#what if her true power is something different

[adhd-fandom-hyperfocus]

Secret Box

Sorry no fancy formatting or anything here. I got sudden inspired to write this from an anon @moodymisty got Tagging @kit-williams because I know Mr. Turbo is her man Warnings: Hints of NSFW stuff at the very end. Sorry if Turbo sounds ooc I haven't written him at all before so be kind. Also, did not proofread this. MINOR DNI

"Oh I don't know, I would be unhappy too if all I had to was tear things down and war. Maybe he wants to something else?"

"What do you mean? He seems quite happy breaking things."

He watched you frown so deeply, "My little bother was like that, everyone thought he like being mad. Just did not know how to convey his feelings, and felt like he had to stay under father's thumb. But he really just wanted to be an artist. I loved his art!"

"I didn't know you had a brother, where is he?"

"Dead. Died angry and lonely because father wanted a soldier."

His furious hearts stopped in his chest. You saw him. You did not realize it, but you did. It scared him, mad him want to rage and break you. It made him want to keep you close. Show you those things he wanted to forget.

***

"What in the Emperor's name is that?"

"Oh one of those puzzle boxes, some call them secret boxes because once you open them you can keep little important secrets in them!" your smile makes his head spin and his stomach lurch.

He wanted you to smile at him like that more. He needed you to talk to him about the silly little boxes.

"Why do you have so many? They seem pointless, we do not have anything to keep in them."

"Oh, I am far too stupid to open them, but I find them beautiful, each one looks different, opens differently, and all so complex, like people!"

***

Weeks he slaved over his workbench, keeping this secret to all, which was made easy when got the small chance to engage with you. Or most commonly, watch you interact with others, needed to make sure you didn't give his secrets away; at least he tried to convince himself of that.

You thought yourself stupid, but you figured him out in a way not even the damn Emperor himself could. What looked so simple was perhaps the most complex of all.

You wanted to see the art he could create that wasn't for war, how his mind could do if allowed to run free. Called his work art, like it was something to also marvel at.

The primarch looked over his newest creation, the small box was intricate in it's design, how he liked things. But it was what was inside that made his chest feel weak, and yet made him powerful all the same. The primarch of iron was feeling himself soften at the heat that had made a permanent home in his lower abdomen.

When he presented the box to you he did not say he made it, refused to. But as he explained his lie, the look you cast at him shocked him. You knew his bluff. Of course you did.

"Well, whoever made this is a true master! I have never seen something to beautiful before, thank you my lord," you smile up at him, letting him keep his pride and secret, "I know you are a busy man, but should you remember who made this could you be so kind to your serf and tell me?"

Prutabo grunted and nodded, "If I feel so inclined. Let me know if and when you open it."

***

Days and weeks pass and you keep him updated with your progress, he makes comments that hint he isn't too interested, after all someone of his genius would have opened it already. You agree, but you won't give up. You determination makes his hearts feel like they are in knots. How happy and joyful you are over his little toy. The fun you find in testing yourself only just to say you did it. The moments of you updating him live inside his dreams, where he is brave enough to hold your hand and smile back.

The crusade had called him away and like always it kept him longer than anyone else. While his brothers got to reap all the glory he was cleanup, or the brunt hammer to break wills. So of course when the Lord of Iron returned everyone scattered. Hid like cowards.

Not you. Even with him exuding even more of his dour demeanor you came running up to him. Puzzle box in hand.

"My Lord! I know you just returned, but I have been waiting for teran weeks for you to return." you were overflowing with excitement; practically vibrating with it.

It was like a disease that spread quickly, because as you spoke his ire cooled. You were happy he was home.

"Make it quick." though he hoped you took as long as you wanted.

"I am about to open the box, and I wanted to open it with you!" you grin up at him coming closer, "Exciting right?"

You...waited for him. Wanted to share in his happiness with...Throne he thought he was going to burst out of his armor and into flames.

"For someone who cannot easily solve things, I suppose. Well, open it." he grumbled, fighting to keep his mask on.

As you moved the last piece into place and opened the lid, a centerpiece rose up, and thereupon it was a metal sculpting of morning glories rising up and in bloom, the spun slowly as music played. And resting inside the main flower was a small ring, designed to look like vines holding a blooming rose the held a pink diamond.

Oh the look upon your face he would have waited lifetimes just to see it. It made this little box the greatest thing he would ever fashion.

"My Lord...I...forgive me, my words are failing." you whisper still marveling at the spinning flowers, "I love morning glories..."

Perturabo nodded, "I am aware. I do listen..." he wanted to know about the ring, wanted you to wear it.

Let everyone know you were his. That you wanted to be his.

Tears well up in your eyes as you so gingerly take the ring. Without needing to ask he gently holds the box so you might place it upon one of your fingers. He watches intently as you try various fingers before putting it upon your ring finger.

"My..."

"Perturabo. You can call me by my name...should you wish to continue to wear that ring." he spoke so very softly for himself.

Thorne, he needed you to keep it on.

"I will, Perturabo," you say his name to see how it rolls off your tongue and it sounds like heaven to him.

When this crusade is over he will fill this place with sounds of your and his children, and he will cast off all this cold machinery for things that truly mattered to him. Being a toy maker in one's spare time wasn't such a foolish notion. He would not die like your brother, and leave you alone.

"Are you sure you want...I mean... I am a serf, people will talk and I do not want to tarnish your name." you whisper to him, eyes fixed on the ring.

