#wait what do mortals think he died of?

[bugwolfsstuff]

Bug tries to write Randolph Chase without calling him a homosexual challenge (IMPOSSIBLE)

[moonlitstoriess]

Unseen, Unheard, Unloved- Rhysand x fem!Reader (1/2)

Summary: She had given him everything—her heart, her trust, and now, the child growing within her. But as Rhysand’s attention drifts elsewhere, as excuses pile up, and as whispers of a mortal girl turn into something far more dangerous, she begins to wonder: Was she ever truly seen? Was she ever truly heard? Or had she been unloved all along?

See masterlist

Part 2

Warnings: angst, pregnancy, cheating, mentions of intimate scenes at the start but nothing explicit or smutty, clearly rhysand and feyre's whole mating plot was changed in some ways to suit the story

A/N: I'm back at doing what I am best at, which is making people cry lol. Please do consider the warnings mentioned before proceeding with the story. Thank you for reading<33

For fifty years, Velaris had been hers to protect.

Fifty years of waiting. Fifty years of silence. Fifty years of ruling in his absence, of forcing herself to wake up every morning in an empty bed, of standing strong for a court that had been left bleeding in the wake of its High Lord’s capture. Of holding Mor, Azriel, and Cassian together, when they had lost the most important piece of their family.

Fifty years without him. Without Rhysand.

She had not always been a ruler, had never even imagined herself becoming one. She had once just been a child, born to a father who had been a decorated Illyrian general and a mother who had been little more than an offering—a female from a lesser noble family of the Night Court, forced into a marriage she had never wanted. She had inherited her father’s sharp instincts, his love for battle, his stubbornness. And she had inherited her mother’s mind, sharp as a blade, her ability to wield words like weapons.

Her childhood had been spent in the Illyrian war camps, a place where females were taught their place—to be weak, to be silent, to bow. But she had never bowed. Not when they sneered at her for trying to train, not when they mocked her for thinking she could ever be as strong as a male, not when her father had died on the battlefield and left her mother widowed, forced to return to her family’s estate.

And she had not been alone.

She had met Rhysand before he had become the feared High Lord of the Night Court. Before he had been anything other than a cocky, silver-tongued boy who had hated the camps just as much as she had. And with him had come Cassian—wild and brash and unbreakable, a bastard warrior who had nothing to his name but his own strength—and Azriel, silent and shadowed and broken in ways none of them had yet understood.

They had been inseparable. Training together. Fighting together. Growing up together.

And somehow, in the midst of all those years, she had fallen in love.

Rhysand had always been hers. Not in the way of mates, not in the way that fate had written in the stars, but in the way that mattered most. In the way of choice.

There had never been a confession, never been a grand moment of realization. It had been a slow, inevitable thing, woven between stolen glances and lingering touches, between the nights they had spent lying beside each other in the grass, staring up at the endless night sky. It had been in the moment they had first kissed, hesitant and unsure, before turning into something desperate and consuming. It had been in the way they had promised—young and foolish and certain—that even if they ever found their mates, it wouldn’t matter. That they would never leave each other.

And for nearly three hundred years, that promise had held true.

Until the moment Rhysand had been taken.

She had known it was coming. Had felt the sheer, unrelenting terror in his mind as Amarantha’s spell had wrapped around him like chains. Had heard his voice in her head—his final words before he had been utterly ripped away from her.

"I love you."

Then, silence.

And silence had been all she had known for the next fifty years.

She had ruled Velaris in his absence, had kept its people safe, had ensured that the city remained untouched while the rest of Prythian burned. She had fought for her court, for her friends, for the family they had built together. And yet—she had spent every night wondering if he was still alive. If he was suffering. If he still thought of her.

Now, after five decades of waiting, of hoping, of wondering if she would ever see him again—he was finally coming home.

She stood on the balcony of the townhouse, staring out at the city below.

The Sidra was quiet, its waters gleaming under the light of the stars. The city still hummed with life, filled with people who had no idea that their High Lord was finally returning after half a century of being held captive under a tyrant’s rule.

Mor stood beside her, arms crossed over her chest, her golden hair gleaming in the moonlight.

“He’ll be here soon,” Mor said softly, though her voice was strained, as if she barely believed it herself.

She swallowed, gripping the stone railing. “I still don’t know if this is real.”

Mor reached over, squeezing her hand. “It is.”

And then—she felt it.

The familiar pulse of power in the air, the sudden, breathless pull in her chest.

And before she could even take a step forward, the night itself seemed to shift, the world bending—

And then he was there.

Rhysand.

For a moment, she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

He was real. He was here.

And then she was running.

He caught her in his arms the moment she crashed into him, burying his face in her neck, his body shaking violently. She was crying, sobbing into his chest as she clung to him, as if he might disappear all over again.

His hands trembled as he cupped her face, as he pressed their foreheads together, his breath ragged and uneven.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.”

She kissed him. Hard and desperate and aching, pouring every ounce of longing, of love, of grief into it.

He kissed her back just as fiercely, as if he was trying to memorize her all over again, as if he couldn’t believe she was real.

Mor was crying. Azriel and Cassian had appeared, standing frozen in the doorway, their own faces filled with raw, unfiltered relief.

But all she could focus on was him. The male she had spent fifty years waiting for.

Rhysand was finally home.

And yet, she had no idea that this was only the beginning of everything that would break her.

That night, neither of them could bear to be apart.

After fifty years of longing, of aching, of waiting for this moment—she couldn’t let go of him. And he didn’t let go of her either.

He had carried her inside, through the halls of the townhouse, past the murmured voices of their family who knew, who understood, and who let them go without a word. They had disappeared into their room, the door shutting softly behind them, and then—

Then she had kissed him again, with all the desperation that had been building in her for five decades, all the grief and rage and sorrow and love she had bottled up in his absence.

Rhysand kissed her back just as fiercely, his hands shaking as they skimmed over her body, as he memorized her again, piece by piece, as if he was afraid that if he didn’t, she would disappear.

She should have noticed it then.

The slight hesitation in his touch. The way his body tensed in certain moments, as if something inside him was resisting, as if he was fighting some invisible battle.

But she had ignored it. Had convinced herself it was just the weight of what he had endured, the lingering ghosts of his time Under the Mountain clinging to him like a curse.

She had whispered his name, had pulled him closer, had kissed away his pain. And for that night, and the nights that followed, she had let herself believe that love was enough to banish the shadows that haunted him.

The days blurred together in a haze of passion and tenderness, of stolen touches and whispered confessions.

She and Rhys could not keep their hands off each other. Every moment was filled with longing, with the desperate need to make up for lost time.

He had barely left their bed that first night, had spent hours worshiping her like she was the only thing that could tether him back to reality. His lips traced every inch of her skin, his hands roaming over her as if trying to prove to himself that she was real, that she was still his.

And she had taken him apart just as much, had kissed away the pain in his eyes, had murmured how much she loved him, how much she had missed him.

It didn’t stop after that first night.

They could hardly go an hour without touching—without pressing against each other in dark hallways, without his hands finding her waist as she stood by the window, without her lips brushing against his neck when he passed by. They were insatiable, consumed by each other, as if making up for every second of those fifty years apart.

But she noticed it.

Even in their most intimate moments, she felt it—that lingering hesitation in him.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible. A slight pause before he kissed her. The way his grip sometimes faltered. The distant, lost look in his violet eyes when he thought she wasn’t watching.

And through the bond, she could feel it—the echoes of something unspoken, something buried deep within him.

Regret. Shame. Guilt.

She had asked him about it once, had touched his face in the quiet of the night and whispered, What’s wrong?

He had only shaken his head, had kissed her slowly, deeply, as if trying to erase the question from existence.

And she had let him.

She had told herself that he just needed time. That whatever haunted him, whatever had broken him, he would tell her when he was ready.

She didn’t push. Didn’t demand answers.

Because the thought of losing him again, of disrupting the fragile peace they had rebuilt—it was too terrifying to face.

So she convinced herself that love was enough.

That if she just held him closer, if she just kissed him harder, if she just loved him more—then whatever was haunting him would fade away.

But then, everything changed.

It started with the exhaustion.

At first, she had brushed it off as nothing. After all, it wasn’t unusual for her to feel drained after everything that had happened.

She had been running on adrenaline since Rhys’s return, had barely given herself a moment to rest, too consumed by the need to be with him, to make up for lost time.

But then, the exhaustion turned into something else.

Dizziness.

Moments where the world tilted around her, where she had to steady herself against a wall, gripping the edge of a table as she tried to catch her breath.

And then—

The nausea.

A deep, rolling sickness that crept up on her at the most unexpected moments, that had her pressing a hand to her stomach as if she could will it away.

The realization should have come sooner.

But she had been so caught up in Rhys, in the way they couldn’t seem to stay apart, that she hadn’t let herself think about it. Hadn’t let herself believe it was possible.

It wasn’t until Mor had walked in on her one morning, pale and weak and barely able to stand, that she had been forced to acknowledge the truth.

“You need to see Madja,” Mor had insisted, her voice laced with worry.

She had tried to argue, had tried to wave it off as simple exhaustion, but Mor wouldn’t hear it.

So she had gone.

And when the healer had placed a gentle hand over her stomach, when she had closed her eyes and let her magic sweep over her body—

The words that followed shattered her entire world.

“You are with child.”

Silence.

She had just stared at Madja, her mind unable to process the words.

With child.

She was pregnant.

She barely remembered leaving the healer’s chambers. Barely remembered making it back home.

The moment she stepped into the townhouse, everything hit her at once.

A child.

She was going to have Rhys’s child.

A shaky breath left her lips as she pressed a trembling hand to her stomach, as if she could already feel the life growing inside her. A laugh—disbelieving, breathless—escaped her.

She was pregnant.

With Rhys’s baby.

And for that moment, nothing else mattered.

The doubts, the hesitations, the unspoken fears—she shoved them aside, blinded by the sheer joy that swelled in her chest.

She imagined Rhys’s reaction, the way his eyes would widen in shock before softening with love, imagined the way he would drop to his knees and press his hands to her stomach, imagined the way he would whisper in awe about their future, about the family they were about to have.

She thought about telling Mor, about seeing Cassian and Azriel’s faces when they found out. She thought about the child itself—what they would look like, what kind of power they would have, what kind of life they would give them.

She was foolishly blind.

So utterly oblivious.

So caught up in her happiness, in the overwhelming joy of this moment, that she didn’t stop to think.

Didn’t stop to question.

Didn’t realize—

That Rhys might not react the way she expected.

That this child, this beautiful, miraculous child, might not fill him with the same joy it filled her with.

That the shadows in his eyes, the ghosts that haunted him, the things he had kept buried since the moment he had returned—

They weren’t just going to disappear.

The moment she found him—standing by the window, looking out over the city she had known, the city they had fought for, the city they had built together—she could feel her heart racing in her chest.

“Rhys,” she called softly, her voice warm, her smile bright.

He turned, his gaze lighting up when he saw her, but something in his eyes—something flickered. Just a moment, barely noticeable. He covered it quickly, replaced it with the mask he had become so skilled at wearing.

“YN,” he said, his voice warm but not quite as soft as she remembered. “You’re home.”

She approached him slowly, the news she was about to share making her pulse quicken with excitement. She stopped a few feet away, pressing her hand to her stomach as if to still the fluttering sensation there.

“I have something to tell you,” she began, watching the way his eyes followed her every movement. He seemed alert, even eager, but there was something else—a tension, barely concealed behind the polite smile he wore.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice smooth, controlled.

“I’m pregnant,” she said, her heart leaping in her chest. She almost wanted to laugh at how simple it sounded, how easy it was to finally say it aloud. “We’re going to have a child, Rhys.”

The room fell quiet.

For a brief moment, she swore she saw something in his eyes—something like disbelief, or maybe even fear—but it was gone before she could truly register it.

Then, he smiled. It was a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“That’s... wonderful,” he said, his words too rehearsed, too empty. “I’m so happy for you, YN.”

But it didn’t sound like he was happy.

It sounded hollow.

For you. Not for us but....for you.

She felt the bond between them—felt the way it seemed to shudder in response to his words. There was something off, something wrong. But she couldn’t place it, not in that moment, and not with the whirlwind of excitement that was consuming her.

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. “You’re not even going to ask how I’m feeling? Not going to pick me up and twirl me around like we used to do when we had good news?”

He chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m just processing the exciting news,” he said again, though his words seemed forced, like he was trying to convince both of them.

Her smile faltered for just a moment, a flicker of doubt creeping into her chest.

He wasn’t happy. Not in the way she expected.

She could feel it—through the bond, through the way his aura flickered with shadows of guilt and hesitation. But she pushed it aside, thinking that perhaps he just needed time to process. Perhaps he was still adjusting to everything that had changed, everything that had happened in the last few days.

“I know this is a lot,” she said softly, stepping closer to him, her voice gentle, “but I know we can do this together. We’ve always been a team, Rhys.”

He nodded, but his gaze flickered away from hers, his eyes focusing on the farthest corner of the room.

“Of course,” he replied, but the words were quiet, almost too quiet, as if he wasn’t fully hearing them himself.

“Rhys,” she whispered, her voice trembling just slightly, “it’s a gift. A miracle. And I know... I know we’ve been through so much. But now we have a chance to build something beautiful together. You and me. A family.”

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, finally, he nodded, his smile returning. It was better now, more convincing. But to her, it felt like a mask—a fragile mask that threatened to crack at the smallest touch.

“I’m sure it will be beautiful,” he said, his voice steady, but still... empty.

She watched him for a long moment, her heart thundering in her chest. She wanted to ask him what was wrong, wanted to demand to know why he wasn’t truly happy, why he wasn’t sharing in her excitement. But something inside her—some small part of her—whispered that it wasn’t the time.

He had just returned from being gone for so long, from everything they had fought for. He would come around.

She would make sure of it.

So, instead of confronting him, instead of asking the questions that were starting to swirl in her mind, she simply stepped forward, closing the space between them.

“I know you’re still processing everything,” she said, her hand resting gently on his arm, “but we’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out. Together.”

And though a small voice in her mind screamed that she was being foolishly blind, that she was ignoring the cracks in his facade, she smiled up at him, brushing the doubt aside once more.

For the moment, she was content to pretend that everything was perfect.

The evening air in Dawn Court was crisp, filled with a gentle hum of conversation. YN stood at the balcony, gazing out over the land. Her pregnancy, now just over two months along, was starting to show. Her once slender figure had softened, the slight curve of her bump a reminder of the life she was carrying, but there was something else—an unease. Rhysand hadn’t been the same lately.

It was almost as if he was a ghost, always present but never truly there. For weeks, his absences had become longer, his late-night disappearances even more frequent. She would lie in their shared bed at night, waiting for him to return, only to find him standing at the edge of their balcony, staring into the distance as if lost in his thoughts. His gaze was distant, unseeing, and every time she tried to reach for him, to pull him back into the present, he would retreat even further.

And then, when he would return, it was as if nothing had happened. He would smile, hold her close, kiss her forehead—but the bond felt... strained. It wasn’t the same. She could feel him slipping away, piece by piece, yet she didn’t want to admit it. She had tried to tell herself it was just the weight of the recent events, that he needed space to adjust to his newfound freedom—but deep down, she knew that wasn’t the only thing eating at him.

Tonight, however, was different. The High Lords had gathered in Dawn Court for the first time since the defeat of Amarantha, and there was an air of relief in the room, mingling with the light buzz of excitement. Rhysand had promised that they would attend together, but as the evening wore on, he had yet to appear at her side.

“YN,” Mor’s voice brought her back from her thoughts, a knowing look in her eyes. “Don’t worry. Rhys will be here.”

YN smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I know. He’s just... busy, I suppose.”

Mor didn’t buy it, but she said nothing more. Instead, she looped her arm through YN’s and led her back to the table. Most of the High Lords were mingling, some enjoying the informal dinner gathering, others discussing more pressing matters. Cassian and Azriel stood near the corner, deep in conversation with a few of the other soldiers. Kallias, the High Lord of Winter, stood off to the side, talking with Helion, but his gaze kept returning to YN. She felt a flicker of warmth in her chest when their eyes met.

Her bump was noticeable now, and the looks of congratulations and smiles from the lords were a welcome distraction from the silence between her and Rhys. Baron, of course, didn’t even acknowledge her presence, as usual, but the others were kind.

“You look radiant tonight, YN,” Kallias said, stepping toward her with a warm smile. He had always been one of the more reserved High Lords, his icy demeanor a product of his powers and his personality, but tonight, there was something in his eyes—gentleness, kindness. He reached out, carefully taking her hand in his, and she was surprised by how warm it felt, how soft his touch was. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” she replied, smiling at him, feeling a slight flutter in her stomach at his concern. “It’s been a long couple of months. Thank you for asking.”

“You’re carrying something precious,” Kallias said quietly, glancing down at her bump before his eyes returned to hers. “I can only imagine the strength it takes to bear such a responsibility.”

YN didn’t know why, but his words hit her in a way that made her feel seen. So often, Rhysand’s attention had been diverted, and it felt as if she was carrying this burden alone. But Kallias... Kallias made her feel like she wasn’t invisible. Like she was more than just the woman carrying Rhysand’s child. She was YN, strong, capable, and worthy of attention, of affection.

She had never spoken much with Kallias beyond the formalities of the courts, but there was something about him tonight—something different. He was engaging with her, making her feel important, something that Rhys had failed to do in the last few weeks.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice soft, almost shy. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear those words. “That means more than you know.”

