#tyrs left hand

[scara-writes]

change of heart

Sugar Mommy Reader X Y! Gold digger Male

Let's make a story about the reader falling in love first :>

Yes, this yandere is an asshole.

Might make a part two?

CW: yandere, manipulation, consensual-smut, gold digger yandere

No proof read. Will edit it later on.

cerise=cherry🍒

(THIS IS REPOST BECAUSE I REALIZED THAT SIDE BLOGS HAS LIMITED ACCESS ;-;)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Sheon wasn't rich nor poor but he wanted an easy money to make his life easier.

He knows he was becoming addicted on spending money. He can't blame himself, he was getting picked on for not having enough money to buy what he wants unlike his rich classmates that will flaunt their items at each other. He even sneak out of his way to take his father's credit card to buy him useless things that would entertain himself for a little bit like games and toys, Sheon would also flaunt them that his parents has the money when in actuality he is in the middle class. Although his arrogance did not last long after his father finds out about it, grounded him for a whole year for that. He still kept on spending money, he was pretty good at accounting which pretty weird coming from someone who spends a lot.

Now that he became a college student, with his major being aligned in accounting. His parents literally forced him to move out and gave him a right amount of allowance every month for him to study from his dream university but it wasn't enough. He just wants more money to spend, either to indulge himself or to avoid being picked on by his peers.

Not until he met you.

A kind person who introduced yourself to him, your cheeks were bright red as you told him that you fell inlove at first sight.

Sheon do look good. He was popular among women around the campus but those said girls can only glance at him as they feel bad that he was only a middle class. So don't blame him when he was surprised at your sudden confession, and he wanted to reject you right away, the red haired doesn't have the time to find a love, he wants money not a freeloader. But when you told him your last name when you introduce yourself to him, it caught him off guard.

"what was...your last name again?"

"(l-l/n)!" You exclaimed as you bashfully waited for his response about your confesion.

There are three siblings that is going to inherit three companies. If he remembered correctly, he saw an article of on one of them inheriting the biggest company once they graduated. Your face is somewhat coincidentally look the same as it is in the article.

A dark idea pop up to his mind. His greed was whispering at him.

If he can be with you. He can get what he wants right?

Easy money is easy life!

"…so… C-can I court you?" Your hands fiddling as you wait for his response. He looked at you up and down. You looked pretty average for his taste. The only thing that is pretty about you is the money you will inherit, but hey that will do if he wants to get what he wants.

The greedy man grinned and traps you between his arms and lean down to meet your face. Not even caring at the other student passing by looking at the both of you by either cringing or looking weirdly.

He boldly gave your left cheek a quick peck before answering your question with another question.

"… If I say yes, what's in it for me love?"

Not long after, the two of you became official. Your courting lasted around two weeks and that's about it. He always request for you to buy him this and that and you gave it him the very next day as you love him very much and trusted him wholeheartedly. He would taunt the said gifts he received from you to his old peers that he got himself the items that is much worth than their brand. Their frown look satisfies him.

Some of them asked where did he got the money to buy, but he will answer one word. cerise.

No one knows about his plan except for his ex friend, Tyr.

The ex friend of his cut ties off with him immediately after knowing he was using an innocent person like you for his greed.

Oh well his lost! He was about to share his dimes and gold with him.

Sheon thought about what will he give you something back for all the items you gave him. Well, His exchange for everything was himself of course!

His body is probably enough to make you feel something close to heaven. It made you whine out in satisfaction whenever he hit the right spot. Sheon could tell you never experienced this, a virgin at that. The way you moan out his name make his heart swell with pride.

"…is.. this what it..nghh… f-feels..uuhhmm..l-like?" You whimpered when he hit the same spot that made you cried out it on pleasure. Your hands were trembling around his sweaty shoulder, eyes rolling when he hits it again. He leaned to down to peck your parted lips. "… Do you like it?"

He fastened his pace up to chase down the ecstasy that you were feeling. He felt the walls grip of yours tightened around him feeling that you are getting close.

"I… I love…i-it..p-please don't s-stop!" You moaned out, unconsciously digging your nails to his skin. Sheon smirked at your reaction, wiping off your sweaty temple before giving it a soft kiss, then giving what you asked for.

You must be missing out from parties, seeing you had never experience like this before and that's okay. So long as this is a payment to get what he wants.

"Your wish is my command, cerise." He whispered his pet name to you.

"I-I love Sheon." You whimpered as you feel him pulled out when he gave you released. Sheon sighs, his load went through your stomach, giving you one last kiss before cleaning you up. Dabbing the towel around your body, cleaning you gently, asking you if he hurt you too badly. You answered meekly, telling him that you are fine, he was a sweet for giving you an aftercare.

He scoffs at you, teasing you. "It's a bare minimum, cerise. It's normal to take care of their partner after their love making." He carried you at the bathroom of your own apartment. Putting you down at the bathtub as he twist the faucet open.

Sheon joined you in the bath, he gently massage your scalp, making you shudder in relaxation, "do you like it?"

"I love it." You meekly replied leaning your back between his thighs. He wash down the foam around your hair, he rinse the shampoo out after he was done. He took a soap and was about to clean your body too but you insist that you will do it yourself. Sheon stopped and heed your words and starts washing himself up, the male was the first one to finish, he dried himself off by his own towel and starts to wear the pajamas that was already prepared besides the lavatory. After he was done, he told you that he will prepare you a snacks and turn on the tv for the movie you requested yesterday.

The red haired male's relationship with you went pretty well. Of course his body and his face shouldn't be the only thing he could do for you. He needed to act like a good boyfriend, being the fast learner that he is. He found himself, he was rather good at cooking and baking.

He would lie if he say he doesn't enjoy it when he cooks for you.

He would give you your favorites, something you cannot eat in your household. You told him you were on a strict diet ordered by your very own parents. They didn't know your relationship with him, Sheon was a secret affair and you revealed you were in arrange marriage during the time you courted him. It worried him seeing that his source of money will leave him for the arrange marriage.

You held his hand and you promised him that it will never happen, that you will fight for the "love" the two of you had.

The greedy male stared at you for a minute, realizing you are too naïve to think that he actually loves you. Were you that oblivious?

He wanted to laugh at your face but…

Why does his heart starts hammering when you told him that you will fight for him against your parents?

A little guilt went up to his throat before swallowing it by his pride.

The two of you lasted for three years as a couple, graduated and help him out to hire him to your company. His colleagues at his work respected him quickly seeing that he is the boyfriend of their soon-to-be boss, Sheon enjoyed the power he had over them, no more people looking down on him.

It didn't last long because your parents immediately confronted you about him and you had enough of it. It was the first time you neglected your parents orders and Sheon was there to witness it.

"I don't care about the agreement! The arrange marriage, I didn't agree on that! Mother, Father! I've been nothing but a good child since the day I was born! I have never ever went against you and I am obedient child who never goes against your will just so the two of you can be happy! But this is the only time I asked for you to let me have something I want in my life!" He felt the grip of your hands on him. The red haired male stares at your quivering form but he saw how determined you are about him.

He felt guilty knowing he was the cause of why you arguing with your parents right now.

Wait… He's feeling guilty?

"He's using you for your money! Look at your ridiculous amount you spent! From the moment you had a relationship with him!" Your father shouted at you, before glaring at him.

Truthfully, your father wasn't wrong. He used you for your money.

"And so what? I am willing to give everything he wants because I love him!"

Do you love him that much?

"The least I could do for him is to give what he likes because he is the only person who showed me what it feels like to be loved!"

Throughout the heated argument with your parents. He was silent for the whole time until you broke down to tears. Just a droplet from your tears made himself go blank. Sheon didn't know what happened to himself, all he knows that his body act on its own and went to cover your vulnerability from your parents.

You were surprised at his action before letting yourself be buried in his chest.

"I think it's time for us to leave." He told your parents before guiding you out to leave the mansion, not looking back.

He hop you on the passenger seat of his car before closing the doorway after he heard your parents trailing behind him, yelling. He doesn't want you to hear what he was about to say.

His blue eyes glared at them.

"I have never throughout in our relationship witness (Y/n) weep and broken down until this day, I always ensure her happiness on everything I'd done. If we have disagreements we will let each other agree to separate for a little bit until we are calm enough to discuss it again."

His mouth continued to flow out the next words he didn't think he would find himself struggling with his words. Thankfully, he didn't stutter.

"...I love her more than you could ever know. I won't let her cry and force her to do the things she doesn't want to. If she doesn't want something, she will let me know and I will stop because I don't want her to feel sad, bothered and suffocate. Truthfully, your daughter is the most sincere person that I've known in my entire life. She always gives out her best to make everyone happy."

He let out a deep breath. "I cannot believe she went through all her years of her life of enduring your demands and pressures the day she was born. It's no wonder your children are starting to neglect you. Most people might have called an authority because of your abuse if it weren't for the money you have. Every child deserve a parents but not every parents deserve a child." He paused before continuing again.

"If I see her cry again because of the both of you.No matter how much money you used to separate us. I will make sure you will regret it." With that he walk around his car before opening the doorway of the driver seat and drive away from your wrecked family. The whole ride was silent. Sheon never felt his heart rate beating this fast.

What happened to him?

Why did he do that?

What if his job from your company is going to make him terminated from his internship?

You were still on your way to become boss but your parents still owns it as long as they are alive.

"… I-I'm sorry.. you witnessed that." You sniffed as you tried to wipe off your tears trying your best to minimize your hiccups.

"… Don't mention it." He grunted before tossing you a box of tissue carelessly, eyes trained at the road not caring if you catch it or not.

You blew away your snots, as his thoughts were clouded of doubt.

"Stop crying." He said before parking the car after reaching his home. You nodded, trying to minimize your tears.

He exited the car and you did too before following him behind. A small squeak was heard from the car indicating that his car is locked.

Sheon didn't bother on walking beside you as he went to unlock the door of his home.

He went himself in, he doesn't care to tell you to follow because you will.

You sat on the couch and collect your thoughts for bit, staring the tiled floor of the living room. He look at your form and rolled his eyes before changing his clothes. What's next? Are you going to be stuck with him, onwards?

He went to the kitchen and starts to cook. Trying his best figure out something but nothing comes up in his mind.

He put the food in to two plates before serving you a lasagna. "Eat, cerise."

You thanked him and starts to eat your food slowly, your appetite isn't in good shape after your burst of emotion to your parents.

Sheon just picked his food but not eating as he stared at you.

What is he going to do with you now? He can't have you here! You… You need to come back and apologize! What if your parents cut off your card? Most of your money were from your parents! Then what about his money? What about the items you promised him to buy it for him?!

what about your feelings?

…what about her..?..

Stop... Stop making him feel guilty.

He quietly sigh and starts to eat. This mixed feelings are eating him up.

"Does it taste good?" He asked. You nod, sniffing.

"Leave the plate, I'll wash them up later. You can have my bed. I'll sleep on the couch."

You tried to reason him that you can sleep on the couch but he insisted.

You were stuck with him for three months. Your card was indeed cut off and you and him were evicted temporarily at your company by your mother. At that time he was conflicted whether or not he should just ditch you…. Since you don't have money anymore. You just stay at home.

Seeing you apologize for being inconvenient at his home he felt guilty for thinking about it. But for some reason... he can't bare the thought of you wandering around depending on no one.

Sheon went outside to get a hose to water the outdoor the plants until he saw a man who looks similar to you.

"Hey." The said stranger called for him. He must be one of your sibling, seeing almost all of your resemblance to him, except his demeanor. People would feel intimidated when they look at him but not him, Sheon wasn't scared of him. He is one of the siblings who neglect his parents.

The red haired male raised his eyebrow before walking up to him.

"Yes? Do you need something?"

"… My older sister, (Y/n)? Are you perhaps her boyfriend..?" The way he spoke the word boyfriend. Sheon can feel the distaste from him.

"What about it?"

His (e/c) eyes was staring at his soul. They both of knew they are never gonna be in good terms.

"(Y/n) can go back to the company. Our parents needs her."

"And what? Are they gonna invalidate her again?"

Your brother scoff. "If that were to happen, she can call me right away. They can't complain when it comes to me. They know I don't act like my soft hearted older sister." He tossed an atm card at him. Sheon catches it confused.

"What's this for?"

"Give that to my sister. It's her new card."

Your brother pulled the handle of his own car before going in. "What about (Y/n)? Do you not want to look at her?"

"No need… I'm sure she will be fine."

After that, He left without a bid of farewell.

Sheon looked at the card in his hand. Greed went on his mind to keep the card and hide it from you. Just telling you the details that you can go back to the company. He should get back the payment he used to buy the items he wasted on you for the past few months—

"Sheon?"

You called to him. Snapping out of his thoughts when he realized he was already in the kitchen, cooking food for the both of you.

"You almost burned the eggs… Is there something wrong?"

Sheon blinked before smiling at you.

"Your brother went to see you but he was in a hurry so… He told me that you can go back. Your parents need you back to the company."

Your eyes lit up."really?"

"Really."

He went silent. Deciding that he should just give your atm card. It was stupid idea to think of him hiding your card, that will result of him being arrested and making you abandon him. He can't ruin his hardwork for making you his bank.

You blinked when you stiffly take the card from his hand. "What's this?"

"Your new card. Your… Umm.. brother wants to give it to you."

You look at him in the eyes for a second before leaning in to kiss him.

"I love you." You smiled, your eyes were brightened. As if something cleared up your mind and he noticed it.

He gave you a tight grin. "I'll put this on the plate before it actually burns."

Just like his first week on a relationship with you. His life went back smoothly. Everything went back to normal. The next three weeks, the two of you went on a date, suggested by you of course.

The both of you enjoyed the rides at carnival. He laughed when you didn't like the taste of the sweet corn of the nearby shop, telling him you preferred the street food sweet corn he brought on your first date with him. After having a snack,Sheon went to take a picture of the two of you capturing every moment he can find.

You told him that you book a private resort nearby the beach. So he drove there. Enjoying the night ride with him.

His heart fluttered when he hear you humming happily while you were scrolling on the phone, probably buying an item that he request yesterday, you ask him what color he liked on the item. Right now, the red haired doesn't care about it and tells you to keep humming the tune and forget about the item he wanted.

He just found himself, liking the sound of your voice.

The first thing he did when the both of you went inside the resort was to pop out a wine and serve you one before quickly kissing your lips. The both of you enjoyed gazing the night at cozy fireplace lit on the modern table. You cuddled with him and he held you, warming you up. As he sighed, relaxing himself.

"Sheon…."

You let yourself go on his hold before toying his hands with yours until you let it go."What's wrong?" You look down, staring through his shirt.

"I have… Been meaning to tell you this.. I don't know if it's the right time but…"

Sheon held his breath. Did you find out that he was using you?

He looked at your right hand that is tapping something from behind of your pocket before showing it to him.

A small black box was given to him.

He looked at you confused before he assessed your new gift to him. The box looked liked it could store a jewel.

His world stops when he opened it.

"I know… you went all the trouble of taking care of me when… when I was kicked out from the house but… I never felt so indebt to you after all the love you showered m-me… I-I'm not good with this kind of things… and might even call it corny so….W-would-you-like-to-spend-the-rest-of-your-time-together-with-me?" You fiddle your hand nervously as you look up to him, rushing the last sentence. Awaiting for his response, whether he will reject you or not.

Before you could call his name again. His lips had already met yours, arms wrapped around your torso, pulling you closer.

You were shocked by your boyfriend's action before returning your kiss. Slowly wrapping your arms around his neck.

He pushed tongue inside your mouth, caressing your caverns and sucking your tongue, drinking the sound of your whimpers and moans. He loves the whimpers that you make, it makes him want to keep going.

You tap him by the shoulder, signalling him to halt his actions but he continued to assault your lips until the thirst in him quenched. It was the first time he ignore your orders, but he just can't help himself.

He felt euphoric.

Sheon was grinning, widely. One of his hands went to your buttoned shirt. Slowly unclasping them, one by one.

His cheeks matches the color of his hair. His voice laced with love and affection."I'm officially yours, cerise."

For the first time, he felt genuine towards you. He felt everything was clear. He doesn't know when, where and why he didn't realize it sooner but…

He actually like you more than the money itself..

No...

He loves you that no money can replace you.

Fuck all the items, he got. You're much more valuable, the most treasured thing he wants.

He went to kiss your collarbone before softly gazing on you.

For the first time, your relationship with him. Sheon uttered the words that are genuine and meaningful from the bottom of his heart.

"…I love you."

This might be a mistake in your part.

He will never let you go now.

========================

Part 2?

[galedekarios]

gale's early access dialogue transcripts - part 4: gale's condition & how artefacts worked

gale's condition functioned somewhat similar to the way it does now in full release. however, there were also major key differences:

the implication of how the condition affected him physically

reveal of gale's condition

treatment of gale's condition

curing gale's condition -> speculation based on early access

i'm going to go through these differences point by point.

1. the implication of how the condition affected gale physically

i wrote a much more detailed meta post about gale's condition as presented in early access and gale's unique key art already so i'm going to link it here should you want to read in even more detail about it.

for brevity's sake, i'm not going to go into the same depth here and only present the main points raised:

the netherese orb, a piece of magic that karsus unleashed on the day he cast karsus's avatar and the historic event that came to be known as karsus's folly happened, not only caused gale to be robbed of most of his magic, a once archwizard and chosen blocked off from spells he used to cast with ease, but his keyart as well as lines from auntie ethel implied a deeper corrupted: "rot and ruin", as one of ethel's vicious mockery lines said, which she was able to smell beneath gale's "bandages".

as ea hadn't yet implemented at least somewhat unique body models - with a few exception like wyll's scars or astarion's scars - we never got to see that idea translated into game.

yet the bandages were visibile in gale's keyart on his right hand and arm, while his left seems to be free of the same affliction:

i think it's fair to say from these textual and visual clues - as well as others i detailed more in the meta post i linked above - that the orb that still causes gale's blood to taste like bile even in the full release had far, far deeper reaching consequences for him.

a deeper corruption. some form of petrification/putrefaction that primarily was then focused on one of his hands, reaching up aready to his arm.

