're a piece of meat ready to be carved and served, and it disgusts him. You belong to the younger Snow, not the older one.

Giving Crassus a cutting look with his icy eyes, Coriolanus announced in a smug baritone, “Father, my darling rose is going to prom with me as my date.” And then he twisted the knife in his father's black, soulless heart by adding in the three simple but damning words of, “As my girl.”

Crassus’ face turned to stone. Of course, you'd agree to go to prom with Coriolanus. The former general's seething with jealousy. He wants you, why does his son get to take you to prom? Ugh, why can't you just go to prom with a group of girls? Go stag, like single girls do. But no…

NO!

You just have to go to prom with Coriolanus. And as his girl too!

Crassus' blood is boiling in his veins. Hearing Coriolanus reveal that he’s made you his girl and is taking you to prom makes him want to tear his son apart limb by limb.

Well, he needs to nip that in the bud.

Perhaps he'll talk to his old, estranged friend Dean Casca Highbottom about being a chaperone at the prom. That way he can keep an eye on you, socialize with you, and keep you from spending the night dancing with his son.

Dancing at prom can lead to other things in hotel rooms after prom. Things that Crassus certainly doesn't want you doing with Coriolanus.

Although Crassus is having an internal meltdown, his appearance stays stern and calm. “I'll make sure your mother has enough money to take you dress shopping.” The middle-aged platinum blonde man assured you.

Cocking his head to the side, Crassus flashes you a savvy smile before looking at his son and giving him a look that rivaled that of Medusa herself. “This door stays open while you two are in here. Only one of you can be on the bed and the other must be at the desk.” Crassus instructed in a stern, authoritarian baritone. “And turn off this music. It's giving me a headache.” He adds in an ordering snap before pivoting on his heel and matching off.

Shaking his head, Coriolanus darkly chuckled, “My father's so pathetic. Having a crush on you.”

“He doesn't have a crush on me, Coryo.” You’re quick to tell your beat friend, writing off his remark as you break your contact with him by sitting up. “He's your father and he's old enough to be mine.” You remind Coryo while making to get off the bed.

Coryo stops you by reaching out and wrapping his hand around your arm. “Just stay on the bed with me. Father’ll never know.” He tells you as you look at him, worrying your lip. But after a few moments, you slowly nod your head and take up your spot nestled into his side once again. “And trust me, from the way he was looking at you, my father likes you.”

“I don't think he does, but if you say so…” You sigh, letting your sentence hang in the air.

But Coryo's right, his father does like you. He likes you a little too much. Just like how his son, your best friend, likes you a little too much.

The million dollar ticket is who’ll snag you up and make you theirs? That's a question only the ancient gods of old know and they're not sharing the answer until the time's right. But until then, father and son will be competing for your heart. A heart that you can only give to one Snow.

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[thatnonameuser]

I always have a spot for "Peepaw" Lilia, Alongside his war days self but I wonder what happens if the role of the Platonic!yandere turns.. Romantic? Reunion for feeling that living spark that he once had when he was young for his Childhood Friends.

What if he's not aiming for the young yuu that the younglings are hunting down, especially if he's also trying to be matchmaker for his sons... but A hidden older darling in Ramshackle that he stumbled upon while a potion/ Spell mishap? (Turning to a tiny bat, turning a ghost, teleportation, etc). 

Their child Yuu is out there, and Here they are recovering from– something? Where woes and common ground being a parent comes in play?

Before I begin, all the Lilia lovers out there. The reason I don't want to write Lilia as a romantic yandere for the MC in the yandereverse, is because Lilia is the equivalent of 70 in the TWST World and MC is at youngest 18. That's just makes me too uncomfortable for me to write.

But for an older darling, I can do that....

For this I'll be using Yuu for the MC, ____ is you. Also, the reader is the parent/older sibling of Yuu.

Lilia is no stranger to the craziness that comes out of one's love for their one true love.

It was much wilder in the olden days. Back when duels to the death were much more common. It's for the best the times have changed. The very last thing he wants to experience is having to pick between his boys should their fight for human Yuu grow out of hand.

Things have changed for the better these days.

But he wishes he'd made the decision to fight for Maleanor back when she was alive. The hole in his heart from that loneliness and grief has carved a hole in him that not even his fatherly love for Malleus and Silver can fill.

He's expected to die with that hole craving him clean through.

But it seems Maleanor didn't head back to stars just yet.

He was never one to follow the darling reincarnation belief after her death. All his years of travel during his search for information killed that belief dead, before it ever came to life. That was until he found you.....

He wasn't expecting to find you when he did. He wasn't expecting to find you at all.

In fact, he'd been following Malleus on one of his little walks dates. Yuu's rejection of his love was harsh, but Malleus was always so kind at heart. Poor boy always yearned for love. And he would get that love, all Yuu needs is a push, or rather a very harsh and painful shove.

That was his plan for the night. Go and nudge force Yuu in the right direction.

Malleus teleported back to Diasomnia, he'd calm his temper when he returned later.

And that's when it happened.

He'd known that besides Grim, Yuu wasn't the only one that lived in Ramshackle, but he was yet to see the other person. And now he did.

The foolish Yuu retreats back to the safety of their dorm. And an another one comes out.

And for the first time in four hundred years, his heart feels full again. He feels whole, at just the sight of them. That same pull that he'd felt back in his youth. That warmth and joy that's born from undying everlasting love. He feels two hundred years younger, like a weight was taken off his shoulders.

It seems his dove came back to him. And you've come back as something equally beautiful as you were before.

The little darling in your arms is frightened, "______...Why?! Why did he?" Oh, so that's your new name. ______, it's just as lovely as the last one.

"Sh, It's okay. You're going to be okay, Yuu." You hug them in your arms like you want to protect them from this big dangerous world. Far away from all the evils that threaten them. Aw~ Isn't that just the sweetest? Your parental love is just as strong as it's been all those years ago. So desperate to protect your children from the threats that try to steal them from your arms.

Well, it would just be cruel to do what he planned to Yuu now. It would just tear you to shreds to be separated from them.

Perhaps, he can use this to his advantage. You don't want to be separated, so he'll give you the option of staying together.

Wouldn't that just make you all a big happy family? Him, finally reunited with his precious dove again and one of his boys happy with their darling Yuu. It will mean he'll have to play peacemaker pretty soon but, after he convinces them to share, all will be well.

"Go back inside, Yuu. Arm yourself, stay with Grim and don't open the door until I come back. OK?" You're so protective, willing to send your loved one away and staying behind in the danger zone. The two of you are so much alike.

He doesn't mean to jump the gun, but it seems Malleus might even be reunited with his mother, all he has to do is make contact. Well, the younger darling is inside now, no time like the present.

"Hello there, little dove!" You jump out your skin in surprise at his sudden arrival, but he's expected that. He also expected the kitchen knife you try to drive into his face. He catches it with ease, he's grown up with your fiery little temper. You haven't changed a bit.

"You're wearing Diasomnia colours, are you Lilia Vanrouge?" You recognise him, why didn't he start believing in that idea earlier.

"Why yes I am."

"Are here for Yuu?"

"No, no, my precious dove. I'm here for you." Your face widens in surprise.

Now, that he's much closer he can see the difference between Yuu and yourself. You're a little older, by a few years at minimum. Still, you're quite young. He won't have to worry about your fragile human life ending so soon. Plus, this means he can leave Silver with some siblings.

"But-But I don't-I'm not-"

He shushes you, there's no need for this fear, this trepidation. "Dove. I've mourned you for so long. Now that you're back, I won't ever let you leave me again."

"But what about-"

"Don't worry, the little darling you're protecting will be fine. In fact, I think we'll be one big happy family."

[knight-of-flowerss]

I Will Wait.

Part one.

|__> part two will have smut I think :p also if u wanna be added to the house of the dragon tag list pls comment on here and I’ll add u!!

Benjicot ‘Davos’ Blackwood x Bracken!Reader.

Fluff + a bit of angst

Song inspo: I will wait by Mumford & Sons

Masterlist

Being a Bracken was hard. Well, being a Bracken girl was hard. Your brother, Aeron, was a pompous arsehole. Always acting like he was this big, tough knight, when in reality, he was a little boy who was playing as a pretend knight.

Your uncle, Humfrey, also known as Lord Bracken, was also a pompous arsehole, but he knew how to toy with people. He wasn’t a pretender, he would make promises and keep them. Like the promise that he would get one of his guards to whoop you as a child if you didn’t stop misbehaving, and as all children are, you continued misbehaving, and as you can expect, your uncle stuck to his words, even had the nerve to laugh at you when you tried to sit down on your sore bottom the next morning.

There are many things wrong with House Bracken. But the worst and most annoying of all was the ongoing rivalry between House Bracken and House Blackwood.

Apparently, to the Blackwood’s, years and years ago, the Bracken’s poisoned their dear Weirwood tree. It could be the truth or it could be another of the miscellaneous lies that both houses seemed to spew about each other to back up their rivalry. But in reality, I don’t think either side really knows why they hate eachother.

But what you did know is that you love a Blackwood.

And that was wrong.

Benjicot Blackwood was a sweet boy. Shy and caring. He was everything you wanted in a man. And he didn’t care that you were a Bracken.

Even when you were little, Benji always intrigued you. He was an honourable boy, an honourable man. He would never include a girl in a family feud that all stemmed from jealous men.