Kallias gave her a smile—gentle, understanding, and somehow... safe. “You deserve to be treated with kindness, YN. You’ve been through so much.”

She couldn’t help but smile back at him, the warmth of his words melting some of the icy isolation she’d been feeling.

“YN, there you are,” Rhysand’s voice broke into the moment, and she froze. He had arrived, but there was something about his tone that immediately made her stomach tighten. He was smiling, but it was tight, forced.

His gaze flickered briefly to Kallias before locking onto her, and the change in his demeanor was subtle, but YN noticed it all the same. The possessiveness in his eyes, the way his posture stiffened just a fraction, how his jaw tightened. But when he smiled again, it was almost too wide, too practiced.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist in a gesture that felt more for show than genuine affection. His touch was tight, as if he was trying to hold her in place, but there was no warmth in it.

Kallias, ever perceptive, caught the slight shift in the atmosphere. “It seems like you’ve found her,” he said with a polite smile, but there was something in his voice that held a hint of challenge.

YN tried not to let the tension in the air affect her, but it was hard to ignore. Rhysand didn’t seem happy, and Kallias—despite his icy demeanor—had made her feel something Rhys hadn’t in weeks: seen. Rhys, however, took a step closer, his voice turning more possessive. “YN, you look stunning tonight. But if you’re done here, I think we should head back.”

Her heart squeezed at his words. She had expected joy, happiness—maybe even a little pride in his eyes, but all she saw was discomfort, an undercurrent of guilt. She could feel the hesitation through their bond, like he was holding something back from her, something important.

“I’m not ready to leave yet,” YN said quietly, her tone firm but gentle. She looked back at Kallias, who nodded his understanding, and for a moment, she felt like she was stepping into unknown territory, like the simple act of asserting herself was both thrilling and terrifying.

Rhysand’s smile faltered just slightly, and his eyes narrowed. “I think it’s time, YN. We’ve been here long enough.”

YN didn’t answer him immediately. She knew what she felt, what she had felt for months now. Rhysand wasn’t the same, and no amount of pretending could make her blind to it any longer. But as she turned back to Kallias, she saw the genuine concern in his eyes, the way he watched her with a sense of admiration that was foreign in Rhysand’s presence. It made her feel seen, and it was like a balm to a wound she didn’t even realize had been open for so long.

Finally, she nodded, but not to Rhysand. She nodded to Kallias.

“Thank you,” she whispered to him, before turning back to Rhysand. “Let’s go.”

But even as they left, Rhysand’s arm tightened around her waist, his silence growing heavier. And YN could only wonder what was truly going on behind his eyes.

It was a quiet evening in the House of Wind, the air crisp and fresh as the last remnants of daylight slipped behind the mountains. YN was curled up on one of the many plush armchairs in the sitting room, her hands resting gently on her slightly visible bump, her mind swirling with thoughts she couldn’t quite untangle.

But there was a coldness in the air tonight. A quiet tension that had settled in the room, and it was growing.

YN had been lost in thought when the sound of footsteps broke the silence. Rhysand appeared in the doorway, his presence as commanding as always, but tonight there was something off. His face, usually open and warm when he looked at her, was guarded. There was no smile, no greeting. He simply stood there for a moment, his gaze sweeping over her before he stepped further into the room.

But then, as quickly as he entered, he froze.

It was like the world itself stopped. His eyes went unfocused, his shoulders tensed, and before she could ask what was wrong, he disappeared—winnowed—with such suddenness that it took YN a moment to even comprehend what had happened.

She sat there, stunned, her heart thumping erratically in her chest. What had just happened? What could have caused him to leave without a word? Without a single explanation?

She rose from the chair, her hand instinctively moving to her stomach.

“Rhysand?” she called softly into the silence, but there was no answer. Nothing. It was as if he had never been there at all.

Her mind raced as she tried to understand what was going on.

She could feel it now more than ever—his discomfort, his uncertainty—but it was more than that. There was something else. She just didn’t know what.

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours before Rhysand reappeared, winnowing back into the room. He was disheveled, his hair tousled, his jaw tight with frustration. His eyes, though, were what struck her the most—they were shadowed with something unfamiliar, something that made her stomach twist in apprehension.

“Rhys, what happened? Where did you go?” She couldn’t hide the concern in her voice. The distance in the bond was suffocating, and she needed to understand.

He barely looked at her. “I—had something to take care of. Don’t worry about it.”

His tone was short, dismissive, and it stung more than she expected. Before she could respond, Cassian’s voice broke in, cool and calm, though his eyes were filled with something darker, like he could sense the tension in the room.

“Rhys,” Cassian said, standing up from his spot near Y/N. “You alright?”

Rhysand’s gaze flicked to his brother briefly, then away. He didn’t answer right away, and the silence grew thick, almost suffocating. Finally, with a flick of his hand, Rhys spoke again, but his voice was still clipped, irritated. “I’m fine, Cassian. Just... some things to sort through. I’ll be back later.”

YN opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Rhys was already striding toward the door, his back to them. “Excuse me,” he muttered, his words a little too sharp.

Cassian watched him go, his gaze lingering for a moment before he turned to YN. There was a look in his eyes, one that was almost apologetic, but his words were kind. He moved closer, resting his hand gently on her bump.

“Don’t worry,” Cassian said softly, his voice low and reassuring. “Rhys is... he’s just got a lot on his mind. But you—” He looked down at her belly and then met her eyes. “You’re not alone. None of us are, alright?”

YN nodded, though the confusion and worry gnawed at her. “I just don’t understand. He’s been distant lately. I don’t know what’s happening.”

“You’ll figure it out, YN,” Cassian said, giving her a small smile. “He’s a stubborn one. But you know Rhys—when it’s important, he’ll come to you. Just give him time.”

But time had already passed. And the longer it stretched, the more YN wondered if the distance between them was something that could be repaired—or if it was already too late.

The next day, the atmosphere in the House of Wind was strangely subdued, everyone waiting for Rhysand’s announcement. Mor and Azriel had come by earlier, and there was a quiet sense of anticipation hanging in the air. Even Cassian seemed to be on edge, though he hid it well.

It wasn’t until dinner that evening, when the Inner Circle was gathered around the table, that Rhysand finally spoke.

“I have a special guest joining us for dinner tomorrow,” Rhysand said, his voice lighter than it had been in days, though there was a hint of something... genuine in his smile. “Feyre will be joining us.”

There was a moment of silence before the room erupted into murmurs of surprise. Feyre, the mortal-turned-Fae, the one who had helped free them all, the one who had played a key role in the downfall of Amarantha. YN felt a sudden lump form in her throat, but she swallowed it down.

The room filled with questions, comments, congratulations—though most of the attention was on Rhysand.

“So, Feyre’s finally coming to Velaris?” Azriel asked, his tone neutral, though there was a certain curiosity in his eyes.

Rhysand nodded, his smile widening. “Yes, she’s been through so much, and I thought it was time she saw the city. I can’t think of a better place for her.”

There was genuine warmth in his tone when he spoke of Feyre, and it hit YN harder than she expected. She hadn’t realized how much he had changed since their first meeting, how much he admired Feyre.

“You must be excited,” Mor said, her smile both kind and knowing. “I’m sure Feyre will love it here.”

YN forced a smile, but it felt hollow. She felt as though the room had shifted, as if Rhysand was now fully enveloped in the idea of Feyre’s arrival. She hadn’t even noticed how much he’d changed until that moment. How much he had changed.

She glanced down at her hands, the light from the candles flickering in her vision. Feyre—the girl who had saved them all. The girl who had freed Rhysand from Amarantha’s cruel reign.

The girl who had, it seemed, somehow taken her place. But at the time Y/N was too oblivious to notice that.

The night carried on, with Rhysand now more animated than ever, speaking freely of Feyre’s arrival and plans for their dinner. But YN couldn’t shake the feeling that something—someone—was about to come between them in ways she never expected. She had been blind, so foolishly blind to the changes in Rhysand. But maybe, just maybe, it was time to confront what had been lingering beneath the surface for far too long.

The evening had come, but Rhysand still wasn’t home. The rest of the Inner Circle was gathered around the fireplace in the House of Wind, the warmth of the flames not quite enough to chase away the coldness that seemed to settle in YN’s chest. She was perched on a plush sofa, her hands once again resting on her slightly rounded belly, her gaze fixed on the crackling fire. The rest of them—Azriel, Mor, Amren, and Cassian—were scattered around the room, engaged in light conversation, but YN couldn’t bring herself to join in.

She felt the space between her and Rhys more keenly than ever.

Azriel, ever perceptive, moved closer to her. He sat down beside her, his posture gentle as he placed a hand on her back, his touch comforting but not invasive.

"You've been quiet tonight," Azriel said softly, his voice like a balm to her frayed nerves.

YN sighed, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the fabric of her dress. "I don't know, Az. Something’s wrong. Rhys… he’s so distant. It’s like I’m not even here for him anymore."

Cassian, who had been perched by the fireplace, took a step forward, his usual jovial demeanor subdued. His eyes softened with concern as he noticed the way YN was slumped into the cushions, her shoulders tense.

“He’ll come around,” Cassian said, trying to sound reassuring, but his voice lacked the usual certainty. He knew Rhysand better than anyone, and even he couldn’t deny the shift that had been happening.

But YN just shook her head, her voice quiet, barely above a whisper.

“No,” she replied, her eyes downcast. “It’s more than that. I’ve seen him these last few days, Cass. He’s not just distracted. He’s hesitant. Like he’s somewhere else entirely, even when he’s standing right in front of me. His smiles don’t reach his eyes anymore. He looks at me, but he doesn’t see me.” Her voice trembled as she spoke the words she had been trying to ignore, trying to pretend weren’t happening. “I try to soothe him, I try to be there for him, but I can feel the distance growing.”

Mor, who had been listening quietly, crossed the room and sat next to YN, her arm wrapping around her in a rare show of tenderness.

“I know it's hard,” Mor said softly, her tone filled with understanding. “But Rhys is... he's always had a lot on his shoulders. You know that. He’s the High Lord. And even when he has us around, some things he keeps locked up.”

“But this?” YN asked, her eyes wide with hurt. “It’s more than just the weight of the throne, Mor. He’s gone, even when he’s here. I feel it in the bond. It’s like he’s slipping away.”

Azriel leaned forward, his voice gentle but firm. “He’s not slipping away, YN. Rhysand is just… processing something. There are things he needs to work through. It’s not about you.”

“Isn’t it?” she whispered, feeling a knot of doubt twist in her stomach. “I’ve seen him shut down before, Az. But this time? It’s different. I don’t know how to fix it. I’m not even sure if he wants me to fix it.”

Cassian’s face darkened, his protective instincts flaring as he moved closer to her. He crossed his arms over his chest, his voice stern as he looked at YN. “Listen to me, YN. You’re doing everything you can. And you’re not alone in this. I’m not going to let you go through this by yourself. None of us are.” He shifted his gaze to her stomach. “You’re carrying something precious, and I’ll be damned if I let anything—” he stopped himself and softened, “I’ll be damned if you don’t get the care you deserve.”

YN blinked at him, the unspoken concern for her growing more tangible with every word.

“When was the last time you ate properly?” Cassian asked, his tone turning gentle but insistent. “When did you last sleep through the night?”

YN faltered, looking down at her lap. “I... I’m fine, Cassian. It’s just... I’m not hungry, that’s all. Rhys—”

“No.” Cassian’s voice cut through her words. “You’re not fine. You’re carrying Rhysand’s child, and he’s not here right now. But I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. You need to eat, you need to sleep. And we’re all here to make sure you’re taken care of.”

Azriel nodded in agreement, his hand still resting lightly on her back. “Cassian’s right, YN. We’re not going to stand by and watch you push yourself too hard. If Rhys doesn’t notice, we do. And we’ll make sure you’re okay. We’ll talk to him, too.”

YN swallowed hard, blinking back tears that had no business being there. “It’s just hard,” she admitted, her voice thick with emotion. “He’s not the male I knew anymore. And I’m scared, Az. Scared that maybe... maybe he never really was the male I thought he was.”

Before anyone could say more, the sound of wings flapping loudly outside interrupted the conversation. The group turned, and in the blink of an eye, Rhysand landed gracefully on the balcony, holding Feyre in his arms.

YN’s heart clenched at the sight of them, her thoughts a storm of confusion. She stood up from the sofa, but her feet felt heavy, reluctant. It was almost like she couldn’t move. She knew Feyre—had heard so much about her, the mortal-turned-Fae who had helped free them all. But seeing Rhys so effortlessly carry Feyre, with that smile that she’d only ever seen directed at her... it hit YN in a way she hadn’t been prepared for.

Mor stood by her side, watching as Rhysand approached the door with Feyre. Her hand on YN’s arm was gentle, a soft reassurance that YN was thankful for.

“Go on,” Mor said quietly. “You’re just as important here, YN. You don’t need to be scared of what’s happening. We are here for you.”

YN nodded, drawing in a deep breath as she moved forward, her steps uncertain but steady. As Rhysand and Feyre entered the room, she saw the way Rhys looked at Feyre—softly, protectively, and with an affection that, for the first time, made YN feel like she was no longer at the center of his world.

Feyre smiled at YN as Rhys gently set her down on her feet. There was a kindness in her eyes, a warmth that reminded YN of the girl who had sacrificed so much for them all. YN’s heart softened, and she stepped forward, reaching out.

“Thank you,” YN said, her voice thick with gratitude. “For everything. You—” She paused, her emotions overwhelming her for a moment, before she pulled Feyre into a tight embrace. “I know it’s because of you that we’re all here. That Rhys is here. I don’t know how to thank you for that.”

Feyre hugged her back just as tightly, her voice warm and kind. “I didn’t do it alone,” Feyre said, pulling back with a small smile. “But I’m happy to be here. With all of you.”

The group settled around the dinner table as the conversation turned to lighter topics. Feyre was kind and gracious, a perfect guest, while Rhysand sat with a rare relaxed air, laughing and joining in with the others. But YN, despite the smiles and easy conversation, couldn’t shake the feeling of being on the outside looking in.

She smiled when it was needed, nodded at the right times, but inside, she felt the gap between her and Rhys grow larger. The more they talked about Feyre—her kindness, her bravery, her role in their world—the more YN couldn’t help but feel that she was losing Rhysand to someone else.

It hurt in ways she hadn’t anticipated. But she kept her face calm, her composure intact, and though the knot in her chest tightened, she smiled through it all.

The night stretched on, filled with laughter and stories. But as they all ate, YN sat back, her thoughts swirling. Rhysand was no longer just the man who loved her; he was someone different, someone who had room in his heart for another. She could see it in the way he spoke of Feyre, the way his gaze lingered on her.

And YN? She was simply standing on the sidelines, trying to hold onto a love that seemed to be slipping through her fingers.

The night was long. But YN would fight for her place in Rhys’s heart—for their future. Even if it meant facing what she was most afraid of.

he House of Wind had become more than just a home for Y/N over the past few weeks; it had become a place of quiet, uneasy observation. At first, everything had felt like a blur—busy days and nights spent adjusting to the changes. Feyre’s arrival had been a shock, an unexpected whirlwind that shifted the delicate balance of their lives. Yet, it was not Feyre’s presence alone that unsettled Y/N. It was Rhysand’s shifting attention, his sudden and unnerving detachment from her.

Y/N had noticed it first in the small things—how he would spend hours in the study with Feyre, teaching her new things, showing her how to control her magic, his voice soft, patient. His lessons went on for hours, and there were times when Y/N would sit in the grand hall, reading, waiting for him to return to her, but he never did.

It was as if Feyre needed him now more than she ever had, and Rhysand was more than willing to give everything he had to her. She didn’t understand it—why did he need to give her so much of himself? Why did his lessons stretch on endlessly, late into the night, when there were so many other things to focus on, things that they could share as a couple, as soon-to-be parents?

Even when he wasn’t with Feyre, Y/N couldn’t reach him. When the day would finally end, and Rhysand would return to the House of Wind, he would often retreat to his office instead of coming to her side. He slept there for hours, the door to his office often left ajar, his figure slouched over piles of paperwork and forgotten responsibilities.

Y/N would lie in their bed, her growing belly pressing into the soft sheets, feeling the absence of her mate more profoundly with each passing day. She knew that Rhysand’s duties as High Lord were demanding, but surely, surely he could make time for her, especially now that she was carrying his child. But no. It was always Cassian, Azriel, Mor and Amren who hovered over her, their concern for her health and wellbeing growing each day. Cassian was the first to notice when she had trouble getting out of bed in the morning. Azriel was there, always in the background, quietly ensuring that she was okay. Amren and Mor took on the roles of mothers, watching over her, their comforting presence a constant reminder that she was not alone, even when Rhysand was distant.

She would often ask, “Have you spoken with him? Does he seem different to you?” and Azriel would only look at her with that familiar shadow of confusion in his eyes. “I don’t know,” he would say, his voice low, thoughtful. “Rhys has never been like this before. It’s like he’s refusing to talk about whatever’s bothering him.”

And Y/N? She tried to convince herself that it was just a phase. Maybe it was the pressure of ruling, the stress of keeping Velaris safe. Maybe Feyre’s arrival had triggered something deep inside Rhysand, something she couldn’t understand. It was foolish of her to think that she could make it through this journey unscathed. But deep down, she felt the sting of it. The weight of his neglect hung heavy on her chest.