2. reveal of gale's condition

i) full release: gale now reveals his condition to the player once his approval is high enough in ! conversation while travelling.

ii) early access: in early access, not only did giving gale artefacts work entirely differenty, which i'll go into in the next point, but he also revealed his condition in an entirely different dialogue set before a long rest at camp:

the vague story in the deer stew scene, which would had a low and high approval version, and the detailed version after the tiefling party, which i'll be going into in part when talking about the last point "curing gale's condition" since gale will speculate on possible cures for the orb himself in this conversation.

with the deer stew scene, in which he'd lead the conversation in with asking how the player found the deer stew he made after a family rescipe and explain how he'd come to trust and feel comfortable with them over their travels together, enough so that he would reveal that he needs "powerful artefacts" to soothe his condition.

in full release, gale still says similar things as the dialogue from the deer stew scene is at least partially re-used, however it's not at all reflected in the actual game: even komira's dancing lights locket will do, as well as any other low tier items, completely undermining the severity of gale's condition, his reason to leave waterdeep, the city of splendours in which such trinkets would be easy to come by in abundance, and, ultimately, the threat the orb represents.

which brings me to my next point:

3. treatment of gale's condition

in early access, this wasn't the case and gale truly did require actual three powerful artefacts, among them:

the sword of justice (anders, paladin of tyr)

the shadow of menzoberranzan (obtained in the underdark)

the staff of crones (obtained after beating ethel)

selune's dream (obtained after beating the leaders of the defiled temple)

the idol of silvanus (obtained by stealing it from the grove)

the iron flask (obtained by opening the chest of the zhentarim)

boots of speed (duergar item obtained in the underdark)

if the protagonist happened upon such an artefact, they would remark upon it, asking gale if this is one such artefact that would help to soothe his condition and gale would reply affirmatively:

the player at that point was able to give it to him immediately either outside of camp or at camp via player-initiated dialogue ("give gale the staff of crones") instead of the clunky "donation box" mechanic in full release.

giving gale the artefact immediately would have a more positive reaction (and a deeper bow of respect to the player after thanking them & absorbing the artefact), giving it to him later would still be received positively by gale, however result in a shallower bow to the player.

he would absorb the magic inside these artefacts in the same way he does now, but as previously stated, his dialogue would differ:

conversation after giving the first artefact:

Gale: I can feel the storm abating. Yes, this will keep my condition in check – for a precious while.  - Player - Option 1: How long will that precious while last? Gale: It's hard to predict the effect any given artefact has, but my condition is hardly a patient one. - Player - Option 2: I think I should be reimbursed for my efforts Gale: As long as we travel together, what's mine is yours. And if we survive our many ordeals, I'll host you a banquet in Waterdeep the likes of which you've never seen. Such promises will have to wait however. My condition is hardly a patient one. - Player - Option 3: So this is what regret feels like Gale: A feeling you may have to grow accustomed to while I'm around. My condition is hardly a patient one. - Gale: I will consume the magic inside. What was a powerful artefact will be rendered no more than a trinket. But it will save my life- even it only temporarily. Gale: Rather soon I will feel it stir again – like a distant thunder sending tremors through the soul. I will need to consume another artefact before the lightning strikes. There's no choice but to find more. In the meantime, my thanks again. - Player - Option 1: You are welcome Gale: My lord, I bow to your boundless kindness! - Player - Option 2: That condition of yours is a very expensive one. Gale: I obtained it in Waterdeep. Nothing there comes cheap. - Player - Option 3: Thanks doesn't get me that artefact back. Gale: I myself am a much more powerful artefact in your arsenal. Rest assured of that.

conversation after giving the second & third artefact

Gale: It's good to perceive this constant fear repressed into a quiet scare. Let's hope it will last a good long while. - Player - Option 1: I'm glad you're feeling better. Gale: And I'm impressed once more by your benevolence! I say that with great sincerity. Mere days have passed since our first acquaintance, but you've gained the respect of years. As such, I do not wish to give you false hope. We're only treating the symptoms, not the cause. - Player - Option 2: A constant fear? That sounds unpleasant.

Gale: Unpleasant, certainly. Gut wrenching too. Heart rending even, if pinched for an adjective. Then again - keeps you on your toes. - Player - Option 1: Let's hope this was the last artefact I had to part with. Gale: Come, come, these are mere fabled objects of great to enormous value. My continued presence though – quite priceless! On a more serious note, I do not wish to give you false hope. We're only treating the symptoms, not the cause. - Gale: Time is a precious gift. With time, we may even reach Baldur's Gate, a city rife with magic, wizards, scholars, and perhaps: solutions.  - Player - Option 1: In that case I share your optimism. Here's to the journey ahead.  Gale: And here's to your company.  - Player - Option 2: The tadpole is my main concern. I'm in need of solutions too. Gale: And don't think I've forgotten! - Player - Option 3: Baldur's Gate lies many miles to the west. Don't get your hopes up. Gale: Too late for that.  - Gale: Oh, I can picture it now: Academies, libraries, laboratories – the assembled knowledge of centuries that may just set us free. Better yet: soft beds, home cooked meals, and all the other little luxuries this wilderness so brashly denies us. Gale: Gods, I'd pay a king's ransom for a hot, lavender-scented bath – minstrels serenading as I close my eyes and let the water's warmth dissolve all woes. Hah! Plenty to look forward to.

player withholds artefacts

Gale: A word, if you please. Remember how I told you I was in *dire* need of magical artefacts to absorb? Clearly the matter has hardly been a priority of yours, but even so, you can consider it closed. I no longer require assistance – neither yours, nor that of artefacts. - Player - Option 1: I don't follow. This seems awfully sudden.  Gale: Not at all. I've had a solution in mind for a while now, it just took me some time to... set it in motion. That's it – I won't take more of your time this lovely evening. Rest well. - Player - Option 2: Care to tell me why? Gale: Not really, no. I've had a solution in mind for a while now, it just took me some time to... set it in motion. That's it – I won't take more of your time this lovely evening. Rest well. - Player - Option 3: Good to know – and goodnight.  Gale: Goodnight.  - Player - Option 1 [Wisdom check]: Something's off. Try to connect with Gale without him noticing.  [Failed] Narrator: You flutter through his mind like a bat through the night and you see... nothing but darkness. Gale: Up to tricks, are we? No matter. All you see is what I want you to see. In my mind, you are quite blind.  - [success] Narrator: You flutter through his mind like a bat through the night and you see... fire. You hear laughter. You smell brimstone. Mocking words drift back to you. “This is the House of Hope”. Gale: [disapproves] Stop that! How dare you... Forget whatever it was you saw. It's all beyond you now anyway. - Player - Option 1: You too, Gale.  [conversation ends] - Player - Option 2: Gale, what did you do? Gale: No more than what I had to – and that's all I'll say on the matter. - Player - Option 3: We'll let all this rest for now but it will be addressed again later.  Gale: Much later. If ever. - Player - Option 4: I don't think I want you around any longer.  Gale: Suit yourself. Like I said: I no longer require your assistance. Farewell. [Gale permaleaves the party]

as you can see, it's heavily implied that gale, if left with no choices and no support, would seek out raphael to make a deal, to ensure that the orb is soothed, assuring the survival of others as well as his own.

4. curing gale's condition

i touched on this topic in another more detailed post here, too. for the sake of thoroughness, i want to include parts of what i touched in this post, here too.

in a previous point, i also touched on the fact that gale revealing his condition was, as it is in full release, very much a two-part story. the first in only the vague details, the second, where he shares his mind and memories with the protag, the full entire story.

this was very much the same in early access: here, you could spend the night with gale at the tiefling party. come morning, he would share the full story of how he came to be afflicted with the orb and also muse about possible ways to cure it.

i'll be sharing the relevant parts of the conversation only as it's quite long and will be the topic of another post entirely:

karsus's story

Gale: Here goes; once upon a time, very long ago, a mighty lord lived in a tower. A flying tower to be precise. I’ll save his story for another time, but the gist of it is that he sought to usurp the goddess of magic so that he could become a god himself. He almost managed but not quite, and his entire empire – Netheril – came crashing down around him as he turned to stone. Gale: The magic unleashed that day was phenomenal, rolling like the prime chaos that outdates creation. A fragment of it was caught and sealed away in a book. No ordinary book, mind you; a tome of gateways that contained within it a bubble of Astral Plane. It was a fragment of primal Weave locked out of time – locked away from Mystra herself. ‘What if’, the silly wizard thought. ‘What if after all this time, I could return this lost part of herself to the Goddess?”

possible ways to cure the orb

Player: What would permanently rid you of the orb? Gale: The orb was kept safe and inert in a pocket of Astral Plane, suspended in time. If I can somehow manage to expel it from my body while in the Astral Plane, it will be rendered inert again. Alternatively, I could learn to control it’s chaotic magic, that is; to succeed where I failed before. But without Mystra’s favour, I don’t see how that may come to pass. Of course there could be different answers as well. Faerun brims with more magic than any one wizard could fathom, let alone comprehend. Who knows what outlandish solutions may yet present themselves?

i think it's quite clear from here, as well as other clues presented in the game like repeated conversations between lae'zel and gale about the astral plane that survived early access, but ultimately don't lead anywhere, that the key to curing gale's condition in early access lay with finding a way to the astral plane and expelling the orb there.

conclusion & personal opinion

personally, i really like the story line that was set up for gale in early access. mostly because it made sense on several levels: lore-wise, the mechanics presented, gale's condition was severe and it was treated with the weight it deserved. no one made jokes about slurping up artefacts like carrots or wine. it required actual artefacts of power to be soothed, not mediocre amulets, rings or random +1 weapons.

we know now that a lot was cut from the full release version of the game, including things that would have been absolute key points of gale's story line: candlekeep and the astral plane.

in full release we are left with these clues that go nowhere and with a story line that's not only downgraded from potential god killer to fetch quest at a book shop and a narratively questionable confrontation with mystra. gale's condition now, it's everything the game needs it to be at the moment it's needed:

it's urgent when it needs to be, but it's not when it doesn't (long lack of dialogue between the artefacts not working and the beginning of act 2).

it can be soothed and ultimately cured by mystra but it's also extremely dangerous to her and the weave.

gale needs it to be removed if he wishes to live, but he's also fine in the epilogue if only his ambition (???) is soothed and so the orb goes dormant on its own.

it's everything. it's nothing.

still, if you made it this far, i want to thank you for reading my meta!

🖤

-

taglist:

@chainsawmascara, @randomfanner, @tacogoats, @flower-khajiit

@gwinharper, @galesenchantedpanties, @swampfaerie, @ardently-queer, @nirraein

@gale-enjoyer, @xiv-wolfram, @kairoswouldnever, @a-psychopathic-dream, @toboldlydammitjim

@vcxahlia, @fitzmagus, @deliciousrizzard, @messiahzzz

-

early access series:

part 1: gale's three tadpole dreams part 2 a: the deer stew scene part 2b: the loss scene part 3: 23 cut conversations with gale part 4: gale's condition & the orb in early access part 5: the tiefling party, the goblin party, friendship and romance

[whackk-kermitt]

How They Proposed

Genre: Headconons

Warnings: I don't know any old Norse or Greek marriage proposal traditions and I don't care enough to Google. 🤷‍♂️

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

Kratos

He literally just asked.

Almost didn't even ask honestly…

“We should marry.(?)”

So straightforward it was almost pathetic.

Yet when you smiled so brightly and accepted he smiled back.

The kind of smile that reaches the eyes.

He'd been so sure you would agree to taking his hand, you had already taken his heart and given him yours.

But there was still a doubt of his worth in the back of his head that whispered about the chance of being rejected.

But it went away when you jumped in his arms and immediately started introducing him as your husband to everyone you meet.

The proposal was so unromantic but the wedding…?

Can you say big fat Greek wedding?

Because absolutely it was.

There weren't a lot of people, really just the close important ones.

He shed a single tear when he saw how much effort you put into cleaning up and dressing up for it.

You had looked so beautiful when you took his hand that it almost felt like a dream he would wake from soon.

Kratos definitely made you cry with his vows to you.

Mimir

If he still had his body he would've loved to take you to your favorite place in all the realms.

He would've wanted to lay out a picnic for you two, with flowers and sweets and the best food he could cook up.

He would've taken his time making it perfect for you.

He almost cried when he realized he wouldn't be able to slide a ring on your finger.

Yet what he did instead was get Kratos to get as much of this dream done as possible!

They made up a reason to get you out there without you getting suspicious.

Kratos had gone out there earlier when he said he was hunting to set up the picnic.

Even if he couldn't eat anything he made sure your favorites were there.

As soon as you were unknowingly led to the picnic Kratos handed Mimir to you and left without a word.

You sat and held mimir as he explained that he wanted to make it romantic but could manage it on his own.

Finally, he asked you to consider being his wife, and before he could even finish you had said yes.

Best Day of his life.

And now it was his favorite place in all the realms.

Sindri

This man went all out on a romantic dinner!

Cooking himself with help from tyr to make sure the food was great.

Setting the candlelit dinner up and kicking everyone out for the night.

He'd got a vase with your favorite flowers for a centerpiece.

He crafted the ring himself.

And when you returned to the house and saw him standing there you know what was coming.

You started crying with joy before he even got to ask.

But you calmed yourself and let him.

He stuttered a lot and bounced on the balls of his feet.

He almost didn't even have the guts to look you in the eye when he asked it.

“Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

And after you said yes he had one more surprise for you.

Not only taking your hand in his to slide the ring on your finger…

He kissed you for (likely) the first time.

Of course, he washed his face and hands before you guys sat to eat.

Brok

He was terrified.

Plain and simple.

He never thought he'd be the type of man to marry until you brought it out of him.

He had no idea what he was doing.

He took all of Sindri’s advice and put together a romantic dinner.

He grumbled when Sindri told him he absolutely should not be the one cooking…

It was not the most elagent and romantic dinner but it was his best at making something special for you.

It was perfect.

He practiced the words he wanted to say in the mirror for hours.

When you came to him and smiled at the efforts he put into the table set(mostly Sindri’s work) he couldn't find the words.

So he skipped over that and you guys sat to eat.

He just enjoyed talking and dining with you until you reached for his hand and told him you loved him and everything he's done to make you feel special.

Then the words found themselves.

“I love you too, hot stuff. I wanna love you till death tries t’ tear us part. Will you marry me?”

Then he showed you the ring.

He freaked the fuck out when you started crying but smiled when he heard you saying yes through the tears.

Then he started to happy cry a bit.

He made you promise to never tell anyone he did.

Tyr

He took you somewhere far from people and just held your hand in is as you two strolled through the Flora and Fana thriving around you.

He didn't plan exactly what he wanted to say or how he wanted to ask, but he hopped it would please you to hear.

You two walked and talked for a good hour or two.

It was a peaceful and domestic connection between you that made him feel like anything he would say, even if he messed it up, you would understand.

When the two of you reached a particularly stunning view of a waterfall, he allowed you to step ahead and admire the view.

He was almost too wrapped up in admiring you he'd nearly forgotten about the proposal!

He bent down on one knee just behind you and waited.

When you notice he had not come to your side when you called his name you turn to find him smiling up at you.

“My love, I want nothing more than to spend all my days with you. If you'd except me?”

He held up the ring to you.

The sound of your voice saying yes was the most captivating sound he'd ever heard.

He was mesmerized by it for a long moment, smiling so sweetly.

Then he made quick work of sliding the ring on your finger and pulling you in and embrace.

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

I honestly had trouble thinking of something for Heimdall on this one! Sorry! If anyone has ideas for his character, please let me know!

Not proofread.

•Kermitts Masterlist•

[sehaedazokla]

he that dares

part four

premise: Cregan Stark's arrival in King's Landing has brought a new type of chaos to the capital. Lady Tyrell is determined to use the Northern lord to her advantage, but the task might not be as straightforward as it seems. 

tags: slowburn, tension, angst, comfort, eventual smut, court politics

chapter warnings: canon-typical violence, blood, assault, attempted sexual assault, grief mention

word count: 8.2k

previous part | next part | series masterlist

Cregan Stark grows restless as the days pass. In the late afternoon he finds himself sat in his chambers, taking a moment to organize his thoughts. 

The castle is abuzz with a low hum of anxious rumor and bated breath, given the increasing number of arrests as more and more turncoats are revealed. To round them up and sentence them is his duty, and a task he does not take lightly. It is impossible to, when he sees the young Prince Aegon. A boy of one and ten whose situation dances about like the familiar ghost of Cregan’s own past. 

Yet the vultures circle high above his head, close enough to hear the flapping of wings, only kept at bay by the army of Northern wolves. The Southern nobles bide their time, allowing him to retain power for now. But the more men that are arrested, the more fear begins to spread. Festering in the castle like an open wound. The glares he receives when he walks the halls are more venomous than ever. 

His informational network has been firmly set into place. Sooner rather than late, the scorpions will be dealt with and justice brought to both Aegon II’s poisoners and the final remnants of those who might wish to see the young prince dead instead of upon the Iron Throne.

As Cregan sits in front of the hearth in his room, his jaw tenses. The storms of his eyes stare down into the flames as they splutter and dance atop the thick logs they burn upon. A poisoned leader and a young heir. Is it fate that has him once again in this circumstance? Only this time, he is not child. Justice will be carried out properly, and swiftly. One of his fists clench tightly, his expression growing darker. 

How deeply he longs to return north, to smell the pine and feel the crunch of snow beneath his boots. To breath freely, in clear air, rid of the stuffiness of the Red Keep and the general oppressiveness of the capital. The Lord of Winterfell is quite glad to have spent his time far from here, away from the choking toxicity that seeps through the walls and penetrates minds and bodies alike.

He rubs a hand over his chin as her visage flickers through his mind.

Perhaps it is no surprise to Cregan that Lady Tyrell is as she is when she has spent so much time here. She has roots planted firmly within the weeds and she blooms beautifully in the muddy and trampled wreckage left from the war. So much so that even when presenting with lies and deception, two things Cregan has little taste for, she has ensnared his attention beyond what he can excuse as primal attraction.

It would be a lie to say that he does not find his eyes trailing her figure, absorbed by her lips and their fullness. Any man with eyes and a cock would do the same, Cregan thinks. No, it is the little flicker of truth that he sees from time to time, beneath the honeyed words. He cannot help his own curiosity, and the desire to see more burns in his chest brighter than the fire in front of him. 

One of his arms comes to rest on the side of the plush armchair. Everything in the castle is so ornate that it is almost nauseating. Longing for the simplicity of Winterfell echoes about his body.

Lady Tyrell remains the sole noble who consistently seeks out his presence, regardless of rumor or what she sees. The woman is frighteningly persistent and quite smart; if she were not so determined to manipulate him to her whims, Cregan might want her as an ally. It would be a relief, to have one amongst the vipers who is not trying to sink their fangs into him with the intention of poisoning him. Lady Tyrell certainly wants something from Cregan Stark, but at least she does not want him dead.

He believes it so, anyways. 

With the twisting of a wry smile onto his lips, Cregan finds himself with the distinct thought that if the lady wished him dead, he might just be so already considering how much food and wine he has consumed in her presence. Still, the lack of clarity regarding her true intentions claws at the back of the lord’s mind. His hand comes to rest under his chin as he considers what he might do to shed light on the truth of the matter.

It is not an impossible task. While Lady Tyrell has forced their repeated proximity for her own interest, Cregan has learned more of her just as she has learned more of him. And she is not the only one who is accustomed to the intricacies of political power dynamics. Cregan’s eyes narrow, pupils reflecting the glowing firelight.