"They would be foolish to speak of it where I can hear." was all he offered.

Your small hands slip over his covered in his massive gauntlets, and he was trembling to get this armor off.

"My Lady, if it pleases you," his voice low and he leaned in close so no other could hear, "I wish to remove this armor, if you would wait for me in my chambers..." he couldn't believe he was doing this! Smoothness and words were not his strong points, but for you, he would try, "There is a puzzle I would like to get to know intimately, work with my hands, would you be willing?"

His face burned as he waited what felt like eons for you to reply. Was this all too much too fast? Was he being a fool?

You take the music puzzle box from him and when you pull back you are smiling with cheeks as flushed as his, "I would love that. Now go before your men see you this shade of red and not yelling. I do not want to ruin your reputation." you tease

Perturabo smiled, "You, I will allow to ruin me." he said before tearing off to get this damn armor off.

[ennn]

Hello :) I really enjoy reading your analysis on AAA!

What conversations do you think Agatha and Rio had between “because the truth is too awful “ and “what Billy wants is a violation”?

The shift between topics was so abrupt. What would they talk about to make Agatha want to make a deal to never see Rio again?

Hello Anon! Thank you for reading 💚 Okay so I think there's 2 parts to your question here, which is (a) why the change in topics between the conversation and (b) how it leads up to Agatha's deal.

Let's take a step back a bit. If we look at the first conversation, it already starts out about the Problem of Billy right?

And the whole Billy issue only exists in the context of what happened with Nicky. If Nicky had never been a thing, Agatha and Rio and their dynamic would be entirely different. Nicky was the breaking point of their relationship – a relationship with love and lust but also wrapped up in their opposing natures.

The conversation quickly escalates, shifting from Billy to their history and relationship. Rio, direct as ever, airs what must be a long-long-simmering grievance:

Rio: No one in history has had special treatment like you. Agatha: You call what you did "special treatment"? You gave me nothing. You took. Rio: And that's usually your move right.

Now the anger and frustration is starting to boil and Agatha tries to push past and get away from Rio – but Rio stops her and tries to deescalate this argument.

In other words – and to address your ask – the topic shifts because Rio is trying to have a conversation and not fight. Rio knows that Nicky is Agatha's deepest scar, and Agatha is a runner when she doesn't have control.

You can see Rio taking a second, watching Agatha, her tone softening as she asks the question:

Why do you let them believe those things about you, hm? About Nicky?

I think Rio tries to deescalate because she does need Agatha's help with the Billy situation: she can't kill him or reap his soul on her own. It's not a thing Rio is happy about or wants but she's got a job to do.

BUT in this show things are usually complicated: more than one thing can be true at the same time: I think Rio also cares about Agatha and wants to understand why.

After all it was Rio who told the group in episode 5 that Agatha killed her original coven because they tried killing her first. Agatha doesn't bother defending herself, if anything she plays up being this villain.

I mean, Rio loves this serial killer right. It's not the murder part of Agatha's reputation Rio cares about. Rio also has the unique insight of knowing exactly what happened to Nicky. This rumour that Agatha doesn't do anything to discourage seems to not only be an insult to Agatha but the memory of Nicky.

And then in a rare moment of vulnerability, Agatha decides to reveal her truth to Rio.

Because the truth is too awful

I read this moment as Rio trying to reach out and Agatha deciding to give an honest answer. Which again, is a precious rare thing coming from her.

I don’t think any transitional dialogue from this to the other conversation is really important, not as much as the emotional place this first conversation ends with, which allows for the second one about a potential collaboration to happen.

Also like, what do you say to something like that? Because wow there is a lot to unpack there.

Agatha’s implying that what Rio gave her and Nicky is worse than her sacrificing Nicky for power. That she isn’t trying to be cruel, she truly can’t see the gift of time Rio gave them. That she sees herself somehow responsible for what happened to Nicky. That she doesn’t just blame Rio, she blames herself.

If I had to plot out some kind of transition between these two conversations, I would do something like:

Let the silence after the admission drag on a bit. Rio looks concerned but doesn't say anything in the moment.

Agatha takes the opportunity to walk away. Rio doesn't stop her but follows. Agatha lets her.

After a moment of quiet walking, Agatha asks about when Rio knew about the Road hex and they compare notes for a bit (Rio probably throwing shade at the weird nature here). This time lets Agatha build up her walls again.

They sit down and talk about the point of the hex, which then nicely leads into their second conversation, starting with what Billy wants.

In their second conversation, what's interesting here how very reluctant Rio is about asking for Agatha's help. She knows Agatha and hates being in this position so much she doesn't even want to say it, letting Agatha piece together what she needs.

It must truly be a rare instance that Agatha has this kind of leverage over Rio, over Death.

Because Agatha reacts like a shark scenting blood in the water. She barely hides it.

This goes back to your question: Why does Agatha make such an deal that hurts Rio so badly?

My read is that Agatha basically reacts to this rush of power over Rio the same way she badly – almost instinctively – reacted to Alice presenting her with her magic:

She takes and takes and takes.

Because Rio's always been unstoppable but now Agatha can stop her. This is what's she's been hungering for.

That sense of helplessness she felt moments ago when she thought she had to let Billy go – like she let Nicky go – now turns to something with teeth.

You can see Agatha literally take a second to calculate the most cruel thing she can say to Rio to hurt her, to deny and reject her love.