She would tell herself that Feyre needed him. Feyre had gone through so much in her life—losing her family, fighting in the war, carrying burdens Y/N could never comprehend. Maybe it was only fair that Rhysand focus on her, that he be there for Feyre while she healed. Maybe she needed his support more than Y/N did.

The thoughts tasted like poison on her tongue, and she tried to swallow them down, but they kept coming back, lingering like a bitter aftertaste.

One evening, when Rhysand returned from another long day with Feyre, Y/N found herself staring at the door to his office, waiting for him to come to her. She could hear the sound of his footsteps in the hallway, and she tried to steady her breath, but when he didn’t knock on her door, when he didn’t even acknowledge her presence, her heart sank deeper.

Later that week, she overheard Rhysand telling Feyre that he would be taking her to the Illyrian camps. It was dangerous, he said, but necessary. They would stop at the Weaver’s house on the way, and Y/N couldn’t help the knot that twisted in her stomach. She tried to smile, to seem supportive, but when she asked, “Why? Why are you taking her there? That’s so dangerous,” Rhysand’s expression was distant, his gaze hard.

“I need her to retrieve something for me,” he explained curtly, but there was no warmth in his voice. He didn’t meet her eyes.

Y/N stood there, shocked, trying to process what he had said. She watched them leave, her heart heavy with the feeling that she was losing him, that whatever connection they had once shared was slipping through her fingers.

As Rhysand and Feyre made their way to the Illyrian camps, Y/N couldn’t shake the sense of betrayal that had begun to grow inside her. She would wait for them to return, but she wasn’t sure what she would find when they did. Would Rhysand still be the same, or would Feyre’s presence in his life change everything forever?

The house was quieter than it had been in weeks. The absence of Rhysand and Feyre had left a void, and the walls seemed to echo with silence. Y/n sat near the window, the early evening sunlight casting a golden glow across the room, her fingers gently tracing the curve of her swollen belly. She had been waiting—waiting for Rhysand’s return, for any sign of the distance between them to close. But all she had received was space. The quiet ache in her chest gnawed at her.

Amren, ever watchful, sat across from her, her expression unreadable. But Y/n noticed the tension in her gaze, the way she kept looking at her with something close to concern. It didn’t help that the others had been distant too—Azriel, Cassian, and Mor, all acting like they were hiding something, exchanging too many knowing glances and hushed conversations. It only deepened her sense of unease.

Today, however, was different. Gifts had arrived for her—thoughtful, generous tokens from several of the Highlords in honor of her soon-to-be motherhood. She’d been expecting them, but still, the small mountain of neatly wrapped parcels in front of her filled her with mixed emotions.

"Open them," Amren said softly, as if sensing her hesitation. "

Y/n nodded, the familiar rustle of paper comforting her in its simplicity. She picked up the first gift, a small, elegant box wrapped in a deep shade of red with a ribbon that shimmered like morning sunlight. She carefully untied the bow, lifting the lid to reveal a delicate silver bracelet, studded with tiny moonstones that glinted softly in the fading light. It was beautiful, simple, and elegant. She smiled softly, imagining it wrapped around her wrist as she cradled her baby.

"Oh, Helion," she murmured, the thought of the Highlord of Day bringing a warmth to her chest. She ran her fingers over the cool stones, letting out a sigh as she admired the craftsmanship.

"He's always been a thoughtful one," Amren remarked with a raised brow, as if she too had felt the affection Helion had for Y/n.

Y/n smiled faintly, placing the bracelet to the side. There were other gifts to open. She picked up the next parcel, this one wrapped in soft blue paper with intricate golden designs. It was from Thesan, the Highlord of Dawn, a court known for its refined beauty and grace. When she opened it, she was greeted by a set of hand-painted ceramic dishes, each piece vibrant with delicate patterns that seemed to glow with a warmth that reminded her of sunrises.

Thesan had always been attentive, and she smiled as she imagined the quiet, regal Highlord choosing each piece carefully. She couldn't help but appreciate the thoughtfulness, the way he considered her comfort and her child’s future.

But it was the third gift that captured her attention.

The parcel from Kallias, the Highlord of Winter, was wrapped in dark, rich purple paper. She carefully untied the ribbon, her heart beating a little faster, and opened the box inside. What she found inside was far beyond anything she could have expected.

A small, intricately carved wooden box. It was no larger than the palm of her hand, and as she ran her fingers over its smooth surface, she noticed delicate snowflakes and swirling designs etched into the wood. There was something magical about it, something that made her chest tighten. Inside, nestled among soft velvet, was a small crystal vial filled with a silvery liquid that shimmered like moonlight on snow. Alongside it was a small letter, written in Kallias’s elegant handwriting.

"To Y/n, with warmth and hope for the future. May this gift be a reminder of the strength within you, and the serenity you will find in the stillness of winter’s embrace. You are not alone, not ever."

Y/n’s breath hitched in her throat as she held the vial gently, the words from Kallias sending a ripple of warmth through her. His gift was not just thoughtful—it was deeply personal. It felt like an invitation, a message from someone who saw her, truly saw her, even when the others had become distant.

"He really thought of everything," Y/n whispered, her fingers tracing the small vial.

Amren watched her with a quiet expression, her eyes flicking between the gifts and Y/n’s reaction. “He did,” she agreed softly. “Kallias is a good male. He knows the value of compassion.”

Y/n nodded, her heart swelling with gratitude. The tension in the room was still palpable, but this small gesture from Kallias made her feel seen, reminded her that she wasn’t invisible in the midst of the growing chaos.

Before she could say anything further, a sharp knock echoed from the door.

“Rhysand and Feyre,” Amren muttered, already standing up. “I suppose the moment has arrived.”

Y/n’s stomach tightened, both with excitement and dread. She wasn’t sure what to expect.

As the door swung open and Rhysand stepped in, with Feyre at his side, something immediately shifted in the air. Rhysand’s usual confident demeanor was different—sharper, perhaps, but there was a sense of something unsaid between him and Feyre, an energy Y/n couldn’t quite place. Feyre’s smile was brighter than she’d seen in ages, but there was a newness in her eyes—a quiet certainty.

Y/n’s breath caught as she noticed their shared glances, the unspoken bond between them that hummed through the air like an invisible thread. She stood, feeling the weight of the moment settle into her bones.

“Well, look at you both,” Y/n said, forcing a smile, though it felt hollow. “Feyre, you look well. I hope the journey wasn’t too hard.”

Feyre smiled warmly, though there was a hint of something private behind her eyes. “We managed,” she said, the way she said it making Y/n’s heart clench. “And you, Y/n? How are you feeling?”

Y/n’s gaze flickered to Rhysand, his expression unreadable. “I’m getting there,” she said softly, and though it was true, it felt like an answer far too shallow for everything else she wanted to express.

As the evening wore on and everyone gathered around the table, Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong—something had shifted, and no one, not even Rhysand, seemed to want to speak the truth of it.

But she noticed the way Rhysand’s eyes lingered on Feyre, the way their quiet exchanges seemed to carry a weight that hadn’t been there before.

And she wondered, in the deepest part of her heart, if she had lost something she hadn’t fully realized was slipping through her fingers.

Y/n’s eyes fluttered open as an uncomfortable wave of pain stretched across her back, her large belly shifting uneasily beneath the blankets. The room, once warm and familiar, now felt suffocating, the walls closing in around her as she tried to shift positions. Her heart thudded a little too loudly, and the silence only amplified the emptiness in the space. Rhysand had not been by her side for hours, and at this point, it was becoming a familiar absence—one she couldn’t ignore.

A deep sigh escaped her lips as she sat up, the strain of carrying their child weighing heavily on her. She hadn’t wanted to wake him, but something inside of her yearned for the quiet solace of a midnight walk—anything to soothe the tightness in her chest. She slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Amren, who still slept soundly beside her. Y/n made her way to the door and stepped out into the cool, moonlit halls of the House of Wind.

As she walked down the corridor, her mind buzzed with a thousand questions. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed between her and Rhysand, even before he left for the war. The secretive looks exchanged between him, Feyre, and the others had only deepened her suspicions. The change in his demeanor when he’d returned had been subtle, but it was there. She just didn’t know what to make of it. Yet.

The soft sound of footsteps ahead caught her attention. Cassian.

He froze when he spotted her, his eyes briefly flickering with a flash of surprise before he tried to hide it behind a strained smile. “Y/n… What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice a little too high-pitched, like he’d been caught off guard.

Y/n raised an eyebrow at him, her hand resting against her rounded belly. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d make myself some tea,” she said, trying to act nonchalant. “Is something wrong?”

Cassian’s smile softened, his shoulders visibly relaxing. He eyed her for a moment before speaking in a quiet, almost tender voice, “Well, wouldn’t want a lady like you wandering these halls alone at this time of night.” His voice dropped lower as he added, “Let me join you.”

Y/n felt a sense of comfort in his words, the warmth of his easy-going nature wrapping around her like a blanket. She smiled at him, the bond they had forged over the years making this moment feel… safe, in spite of the turmoil in her heart.

They started walking together, Cassian keeping pace beside her. The halls seemed endless as they made their way to the kitchen, but the familiar company made the journey less isolating. Their conversation flowed easily, the lull of their voices filling the air between them.

“Have you had time to rest?” Cassian asked, glancing over at her belly. “You should take it easy, you know.”

Y/n chuckled softly, rubbing her belly. “I’m fine. The little one is kicking up a storm tonight. Can’t quite settle down.”

Cassian’s grin was easy, but there was a flicker of something else behind his eyes, something unspoken, as he leaned slightly toward her, trying to offer her comfort. “Don’t let anyone tell you that you shouldn’t take it easy. You’ve been through a lot.”

She tilted her head at him. “You’re always so kind, Cassian,” she said, almost teasing. “I appreciate it.”

“Anything for you,” he replied, with a wink that made her laugh. “But don’t get any ideas. I’m not looking for trouble.”

Y/n smirked. “Me? Trouble? Never.”

They continued talking, weaving through the halls, discussing small things—how the weather had been, how the training had been progressing with the armies—and the more they spoke, the lighter Y/n felt. It was like a brief escape from the gnawing uncertainty she carried.

But then, as they reached a corridor near Feyre’s room, Y/n noticed something strange.

A small light was spilling out from beneath the door.

She froze mid-step, and Cassian’s eyes narrowed. “That’s odd,” he muttered, glancing at her. “Feyre should be asleep by now.”

Y/n frowned. “Should we check on her? She might need something.”

Cassian hesitated but gave a tight nod. “I’ll be right back.” He took a few steps forward, his large form blocking the door as he cracked it open. But before he could slip inside, he froze.

Y/n, not one to stand idly by, took a small step forward, peering around him. “Cassian?” she whispered, her voice unsure.

But Cassian, his face hardening in a way she hadn’t seen before, quickly turned to her. “Y/n,” he said softly, his voice laced with concern, “please… Let’s go back. It’s—”

Before he could finish, Y/n pushed past him, her heart thundering in her chest. She entered the room, and in the dim light, her gaze locked on the sight before her.

Rhysand and Feyre. Together.

Rhysand had Feyre pressed against the wall, their lips locked in a passionate kiss, the intensity of their connection undeniable.

Y/n’s heart stopped in her chest, the air thick with the realization crashing over her. She blinked, disbelieving. This was not happening.

“Rhysand,” she whispered, her voice breaking as her legs threatened to give out from under her.

Rhysand’s eyes widened, and he immediately pulled away from Feyre, both of them frozen in shock. Feyre’s face flushed with guilt, but it wasn’t enough.

Y/n’s hands trembled, her thoughts spiraling as she processed the sight. All the doubt, all the pain, everything she’d tried to ignore—it was true.

Without another word, Y/n turned and fled, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. She didn’t even hear Cassian call after her, his voice full of anguish. All she could hear was the thundering of her own heartbeat and the sound of her feet pounding down the halls.

She was halfway down the corridor when she felt Cassian’s hand on her arm, pulling her back gently. “Y/n, please,” he said, voice low. “You don’t have to do this.”

But Y/n, in her shock, yanked her arm away. “Don’t touch me, Cassian!” she shouted. “How long? How long has this been going on? How long have you all been hiding this from me?”

Her voice wavered, breaking with every word. Her emotions were a storm. She didn’t care who saw it anymore. She’d been blind.

Cassian took a step back, his eyes filled with regret. “Y/n, please—”

Her hands trembled, but her words were sharp, cutting through the hall like a blade. "Why didn’t you tell me? Why?" She stepped forward, her gaze locked onto Rhysand, the male who had once been everything to her. "You made me believe in you. We built a life together! A family! And now… now I’m supposed to just accept this?" Her voice cracked as she swallowed the lump in her throat, the weight of it all almost suffocating her. "We have a child, Rhysand! You will be a father!"

Rhysand flinched as if her words had struck him harder than any physical blow. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He reached for her, but her eyes hardened, her heart already too far gone for him to reach.

"Are you not ashamed of yourself?" she shouted, her voice growing louder, desperate for answers. The anger poured out of her like a flood, drowning everything in its path. "Is that it? You just gave it all up? How could you do this to me? To us?" She gestured between herself and her stomach, the child growing inside of her. "I gave you everything. I gave you my trust. My heart. And this is how you repay me? This is the price I pay for being so blind?"

Feyre took a hesitant step forward, her face filled with guilt, but Rhysand’s protective instinct flared. His hand shot out, catching Feyre behind him, his posture stiff and defensive. His eyes flickered with regret, but they held the painful truth.

For a split second, Y/n thought she might lose herself completely, but then the bitter laugh escaped her. It was harsh, mocking—disbelieving.

Because that was when it hit her.

These two were mates. Mates.

"So mates, huh? Is that what this is all about?" she scoffed. "I guess I should’ve known. I should’ve seen it coming, shouldn’t I?" Her voice was dripping with sarcasm now, the anguish inside her turning to venom. "But of course, you would protect her, wouldn’t you?" She looked at Feyre with contempt, shaking her head. "You didn’t even have the decency to tell me the truth."

Rhysand’s jaw clenched, but he remained silent. The pain in his eyes was evident, but he didn’t speak. He couldn’t, not when he knew the words he needed to say would only make things worse. His heart ached for her, but he had no idea how to fix what he had broken.

Y/n’s body shook with anger, the injustice of it all weighing down on her chest. She turned on her heel, ready to storm away, but that’s when it happened.

The sharp pain slammed into her abdomen, and her knees buckled. She gasped, her breath catching in her throat as her vision blurred with pain.

Azriel--who appeared out of nowhere--was at her side in an instant, his arms steadying her, but her body betrayed her. She clutched her stomach, her body wracked with pain that seemed to come from nowhere.

"Y/n?" Azriel’s voice was filled with concern as he tried to steady her, but she could barely hear him through the intensity of the agony. Cassian was on the other side, his hands gently gripping her arms, trying to keep her upright.

"Madja!" Cassian barked at Rhysand, his voice filled with anger and venom, "Be responsible and get Madja now!"

But Y/n didn’t hear him. All she could focus on was the agony coursing through her, the pain so sharp and overwhelming that it consumed her. She didn’t care about Rhysand anymore. She didn’t care about Feyre. She didn’t care about anything except for one thing: their child.

Her breath came in shallow gasps as she cradled her stomach with one hand, feeling the life growing inside her, the precious little one she had been so determined to protect.

"Please," she whispered weakly, her voice breaking as she looked at Rhysand. "Please don’t take this from me."

Cassian and Azriel exchanged a frantic glance, both of them moving into protective mode as they kept her steady. Y/n’s eyes were locked onto Rhysand now, her fury mingled with a desperate need for him to understand. To feel the weight of what he had done.

But it was too late. The damage was done.

Rhysand stepped forward, his hand reaching out to her, but Y/n jerked away from him, the sudden movement only worsening the pain in her abdomen. She gasped again, clutching her stomach as a new wave of agony hit her.

“Y/n, please—” Rhysand’s voice was low, broken, but she couldn’t listen. Not anymore.

"No," she choked out, her voice hoarse. "No more excuses, Rhysand." Her hands trembled, her body trembling, and she couldn’t hold back the flood of emotions any longer. She was done.

The pain continued to tear through her, her thoughts scattering, spinning out of control as she cradled her stomach tighter. The tears she had been holding back finally spilled, but they weren’t just from the physical pain. They were for everything she had lost in that one moment. The trust. The love. The future they were supposed to build together.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she sobbed, her voice breaking. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?” She glanced at Feyre, her eyes hard, but her voice trembled with more than just anger. “How could you—how could you do this to me?”

But before anyone could respond, another wave of pain shot through her, and she screamed, her body collapsing into Cassian and Azriel’s arms. Her mind was a blur, only one thing clear—she needed help. She needed them to save the child.

Azriel's voice was low and commanding, filled with urgency. "Cassian, hold her. I’ll get Madja." He turned and moved swiftly toward the door, his wings brushing against the wall as he flew out into the night.

“Please, Y/n,” Cassian murmured, his voice soft but filled with fear. “Please, hold on.”

Y/n’s vision was swimming. She barely registered the words, the frantic chaos around her, her body failing her. All she could feel was the tight grip of the pain as it dragged her deeper into the darkness.

Rhysand stood there, torn between the desperate need to run to her side and the instinct to protect Feyre. He was lost. He had lost her. And in that moment, Y/n’s shattered words echoed in his mind: We have a child, Rhysand... You will be a father... Are you not ashamed of yourself?