The hour draws rather late as Lady Tyrell flips through the pages of a thick tome within the castle library. Hair falls carelessly into her face but she cannot find herself bothered enough to brush it aside, her bottom lip bitten slightly as she focuses on the words. A single lantern rests on the long wooden table, illuminating the pages as she lifts her hand to turn yet another. Her brows draw together as she continues.

The library has remained rather empty since the war began. The delicious irony of this is far from lost on her. Yet it serves as a relatively untouched sanctuary in which one can gather their thoughts or simply have a moment of peace. The tall walls of books extend out in a vast hall of knowledge, the shelves turning into each other at different points to create soft pools of shadow one might easily hide themselves within to escape the world around. The long wooden tables are dotted with carefully covered candles, many of which remain unlit. The large windows have the thick fabric of their curtains drawn closed, as the sun has recently set. 

Reading serves her in more ways than one; much is to be learned from the pages of history and so much of it is wholly ignored. Lessons that have already been learned throughout time, forgotten. Only to be learned again a hundred years later, and the same price paid. She is cautious to consume as many historical texts as might be possible, lest she fail to find valuable insight that might change her fortune. With a sigh, she lowers her chin onto her hand as her elbow rests on the cool wood of the table. There is no need to be proper when the only other visitors to the library are aging maesters who pay her little mind as they shuffle through books as thick as the one before her now.

This is why her back stiffens at the sound of approaching footsteps. Heavy boots and a pressure to each intentional step that has her holding the edge of the cream page in her hand so tight it wrinkles beneath her fingers. The library does not seem so sacred any longer.

She need not turn to know whose presence has interrupted her solitude. The steps come to a stop behind her chair and the lady is met with the scent of pine and the faintest hint of woodsmoke. With delicate fingers she releases the page crinkling in her grasp as the man behind her walks around to the other side of the table. He lacks hurriedness, languidly making his way to the chair across from her and pulling it out, a soft scraping sound echoing as he does.

Her face remains innocently neutral as he sinks down, all heavy limbs and a low tilt to his chin, into the chair like molten lava in the blacksmith’s workshop. With a gentle touch, she brings together the worn pages of the wide book to close it, and one hand lingers delicately atop the cover. A sweet surprise catches in her eyes as her eyebrows raise.

“I cannot say I was expecting you, Lord Stark.” Slowly, Lady Tyrell opens the conversation with an amiable cadence and tender softness about her face. She wonders briefly how he knows where to find her, but before the thought can fully take form in her mind, Cregan dips his head.

“I was told by your handmaiden that I might find you here if I wished to speak with you, Lady Tyrell.” The Northern depth and slowness to his tone still sends chills down her spine. The library is far from cold. At his words, she blinks slowly, lashes brushing against the top of her cheeks. Her pause is not performative, but genuine surprise at the revelation that he was purposefully seeking her out – going so far as to knock on her chamber door to call upon her. 

Adelin has been smart to send Cregan directly to the lady, even without warning. This is hardly an opportunity she will pass up upon.

“And found me you have.” Delicately sweet words fall between them with the parting of her lips. Her hands reach up to push lose hair from her face, before she takes a deep breath and settles further into her chair. She does attempt to keep the intrigued glimmer from the depths of her eyes; it is only that she has been pursuing him with such ardent fervor that it delights her to see this take a more interesting turn. How repetitive it can get, her faux gentle smiles and his polite northern reservation. The heated looks down each other’s bodies go poignantly ignored in her head.

Cregan beholds her wordlessly, head tilted back and chin lifted to observe her coolly.  There is a simplicity to her gown today as well, as it had been during their private dinner. The gentle swell of her breasts can be seen more prominently in this dress, even if the lord has found the other ones dangerous enough. “Aye, I have.” 

She knows well when something is wanted from her. And here sits the Lord of Winterfell, who she knows for certain has not sought her out for the darling pleasure of her company. Taking a breath through her nose, her shoulders rise, the low neckline of her gown drooping slightly further with the movement. “Might I be of some assistance, Lord Stark?”

Cregan’s grey eyes glimmer at the quickness of her saccharine reply, the direct yet demure way she demands his cards on the table immediately. There is no sound from the rest of the library, the castle’s inhabitants seem more occupied with other matters for the evening. His hands come together on the surface of the table and her eyes drift down, catching a glimpse of the veins on the back of them. “I have a matter with which I would very much like your thoughts upon, my lady.”

Taking another slow breath, she nods thoughtfully and her gaze falls to the single candle upon the library table. A sheepish hesitance flutters across her face as if brought about by butterfly wings, and she presents him a tiny smile. “It would be my honor to offer my opinions, my lord, but I fear I know little of warfare or the ending of it.”

Round doe eyes cast themselves upon his face, decorated with the gentle glow of humility.

“It is you of all people who might offer insight,” Cregan’s hands tighten against each other slightly as they rest between them. His broad shoulders lower, his stern expression folding to become impossibly more serious. A moment of leisurely anticipation stretches between them in the pause he takes, his gaze seemingly searching hers. It is with utmost delicacy that she maintains her passive, pastel pleasantness. “It is a matter of a proposal, my lady.”

Her blood pounds in her ears. Tension spikes through her head, sharp behind her eyes and heavy on her shoulders. Cregan opens his mouth to explain his reasoning further, his eyes gazing slowly about the library as he speaks. But the Lady Tyrell pays his following words little mind, frozen like a doll left out in the cold by a little girl who had been called in for supper. All slow blinks and that eerie, easy smile upon her lips.

“I have grown so keenly aware of my lack of allies at court…” His voice is a distant drone, she pays no attention to the heavy raise of his brows and the weary sigh that droops his figure. While he speaks, she finds herself lost in the maze of her own thoughts, spinning around lost and confused. The walls of her fears loom over her, draped in thorns and ivy, at the prospect. 

It should not be as shocking as it is. They are the same age, both young and unmarried, both in need of something from the other. And yet – is this not the physical manifestation of all that she has been dreading since the passing of her betrothed? To be married off to some lord she barely knows, subjected to a life at the hands of a husband who is just as likely to treat her callously and cruelly as he is to respect her, no matter how handsome he might be? Her mother told her to win his favor, not marry him. But in truth, if this is what is takes for peace to be achieved then she is wickedly selfish for considering a mad dash for the door.

Her mouth has gone dry and her fingernails dig so sharply into the fragile skin of her hand that she fears she will draw blood and stain the book cover below it. She continues to smile. 

“Would it not serve our houses well?” Cregan’s voice drives a swift dagger through her turbulent thoughts, and she readjusts herself in her seat. Her hands fall to her lap and she agrees demurely, forcing her smile wider when she dips her chin.

“I cannot say it is not…a kind offer, Lord Stark,” Lady Tyrell murmurs with delicate, plucking cadence. She swallows, hoping to rid her tongue of its dry heaviness. The library, its calming atmosphere of scrolls and books and candles, has suddenly lost all of its usual comfort. The shelves about the hall loom ominously above her, trapping her beneath their massive structures. Cornering her here with this man and his propositions. “House Tyrell is honored by your consideration.” 

Cregan watches her carefully. Studying her for a glimpse of masked pride and pleased simpering. This is what she wishes, is it not? Power and wealth through an ambitious match.

She reaches up to twist a strand of hair out of her way with a purposeful breath, wisps of lashes aflutter once more. Her beating heart is a weighty stone inside of her chest. “If it is what you wish, I would hardly feel the need to present my opinion upon the matter, my lord.” 

“It is only that you know your sister so much better than I,” Cregan tells her with a raise of his thick brows, a hand coming to rest on his chin as he leans back in his chair. His gaze remains cast to a bookshelf, as if lost deeply in thought. “Perhaps you might have some insight upon the nature of such a union.” 

There is a heartbeat where not a single thought occupies her mind. Lady Tyrell merely looks upon the man in front of her with empty, unblinking eyes. Her smile twitches at the corners, the edges of her cheeks rounding at the movement. It feels as if her hands are beginning to grow numb, as if an hour has passed before her dry lips part with disturbed slowness. “I beg your pardon?”

It is all that she can manage to breath, giving her a moment to collect the wild frenzy of thoughts. Where there had been silence only a moment ago, floodgates have been shattered to splinters as the torrent of words spill into her brain like the ocean itself has descended upon her mind. If she could sound alarms, she would. Their blares would better suit the panic in her heart than the silence of the castle library. The nonchalance of Cregan’s tone is not lost upon her.

“Your sister – the Lady Cassia. I have been told she is quite beautiful, and of a very agreeable countenance,” The Lord of Winterfell talks as if he is simply commenting upon the shade of blue in the sky or the taste of red wine at dinner. It has been some time since she has been this shellshocked. This utterly thrown by anyone, this completely caught vulnerable and off guard. She knows her smile no longer reaches her eyes; it barely remains upon her face at all.

The obvious question is to ask him why he would not simply wish to marry her – she knows well she has not imagined the way Cregan Stark rakes his eyes down her figure and about her face. Like a man starved. But far be it from her to understand the whims of men, Northern men even less so. She gives another slow blink. He is waiting for her to say something, she realizes. With a swallow, she does at least attempt to carve something resembling pleasance onto her features.

“She is but five and ten, my lord.” Her lips hesitant around the words, betraying a slight nervousness that makes her blood spike with irritation and worry. Rapidly, she attempts to pull for excuses she can offer to prevent him from marrying Cassia. The task proves rather difficult given the quickness with which she must accomplish it. She can feel fear dulling her senses, which only sets the feeling alight further. The jumping of the candleflame between them nearly makes her draw back.

“The age of marriage, is it not?” Cregan easily provides an answer with a heavy shrug of his shoulders. Lady Tyrell knows his words to be true, but it does not stop her eyes from darting about. She lowers her chin, trying to bring a semblance of composure to herself. There is too much to think of at once; she needs time to consider.

But in her head, she knows with a sinking feeling what her mother would say. Her eyes grow dull as she realizes that if Cregan follows through with this proposal, her mother will happily send Cassia off with this stranger if it means securing peace and the future of their House. His words cannot leave this room. The realization rises with a crushing swell in her chest. 

“I do not believe she would be a suitable match, in truth.” There is a sharper edge to her saccharine tone than has ever been present, and she does not meet his eyes as she usually does. She imagines her sweet sister, who adores flowers and the fields of Highgarden and the sunshine, whisked away to a castle surrounded by snow and ice and dying trees. “Cassia is a delicate girl. I cannot imagine she would fare well in the North.”

Cregan finds it a refreshing change of pace to see her squirm for once, the delicate balance of her performance shattered by his words. Yet he still has not found the answer he is looking for.

“She would adjust, in time,” Cregan offers politely, his red hair shifting slightly to frame his face. She takes no note. “If it is for the sake of peace. Especially if she is as agreeable as is suggested.” A slight smile spreads to his face.

Her eyes flick to his with the sharpness and severity of a sword.

And she holds his gaze for quite some time. For the first time since their meeting, she looks at him without performance. Lady Tyrell meets him upon the battlefield of their game free of armor and weapons and nauseatingly sweet illustration.

Her eyes are piercingly jagged, wider as they bore into his own, and her lips are parted. A loose strand of hair falls into her face, catching stray candlelight in a haunting glow. She is just as beautiful, Cregan realizes with a start, when she is staring him down as if she intends to have his head on a spike by the end of this conversation. 

Lady Tyrell will have just that before Cregan Stark lays a hand on her sister. He will spend his final moments in agony if he believes he will take Cassia anywhere, if he thinks he can demand her. She will not be threatened by the prospect of war or the destruction of her House. The Lord of Winterfell would soon see just how many men she would let burn before she sacrifices her sister to be taken by a man who wants a quiet and submissive bride to use as he wishes. 

“It would seem I misread you, Lord Stark,” It is chilling to hear her true voice after Cregan has grown so accustomed to the gentle manner in which she presents even the few biting words she has allowed pass her lips in his presence. There is a haunting emptiness to the phrase and in her eyes that takes him aback. “It does not happen often.”

Her brows lower darkly, a shadow passing over her gentle features.  There is a barbarous sting in her tone that pulls to mind images of snakes, still yet poised to strike. Disgust curls at her lip, the look she gives Cregan as her eyes rinse over his figure dripping with poisonous distaste. “Here come the carrion birds, whispering of frost-bitten savages who will wet our gardens with blood. I watched and I waited and foolishly drew the conclusion that as great of an irritation as you are, you are not a conqueror. Not a man who would seek a young girl as a spoil of war.”

She does not blink one time as she speaks. Eyes wide as saucers, thinly veiled anger simmering beneath her skin. “Do you think I will allow you to sit across from me and demand I hand my only sister to you because it will bring about peace? Because it will ensure the enduring security of my great House? I imagine you did.”

A huff of cold laughter quite nearly twists its way past her lips. The pumping of her beating heart feels akin to nails being hammered into her chest. Anything else she would gladly sacrifice to fulfill her mother’s wishes and win Cregan Stark’s favor. But never this. “No, my lord. You shall not have my sister, nor peace.”

With the screech of a chair scraping against wooden paneling, Lady Tyrell pushes her chair back and draws herself upright, body as tight a strung bow. She glares down at Cregan with such ferocity that he briefly wonders if she might try to fight him then and there in the castle library. But she merely glowers at him, scoffing with disgust as she lowers her voice to a whisper. “Find your submissive bride among the many Houses that will happily offer up their daughters as lambs to slaughter. You will not lay a hand on my sister in this lifetime.”

His eyes catch sight of the way her hands are trembling. 

She spins with such a violence that her skirts billow out in an angry storm cloud about her, the heels of her shoes echoing in the silent library. Never in her life has she been so utterly fucked, so desperatelystupid and brash. Her shaking hands ball into fists as she stalks towards the library door. Fear prickles at every nerve in her body, the immediate regret washing over her in a chilling wave. 

The sound of a chair tipping over makes her jump, her shoulders jerking and her hand hesitating on the gold doorhandle of the grand library. She does not know whether to freeze or run, unsure if Cregan is getting up to strike her for her insolence, or to simply leave. It was idiocy to speak to him as she did, she of all people knows this painfully. She turns her head over her shoulder, palms shining with sweat, catching a glimpse of him as he approaches.

Anxious helplessness claws its way up her throat, stifling her breath at the sight of his imposing figure drawing nearer. She does not have enough time to open the door, he will reach her before she leaves. Neither can she imagine she has much time to scream. As breath evades her further, she parts her lips to murmur a shaky apology against the thrumming of her rapid heartbeat. But his voice carries out into the space between them first.

“Please, my lady, a moment.” Cregan speaks the words quietly, his rich Northern tone softer than she has ever heard it. Her back presses into the great oak door as he draws nearer, stopping in front of her. She does little to hide the worry upon her face, her brows drawn together warily. There is a horrible guilt that has begun to spread in Cregan’s chest.

Confusion stirs in her gut as she looks up to find only a stoic concern in his eyes, his lips parted slightly as he searches for the words he wishes to say. A part of him wants to reach out, to try and comfort her, but he imagines it would do little but set her off. “Lady Tyrell, I did not wish to frighten you.”

His voice is scarcely above a hum in his deep tone, the quiet and tender manner in which he presents it only serves to deepen her misunderstanding. She gazes up at him with suspicious concern, searching for some sort of ploy or deception. A heavy sigh lowers Cregan’s shoulders, drooping his figure slightly. This is why he despises these ridiculous court games. “I have no intention to marry your sister, in truth. She shall be perfectly safe, I assure you.”

A shudder of a skeletal breath rattles its way out past her lips. Her eyes flicker, crinkling with confusion, as she regards him with wary unease. But there is nothing but seemingly genuine worry for her wellbeing as the Northern lord hovers hesitantly in front of her. 

“I do not understand.”  There is an almost petulant softness to her words as she looks up at him, clawing for an explanation so that she might regain a semblance of control as she remains pressed to the oak door, Cregan only a step in front of her. Gazing down with such eyes. 

The man opens his mouth to speak but finds any explanation he can provide for his actions will only seem cruel. Cregan has been so blinded by the toxicity of the Red Keep and the politics played by the nobles that he had acted with prejudice against her, assuming her some power-hungry bird of prey, trying to sink her talons into him to raise her own status. But here in front of him is a girl who loves her sister, who would risk incurring his wrath to tell him directly that she would do anything to protect the girl. He does not consider himself someone who toys with people’s feelings. Perhaps the capital has had worse influence on him than he realizes.

“I only wished to determine your intentions with me,” The man quite nearly winces from how stiffly aware he is of the callousness of his actions, and how terribly he is excusing them. He tilts his head, a pained expression flickering across his face like the lighting of a tea candle. “I had believed you wished to marry me yourself. I could not determine whether it was for your own gain or your House so I…”

Lady Tyrell sees it quite clearly now, even through the dense fog of her anxiety. It is a good plan; she can give him that compliment at the very least. Had he used anything aside from her sister, she might have caught on. It is Cassia above all that is her weakness, especially after the death of Helaena. She is foolishly and vulnerably blindsided when the girl is brought up. Cregan Stark likely does not even know to the full extent. Truly, a masterful scheme. 

But the anger burns hot in her chest, fueled by her fear, the flames wildly licking and spitting about in her lungs. 

Her wide eyes look up into his as the realization settles upon her face like an unforgiving dawn. A heavy silence falls between them and Cregan finds himself longing to fill it, to apologize further for behaving in a manner unbecoming of his character. 

“You must think yourself very smart, Lord Stark.” The lady’s tone is dangerously low and airy. That sickly sweet smile peels its way onto her face, an eerie ghost of the look she has given him time and time again. 

Cregan’s heart plummets in his chest. All he had wanted was to know the truth. He has seen it, clear as day, the depth of the love she has for her sister. The bravery and ferocity with which she will meet him with in order to defend the girl, even in the face of the lady’s own fear. His head tilts, his brows drawing together in gentle apology. 

“Lady Tyrell, if you would please let me-.” But Cregan Stark is not given the chance to do anything nor say anything. She turns quickly, hand gripping the golden doorhandle to yank the library door open with such force that Cregan steps back. Her body slips through the partially open door. It closes with a violent slam and Cregan is left staring at the wood, alone in the vast and silent library.

When she hears the muffled sound of a man’s footsteps behind her as she walks down the hall, she does not bother to turn around. The hour has grown late and most of the castle has drawn away to their bed chambers or to skulk in shadowy corners. She parts her lips to snap something rather barbarous about not wishing to be followed, but the words are lost in her mouth as she feels a hand grab her wrist.

After much heavy pacing, Cregan Stark finds his boots carrying him to Lady Tyrell’s bedchambers. He simply cannot allow the night to pass without the deliverance of proper apology. Despite getting the answer he had been seeking, the truth behind the nature of her character, there is no satisfaction in his chest. Far be it from him to engage in such deceptions, and yet he has offended and frightened her in a manner that is so deeply against that for which he stands. The capital will not turn his heart rotten nor dispel the sacrosanct honor he strives to uphold. 