“Benji.. the war is coming, isn’t it?..” You whispered to him. You were both deep in the forest, Benji sitting up against a large tree, and you lying in his lap, your head resting on his chest as you get your large dress comfortable on the ground. Playing with his shirt, you look up at him, seeing him staring infront.

“Yes my love. I’m sorry but I must fight, it’s what I was born for. If I cannot protect my Queen then what type of Lord am I?” Benji breathed out. You sit up slightly, placing your left hand on his leg and your right on your chest, your faces inches apart.

“And what about me Benji? If you cannot come back alive then where does that leave me? Married off like a brood mare to the highest bidder? Dead at the hands of the other Blackwood’s? And what if Aegon wins? You could get executed for going against the crown-“

“And you can’t? Rhaenyra will win. And when she does she just might have mercy on the disloyal houses like House Bracken. Or she might kill you. But I know my Queen. The backers of the usurper cunt call her King Maegor with teats. She mourns her children! Her legacy! But even after all that she would spare the lives of those serving the pretender, because she is a good Queen.”

Tears brim your eyes as you stare at him. Wishing this could all be different. “Benji.. I don’t care who wins and who loses, I just want you. I want us to marry and grow old and have children, I want to not be afraid to love you Benji..”

Leaning your head against his, you squeeze your eyes closed and pressed your lips together tightly, trying not to spill tears or a pathetic whimper.

“I’m sorry my love. I promise you I’ll be back. And when I do, I promise I’ll marry you under the Weirwood tree, under the Old Gods and the New. I’ll love you unconditionally, no matter what any Bracken or Blackwood say. You are mine and I am yours. The day we get back, I either ask for your hand or take you as mine if anyone objects.”

You open your eyes and look at him, lips parting slightly. “Really?..” He adorns his sweet little smile finally and let’s out a small, breathy laugh. “Of course my love, you mean the world to me and I’d rather die than let you be used as a political piece for those piece of shit Brackens. Always have been a piece of shit, do you know what your uncle did to my father when they were-“

You grabbed his face, slamming your lips onto his, it was probably the last time that you could and you were going to make the most of it.

It had been two years. Two full Fucking years. It was over, finally. The usurper, Aegon, had been defeated.

From the start of the war ‘til now, you had matured a lot. All Noble women and children of the Riverland houses had lived in Riverrun since the war started, protecting the houses heirs and family.

Two years ago you were naïve, wide-eyed, and dependent on your surroundings to comfort you. Innocence was your very essence.

Now, post-war, you had come to terms with the world, it couldn’t change, people will continue to kill each other for power. But also, you were ‘ready for children’ according to Lady Tully. She claims your hips have widened and your breasts have grown. She is determined to find you a living husband to carry on your Bracken line but in reality, you wanted to taint that line, with Blackwood blood.

Soldiers were returning home.

Finally, your family was returning home.

Thousands of men from each houses spewing through each and every crevice, determined to get home.

Tully men made their way towards the Riverrun to celebrate their victory with their wives and children, with those who fought bravely along side with each other.

Darkmont men marched their way home, proud banner men who were eager to pray to the Seven, giving thanks for the victory that the Warrior gifted them, grateful that the Warrior answered their prayers of protection, valour and skill in battle.

The Piper men stalked towards the Pinkmaiden Castle near the Golden Tooth and the border with the Westerlands. Their loyalty towards the Tully’s unwavering in and out of battle. They make their way home while their faces reflect their words, ‘Brave and Beautiful’.

Other houses marched home, House Endymion, House Deddings, House Teague and others. They were all either matching home or to Riverrun to celebrate. You would try and pay more attention, but you’re too busy to acknowledge each and every men as you’re looking out for your man.

Your silly, crazed, depraved man that, hopefully, still has that shy, tender-hearted, gentle and loving boy inside.

You were just about to turn away, to pack up and return home to see what was left of your family, when you see it.

Three sets of flags, each having a trail of burned, bloodied and beaten soldiers following.

In the middle there rode a man holding the Clement House coat of arms on a large banner, a white flag with for blue, jagged line going down vertically.

They were loyal men of the Tully’s, Defenders of the Riverlands but there is only so much those soldiers can do before they stick their swords through their chest due to the constant bickering of the houses on either side of them.

On the left of House Clement, there was your family. House Bracken. Holding their golden banner with the Carmine coloured Stallion plastered in the middle up high as if they weren’t serving the pretender, the usurper, the loser. They had been defeated, yes. But their life long rivalry with the house over the field seemed to make them forget that.

You finally spotted your brother, Aeron. He looked utterly defeated. But that was in his eyes, his body and mouth concealed his battered condition with a confident facade.

Even from so far away you could tell they were bickering. They always were.

Finally your gaze drifts towards the right of House Clement, to your enemies.

A large, grey Stallion, big hooves, a dark matted mane with bit splotches of white and grey littering it the further you get towards its back legs moved in sync with the others at the front of the House Blackwood line. It was the most beautiful horse you had ever seen, trotting at a slow pace and showing off its regal strut. For being such a big and burley horse, it was quite elegant.

But, as beautiful as the horse was, a god sat atop it. The Maiden herself reincarnated as a Blackwood boy, Man.

Benjicot Blackwood had returned, more a man than those marching. He held his family’s banner up high, displaying their victory.

You smiled and stepped away from the window, running through the halls of the Riverrun. You stood at the front of the gates, greeting men as they trotted in.

All the other houses entered or passed and then finally House Clement entered, the banner men leading the Fyrd.

Next came your house, House Bracken. Your cousins and siblings came boasting in. Upon an auburn horse, your brother chucked the banner to the on foot soldiers and got off his horse.

“Sister!” Aeron shouted as he rushed towards you, “The fucking bitch Queen won, the little fuckers burnt half our house, I’ll fucking kill them.”

“Maybe it is for the best Aeron, we should at least be grateful she hasn’t burnt us to a crisp. And.. I’m glad to have you back brother.” You smiled and pressed a palm to his cheek. He sighs and wraps his arms around you tightly, “I’ve missed you sister, truly. It was horrifying out there, you ever seen a dragon rip a man to shreds? Well, hopefully not. Has everything been alright while we’ve been gone?”

“Of course it has brother, I’m a Bracken after all. A Bracken woman. I know how to handle myself. Now, go inside and show everyone how a Bracken stands tall, even after a loss.”

He smiled at me, tightly nodding. He let of me and started walking inside, catching up with our cousins on the steps.

Finally, finally the Blackwoods came marching. But that large stallion wasn’t matching at the start, Benjicot Blackwood, your Benji was no where to be found in fact.

Panic set in through you. Where had he gone? Had he fled? Had your family hurt him? Your questions were left un-answered as Lady Tully came out.

“Sweetheart, come inside, celebrate.” She spoke to you with great kindness, her hands gripping the sides of your arms and gently pulling you away into the Riverrun.

While the Lady Tully was coercing you inside, Benji was arguing with your uncle, Lord Bracken.

“Your false, usurper, cunt of a ‘king’ has been defeated Lord Bracken, I see no reason why you still think you can act like you have the upper hand.” Benjicot had started to lose his temper.

He had came to Lord Bracken to ask for your hand in marriage, to throw away their rivalries and start a new beginning of joint houses. Of course this was not Benjicot Blackwood speaking, Benjicot Blackwood would rather die than admit this. No, this was Benji speaking. This was the boy who loved a woman speaking.

But as time passed, his new nickname gifted to him in the war came shining through, Bloody Ben came out. He started losing his temper, lashing out at your depraved uncle, calling out his foolishness.

In reality, Benjicot was being just as foolish, lashing out at a Bracken while their large hoard pricks surround him, fucking stupid. But, he had brought Oscar and Kermit Tully alongside him, two long friends of his. So if shit went down, at least they’d die together.

As the bickering continued, both Bracken and Blackwood became increasingly more agitated and aggressive, the two Tully boys standing there like they’re ready to kill them selves and not the men coated in yellow.

“Young Lord Blackwood, do you really think I’d let your tiny Blackwood cock defile my innocent neice?”

Benji huffs, “Lord Bracken, your neice will have the taste of a real man, not a Bracken boy. The gods know we are destined-“ , “You worship the old gods! You will not say the fake gods destine you and her.”

Kermit moves forward, leaning to whisper into Benjicot’s ear, “Ben, maybe we should leave”, Benjicot puts a hand on his chest and softly nudges him away.

“Lord Bracken, rest assured, the old gods and the new know our binding of houses will avoid years of bloodshed in the future-“

Lord Bracken interrupts him, “Why would you want out houses binded? The Blackwood’s hate the Brackens and vice versa, it’s been like that for years, why would you of all people want that? You wish to take a jab at House Bracken while we are at our weakest? Belittle us?-“

“I love her.” Exclaimed Benji, Kermit looked to Oscar and Oscar rolled his eyes, just wanting to sit and feast, tired from the war.

“You know nothing of love, boy.”