Now that's the emotional side of things. On a more logical level, Agatha goes into scheming mode. This is like muscle memory for her at this point, she won't deny an opportunity to get ahead.

So she doesn't deny Rio's ask. She makes the price of her handing over Billy so awful to Rio it has maybe a chance of stopping her from her mission, or buying more time at least. For so much of her life Agatha has justified murder and lies and the worst behaviour with the need to survive and protect what's hers.

Once again: Calculated move, bad at math.

Because Rio accepts the deal. She's so wounded she doesn't even push back even a little. She reacts so badly to Agatha's rejection, to her taking advantage of this opportunity, that she gives into being the villain Agatha sees her as.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Adam just went to their room and cried, he threw up in the bucket and cried his eyes out.

What the fuck is wrong with that woman? He knew she might not exactly be nice but holy fucking shit she was a monster. Adam feels so bad for the Adam of Eden that had to live with that bitch.

So that means she assaulted him too? If her "higher purpose" was to hurt people she hit it on the fucking head.

Adam was so upset that he didn't hear Lucifer come in and jumped when he felt arms around him. How long has been here crying?

Luicfer: Hey what's wrong?

Adam looked down, he didn't want Lilith to make good on her promise. If she was that fucking bold to do that in Lucifer's own house.

Lucifer frowned when Adam didn't answer him, it didn't take a genius to figure out that Lilith probably did something. The thought pissed him off.

He might not have seen through her and she hurt Adam in the garden. But he will be damned to an even WORSE Hell if he lets her hurt his Adam.

So he held him and Adam didn't say anything he just shook and cried. It was when Adam went to sleep that Lucifer gently looked through his memory, even if he just stubbed his toe and didn't want to talk about it at least he'd know.

Oh, but Lucifer wished it was only that.

He was fucking pissed. How DARE she! Say those things and then threaten their baby!!

Well, Adam didn't tell him soooooo.......

Lilith coming here was a fucking mistake. She wants to play dirty like that? Fine. Then she can play with the devil.

He didn't care what the fuck she wanted or why she was here, he will not have her pulling that shit here.

He placed a kiss on Adams forehead and placed a protection spell over him while he slept.

So he pulled a Lilith and waited outside her door when she opened it.

Lilith: Oh! Lu, you started me.

Lucifer: Yeah I have that effect on people. What did you do?

Lilith: What?

He was pretending not to know, just in case.

Lucifer: I know you Lilith, all you do is hurt people. What the fuck did you do?

((tw assault))

Lilith: I don't know-

He wanted to give her a chance to come clean, but apparently that's too hard for her. Lucifer reached up and grabbed her by the throat.

Lilith: L-Lu!

Lucifer: Don't fucking Lu me. It doesn't take a genius to figure out you hurt him. Hell might see you as it's Queen but you're not and you're especially not mine. You're a disgusting, ugly, vile person on the inside all you have are looks on the outside that you're not even worthy of. Maybe they should match.~

The whole time he's been talking his demonic form has been coming out. He held up his fingers, the threat there. Aw fuck it, why just have it been a threat?

Lilith scowled: He told you?

Lucifer: He didn't fucking have to. Or do you forget that I know you? So here enjoy what your true self looks like for a while.

He snapped his fingers and oh, she was not such a pretty sight anymore. He gripped her throat so hard that he was surprised it didn't snap.

Lucifer: You might have the power of Queen, but I'm the fucking King. I out rank you and power you in every fucking way. So if you ever hurt him again I will make this ugly exterior or yours permanent and I will drain every ounce of power that Hell gave you until you are nothing more than a fucking husk left on the floor. Understand?

He wasn't sure if he actually could take Lilith's power, he could take Charlie's so he didn't see how it would be any different. Lucifer wanted her to feel as scared as she made Adam.

And by the looks of it, it worked.

Lilith: .... Yes.

He threw her to the ground and glared.

Lucifer: Good. Now get the fuck out.

Devil Lucifer x Ghost Hunter Adam

@beef-brisket ((Here it is lol))

Adam is trying to prove that ghosts are real so he started a YouTube channel with his friend Lucifer, who unbeknownst to Adam is the literal Devil.

-

Adam: I'm telling you Lu, this place is super haunted I can feel it.

Lucifer was unloading their filming gear as they got ready to go into this supposedly haunted prison.

Lucifer: I don't know Ad, you'll need more proof than just the wind.

Adam frowned: It was a whisper and you know it.

[zeestie]

dearest reader of this diary entry,

I am done suffering in my illusions, I have figured out what living presently actually means, killed my ego, understood the true meaning of manifesting, & stopped worrying about others.

let me explain...

PHASE I: TRIGGER

a while ago I went through something that triggered me A LOT. I don't remember exactly what it was, that's just how insignificant 3d circumstances are but back then I am sure it meant a lot as I was so triggered, angry and frustrated. then I decided to meditate, so I opened a 369 hz pure tone and I just lied down, relaxed, and focused on.. nothing.

that experience has been so simple, yet so profound. I don't feel like the same person before that. when I woke up, the reality I was in didn't feel the same either. everything moved different and felt different. and I was no exception.

I have always prided myself on being an optimist, and yeah I have always been one; however, I have only been the hopeful optimist.

whearas before my optimism has been born out of hope for better, now my optimism is not out of a need but comes from pure love and acceptance for the now cos ik for a fact that I have myself, god, and everything I would ever need to be happy.