Guards are stationed outside of her door as the lord rounds the corner, the Tyrell rose blooming in vibrant gold against the silver of their breastplates. Her personal guards, whom had not been stationed there when Cregan had knocked upon her door earlier that evening. A deep unsettling wariness finds its way into his mind, and it only increases when the guards move to intercept him as he draws nearer. The flicker of torchlight upon the walls ripples across the shining armor as Cregan’s narrowed eyes flick between the two men.

Lady Tyrell can hear the muffled exchange of words through her thick door, her eyes jumping sharply to stare at the oak.  Sharp anxiety shoots through her frayed nerves, but simmers to a hum at the deep rumble of a Northern tone. The fire in her hearth crackles as she sits on the floor in front of it, the plush rug beneath her partially balled up in one tightly closed fist. With an eerie stillness, she rises from her place upon the ground and steps slowly towards the echoes of voices, her bare feet soft against the cold wood. 

When she draws the door inwards, opening it, all parties involved in the exchange turn their heads to meet her. She hovers at the edge of the frame, one hand curling delicately against the thick wood as the remainder of her body remains obscured. Her guards turn and the taller one, Leo, gives her a deep and apologetic dip of his head.

“I apologize for the disturbance, my lady, we were sending him away at once.” Leo assures her firmly, one hand resting atop the shining hilt of his golden sword. But her tired eyes fall upon Cregan Stark’s face instead. He is beholding her with faint surprise, his lips parted and brows low, his red hair loose about his face and falling down to brush the tops of his shoulders. His eyes rest on her lips – far from the first time such a thing has occurred, but it is not through half-lidded desire with which he stares now. It is shock.

A ripening cut pulls at her lower lip, ruby against reddening and swollen skin. Her eyes reveal nothing as he finds a stern and questioning expression twisting its way onto his face as he takes a slow step back. One of the guards moves to further push Cregan away, but with an unreadable neutrality, she shakes her head, loose hair spilling down about her face and over what little can be seen of her ivory nightgown.

“It is alright,” Her voice is hoarse, as if the act of speaking is foreign in her throat. Her grip tightens on the edge of the door before she draws it open further. “If Lord Stark wishes to speak with me, he may.” 

There is no need to acquiesce to his wants, nor to prevent her guards from running him off. Performance is no longer required as she has already destroyed all of the time spent crafting a sweet disposition to charm him with. But now that her heartrate is steady and exhausted, the veins connecting to her heart too tired to thrum with the rush of adrenaline and anxiety, she can see Cregan quite clearly. There is nothing false about the firm worry he extends silently to her, a demanding question barely bitten back upon his tongue.

“But my lady--.” Leo begins with a start, concern in the man’s eyes for his lady. She shakes her head again, stepping back in an unspoken invitation for the Lord of Winterfell.

“I shall scream if need be. Do not go far.” It is a quiet order, a bitter amusement bubbling in her throat but stifled down by a rush of exhaustion yet again. The guards exchange a worried look but know better than to argue with her. Cregan stands as still as a stone statue, as she turns her back to him to walk further into her room. His stormy eyes trail after her, uncertain if he should ask her if she truly wants him to follow her inside. Yet his feet carry him forward before his mouth can form words, the closing of the door behind him. The sound echoes with a quiet tolling of finality that Cregan cannot identify.

Lady Tyrell’s chambers are expansive and comfortable, the large bed on the far side covered in satin and silk blankets and a mountain of fluffed pillows at its head. The warm oak posters of the bed spiral upwards, a sheer canopy of pink fabric shimmering softly in the firelight of the hearth. Two plush chairs stand before the hearth, before a thick rug that the Lady Tyrell stands upon. There are shards of glass at the base of her bedside table, shining like small knives as they catch light, and interwoven into puddles. A bunch of dried roses rests upon the floor, scattered haphazardly, their crisp petals soaking up the water that had once been in their vase.

Cregan’s eyes cannot be torn from her figure, and he imagines that would be the case even if the castle around them began to collapse in that very moment. Her hair is completely loose, messy strands falling in front of her face and down her back, and her eyes are dull and red-rimmed from the remnants of shed tears. There is a gaunt look to her skin, only strengthened by the small wound on her soft lips.

Even though it was her own decision to invite him into her quarters, she has to resist the urge to squirm under the heaviness of the Northern lord’s stare. It is too steady, too intense, and her eyes narrow in challenging response despite herself. When her lips open into with a callous twist, her voice comes out dry and rather cold. “Have you come simply to stare at me, my lord?”

“What has happened?” The heavy lowness of the phrase morphs it into a demand, rather than a question. Cregan’s hands are gripped in tight fists, his shoulders raised. The man is always serious, but the severity of his tone has her remembering just who this man is – the Lord of Winterfell, the Wolf from the North who has forced King’s Landing into submission and rules in all but title. Towering within her chambers, mandate weighty upon his lips. The storm clouds upon his face darken as she does not answer immediately. “I have only just seen you, but hours ago. Can I not take my eyes off of you for a moment?”

The growl in his normally politely resigned tone sends a chill down her spine. She does not understand the rough urgency of his voice.

If she asks after it, she will discover he does not understand it either.

Unconsciously, her fingers reach for her reddening wrists, her eyes lowering and gazing about the room while a syrupy swallow makes it way down her throat. Cregan’s eyes flick down, taking sharp note of the marks that blossom upon the skin of her arms. His anger burns hotter, and when he meets her avoidant gaze, it is clear that he wants an answer immediately.

Letting out a huff of breath, stopping just short of muttering something about brutish Northern impatience, she turns elegantly. Wrists wringing in her hands, she lowers her eyes and opens her mouth, shoulders drawn back gracefully even in the disheveled state of her appearance. “I do not know, to be perfectly honest, my lord.”

Her eyes find their way to the fireplace, willing herself to still her hands and folding them over top of her stomach. She smooths a wrinkled portion of her nightgown before continuing, her back partially turned to him. “I was not paying much mind to where I was going, the hour was late. A hand came upon my wrist and when I pulled towards someone, I screamed. He smelled of wine and strong spirits and my shouting must have made him panic.”

A slight wobble of her damaged lower lip makes Cregan’s heart plummet further. This is not how he wishes to see her, eyes dim and thinly veiled anxiety covered with a cloak of indifference. He has grown used to the pleased glimmers in her pupils when she believes him to not be looking, that bright intelligence reading his every move and word. The sound of the crackling fire fills the pause.

“He struck me when footsteps could be heard, and then ran. He did not say what he wanted from me. He did not need to.” The vacancy that occupies her stare is ghostly, and the burdening truth hangs between them weightily. Neither of them are fools. Her chin lowers, lashes against the tips of her cheeks when she pulls her gaze to the floorboards. The rug atop them is soft upon her feet. 

Cregan takes in her bruising wrists and the cut upon her mouth, before his attention turns to the fallen roses and shattered vase. When she catches this, a bitter smile cuts through her thoughts and she lifts her shoulders slightly, hands clasped together as she walks towards him.

“That was my own doing. Perhaps not very ladylike of me.” Lady Tyrell muses with tiredly cool sarcasm, her brows raising. Cregan turns as she draws near, looking down at her with a cross between concern and frustration at her breezy nonchalance. 

There is a dimple between his brows due to the severity with which he is furrowing them. With little effort to conceal his anger, he shakes his head slowly. “Who did this?”

“I did not get a clear look at his face.” A rush of an answer, a breath she lets out while she begins pacing in small steps, the wood panels creaking slightly as she glides to and from. 

The fists at his sides tighten, pressure squeezing his fingers as he stares at her, looking every ounce the fearsome Northern lord that he is rumored to be. “Then I shall drag the men of this castle before you so that you might point him out.” 

“There is no need for theatrics, Lord Stark.” She fixes him with a dry look, seemingly unimpressed by the severity upon his face and the intensity with which he speaks. His visage darkens thunderously at her easy dismissal of his words and he has to force back a sharper retort, attempting to be gentler with her instead.

“It is a matter of justice–.” He begins, but she is quick to interrupt with a wave of her hand. A gust of cool air blows in through her open balcony, sending the sheer curtains blowing about.

“Oh, spare me your monologue on justice and duty and honor for one night,” The words drip from a curled lip with soft irritation as she casts him a rather scornful glance, drawing her arms across her chest protectively. The fabric of her nightgown is soft against her skin. “If I wished to be lectured upon righteousness I would summon a priest instead.”

In exasperation, she gazes to the balcony with a huff, eyes falling upon the moon and stars that dazzle brilliantly in the dark night. The sound of leaves can be heard outside of her window, plants growing on the outside wall blown about in the wind. A foghorn blares in echoed low tones, drifting in from the harbor.

Cregan’s jaw clenches, tightening as he wrestles back the desire to meet her stubbornness with equal force. But as his eyes drop to her lip again, he remembers with a tightening chest that he had come here to apologize to her, not to bicker like children. Before he expresses this to her, his eyes soften. “I had come to apologize, my lady. For my actions in the library earlier that were callous and frightened you.”

Although she had been quick to direct her ire at him, the start of the quiet apology draws her pacing to a pause. It is the reason she had allowed him into her chambers in the first place, that genuine concern that he displays so openly upon his face, as he had in the library once he had seen the truth of her fear. 

“I had believed you to be seeking power, to marry into my House for your own gain. Hoping to determine your intentions, I wished to know whether your loyalty was stronger to yourself or the strength of your own House.”  Cregan does his utmost to explain himself in a quiet yet quick tone, lest she might decide to interrupt and throw him out at her whim. The look on his face captivates her attention. “But I was wrong to level your sister as a weapon against you. I did not know – how much you love her. I am truly sorry.”

Lady Tyrell’s eyes lose some of their harsh edge as she watches the rugged Northern lord express his regret so genuinely. Rare is it that she has been apologized to, rarer still that the apology is of such a truthful and straightforward nature. Cregan stands quite still as he anticipates her reply, the seriousness upon his face giving him the appearance of a man awaiting sentencing. 

“Do you think I enjoy playing darling here at court?” It is a softly posed question, her hands tightening as she keeps them together in front of her. “That this is a hobby I do for my own amusement?”

Her voice is laced with a weary exhaustion that does not quite fit her age. Cregan has heard a similar tone leave his own lips many times before. 

“The safety and security of my House – a house whom has no male leader at present – rests on my ability to hold my own in this twisted, toxic den of vipers. I am weak, I cannot fight. But what I can do, I have honed my skills in. I will not claim to be a saint, but I am not scheming for the sake of seizing power if that Is what you think.” Her voice quivers slightly but her eyes remain firm as she holds his gaze steadily. 

“Yet you would risk the safety of your House for the safety of your sister.” Cregan points out quietly, his hand extending out as he speaks. Lady Tyrell gives a frustrated shrug, keenly aware of her own foolishness, and shoots him a withering gaze.

“We all have something we would sacrifice the world to protect. What your suffocating honor is for you, my sister is to me.” She has always been protective of the girl, who had been her only sibling until the recent birth of her younger brother. But since Helaena’s death, the paranoia and anxiety that gather her mind in their clutches are persistent and cruel. She fears, perhaps irrationally so, of all manner of terrible fates that might befall the girl. Waking from nightmares, clothes and blankets soaked in sweat and lungs burning as she gasps for ragged breath.

Cregan keeps his gaze upon her, a heavy sigh falling from his lips. For a lady which such a delicate frame, she seems to love with a strength rivaling any warrior and a determination that is as clear as the moon in the sky outside her balcony. It is obvious to him that she is willingly to do whatever it might take to defend those in her heart, at the risk of her own safety or peace of mind. 

She stalks across the room, returning to the plush armchair by the hearth. Sinking into the soft red seat, she picks up the bandages that she had been attempting to wrap around her bruising wrist. The last thing she wishes for is for someone to see and ask questions. Adelin normally assisted in such manners, but Lady Tyrell had been in such a state that she had demanded to be left alone.

“Your apology has been heard, Lord Stark. You may leave.” She murmurs quietly, the fireplace casting a warm light upon her face and her messy hair. Stretching the bandages in front of her, the lady bites back a curse as she fumbles with the ivory cloth. Cregan watches her for a moment before a heaving sigh moves his broad chest, and he crosses the room to her with large steps. Her eyes jump up to him, slight worry and fear flickering like fireflies, but when he drops to one knee before her chair, she finds there are no words upon her mouth.

“Allow me, my lady.” The sternness to his rumbling tone makes it seem more like an order than an offer, but it is said with such politeness that despite the way suspicion swims in her eyes, she pauses. There they remain, the Lord of Winterfell on his knee in front of her armchair, the golden light from the fire bathing his features. As he looks up at her, she realizes that despite the gruff, masculine stature of his imposing figure, the brightness of his eyes and the soft nature of his red hair give him a fairness that she hesitantly describes as beauty.

The sound of a clock fills the darkness of her chambers, tick after tick reverberating into the silence.

Wordlessly, she hands him the roll of bandages. Cregan takes no time to gingerly reach for her wrist, taking it into his much larger hand. He holds it tenderly, intentionally drawing his mind away from the softness of her skin and the way his hand can wrap around her entire arm. The faint smell of vanilla fills his nose, and he feels his stomach jolt at the imperceptible breath she takes as his thumb ghosts over the pressure point on her wrist. He reminds himself to breath.

The ivory bandages are wrapped around her reddened wrist slowly, glowing in front of the firelight, the warmth carrying over to both of them. Yet Cregan’s body has already grown hot. Neither of them breathe a word, eyes cast down to the simmering points where their skin meets. When he finishes his work, Cregan’s hands jerk back slightly, as if he has been burned. Lady Tyrell’s lashes flutter slightly at the motion, and she draws her wrists to her with a small frown. He remains on his knee a moment longer, before rising to his feet and breaking the spell that has fallen between them. Cregan swallows thickly, his eyes cast to her wrist as she stares into the fire with an unreadable expression.

“Rest well, my lady.” He murmurs to her, before his heavy boots carry him with unnecessary quickness across the wooden floor panels and out of her door.

a/n: this was supposed to be a short chapter, but it is another monstruous piece and half of it was written on an airplane so please bear with me. i know the ‘who did this’ trope is low-hanging fruit, but i fall for it every time so here it is. i cannot believe i have written so much of this work so quickly, and i am even more surprised at the lovely interactions it has had. thank you for every like, reblog, and comment on this little story that i love.

[viviuxd]

INNOCENT LOVE : a viking is in love with me! (Part 2)

SYPNOSIS:You are explaining to the Viking king why you cannot marry him, while you do so he agrees to join your belief and leave his gods, just for you.

PAIRING:Viking x Christian!reader

TW:mention of difference in spiritual beliefs.

Part 1

"What are you doing?!" You shouted angrily. Your hands instantly landed on his chest, pushing him back as you averted your gaze, noticing some servants present. You felt embarrassed for exposing your life in front of those people and hid your face, looking down.

Thorkell noticed your sudden change in attitude and chuckled playfully at your shyness. He turned toward your gaze and realized what was happening. He smiled mischievously and stood tall.

"Everyone, out! Our queen needs privacy," he demanded with a deep, powerful voice that echoed in the room.

You watched as everyone present left immediately, almost running. "I am not your queen," you murmured, glancing at him sideways.

"Soon you will be," he affirmed, grabbing your wrist with a firm grip that hurt you a little due to the force he exerted.

They took a few steps until they reached the throne. He let go of your wrist and turned on his axis to stare at you. He examined you with his eyes and then nodded toward the throne where he had been moments ago.

"Sit there," he demanded with the same dominant voice that sent shivers down your spine.

You were about to refuse. You didn't want to give hope that you'd accept, but neither could you decline; you didn't want to be disrespectful. Besides, Thorkell's gaze intimidated you. You were sure you'd have nightmares about him that night.

You climbed the steps leading to the throne. It was huge, imposing, and beautiful, just like Thorkell. You sat on it; it felt strange. You had always dreamed of being the queen of a nation, and now you had the opportunity, but you felt bad for disobeying God's commands.

You shook your head and clumsily got off the throne, embarrassed by what you had just done.

"I can't, I can't be the queen of Dantohira, Your Majesty," you apologized insistently, looking down in a gesture of submission and respect so that Thorkell wouldn't take it as an offense.

"Damn it!... Could you explain why you're forbidden to marry me?" He grunted angrily, one of his hands resting on his head, rubbing his temple.

You played with your hair, trying to calm your nerves a bit. "We're different... You believe in pagan gods, and don't take it the wrong way, Your Majesty," you said. "It's just that I am faithful to my God, my Lord, and I know that it won't please Him for me to join someone who doesn't love Him. Besides other differences..."

"Name them," he replied sharply, staring at you intently.

You sighed nervously, still not ready to have a discussion with the King. "I don't like your customs... I wouldn't like to marry a man who has several women, or a bloodthirsty man. I'd be in constant fear."

Thorkell approached you, this time respecting your space.

"You'll be the only one. I'll never look at other women, and if I do, I promise to gouge out both my eyes."

You chuckled a bit, charmed by what he had just said.

"That would be very nice, but... even so, you would still worship other gods," you looked at him sadly, noticing his attempt to maintain the marriage proposal.

"I'm not asking you to give up what you do for me-" You were interrupted by Thorkell's sudden action.

Thorkell turned around, leaning on the royal throne, grunting.

"Teach me about your God," he grumbled.

°१९*०°

"Then are you going to become a Christian now or something? I never imagined you doing something like this for someone, Thorkell." Tyr, Thorkell's younger brother, mocked him and his infatuation with you.

"Shut the damn mouth, Tyr," Thorkell growled, fed up with his brother's mockery.

"Brother, understand me, you've never been interested in a woman, and now you're doing these stupid things for a Christian girl. I'm starting to think she's a witch or something," he joked again, bursting into loud laughter.

"Anyway, that girl is quite pretty, I don't believe she's still a virgin... surely she's already slept with some lad over there," mentioned one of the guards who was close to Tyr. He was about to burst into loud laughter until Thorkell punched him, causing him to fall to the ground.

"Don't you dare talk nonsense about her, you useless," Thorkell growled as he kicked the guard's face forcefully.

"If she comes out of your mouth again, I'll knock out all your teeth, got it?"

Tyr grabbed Thorkell to prevent more blows, smirked mockingly, and looked at Thorkell.

"You see what I mean? You're more aggressive than usual, and it's because of that girl."

"Thorkell, you're in love with her."

[jinna-aka-ninja]

Calling of the Souls ~ Poly!LostBoysXFem!Reader

Word Count: 1,082

Just a little fun writing something on my free day, might make a part 2

Part 2 here! - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5  Part 6

It ached. Hand clutched to her own chest, unsure how to stop the pain from rushing through for the fourth time in lord knows how long. Y/N had this pain go through her exactly 3 precious times. She knew what it had meant. Her soulmate died... again. How many times would Y/N have to endure this? The chances of finding your soulmate were next to impossible. One would think with a life of eternal youth it would give one more hope, but Y/N thought it was hopeless. It took no longer than a century for her to feel it 4 times. The pain within her chest crashed like violent waves in a storm. Merciless.