And for the first time in his life, Rhysand had no answers.

Y/n slowly regained consciousness, the dull ache in her head reminding her of the storm that had passed through her body. She blinked against the bright light, her vision blurred for a moment before it cleared. The soft, cool sheets beneath her, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, it all felt so distant and overwhelming.

Madja's voice cut through the haze. "You're awake," she said softly, her tone warm but firm. "Good thing no harm was done to the baby, but you're under a lot of stress. I can feel it in your body, the strain on you."

Y/n turned her head slowly, seeing Madja standing next to her, the healer’s face filled with concern. Azriel was by the window, his posture tense, while Cassian hovered near the foot of the bed, his face a mixture of guilt and concern. Amren, ever stoic, stood off to the side, her eyes watching with an unreadable expression.

"Your baby is fine, Y/n," Madja continued, placing a hand lightly on Y/n’s arm. "There’s no danger of premature birth. Just take care of yourself, try to rest, and the baby will be fine. But your stress levels... they’re far too high." She gave them all a pointed look. "All of you."

With that, Madja stepped back, her eyes lingering on Y/n for a moment longer before she turned and left the room. There was a silence that followed, one that stretched out far too long for Y/n's comfort. Cassian was the first to speak, though his voice was unsure, quiet, the weight of his earlier actions heavy in the air.

"Y/n, I—" he started, but Y/n lifted her hand weakly, signaling for him to stop.

"How long?" she whispered, her voice fragile but steady with the hurt of it all. "How long have you all known?"

Azriel stiffened, and Amren rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "Girl, don’t involve me in this mess," she said with a scoff. "I had no idea either. Though, it was kind of obvious." She glared at the two males as if daring them to argue.

Cassian ran a hand through his hair, looking down at the floor, his voice laced with regret. "We thought it would be best to wait until after the birth to tell you. We didn’t want to put you or the baby at risk."

Y/n's eyes flickered between them, too weary to say anything but the truth. "And that plan went to shit."

Azriel exhaled sharply, stepping closer to the bed. "Y/n, I am so sorry," he said, his voice raw with regret. "Rhysand told us all—told us that she was his mate after the journey. Feyre was mad at him, and... and then Rhys finally came clean to all of us. Told us everything." His eyes were filled with sincerity. "We should’ve told you sooner."

Y/n closed her eyes, shaking her head. "I trusted you all. All of you. And you kept this from me. You should’ve told me the moment you knew." Her voice cracked, but she didn't back down. She would not back down from this.

"I know," Cassian said quietly, his voice filled with shame. "We thought it was for the best. But you’re right. We should’ve told you. I should’ve told you." He ran a hand through his hair again, frustration flashing in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Y/n. I should've trusted you."

The room was thick with emotion, a painful silence hanging in the air when, suddenly, a piece of paper appeared in Y/n’s lap, its crisp edges catching the light. She blinked, a small smile pulling at her lips as she grabbed the letter. Her gaze softened as she read it, the others leaning in, confused.

"What’s this?" Cassian asked, his voice low. "Who’s it from?"

"Kallias," Y/n murmured, her fingers brushing over the letter’s surface with a sad smile. "The High Lord of Winter."

Everyone froze, their eyes widening as they processed the name. "Kallias?" Azriel repeated, his brows furrowed. "What’s he writing to you for?"

Y/n’s smile turned bittersweet as she looked up from the letter, her eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and something more resolute. "I wrote to him a week ago, asking if I could visit Winter. I needed a change of scenery. And he..." she trailed off, her smile growing faint. "He’s more than happy to have me."

The others stared at her, stunned into silence. The room felt as though it had shifted in an instant. "You... You’re going to Winter?" Amren asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Why now?"

Y/n’s smile faltered, but she didn’t hide it. "I already knew I’d leave sooner or later," she whispered, her hands trembling slightly as she folded the letter. "Just... not this soon. I guess my leave will be permanent."

The room erupted into chaos.

"Y/n, no," Cassian said, stepping toward her, his voice filled with desperation. "Please, you can’t—"

"Please," Azriel added softly, moving to her side. "Don’t go."

But Y/n held up her hand, silencing them all. There was a moment of stillness, a tension hanging in the air as they all waited. Slowly, Y/n swung her legs off the side of the bed, her movements slow but deliberate. She pulled her bag from underneath the bed, her gaze focused on the task at hand. "I need this," she said quietly, as though it was an understanding only she could see. "I’ve always needed this."

"Y/n, please," Cassian pleaded again, his voice rough with emotion. "You don’t have to do this."

Y/n’s gaze softened, but she was firm. "I do," she replied, her voice steady. "I do have to."

The room was quiet now, the weight of her words settling over them. It was clear there was no changing her mind.

"Now," Y/n said, turning to Amren, "will you please help me get changed?"

Amren’s expression softened slightly, but she gave a small nod. "Get out, all of you," she said, her tone more gentle than usual. "I’ll help her. And I’ve got advice for her."

The others left reluctantly, Cassian lingering at the door, his eyes heavy with unspoken emotions. Y/n caught his gaze and held it for a moment, before she turned back to Amren, the two of them sharing a quiet understanding.

Amren helped her get dressed, the quiet advice coming in fragments. "Take care of yourself, Y/n. Don’t let them hold you back. You deserve this peace. You deserve to find what you need. The rest will follow."

Y/n nodded, a weak but grateful smile on her lips. "Thank you, Amren."

When she was finally ready, Azriel appeared in the doorway, his expression unreadable. Y/n took a deep breath before moving toward him. Cassian, Mor, and even Amren stood back, their eyes heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Before she left, Y/n moved toward Cassian first. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close for a moment, her face buried in his chest. "I’ll miss you," she whispered.

Cassian hugged her back, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. "Please take care of yourself," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

Next, she turned to Mor, who embraced her with a tight, brief hug, her expression just as conflicted. "I hope you find what you need," Mor said softly.

Lastly, Y/n stepped toward Amren, who looked at her with a strange blend of pride and sorrow. "You’re stronger than you think," Amren said with a faint smile, before she too turned away, leaving Y/n to face her own path.

Y/n gave one last glance at the room before stepping outside. Azriel was waiting for her, his hand outstretched. Without a word, she took it, and in a flash of blue light, they vanished, leaving the shadows of the past behind.

And though Rhysand’s presence was absent, Y/n’s resolve was clear. She was moving on. She was taking the first step toward healing. Toward a future she would shape on her own terms.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[thewitchandtheassassin]

Life, Death, and the Space in Between Part Three (Agatha Harkness x Reader x Rio Vidal)

Summary: The Road is wild and wicked.

Words: 2277

Warnings: Arguments, talks of death, canon death, language?

A/N: Anything I have to fix, I'll go back and fix later. I am too in love with these characters. You're welcome.

-X-

Cradling the boy’s head in her lap, Agatha stared at Rio with watery eyes, a recreation of a moment long since passed. “Don’t. Don’t.”

Shrugging casually, your lover peered over the body of the dying Teen, watching thoughtfully as Jen began to attempt to heal him.

You weren’t entirely interested in watching a teenager drift from the mortal plane but something caught your eye and you inched closer, oblivious to Agatha’s noise of warning. One of the gifts you had procured when becoming the goddess of life was the ability to see lifelines. To examine and determine the strands of someone’s very essence. If they were meant to die, or beyond saving outside of celestial intervention, the strands would grow black and shrivel while a healthy lifeline was pure white and strong.

His was -

“What do you see?” Rio breathed, mouth close to your ear as you both stared at Teen.

Unlike Life, Death could not see a lifeline. She relied on Life for such things. She could see souls - spirits, essences; able to reach out and pluck them from their temporary vessels when their time had come. But she could only ever take what was hers to claim; what the cosmos were owed.

“His lifeline is broken.”

She inhaled sharply, gaze shooting up to your profile. “What do you mean?” she demanded.

Turning, you walked away from the group, using the dense forest to shade you from view. Taking a deep breath, you pressed the tips of your fingers together before stretching them apart. Where there should be a plain white cord, frail but solid as Jenn healed Teen, there was instead a cord that was black and blistered in the center. Stretching it further, you could see the beginning of his lifeline up until now.

Rio’s eyes were trained on the white cord. “What…”

“That boy died. Should be dead. That is something more than his heart stopping and then being revived. Otherwise it would’ve healed over. I don’t-” you cut yourself off, staring blankly at the lifeline. “This isn’t natural. Whatever that boy is, he’s-”

“An abomination,” Death’s raspy voice rang out and you glanced at the woman, unsurprised to see skull and bone staring back at you. She shook her head, the visage returning. “He goes against every order of nature. The fact he has escaped his reaping is a slight, and must be corrected.”

“Do you think Agatha knows?” you murmured, watching the coven shift his limp body to a more comfortable space, building a makeshift nest for him. “That there’s something wrong with him.”

“If she’s not certain, she has to suspect,” Rio replied, expression grave. “But she’s using him as a way to handle her grief. Replacing our son with this teenager who shouldn’t exist.”

Studying the white cord, your brows furrowed. Sparks of blue and red flared from it, more red towards the beginning before shifting into mostly blue sparks, something that was completely out of place and unexpected. “Do you see this?”

Reaching out, Rio’s fingers glided off the cord, completely devoid of emotion. “That fucking red witch. He is the reason the Road is real. The son of the Scarlet Witch and their weird reality bending bullshit powers. After the collapse of the Hex, I felt pulled there but I never found what I was searching for. It must’ve been his soul finding a home before I could find him.”

Letting the cord fizzle out in your hands, you pressed your forehead against Rio’s. Her cool breath fanned across your lips, dark eyes nearly black beneath the weight of knowledge and pain.

“I have to take him,” she whispered brokenly. “I have to take another child from her.”

“We should wait. See what becomes of this road.” Your lips brushed over hers, feather light and gentle.

There was sadness filling the space between you, of understanding what must be and what would happen after.

-X-

Sitting around a campfire discussing scars wasn’t exactly your idea of a fun evening but leaning against Rio’s side and watching the fire crackle softened your disdain. These witches weren’t terrible; in fact, you quite liked them all. Lilia was the epitome of a divination witch, her odd outbursts and strange mumblings charming. Alice, a protector who had her whole life ahead of her. Jen, searching for something stolen but making the best of it, even if she was scamming mortals. It would’ve been a shame for them to have died under Agatha’s magic, though you hated how powerless she still was.

Especially on such a dangerous road.

The moment Agatha settled somewhat close to you, all you wanted to do was drink in the warmth of being so close to her again. She told about a knitting needle scar, but you knew the truth. The scar along her elbow was from Nicholas. Or, rather, from the unfortunate pet your young son had managed to charm into coming home with him. That raccoon had taken one look at Agatha and screeched at the top of its lungs. His claws had nicked her elbow as he rushed away, but if she wanted to lie, who were you to judge?

“I have a scar,” Rio piped up, earning identical looks from you and Agatha. Your brow was furrowed, knowing you’d traced every inch of that body with fingers and tongue, but remembering no visible scars.

“No, you don’t,” she argued, and a wave of guilt passed through your bond.

Reaching out, you gripped Rio’s hand as she bowed her head. Her scar was internal. A never-closing wound that just never properly came back together because the thread had been hidden away from sight and nothing else could suture it closed. The kind that itched and burned for all eternity, constantly reminding her of the worst moments of her existence.

Slapping her thighs, Agatha escaped the conversation as soon as Rio finished speaking, skulking off into the forest to catch her breath. You were up and chasing after her seconds later, the green witch hot on your heels. Her back was to you, barely concealed sniffles audible in the silence of The Road.

“Agatha,” you whispered, her back easily meeting your front as you stopped behind her. Your arm encircled her waist, holding her close for the first time in centuries. It was like coming home all over again.

Rio settled in front of her, a cool hand on flushed skin. Her thumb trailed below Agatha’s eye, wiping away the fresh tear.

“That boy –”

Agatha’s face dipped close to Rio’s, breath fanning across it as she inched closer to her mouth. You could see the green witch’s mouth move, telling herself it wasn’t time, and you finished her heartbreaking confirmation.

“He’s not ours,” you whispered regretfully, feeling how Agatha tensed in your embrace.

The energy shift was subtle before Agatha yanked herself from your arms, putting substantial distance between you. She was hugging herself, as if trying to keep herself from crumbling into dust. Holding together the broken slivers of her heart.

“You don’t think I know that?” she hissed furiously, tears clinging to long lashes. “I know my little boy is long gone. Because you let him die.”

Stumbling back as if struck, you glared at Agatha with a fury you didn’t know you possessed. “I didn’t let him die! I kept him alive for years! While that sickness ravaged his body, I was the one pouring magic into Nicky to keep him breathing! You have no idea how many nights he almost left this world, but I broke every rule to sustain him longer. Don’t you dare say I let him die!”

A cool hand touched your shoulder, fingers digging deep into the flesh as Rio’s dark eyes bore into you but you could only see the gaping Agatha in that moment.

“How fucking dare you accuse me of not doing everything I could to keep Nicky here? You were not the only one who loved him. Who still loves him.” You stormed closer to the shivering witch, barely cognizant of the other witches and an unsteady Teen peering around the trees to watch the show.

“And yet he still died,” she spat bitterly, glancing down at your balled fist. “What? Did I strike a nerve? The all-powerful Life still bowing to Death?”

White magic flared around you, illuminating the otherwise darkened forest. There were noises of surprise at the sudden lightshow but you didn’t care.

“Fuck you, Agatha Harkness,” you hissed. “If it doesn’t fit your idea of how things should’ve gone, you refuse to see the truth. I have spent centuries excusing your behavior but all you will ever see is what you want. We’re the villains because you didn’t have the power to save him either!”

The sharp gasp beside you echoed through the pounding in your mind, clearing the red fog clouding your vision.

“You know, the Darkhold told me something about you,” Agatha said coldly, staring deep into your eyes. “You can visit the afterlife. That you can take people there too. Yet you never offered to let me see him again.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“Bullshit! You can walk the line of life and death, and you could have told me. Could have… taken me to him,” she whispered, trembling with grief, thinking about having her little boy tucked into her arms once more.

Rio stepped closer, her hand sliding down to tangle your fingers together, both to soothe your fury and to stop it from becoming something darker. “That book lies, Agatha, and you know it. It shows you what you want to see. You want to see Nicky. So it gave you an answer in hopes of keeping you.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw blue flaring with twitching fingertips. You watched a familiar purple match the dancing blue across the tips of Agatha’s digits and your eyes widened fractionally.

“I cannot bring the living to the afterlife. Anyone who walks into that plane can never leave. It’s the way of the cosmos.” Your voice was tinged in desperation, begging the woman you loved to just… listen. “There’s a price all must pay who enter.”

There was a lull and for a moment, you hoped maybe she was seeing reason, before Agatha lunged at you. Her hand slammed into your chest, purple erupting around you and swallowing your vision. Purple and Agatha and furious, begging eyes.

All you could hear was Rio’s furious, panicked roar, “No!” ringing in your ears before there was…

Nothing.

Then you were falling.

And falling fast.

-X-

Being yanked from one dimension into another plane of existence was jarring. It didn’t happen often, unless you were in a different place than Rio and the universe called you home, but you imagined it was like being tossed headfirst into a blender that was on high.

As your back slammed into solid ground, you groaned low in your throat before slowly looking up at the sky. Or, what should’ve been the sky, except it was replaced with a beautiful, never-ending starlit void. There was no sun here, no moon, but you could see for miles and miles, never needing another light source.

“Oh no.”

Agatha’s limp form was a few feet away from you, but your spirit felt heavy. Neither of you were meant to be here and while you could pass somewhat freely without the imposing threat of danger, the same couldn’t be said for your witch.

“Agatha, get up,” you called out, carefully forcing yourself to an upright position. The astral body was similar but different from the mortal vessel you carried. Here, there was little imperfection, and you were simply the embodiment of Life. As meant to be.

However, Agatha’s had remained perfectly… Agatha.

It was like wading through waist high water to get to her. Hands pulsing white, you touched her shoulder and she jolted up with a gasp. You weren’t sure what such a journey had done to a mortal, but she seemed somewhat coherent – which you supposed was good.

“W-what? Where are we?” she demanded, peering around at the odd scenery of the afterlife as she stood.

“We have to go,” you replied sharply, glowing hand reaching out to grab her wrist but she jerked away, deftly dodging your grip.

“Is this the afterlife? Is he here?” She didn’t wait for your answer before cupping her hands to her mouth. “Nicky! Nicky! Are you here? It’s okay! It’s Mama!”

Waves of pain wracked through your spirit and you watched darkness creeping closer to the foreign entity.

No, no, no. It’s not her time. This isn’t…

Agatha continued screaming, her voice echoing throughout the plane until a long-missed voice called back from the distance, disbelief evident.

“Mama?”

Agatha bolted towards the voice and you watched tendrils of the afterlife chase after her, drawn to the soul still within her body.

Steeling yourself for what was to come; white light seeped from your fingers and filled the space around you, encouraging the darkness towards yourself instead. The sting was immediate and intense as darkness slipped into your body like blades, but you swallowed down the scream.

You promised to protect her.

And so you would.

-X-

Back on the Road, Rio cried out as a hand flew to her chest, the bond between you burning like a fire let loose to rage. Her long quiet heart thumped painfully, following the slowing beats of your own in perfect tandem. Her other hand was cupping your clammy cheek, wiping the sweat and tears falling down your cheeks.