Tags: @thethreeeyed-raven @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @tiredsleepyhead @onlyrealjoy

[darylmydix]

THE SCARS WE SHARE | daryl dixon - 002

summary: you were the only good thing daryl had in his life. bonded by similar trauma, you suffered abuse at the hands of your stepmother, just as daryl had suffered from his own father. when you finally decide to escape your abusive home life, you're forced to leave behind your best friend in the process. now with the world in an apocalyptic state, you're left wondering if daryl was even alive.

pairings: daryl dixon x f!reader.

warnings: smut, violence, blood and gore, unrequited love, best friends to lovers, mentions of s/a, mentions of abuse, mention of suicidal thoughts/attempts, mention of drug use, use of deadly weapons, fluff, angst, slow burn, strong language, kidnapping, coercion, seasons 5-11, 18+, minors dni.

word count: 1.5k

author’s note: sorry if your name isn’t in the taglist and you asked to be. it wouldn’t let me tag some of you.

You lift your hand, blocking out the sun’s gleaming rays as you watch Daryl mutilate an opossum, removing the poor creature's insides. “Can’t you cook it or something?” You scrunch your face in pure disgust.

Daryl scoffs, eyeing you. “This ain't a damn five star restaurant, princess.” He says as he pops a piece into his mouth. “Well I am not eating that.” You shake your head. Daryl shrugs, making no complaints. “More for me.”

Eating dead animals was a cakewalk for someone like Daryl. He’s had to learn how to survive during times like this when his father would kick him out. At least he knew how to hunt and track thanks to the old man. The one good thing the bastard has done for his son.

You observe in silence while Daryl pigged out like he was enjoying a fine dine meal, even going as far as licking his fingers. “I don’t understand how you can eat raw animal guts. Aren’t you afraid of rabies?”

“It’s survival,” he states. “The world could go to shit one day where we ain’t got a choice but to eat crap like this. Beggars can’t be choosers.”

The thought of that makes you sick to your stomach. You didn’t even wanna imagine a world where you’d have to tear apart defenseless animals to save yourself from hunger. It just wasn’t in your human nature to hurt anything innocent. “I don’t think I could do that no matter the circumstances.” You admit.

“Then you sure as shit better hope the world don’t ever come to an end. You’d be the first to get taken out.” He jokes, but there’s some seriousness to his words. Compared to Daryl’s hardass exterior, you were as soft as a plush toy.

Two different personalities; but that’s why your friendship seemed to work so well. Daryl needed something delicate in his life to take the brute in him down a peg, and you needed a brute to protect you from what you’re too delicate to protect yourself against.

“Maybe you’re right...” You sigh, fiddling with your fingers, well aware of your fragility.

“Best be lucky ya got me then.” He says, standing up, while wiping his bloody hands on his pants. You look up at him, a smile forming your face. Daryl avoids your gaze, which he often does when he says anything remotely soft or caring to you. It was just the brooding man in him wanting to hide any emotional connection, but you knew he cared about you. And he knew you knew.

“I am lucky I have you.” You say softly. His eyes finally lock with yours for a split second before he simply nods and changes the subject. “C’mon, I’ll walk you home.” He holds out his hand for you to take. You bite the inside of your cheek, rejecting the gesture. “I’m not in a rush to go back there.” You glowered.

“I know, but I ain’t tryin’ to get you into trouble again.” Daryl reminds you of the day that not only did you suffer consequences, but he did as well. Last time you avoided going home, you returned only to find cop cars outside of your house and your stepmother pretending to be oh so worried about you.

“Him!” She shouted, pointing to Daryl. “Arrest that inbred thug! He kidnapped my daughter!”

You tried to plead with the officers, telling them that wasn’t true but given the criminal history of the Dixon family it fell upon deaf ears and you had to sadly watch as your best friend was forced into a squad car. Fortunately he didn’t get into much trouble by the police, and was taken home.

His father was another story though.

You sigh, taking his hand and the brunette lifts you off the ground. “For the record, I’m only going because I don’t wanna get you in trouble again.” You inform him. Daryl scoffs. “Yeah whatever.”

“There it is. The house of horrors.” You mumble, staring ahead at the home that no longer brought you joy. “Need me to stick around a bit? Watch over the house?” Daryl suggests, and you look at him with a raised brow. “You’re gonna stakeout my house? What good would that do?” You ask.

“First prick I see walk up there’ll get his ass kicked, that’s what good it’ll do.” He spat. You could feel the anger radiating off of him; you shake your head. “You and Merle got it bad with assault,” Daryl glares at you in response. “If you just a walk up and kick whatever sick fuck comes to my door to get his jollies off then all my stepmom’ll do is call the police and have you arrested for stalking and battery.”

Daryl made a ‘tsk’ sound. “Pigs would be givin’ me a medal if they knew the fuck was goin’ on in there. What those assholes and that bitch was doin’.” He was passionate about your situation, and you appreciated it because you felt the same when it came to him and his own. “Hell am I supposed to do?”

You put your hand on his shoulder, which makes him tense slightly before he’s calm. “Nothing. Like I said, it’s just our reality. Go home, Daryl. Eat a meal better than opossum. For me, please.” You giggle a bit.

“You sure?” He asks.

“That I want you to eat a meal better than opossum? Pretty sure.”

The brunette scowls at your joke. “No. That you want me to go.”

You knew what he meant, but you often deflected questions like that because in the end what you wanted didn’t really matter. Stay or go, your position was all the same. “Yeah. Go home.” You give his shoulder a gentle squeeze before turning to walk away. “Hey,” Daryl calls out, and you look back at him. “I’ll wait out here for a bit.”

You smile, shaking your head. “You’re a stubborn bastard.”

“Yeah, well it takes one to know one.”

You roll your eyes, turning away once again to walk home. You pull your keys from your sweater pockets as you get to the door, but it was suddenly ripped open with your stepmother standing there eyeing daggers at you. “The hell have you been? I almost had to call the law and report you missing again.”

“I’m an adult now, Sandra...”

“Like I give a damn. Get your dumbass in here.” She pointed inside with her thumb. You sigh, stepping into the house. Your stepmom pokes her head out, noticing Daryl standing there on the sidewalk. “What the hell are you doing by my house, you yokel?” She hissed.

“I was walkin’ her home, somebody’s gotta make sure she’s okay.” Daryl spat back. Your stepmother chuckled. “Well, aren't you quite the gentleman.” She snarked. “Well she’s here now, so why don’t you take your hillbilly ass back to the trailer park where you belong and get the hell away from my property before I call the cops.” She slams the door, getting the last word.

You peer at Daryl through the living room window, mouthing for him to ‘just go’. You could see him struggling within himself with the decision before he heads off. Your stepmother shuts the curtains, glaring at you. “Don’t you ever bring that redneck here again or I’ll make you regret it.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, holding back tears. “What do you have against him? He is the only thing in this world that I have that cares about me.”

She laughed mockingly. “You think he cares about you? You’re not even worth a damn to care about. The only thing you’re good for, honey, is making me money to keep this damn roof over our head. And if that little bastard isn’t helping support that, then he has no business here. Next time I see him I’ll get a restraining order and make sure he’ll never step foot here again, do you understand?”

You don’t respond, tears now falling down your face. She roughly grabs your arm, digging her nails into your skin. You yelp in pain. “Do you understand?!” She repeats. “Yes!” You cry out. She lets go of you, throwing your arm from her grasp. “Now go shower. We’ve got a guest coming later tonight.”

You quickly rush to your bedroom, slamming the room door shut. You pace around your room, wiping tears from your eyes. You were full of different emotions. Anger, sadness, sorrow, hate, agony. You wanted to just give up on this life. You had no willingness to live.

You open your drawer, digging through your clothes until you find the razor you keep in your drawer. You eye the tiny blade, twisting it around in your finger. ‘It could just end here’. You thought.

But then the sudden flash of Daryl came into your mind.

Like it always does.

You threw the razor atop of your dresser, the unwillingness fading away. “Daryl Dixon the things I do for you.” You mutter to yourself.

Taglist:

@daryldixmedown, @supernaturalstilinski, @vampiresluv, @myassisasolarsystem, @mosstheshoeshoethemoss, @scripteria, @moonlightreader649, @creepumiku, @filmsbyblair, @ginger-haired-queen, @darylsdollie

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Hate You (Kidding)

Crowley & daughter!reader, Sam and Dean & witch!reader, a little Rowena & granddaughter!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: your dad abandoned you years ago, but what happens when he finds out you’re still alive?

A/N: just so no one gets confused about this, here’s the background—Crowley found out how powerful demon/human babies can be, so he tried to make one, only it didn’t go the way he planned—the baby (you) were born without powers, and so he abandoned you. (Just because I didn’t want to give this the exact same backstory as Crowley’s son)

The theft was not going well. Your grandmother had made it seem so easy—sneak into the bunker, grab the black spell book, and make it out fast.

She failed to mention the two professional hunters that lived there.

You hadn’t been dumb enough to assume it would be empty—there had to be a reason Rowena wasn’t going herself, after all; she was scared. But you weren’t ready for Sam and Dean Winchester.

They had you in their dungeon basement—which was super creepy—before you’d even managed to find the book, much less grab it.

“What were you looking for, kid? Who sent you here?” The shorter—but no less scary—one had his hands on the sides of your chair, and he was looming over you. You had no doubt that he was willing to hurt you—you did break into his very dangerous house, after all.

You kept quiet, still unsure what the best course of action was. If you told them about the book and Rowena, would they let you go and go after her?

Then again, you didn’t know anything about these guys—maybe once they got their information, they’d just kill you.

You decided to stay quiet.