I really feel no need to try any more, I just go for what I want, that's it. and that's why I have been very connected to my creative endeavours these past few days. whether being through being active here and on YT or through drawing and writing in my free time, I love creating and I am so glad I realised that instead of indulgence in the material world.

PHASE II: KNOWLEDGE

ever since that incident, I feel like I have started to understand what life is truly about. life is not about desiring and chasing after a goal, it's not about trying so hard, it is not about waiting for better, it is about living it now. becoming okay with what's happening now, not forcing a certain outcome but letting life take its course.

it might sound weird to say that as an loa girlie, but srsly, this is what manifesting is really about. it is about knowing, not desiring. it is about rising above the need for your desires to materialise. ik for a fact that I manifested the perfect life for myself so why would I desire more? doesn't make sense at all.

at first, I approached manifesting from a place of trying and systemised it the way I did with every goal I had in life, "affirm X times a day," "visualise every night," "do X rampages a week." I was too dependent on techniques, but now I understand that techniques are not here to help you manifest, cos it is all done anyway. techniques are here to remind you of the fact that you truly manifested it. it is here to calm you down and remind you of your power.

now, I only use techniques when it feels right, I am not forcing them esp. when my thoughts and feelings are already aligned to what I want. if I am already living as the version of me that has it, why would I do more? I don't need to do more, I just am.

and ofc now that I have changed, I have stopped being so attached to wtv idea I had of me or what other people have of me. I can be whomever I want & me separating myself from my ego helped me really see how I was stuck in narratives that didn't serve me and kept me stuck.

PHASE III: CHANGE

two weeks ago I created a some sort of character sheet of dream me, the next day I became her. I could have been like, "this is not gonna happen overnight" but why? the reason it can't happen is because i was against it & the only reason I would be against it was cos I am too attached to an idea of who I am. but thankfully, I am not any more.

I embrace the qualities I already liked about myself and as for what I didn't like about myself? I don't reject it, I am just simply not it any more. I don't need to force it, I just select the identity I like and that's it. before, my ego would not let me, cos selecting the dream me means forgiving those who I didn't seem deserve forgiveness or leave some of my "very important" past behind.

it also meant that I can't use my past or who I was as an excuse for how I acted, but when I used to always excuse myself, it somehow felt v punishing, like I have been punishing myself by staying this unfavorable version of me because I am not ready to let go of my history. it felt like I didn't trust me enough to change once and for all.

to become a blank slate was terrifying to my ego. but I am not my ego. I and you both know that. my ego can be scared and I will reassure her a million times over if that's what it takes, but I am not folding. just like a parent who knows what's best for their child. even if the child screams in retaliation, the adult comforts them but doesn't bend the rules cos they know what's best for their child.

PHASE IV: TRUTH

I have been neglecting and neglected by myself every time I chose my ego's or other people's comfort. but I am not doing that again any more.

we all understand that others are just mirrors of what we think of them so that's why I couldn't care less about how I come across any more. others can judge but I have decided that none will. others will see me change over and over and will welcome any change I take on, every single time, I have decided that.

since these realisations, life felt sm simpler to live, the pressure of being a certain person in front of others has subsided. the need to stay my "consistent" (more so predictable) self is non-existent. and the need for life to go a certain way has also faded. a lot of beautiful things came about after this change and I am so glad to live every day with the ability to choose my own joy and peace, not waiting for someone or something to make me happy.

rn I am grateful to have realised all of that, to have transcended this physical plane and to have chosen to live as a soul who chose to live this human life. souls full of love and light, that is our true essence.

✦°·

[betterthanyalls]

Can u do a Reader x epic various where y/n is apart of Ody's crew and during the end of thunder bringer Zeus kidnaps y/n and takes them to Olympus instead of letting them either drown or get washed up onto Calypso's island?🥰🥰🤩🤩 It'd be cool if during God games or something Athena finds out what Zeus did and now instead of the games being just to free Ody from Calypso's island, it's ALSO about freeing y/n from Olympus and reuniting them with Odysseus?? Sorry if this doesn't make sense or if it's too much work lol, just write this however you want if you even wanna write it at all teehee ^^"

blinks i think i went through 37 different emotions while writing this, most of them were bad. Ok so, I'm not sure how good this is but please don't kill me😇 TW: Zeus gives reader Ganymede treatment

Masterlist

Stolen Soldier

Various (kind of) x Reader

EPIC: The Musical ~ Oneshot ~ Angst

Words: 1.6K

Published: 11-4-2024

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thunder roared, winds whipped, and waves rocked the lone ship back and forth. Standing on the bow of the ship was a figure of divine power and presence, waiting with a wicked grin. “Choose,” the king of the gods demanded harshly.

“Choose?” Odysseus muttered, looking at Zeus in fear. “Someone’s got to die today, and you have got the final say. You,” he pointed to Odysseus before gesturing to the rest of the crew, “or your crew.”

The captain looked to his crew, locking eyes with Y/n—his best friend, his rock, his shelter. He took a shaky breath, looking back to Zeus in desperation.

“Please don’t make me do this; don’t make me do this,” Odysseus begged. His mind seemed to be playing tricks on him. Looking back at his crew, he saw a range of emotions: anger, hurt, terror, grief, and more. Taking a daring glance at his closest friend, the soldier felt his heart shatter. Holding back tears, Y/n gave him a hesitant nod to show it was ok.

Then, a new voice tore his gaze away from his crew. Looking out over the sea and to the clouds, a figure of familiarity seemed to take place within the clouds. Illusion or not, that was his wife.