The only soothing sensations she felt was when the familiar  that she had born with would start to mutter spells of his own to help her through it. A demon familiar by the name Tyr. Think of the demon and he shall appear. Tyr strode in seeing Y/N grabbing her duffel bag already he knew that this meant she had no intention to stay in this location any longer. "Where to?" He asked her moving to her side. Tyr had been by her side for so long now. Having watched over her, helped her hide, helped her harness her abilities. "You pick." Y/N said shrugging; there was no point in staying in the town. Having grown bored of it, small towns were always the same like that. "How about somewhere exciting?" He asked, eyes shining scarlet red, muttering an incantation as he opened the door to the room they were in. Looking through the door, she glanced back at him with an eyebrow raised. "A carnival?" "It's a boardwalk! Now go through so I can close the portal." He said to her, Y/N obeyed as she walked through, Tyr following after her. Y/N looked at the place bustling with life. It was summer, of course it was packed. She had to admit, it was a great place to hide. No doubt she could blend in with the crowds. The sun was slowly setting. They had to find a place to temporarily call home. How fun, a part of the beach had been closed. This meant something good for Y/N. Abandoned lifeguard buildings. She did happen upon one. Tyr had to help her in harnessing the power to change the small building into what they required. Bigger on the inside. If someone were to enter they would be in the original, she remained in this pocket dimension Tyr built and transported with her from place to place. Sure saved on rent. After she set her things down Y/N wondered if she should travel to the boardwalk. "I'm going exploring, are you coming?" She asked Tyr who lay on the bed. Hands behind his head as one of his long legs bent. "You're on your own. You know how to call me if you need me." He said closing his eyes. Y/N rolled her eyes as she left. Y/N began walking on the beach until she ended up at the boardwalk. The sun had set already. The lights of the rides of the carnival illuminating it up for all to see, like a bug zapper luring in insects, her included. How could anyone avoid the allure of the boardwalk? Y/N walked with a smile on her lips as she passed by the vendors selling trinkets and other things. Glancing at their wares before stopping to purchase a cup of lemonade. It had Santa Carla printed on the cup. It was huge. She was almost regretting buying the cup; seeing as she needed both hands to hold the souvenir. She almost skipped as she made her way to the carousal. This was her first time in a place like this. Her excitement beamed from her as she looked for somewhere to sit. Spotting a unicorn her eyes lit up. However before she made it to the unicorn someone beat her to it. She didn't want to sit on the carriage. It was meant for 2 and she felt bad taking it from some couple who could use it.

The sound of boots and chains reached her ears. Her heart pounded in her chest as her eyes narrowed. She couldn't explain why, maybe it was because her senses picked this up specifically through the loud boardwalk. Quickly she took a seat, not caring if she did take a potential couples spot. All she could focus on was trying to avoid drawing attention to herself. The feeling of someone's leg brushing against her snapped her attention to the formerly empty seat beside her. Her eyes on the leg before making their gaze drift up to the person's face. Piercing blue eyes bore into her own Y/E/C. Y/N's breath caught in her throat. What was this? The platinum blonde smirked at her as he lifted his hand to hold her chin, fingers against her cheek to keep her gaze on him when she started to look away to the laughter so close to them. "What's your name?" The male with platinum blue eyes asked her.

It almost felt like she would tell him anything he wanted to hear. Her mind in a fog as her lips parted to speak, then almost like a shock to her brain, something cleared that fog away.  She knew that she should not feel that way. "Does it matter?" Y/N responded moving her head back and out of his grasp. This answer seemed to surprise the guy, but he only let it show for a second at most. Then he looked like he was accepting a challenge. His "friends' started to laugh again. Enjoying that he seemed to not have as easy of a time as he had clearly expected. "Of course it matters. How about this, I'm David. That's Dwayne, Paul and Marko." David said pointing at each one respectively. Dwayne had the faintest of smiles on his lips, had it not been for the amused and excited look in his eyes Y/N would have thought he was the most calm of the bunch. Paul didn't hide his excitement in the least bit. His smile and his eyes showed just how much fun he was having with this encounter. Marko, he was something, his gloved hand up, biting his thumb, hiding a grin. His eyes showed what Y/N could only describe as him trying to hold himself back from his giddiness. David spoke again, "So... what's your name?"

[visionsofmagic]

bloody [gow headcanon]

prompt: when they see you covered with blood

character(s): kratos, thor, baldur, tyr, freya, freyr & heimdall

wc: 1.7k || tags&notes: gn!reader, no use of y/n or pronouns, fluff, kisses, touches. anger, madness, violence, getting hurt, blood, a little angst (maybe), lover!reader.

enjoy!

KRATOS likely to show a great anger the first time he sees blood on your body, both feeling irritating sense of not being able to protect you and wonder who had enough encourage to touch you – to hurt you. so, his face shows madness coming from pure rage he feels like he felt on his previous life in greek. however, he tries to hide it – decrease it when his palms hold your cheek, making you look at him directly and answer his, “who did this to you?” question which comes like a poison from his mouth – like he is ready to hold blades of chaos and manslaughter everyone cross his path including those hurt you. you only smile as an ensure that you are fine and the blood don’t belong to you. holding his hands, you use them to travel on your body, feeling there is no wound, just blood of others who tried to hurt you. his hazel eyes filled with sparkles of rage soften each moment his hands travel and finally, he takes relaxed breaths, calming down, looking at you with determined and furrowed eye brows, giving a lecture about how you need to be more careful, even calling him whenever there is a treat. he doesn’t speak aloud but his kisses on your face, his hands on your back to push your body to his, hugging you tightly, he shows how much he is afraid to see you hurting. you mean everything to him alongside atreus. he doesn’t waste any time to show you this while he cleans blood with water and cloth as you watch his massive hands work on your body gently. 

THOR is so much like kratos. however, unlike him, thor doesn’t mind using violence at all. he makes you tell names of those who hurt you. if you don’t tell, not wanting to see him acting violently even though they deserve it according to him, he seeks for them after he watches you remove your clothes, getting into a bathtub, cleaning yourself and the wounds you have while thor’s eyes study every part of you from head to toe without any shame, believing he has right to do it without asking for a permission and from deep down, you like seeing him watching you, spending his time like this only for you as his father keep asking him. you know he cares for you, so, you let him sit there, hands on knees, kneeling little towards you. his hands even caress your hair from time to time and after you are done, he picks up clothes you choose for you, helping you get dry and wear them. he kisses every wound you have while doing it, then, he nods, ready to leave for killing those who left marks of violence on your precious body. you let him even if you don’t appreciate his way of solving problems but you know he can’t stop ‘till he breaks bonds, cutting flesh, end their lives. 

BALDUR sees them even though you literally try every spell to hide them from him, knowing very well that if he sees them, he will turn into the madman, using advantage side of being an invulnerable god, killing everyone who crosses his path which goes into torturing creatures who touched his beloved without caring your health and being. however, when he finally sees them, he takes an oath to show them no mercy, put the fact that no one in all realms can think of touching you in any ways into their stupid brains before killing them. he probably choose his dragon to burn them all, laughing menacingly and feeling anger leaving his body with flames coming from burnt out bodies. he never blames you for hiding them but he says how you should stay by his side day and night so he can protect you because the world is cruel and he can’t endure the idea of seeing you getting hurt and sad. you are the only one who gives him the meaning of life and being, so, he always shows you this through these actions, protecting you with all costs, not minding whether his father is disappointed or not, not when he sees you alive and beside him – inside his arms. 

TYR is not likely to act violent against violence, instead, he chooses to take you into a safe zone he knows well, preparing enough medicine to clean wounds properly, giving you your health back, asking you what went wrong and listening carefully with pure attention as you tell the events openly. he helps you calm yourself down, giving you kisses soft as feathers, effective as sun and beautiful as roses. you let yourself getting rid of both wounds and sadness coming with them thanks to his gentle manner, taking you into his arms, covering your body with his massive one and putting kisses on your hair slowly. he is your safe zone, not the place he takes you into, no, he is the meaning of safety and the intoxicated feeling devour you. yes, he gives some advices about being watchful since all realms include danger but he knows you will get stronger after this incident with his help and he just smiles at you, ensure you that he will stay on your side forever, heal every wound you will have even if it means a hundred time. 

FREYA choose not to show her anger when you seek for medicine in her cave, showing where bloods coming from after removing clothes, exposing some parts of your body without thinking twice, being in a safe place giving you confidence to do so. she doesn’t spend any time, picks right and efficient magical spells and potion, using them to make you better – to see you well, safe and sound which she needs to see every day and night. she doesn’t like when you pull a wry face because of the pain, no, she prefers you with a strong gesture and full health. she tells you to rest in her cave, not thinking about anything, just reaching your health back while she discovers how you get hurt – who you get violence from, and she doesn’t think for second time as strong devilish magic of her finds their targets, giving them pain – much more than you felt, anger’s sparkles on her eyes, glowing lights on her palms and arms. she listens sounds that her targets make, her anger getting lower. when she finally is done with them, she rushes to see you again and preparing food to eat – good one because you need to recover and she needs to show her concern through intimate moments. also, she is determined to teach you lots of protection magic and spells ‘till your mind is filled with them. 

FREYR ‘s face will brighten with concern as he rushes to you, his hands reaching to you, grapping your arms, caressing them from up to down ‘till he holds your hands, asking so many questions in a minute such as whether you are okay or not, need anything from him, how you are covered in such blood. his concerned and calm manner changes into angry and mad one as he asks questions like ‘who did this to you’. he needs to know it – he wonders who can put a finger on you in the realm in which he opened his eyes for the first time, called as home. he is ready to take down those stupid creatures who thought they can hurt you and get away with it. however, he is just a silly because you just go for a hunt and the prey’s blood is all over you, so, you aren’t injured, no, instead, you are good and when you tell him that while holding his cheeks, half-laughing, he blinks so many times you ask if he is okay. when he comes to himself once again, he hugs you, saying how happy he is to see you weren’t hurt. he takes you from the hand into his special room, spending some times – some intimate times with you in there, letting you realize how much you mean to him, “don’t do that again. you have no idea how I can go mad if I see you hurt.” you listen him, then, you say you will not scare him like that again. also, you let him go for a few hunts with you after that day because every time he looks at you with cute eyes, making you become softer and let him travel behind you all the time. 

HEIMDALL is surprised and taking back when he sees your face and upper body filled with red blood. firstly, he goes for your mind, reading it to understand how you ended with these much blood. when he sees the fights you had before coming back to asgard – to him, how you got cuts from here to there, nothing serious but enough to make your face darken with pain, his own anger blooms inside his stomach. he is angry because of both how they dared to touch you in the first place and how he failed to show to all realms that no one could touch you since you are beloved one of heimdall, son of odin, god of foresight and lord of the asgard. he notes that he will travel around all realms, making every living beings understand the consequences of hurting and even touching you, heimdall’s beloved one and lover who he can burn all places for. after that, he lets you approach him with a shy expression, knowing he already knows how you ended up like that. you hate to be weak and you hate more when heimdall sees you weak. however, he shows no cockiness as he makes his way to you, putting a hand on your cheek to caress it, saying, “I will make sure each of them suffer enough to remember it ‘till they reach for hell.” with glowing purple eyes filled with proud because of seeing you fight for your life, coming back to him, and rage because of seeing faces of your attackers. he then makes you to follow him into his room he barely uses just for spending time with you in private, removing your clothes, cleans your wounds, reads your thoughts and feeling protective over you. he realizes how his hands go crazy while thinking how it was so easy for those attackers to hurt you while he is afraid to touch you sometimes. he will be their nightmare for sure and he goes for their heads after he spends a quite calm night with you on bed, giving you the love you needs to see after such violent incident. 

🍨

[hereforreadandwrite]

Chapter One

Masterlist

You were not a mortal like the others. Thanks to your abilities, you had become the protector of the lands of Midgard. You knew every corner, every inhabitant, every magical creature and other that there was in this Kingdoms. She was also known in all the other Kingdoms. You loved to fly. It was a feeling of ultimate freedom. You loved visiting Mimir and Sigrun in Asgard. You considered them your parents. Mimir had taught you his knowledge and Sigrun had taught you how to fight.

You had a happy life overall even if there was a dark spot on this idyllic picture.

Odin was interested in your intelligence, your secrets. He had become obsessed with this creature. You had the appearance of a young woman who had just reached adulthood, but your aging was much slower than normal, you had long (Y/H/C) slightly curled hair that reached to your shoulders, your (Y/E/C) eyes sparkling with life, full lips, you weren't very tall, but what was really intriguing was your immense black wings like darkness which made your size and that you could become a nightmare being when you wanted to scare your enemies. You were a divine creature, that he dreamed of having. He dreamed of dissecting you to know everything about you.

How were you born with wings?

How could you stay young for so long?

How can you take your nightmare form to scare your enemies?

Seeing that Odin was becoming more and more obsessed with you, Mimir and Sigrun asked you not to go to Asgard anymore, for fear that the Allfather would come after you. You were saddened by this request, but you obeyed. You had returned to Midgard, your Homeland, and you had not returned to Asgard. Odin became mad with rage. Upon learning that Mimir and Sigrun were responsible, he decided to punish them. He imprisoned Mimir in a tree on the top of a mountain, far from civilization, and cursed Sigrun and the other Valkyries. But that wasn't the only thing Odin did. He found you in Midgard. He had seen you take care of Jormungandr. To trap you, he took the appearance of Mimir. You had let your guard down. You were happy to see your adoptive father again after all this time. To celebrate your reunion, "Mimir" you had offered a Mead verse, but Odin had slipped in a drug powerful enough to keep you asleep. When you came to your senses, you felt that something was wrong. your back hurt excruciatingly. Dread filled you as you ran your hand down your back.

Your wings were no longer there.

That night, your cry of despair was heard throughout Midgard.

Because of Odin's obsession, you lost your parents, the Valkyries and your wings. You were alone and filled with sadness. You had left your human form behind, leaving only your nightmarish form visible, scaring away all people and creatures who tried to approach you. In your sadness, you had taken up residence in the council of Valkyries. You had discovered a breach where your adoptive mother was sealed. So you stayed there, protected your mother against anything and anyone who dared to set foot in your living space. But that didn't stop the God of War: Tyr himself from coming to meet you.

“You’re not welcome here, especially your kind,” you said through gritted teeth. “Go away before one of us gets hurt.”

“(Y/N)... what happened to you?” Tyr asked, saddened by seeing your pitiful state.

"You know what happened to me! Everyone knows what happened!" you yelled, turning towards Tyr and slowly moving closer to him. "Odin. Your bastard father tricked me and took everything I had! My father! My mother! My family! My wings! He took everything from me! Look at that! This is what's left of my mother. The Valkyries... have been sealed away... I don't know where or what happened to my father."

"You can't stay here, (Y/N). It's... unhealthy for you to live here, next to this breach."

“I’m protecting my mother,” you said, returning to the gap. “Go back to your father Tyr. And leave me to my sorrow.”

"The (Y/N) I knew would never have felt sorry for herself. She would have found a way to find her parents and her wings."

"Ah! I forgot about your sense of humor Tyr," you said, turning to the Norse God of War. "But I'm not suicidal. Remember, we're talking about your father. The Allfather. The one who knows everything and has mastered many techniques. Do you think I'm that stupid? Do you seriously think I could undo his curses? You think I haven't tried?! I tried everything to free my mother, but... there's nothing I can do. I don't know where the other Valkyries are locked up. I don't know what I should to do. I became... powerless."

You sat on one of the many thrones of the Valkyries, biting your lip, holding back tears. You were helpless. There was nothing you couldn't do to save your parents and the Valkyries. Tyr moved closer, sitting on the ground, facing you. He ran his fingers over your forehead, brushing a strand of greasy hair out of your eyes. How long have you been waiting here? How long have you been fighting those who had the misfortune to approach the breach? You no longer looked like the smiling, lively girl Tyr saw training with the Valkyries. He had seen you flying many times in the skies of Asgard and Midgard. Tyr sighed, running his fingers over your cheek.

"You must not be left alone with this sadness. Mimir and Sigrun would like you to continue living. They would not want you to stay here waiting for death to come and get you."

“How?”

"Come with me. I can help you. If you want, of course." Tyr stood up, extending his hand towards you.

You looked at the gap one last time before looking at Tyr. You placed your hand in his, accepting his offer. You rose from the throne, following the God Aesir outside the council of Valkyries. Tyr had taken you to safety. Where he was sure Odin wouldn't find you. He helped you build a house on the mountainside. He installed a magical barrier to protect you from Odin's evil eyes. It would come as no surprise that the Allfather spent his time observing your despair. Tire was sure to build you a sufficiently comfortable house. He had done everything alone. You stayed in your corner, brooding. Guilty for having abandoned the one who saved and educated you. Tyr had been patient with you. He didn't complain when he finished building your house and the furniture. He hadn't complained when you just laid back in the bed, not moving an inch.

Anger had given way to sadness.

Tyr had stayed with you, making sure you ate well and that you left the bed and the house for a bit. He had installed a five kilometer protective fence to allow you to go out a little and hunt in the woods.

“I understand your pain, (Y/N). More than you think,” Tyr said as he walked through the forest, alongside you. "You'll get through it. But for that, you also have to put in the work. It's not healthy to lie down all day either."

"To do what?" you asked resignedly. "I always trained with the Valkyries or father taught me his wisdom. Other than waiting for the norns to free me from this suffering, I have nothing to do."

"It's wrong!" Tyr exclaimed, glaring at you harshly. "You are the daughter of the Queen of the Valkyries and the smartest man of this Nine Kingdoms could bear! You were trained by the Valkyries! They would be ashamed to know what you have become!"

You felt your heart tighten upon hearing his words. Would your family be ashamed of what you have become? You leaned against a tree, sliding down the trunk, sitting on the ground. Tyr sighed, kneeling in front of you.

"Forgive me for raising my voice. But you can't let Odin win. You have to show otherwise. Take charge of your life. Even though he took away your wings, you are still capable of fighting back. fight, to be diplomatic. You are smarter than Odin. What he wanted by doing this to you was to see your reaction, to see what you were capable of doing when you were in the grip of despair ,” he said, taking your face in his hands. "This is all just a perverse game for him. A game that you are capable of winning. You are strong."

"Me? Strong?"

"Yes, you always were. You just forgot. I want to help you. But for that, you have to let me help you," he said, wiping a tear from your cheek. "Do not succumb to despair as Odin wishes."

"I... I don't know if I'm still capable of fighting. I... my mother and the Valkyries... I... I haven't finished my training. My father always had things to teach me.”