“Hey!” Dean smacked his hand on the arm of your chair, and you flinched. “I said—“

The man stopped yelling when the lights went out. They flickered back on a moment later, only this time they were red.

“Someone’s here,” the tall one said.

“I’ll go check.” The man in front of you pulled a gun from the waistband of his jeans and turned to leave, saying to the tall one “watch her.”

Then it was just you and the giant—who, surprisingly, seemed a little less scary. He was definitely intimidating, but he also had a sort of “I don’t hurt children” vibe about him.

“This will all be easier if you tell us what you were after,” he broke the silence.

“Right, because you’ll have a reason to keep me alive after I tell you everything,” you scoffed.

“We won’t have a reason to kill you, either,” Sam countered.

“And you need one?” You questioned.

“What makes you think we’d just kill you for no reason?” He asked.

“I mean I did break into your house, and you are hunters.” You shrugged as best you could with your hands cuffed behind you.

“I’m Sam,” the man said, crouching down so he was more on your level—he was trying to look less intimidating, which surprised you. “That other guy is my brother Dean. We are hunters, but we’re not gonna just kill you for no reason. We’re not like that.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the door opening cut you off.

“Look who came for a visit.” Dean stepped into the room with a man trailing behind him. As soon as the man stepped into the light, every bit of air left your lungs.

“Didn’t know you had a visi—“ Crowley’s sentence froze halfway out of his mouth when he laid eyes on you.

Dean’s suspicious gaze picked up on the awkwardness instantly.

“You two know each other?”

Crowley gained his voice back first. “Used to. Not so much anymore.”

“Oh I don’t know about that.” You found the strength to speak after you heard Crowley’s words. “You still look just as pathetic to me, father.”

“Father?” Dean choked. “Wait, that’s not possible.”

“I thought you were dead.” Crowley was now completely ignoring the Winchesters. “After…after that incident I figured the demons would’ve—“

“Incident?!” You all but screamed. “Incident? Is that what you call you abandoning me? Leaving me for dead? An incident?”

“I had no choice,” Crowley argued. “When the other demons found out you were powerless—“

“The other demons? It wasn’t about the other demons, it was about you! You used my mother to make yourself a half demon, and when I didn’t turn out to have any powers you threw me away. You wanted your demon friends to kill me.”

“No.” Crowley was brushing past Sam and Dean now, coming to stand directly in front of you. You squirmed in your chair, but you couldn’t get further away from him. “No I didn’t. I thought if I got rid of you, they’d have no reason to kill you and—“

“Don’t lie to me!” You cried out. “I’m not stupid! You may not have wanted me dead, but you sure didn’t abandon me to try to save me. You did it because I was useless to you. Pretending otherwise is just…it’s just pathetic.”

Crowley opened his mouth to argue, but he had nothing to say—he knew you were right.

“So you’re half demon with no powers?” Dean cut in. “Because I’ve met a half demon who could do anything he wanted just by thinking it.”

“Why do you think he wanted to make me?” You forced your gaze away from your father to look at Dean. “He wanted an all powerful being that was also fully dependent on him. Too bad for him, not all half demons are the same, and he got stuck with the powerless one.”

“But that doesn’t explain why you’re here now,” Sam cut in.

You bit your lip. You should’ve known it would circle back to this.

“Look, we’re not gonna hurt you if you tell us,” Sam promised.

“Fine.” A sly smirk lifted onto your face as your eyes went back to your father. “I’m here to get a book. For my grandmother.”

Crowley was still choking on air while Sam and Dean shared a meaningful glance before turning back to you.

“Rowena? You’re working for the witch?” Dean’s reaction told you that he both knew Rowena and probably hated her.

“She’s the only reason I’m still alive,” you said. “When he—“ you were inclined your head towards Crowley “—left me behind to get killed by demons, she saved my life.”

“My mother knows you’re still alive and she never told me?” Crowley scoffed. “It’s just like her.”

“She didn’t tell you because I told her how much I hated you.” You glared at Crowley as you spoke. “She understood the feeling, and we had a mutual understanding. Anyway, she told me she would teach me to take out demons the way she can—“

“But let me guess—only if you steal a spell book from us and bring it to her,” Dean interrupted.

“She said it was the only way she’d be able to teach me,” you defended yourself.

“She lied,” Crowley butted in. “She always lies—she was using you to get that book.”

“Oh, right, because you’re so trustworthy,” you shot back. “Why should I trust you?”

“You don’t think it’s a little strange that the first thing she does with you is send you to a place where you could get hurt, just to get something for her?” Sam argued. “You don’t think that that’s using you?”

You were quiet for a moment, and when you spoke again it was more subdued.

“I didn’t have any other choice. There are still demons out there who want me dead, and I’m totally and completely helpless.”

“You don’t have to be,” Crowley said. “I can help you.”

“Rowena may not be a saint, but I already know I can’t trust you,” you snapped. “I’m not looking to get abandoned again.”

“She had to know you’d get caught.” Sam seemed to be talking more to himself than anyone else. “So why…”

The Winchesters seemed to come to a conclusion at the same time, sharing a moment of telepathic connection before they turned and ran out the door.

“Do they do that a lot?” You wondered.

“You have no idea,” Crowley huffed. “I suppose I should find out what’s wrong.”

“You haven’t figured it out yet?” The sudden smirk on your face made Crowley nervous. “Oh come on, don’t tell me you fell for that whole ‘totally and completely helpless” thing.” As you spoke, Crowley saw a faint glow coming from your hands, which were still handcuffed behind you. After a moment, he heard a snapping sound, and suddenly both of your hands were free and you were standing up. “Do you really think Rowena sent me here with no knowledge of magic?”

With a single wave of your hand, you sent Crowley flying against the wall. He landed with a thud, and you stepped over his frame on your way out the door.

“See you soon, father.”

…

Rowena had escaped with the book by the time Sam and Dean got to the library—she had waited until everyone was in the dungeon to make her move—and by the time the boys got back to the dungeon, Crowley was on the floor and you were gone.

“Great,” Dean growled. “She tricked us. I hate witches!”

“For once,” Crowley groaned as he slowly sat up. “I agree with you.”

…

“The Winchesters.” Your nervous gaze met your grandmother’s as you watched her flip through the spell book. “It’s them, they caught up. What now?”

“We need to distract them long enough for me to get through this spell,” Rowena insisted. “I won’t even need the book anymore as long as I can get this spell done.”

“I’ll distract them.” You were halfway to the door when Rowena stopped you.

“No, you’re not strong enough, not like this.” The way your grandmother was staring you down made you nervous.

“Like this?” You asked.

The door blasting open after a swift kick from Dean Winchester seemed to make up Rowena’s mind.

“I’m sorry, dear girl, but it’s the only way,” she said. “Impetus be—“

“Not so fast, mother.” You father appeared out of nowhere just behind Rowena, and he snatched up the spell book she was holding and swung it at her—she went down without another word. “I’m the only one that gets to hurt my brat.”

You didn’t say anything—you were still shaking. “Impetus beastiarum”—that’s what Rowena had been trying to say. Your own grandmother was going to turn you into a rabid monster—and ultimately kill you—just so that she could get away.

“The book.” You flinched out of your daze when Sam Winchester brushed past you and held his hand out to your father.

“Of course, moose,” he answered. “What would I need with a witches book?” He passed it over without argument.

“Why did you save me?” You demanded, sidestepping the taller Winchester to get a good look at your father, who merely shrugged.

“I’m the only one that gets to kill you.”

…

The Winchesters, of course, wanted to grab you after the little incident, but you flung them against the wall with your powers—one of the few tricks your grandmother had managed to teach you, and currently your favorite—and left before they got the chance.

You didn’t see them or your father for several more months. When you saw Crowley again, you were running for your life.

Somehow word had gotten around that a great witch had a granddaughter; or maybe it was that the king of hell had a daughter—you didn’t know, and you didn’t care. All you knew was that an archangel was after you because of it, and you had tried to cut a deal with him.

It hadn’t worked.

Lucifer had wanted you because he thought you’d be useful, and when he found out you weren’t, he of course decided that killing you was proper punishment for wasting his time.

You were in the midst of running for your life when you saw your father.

He was chained to the floor like a dog, watching your exchange with the archangel with peaked interest.

“Conteram hoc cincinno,” you yelled as you ran—it worked, and the chains at Crowley’s wrists snapped; they were warded against demons, not witches.

The freeing of his prisoner was enough of a distraction to get Lucifer off your tail. By the time he remembered you, you were out the door, and when he tried to turn his attention back to Crowley, the demon had already teleported.

…

“What was that?”

You jumped in surprise when your father appeared next to you.

“An escape,” you huffed out.

“You saved me back there.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you demanded. Crowley just grinned at you.

“Maybe witches aren’t so bad.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz

[yourlittlebunnyy]

snow - azriel x reader

main masterlist azriel masterlist

kallias version

summary: Lover, wife, mate. Until he loses you.

warnings: death, happy but not very happy ending;)

w/c: 3.5k

a/n: this fic is fully inspired by "snow" by maxence fermine.

enjoy!

That evening, over a glass of good wine given to him by his uncle Rhysand, and with his other half, your son said, “I don't even remember what she looked like in the face.” And he laughed chasing away the negativity of the situation.