Penelope. Odysseus took staggering steps across the shaking boat and to the edge. Both of his hands latched to the wooden railing, his eyes never moving from the clouded position of his partner. Memories flooded his judgment, from his crew and Y/n, to his family waiting for him. “Captain?” A voice of uncertainty spoke up. Eurylochus. The said captain couldn’t even dare face his right-hand man as the sky darkened and Penelope faded back to the clouds.

“I have to see her," Odysseus whispered, tears brimming in his eyes as he finally looked back at his crew. The general saw all of the hurt and betrayal in his men’s expressions. The fear hurt the most to see. “But we’ll die,” Eurylochus pleaded. Odysseus knew he would regret this option until his final breath. Once he got home, how would he tell Ctimene he was the cause of her husband's death? “I know,” Odysseus’ voice broke, a few stray droplets not belonging to the storm washed down his cheeks. 

At the end of those words, the thunder roared, and Zeus grinned evilly. Zeus rose above the clouds, lightning moving to gather in his raised hand.

“Thunder, bring her through the wringer.” The crew drew their weapons in defense, charging towards Odysseus with murderous intent. Y/n stood away from the fight, not daring to lift any sort of weapon against her best friend.

“Show her I'm the judgment call. The one who makes her kingdom fall. Lightning, wield her, use and yield her.” 

As the crew closed in on their captain, the air started to become tense and electrified. Y/n took a step back from the chaos, looking up to see a phenomenon of heavenly power. “Show her what she can’t conceal; her true nature will be revealed.”

A bright light enclosed the surrounding sky, ripping down to the center of the ship. In an instant, a deafening crack sounded, and all light faded to black. Y/n felt like her soul was being ripped apart as she opened her mouth to scream her pain, but no noise came out. Then she felt a drop, only to be brought into a suffocating embrace of cold. Finally, her mind cut out. ~~~~~ Y/n felt different. She didn’t sense the shivering water anymore, but instead a subtle warmth. It took a few minutes, but eventually she managed to peek open her eyes. Y/n wasn’t on a ship in the middle of the sea with the night sky above anymore, but instead there was a grand painting on the ceiling of white marble overhead. Looking around slowly, the young woman saw an unfamiliar scene.

A lavish bedroom surrounded her, furnishings a king could only dream of sitting like average decor in each nook and cranny. Moving her hands, Y/n felt the silk sheets of a glorious bed below her. Ivory blankets fell from her body as she slowly rose up from her position. Placing her feet on the cold marble flooring, the mortal stepped through the room. It wasn’t long before she found herself in front of a floor-length mirror. 

White and gold fabric draped down on her body—a dress fit for a goddess of divine origin. Confusion clouded her eyes as she scanned her new attire. That puzzlement was quickly replaced with fear as two wooden doors opened, revealing an even more confusing sight.

A tall man wearing a white toga entered the room without a care of knocking. Striding to where Y/n stood, she instinctively took steps back from him. “My dear, why do you back away?” The smile on his face was unnerving, especially with the nickname. Y/n recognized that voice immediately, terror coursing through her veins as her lips parted to let out a gasp.

“Zeus.”