“I'm not saying I'm as good as the Valkyries or Mimir, but with my travels, I can teach you some things,” Tyr announced, letting go of your face. "Now you're going to get back up and become even better. You better be ready. I'm not going to let you down."

Tyr kept his word. The months in Midgard were punctuated by training. The God of War made you leave your bed at dawn to do yoga or tai chi. According to him, it allowed him to clear his mind and rethink his priorities. After that, he trained you in combat. Even though Tyr was peaceful, he wasn't the God of War for nothing. He had learned many things from his travels. The first fight was tough. You never thought you would be so exhausted and in pain. Every muscle in your body hurt so bad and the punch he delivered to your stomach had made you give up your meal. After that, you couldn't move. Tyr had to carry you back. You sighed, laying down on the ground, staring up at the sky. The Sun was setting, tinting the sky orange and pink. Tyr made his weapons disappear before sitting down beside you.

"You have made enormous progress in such a short time. This shows the training of Sigrun and your aunts," praised Tyr who was as out of breath as you.

“Thank...I guess,” you said, sitting up.

“I mean it,” Tyr replied, glaring at you. “You look better like this.”

"How so?"

"Haven't you noticed that you no longer have your nightmare form?"

You took out your sword, observing your reflection in the blade, seeing that Tyr was not wrong. You had your human form again. You ran your hand over your cheek putting your sword away.

“That’s a good thing,” Tyr said, smiling at you. “You’re taking back control.”

"But then... if I regain control. Does that mean it's over?" you asked, wrapping your arms around your legs. “Will you leave me alone?”

“In all honesty,” he began, moving closer to you. “Once we’re near you, it’s hard to let go of your presence.”

Following this confession, you blushed. You stood up abruptly, exclaiming that you were coming home first. You were in the house, slamming the door so Tyr would stay outside. You remained leaning against the door, not knowing what to do or think about this confession. Was it difficult for him to get rid of your presence? What did that mean? Why would Tyr say such a thing? It didn't make any sense. You jumped when you heard the God Aesir knocking on the door, asking to come in so you could discuss what he had just told you, but you were afraid to open the door. You were afraid of what Tyr might say or do. You weren't stupid, but with all the training and teaching you received, you never had time to be interested in men. Especially because of Odin's unhealthy and obnoxious behavior from his other sons and grandchildren.

"(Y/N)? Will you let me in?" Tyr asked, knocking on the door again.

"I...I can't do this!" you exclaimed, leaning against the door. "I... something is going to happen! I don't want anything to happen!"

"I'm sorry, (Y/N). I'm sorry for putting you through this embarrassment. I...what I meant was..."

"No! Shut up!"

Silence fell, you slid along the door, sitting on the floor. You buried your face in your arms, thinking about Tyr's words. You had lost everyone you loved. Were you willing to risk losing someone else? Were you ready to hear his words?

"You don't have to let me in, but know that it's not just empty words. I...I greatly enjoy your company. When you left Asgard, I looked for you. I was... I had to find you. I had to know that you were okay. I had to see with my own eyes that you were alive. I was... happy and relieved when I I saw the council of the Valkyries. I... I was ready to return the Nine Realms to be able to find you. I always appreciated your presence. I always appreciated our discussions. I enjoyed observing your training with the Valkyries. When you fought, you did it with such fervor that no one could look away. Once they see you, it's hard to look away."

You felt like your face was on fire. Why did Tyr have to tell you such things? You raised your head, looking at the door uncertainly. Should you open the door for him? But you knew that if you opened the door, it was going to be a point of no return. You stood up, staring at the door. You took a deep breath, grabbing the handle. You took a deep breath, opening the door.

A voice in your head told you it was a mistake to allow Tyr inside. She told you it was a mistake when he kissed you. She told you it was a mistake when he undressed you to make love to you.

You had decided to ignore that voice and allow Tyr to touch you like he did. You could still feel his warm hands caressing your body. You allowed him to love you and you allowed yourself to love him back.

You wanted to be happy and you were. You were happy with Tyr. You were happy when he proposed to you. Tyr managed to make your discomfort disappear. This joy has lasted several winters, until this day. One night, you woke up to find your husband standing in the wide open doorway. Tyr watched the wind blow fiercely and the rain crash onto the ground.

“Tyr,” you called, sitting up.

“This storm does not bode well,” Tyr said without turning his attention from the garden. "What do I have to do?"

You wrapped the blanket around your shoulders, leaving the warm bed to move closer to your husband. Tyr was taken out of his thoughts. He placed his golden eyes on your person. His stern expression softened when he saw you. He ran his hand over your cheek.

"I'll have to go to Asgard," Tyr announced.

"Asgard? Why would you go there?" you asked, feeling terror overcome you.

Why would Tyr want to return to Asgard? It was suicide. Odin was probably waiting for this moment to attack him. You shook your head, walking away from your husband. Tyr sighed, closing the door behind him, moving closer to you.

“(Y/N)…”

"This is what Odin is waiting for. He is waiting for you to come back so he can trap you!" you exclaimed, looking at him in horror. "He's already taken my wings, my parents and the Valkyries. If I lose you too, I... I don't know if I can handle it."

You sat on the bed, unable to imagine a world without Tyr. The God of War Aesir was all you had left in his Nine Realms. He had saved you. He had stopped you from falling into madness. If Odin were to take it away from you, you didn't know what you would be capable of against yourself or against Midgard. Tyr came to settle at your side. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you against him. He placed a kiss on the top of your head before pressing his cheek to it.

"I already told you: once we are near you, it is difficult to get rid of your presence. And besides, what kind of husband would I be if I abandoned my wife?"

“The kind of husband who will be chased by his wife so that she can kill him with her own hands,” you said, looking severely at Tyr who was smiling, laughing slightly.

“I don’t doubt it,” he replied, resting his forehead on yours. "I promise I'll come back to you, (Y/N). I'll only be gone for a few days."

It was all a lie.

Tyr never came back to you.

You waited. A moon passed, then two, then three and so on. Yet you continued to wait for him, crying in your bed, becoming cold from his absence. It took you three winters to realize that Odin probably didn't let him leave Asgard alive. The Allfather had succeeded. He had taken your beloved husband from you.

[lady-quen]

Verse: The Hound, The Haggard, and the Haunted

Posting an initial version of the lore being cooked between myself, @rostomanologist and @commanderteag ! The context will pretty much be necessary to understand most of the humor oscillating between these chucklefucks :) Chaos plant trio is a thing now.

The Dawnborn Maelmordha and Duskborn Kimarse have known one another since approximately 1320 AE as saplings, at least until Mael's Wyld Hunt and Kima's run-in with the Inquest ensured no further contact. The two wouldn't properly meet again until sometime after 1330 AE, during Commander Maelmordha's Elonian campaigns.

Owing to his death at the hands of Balthazar, Mael, now a lich, struggles with controlling his Diabolist powers, opting to utilize sealing tattoos and enchanted chains to stall the demon essence from consuming his soul. It was after the conflict with the War God that Maelmordha and Kimarse met again, the latter traveling in the area out of curiosity about the Awakened Inquest rampaging in Tyria.

The so-called Thanatologist caught onto the "deal" with the Pact Commander rather quickly and, armed with potential blackmail material, figured it most beneficial for them both to engage in a contract. An undying subject for the death scholar and possible help with his condition for the Commander, especially with Kimarse's Revenant former acquaintance in the picture - Noereen, haunted by the spectre of a legendary White Mantle well-versed in bloodstone magics. A bloodstone collar could be forged to act as a magic buffer, but a sample was required, and, well, with most equipment simply dissolving within the Commander's chest portal and the man himself being unable to perform the procedure, Kimarse thought it best to ward her left hand, plunge it in and hope for the best. She managed to pull out the demon core now replacing the Commander's heart for study, but lost the appendage to extreme frostbite. A tradeoff, just like Tyr lost his hand in the jaws of Fenrir - in order to apply Gleipnir.

Enter Maolmuire, a formidable Mesmer with an unsettling connection to the Dream and the sword Caladbolg.

Maolmuire of the Noon, awakened approximately 1330 AE, is a member of a cycle which suffered malformations following the Pale Mother's injury at the claws of the Shadow of the Dragon. Born with a warped right arm and a pair of wings, he stands out from his fellow sylvari, but what happened to his corporeal form is scarcely his only affliction. His connection to the Dream far too strong to the point of being unable to separate his own memories from those of its denizens, Maol's waking and sleeping moments alike are dominated by the three Knights of the Thorn: the Valiant Riannoc, the Marshal Trahearne, and the Commander, Maelmordha. The three personalities blend within him, and a destiny laid out by the Astral Ward itself sends him on a quest into the desert to find the Commander. With expert mesmeric magic, he is able to infiltrate even the Order of Shadows until he eventually confronts the Commander, now a different beast altogether than the pre-death image which yet remained of him inside the Dream.

In spite of being walking reminders of one another's worst traumas, Maelmordha and Maolmuire work together, with the former's condition and ever-fresh grief for the Pact Marshal making the burden of the lich-slaying Caladbolg infinitely heavy. Following the campaign against Palawa Joko, he attempts to return the sword, only to be met with rejection - for now. Indeed, it isn't long before the Mother receives a mysterious vision and nominates the Fourth Knight, who happens to be none other than Maolmuire himself.

The three keep in contact and work together in the future, out of selfless and selfish reasons alike.

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #29: Only the Good Die Young

Prompt: thanatopsis (free write) || Master Post || On AO3 (coming in October)

A/N: Sooooo you remember how I was mildly bummed at the end of last year's FFXIV Write because the prompt could not at all fit the idea I had wanted to cap the challenge off with?

This is that idea.

---

The King of Ruin was dead and it should have been a momentous, joyous day.

Instead, as news of Theodoric’s death at the hands of the Resistance spread through Ala Mhigo and its citizens began to raggedly cheer, the clouds had parted above the city, and Garlean airships had begun raining down blue fire. And while the city shook and cheering turned to screams, someone opened the Ghimlyt Gate, and the ranks of the XIVth Legion entered the city.

No matter what the Ala Mhigans did, their city would fall. Five years of the Mad King’s rule had drained Ala Mhigo of her vitality; the Resistance had broken the Corpse Brigade, but they had neither the numbers nor the experience to stand against the Black Wolf. There would be no throwing back the Garlean advance.

But every warrior and mage still capable of fighting could ensure as many people escaped as possible.

And so, Tyr Greywolfe raced through the family manor, doing a final check of each room to ensure no one was left behind.

The last of the servants, including little Synnove’s nanny and the housekeeper, had slipped away a few days ago as the tension preceding the king’s overthrow began to reach its crescendo, fleeing the city should the Resistance fail. But there was always the chance one might have returned to fetch a forgotten belonging, or that someone was trying to seek shelter as ceruleum fell from the sky and destroyed walls and homes and history. Today, at least, every room was empty.

Maybe one day they wouldn’t be.

Tyr flew down the hallways, through the entrance hall, and out of the front doors so fast that his sheathed blades slapped bruises into his thighs even with being safely strapped down. His mother’s gardens were trampled and ruined, but he doubted her ghost would mind; their widower neighbor, Walcher Steelwolfe (cadet branch of a completely unrelated House Wolfe that had long since died out), had brought his chocobo carriage, and he was soothing both frightened birds as Havardr and Father got the women and children into the back. The roar of cannons echoed overhead and the clash of swords came from the east; the Wolf’s Den was one of the neighborhoods closest to the Ghimlyt Gate, and the XIVth was trying to push further in.

“House is clear!” Tyr called out.

His goodsister was carefully moving into the back of the carriage to allow the rest of the family onboard; he saw her clutching a satchel that he knew was full of important documentation, and hoped that Isolde’s foresight wouldn’t be needed in the coming days and sennights. Faramund was lifted up after her, but Father paused briefly to pull his only grandson into a crushing hug. The boy clutched back desperately; he was just old enough to have an inkling that today might be the last time he received such a hug.

Tyr darted across the yard to join his family, heart in his throat. Faramund was now up on the edge of the carriage, but his nephew leaned over and Tyr obligingly pulled him into his own hug.

“Love you, Uncle,” Faramund choked out, voice muffled by his face in Tyr’s leathers and another cannon shot exploding just blocks away.

“Love you, too, Far,” Tyr said, pulling back and ruffling his hair, turning to the others as Faramund followed after his mother.

Eydis was right there, head at his chin, and gods, how quickly she had grown. Nearly eighteen and his spitting image: dark brown skin, deep red hair, hawk’s nose and thin lips. But her eyes were the same green as his mother’s rather than Greywolfe gold and right now, they were filling with tears. Even more than her cousin, Eydis knew.

His daughter, his only child, crashed into him, and Tyr could do nothing except hold her as tight as he could as she sobbed into his neck.

“I love you, Papa,” she said. “Please, please…”

“I love you, Eydis,” he said, hoarse with emotion. “You are the best thing I ever helped put into this world. I will always be proud of you.”

Another sob heaved through her and Tyr pressed a kiss to her temple. After long moments, they drew apart; Eydis’s eyes were red-rimmed and still streaming, but a steely determination had descended upon her.

Tyr wiped the tears off her cheeks and held her face in his hands. And then he helped her up into the carriage.

Little Synnove had already been carefully placed into the carriage bed by her father, but she stared up at him with the same huge green eyes his daughter had. Her favorite plush wolf—sewn for her by his mother—was clutched tightly under her arm, but she reached for him with the other. Tyr gathered her close, gentle as always with her even as he made his hug as fierce as possible. With her nanny gone, Synnove had slept the last few nights with himself and Angharad, tucked safely between them and even joined by Eydis as initial clashes between the Corpse Brigade and the Resistance had echoed through the streets. But his niece had always been one of the bright spots of his life and she had always been frightfully smart; her solemnity now would be unusual on any other five-year old.

“Love you very much, Synnove-cub,” he whispered to her. “Be good for your ma and da and aunt.”

“Love you, Unca Tyr,” she lisped, then drew away to be scooped up into Eydis’s arms.

Angharad was next to him now, and Tyr took a moment to drink in the sight of his wife.

Strong shoulders and straight spine and light steps, trained in Gyr Abanian dance, Angharad was grace personified. Her chestnut hair had a few stray greys hiding at the temples and her dark eyes, normally laughing and bright, regarded him now with resigned grief.

His wife reached for him and Tyr took her hands in his, raising them to his lips to kiss the knuckles of the right, then the left, and then Angharad lunged forward.

Their kiss was messy, and desperate, and tasted faintly of the salt that Angharad had cried earlier but refused to let fall now. Twenty years of passion and love and joys and sorrows and mistakes and triumphs; Tyr tried to put it all into the kiss, arms tight around her waist even as her hands stroked through his hair. When they drew apart at last, they rested their foreheads together and stared into one another’s eyes.

“I will love you long after the stars grow cold,” Tyr said to the love of his life.

“And I will love you even when the memory of stars is gone from creation,” Angharad said thickly, finishing the familiar refrain.

Tyr put his hands on her waist and lifted her up into the carriage bed, as easy as when he had lifted her onto the stage for their first dance at their wedding. Angharad cupped his face in her hands, staring at him with the same solemnity has Synnove had as she memorized him. Then she dropped her hands, and stepped backwards to sit at the back and gather up the girls to her.

Walcher had hopped up into the driver’s seat and just in time—dropships roared overhead, and through the estate gate, Tyr saw a group of Resistance fighters pelt full tilt down the street towards the eastern barricades. Walcher slapped the reins, and the kwehing chocobos dutifully began to draw the carriage across the lawn and through the open gates. Tyr, Havardr, and Father followed after, Havardr just a few steps ahead.

Tyr felt eyes on him, and canted his head to the side. Ivar Greywolfe looked at him, golden eyes worn but determined. He flicked his gaze towards his younger son.

Tyr nodded.

As the carriage cleared the gate, Walcher guiding the chocobos to head west, Havardr began to turn east. That was when Tyr and Father grabbed him by either arm, and hauled him towards the carriage.

“No!” Havardr shouted, loud even over the battle raging down the street and throughout the rest of the city, bucking and struggling against their holds. “No, no, don’t you dare make me leave you behind, don’t you dare—”

Tyr managed to wrestled his brother’s arms behind him even as Father let go to grab either side of Havardr’s head. “Someone has to protect the rest of the family!” he yelled, pitching his voice over the explosion of yet another ceruleum cannon. “That’s your job now, Havardr! You have to keep them safe, for me and for Tyr!”

Havardr sobbed as Father pressed a kiss to his forehead. Tyr let him go, and then he and Father were engulfing his brother into a fierce three-way hug. Havardr clutched at them, hands scrabbling for purchase on their leathers, gasping out, “I love you I love you I’m sorry I love you—”

“Love you, too, brother mine,” Tyr said. And then he and Father picked Havardr up and threw him into the carriage.

“Walcher, GO!” Father roared, turning to bolt down the street to shore up the defensive line at the end of the street. Tyr ran after him, drawing his swords as he did.

One of the mages had brought down one of the buildings to create a barricade, but Garlean reapers had joined the fray and their cannons were making quick, awful work of the stone. Bladedancers clashed with conscripts, swords clanking loudly against shields, knuckledancers wove through the melee to disable enemy combatants, a firedancer was standing atop the rubble to aim her destructive magicks at the backlines of the advancing enemy. Tyr and his father crashed into the Garleans, swords sweeping through their foes and blood flowing. They hadn’t been with the Resistance when they stormed the palace, their job to put down any Corpse Brigade curs should they begin attacking civilians in the city, and thus they were fresh, their stamina still high.

The heavy whirr of machina echoed down the street, and another reaper fired its cannon. The blast partially hit both the downed building and the street, and for a moment, Ala Mhigans and Garleans alike were unbalanced as the force of the blast shook the block. Tyr reached out to stabilize his father, eyes forward, and saw one of the backline officers raise their gunblade—

Tyr Greywolfe never felt the bullet.

[aphro]

𓅻 | I finally found you...

| A remake version of the old one bc I got new ideas ✺. ✺. ✺. ⋆˙⊹ Summary: 'Kratos found his past lover..' ⋆˙⊹ Warnings: NSFW, MARRIAGE, ANGST, MEMORIES LOSE, BLOOD, REVENGE, SEX, SFW, COMFORT. ✺. ✺. ✺. [Ignore any misspelling please English is not my first language] -Aphro.

-CHAPTER 1: Who are you..?

• A gloomy sky and a wintry atmosphere. Footprints of large, small and medium-sized cover the snowy ground in a straight line. Kratos and his companions Freya, his son Atreus, and his wise friend Mimir, the head hanging behind Kratos, lead their way to the broken prison in Niflheim, Advancing towards Raven Tree. Kratos saw the prison covered in snow.

✢|KRATOS: 'there it is..' He said under his breath and his son answered tiredly.