It was true. He no longer remembered your face. But you remember - no, you observe - his from the day you left. He didn't have you beside him, but you were always there, revelling in his victories and grieving over his sorrows.

That night you visited him in his sleep. He did not recognize you.

“My son.” You greeted him. You were on a flowery meadow. He reciprocated, but showed no signs of affection. You were little more than a stranger to him.

You shared blood. You had carried him for ten months. You had nurtured and changed him for two years. But to him, you were nothing.

“My father never told me anything about you.” He said it as if to justify his distance.

But you understand it, you always understand.

You were as close to your child as you were to Azriel, your beloved. You understood and accepted and respected his grief. You understood and accepted and respected being gone from the world all of a sudden. Your memory kept alive only by your mate, quietly and intimately. And you were fine with that.

“Would you like to know?” You asked him at that point. Your arms quivered for contact. Your son nodded.

And so, your story began.

“I would never have seen the light if my love for him had not been there to enlighten me. And he would never have seen it if it were not for me.” The Fae snorted a laugh, interrupting you.

“That's impossible.”

“Why do you say that?” You questioned.

“I know my father. A female would never be able to reduce him like that. He is a warrior.” Hurt, you shifted your gaze to the lush field in front of you.

“Then you don't know your father as well as you think, honey. That's all right, it's a long story. It would have bored you anyway.”

“No.” He begged, surprising you and himself. “Please, tell.”

“Our story goes back centuries. We were about your age.” You took a deep breath, and dove into the memories. “It all began magically. One winter day, while returning from the battle against Hybern, he fell in love with me. I was very different from the kind of females he was used to. At that time he was the Spy Master of the Night Court. He had participated in a very violent war that had ended in a brilliant, beautiful and unpredictable victory. So that he came back as a victor. Triumphant but wounded. A soldier had injured his best friend, your uncle, Cassian. Killed Amren. Then Rhysand. He had been wounded, too. In the wings. When he returned he still had the senses of that scene: the taste of blood and mud everywhere in his mouth, the memory of hatred painted in Hybern's face, the near-death experience. But it was the age of honor. Those were the joys of war. One had to die or return wounded to be considered victorious.

However, your father never forgot that battle. He could never forget the sight of his family one step away from defeat, from death. It was the most horrible thing he had ever experienced in his entire life. And believe me, honey, your father saw a lot of things. When he returned, he fainted on his bed. His family took him for dead and he lay on that bed for three days, still soiled with the marks of war. It was your aunt, Feyre, who found him, since she was worried about him.

He settled down, but for several days he was shaken. There was still fear in his eyes. Rhysand thanked him for his help, and Azriel was proud, but his pride still remained clouded by sorrow for what he had experienced. Finally, having recovered his energy, he came to a conclusion. He did not want to fight anymore, and not so much because of the wound that had been inflicted on him - he had suffered far worse during his life - but out of sheer disgust with war. He, who had spent his entire life killing, realized that he no longer had any desire to kill.

He therefore left the Wind House and set out on the streets of my beloved Velaris. And it was there, on his walk, that the miracle took place.

Crippled by the cold, at the end of his strength, with the horror of war still in his eyes, alone in the thick of the darkness and the tragedy he had just experienced, alone in the abyss of winter, alone with the vertigo of his loneliness, alone in his silence, where he should have died a hundred times of cold, hunger, fatigue, disappointment and exhaustion, he survived. He survived because what he saw that day, that thing, that extraordinary thing that also came from the other side of reality, no doubt to compensate the horror, that sublime and beautiful thing was the most sublime and beautiful image he had ever been allowed to see in his entire life. That image was me. And he could no longer forget me.

What he saw was me, at the time a young female, balancing on a rope. I felt as light as a bird, felt as graceful as a squirrel as I performed above the silvery river of Velaris. I was sixty feet above the ground. More than walking the wire I was floating in the air as if by magic. I was gliding faintly in the blue up there, standing on my invisible wire, the barbell in my hands. I could have been mistaken for an angel.

Your father slowly approached the river, and my beauty captivated him. He then told me that it was the first time he had seen a female from another Continent in Velaris. I seemed to fly, so, intrigued he advanced again. I was now perfectly above him. A dense crowd had gathered on the shore to witness my strange apparition. He approached an old man and, not taking his eyes off me, asked him who I was. I do not know exactly what he answered him, but from that moment he never stopped looking for me.

I was a funambulist, and my life followed only one line. Straight.

I was from Vallahan, a place far away. They called me Snow. I was nicknamed so because I had skin of glass, eyes of ice, and hair of gold. When I darted through the air I looked as light as a snowflake.

This is how I had begun. One day, while I was still a child, my path had crossed that of a traveling circus. Stunned, I had discovered the possibility of daydreaming. Heedless of the dangers, I had decided to make it my business. I had started with a tightrope stretched a few inches off the ground. Then, little by little, I had gone higher and higher in both height and mastery of my art. And so I became one of the first female funambulists. Up on the tightrope, I never came down again.

I became one for the love of balance. I, whose life unfolded like a twisty thread, excelled in the subtle and treacherous art of doing evolutions on a tightrope. I never felt as comfortable as when I walked on a wire a thousand feet above the ground. Straight ahead of me. Without ever deviating a single millimeter off course. It was my destiny. To advance step by step. From one end of life to the other.

My feats had conquered all of Velaris. By the age of twenty, I had already traveled more than a hundred kilometers on my tightrope, often risking my life. I had stretched my wire between two tall buildings in the Rainbow and balanced several hours above the city, I was like a swan made of wind, snow and silence. Then I had repeated my feats at every place in the Court of Night, each time defying the laws of balance.

I was no mere funambulist. I was proceeding through the air as if by magic. Looking at me so far up there, my body standing upright in the sky like a white flame and my golden hair caressed by the wind, I would have been told that I belonged to heaven. Because for me actually the hardest thing was not keeping myself balanced, or even mastering my fear, much less walking that endless tightrope. The hardest thing was not to turn into a snowflake.

By now I was being claimed in every corner of the Court. I even went to the Court of Nightmares. Then, almost without realizing it, I got as far as the Illyrian Steppes, where your father was ecstatic to watch me. Never before had an artist performed before the Illyrian. And Azriel looked at me and already loved me. In his eyes I was no mere funambulist. I was Snow, and I represented all the beauty of art. When I had finished my performance with the tightrope, and returned to the ground, he could not restrain the urge to approach me. He stepped forward and, in doing so, discovered the fineness of my features, the design of my mouth, the line of my eyebrows, and knew instantly that he could never forget my face. He looked into my eyes, and in turn I squared him. No words were spoken, and that was all we needed. I smiled at him, and in that he lost his soul. He knelt before me and said, “I have been looking for you, mate.”

I, on the other hand, was looking for no one. But his gesture seemed to me of such beauty that I delighted in it. And I accepted the bond. We got married, even. The first years passed happily. A happy event solidified our bond: you. You possessed my features, but your father's strength, darling. Our life was one of peace and silence. Gradually I was settling more and more into this Court. Sometimes I felt homesick for Vallahan, but I never complained about it.

What I missed most of all was my job as a funambulist. One night I dreamed of flying again. The next day, waking up, I thought about the dream again. Then I thought no more about it. The cold weather came. Then spring again. You developed in the ecstasy of light. I was happy. In one hand I held your father's heart and in the other my own, which at the same time I offered to you. And that fragile balance served to keep me balanced on the edge of happiness. But one day that balance became so fragile that it broke. One day the affection you offered me was no longer enough to make me happy. I cruelly missed the life in the air. I thirsted again for vertigo, for thrills, for conquest. I thought only of becoming a funambulist again. I asked Azriel to arrange one last performance. I wanted to stretch a rope from mountain to mountain in the heart of the Steppes.

Surely your father esteemed my desire as foolish, deeming it senseless to endanger my life and the life...of your sister.

But, like a true male, he bowed before me and consented. He had two steel ropes come from the Court of the Day. Then he sent two helpers to secure the longest cable between the two highest peaks.

I slipped the barbell out of my old case, put on my ballerina shoes, and practiced for hours in the garden, passing small mountains of flowers and a pond where yellow water lilies floated. Azriel, on the other hand, never tired of watching me. I was a funambulist without any rival.

On that thread I was happy, free and grateful. I thanked the Mother every day for giving me your father. I had blond hair. I had clear eyes. And I was walking on air.

The performance we stared at for the first few days of summer, my belly barely prominent. A crowd gathered from all over the Court to witness my feats. Lucien and Elain, who at the time had just become High Lords, also came.

When I placed my feet on the cable, the crowd rumbled. Up there, I was so high that those who only looked at me felt dizzy; I looked like a white dot in space, a snowflake in the immensity of the sky.

Armed with my barbell, for more than half an hour I performed high above the ground, slowly approaching the opposite side of the mountain. Below, they were holding their breath. One false step and it was certain death. But I, perfectly mastering my art, advanced inexorably. Step by step. Blow after blow. Silence after silence. From vertigo to vertigo. And your father watched as I danced caressed by his shadows in contrast to my white skin, silently praying for me, for his daughter. For your sister. I never stumbled.

It was the wire that broke. Definitely poorly secured, the cable came off the rock and plunged me into a thousand-foot drop. Me, the barbell and my unborn daughter.

Those who saw me disappear there, in the heart of the Steppes, took me for a bird falling from the sky. And my body was never found again.