The god in question continued to walk towards her with that two-faced smile until he backed the mortal into a wall. “Mmm, you’re as smart as you are beautiful,” he took her hand, placing a kiss on her knuckles. Y/n shuddered in disgust and fear; her heart raced faster than a chariot racer's steeds. She wanted to push him away, but her body felt locked in place. Y/n tried to speak, but her lips were closed tightly like a stone wall. “Hm, dear, I think I know a dress that’d fit your body much better. Let me help.”

~~~~~

Within only the second morning of the Heavenly Palace, Y/n had the overwhelming urge to jump off. But she wouldn’t be allowed such a pleasure with the god at her side. Zeus had taken it upon himself to guide the mortal on a tour through Olympus, which only influenced her thoughts. 

Y/n kept her eyes on Zeus every second. Not out of intrigue or anything of that sort, but of apprehension. Each movement of his that was near her direction, the mortal would tense up and pause everything. Soon enough, the king of Olypmus noticed and grinned with faux comfort. “Dear, you seem tense. Allow me to ease you.” ~~~~~ Day after day. Weeks after week. Zeus never let Y/n leave his side, threatening any god or goddess who even dared to give her a sympathetic glance. The woman was a shell of who she once was. Her eyes sunk and her soul depleted; she felt her life draining by the day. Not in mortality-wise, no Zeus would never let her perish. But in consideration of her spirit.

Each night she would cry until no more salt would leave, leaving only choking sobs. Each night she was infiltrated by the king of Olympus. Y/n would stare at herself in the mirror, vomit building in her throat as her eyes trailed down to every mark on her body. No spot was untouched. No matter how hard she tried, Y/n could never wash off the sin. The mortal would scrub her skin until she was raw and bleeding, but the phantom touches remained.

Each night she missed her home and friends more and more. Where was Odysseus now? Did he forget all about her when he returned to Ithaca? What about Penelope? Would she miss her best friend? 

Seven years. Seven years of misery, force, and agony. Seven years of physical and mental torture she endured to no fault.

But soon, like all stories, her savior arrived. ~~~~~

Athena stood in front of her father, spear and shield in hand, while staring into the king’s eyes murderously.

“I’ve played your game and won. Release them,” the goddess of wisdom demanded, shifting her gaze to where Y/n stood anxiously beside Zeus’ throne. The mortal had gone through so much, and Athena was determined to save her. 

Zeus glowered down at his daughter, rage covering his expression. “You dare to defy me? To make me feel shame?” He growled, his fists clenching so tight that his knuckles turned a bright alabaster. “No one beats me; no one wins my game!”

The lightning god stood up threateningly, his hands glowing a static yellow. “Thunder, bring her through the wringer!” The air was caught in Y/n’s throat at the familiar words, her eyes wide in horror. Zeus rose up, the electricity in his hands growing as the woman noticed the alarmed looks on the other god’s expressions. “Show her I’m the judgment call, the one who makes her kingdom FALL!” With a vociferous burst, he threw the lightning at his daughter, forcing her back onto the floor. Once the light faded, everyone looked to see the warrior lying face down, her body still as ice. “Is she dead?” the voice of her brother Ares asked hesitantly. Y/n thought back to every moment her and Odysseus had been with Athena. They were an unstoppable force together. Now though, Y/n only wanted to rush to the goddess side.  Before anyone could do anything, Athena struggled to her feet, holding her aegis in defense while pointing the spear tip to her father.

Zeus’ look of utter shock soon turned to rage at her defiance. In response, he sent a barrage of bolts towards his favorite child. Against this attack, the war patroness held her shield strong and pushed against the force, making her way to her father.

Finally, at the feet of the king, she grabbed his arm and fell to her knees.

“Let them go, please. Let them go.” Her plea was finished as the goddess collapsed, her breath slowing to a stop.

[elegantauthor]

Saving Grace Chapter 14

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Aurora Stark

Summary: Bucky and Ayo have a heart-to-heart.

Warnings: none

Series Masterlist

Hot water from the shower cascaded down Bucky’s back, his muscles fraught with tension. He closed his eyes, as he propped his hand against the wall. His thoughts, awhirl with worry, elevated the dull ache above his right eye to a mild throb.

Turning off the water, he wrapped a towel around his waist and retrieved a pair of sweats from the pile of clothes next to his duffle bag. His return flight to Berlin was scheduled for the next morning. He didn’t want to waste any time in tracking down Zemo.

He plopped down on the edge of the bed he rarely slept in, his gaze drifting to the flurries outside the window. A pang shot through his chest like a bullet. Aurora loved snow. In Wakanda, the lack of a proper winter was the only thing that ever dampened her otherwise unbreakable spirit.

He oft daydreamed about returning to New York, to experience everything she enjoyed about this time of year with her. Ice skating in Central Park, shared mugs of hot cocoa by the fireplace, and seeing the lights reflected in the gold flecks of her amber eyes.

He’d sunken so far down in the mire of his thoughts that the knock on his front door barely registered, until it sounded like Wakandan drums beating distantly. Slipping the sweats on, he padded down the hallway to the door and opened it.

“Ayo.” Seeing the woman standing on his doorstep, Bucky couldn’t mask his surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“It occurred to me that you might need a friend,” she answered with a tight-lipped smile.

He shook his head. “I don’t deserve it. This is my fault. I betrayed your trust.”

“I did not come here to join your self-pity party. I am here because a dear friend of mine needs our help. I will also not pretend that you helping Zemo break out of prison did not wound me.”

“Sorry, yeah, come in. Want some tea?” Bucky moved around the kitchen, pouring water into the kettle, before setting it on the stove. He grabbed an unopened box of tea from the cupboard, fiddling with it in his hands. Aurora’s favorite. He kept some on-hand in case she visited him in Brooklyn. “I wasn’t there for her.”

“What do you mean?”

“After Tony died. I thought- no, I wanted to believe that Aurora had moved on. I wanted everything I believed about myself to be true—that I didn’t deserve her. Maybe I never did,” he whispered, mostly to himself. “She was there for me during my recovery, and I- I wasn’t there when she needed me, to help her through losing her dad.”

Bucky held the box tighter, jaw clenched in anger. Anger at himself for being so thoughtless to the woman he loved, due to his own self-pity.