✢|ATREUS: 'Finally, my feet hurt a lot, father.' Freya smiled a little at Atreus comment and put her hand on top of Atreus' head, caressing him. Mimir didn't say anything.

After this light conversation ended, the team continued on its way towards the prison, and after a few minutes they arrived at the prison gate. It was really broken.Kratos entered and his team followed behind him. No one commented on the place. They were silent and cautious, their weapons in their fists, ready to fight.

Eager steps spread throughout the place, and Kratos' sharp gaze wandered around the prison, searching for any trace of Tyr. Mimir's head fell silent, and after a while he said:

✢|MIMIR: 'I think he's in that room on the right, brother.' He said calmly and wisely in his words. Kratos nodded his head and a light 'Hm' left his lips as he turned to the door. Freya and Atreus followed his steps.

Kratos opened the door and found Tyr Sitting on the ground, there is a rope around his neck connected to the ceiling of the cell. But what caught Atreus's attention was the unconscious completely naked body of a woman, with her reproductive system covered by a white piece of cloth as a towel. He looked at Freya and he poke her arm and whisper:

✢|ATREUS: 'look over there, That woman..'. Freya looked at her and then looked at Atreus.

✢|FREYA: 'She's just a prisoner, nothing special'. She said And then she look at Kratos, who freed Tyr by cutting the rope from his neck. The woman woke up from those sounds and opened her eyes. No one paid attention to her, but after a while she spoke. Her voice was calm and soft.

✢|WOMAN: 'who are you?'. She said, curiosity overwhelming her tone, and she looked up at that huge man with white skin and red marks on half his body. He seemed strong and angry. He reminded her of someone she knew, but her memories were blurry.

Tyr looked at her. His cell mate, She was a peaceful and quiet woman who did not speak much like a doll, and glorious for sure, Tyr looked at her and then answered.

✢|TYR: 'don't worry, Y\N. Those people are good'. Atreus nodded his head in confirmation of Tyr's statement, then Freya say:

✢|FREYA: 'whor are you?'. Freya asked her, giving her a sharp look. Y/N looked at her, her eyes full of innocence. She answered in a low voice.

✢|Y/N: 'i'm Y/N..' Freya nodded her head, but something caught Kratos' attention when he saw that naked woman. His gaze fell on her neck, a necklace dangllin down between her cleavage. "Is this the immortality necklace?... No.., this does not make sense. I gave it to the love of my life. But She is dead!. How did it fall into this woman's hands?" This dialogue took place inside Kratos. No one knows about this story Not Even, his deceased wife, Faye, Not Even, his son, Atreus. He tried to recall his memories when he was still a young man, full of anger in order to take revenge on Zeus, but also full of romance to a certain woman. Kratos did not feel himself until these words came out of his mouth like poison from the venom of a snake.

✢|KRATOS: 'Who gave this to you?!' He said in an angry voice, and his eyes became more intense, his son Atreus and Mimir and Frey never seen Kratos that mad. Kratos Snatch the necklace from her delicate neck that it leaves a small red hickey from the aggressive way he snatch it from her.

A small cry left her lips and looks up at him scared. Her body start to tremble slightly and her fingers ashes for having her most dearest necklace back to her.

✢|Y/N: 'no, please give it back..' she plead and Tyr looks at both of them before he speak.

✢|TYR: 'I suggest you god killer to give it back to her.' Tyr said calmly, trying to calm the situation. Kratos did not answer him, then he put it in his pocket.

Y/N looked at him with tears streaming from her eyes. She did not understand how hard this man’s heart was. She spoke, her voice trembling.

✢|Y/N: 'You have no right to take what I own!'. She said while crying. Atreus and Tyr were sad about her situation. Mimir was listening to what was happening and wanted to ask Kratos what was wrong and why he behaved like this towards this harmless woman. But Freya did the thing.

✢|FREYA: 'are you okay?' She asked with concern in her voice as she was about to put her hand on his back. Kratos pushed her away from him, then sighed and returned to his normal state. The fire of questions was still burning in his heart and the hearts of everyone inside the cell.

-CHAPTER 2: REMEMBER..

A week passed in Freya's camp. The camp was beautiful, like a forest full of good things. Kratos, the god of war, sitting on a log with his own axe in his hand, sharpening it with a stone. The fire was on even it was morning and quite sunny. His son Atreus and Mimir were away with the blue dwarf brok, it was quiet between Kratos and Y/N. Of course he took some glances at her from time to time but he didn't talk, the necklace was still in his pocket and her neck was healed.

✢|Y/N: 'butterflies..' Y/N whisper as she looked up at the butterflies flying over her head. A blue one landed on her nose, as Kratos watch this a same scene Plays in his memories it was the same thing, the woman he loves with a butterfly up on her nose. He gets a feeling of nostalgia inside his chest and he speak.

✢|KRATOS: 'the butterflies suits you..' he say in a low, deep voice. It was the same phrase he said to his past lover, "the butterflies suits you". Y/N looked at him with wonder and curiosity and then said with a little anger in her voice.

✢|Y/N: 'i'm still angry at you, cruel man.' she said with a slight pout that curved on her soft, plump lips, her eyebrows frowns softly and Kratos couldn't help but faintly smile.

✢|KRATOS: 'i'm Kratos. Not cruel man, lady'. He said simply and looks back at his axe, Y/N didn't reply and looks up at the butterflies before Kratos asks her again.

✢|KRATOS: 'how did you end up being in prison?'. He asked with curiosity as he looks at the beautiful woman next to him, he can't help but feel drawn to her but he's ego is more important.

✢|Y/N: ' I don't remember..' that's all what she said and that leaves some questioning marks up his head. "She doesn't remembe, what does she mean?" Kratos thought to himself.

✢|KRATOS: 'you don't remember?, How come?'

✢|Y/N: 'I've lost my memories'. She said simply and lostness fills her tone.

Before Kratos could say another word, Freya, walks over them and say in a slight sacrastic tone and a slight smirk.

✢|FREYA: 'what are you two talking about?' she say as she sit between Y/N and Kratos. Y/N went quiet again and look down at the flowers while Kratos looked down at his axe. Freya didn't like it when someone ignores her, she looked at Kratos and whisper to him.

✢|FREYA: 'did she say something?' Kratos shake his head in reponce and then Freya nod and looks back at the fire. The trio was staring at different things.

After a few hours, the sky began to darken and the wind became cold but calm. Y/N was inside a tent that Brok and Sindri had set up for her to sleep in. The camp was silent. She heard the sound of butterflies and birds fluttering in the sky. It was the only sound present.

Y/N's eyes could not sleep as she looked at the moonlight through the tent, the confused memories and life passing before her eyes, that strange man again, that angry man who fell in love with her like Romeo fell in love with Juliet. She could feel his eyes penetrating her, looking into her soul. Y/N tossed and turned in her bed. She couldn't describe her feeling. Was it longing and sadness, or was it just lust or... love?.

Y/N closed her eyes, trying to sleep, but she couldn't. Her mind said, "They can't sleep and forget." She wanted to remember her life, her relatives, who she loved, her family, but she couldn't. She sighed sadly, and the questions were running through her mind till she falls asleep.

-CHAPTER 3: GOLDEN AGE.

A sunny day in Olympus. The peasants took the fruits from their fields and put them in baskets to sell and serve to the gods. Y/N was a young version of herself, full of life, living inside a simple house with her aunt and her two daughters. Anthea and Phoebe. Their characteristics include jealousy and envy, like their mother, Lone. They treat Y/N ​​as if she were a servant and not her deceased mother's guardian, Cassia.

✢|ANTHEA: 'clean that spot, maid'. She said while laughing at Y/N who was mopping the floor after Phoebe spilled coffee on the floor. Y/N was wiping, tears gathering in her eyes, and she looked at Anthea sadly. She couldn't stop Anthea from humiliating her. If she did that, her aunt would kick her out of the house. She didn't want to be homeless in the cold, with men harassing her. She's beautiful. Beauty that rivals the gods. This is the reason for Anthea and Pheobe's jealousy and envy.

A few days ago, Y/N was away from home and the fields a little. She was sitting on her knees next to the river washing the clothes, A strange man was watching her from behind the Bushes, Sharp, dark eyes were watching her as if she were prey. Y/N did not notice it, but after a few seconds, a voice spoke behind her. It was a sharp and angry voice.

✢|YOUNG KRATOS: 'you, what are you doing?'. He asked while looking at her. Y/N turned to him and was shocked by this strange man. He was tall and carried weapons. His muscles were sharp and strong.

Y/N looked at him calmly and spoke

✢| YOUNG Y/N: 'doing laundry..'She answered simply, looking at him. Her hands were full of soap. For a few seconds, they were silent, looking after them. They were the opposite of each other. One is rageful, dominate and strong. The other is quiet, calm and submesive.

✢|Y/N: ' are you a god?' She said curiously, looking at him. The idea of ​​speaking face to face with a god was too much for her young mind to understand. Kratos didn't say anything, but nodded, his angry expression not leaving his face.

✢|YOUNG Y/N: ' oh, what a honour!' She said in astonishment and smiled at him. He looked at her smile, it seemed innocent and bright, not like the women he met, full of hatred and vanity, those fake goddesses.

✢|YOUNG KRATOS: ' the honour is mine' he pause and looks at the lake 'it's quiet cold for a woman like you'

She raised her eyebrows, surprised by his cold comment. Cold on me? Why would this God care about me of all people? She had these questions in one second, but remained silent.

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

To be continued..

[squalodinoappreciationsquad]

Ok, I felt a little bit called into the cause earlier on when I as lurking and reading @khr-guilded-cage posts.

And now I am wearing my clown wig and honk my kazoo and I am outlining the Canon Divergent AU where Dino, in spite of all, decides that he wants to support Xanxus during the Cradle Affair, screw everything.

Buckle up!

So.

Squalo has already killed Tyr, gained the title of Swords Emperor and as a bonus he is enrolled into the Varia.

This means that Dino and Squalo already argued bitterly, they are both mourning the loss of their situationship and they are just doing their thing.

Then ofc Xanxus explodes - we know why, I am not repeating this part.

Dino is on the fence.

His family is technically allied to the Vongola and by reason he should be supporting the Vongola against the Varia.

And yet.

Dino has never really gotten over his dad's death and he is kindof resenting Reborn for forcing him into a world he was desperately trying to run away from.

Dino knows perfectly that now if he doesn't support the Vongola, the Cavallone family is doomed.

And yet.

He knows Xanxus' situation well enough to think that it has never been a fair thing, he thinks that the only friend he has ever had is right there in the middle of everything.

Dino looks at Romario and Romario only says "we will follow our boss to hell and back".

And Dino decides that he is tired of the abuse, he is tired of being manhandled by Reborn, he is tired of being forced into situations and he is tired of not having any choice ever.

He shows up in the midst of the battle, the Vongola are already singing their victory, whilst the Varia look at him as if they want to kill him.

And Dino marches with his 5000 men into battle, right next to Xanxus and against the Vongola.

Now, I have two possible outcomes, you choose whichever you like best.

THE VARIA WIN

Well, the battle ends hen Xanxus kills Timoteo and incapacitates forever Iemitsu, whilst Reborn is nowhere to be found, being chased by some hellions. Dino literally left behind the chocolate and the sweetness he had to be able to just be the Bucking Bronco.

For him it is only half a victory, Reborn did manage to make him a ruthless mafia leader. He does have the Varia's gratitude and that means that now the Vongola are now under Xanxus.

Dino's debts are immediately erased, he gains enough influence and power, power that he immediately uses to elect a new Cavallone Decimo. Dino retires and only the Varia and Romario know where he lives and what he does

He has finally some choice, he decides to live as normally and as anonymously as possible, even though the blood on his hands definitely leaves his ugly mark.

At least he has rekindled his situationship with Squalo and Xanxus is civil with him.

This may mean no Tsuna in the picture.

THE VARIA LOSE

Well, the battle was fought valiantly on both sides, but the Vongola outnumbered the Varia and Cavallone.

Xanxus is put in the freezer, things go as per canon, but with a difference.

18 yrs old Squalo takes the command of the Varia ad interim and with the help of Marmon disguises all of the Cavallone survivors as Varia soldiers - he will have a lot of work between reforging documents, trying to make everything look good enough so that both Timoteo and Iemitsu think that everything is back under their control

Dino is also in the freezer - there is no fucking way they are letting go another Sky. Cue Squalo swearing another oath to free Dino as well, other than Xanxus.

Romario is in the Varia too, albeit disguised.

For the time being the Varia are behaving like role model citizens, but the plans are in the works.

And ofc Tsuna is in the picture.

Plans are being actioned - Tsuna has to see the Vongola's ruthlessness with his own eyes and once again Romario ill be a key.

Thoughts? Comments? Prayers?

[grievedeeply]

the less time, the better. pt 5.

PREVIOUS | NEXT — SERIES TAGLIST / GENERAL TAGLIST

pairing: heimdall x gn!reader / familial kratos and atreus

summary: your father returns from vanaheim and you get the chance to talk to him face to face. a familiar face returns.

notes: finally kratos time!! i love writing him as a worried father it's so sweet lol. a little bit of angst this chapter.... anyway. no romance this chapter at all buuut it'll be worth it when it comes around. i hope. enjoy this part and let me know your thoughts!

your father still wasn't home yet.

you had been sitting at the large, wooden table in the center of sindri's house for what felt like years, waiting for him to return. you had nothing to occupy your mind other than thoughts of asgard and what inevitably waited for you when you returned, and the idea of it made you cringe. you could already picture heimdall's cocky smirk, his teasing tone. it was as clear as day in your head, and you hated it.

you knew that, once you returned to asgard, he would rub the fact that you left in your face. he would say you're being childish, or too cowardly. the truth was the opposite. you felt guilty for leaving your family with no answers, and it had been eating at you the entire time you had been there. you were tired of that heavy feeling on your chest, and decided to take charge of your emotions. something that heimdall didn't seem like he could do.

you could picture his expression from the day you met in your mind. he couldn't understand how he lost, so he refused to acknowledge it until weeks later. you saw how pink his cheeks were.. how out of breath he was. the mere thought of it put a smile on your lips. he deserved to be put in his place like that. it felt good.

heimdall acted differently around you than anyone else, and it was obvious. he still retained his obnoxious sense of humor, but he seemed to fluster easier when you were in the room. why was that? was he still embarrassed about losing? you shook the thought out of your mind. he had to be over that by now. it was a shock, and that was fine.. but surely, he had to be over it.

he was a stubborn person. you heard it took plenty of convincing for him to go on the mission to helheim with you, and you weren't surprised. you wished you went with someone else, anyway.

the less time you spent around him, the better it was for you.

he might not have been able to read your intentions like he was with everyone else, but he wasn't stupid. he was odin's pet, and as soon as he noticed your true intentions there was no doubt in your mind that he would report you to him. you would be dead, and heimdall would be victorious. you couldn't let him win. you wouldn't.

atreus sat across from you. you'd been noticing he'd been reaching for his neck more frequently lately— and you noted the absence of the mistletoe that had caused baldur to feel. he had kept it. he said it was a way to remember all he'd been through, but you knew it was more than that. you felt pity for baldur. you knew he did, too. even your father did. it was hard for him to feel bad for someone.

you heard him let out a sigh, and you glanced over at him with pursed lips. "what's got you down?" you decided to ask, leaning back against the uncomfortable wooden framing of the chair. out of the corner of your eye, you saw tyr in the kitchen, his eyes moving across the pages of the book his face was buried in. atreus shrugged, "i don't know." he admitted, finally turning his attention to you. you fell silent, and the house followed suit.

"i miss mom." he told you, breaking through the quiet with his words. you swallowed, "me too." you whispered into the air. you missed her more than anything in the world.

you remembered her hands, the way they used to braid your hair in your youth. you remembered her voice, and how she used to read you to sleep. she did the same to atreus, when he was born. you remembered watching him grow up with her. you were angry at the universe for taking her away so soon. she deserved more.

she was kind. brave. courageous. she was good to the realms, and they were good to her. she was the best person you ever knew. the realms needed more people like her— and she raised you to be that person. she raised atreus in that way, too. the two of you would carry her with you. you promised her that.

the sound of soft sniffing took you out of your thoughts, and you immediately stood from your seat. the floor was slippery. sindri had spent hours mopping earlier in the day, and you could only assume he was doing the same to the second level.

you sat next to your brother, taking both of his hands in yours. they were much bigger than they were years ago, when you were spreading your mother's ashes. the thought of him growing up was always something that had scared you, but he was growing into a mature, kind young man. you were proud of him.

"atreus," you muttered, running your thumbs across the back of his hands. "it's okay to cry." you told him, and all he did was nod. "i cry." you said after a moment, soft laughter escaping from your lips. "i miss her, atreus. more than anything. i always will miss her.. and that's okay." you reassured him. "you're not alone in how you feel. i promise." you squeezed his hands, and he returned the gesture with a small smile. he nodded again, clearing his throat.

"thanks." he took his hands out of yours, using his palms to wipe the tears that fell off of his cheeks. "anytime." you chuckled, a thin lipped smile on your features. you were lucky you had him as your brother.

the sound of brok hammering something from across the room was the only thing that filled your ears, until the familiar sound of the door opening rang through the house.

you looked towards the entrance, and you felt your throat tighten at the sight of your father's silhouette in the doorway. freya entered behind him, but you didn't even pay attention to her. he would be disappointed in you, but you needed to face him. you had to explain everything. he deserved that much.

his eyes softened as soon as they landed on you, and he took long, quick steps to reach you. all you could do was look up at him, and you said nothing. his eyes never left your face. it was almost like he as analyzing you for any sign of injury.

"you are home." his deep baritone spoke out, and you nodded in response. you could see how tense he was— in his shoulders, mostly. "i'm home." you tried to laugh, but nothing came out.

the last time you spoke to him was a disagreement. you left without saying a word.. and yet, he didn't seem angry. at least, not as angry as you expected him to be.

your father only stood in front of you in silence after hearing your response. he nodded, and you heard him take in a shaky breath. "i am glad." he told you, his large hands taking hold of your shoulders. you pressed your lips into a smile, enjoying the feeling of his comforting touch.

he had every right to be upset with you, and he was. you could tell by the look he held in his eyes, but he didn't show it, verbally nor physically. all he did was look down at you, looking as though he was trying to read your mind.

"i'm sorry." you said after a moment of sitting in the comfortable silence he had made. "i know." he replied, and you couldn't help but to feel like a child again— being reprimanded for making a mistake. this was more than a mistake. this was life or death.

"why did you go?" his voice cut you out of your thoughts, and you turned your gaze to him once more. "to see what odin was up to. to feel.. useful."