I, Snow, became snow and sleep in its whiteness.

Your father never recovered from the loss of me, his mate. He killed the two clumsy helpers with cruelty, hatred and the thirst for revenge commanded his movements. Your uncle allowed him to do so without punishing him. But Azriel felt neither joy nor pity in the act. Killing them would not bring me back to life. He saw only one thing: his own grief. He knew only one thing: that never again would he find the woman he had loved. Never again would he see his Snow again. Never again would he see my beauty again.

Back in our house, now devoid of any joy, he threw away the Illyrian sword with which he had killed the two males. He would never kill again in his life, he promised himself. He would throw himself into pain. In the face of our daughter who died that day with me, in which my own face was reflected, he would weep every tear in his body. There was only one last gift left, one last thing that held him to the world of the living: you.

He sank so deep into his grief that he went blind. Your father accepted it, you know. It doesn't really bother him, he is no longer a warrior. He thinks the Mother no longer saw any sense in keeping his sight, if he wouldn't see me anyway.

I have always been close to him. I have always been close to you, my son. As much as my condition allows me to be.

I have never been given a final farewell. In your house my name is like a curse: it is never spoken and disaster should it be done. Therefore, I have come here, in a dream to you, for one last request. I want to be buried with your father. Come to me.” And you showed him where all that time you were hiding.

“Why didn't you say that before?”

“Because your father would not have been able to go on, seeing my face every day.”

As you spoke, you looked lost in the void, your eyes still veiled by the breath of the dream. The story had been long and paplit. Coming back to reality was difficult. Your son merely smiled and nodded at you, his own eyes wet with tears.

The next day he went to Azriel, who was relaxing by the silver river. He asked him to close his eyes and imagine the whiteness.

“I know where your Snow is.”

At these words, Azriel's face froze. Still with his dead gaze turned toward the river, he said, “Who are you to know this? No one knows where she is. The mountain swallowed her up. A long time ago.”

“That's false. The mountain digested her and returned her body. She is there, under the ice, a meter from the surface. She is there, in a glass coffin, intact and as beautiful as when you met her. In her womb she still holds the fruit of your love. I swear to you that I know where she is. She showed it to me in a dream. If you wish, I can lead you to her.”

Azriel understood that your son was telling the truth, and he could not hold back a tear. “I knew that one day we would meet again. But I did not expect that day to come so late in my life.” He turned to the younger Fae and laid a hand on his shoulder. “And to say that since she died ... since she died I've been looking everywhere for her. I've been looking for her everywhere. In every corner of this Court. In every corner of my mind. In every, single, dream. And now that I can finally see her, I will not see her.”

The next day, after the usual practice, your son asked your mate, “Have you thought about my proposal? When do you want me to take you there?”

Azriel sighed, then replied in a sad voice, “My son. This trip would be useless. I know you speak the truth, but what good would it do for an old blind man to find the grave of a dead lady? Wherever she is, my mate is at peace. May her isolation be respected for eternity.”

“No, father. She told me. Her last request was to be found. To be buried with you.” Azriel disappeared into his garden, leaving his son to be crushed by the weight of his own words.

A month passed. Your son and husband no longer spoke of you. They did not even dare to mention it. Every day, the younger Fae went to Azriel to keep him company, but in the end the two always ended up in oppressive silence. It was as if you were invisible.

But then one morning, standing on the edge of the river in Velaris, Azriel said to your son, “Tomorrow we will visit your mother.” Both of them did not answer, they just smiled.

They left at dawn. Your son guided Azriel with the sound of his footsteps. Every time he offered him a hand to help him over some steeper or treacherous passage, and your husband refused it and punctually overcame the obstacle without the need for help. He may have forgotten that he had been a warrior, but his muscles had not.

At night they slept in the villages. When, upon entering a village, Azriel uttered his name and declared where he was from, the doors opened before him as if by magic. The entire Night Court seemed to know his old reputation. Your son was astonished.

And he understood how fortunate he had been to be able to follow the teaching of such a father.

The journey was long, of unceasing whiteness. White as the cherry blossoms. White like the silence that accompanied the two wayfarers.

Finally, one morning, the first mountain peaks appeared. Their road began to climb toward the sky and its purity. They were the hardest hours. Your beloved began to show signs of fatigue, but your son pretended not to, since they were no longer very far from you. Azriel found the strength to go on only because of you. The journey was coming to an end.

When your son glimpsed the place shown to him in his dream, he trembled with excitement. “Dad!” He shouted. “I found it!” The young man rushed under a rock where, in your dream, you showed yourself lying. He had a cry of surprise.

“What is it?” Azriel asked, trepidatiously. “Has Snow disappeared forever? Has there been an avalanche?”

“No.” He said then. “Far from it. She is different from how she showed herself to me. Snow is here, but her body is closer. It is two or three centimeters from the veil of ice. I can almost touch it. It's as if she has prepared for our arrival.”

You were there. You, creature so beautiful, so naked, so blond, as fragile as in the dream. You were dead. Yet you seemed alive. You were resting under the ice. And soon you would emerge from your grave.

You were not really naked. Your funambulist's dress had been so long under the ice that the weave of the fabric had become almost transparent. And your body so delicate and your skin so diaphanous seemed even more fragile. So transparent were you that your son could glimpse your sweet pregnant womb. He threw himself on all fours and scratched at the ice with his nails. Finally you were there.

Your son grabbed Azriel's hand and placed it on your face. And you, watching the scene crouching beside the two males, could almost feel your mate's gentle caress on your skin. You breathed in that touch.

“Can you feel her face? Do you feel her skin?” Azriel's hand stroked your cheek again. He was blind. But he did not need his eyes to recognize the lines of your face. And yours was so well preserved that a simple touch with his fingertips on your lips turned blue was all he needed.

“It really is her. She is my Snow. You have never lied to me.” He fell to his knees before you and wept hot tears warming your face. He could neither see nor feel you, yet you laid a hand on his shoulder. You could not feel him under your fingers. But you were fine with that. It was okay even just that. Just seeing him.

Azriel never descended from the mountain. He lay down on the ice beside you and closed his eyes.

Your son tried to talk him out of it by saying it was madness, that it was too cold to stay there. But your mate answered him in a serene voice, “Leave me alone. I have found my place. For eternity.”

He fell asleep beside your intact body, one hand resting on your womb.

He died letting the whiteness of the world overcome him. He was happy. At the height of your heart.

[remember-the-fanfics]

Earthborn (Hazbin Hotel Reader Insert)

Oh geez this made me realize I have religious trama while writing this.

Spoilers if you haven't actually watched hazbin hotel.

Also apparently the characters are taalll. Minus Niffty

Just test on how I'll write hazbin hotel so to be continued or not

"Go fuck yourself pompous prick!" (Y/n) yelled at Adam, their anger getting to them.

"Don't speak to me like that! You came from me!" He responded. "You are alive because I fucked-."

"Up, yeah I know. Being God's chosen people, Adam and Eve. Cast out after eating the apple, had two sons and one killed the other. Blah blah, I was raised in church." They told him. "And in a club in elementary school about the Bible so I know a bunch."

Charlie and Vaggie looked at each other in confusion, (Y/n) never talked about these parts of their past.

"Then why are you arguing with me?!"

"Because if you get to be here after getting banished from the garden by God himself then I see no reason why Sinners that want change themselves to get shouldn't." (Y/n) said staring at Adam with their arms crossed.

The Angels watching started to whisper to themselves.

"(Y/n), you know why you are here." Said Sara. "Please do not get involved with the next issue until we get to that."

(Y/n) looked way up to where Sara and Emily were seated. "Very well, apologizes I just wanted to get that out of the way." They bowed while speaking before standing straight. "...This is probably has to do in how I've been in hell?"

"Yes, (Y/n) (Middle Name) (L/n), you are still earthborn, not yet a sinner or a winner, have been in hell for just less than a year. How did you get there?"

Shocked faces across the room from everyone minus (Y/n), who looked uncomfortable with being called their full name.

"(Y/n) is that true?" Asked Charlie, surprised at the information. She knew (Y/n) didn't look like a sinner, kept a more humanoid look than most and was shorter than most of the people at the hotel.

"Yeah, I'm still human or well Earthborn as it was called. I didn't tell any of you since I didn't want you to worry." (Y/n) told Charlie look at her and Vaggie. "How did you even know?" They asked the Seraphim in charge. "I have an... okay disguise." Looking at themselves, with pointy ears,sharper teeth, and their eyes were not a normal color. They atleast didn't look human enough to question.

"We can tell by your soul. It still shows your the weight of your sins or what not. Not like I forget what one of my millions of too many great-grandchildren look like." Said Adam and with a grin and a snap of his fingers, (Y/n) felt the necklace they wore break in peices as the magic it held broke with it.

"I would rather be dead than be related to you, prick." (Y/n) said with deadpan look.

"It took awhile to realize you weren't just a weird sinner soul so we told Sara when we noticed all of you earlier." Said Lute, finally butting in before Adam could argue again.

"(Y/n) how did you get into hell?" Sara asked again, tried of this again.

"Not sure? Its kinda just a blank space between being on earth and then in hell." They answered with a shrug. "I found someone to help me somewhat look the part and then Vaggie found me while I was wondering around."

The earthborn was complete being too nonchalant with being in hell.