“Part of me held on to the hope that she’d come here, so we could be together. I waited, but she never came.”

“A self-fulfilling prophecy.”

He nodded at Ayo’s sage words. At any time he could’ve chosen to believe differently. Aurora and Steve were wrong about him. He was a selfish bastard.

“Zemo turned the tables on me.” Bucky chuckled bitterly. “Guess I can’t blame him. I helped the man who framed me, killed King T’Chaka—I am sorry about that, by the way. Now, he has Aurora, and I have no idea what he plans to do with her.”

“Does he know about her?” asked Ayo.

“He doesn’t know the full extent of her power. I can only hope that she uses it to her advantage.”

Ayo frowned, averting her gaze from Bucky’s.

“Alright, spill.” He folded his arms across his chest. “There’s obviously something you’re not telling me.”

The woman sighed, and when she looked at Bucky, he saw the same sadness that pervaded a lot of people since the Snap. “I have not seen or heard from Aurora in five years. You were her entire world. In her grief, she pushed away everyone and… she stopped speaking with her mother.”

“But…” Bucky’s brow furrowed, how could that be right? He’d witnessed her power first-hand in Madripoor.

“She will always be a demigoddess, but her source of power…”

“…is love.” He swallowed the acrid taste in his mouth, as the whistling kettle exacerbated his already pounding headache. He quickly removed it from the burner and set it aside.

Ayo crossed the kitchen to where Bucky stood, easing the box of tea from his grip. Her expression somber. “As your friend, I must implore you. Do not lose yourself to Zemo’s mind games.”

Bucky gritted his teeth. “I won’t make another promise I can’t keep.”

“Do it not for me, not for yourself, but for her. Do you love Aurora?”

“More than anything,” he choked, eyes rimmed with tears. Ayo knew him better than he knew himself. “Alright, I promise.”

[lafaiette]

Your Lavellan breaks through the fog of Solas’s expectations and suppositions of behavior, limits, and nature that he has held and observed as a millennia-old being. Lavellan is a mortal, a fragile, flawed mortal with death looming and immense social and political and military power and yet she does not allow it to corrupt her. She holds steadfast to duty, to what is right, what is ethical. She is open minded in defiance to everything the world has taught her of spirits being scary and unknown.

@yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy THIS, EXACTLY. This is who Lavellan was for Solas in Inquisition. Not all Lavellans are the same, of course - some are ruder, harsher, more cynical than others, but all of them must have an open mind about spirits, want to save people, and not be tyrants to start a romance with Solas. I don't remember if an Inquisitor can ever say they enjoy having been thrust into this whole mess, like "Hey, interrupting Corypheus' ritual was worth it, look how powerful I am now! >:D "

I believe most Lavellan would feel very disconcerted at the sudden position they are in, even if they were not happy in their clan. They can grow to love the Inquisition and their new leadership role, but it's not something they asked for, that they fought for - it happened because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And this is the first difference with Mythal. Morrigan says that Mythal loved ruling, that she asked Elgar'nan to share power, but wanted to do so in a kind way, like a mother guiding her people. However, she was also prickly, because she hated being wrong, being corrected, wanted to be respected as a god, but not in a servile way, wanted to right wrongs, but only if they were just and interested her according to her ideas. Like all spirits, Morrigan says, her emotions were incredibly strong and volatile.

How, then, can Lavellan remind Solas of her? To continue her romance with him, Lavellan must actually face and accept the idea that the Dalish remember many things wrong. One of the first things she can say to him in Haven is "I am sorry - if the Dalish did you a disservice, I will repair that. How can we do better?" - and in being humble, Lavellan makes Solas humble. He falters, accepts her apology and apologies in return, and admits he was wrong, because the Dalish could never recover what is lost. By showing him humility, Lavellan allows him - a spirit made flesh - to reflect that humbleness and embody it. Mythal never did this, she actually turned his very nature, his wisdom, into pride.

When Solas tells Lavellan about the vallaslin, there are several possible reactions. She can be sad and ashamed ("We try to preserve our culture, and this is what we keep?"), angry because she is hurt, react in shock - but she always accepts the truth. She doesn't get angry at Solas because he corrected her ("They honor the elven gods." "No. They are slave markings."), which is what Mythal would have done; she can get angry because of shame, yes, but at the end she knows what he's saying it's true and she accepts the truth, the wisdom, he gives her. And she can choose what to do with it: renounce the vallaslin's terrible history or embrace the new meaning the Dalish gave them.

Lavellan can make decisions that are wrong, according to Solas, like not exile the Wardens or not use Gaspard as a puppet for Briala and her elves. But they talk about it, they can have a par-on-par discussion about it, something it's clear he never could do with Mythal. In all the regret cutscenes we see, he always accepts to do what she asks of him, never once arguing with her. Yes, he starts his rebellion also against her, because she betrayed him and his ideals of freedom, but it's clear he still feels reverence for her and even asks to meet her in secret to warn her about the Blight they created.

Mythal liked ruling and didn't give up power, even when the Evanuris started going too far. Lavellan gives up her power, in one way or another: she can either completely disband the Inquisition or give it to the Chantry. She doesn't keep the power for herself or start a coup to undermine Ferelden and Orlais' demands. She has lost her arm, discovered world-shattering information, and is surrounded by bloodhounds: so she gives up her position and influence, something not even Mythal, in all her "wisdom and kindness", ever did. Something no ruler, Solas once warned her, would logically do. But she does!

Never, not even once, I considered Lavellan to be a foil to Mythal while playing Inquisition. In that game, Mythal is actually described as a foil to Andraste, to Flemeth, to all the women of Thedas betrayed and cast aside. Flemeth announces there will be a reckoning, and Mythal allows Solas to take her power from her without question, because she wants to be avenged. She has been crawling through the ages for this very purpose.

But in Veilguard, the last regret mural shows her suddenly changing her mind and questioning him, with Solas making just the vaguest comment about the elves deserving to get their immortality back, the faintest of threads tying it back to Trespasser. Why then allow him to take her power, if that's not what she wanted to do anymore?