"you are useful." he said without missing a beat. the confidence he had in you was always something that made your chest tight and your eyes water. "i wanted.. i had to go. i know you're upset with my decision, but it was mine to make."

your father's mouth opened for a split second, then closed once more. "okay." he spoke, and you furrowed your eyebrows. "okay?" you asked, confusion evident in your tone. "it was your decision. i did not.. do not.. agree. i never will. but it was yours." he explained, and you closed your eyes, taking in his words.

he had changed so much over the years. you wondered why. was it your mother's death? the fact that his children were doing nothing but getting older? you remembered how he would be gone for days, weeks at a time in your youth. when he was around, he wasn't really there. his body was.. his mind wasn't.

now— all of him remained at your side. his emotions, thoughts, feelings.. everything was there. he didn't leave. not anymore.

"thank you." you mustered up a response, albeit a mediocre one. he said nothing in acknowledgment to your words. he didn't need to. "rest." he spoke in a whisper, gesturing to the room you had shared with atreus with a nod of his head, and you didn't have the energy to say anything else.

you turned on your heel, and with one last look at your father over your shoulder, you walked into your room. it smelled of fruits— and the smell was a welcoming one. your room in asgard could never compare.. even if this one was a pantry. it was home.

you unsheathed your sword and stared down at it for a moment, thoughts of your time behind asgard's walls flooding your mind. you took off your baldric, resting it on top of a nearby barrel, sitting your weapon down with it.

a sigh escaped your lips as you laid down on the bed. you had plenty to think about, and it was times like this where you wished you could turn off your mind.

you closed your eyes. your head hit the pillow, and you slept.

"watch your step, dear."

your eyes opened, and you found yourself surrounded by forest. the sound of running water rushed into your ears, and your gaze eventually settled on a woman— stood in front of you with a gentle smile.

your mother..

she extended a hand to you, and you took it with no hesitation. this was a memory, and yet you remained older. you were no longer a child. you were close to her height in your dream-like memory. you wished she could see you now.

she squeezed your hand, helping you up the ledge that led up the river. "today.. we fish." your mother stated, letting you walk beside her. she walked closest to the river, as all mothers do to protect their children from falling in. "why?" you asked, and she did nothing but laugh.

"you have to learn to survive." she told you, shrugging her shoulders with a smile. she was always smiling.. always positive. you returned her grin with one of her own, "okay, mama." you whispered through laughter.

you walked in silence for a few minutes, letting the sound of chirping birds and rushing water take over your thoughts, though your eyes never drifted from your mother's form next to you. she never took her hand out of yours, and she rubbed her thumb across the back of it.

"we're here." she said, leading you down and onto the shore of the river. it was relatively far away from your home, and you couldn't help but to wonder what atreus was doing. sleeping.. most likely. children tend to do that.

the dirt underneath your feet felt uncomfortable, the texture of it unwelcome against your skin. your face crinkled in disgust. you heard your mother's laughter. the sound of it was bliss. this moment.. it was, too.

she held onto your spear, and you swallowed looking at it. it looked.. complicated. your mother noticed your worried expression, and rested her hand on your shoulder, her touch reassuring. "i'll teach you everything. don't look so dour." she chuckled, making sure the spear was in working order for you. you could only watch as she did so— amazed by her skills.

"i'll teach you how to make your own." your mother told you. "this one is old. you'll need one." she said, turning her attention away from the spear and onto you. her gaze was gentle, as soft as her touch was. she stepped into the river, shivering at the cold temperature of the water before gesturing for you to join her.

you pursed your lips, and after a deep breath, you stepped in after her. you gasped at the feeling of it on your legs, and your mother laughed at the expression on your face. "you'll get used to it, someday." she told you through her chuckles.

she handed you your own spear, holding her own with her other hand. "you wonder why we're far from home?" she asked, and you nodded. "we needed a good spot.. downstream. the fish will come from this way," she pointed with her hand, "we'll be waiting." she shrugged, looking down at her feet.

you nodded. "in the meantime.." your mother muttered, taking a step towards you. "you don't need to hold it that tight." she rested her free hand on yours, releasing the tension you held in them. "adjust your positioning. you want the strength to make it quick. this way," she moved your hands to the correct spots on the spear, and hummed as she pulled away from you. "good!" she said, cheering for you though you had done nothing to deserve it.

you only rolled your eyes, and she nudged you with her elbow. "oh, here." she noticed a few fish coming downstream, and with one swift movement, she had one on the end of her spear. your mouth fell open. how did she do that? she laughed, seeing the look on your face.

"how did you do that?" you asked, and she turned her head to look at you. "many, many years of practice, my dear. you'll get there."

and you did.

memories flooded your mind, and with each one that passed you got older. you saw more fishing, heard her voice reading to you.. it was bittersweet to see her again. you closed your eyes, letting the sound of her words echo through your mind.

it fell silent, and you blinked a few times, opening your eyes.

you were in your home, and your mother laid in the bed you sat on. this was a few weeks before she died, and she began getting weaker. she was the strongest woman you ever knew— that you ever will know— but seeing her in that way.. it hurt.

"what's on your mind?"you heard her ask, and you pursed your lips. "just thinking, mama." you whispered to her, tucking her hair behind her ear with a smile. "your thoughts are loud." she muttered, leaning into your hand. "i'm sorry."

"don't be." she replied quickly, and you nodded. "what is it.. really?"

"what do i do?"

she raised an eyebrow at your question, but bit at the inside of her cheek. she knew what you meant. what would you do after she was gone?

"you will continue without me. you'll continue being that same strong, intelligent and capable child i raised. that's what you'll do." your mother said to you, resting her hand on top of yours that had sat on the bed next to her. "i don't want to do this without you." you told her, and she nodded.

"i know. but you can.. and you will." she looked into your eyes, and even her gaze looked weaker than before. "it will be hard.. for you, your brother," she paused, her eyes moving towards the door, "your father." she looked at it for a few moments, before returning her attention to you.

"you will grow. you'll make hard decisions.. and you'll have to do them without me," she paused, letting herself smile, "and without your father's opinion."

"you are your own person. you know what to do. what's best for you." she shrugged her shoulders with pursed lips, and you sighed. you said nothing in response to her words, and she lifted her hand to your cheek.

she caressed your skin with her thumb, and smiled up at you. "i love you." she whispered. "i love you too." you replied.

you felt her touch fade from your face, and you subconsciously lifted your hand to where her's was moments before. you were met with nothing, and you shot out of bed. your chest felt tight and your eyes welled with tears at the memory of her. this was the first time you had dreamt of her in a long time.. and her words stuck with you even more now than they did before.

you blinked away your tears, rubbing them away with the palms of your hands. your eyes fell on the sword that sat on the table at the end of your bed, and as you calmed your breathing down, you let yourself think of asgard.

she was telling you something. she wasn't with you physically, but she remained in your heart and soul. you let out a sigh, rubbing your forehead with your thumb and pointer finger.

you would go back to asgard. that was your decision— without her and without your father's input. you thought that was what was best.. so you would do it.

you thought of odin.. of heimdall.

you would avoid him to the best of your ability. you had to. the less time.. the better, you reminded yourself.

you let yourself lie back down, turning your head to look at the opposite side of the room. atreus was asleep in his own bed, and you smiled at the sight of him. he slept so soundly.. his mind at peace. he had a faint grin on his lips. he looked.. happy.

you would protect him, his happiness.

you would protect your father.

you had to.

you knew what you had to do. and you would do it.

you closed your eyes— and welcomed the thoughts of asgard into your mind with open arms.

tags: @s1mpss @gorepitt @orange-celestial @callalillie15 @bluehorizon987 @vanserrar @trippingoverstars @mysiax @rei64bit @neverendingdumptser @m0th4 @a-bunny13 @ss-kimo @candy4bonez @yyourmotherr @blobdrake-theory @zarizee @rainygamingstreamingturtle @kise-kae @aesthetic-of-a-director @httptaegi @nixeustheclamity @aiciteaa @multifand0m-gal0re @mama-bonie @wonderkive @lentillo @luffysoctopus @elizabeth-hatake @black-star1472 @lacm-ac @sxmirae @maggot-baggage @emc2beans @suzumi-hiddenmistclan @engardeitsme @ssauerkraut

[osric-giroux-ffxiv]

DWC November 2024 - Day 5 - Skill

@daily-writing-challenge

TW: Violence (Below the Cut)

There were certain things that had stood out to him very early in life, and had only become more pronounced the more years passed by. One of those ‘things’ was just how certain individuals developed specific attributes - specific skills, while others were left to go to waste, and others found no value in those same skills. 

His parents - if one could even call them that - were certainly skilled narrators and manipulators. They could and did spin a tail and most if not all believed it. His sister was observant, detail oriented - generally, but even then there were times when she could be so focused on the details that she lost sight of the greater picture. 

How many times had he seen it during training? Those who were overconfident in their skills ended up dead because they could not see their flaws? They held one attribute in such esteem that they couldn’t recognize the need to be well rounded, or at the vet least, have others around them that could balance out those areas in which they were lacking.

It was something he’d tried to keep in mind as he started working with the wolves. 

Each of them had a different strength - Freyja was fearless, happy to charge into any fray she was presented with with little concern for herself, so long as it was at Osric’s side. 

Tyr was happier defending and protecting, whether that was a singular location or Osric’s back as they scouted - ever watchful, ever alert, he was the more watchful of the two younger wolves.

And then there was Vidar. A bit of an anomaly at first - the older wolf has spent a majority of his time stalking the grounds around Osric’s home, ever watchful. It had taken time, and no shortage of trial and error to discover just what skill he seemed to lean into. And with patience what was discovered is the the older wolf had an incredibly sharp sense of smell - one that work, could be honed.

One that on this particular afternoon, seemed to pick up on a familiar scent, and one that he did not consider to be friendly. 

The two sets of prints in the snow weren’t hard to follow, neither was the shouting or the snarls. 

Osric, Freyja, and Tyr managed to come upon the scene just as Vidar pounced, knocking the man down into the snow, not snapping, a low growl rumbling at the back of his throat.

“Vidar - hold!”

The wolf froze at the command, the tense body language a clear indication that he didn’t want to, but he adhered nonetheless. 

Osric approached, hunting knife in hand, as he hadn’t been prepared to take off into the woods when Tyr hand grabbed his attention. “What have we here?” He kneeled down, blade of the knife held under the man’s chin as he gripped his hair forcing him to look up, the volume of Vidar’s growl increasing. 

As the man dared to open his eyes, Osric scoffed as the recognition washed over him. “You. I suppose the first time wasn’t enough?”

“Y-you know how much a wolf pelt is worth, mister?”

Vidar snapped an inch from the man’s face, causing him to try to recoil - he couldn’t because of Osric’s grip, something that only tightened. 

“No, and I don’t give a fuck. You’re trespassing and I see you didn’t learn a godsdamned thing from the last time I caught you.”

“I did…I swear!” 

“Then you’re here just for a lovely walk in the snow? If you’re going to lie, think of something more convincing. I’ve been around some of the best.” 

Osric’s grip tightened on the knife. The last time he’d sent the bastard to the authorities and after a few weeks they released him. And now he was back trying the same thing. 

If he let him go again, who else would the bastard hurt. 

Clearly nothing had been learned from the last time... 

He shook his head before the decision became about more than just the poacher (it was about more than just the poacher).

“This is the second time I’ve caught you on my property trying to kill my wolves..Can’t follow simple instructions, can you?”

“I…well…I mean…”

“It’s a simple question that required a simple answer. You could not provide it and I won’t tolerate a third attempt or venture onto my land. I shouldn’t have tolerated a second. And Aurifort isn’t here to save you this time.” Vidar’s growling grew louder beside him. “I hope you’ve begged for mercy from whichever of the Twleve you pray to sir, you’ll find none here today.”

“Wha…?!”

The reaction was quick, decisive. The knife moved from under the man’s chin, the blade slicing across his throat. 

“Vidar, kill.” It was an order the wolf seemed more than happy to follow through on, his teeth ripping into the man’s throat. 

Osric took a step back, glancing down at the poacher’s lifeless form as Vidar, his task complete moved over next to Tyr and Freyja. 

“Let’s see to this mess, shall we? It seems Kenward will have a bit of company this evening.”

He’d failed to protect all those that were important to him before - lack of skill, lack of planning, it didn’t matter at this point. It was not a mistake he’d make again. He would be better prepared for the next issue. They would be better prepared to handle whatever came next.  

He would not make the same mistake twice. 

[tixdixl]

Happy Birthday Sorrel - TWST Ficlet

A/N: It's Sorrel's birthday!! I wanted to do something for the special baby boy's birthday, even if it's small. This is also a friendly reminder that all the NRC students definitely belong there LMAO.

Word Count: 718

Characters: Sorrel Madrigal (@ramshacklerumble ), Kingsley Tyr, Cater Diamond, Trey Clover

CW: None that I can think of.

Flickering green candle light illuminated the foyer. And as the freshman stepped out into the top of the stairs, his gaze swept across the room. With sweets lining all of the table space and the banner hanging from the stone banister, the space permeated with birthday cheer. And with the atmosphere as it were, Kingsley quickly reaffirmed to himself that he would leave as soon as his mission had ended.  Many fae and a few humans were spattered around the room. His eyes landed on his intended target, the Diasomnia junior standing between two Heartslabyul students. A small glass sat between his small, shaking hands, clutched to his chest as he slouched forward. The trio seemed to be enjoying the moment, though debatable from the perspective of the Diasomnia Junior - Sorrel Madrigal, the birthday boy. 

As Kingsley began to descend towards the party, his boots thunking rhythmically and militantly against the stone planks, several sets of eyes followed his every step. Widening with fear, he noted how their pupils dilated as they recognized his presence. Yet, just as he’d done before, he processed their stares as encouragement - their fear recognized as a sign that he’d held himself just as he intended. Practically commanding the room as he walked, the clamor dwindled into a faded silence. And when he reached the bottom of the stairs, his eyes locked with the deep brown eyes of the birthday boy. He noted the sweat slipping down Sorrel’s cheek, and the tension in his shoulders. But just as he had begun to suspect that the junior feared him just as anyone else, the junior smiled.

“Oh, hey, Kingsley! I’m really glad you came,” Sorrel greeted him with a warmness the freshman hadn’t expected. 

The freshman nodded to him in greeting before responding verbally with, “Happy birthday, Madrigal,” as he held out a carefully wrapped box toward the junior. Though meticulously and cleanly wrapped, the decorations were plain and arguably barren. But nevertheless, the present had been prepared, and Sorrel’s name had been cleanly etched into the tag with blue ink. 

All three juniors stared at the box, shocked by its literal presence. Sorrel’s eyes repeatedly flicked up towards Kingsley’s gaze and then back down again at the box.

“Well, are you going to take it?” the freshman asked, low key tired and irritated with continuing to hold the box out in front of him.

“Ah- I mean, is that–”

“A present for you, yes.”

“...oh, thanks. You didn’t have to,” the junior replied sheepishly.

“Consider it a show of my appreciation. You act more like a housewarden than our actual housewarden, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed,” the freshman stated bluntly. And as the words left his mouth, the room became completely consumed by silence. Many sets of eyes stared, and he could feel them burning into his skull. The diamond card soldier’s jaw dropped, agape from the words that left Kingsley’s mouth. Simultaneously, the Heartslabyul vice-housewarden’s eyes widened. In fact, his glasses even slipped a bit, now sitting crooked on his face. 

The smallest of twitches pulled the corner of his mouth upward. The faintest hints of a satisfied smirk lingered on his face. He’d gotten exactly what he wanted out of this. And hopefully, this interaction would continue to evolve as planned.

After a moment’s pause, Sorrel reciprocated the smile. His own faint, and also equally full of unspoken satisfaction. The junior let out a nervous laugh, seemingly processing everything that was unfolding before him. With shaky hands, the junior reached out and handed his glass to the Heartslabyul vice-housewarden. He took the box from Kingsley’s hands, and tucked it under one of his arms. All the while in the brief silence, he reclaimed his drink from the vice-housewarden’s grasp. 

“Thanks,” the junior continued to smirk, “I’m just trying to do your best.”

“And that’s better than the efforts of some others in this dorm. Take it as you will. And again, happy birthday.”

Without another word, the freshman clasped his hands firmly behind his back. Having completed exactly what he had set out to do - and to a greatly satisfying success, he marched straight back up the stone stairwell, leaving the party and everyone in it behind him. The solitude of the castle hallways greeted him with their familiar, calming stature. 

~~~

Tag list: @ramshacklerumble @elenauaurs @rainesol @starry-night-rose @inmateofthemind

@cyanide-latte @blithesharem @theleechyskrunkly @thehollowwriter @boopshoops

@lumdays @the-trinket-witch @twstinginthewind

Lmk if you want added/removed

[noxcorvorum]

The train arrives, and the mechanisms leave, perhaps getting cosmically irradiated in the process, unable to see the collapse of yggdrasil before the metal of their bodies peels the scourge from their systems and the rainbows from their eyes, before aurora gets out of range of the exploding oil slick in colors unseen and imperceivable covering every planet like a shroud and bringing snapping mouths and hungry teeth and rending claws ripping into the fabric of space as loki and sigyn join each other in death and the bodies of the occupants of the ratatosk express spill into physical space, frey's corpse flayed and frayed and split at the seams, freyja fused with the wall, bones and flesh merged with metal dripping with golden-red, heimdall's empty sockets gazing at nothing and everything, seeing to all the edges of the corruption, tyr and garm entwined, tyr's new hand gripped by garm's sharpened teeth and garm's heart clutched in tyr's ragged fingers, odin's serpentine form slumped on the floor of the observation deck, single eye wide and staring out into the abyss as her blood tinged with acid and deadly rainbow drips from thor's borrowed hammer and mingles with his own where he lies nine steps from her corpse, and the knot of cosmic horror spreads, and spreads, and spreads until it encompasses yggdrasil and all its nine planets, and still it creeps forth. No one goes near yggdrasil, anymore. Just like fort galfridian, abandoned during its fall and left to rust and rot and burn and plummet into avalon, the yggdrasil system is left alone and watched and monitored as the squamous things creep closer. They seem to slow, as they get further out, but it never stops, an oil slick spreading infection and mutation and horror over everything it touches, for the flutes have stopped, the doors have opened, and azathoth awakens. The sole survivor, an inspector second class of the midgardian transport police, must move often and quickly, as they drip corruption behind them like a cloak, like so much water on soaked earth, and it spreads and screams and rips and rends if they do not leave whatever planet they stop at before it puts down roots. Everyone they encounter can tell they have been fundamentally changed, by the swirling colors in their eyes and the slight echoed song in their voice and the chromatic smudges that leak from their fingertips onto everything they touch. The void does not let them die, knitting their flesh and sealing their bones back together on a tide of vivid color and nauseous patterns. They take to music and storytelling, narrating the fall of their planetary system as a way to commemorate its existence, and as a warning to any who would listen of the distortion and decay raging its way forth, for they are herald and harbinger for the squamous things, and it will never let them go.