“Oh, my love… what have you done?”

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: Apples [Yandere Shinigami Light Yagami x Reader]

Title: Apples [Yandere Shinigami Light Yagami x Reader]

Synopsis: The inhuman thing that calls itself Light Yagami won't leave you alone.

For Horrorfest request: Reader thats haunted by Shinigami Light Yagami please!

Word count: 800ish

Notes: yandere, stalking

“Leave me alone.” 

The words come out bitter and soft, like a piece of fruit that’s been sitting at the bottom of the fridge for far too long. They smush inwards like overripe flesh underneath your thumb, from the weight of the creature hovering in front of you, the inhuman thing that refuses to go away for good.

Sometimes he leaves for a few days, a week, even a month or two. Long enough that you think he’s finally gotten bored or died–can Shinigami even die?--and you’ll never see him darken your doorway (literally and otherwise) again.

But then he’s there, an unwanted flicker. Standing by your bed. Sitting on your professor’s desk, a prim smile on his face. Waiting behind a shelf at the grocery store, in the gap between open boxes of cereal. Intruding on your everyday life with his awful extraordinariness. 

“Aren’t you even the smallest bit grateful?” He asks, not for the first time, shifting towards you. He’s too close. When he speaks, his breath hovers, smelling of apples and rot. 

You press further away, tucking yourself into the corner between your bed and the wall. The edge of your nightstand digs into the flesh of your upper arm. 

“I don’t want you to follow me,” you say, pathetically, stupidly, because you know it will change nothing. It hasn’t before. It won’t know. “Find someone who will be grateful, if it matters that much to you.”

That’s your dream, really. That he will find someone else to follow, to obsess over, to whisper awful things to in the night; dreams of a reinvisioned world, remaking the world of mortals in an image that suits him. You’ll be there, too. Forever, he says, even if he hasn’t figured out how just yet. 

But no matter how much you plead, how much you try to make yourself unappealing, this thing–it calls itself Light Yagami, and isn’t that awful, to give itself a human name?--won’t leave you alone. 

A clawed hand reaches out and you squeeze your eyes shut. It’s easier not to see him when he touches you. That much you’ve learned. Because when he does, the look on his face gets too tight, too manic. His eyes go a touch red and there’s something inside them that is too awful to bear.

The claw drags down your cheek, resting underneath your chin and tilting it up like a lover would. It makes you sick, this gesture; it’s too practiced, too human. How did a Shinigami know what might make someone go weak at the knees?

And you do–you do–for all the wrong reasons. 

“You can learn to be grateful,” he whispers, voice going low, almost gray. “I’ll even teach you how to use my notebook properly.”

Oh, that fucking notebook. It’s what started this whole mess. It was just sitting there, on the park bench. You’d walked by that bench a million times and nothing was ever out of place, but the one day there’s something new–it’s something that’s condemned you to this.

To him.

All you’d done is pick it up. Touched the edge of it, wondering if some kid has left it behind. But instead of a name written on the front, there was only an odd title. 

“Death… note?” You’d read–and by the time you glanced back up, he was there, suddenly, in a blink.

Smiling politely and introducing himself, as if he wasn’t some creature that had popped up out of nowhere. Came from nowhere a more accurate statement, if his brief descriptions of his world were anything to go by–a vast gray rotting wasteland.

“You wouldn’t like it there,” he told you once, musing more to himself, you thought, than actually speaking to you. He liked to hear himself talk. “That’s why I’ll remake this world instead.” As if he did anything for your benefit, and not his. 

If only you’d passed on by the bench, by the notebook, that day.  You might be free from all this. 

But you’re not free. You’re here, in your bedroom, trapped between the wall and a god of death.

“Open your eyes,” he says, just tightly enough that you know he’s approaching the edge of his patience. It was much harder to be around him, when he was genuinely angry with you.

Weary, tired, your eyes open, slow and sluggish. You give in, like you always do. What other choice do you have? 

“There you are,” he says, claw tracing your cheek, just underneath your eye. “Much better.” 

His other hand reaches for yours, covering it with his own, gripping tight.

“Are you ready to write a name in my notebook now?”

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Walking the Road for Her

Wanda Maximoff x Gray Witch!Reader

Word count: 1.2K

Summary: You can't live without Wanda and you've tried everything else so when Agatha comes knocking on your door you accept immediately, but the teen that's with her...he seems so familiar

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 3 OF AGATHA ALL ALONG! Grief/Loss, hallucinations, death/mortality, emotional distress, supernatural elements, implied self-sacrifice, character death, reunion with a deceased loved one

Authors notes: Thank you @scarlethexelove for indulging in my random Wanda thoughts.

When Agatha asked for you to walk the witches road, you didn't hesitate. She was put off by your eagerness, but never told her why you were walking. You kept that part to yourself she didn't seem to mind. Everyone had a reason, and everyone had their secrets, so no one asked, and you weren't about to tell them you wanted, no needed Wanda back.

You would give up anything and everything to have Wanda back. If it meant to team up with Agatha, you would do it.

So you did. You met up with her and put on the cheery smile she hated. You always assumed she hated you for being a younger witch still full of life, but since Wanda died, you felt like you died too. You got along well enough with the others. You knew Jen the best being closer in age, though you didn't care for her products.

The teen seemed eerily familiar, but you can't put your finger on it. Why does he remind you of Wanda of a life you can't seem to remember.

You're overly protective of him. You don't let him have the wine, and when you hallucinate from said wine, you blink, and suddenly, you're looking at Wanda. Back in her early twenties with the eyeliner, ripped stockings, painted nails, and rings on every finger. You cry over it, cupping her face until it turns back to his.

“Are you okay.” He looks at you with concern. You pull away quickly and wipe your eyes.

“S-Sorry.” You quickly run the ingredients back, trying to escape the feelings. You need to stay strong. You need to get Wanda back.

You end up getting through the trail. Not without its costs. Losing Sharon wasn't something you had in mind, but the witches road is treacherous and has no place for mortals. You never should have let Agatha do that, but hindsight and all that. You knew you had to press on and on the road Teen asks,

“Are you sure you're okay? You and Sharon called out for the same person.” You swallow hard.

“Yeah I'm fine. We all had hallucinations about things. I'll be okay.” You tell him and then mumble under your breath, “Not like I don't deal with it every morning...” his head swivels.

“What was that?” He asks.

“Nothing, just mumbling to myself.”

The further you journey, the harder it gets. Sometimes, you want to give up, to give in, and join Wanda another way. But something stops you every time. You almost think you can feel her, feel her all around you. In the trees, the air, the leaves beneath your feet. With a quick turn of your head, you think you so the soft auburn color you miss so much. The road is playing tricks yet keeping you grounded to your goals.

You make it to the end. Finally passed the last trial everyone who had made it. Their prize awaited them. You waited, didn't see her, and then you heard a whisper in Sokovian.

Your name.

You looked around everywhere. “Over here milaya.” You hear her call. You whip around and see her. She doesn't look like the Scarlet Witch anymore. Back before that. Like when you were on the run. You run into her arms without a second thought.

You can't help as you cry. Burying your face in her neck as your body shakes with sobs. Her vanilla scent invades your senses. “Shhhh sweet girl, I've got you.” Wanda holds you close. Your heart feels whole again now that you're back in her arms.

Your sobs turn into sniffles. “I've missed you so much.” You mumble against her. Her nails lightly scratching at your back. Something she's always done to sooth you. Kissing the side of your head and letting her lips linger.

“I know Detka. I'm so sorry. I'm here now. I'll never leave you again.”

You held onto Wanda tight, afraid to let go as if she'd disappear again if you stopped.

Wanda opened her eyes, looking past your shoulder her eyes widened in surprise and then softened as she saw him.

“Bi-Billy?” Wanda's voice shakes slightly. You pull back but not fully letting her go. You follow her gaze that lands on the teen. Your brows furrow before you look back to Wanda.

“Wanda?” You question her.

She lets go of you when Teen responds to the name. He tries to say something, but the sigil protects him. A wave of Wanda's hand changes that. “Billy?” She asks again.

“Yes, that's me.” You're really confused as you see Wanda's red tendrils come out sending red waves through his eyes before disappearing. “M-mom? H-how did you...?”

Billy runs towards Wanda, slamming into her, but she doesn't budge. She holds him tightly in her arms. “What kind of mother would I be if I didn't know my own son?” Wanda whispers. It's just loud enough for you to hear. Confusion morphs into realization as you look on.

The reason he looked so familiar, the reason he reminded you of her. Of course, it was one of the twins. Sure you hadn't been a part of the hex, but you had seen the recordings of it. Last you had seen the twins, they were 10 inside the hex.

Your heartbeat quickens when you remember what you had seen next as the hex fell the you Wanda had created was destroyed along with the twins. She had held you tightly until you were no more.

It's a shock to see him in the flesh. To understand who he really is. He pulls away from Wanda and turns to you. “Mama?” He's cautious having been giving the memory from Wanda and realizing that you had never got to meet him. Do you even know who he is? Will you accept him as your own?

Your breath catches. It's like waves of memories flood through you as if they had always been there. Everything from the hex coming to life as tears fill your vision and spill over. “Oh my sweet little boy...look at you!” Your arms wrap around him tightly. It had been there, blurry when you thought about it. Of this being your son. “Mama is sorry you had to go through all of this.”

“Mama don't apologize. I'm happy to have you back.” He pulls away slightly keeping an arm around you and opening his other for Wanda. She joins into the hug.

“I'm happy to have both of you back.” You can feel the tears pricking your eyes.

You hug them both tightly. This still left you without one son, but you knew you'd find him. If Billy made it out somehow, then Tommy must be out there, too.

Wanda cups both of your cheeks and looks between you. “Moya lyubov i moy syn (my love and my son).” Tears in her eyes she can't believe she is back and that she had both of you. Her heart is almost complete, but there is still a missing piece to the puzzle.

You didn't need her powers to know what she was thinking, “We'll find him, milaya.” She smiles at you, giving a soft peck on your lips.

“We will. Now that I have you two I know we will.”

This was more than you could have asked for at the end of the road.

[bet-on-me-13]

Danny is the Crazy Old Man™️ of Gotham

So, the events of Danny Phantom happened decades ago

Like, Phantom Planet was one of the first instances of Superheroes in HISTORY. Early 1900's, just the Fentons were Insanely Ahead of their Time!

Danny is still a Halfa, but has allowed himself to grow old and live his best life before fully dying so he can accept his Throne in the Infinite Realms. He decides to experience Life in the fullest way possible, partying, drinking, making long lasting friendships that shape the lives of everybody he meets, all that!

Eventually, Danny's Party Life leads him to Gotham. And this place is just amazing!

It has all the comforts of Home, with so much more! He can Party! He can Fight! He can do anything he wants and nobody bats an eye, because a crazy old man getting into a fistfight in the middle of the road is just another Tuesday for Gotham!

He decides to spend the rest of his Mortal Life there. And this is still Early On in the DC Timeline, like, Batman Year 1 is happening Right Now.

He hangs around, befriends the local Homeless Population, and mostly just has the time of his Life! And he takes up the stereotypical Homeless Old Man look because why fight it? That's literally what he's going for!

He also unintentionally sets up a bunch of future events

He teaches Kid!Jason on his to steal Tires as repayment for driving off some muggers with a Baseball Bat (honestly he was looking forward to being mugged, it's a new experience after all)

He pulls Kid!Tim into an Alley after Tim gets caught out at night and gets chased by some Punks. He hides Tim behind a Dumpster and tricks the Punks into mugging him instead (Yay! He finally got mugged!)

He becomes kind of well known as the Old Man who wants to experience everything before he dies. He says as much too, not like he really has a reason to hide it. He just tells people "I want to live my life to the fullest, it don't matter if I live 10 more years or 10 more minutes, I'm gonna experience every second of it!"

He once walked into a Cloud of Fear Gas to see what it was like. Later he said it was a 6/10. "Not the worst thing I've had injected into my body!" He says with no Context.

He traded places with a Hostage during an active Crime Scene because he wanted to know what it's like.

He was once dared to take Batmans Utility Belt by another Homeless Guy as a joke, so he walked up to Batman later that night in full view of everybody else and just asked for his Belt. He gives up after a few minutes, and one guy asked "Why not fight him for it? It's an experience after all.". Danny replys "Nah, I've fought Vigilantes before. It was fun though, gotta say!"

...

This got away from me, but all this to say: Imagine the Bat Families Reaction when they find out "Crazy Old Danny" is PHANTOM. You know, THE FIRST SUPERHERO!

I imagine Constantine is having a stroll though Gotham after finishing up some business with Bruce, and just bumps into a homeless guy by accident.

Later that night:

Batman: Constantine, Why are you calling? Is it to do with the-

Constantine: Why the fuck is there a Homeless God in your City?

Batman: Wait wha-

...

Or imagine they know before Constantine meets him, and it goes instead like this

Constantine: Why the fuck is there a Homeless God in your City?!

Batman: You mean Old Man Danny? He's just a homeless guy? What do you mean?

Constantine: I swear on what's left of my Soul, that is a God.

Batman, a little shit: I don't think so, I would know (fully knows)

[not-my-final-account]

I’VE FALLEN DOWN THE RABIT HOLE OF DANNY PHANTOM AND NOW I CAN’T ESCAPE

Once the Justice League was losing. It was the end of the world. No seriously, the world was an hour away from being blown to bits.

-

Constantine sighed and rubbed his face, he had just ran out of cigarettes and it was making him more jumpy than was truely necessary in any given situation. Him and most of the bigger heros in the Justice League sat in a cave and were forced to wait out the apocalypse, well, the hour left of it anyways.

Constantine sighed and looked up to what you could see of the sky from inside their cave, he was almost… afraid. Afraid of what was going to happen, afraid that it had come to this, afraid that the rumours were true or even worse than they seemed, Pariah Dark was not known for caring nor his mercy.

Honestly Constantine was going to consider it lucky if he died and got to rest in peace, even more lucky if the world actually got saved! This was a last ditch effort.

Constantine grabbed a piece of chalk from his pocket, it was worn from years of carrying it around. He settled it on the flattest piece of stone he could find and started drawing the circle he had memorised. “John what are you doing?” Wonder Woman asked, he ignored her and took a deep breathe

“Oh dark king of the ghosts.” he prayed, there were truely only a few necessary words but Constantine felt like he needed to add a message, so he kept speaking as he drew the intricate patterns of the circle “My world may be of no importance to you, but I am willing to make a deal to save it. Please accept my summon, please be merciful, please save earth, please K I N G O F T H E G H O S T S.” Constantine begged, Wonder Woman and most of the others sat up or got more defensive, it truely said something that Batman didn’t bother.

-

Danny Phantom sat playing DOOM with Sam and Tucker, cheering when we got to a higher level. Suddenly something tugged at his core and a voice whispered through his ears

…oh dark king of the ghosts. My world may be of no importance to you, but I am willing to make a deal to save it. Please accept my summon, please be merciful, please save earth, please…

“-anny? Danny?” Sam asked “Hello?” she said in a sing song voice

“Still with us Danny?” Tucker asked, Danny swallowed,

“I- I’ve got to go.” he said

-

Constantine sat on his knees in front of the circle and… nothing happened, Superman glanced at him and started to sit back down when suddenly the stone inside the circle fell away into a green spiral.

Superman gasped and jumped back up

“Don’t attack him, bow.” Constantine instructed, reluctantly Superman and everyone else did, except for Batman of course, what’d you expect? Him to change? Just because the world was ending?

A pale hand reached up from the circle and grabbed the edge; whoever was in the circle pulled themself up slowly and as they came closer to the mortal realm Superman got a sense of dread, of death, of… something else, of authority, and everyone in the room seemed to find themselves bowing lower. Superman couldn’t help but think, had Constantine double-doomed the world?

-

Constantine looked up as the figure hovered above the circle, he was the first to move from his bow. This… wasn’t what Constantine expected Pariah Dark to look like, he was still imposing but didn’t fit the ghost kings reputation.

He had a cape as dark as the shadows with glowing constellations and stories sown into the fabric. He had a crown that burned with green fire and floated above his head, his eyes glowed the same green as the crown and his hand had a single ring. He wore royal looking clothes, white boots and gloves with a black shirt and pants.

This was the ghost king “Pariah Dark, King of Ghosts. I am Constantine-”

“Pariah Dark? I dethroned him years ago! I’m Danny Phantom.” the ghost king introduced.

“I meant no disrespect your highness.” Constantine quickly said

“I don’t- never mind. You asked for me to save earth?” King Phantom asked, Constantine gulped

“Y-yes, we can’t win, please, I- I’ll do anything.” he begged,

“A favour.” King Phantom said

“What?” Constantine asked

“A favour, I’ll save your world for a favour from you and your friends.” King Phantom said.

A favour to a ghost king who was probably very evil, that is so stupid and such a horrible idea, who in their right mind would-

“Deal.” Constantine agreed.

There was a flash of bright light and King Phantom disappeared, after a few seconds of him being gone the sounds of a battle echoed through the cave.

“Constantine what did you just rope us into?” Batman asked. Constantine really, really needed a cigarette.