"Why didn't you tell anyone about not being from hell?" Asked Emily, earning a look from Sara.

"Well I mean at first for safety and then to keep anyone from worried about me? I'm kinda more... fragile compared to anyone else since demons and sinner have... an easier time getting up from a normal serious injury than I would." (Y/n) having to think of what they said before they actually saying it.

"I threw you off a building into a fight, how did you survive that?" Questioned Vaggie.

"Well Angel Dust caught me slash soften the fall and I mostly hide until Husk picked me up to leave."

"Why have you been helping Priness Charlie Morningstar with her project even when you are earthborn?" Asked Sara.

"Because it's a good cause? If I was a sinner I would want the hotel to be there to even give me a small chance to get into heaven even if you all don't believe in it. It's a humane way of handling the population down there. If redemption can happen to people while they are alive, why wouldn't it happen while they are dead and in hell? As along as they put in the effort to be good person, they should be a good person."

"If you know the words of the Bible why didn't you spread it down there?"

"Because being pushy to the wrong person could end me? And they really don't really think highly of you all. Plus for me if you heard how people like me would end up there for something out of their control, I would have trama with it."

"Why are you talking about it now if you have an issue with the Bible and God?" Questioned Adam.

"Oh, mostly because I'm pissed off. I don't have an issue with God, at all. It's people with opinions that wrote the book that got translated to many time with out checking by people who also had opinions. The Bible is.. fine. Heck, I didn't even knew there was a Lilith involved until Charlie told me."

(Y/n) sighed, taking a deep breath.

"What's gonna happen now? Are you going to kill me? Actual make me a sinner? Send me back making seem crazy or thinking this is all a weird dream until I actually die?" They asked. "Because if you send me back crazy, I'm gonna actually kill myself."

"No! Let's not do that, please." Pleded Emily to Sara, scared for (Y/n)'s safety.

"Of course, I wouldn't want you to do that." Said Sara.

"Because the Bible says it's a sin or because you actually don't want me too?" Questioned (Y/n), they were tired of this.

"They could become an Exorcists, it would be funny." Said Adam, laughing at the thought of (Y/n) killing their friends.

"How many times do I have to tell you I would rather die than be anything associated with you?"

"You're soul has yet to be judged but you've seen more than any earthborn have seen in many decades. You could stay in heaven as Winner or angel. We could send you back to earth. Which would you want to do?"

"I want to continue to help Charlie see this though." Said (Y/n).

"Your soul would be damned forever, (Y/n) as a sinner. I would not let that happen to any earthborn in your place in good conscious."

"Then send me back as I am. When I die, wherever that may be judged me as I will be."

"(Y/n), you're too young for-."

"It's Hell, I know but it can be nice when you get use to it just like Earth. Please just let me help until I'm ready to go home."

"...Very well, I'll give you till a month time to sort this out for yourself."

Gives you enough time to help for get set for extermination.

[moodymisty]

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: Inspired by this conversation. I'll be making one that takes place while Reader is alive as well, but the one where you aren't just got finished first. Enjoy.

Warnings: Sanguinius/Fem!Reader, Major character pseudo-death(Reader), Worship, i don't know consider this a sort of writing practice type thing for me

Guilliman finds himself having to hold the vile taste in his throat down, as he looks upon the scene in front of him.

...He remembers you.

He remembers the friendly smiles you gave him, and he remembers the smiles you would reserve just for Sanguinius. He always wondered what Sanguinius found worthwhile in being with you; In managing his legion, the expectations put on him by the entire galaxy, The demands of the Emperor, and a relationship with you. But then he would spot the way Sanguinius would look at you, like you were everything he had ever hoped for, and Guilliman would feel a twinge of something. He never quite figured out what it was.

And now you're here. Dead.

At least Guilliman would've wished as such, but instead you lay in an eternal state of unrest much like he was, not too long ago.

Sanguinius had once voiced to him that he was worried his sons would idolize you much like they did him. They were already beginning to towards the start of the Heresy; You'd become less of a person and more of a ideal, an extension of Sanguinius' own supposed anglicism. Sanguinius had found it distressing. He didn't want them to blindly follow something because of a holiness put on them. Sanguinius could handle that sort of thing, persuade those thoughts away and order them to stop, but you couldn't. You weren't meant to.

Guilliman had appreciated him confiding in him at the time, but hadn't offered much to soothe his worries. Perhaps that had been a mistake. He remembers exactly where they were, how the sky had looked. And each time he remembers it, he wants to yell at his past self to say something; To spurn some sort of action and prevent this.

"She still looks the same,"

The primarch mumbles, remembering your face in the last snapshot of his mind. Your skin had been pallor, you were falling ill, but you still soldiered on. You had to. While you had given most logistical and battlefield duties to Chapter Master Raldoron after Sanguinus' death, you still held significant sway in the chapters rituals and other types of decision-making. They wouldn't allow you to divert those duties, the anglicism they had put on you had begun to grow and grow even back then, wearing down on you like a disease.

Sanguinius' genesons had nothing less than the utmost respect for you, which Guilliman had watched morph into the thing that Sanguinius had feared the most. It wasn't his place to step in, so he never did.

The glass coffin which holds you does nothing to hide a single thing, displaying you and the delicate lace gown you lay in. It was the dress you'd worn when you married Sanguinius, and Guilliman doesn't know how to feel about it. The sleeves do well to hide the tubes and machinery that digs into your wrists, deep into your lifeless veins. They keep your body psudeo-alive, he presumes, to stay off decay.

However it seems it's drawing blood out, which he finds interesting. Though he doesn't have the time nor the desire to dwell on why such a thing would be needed.

"You remember The Mother Angel?"

Dante is more composed than most of the other Blood Angels, but Guilliman can still sense the awe in his voice from the primarch's eyes having touched their Mother Angel in life. He stands across from him, having decided to show Guilliman this sacred place.

"Her name, It was,"

Guilliman can't find himself to say it.

"I remember her, yes. Quite well."

Dante stands in reverence as if he's waiting for Guilliman to continue.

"I remember her voice, her face; I remember her wedding. I remember her putting Sanguinius' fallen feathers in her hair and dancing a fool." He clears his throat before continuing. "She lead the Blood Angels for a decade after Sanguinius. Then she fell ill. I always respected her tenacity and ability to lead a legion of Astartes despite her limitations."

Guilliman feels regret. He wishes he would've said more to Sanguinius when he'd voiced his worries, perhaps it would've spurred more action to prevent this outcome.

Sanguinius was the only one of them to find love, and look what happened; You got desecrated by it. Perhaps Corvus and Fulgrim were right to abandon the prospect all together. It seems to bring nothing but horror in the end. The only one of them to find love and that love got turned into it's own hideous creature, completely removed from what it had stood for.

His brow furrows, and he purses his lips in preparation to speak words that he just ends up swallowing.

"This, this is..."

Guilliman cuts himself off. He knows he shouldn't say these things in these chambers they call hallowed, in front of their Chapter Master. he needs Dante, he needs the Blood Angels more than he needs to protect a promise he never made in the first place.

"What, Lord Guilliman?" Dante urges him on, curiosity on his face.

"With all due respect, Master Dante," Guilliman looks to him, face stoic.

"If I were to say how I truly felt about all of this, I imagine you would no longer be willing to lend even a single man to assist the Ultramarines."

Dante looks at him confused, but doesn't show anger regarding his implications. Guilliman can see his lips twitch, eyes flickering down to your glass coffin for a moment.

But Dante just doesn't see it, and Guilliman knows it.

You've been like this for thousands of years, none of them see this as anything unusual. Generations of Blood Angels have been reared on you being this deity, the wife of an Angel, and there is no possible way to raise them out of that. What is done is done.

Guilliman is the only one seeing it as something wrong, as he is an outsider.

"Now, what is it you wished to discuss with me, Lord Dante?"

Guilliman changes the subject and turns away from the centerpiece of this cathedral, only allowed entry by the most elite of Blood Angels. He attempts to forget your body is even there, as there isn't a single thing he can do about it now.

He hopes Sanguinius will have mercy on him, next they meet.

[thehighladywrites]

Azzie, I think your mom is super hot…

⋆⭒˚｡‎♡‧₊˚ Pairing: Azriel x reader, Rhysand makes a cameo, Cassian is mentioned, and Azriel’s milfy mom is the star of the show

⋆⭒˚｡‎♡‧₊˚ Summary: Azriel introduces reader to his mother for the first time during Solstice. She develops a tiny crush on his mother and he finds the whole thing funny. Rhysand reminisces about the time he and Cassian called Azriel’s mom a milf and got their asses kicked. fluff, crack, so cute, az mom is just- wow…

⋆⭒˚｡‎♡‧₊˚ Author’s note: Listen, I wrote this in the span of about an hour so it’s not really a masterpiece but I still love it. Also this is so relatable bc Azriel is canonically beautiful, like drop dead gorgeous and we all know he didn’t get it from his ugly ass father, so I headcanon that his mom is identical to him, resulting in readers innocent crush on her.

Azriel looked at you with disbelief as he closed his dropped jaw. “ You have a crush on who now?”