-

Years ago, the world was ending. In a last ditch effort Constantine summoned… something. Superman didn’t know much about the ghost king that had appeared, just that he was powerful, and that the better half of the Justice League owed him a favour. It had been on everyone’s minds for a few months after that deal, waiting for the day they would be called for something horrific and hoping it wouldn’t ruin them or their morals. But truthfully, after a few years everyone sorta forgot about it; it was the type of thing no one remembered unless the subject at hand related to it, and even then you were uneasy for a day and forgot all over again.

So when a scroll appeared in a flash of green light during a meeting one day, Superman would like to say that the freaking out was justified.

Batman (who seemed to adopt everyone he met in one way or another) shushed the group of panicking superhero’s and picked up the scroll “I am calling in your favour, when you finish reading this you will all be teleported to my aid. Signed, Phantom.” Batman read. Oh no.

In another flash of green light they appeared in a park with a few heros who hadn’t even been in the room. Everyone immediately put up their defences and raised various weapons, then they realised the park was empty. Superman looked around using X-ray vision, he had no clue what was going on in the seemingly peaceful that could make a ghost king ask for help, then he looked through a hill and saw a giant green dog running with two kids gripping it’s lead.

As the dog jumped on top of then off the hill and ran in front of them Superman could make out the words in their screams

“Sit boy, sit!” the Batman looking one called

“I’M TOO YOUNG TO DIE! NO OFFENCE DANNNYYYY!!!” the one with devices falling out of his bag and pockets yelled.

Everyone lowered their weapons and Flash relaxed and scoffed

“This is what that ghost guy called us in for? This is going to be a breeze!” Flash said happily

“Don’t judge a book by its cover Flash.” Constantine warned. Superman was about to agree with flash when the ghost king suddenly appeared in the air in front of us, dripping in something green which looked alarmingly like blood- oh god the ghost king was dying!? Re-dying?!

“Forget I said anything,” Flash raised his hands in the air and got ignored as we rushed over to the ghost king who had fallen out of the air and onto the ground.

Before anyone could do anything though another person appeared out of thin air and then floated down

“Join me Daniel! Together we could rule the world!” he asked, okay that was an evil guy if Superman had ever seen one, he even had the looks to go with it, you could mistake him as Dracula … was that Dracula?

Suddenly another guy who looked like the ghost king body slammed Dracula from the air

“I WILL RULE THE WORLD AND ME ALONE!” as he stood up Superman noticed he looked just like the ghost king only older and more evil looking. As if the mention of look-a-likes summoned her, a small girl who also looked just like the ghost king only younger and female body slammed evil twin number 1.

“Not on my watch you fruitloop!” she yelled. Suddenly a woman in a track suit with ridiculous looking googles and carrying an oversized gun jumped down

“Get away you evil ghosts!” she yelled and fired some energy weapon at the small group, they all scattered and the four of them fought when some girl on a hover board swooped in and pointed her hand at the ghost king

“Danny Phantom! You and all of ghost kind will pay!!” she yelled, something on her wrist started glowing when

“GET AWAY FROM DANNY!” a school girl yelled. Her orange hair swung around as she discus threw her books and bag right into the girls face. They also ran off into the distance to fight.

“What?” Flash asked,

“When he said.” Green Lantern agreed.

“The Dracula looking one is Vlad, he’s a bad guy, so is my evil self from an alternate timeline, we call him Dan, Dani is the small girl who looks like me, that’s because she’s my clone, she’s on the good side but she might steal your stuff just because she can so be careful,” he took a wheezy breath “My sister Jazz is the one who hurled her books into the air to protect me, she’s good. The girl in the red suit is Red Huntress, she’s good she just doesn’t understand -same with my parents, the couple in the jumpsuits, their ghost hunters.” the ghost king explained

“Wait, your parents are ghost hunters?” Flash asked

“Yeah?” the ghost king asked- oh I see.

“But you’re a ghost?” Flash said

“I’m technically a halfa actually, but trust me I know. It’s all ‘we’re going to tear apart the ghost boy molecule by molecule’ and never ‘is the ghost boy good or bad’.” the ghost king groaned, I reached out to help “I’ll be fine go fight or help!” he said

[mcflymemes]

THE MUMMY (1999) PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue from the film, adjust as necessary

looks to me like you're on the wrong side of the river!

by the way... why did you kiss me?

it seemed like a good idea at the time.

that's called stealing, you know.

is it dangerous?

stop it! you'll kill them!

get me a glass of bourbon.

this just keeps getting better and better.

this door doesn't open.

who opened that chest?

i only want four!

the map! i forgot the map!

i think he's filthy, rude, a complete scoundrel. i don't like him one bit.

i guess we go home empty-handed... again.

look what i got.

i think you found something.

what exactly is this man in prison for?

you just got promoted.

you're with me on this one, right?

keep him busy.

we are in serious trouble.

this creature is the bringer of death.

you must not read from the book!

where are they taking him?

there's only one person i know that can possibly give us any answers.

can you look me in the eye and guarantee me that this isn't all some kind of flimflam?

i'm a very lonely man.

look at my library!

you're gonna get yours, [name]!

never did like camels.

what do you suppose killed him?

time to go.

take my hand, and i will spare your friends.

will you look at that?

do they know something we don't?

i need a new job.

have you no respect for the dead?

i've dreamt about this since i was a little girl.

you dream about dead guys?

patience is a virtue.

any last requests?

loosen the knot and let me go.

i don't think we need to know this.

ooh... that's gotta hurt.

you... i just don't get.

you probably won't live through it.

everybody else we've bumped into has died. why not you?

you're wondering... what is a place like me doing in a girl like this?

yeah, i was there.

can you swim?

of course we don't let him go!

you'll be dead when they do this.

i think i'll kill you.

think of my children.

i only gamble with my life, never my money.

i may not be an explorer or an adventurer, or a treasure-seeker or a gunfighter, but i am proud of what i am.

give me frogs! flies! locusts! anything but you!

compared to you, the other plagues were a joy.

i am so very sorry. it was an accident.

you are a catastrophe.

oh my god, i hate it when these things do that.

is he supposed to look like that?

of course i can swim, if the occasion calls for it.

now, because of you, we have failed.

you think this justifies the killing of innocent people?

what did you say?

i don't want to tell you.

let me get this straight.

you don't have any children.

you lied to me.

i lie to everybody.

what makes you so special?

sorry. didn't mean to scare you.

the only thing that scares me are your manners.

have you got any bright ideas?

i'm thinking. i'm thinking!

you'd better think of something fast.

what are we going to do?

wait here! i'll go get help!

i thought you said you didn't believe in all this fairy tales and hokum stuff.

forget it! we're out the door, we're down the hall, and we're gone!

i told you not to play around with that thing.

you heard the man. no mortal weeapons can kill this guy.

listen! we've got to do something!

is that my problem?

i appreciate you saving my life and all, but when i signed on, i agreed to take you out there and bring you back. end of job, end of story, contract terminated.

that's all i am to you? a contract?

you can either tag along with me or stay here and try to save the world.

do something!

you know, nasty little fellows such as yourself always get their comeuppance.

what's the challenge then?

rescue the damsel in distress, kill the bad guy, and save the world.

death is only the beginning.

why are you going back?

i'm going downstairs to get me a drink. you want something?

[koolades-world]

I have a request! can you write about mc when they die but end up becoming a demon? (If you want ofc!)

hello! fun concept!!

this has probably already been done by others but mc is 100% becoming a demon after dying (if they’ll even let you die) unless having the blood of lilith comes into play somehow

enjoy <3

Mc who becomes a demon after dying

Lucifer

you dying stressed him out infinitely more, but he knows you'll be back

the realistic part of him know you'll end up a demon but that wouldn't stop him from wishing you'd become an angel

because you, of all people, deserved to be one most because of all you did for him and his brothers

upon your return, you find him much more protective yet laid back at the same time

Mammon

knowing him, he's probably the most torn up that you're gone now

he waited on pins and needles, and fully expected you to become an angel

however, when you turned up back at the hol as a demon

he was overjoyed to have you back <3

Levi

part of him was convinced even if you did come back as a demon, which he was sure you wouldn't

would you even want to come back to him?

after all, you didn't need the brothers, or him anymore

please, reassure him a little and let him know how much he matters to you

Satan

once he learns that you're a demon, it's a little bittersweet

if you hadn't become entangled with their affairs, maybe you'd been an angel

but, he wouldn't lie in saying that part of him was truly happy

now he never has to worry about the mortality of humans again!

Asmo

he's super excited to show you all sorts of his favorite tricks, if you have wings that is

if not, he's more than happy to help you accessorize your tail

he might never admit it, but he's very relieved you're back

he doesn't think he could imagine his life without you anymore

Beel

he's really happy you're back

he felt so gulity after he lost you even though it wasn't his fault

but, now that you're back, he can introduce you to so many foods that were demon only before

now, he can enjoy his favorite foods with one of his new favorite demons :)

Belphie

after what happened last time you died, he was really unsure about what to think of everything

he asks for forgiveness one more times despite having nothing to do with this second death

he's happy things won't be changing anytime soon now

now, as long as you don't grow sick of him, you can spend eternity together

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

Yandere dick and yandere kori x adrenalin junkie reader?

ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴜʀɴ ✬

ɴɪɢʜᴛᴡɪɴɢ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x sᴛᴀʀғɪʀᴇ (ʏ!)

omg anon I am so sorry for the late reply you were deep inside(🤯) my inbox😭 ilysm anon dear so sorry for making u wait and making dis short boring ass reply💗😢

ᴍᴏʀᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ!

There’s something about the moment right before impact. A razor-thin stretch of time where gravity abandons you, where air turns solid, where your body sings with the promise of a fall. It’s the kind of sensation that makes your pulse hammer against the cage of your ribs, that makes your fingers twitch, that makes you feel alive.

And they know it.

They watch you like fire watches a wick.

The three of you sit on the edge of the rooftop, the city stretching far beneath your feet. It’s an old, crumbling structure—one you had to shimmy up a drainpipe to reach, one that swayed ever so slightly in the wind. The kind of place that would send lesser mortals scurrying for safer ground. But for you?

You tip your head back and laugh, staring up at the sky, heart hammering as the air thins. You feel the weight of their eyes before you turn to meet them.

Kory’s gaze is molten, bright and all-consuming. Not in the way fire burns recklessly, but in the way it chooses what to devour. It’s worship and hunger wrapped in one, barely softened by the way she smiles, golden hair glinting under the neon haze of the city. Her legs dangle over the edge beside you, completely at ease, yet you can feel the tension in her muscles—ready to move, ready to save you if you fall, even if she has to burn down the world to do it.

Dick, on the other hand, is all restraint. He leans back on his palms, casual, like this is just another night, just another thrill. But you’ve known him long enough to see through the act. His fingers curl against the concrete, tapping out a rhythm against the rooftop—one-two, one-two-three. A habit. A tell. He’s measuring something. Calculating.

"You're thinking about it, aren’t you?" His voice is smooth, teasing. He already knows the answer.

You glance back over the edge. The streets below seem distant, the flickering streetlights turning everything into a distorted dream. Your grin widens. "Maybe."

Kory hums, tilting her head. "Would it be fun?"

"Absolutely."

Dick exhales through his nose, amusement laced with something deeper. Something darker. "You really want to give me a heart attack, don’t you?"

Your lips part to answer, but then—you move.

The wind howls in your ears. The world tips sideways. Your stomach twists into a sharp knot of weightlessness, and for a heartbeat, there is nothing but the drop. The rush. The moment where your body isn’t quite sure if it should prepare for impact or revel in flight.

But, of course, they catch you.

They always do.

Kory’s arms close around you first. A streak of fire, the heat of her body pressing against yours as she lifts you, her grip as unshakable as the stars. Dick is right behind her, the familiar coil of his grappling hook pulling both of you back toward the rooftop. They move like a unit. A force. A gravity all their own.

The landing is rougher than necessary. Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you—they didn’t appreciate that little stunt.

Dick is on you in an instant, fingers digging into your waist, his breath sharp. Kory doesn’t let go either. Her arms remain wrapped around you, a lock of gold falling over your cheek as she leans in, forehead brushing yours.

"That was reckless," Dick murmurs.

"You do reckless things all the time," you counter, breath still uneven.

"Yes," Kory agrees, her voice warm. "But we are not willing to watch you fall."

You should be annoyed. You should roll your eyes, brush them off, tell them you had it under control. But there’s something in the way they look at you that makes your heartbeat stutter. Not anger. Not frustration.

Something deeper.

Something like devotion.

Dick’s thumb drags against your jaw, featherlight. His expression softens, but it does nothing to hide the storm behind his eyes. Kory’s arms tighten around you, pulling you close enough to feel the warmth of her skin through your clothes.

"You don’t get to scare us like that," Dick says, and there’s something final in his voice.

"Not ever," Kory whispers.

The way they hold you—it should feel suffocating. But instead, it feels like gravity.

[netmors]

Mr. Bridger looked at Lady Sabine's sketches with irony, hoping to cheer the girl up a little in such a depressing situation: - So who was it? Miss Wren? I don't believe you saw a living dead person? Your thoughts are frighteningly correct, Mr. Bridger, - Alexander joined the conversation. - According to the found records of old Captain Pellaeon, he personally witnessed the death of the admiral at the Battle of Bilbringi… Hera turned even paler. Five hundred years… Impossible. - Wait, Alexander, but that was over five hundred years ago! How could he? How can it be alive now?! - I would like to know this as much as you, Miss Syndulla. - Arghhhhh, I am more concerned about those who were with him in the castle and attacked me, Mr. Kallus and Mr. Jarrus. They do not seem like his usual pawns. They were… not very kind. - Hm, calm down, Mr. Orrelios, that's what we're trying to find in the journal. Presumably, they're not as free to act as the former Grand Admiral. - After they dealt with Pryce and chased us, I'm not so sure of your words. - Oh, here it is!

…."On my deathbed, I can finally tell, no, I can forget these terrible memories of that fateful day. I will never stop thinking about what happened that day, and I will blame myself until my last breath on this mortal world, but… But, Force, I… I must go… Go before they come! The traitors who dared to go against the will of the Emperor! Who turned their back on their Grand Admiral! Those he came for in their final hour!"...

Mr. Kallus finished reading the last entry, and the company sank into an uncomfortable silence. Then, sighing, the former Imperial said: - Well, things are starting to make sense… Other records from the Coruscant archive mentioned two allies of the Grand Admiral, supposedly responsible for Thrawn's death, however… Years later, they also died. - As you can see, no, - Miss Wren summed up the conversation gloomily, and then looked at Alexander. - Apparently none of the former Imperials can find peace even in the afterlife. Or… Unless they followed him voluntarily…

Making the text in the "style" of the 19th century turned out to be more difficult than I thought.

Inspired by the first half of Bram Stoker's novel "Dracula", this unusual art post for Halloween turned out.

Soundtracks:

Secession Studio - All Your Rage, All Your Pain

Secession Studio - Be Bold and Be Brave

Secession Studio - Veil of Shadows

[thewertsearch]

@krixwell asked: I think it's general theory summary o'clock. Broadly, what are your expectations for the rest of Act 5 and its ending?

I'm a little late answering this one - but hey, better late than never!

I can't predict the rest of the Act anymore, but I can try and predict the ending. Here are my predictions for what'll happen in Cascade, organized by character.

Rose & Dave

The Derse twins, who have dispatched DD together, meet Aradia at the Green Sun. The Tumor detonates as planned, but Aradia is able to save them somehow, possibly by spiriting them away with time travel...

...or, by telling them how she cheated death.

Aradia was able to resurrect herself without a backup body, from a pedestal hidden within the moon of Derse; the very moon the kids are currently piloting. Doc Scratch has already hinted that Rose might ascend on 'another quest bed somewhere', and I think this is how she - and Dave - could do it.

If Rose and Dave died destroying the Sun, it would almost certainly count as Heroic – but that doesn't actually matter. If the twins die on Quest Slabs, they won't die as God Tiers - they'll die as mortals, and resurrect as God Tiers. They should reincarnate safely, as the Sun collapses for good.

The Meteor Crew

To be honest, I don't think the trolls will have much of a role to play in the endgame. All the action is happening in the kids' session, and now that the Scratch has started, they can't even contact that session.

In any case, these kids are planning to follow the Green Sun's explosion to a predetermined rendezvous point. I'm not sure how they're going to get there - but Kanaya is a wielder of the Space Aspect, so maybe it's her time to shine.

...I mean, shine even more brightly than she already does.

Jack

After he absolutely kills CD, Jack is destined to travel to the troll session, but I still have no idea how. Perhaps the dimensional instability created by the Scratch will start to rip holes into other sessions, and he’ll be lured into one? Who knows.

I'm as stumped as I ever was. Only one way to find out, I guess!

John

Once he's triggered the Scratch, this kid's going to need an out. He'll need to make himself scarce in order to avoid being erased...

...or, perhaps he won’t. Perhaps, as the Heir of Breath, he’ll be able to use the Breeze to conceal himself from whatever force is destroying the session, the same way he hid his scent from Jack.

Either way, he'll probably be fine, while the same cannot be said for...

Jade

The greatest of Fs for our girl. Jade's been killed in an extremely tense situation, without leaving much hope for her resurrection before the Scratch.

The Sprites are still around, but I don’t know how they’d revive her- like, sure, Nanna has a healing beam, but I don’t think she can heal death. Plus, Jade made a Choice with Echidna to locate her Final Frog - and it seems that accepting a Choice will inevitably lead you to sacrifice your life. If Jade's death was immediately undone, would it really count as a sacrifice?