Nervous laughter escaped you as you averted your gaze. Azriel had disclosed that his mother was alive, when he caught onto your habit of referring to her in the past tense. Unbeknownst to others, she was alive, with only Cassian and Rhysand knowing. After Azriel spilled that he usually spends Solstice with her, Sorine, his mom, went all out, cooking up a feast when she learned he was bringing his mate over for the first time. The moment you met her, you were totally floored, and your face lit up like a festive candle.

She was a carbon-copy of your mate and they were equally beautiful. It was like looking at a female version of Azriel. Her looks paired with her kindness and caring nature made you develop a tiny crush on her.

"Well, look who Azriel brought to brighten our home! Come here, both of you. I've been eager to meet the one who's captured my son's heart."

Smiling, you and Azriel exchanged glances before approaching her. "Thank you for having us. I've heard so much about you. It's truly an honor to be here." Azriel softened by a hint of a smile, added "Mother, It's about time you met the person responsible for bringing some light into my life."

Azriel's mother, Sorine, observed you for a moment, a twinkle in her eyes. "My, Azriel, you didn't mention just how beautiful your mate is. You've got a good eye."

You, feeling a bit bashful, stammered out a heartfelt thank you, your cheeks warming. And it certainly didn’t help when she gave you a hug, her scent reminding you of your mate. Azriel, standing beside you, couldn't help but chuckle at your adorable blush, whispering, "Told you so," as his mother's compliment lingered in the air.

Presenting her with the basket of treats and gifts, you eagerly explained each item when she asked. " Heavens, thank you so much, sweetie. What a thoughtful gift," she exclaimed, kissing your cheek and flashing you Azriel’s infamous smile. Heat prickled your face, you averted your eyes, replying, "Oh, no problems, Ms. Sorine." Her heartfelt laugh filled the room, and she insisted you called her Sorine when you returned to the dinner table to start the meal.

Azriel noticed you squirming at dinner, not being able to fully look in Sorine’s eyes. Curiosity peaked in him, resulting in him pulling you aside when she went to prepare dessert. He gripped your chin and waited nervously for you to answer while a million thoughts ran through his head.

Was it too early to meet her? Did you like his mother? Why did you not keep eye contact with her? Was this a mistake?

All of his unease dissipated when you confessed to him about your unexpected, lighthearted crush on his mother.

“It’s embarrassing because I don’t want her to think i’m weird but I kinda have a teensy, tiny crush on your mother. Look, it’s no big deal but she is so beautiful and hot and I can’t help it. She’s so kind to me and I love her so much. And no wonder you’re a stunner, you totally stole your looks from your her.”

Azriel couldn't help but burst into laughter at your confession. Seeing the humor in your silly crush, he reassured you with a warm smile, "Don't worry, love. It's adorable, and I'm flattered. My mom will probably find it amusing too. Nothing to be embarrassed about."

Amused, Azriel gently cupped your face, his eyes filled with affection. "Besides," he continued, "it's endearing that you're so genuine. My mom will love you for who you are, crushes and all." He leaned in for a tender kiss, trying to ease any lingering unease. "Just be yourself because she started loving you the moment I mentioned you. She also threatened to do not so nice things to me if I ever hurt you."

A sigh of relief mixed with joy escaped you as Azriel's mother walked in, bearing a tray of delightful desserts. The atmosphere lightened, and you gradually let go of any remaining awkwardness. Engaging in conversation, you found a genuine connection with your mate's lovely mother.

As she shared stories, advice, and warmth, you felt a growing appreciation for the woman who had played a significant role in Azriel's life. Her care and protective instincts became evident, and you couldn't help but hold her in high regard for what she and Azriel went through. This shared moment cemented a bond that went beyond the initial nerves, leaving you grateful for the wisdom and love she gave.

As the evening wound down, and the shared laughter and stories reached their natural end, you exchanged heartfelt goodbyes. Standing, you gave Azriel's mother a warm hug, expressing gratitude for her hospitality and wisdom. She reciprocated with a genuine smile, her eyes reflecting the warmth of her soul.

Azriel, too, embraced his mother, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. The love and protection woven into their connection were palpable. Together, you left, hand in hand, carrying the echoes of a memorable evening filled with laughter, reassurance, and the comforting embrace of family.

The door closed behind you, leaving the night to cradle the shared moments as you ventured back to your own home, hearts full and spirits lifted.

————-—————-————-

In the days following the dinner with Azriel's mother, you found a moment to catch up with Rhysand. Curiosity tugged at you, and you couldn't resist addressing the unspoken aspect of the evening.

"Rhysie," you began, a playful glint in your eye, "I couldn't help but notice you didn't mention anything about Azriel's mother's beauty. I mean, come on, it's like a family trait."

Rhysand chuckled, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "Well, dear Y/n, I've learned that when it comes to Azriel's mother, some things are better left unsaid. Besides, beauty, as they say, is in the eye of the beholder."

You rolled your eyes, sensing there was more to his response since he always gave a weird poetic expression whenever he was trying to deflect. "Spill, Rhys. I know there's a story there."

With a theatrical sigh, Rhysand leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Let's just say Azriel has a well-deserved reputation for being quite protective. I may have complimented his mother once, long ago, and let's just say he made it clear that some subjects are off-limits. Actually, me and Cassian called her a milf and he beat us up.”

You burst into laughter, imagining the stoic Azriel fiercely defending his mother's honor.

"That sounds about right, atleast I know what not to call her.”

Rhysand winked, "Smart move. Now, any more family secrets you want to find out about, or shall we leave the mystery intact?"

With a smile, you decided to leave the mystery for another day, content with the warm meeting with his mother.

[beautyconsumer]

(I see you've redone your blog again) but anyway JayGrant is sooooo the friends that make a marriage pact as kids. And Jason thinks it's a joke but Grant is SO serious. 20 years later Grant breaks into Jason's apartment and is like "so I've noticed you're not yet wed-" and Jason is like "I THOUGHT YOU WERE FUCKING DEAD WHAT THE FUCK!" And Grant is like "Irrelevant. I need you to update your hand measurements to get the ring resized."

I did! I want it to represent what's going on on this little corner of Tumblr of mine hehe thanks for noticing!

Also!!! ASASGDJFG "I need you to update your hand measurements to get the ring resized." Meaning he already has a ring and has been constantly measuring Jason's hand throughout their childhood/teenage years, lmaoo I imagine Jason sitting there while Grant measures his hand going "lol you still on that?" While Grant very much is.

Jason being pulled the uno reverse card for once and being in the other end of "I THOUGHT YOU WERE FUCKING DEAD WHAT THE FUCK!" is so freaking funny.

Jason is still reeling on the fact that Grant came back at all, cause he had given hope he would. Jason sees his own resurrection as a curse so seeing Grant reviving gives him a new perspective and of course Grant goes, "We're soulmates, actually."

And Jason kind of believes him. Wants to believe him too.

Jason is —other than surprised Grant came back at all— is like "You meant it???"

Because he's on board, HEAVILY so, because he gets to marry the first crush he ever had, the very hetero guy who would mess around for shits and giggles, and make him flustered and red faced every time he'd throw hypotheticals at him: "I would treat you better than anyone else", "If you married me we'd never spend our nights sleeping"

All of this is especially funny immediately after Grant's resurrection, because Grant is fully convinced he came back for that one reason (it's actually way deeper than that but his obsessive streak is not gonna wind down for a while.)

Grant goes over the top with everything, the ring, the weeding, the preparations, his rich kid upbringing along his entitlement and hedonistic nature (that only amplified when he came back from dead) makes him a nightmare for anyone who gets on his way of making the Wedding anything less than perfect. This also goes along with me headcanoning him as a perfectionist (having your parents criticizing your shit since ever will do that to ya) bridezilla Grant says who lmao

And if we're going with the family dynamics...

Adeline Kane clutches her chest and almost has a heart attack because she finds out her son is alive Through a freaking Weeding Invitation.

Joey as well and his brain is balancing from wanting to beat the shit out his brother for making them go through this to go hug him and demand to be his best man.

Respawn, Alex, Rose and Wintergreen are invited as well, if only to cement the fact that Slade is very much not invited. He still shows up, though.

Jade is the bridesmaid, or best woman, or however it is. Grant shows up one day and is like "Bitch I'm getting married, you're the bridesmaid," she sighs, looks at his choice of a husband, sighs even more heavily and then they go shopping for the wedding.

The batfam on the other hand, Bruce and Dick are the ones who are having the hardest time.

Bruce is happy at first that Jason is settling and getting married, but then—

"Married to who?!"

Dick is sweating bullets, "Jason, you're still young, you don't have to settle for this one just yet!"

"No, I gotta."

Babs walks him through acceptance. When he recovers he drops Jason hints (as in, big passive aggressive hints) of him being the best man.

Jason lets him in tension for a while, at least until he decides who's gonna be the best man because he's not the first one to not-ask.

Meanwhile Steph and Tim pipe in, "can we plan your bachelor party?"

Damian is happy he gets to spend time and meet his half brother's family, (Respawn) and Jason will be there too I guess.

Jason is very much shoving in their faces, "I'm getting married before any of you losers."

Talia and Harvey are invited as well much to Bruce's dismay.

Bruce gets surprisingly along and is very supportive with Grant while he's in one of his bridezilla episodes because yes, Grant is right: Jason’s wedding deserves the best of the best.

Grant gets very intense about it too, hence, mark Jason down as scared and horny.

Slade, on the other hand, gets whiplash because Addie was just like that on their wedding.