I don't want to call it too early, but... it isn't out of the question that Jade is gone for good. Especially when she's already got a replacement, waiting in the wings.

Jadesprite

I think it's genuinely possible that Jadesprite could take over Jade's role as one of the 'main' four kids.

She's about to lose her First Guardian powers, but she should still have time to fulfil Echidna's request in her realself's stead, simply by shrinking the entire session, and teleporting it to the Furthest Ring, where her allies can captchalogue it. Hell, this would be easy for her.

I really, really don't want Jade to be dead. But, well... she made a Choice.

The Endgame

Finally, we see the consequences of the Green Sun’s destruction, which I’m sure are as cataclysmic as they are unexpected. Rose realizes how badly she was played, as Scratch's full hand is finally revealed. All of Paradox Space shakes from the impact. Scratch and Snowman die, and English consumes the troll universe.

Everyone meets up on the exiled Lands, and they resolve to travel to the reset session, once it’s spawned.

Act 6?

After we're done, I’m hoping for the Guardians-as-Players to get the Hivebent treatment – by which I mean, I’m hoping Act 6 gives us the full story of the Scratched session, right from kid Nanna standing in her bedroom. It’s also possible, though, that we’ll join their session in medias res, as our protagonists' teenage parents face hitherto unknown challenges in a new Medium. I'll talk more about my specific predictions for the Guardian session in their own post, once Act 5 has fully concluded.

The adventure continues, as the kids slowly realize that English, and the Paradox Space twisted to suit his ends, is the true enemy, and they begin to make plans to confront him directly.

[traumxrei-archive]

【 death scares 】

prompt #6: Oh, Great Seven, he thought they were going to die. Please don’t ever scare him like that again (ft. sebek zigvolt, jade leech, leona kingscholar)

gn! prefect (you/yours), drabbles, word count: 1.6k

a/n: hello, i finished my research proposal so i have time before my next deadline to post this >:DD it's angsty asf, but i made sure that it was hurt/comfort so dw i gotchu guys ^^

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek wasn't someone who usually got scared. He knew better than to succumb to such feelings that all but interfered with one's ability to act. It was one of the things he learned when he was training to be one of the Young Master's guards.

But when he saw you dangling from a broom midair, Sebek felt all the hairs on his arms raise. You were barely holding on, and he could see everyone shouting in alarm from where you were.

If you fell, then you would...

Sebek gritted his teeth, "Give me one of your brooms, humans!" His voice boomed over all the commotion, turning heads.

The person nearest to him stuttered, "But brooms are only meant to hold one perso—"

"Does that matter?" Sebek grabbed the broom out of the other's hands. "If you don't do anything, that human is going to fall!"

He hopped onto the broom, flying to where you were before shouting, "Human! You need to let go and get on my broom!"

"I can't!" You cried, your arms shaking with effort. "You'll get hurt, Sebek!"

"Human, I am ten times more durable than you," Sebek said as calmly as he could, bringing his broom closer to yours. "If I fell from this height and got hurt, it'd be an insult to the Young Master!"

"Sebek!"

"What is it?"

"Promise you won't get mad?"

"I can't," Sebek watched as your fingers started to slip. "But I'll promise we won't fall."

It was at that moment when you fell. He felt his broom shift under your weight, and he strained to reinforce it with magic.

But you were here.

You were safe, and that was all that mattered to Sebek. He could feel the pounding of your heart against his back where you clutched onto his uniform.

"What were you thinking?" Sebek ranted, his anger finally surfacing as they made their way to the ground. "Human, I'll have you know that you could've died or been seriously injured!"

"Not only that," Sebek turned to face you. "The fact that— You're...crying...?"

You held on to one of his sleeves, the tears dripping onto the grass below, "I'm s-sorry, Sebek, I didn't mean to...to do that, it just—"

Sebek sighed, resting a hand on your shoulder, "It is alright. You are safe now, human, I was just—" Worried...? Worried? The Sebek Zigvolt, worried about a mere human? But really, who was he kidding? You weren't just a mere human to Sebek, were you?

"I didn't want to see you hurt, is all," He finished lamely. And he could see your eyes sparkling— this time not with unshed tears. Great Sevens, what kind of feeling was currently strangling his heart? Was it...fondness?

Sebek felt his ears warm, quickly brushing off the blooming feelings in his heart, "I-It would be best to get your hands checked out, I shall take you to the nurse!"

You smiled at that. A small smile, but to Sebek it meant the world. He continued on, rambling about broom safety as he led you to the infirmary. If it meant that you were smiling and not crying anymore, then Sebek would more than gladly fill up the silence with his voice.

Jade Leech

Of all the things to happen today, he didn't think watching you put yourself in mortal peril was going to be one of them. Jade swallowed, trying to clear the stuffy feeling that seemed to sufuse his whole body.

He was waiting for you outside of the infirmary, the initial shock after the accident having finally subsided. Still, he couldn't get the picture of your body lying prone on the ground out of his mind.

"It was due to incorrect ratios," The nurse had said. "The alchemy potion had turned into a potent airborne poison. And if you had arrived any later..."

Jade didn't want to think about that part.

But soon enough, the nurse called him in. As he walked up to your bed, he couldn't bring himself to speak first. You weren't watching him, clearly focused on trying to open your water bottle.

"Let me," Jade's voice escaped him, and he saw your eyes widen when you saw him. He opened the bottle, handing it back to you without another word.

"Thank you."

Jade didn't know what else to say, his eyes following you as you drank. His mind brought back the image of you being unnaturally still. It was morbid. The thought made him sick, yet he couldn't stop thinking about it.

"Jade-senpai," You met his gaze and he felt his throat constrict. "Are you...mad at me?"

Jade felt his lips twitch, "Why, pray tell, would I be mad?"

"I...I'm sorry, I wasn't being careful enough," You bit your lip, and he couldn't bear to be upset with you any longer. He sighed, taking a seat beside you.

He very slowly slipped off his glove, talking all the while, "Next time you find yourself having to do an alchemy assignment alone, do invite me."

"But you're busy," There was clear hesitation in your voice, even as his hand tentatively held yours.

"Kind to a fault," Jade said shakily, feeling unsteady now that he could feel the warmth of your skin against his own. "There's no need for that. Your safety is more important, and I would gladly spend time with you. At least next time take one of your friends with you just...just in case." Jade pressed his lips together. He didn't mean to nag. He didn't mean to talk much at all, but the sight of you pried all his feelings out him so effortlessly. He really couldn't win against you.

And like you knew exactly what he wanted to hear, you smiled, "I'm okay now. See?" Your palm cupped over his, bringing his fingers to rest against your neck. And sure enough, he could feel your pulse thrumming under his fingers.

Jade closed his eyes before opening them again, "Right. Now then, I will be overseeing your recovery from now on." He clapped, his magic swirling through the air to tug your blankets into a more acceptable state.

"Wait, what–"

"I'll contact your friends to let you rest for now."

"No, senpai, wait–"

"Surely you aren't objecting to rest, Prefect?" Jade smiled as politely as he could and he watched as you shuddered. "After all you almost di–"

"I'll be in your care then," You huffed, before patting his arm. "Just make sure you don't over do it."

"I won't. I'll be taking very good care of you."

Leona Kingscholar

"The Prefect got into an accident."

Leona couldn't understand how those words filled him with such dread. He couldn't even wait for Ruggie to finish, he was already rushing to the infirmary.

What did Ruggie mean by you got into an accident? What kind of accident was it? Were you okay? Sevens forbid that you were...

Leona gritted his teeth as he arrived. Irrational anger and worry wasn't like him. He took a deep breath, schooling his emotions before knocking on the door.

"Kingscholar," The nurse acknowledged. "To what do I–"

"The Prefect."

"...Right," They nodded before leading him toward where you were. The curtains were drawn and he couldn't...see you. "Don't do anything too rash."

Leona nodded, drawing back the curtain. His stomach dropped at the sight of you, your head wrapped up in bandages, and plasters covering your arms and legs.

You were awake, and you blinked as he stood there, "Leona-senpai..."

Leona heaved out a harsh breath, sitting at the edge of the bed. He didn't know what to do. Not when that ugly mix of anger and worry was bubbling at the base of his throat. Instead all he did was stare, as if any second an ugly red would mar the bandage on your head.

"I, uhm," You spoke first, your head turned downward. "It wasn't anyone's fault. We...had some rain at Ramshackle, and it leaked inside... The staircase, it... Ramshackle's old, so..."

"You're telling me the staircase fell in on you?" There was a surprised look on your face as he spoke. Even he couldn't understand the flatness of his voice.

"I...yeah," You clenched your fists. "Grim's okay, he was at the foyer when it happened, but..."

"So you almost died," At your nod, Leona felt the anger morph straight into fear. Died? The herbivore? You almost died?

He scowled at the thought as he pried your hands from the sheets, "Stop that. You're gonna make your injuries worse." His eyes met yours, and he could see the fear there too— in the way you trembled despite the day being warm.

"Herbivore..." He muttered before moving closer to you. He was mindful of your bandages as he held you, trying to ease your shaking.

"I was scared," You murmured into his shoulder. "I thought that it was the end, and—"

"You're here now," Leona soothed, and he wasn't sure who he was trying to comfort. "You'll be alright, herbivore." You pulled away with a weak smile and it took all of Leona's self control not to pull you back to him.

He sighed, hanging his head, "You...you drive me crazy. Really, do I have to cast protective spells on you to keep you safe?"

Your hand settled over his, "I won't object if you do. It might come in handy sometime."

"That's not the point. And you should sleep," Leona gently pushed you against the pillows. "How are you gonna get better enough to ask Crowley for more budget if you don't rest?"

"And..." Your voice was quiet; inquisitive. "You'll stay?"

"I wasn't planning on leaving," Leona braced his head against his arm. "Now sleep." That seemed to appease you, and soon enough, he could hear the steady sound of your breathing fill the room. And in the quiet of the room, Leona vowed never to let you fall into danger again. Not if he could do something about it.

ty for reading the hurt/comfort !! i hope that it uh, appeased your angst chasing for now, and if you'd like to read more of my stuff, check out my masterlist <3

[ventismacchiato]

41 behind the lens — truth or drink !

scaramouche x g!n reader

you and scara get asked to go on the youtube talk show ‘truth or drink’, where you ask eachother a series of questions. if one of you decides not to answer you must take a shot instead.

welcome to truth or drink! celebrity couples will ask each other a set of random questions. they can either answer the question or take a shot!

Scara immediately starts pouring himself a shot.

You: we haven’t even started yet!

how long have you both been together?

Scara: about five years

You: five long years

Scara: go fuck yourself?

how did you both get together? did you two secretly pretend to hate each other online? everyone is dying to know!

You start reaching for the bottle but Scara yanks it away from you.

Scara: go on, answer it baby

You: do i have to?

Scara: if you don’t then i will

You: fine. basically i fell for scara before i knew he was a popular streamer, he was just a classmate from my photography class. the day after our first date is when i found out he was the balladeer.

Scara: and you continued to date me and not tell me you were my mortal enemy!

You: he’s still petty about this as you can see

when did he find out you were stardust?

You: a month later i think? after we went to paris for twitch con?

Scara: i need a drink just listening to this

worst thing you both experienced after doing your face reveal years ago?

Scara: no more alone time, i couldn’t even go for a walk without people recognizing me

You: also college was so weird after, i remember professors would play my videos after and ask if that was me. like obviously it is?

Scara: also so many photos, couldn’t even go to a public bathroom without people trying to photograph my dick

You: thankfully it’s died down since then

how often do you guys have sex?

Scara: it used to be every other day

You: but then we got real people jobs like acting and directing and now it’s less

Scara: a shame

most public place you’ve have sex?

You and Scara both share a look.

You: okay, i’ll divulge one place that’s not too bad. his trailer on his most recent project

Scara silently takes a shot.

have you ever considered breaking up?

This time it’s your turn to take the bottle away from Scara.

Scara: i wasn’t serious about it, but i have thought about it

You: tell them how many times

Scara: not my fault i have commitment issues!

have you ever cheated on one another?

Scara: they cheated on me with my alter ego

You: I TOLD YOU EVENTUALLY DIDN’T I?

what’s something about eachother the media wouldn’t believe?

You: he is so clingy, but it’s so cute

Scara: i am not

You: you’re literally playing with my foot right now

Scara: fuck off, and nobody would believe how kinky you are

You: i think you mean how kinky you are

Scara: and you’re into it so what does that say about you?

You: pour me a shot

how many sexual partners have you had?

Scara stares off to the side to count in his head.

Scara: 20?

You: the way you don’t even know

Scara: before you i just had a lot of one night stands, i was a whore

You: you still are

Scara: you’re into it

You: …unlike him i will be taking a shot for this one

have you talked about marriage?

You: tell them what you told me

Scara: marriage is a social construct, why do i have to host a big event and get down on one knee to prove i want to be with someone for the rest of my life? yn already knows i love them and now i have to get a ring and do paperwork too? society sucks

You: he’s insane, but we have talked about it

Scara: they will be proposing though

You: he’s such a princess

if you were allowed one pass, who would you sleep with?

You: wait, out of people we know?

Scara: Hm…say it on three

You: okay…1…2…3

You and Scara: Kazuha

Scara: honestly, i think he and Heizou would be down

something romantic your partner does?

You: honestly he has a lot…a recent one i found out about was when Scara buys me flowers he always keeps one for himself, so when it dies he knows when to get me a new bouquet

Scara: okay

You: awe look, he’s all shy now

how many kids do you both want if any?

Scara: i like kids but i want zero of my own

You: he compared it to a dog

Scara: that makes me sound bad! i said it’s like a dog because other people’s dogs are cute but if i had my own i would accidentally kill it

You: my blood line ends with me

if your partner was in a coma, how long would you wait for them?

Scara: a good year, maybe two if i feel like it

You: THAT’S IT?

Scara: …yeah?

You: offended you won’t wait an eternity for me and never fall in love again

Scara: my water bill will finally be normal again without you

You: such a romantic you are

how often do you two get into arguments? and what about?

You: not as much as we used to, we’re better at finding solutions and communicating

Scara: it’s usually about how busy we are due to work

You: yeah sometimes we go weeks without seeing eachother and it makes him cranky

Scara: one time they ran towards me at an airport

You: it was romantic!

Scara: i had to drop my coffee to catch you

something about marriage that scares you?

Scara pours himself a shot.

You: hey, tell me!

Scara: no thanks

You: Please?

Scara: …fine. just scared you’ll get bored eventually or realize i’m not the one

You: i’ll ever get bored of you!

Scara: we’ll see

has anyone flirted with you during a project? any fellow actors or directors?

You: sometimes people hit on him right in front of me

Scara: you’re no better, people hit on you more. literally just last week—[censored]

You: can you guys bleep that so nobody loses their job!

first impression of each other?

You: i thought he was the cutest boy in class

Scara: you’re fun to listen to

You: i talked a lot during our college days didn’t i?

Scara: you still do

You: wow…

Scara: didnt say i disliked it, idiot

one thing you would change about the other?

Scara: nothing

You: okay i feel bad about my answer

Scara: fuck you?

You: i was going to say i wish you were less of a workaholic!

Scara: i can try

how do your parents feel about your relationship?

Scara: thanks for watching, make sure to like and subscribe and comment down below-

You: sore topic as you can see

last one before we let you two go, something you love about eachother?

You: he’s going to take a shot

Scara slowly puts the bottle back down.

You: told ya

Scara: theres so many fucking people watching me right now

You: fine, i’ll go first. i like how he shows his love for me in different ways like a lot of people think hes really cold but once he gets comfortable he can be the loudest and sweetest person in the room

Scara: thanks i guess

You: look how red he is

Scara: do you want to die?

You: okay, my turn!

Scara: i like…how you make me feel safe

You: you’re so cute

Scara: die

You: i love you too

behind the lens !

masterlist — prev | next

author’s notes — i thought this wud be silly so hope u enjoyed 🙏 almost free 😭😭

synopsis — you, better known as STARDUST, and BALLADEER have always been in competition for the top streamer spot on twitch, which is especially impressive since the two of you have never shown your faces. you’ve never been on good terms, constantly one-upping each other in matches and getting into petty arguments on twitter, causing your fans to also dislike each other. that’s until BALLADEER does a face reveal that breaks the internet with his good looks…which makes you realize it’s the same guy you went on a date with last night. the type of date that made you crave to see him again. the only problem was he didn’t know you were STARDUST and he was way different behind the lens than he portrayed himself online to you. should you keep your identity a secret to salvage the relationship or just let him go?

taglist is closed — @captainzep @elysiumarchieve @plinkuro @sakkakuu-squared @eliqusgenma @vuvulia @kunikuzushiit @ins4nebish @stxrgxzxr @lilacponds @uma-umie @mitsukifilms @caesars-bubbles @wheneverthesunrise @its-like-twilight @kazuhalvrr @erosdevil @thenightsflower @p1utto @noodleshark420 @lxry-chxn @court-jester-stuff @lauragalliart @veyu002 @kaeyas-eyepatch-69 @leathernourishingshoepolish @courtneydefender @drunkwithfever @exhaustedcommunist @vincanzu @ainlaw @ovaliz @kitsuvil @whatamidoing89 @celestair @kunihaver @kazioli @xiaosoneandonly @cridtiins @cherrybeomgyu @asukahiriko @moon-320 @orionicchaos @cartierfiles [1/3]

[eluxcastar]

Hello Riri! :]

I'm in my platonic harbingers with a child reader era, and you're one of the few people I follow who writes platonic stuff on an occasion. So here's my request!

Here's the small storyline I have. Reader is the child of a god (you're free to decide what they are the god of, if you want) who is extremely well known around Tevyat, and puts on a very intimidating and serious presence. Yet one unfortunate day, the readers parent dies, so now they have to take on their legacy at a too young of age. Making them grow up out of their childhood much faster and pressuring them into becoming exactly like their parent. Cold, intimidating, and serious.

And out of all the mortals the reader has met, the harbingers are who they find comfort in. They could be lecturing some other mortal one minute, and the next minute, they see one of the harbingers. They're grabbing them by the hands, bouncing on their tip toes with a bright smile.

(Hope you're having a good day! And please don't overwork yourself<3)

Fatui harbingers with a child god

── ୨୧：fatui harbingers & reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: child reader taking over as archon and basically immediately proving why child rulers are a bad idea but it's ok because it's cute and endearing

୨୧﹑genre :: fluff

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, god reader, signora might be ooc tbh I struggled to think for her, not proofread

୨୧﹑words :: 3k

this has been in my inbox for some time, even though I've really wanted to do it for ages. I'm sorry honey it took me a while to get to it. the description of their parent at least to me was giving mr zhongli when he was morax and I immediately thought of the ramifications of him faking his death in the rite of descension which makes me wanna write something else BUT THAT'S FOR LATER

I meant to post this four and a half hours ago but suddenly it was like twice the length I thought it would be and uh yeah that was not the plan but enjoy the food served hot and fresh

There has hardly been a moment of grief since you were orphaned, and the people are turning to you for their next overseer. You, small, fragile, and ill-prepared, are the one they wish to see take up the pillar left in your father's wake. You weren't ready, and maybe you never would've been, embraced by the caring side of your well and truly mellowed-out father and cherished by the people as the child of the nation.

Your transition from people's treasure to people's guide was jarring, and you're still not used to it. You move with what pleases and hide what brings deep frowns and disappointed eyes. The people no longer want a child but a god. They want their pride, once a god who had walked by their side for millennia, now the passing generation of a god as the mantle shifts to his blood.

It's hard not to notice what they make you, now the spitting image of your father, though you can only parrot his earned wisdom and show a brave face to keep the nation from despair.

You have but a single ally—the Tsaritsa—someone whose messengers approached you to ask for your father's gnosis and who gladly agreed to offer you an invitation to Snezhnaya at your request to speak to her personally, quite honestly not knowing how to say that you frankly didn't know what to do with the gnosis. Though you could keep it, you're unsure how to harness its power, wield it, or even control it. Your father was strong, you're not.

She is an intimidating presence but gentle. She knew of your father for as long as she had been an archon—though they weren't on good terms toward the end—perhaps you could understand her more than he would. He was the original archon in his seat, but you are an inheritor like her. In her lands, you are the careful balance of both a god and a child, spoken to with the grace of a higher power but the softness that is befitting to a young child.

It is as you are.

Tartaglia is the first to seek a test of your strength, though you wish not to hurt him and convince him to wait. So long as the answer is someday, he allows you to let him down easily and settles at indulging your requests to join the snowball fight you noticed him having. You want to join in, fidgeting and with your gaze flickering between the smiling children and your feet. You push away your every want to join them and play as well, but remind yourself of the people who would scorn you. It's unfitting for a god to behave like an immature child, you remind yourself, but every hope of remaining steadfast to that is gone as Tartaglia notices you watching.

His offer is merely that—an offer. He speaks with a snowball forming in his hands as he approaches, his thick coat engulfing his form and the red scarf bundled around his neck to keep him warm. You have to look up to meet his eyes, playful and perhaps a little mischievous. Tartaglia holds the snowball out to you as if it were his peace offering.

"You look like you want to join the fun. Care to throw a snowball or two with us?"

"May I?"

And with that, you take his offering.

Pantalone's musings and the intentions of his gifts are not beyond you. He means to win you over and perhaps spoil you a little. It is coddling, and you notice it. He wants what he wants, and he will get it out of you, but it is also not beyond him to recognise that you are...naïve, endearingly. Pantalone can lavish you in fine silks all he wants, but you have received many offerings, so they don't particularly sway you as he had hoped, and he moves on. Your true weakness lies in children's toys, the many things you have been denied since you have been forced to steel yourself. The smile that twitches at the corners of your lips as he presents you with the first is enough to confirm it.

Toys are made for children; though you try to deny it, you are still a child at heart. Gifting a child a toy they will try to pretend they don't cherish but will protect with their life is perhaps the quickest way to earn their favour. He watches as you fiddle with the arms of the plush cat when you think nobody is looking, asking it questions and then responding to yourself in an all-too-dedicated voice you put on for this cat. 

"Oh, Mr Cat, would you like some borscht too? It's very good."

"Yes, please, I would love to try some!"

Pantalone admittedly can't deny that you come with your own charms.

Signora spoils you what many of your aids have tried to before you, the chance to fix your hair, marvel at a pretty lady and wish you were half as sophisticated as her. She is your role model, second only to the Tsaritsa. She is beautiful and elegant and willing to teach you her ways as long as you continue to show up as cute as you are. Fix your posture a bit, head up, and walk everywhere with purpose, even if there isn't one. She has mastered the art, and you want it. Pantalone has his own appeal, a sophisticated man who learned through blood, sweat and tears, but there is something so distinct about Signora that makes you run to her at your first problem of presentation.

Like your mother, she will take you by the hand, lead you to a mirror, straighten your back, tilt your head up by the chin, and tell you to look at yourself now. Each time, you stare dumbly in awe of her reflection standing behind you, observing you like something precious, and it fills you with the confidence you need to heed her advice. It doesn't occur to you that Signora looks at you that way only because she thinks you're cute in your efforts, but too much like a child who got into their mother's perfume to be taken seriously.

"How others see you is important. Do you think they want to see their god with their back slouched and head hung? Hold your gaze above the people."

"It's-- well, different. I think I just look tense."

Sandrone has also come to realise that your weakness lies in toys, though she will not admit to aiding and abetting Pantalone's endeavours to find you a plushie. Instead, she shows you Katheryne. You have seen Katheryne before; you are sure of that, and that is only confirmed as Sandrone informs you that she exists in every branch of the Adventurers' Guild, including the one in your homeland. Katheryne is your access to knowledge, and the Northland Bank is your connection to Snezhnaya. Sandrone offers you comfort, the path that will lead you back to where help is and where you can go when you become overwhelmed by responsibility.

She likes your company, a reluctant admission that does not come cheap as she bargains your silence with the knowledge that she's aware of your liking for your cat toy. The embarrassment that overwhelms you is palpable until she offers you her workshop to play when your quarters are so overcrowded by your aids. You couldn't come to Snezhnaya alone for your safety, and it leaves you stranded without a moment of peace at times.

"Really?...and I can just, stay here? For as long as I want?"

"Isn't that what was offered to you?"

"Well...yes, thank you."

Scaramouche, whom you meet adjacent to Sandrone, is ill-tempered in the presence of others but a tad nicer when it comes to you. He does not drop his rough-around-the-edges personality to melt his heart out of his chest for you, but you manage to strike the perfect cord in his to gain liberties others cannot, having him share sweets with you. You learned at one point he really doesn't like them, leading you to wonder why they suddenly appeared ready and available for you to stuff your pockets full and snack on them when nobody's looking. You earn his favour through endearment and talk to him like he's normal because he is.

He is the child of a god, though in a different capacity to you. He was not loved quite so dearly by his mother and cannot share with you the pain of losing someone who treasured you. He was merely abandoned. There is the vague part of you that shuns the idea his softness is pity, sympathy even, as you're stuck stumbling through the world alone. It is all too familiar to him, and if candy will make you smile at him so cheerfully and hug him so tightly, then candy is a simple trade-off.

"Are you sure you don't want any? These are yours."

"Sickly sweet things make me feel like my teeth are fusing together. You can have them."

Pulcinella reminds you of home, the trinkets gathered on a whim that he keeps, the years showing through the rooms dedicated to him as you notice things your father told you of in stories. These are stories that Pulcinella will start off on without prompting, indulging your curiosity before you even lowered your guard enough to show it and casually enough that you slowly ask more. Every item holds a story: what it is, how he obtained it, why he kept it, who it was for. You see many such things around what used to be your house, but you don't know all of the stories, treasuring the ones you remember.

Pulcinella doesn't recall every story either, as some of your pointing and questioning is met with remarks of how long it has been. It is the only thing you feel you share with him, a living space filled to the brim with memories. Many of your trinkets don't belong to you, but his do, and it's nice to hear someone tell you stories again as he lets you pick from the collection of sweets in your pockets to eat when it suits your fancy.

"What about this? It reminds me of a lumenstone, the ones from the chasm."

"It is, and it came from Liyue when I asked that one of my subordinates bring it back for me. You must have a fine eye for these things."

"Not really, only lumenstone and noctilucous jade glow like this."

Arlecchino's offering to you is company, and plenty of it. Children who are so far removed from the stretch of news beyond the issues of the Steambird they manage to get their hands on that they wouldn't know your face from a haggler on the street. Father brought a guest to play with, and that's what matters as they induct you into their games, teach you the rules, and regard you exactly as they regard every other child their age. You are given the choice to simply become nobody, and you love it. Though you were once only a child, you were still the child of a god, and everyone knew it. Now, you elicit excitement only because someone new enters their lives, someone to learn about and befriend, merely a guest their father brought them.

Despite her sharp exterior, she is sweeter to you than you expected. You thought Arlecchino might be scarier, meaner, harsher, but she softens when she speaks to you. It is not with the cutthroat demeanour she holds speaking to the Harbingers and lacks a degree of the stern attitude she fronts to the children. You are not the average child, and it's necessary to treat you with some degree of respect, but you notice she's gentler with you than others, and it almost makes you feel special.

Columbina has sung you to sleep many times during your stay; her voice is sweet and more than enough to calm you. You let her hold your cat plush and dance with you in the hallways with the excuse you need knowledge of these things should you aspire toward being an archon, even if spinning around until you fall on the floor from dizziness and burst out laughing is a tad non-traditional. Columbina can see things others can't notice more than the human eye is capable of, and you'd rather not know what that's like. Something in the way she speaks tells you that it's hardly adjacent to anything human, closer to you, but still quite far off. It's interesting to hear the strange things humans have no business knowing.

Your hand is grasped in Columbina's, her fingers holding you tenderly. Her eyes are partly obscured beneath the lattice of a mask she wears. You're not sure if you could really call it a mask. She steps back, tugging you with her, and spins you in time with the steps she takes, each accompanied by a shift that forces you to keep up with where she moves, her other hand on your shoulder. It is the closest you will get to proper dancing, though merely a fool's waltz. You can't dance; being spun down a hallway while you struggle to match her movements feels much like you imagine a waltz would.

"It's not really proper dancing if we have no pattern to it."

"There is no such thing as proper dancing. If you'd prefer it, I could sing."

Dottore is someone you did not expect to be so open to the idea of you, and your assumptions were proven correct by his apprehension to engage with you. He is curt with you at best and avoidant at worst. You are a child filled with the yearning to touch everything that doesn't belong to you, desperate to hear too much about the things that don't concern you. You are young, needy, and with no concept of what is beyond you. Dottore's unique abundance of knowledge is appealing to you, however. He knows things your father did, many of which he didn't tell you, but Dottore will, so long as it gets you to sit still and stop interrupting him. You may be convinced you have pocketed your unnecessary emotions away, but he has seen you, and that is an insulting lie.

Your wants are written on your face plain as day, so long as people pay enough attention to you to care what you feel. He does not especially care, not for the child of a god, but it helps to know what you want to stick your nose in most. It helps to know how you benefit from him, and on luckier days, you might even catch him in a better mood when he is willing to indulge your interest in his knowledge. Your capacity to understand, let alone remember, hardly worries him.

"So you have clones of yourself? And they just...work for you?"

"Not exact clones—segments. They have wills of their own and use them as they see fit."

Capitano is strong, a man of few words, and he does not abhor your presence quite so strongly, nor does he indulge your more childish desires. What you get from Capitano is respect, the highest honour you can get from his book in your eyes, and it comes from your perseverance. You're running around working so hard when you're so young, and you deserve a break sometimes. You deserve a quiet place to curl up in the corner with that cat he's caught you hiding under where no one can bother you, and maybe with a few sweets you always seem to have these days. That corner still does not exist, though he will find you one if you want it. 

You show no signs of slowing down, are energetic and eager and are far too committed to the act of being something you're not to listen to him when he tells you to rest. Gods must all be fickle. The most he can do for you is make sure you're safe and happy as you will be in your position, maybe wipe your hands of powdered sugar when you find pastries at the market you want and recklessly eat them without thinking of how you'll clean up short of wiping the remnants on your clothes, but you'll never do that as you are.

Pierro once made you nervous. He is a stern, serious man who never smiles. Pierro is steadfast in loyalty and never wavers, which is precisely what you have begun to aspire to be now that that is what has been asked of you. You could never hope to replicate the kind of dedication he has, and perhaps that is part of what sways you. Though you have become so comfortable behaving childishly around some people, you fear you may never be around him, whether because you fear his disapproval or yearn for his approval. Despite that, he is arguably who you trail around behind most, quiet, observing, trying to figure out how to copy and apply what he has to yourself.

It settles the quick realisation he reminds you most of what the people saw in your father. Someone like him is someone people envision fostering a nation to prosperity, and you fight your own subconscious to keep all of your slipping habits, making sure he never sees you sneaking candy, hiding your cat plush from him, refusing Tartaglia's every offer to play games around him. You're not sure why you think that will make him like you more, having long ago gained his favour, unable to notice the faint smiles and the conscious effort to make you believe he doesn't notice you out the window barreling snowballs at Tartaglia.

You are still a child at heart; he is just about the last person you can hope to hide that from.

[magpie-murder]

it'd be wild if they gave asgard's citizens phones in marvel i bet they'd have the best drama

20 notes

👴🏻 is-odin-dead-yet

No.

#date: 2023/11/23 #when will he croak #i've been running this blog for centuries #frigga for allfather #kick the bucket already i'm getting bored of posting here

112 notes

⛈️ god-of-thunder

I come to Tumblr with a regretful update. As you may know, my family and our fiercest warriors have been traveling between realms in search of our stolen relics.

While attempting to recover one, my brother lost his life in battle while protecting us. He shielded me with his body. My brother died a hero.

einherjarl-deactivated20231120

May he reach Folkvangr. My deepest condolences. But I thought Baldur was impervious to all harm...?

⛈️ god-of-thunder

It was Loki. :( I'm devastated.

einherjarl-deactivated20231120

Oh.

🐍 magic-theatre

is that all you can muster? "oh." you thought i was dead, and that's it? that's all you have? what do you mean by that? let's talk. :)

⛈️ god-of-thunder

You're alive? Where are you?

⛈️ god-of-thunder

Wait, what happened to @einherjarl? He deactivated?

⛈️ god-of-thunder

Loki?

23,034 notes

🎨 bragis-apprentice

Just finished custom making this handle

#metalwork #artists on tumblr #double sided axe #my art

2 notes

⚔️ aesir-warrior-tournament

⚡️LIGHTNING ROUND⚡️

einherjarl-deactivated20231120

?

einherjarl-deactivated20231120

Lady Sif is not one of The Warriors Three. It says it in the name. There are three of them. Not four.

Correct this.

✨️ the-dashingest

I voted for Sif.

🪓 valiant-festivals

I voted for Sif.

🔺️ grim-warrior

I voted for Sif.

✨️ the-dashingest

Wait, Hogun? But you didn't tell us you had a phone?

🔺️ grim-warrior

I don't.

#lady sif propaganda #lightning round #poll reblog #only one more round after this! #i'm so glad lady sif doesn't have tumblr lol #i hope you guys dont mind that a mortal is running this blog btw #i really didnt expect any of you to see this 😬 #and srry for the reblog spam #also hogun lol

1,879 notes

🐍 magic-theatre

i see your thirst edits, you sick freaks.

#start tagging me in them #and/or sending them to me

689 notes

⛵️ modern-technologist Follow

umm i'm in ohio to visit my parents and there's like. um . a giant wolf running alongside my car? i'd call animal control but this thing is ginormous and i don't think that would do anything.

it doesnt have a leash or anything (obv its bigger than my car) but it's covered in chains. what do i do??

@identifying-d𝚘gs-in-posts ??

🐕 identifying-dogs-in-posts Follow

Fenrir Lokison?

#😨

197 notes

✨️ the-dashingest

I really don't think Loki is that bad. Sure, he's had a rocky history, but I don't think he's done anything worthy of scorn. Besides, hasn't he just died and come back or something like that, anyway? He has a blank slate, in my book.

#is it just me? #i hear people saying we should banish or kill him #i find that idea preposterous #he's just misunderstood

208 notes

einherjarl-deactivated20231120

I'm not going to @ them, but ugh... Someone I'm acquainted with just died in battle, and honestly? I'm so relieved. Is that terrible? Don't answer that, I know that it is. I'll probably delete this in a few hours.

🐍 magic-theatre

that's what you get for vagueing.

cowards don't go to valhalla.

10,560 notes

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