And how can the fragment of Mythal from the Crossroads, that very fragment Morrigan warns being still tied to vengeance and rage, be the one who manages to change his mind? Why should that part of Mythal, still hungry for retribution, tell him to stop and free him from his service?

So basically one of Solas' murals

is the Crestwood scene, but with reversed roles. Solas is the rejected one, Mythal is the one who walks away, leaving him alone in what I presume was a glade at night, judging from the environmental sounds and hushed tones we can hear.

And, to be honest, I don't know how I feel about it - it feels like it cheapens the Crestwood scene, repeating an abusive pattern, stripping away the romance and softness of that scene. It's, once again, something Solas already went through with Mythal, not something he shares with Lavellan only. It's Weekes saying yet again that Solas saw Mythal in Lavellan, and that's why he fell in love with her. Not because she was Lavellan, but because she reminded him of Mythal and gave him hope that all elves could return to that "level" of wisdom.

What we learn in this game also ruins the kiss scene on the balcony, where Solas say "You have showed wisdom I have not seen since... since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade."

Most of us believed he meant "Wisdom I have not seen since my ancient days in Elvhenan", but it's basically confirmed at this point that he meant "Wisdom I have not seen since Mythal".

A month ago, someone here mentioned how Weekes had said there was a specific reason why Solas had falled for Lavellan. I never found the interview where they said so, but I saw many believed it had something to do with reincarnation, lost soulmates finding each other again etc., but once again, it's clear what Weekes meant, and it's bad, cheap writing.

They could have written a god finally learning the error of his ways thanks to his love for a mortal - a love completely different from that of who was basically an abuser, a parent-like figure forcing him to take form and serve -, but instead they went for the easy route: a god still loving another god, feeling love for a mortal who reminds him of her, and changing his mind only because his god finally gives him permission to be free.

The mortal who supposedly "changes everything" serves no purpose - she actually tells him "There is no fate but the love we share" after he's been "freed" from his service, which in this context, in this situation, sounds more like a punishment, another yoke, some sort of "I finally got you, you can't run from me anymore".

I don't know what happened to Weekes' writing - either they were forced to make these decisions due to various constraints, or they completely changed their style/ideas during development, because this is not the Solas, this is not the Solavellan romance, we got in DA:I.

[jessilynallendilla]

HOME POST

FAE/CREATURE/NON HUMAN JASKIER  

I Am The Wild  T   

Years ago, Geralt meets a little boy befriending a monster. Years later, Geralt meets a bard. There's something familiar in the way he tries to keep Geralt from killing monsters. "Real monsters are human", he'd always say.  

The Shapes Of Us  T 33,142 SERIES  

Jaskier was a shapeshifter. It was as simple as that. Except for nothing was ever simple with him. Especially not since that white haired man had rescued him. Protected him. Healed him. Saved him. What other option did he have but to try and return the favor?  

We Can Do Good, Together  M 8,391  

Geralt had heard rumors of it before he'd been approached by Yennefer and asked, "How much?“  

He stared at her, unimpressed, "How much to do what?"  

"Don't play coy," she replied, "You know just as well as I do that there's been something wrecking havoc across the Continent."  

Hidden By The Forest  M 15,496 SERIES  

“Geralt, please, I... can... let me explain, please...” Jaskier’s voice wavers and he takes another step back. Geralt strengthens his grip on the blood-soaked sword still in his hand and glares at Jaskier. At who he thought was Jaskier but is clearly something else.   

Salt And Ash, Iron And Bone  EX 47402  

After Geralt’s death, Jaskier returns to the fae realm, unable to live in the human world without the witcher he loved. When he’s attacked and nearly killed eight centuries later, Jaskier flees back to the human world, where he finds himself face-to-face with Geralt. This Geralt is a redheaded, freckled human with no memory of his life as a witcher or of Jaskier. But as Jaskier gets to know his oldest friend all over again— and starts to fall in love with him all over again— a mysterious enemy threatens both their lives.  

The Red Prince  EX 72,058 SERIES  

Jaskier has lived many lives over the span of humanity's existence, and yet he's still fascinated by them. But when he catches word of Witchers, he has to know more. He follows them, befriends them whenever possible, and saves their lives. They know him as The Red Prince. Bloody-handed and handsome. Some kind of patron saint of Witchers. A legend. A fairy story. The same story Vesemir once told a young Geralt the night before his Trials. And many years later, Jaskier meets a gruff, white haired Witcher known as the Butcher. But the man is no murderer. He's interested. Smitten, even. So he follows the White Wolf on adventure, expecting that at some point he'll have to revive the legend of The Red Prince. Because Witchers get wounded. They die. He won't let that happen to Geralt. Not so long as he can retie the strings of Fate.  

Try, Please Try For Me  EX 131,979 SERIES  

Jaskier was part fae. A quarter to be precise. There was an old superstition among humans that names held power, but for fae it was so much more than that. Names meant control. If you knew a fae’s name, their true name, they would be completely at your will. If someone knew your true name you were nothing more than their servant. A slave. All it took was a single command. When war breaks out between neighboring kingdoms, Jaskier's father uses his true name and commands him to marry a witcher as part of a peace treaty. Neither Jaskier or Geralt are particularly happy with the arrangement. But as Jaskier gets to know him better he realizes that the witcher might just be able to give him the thing he's always craved. Freedom.  

Fair Folk, Or: The Difference Between Honey And Destiny Is That One Of Them Is Sweet  T 35,322 SERIES  

wherein everything is the same, except when it isn’t.  

So Can We Pretend, Sweetly  T 2,131  

Jaskier is a regular human bard, and Geralt could swear that yesterday he’d had regular human teeth. They’re just a little bit too long for his mouth, now- too white, too sharp. A predator’s. Jaskier clicks them together, experimentally, and winces when he bites his tongue. “Fuck anyone you weren’t supposed to?”   

“I don’t fuck anyone I’m supposed to,” Jaskier says, a little proudly.  

Drawing Our Destinies In Closer  T 649 SERIES  

Jaskier encounters a dangerous killer. 

Wróżka  G 2,600  

jaskier has a secret, and geralt is trying to find the clues to figure out what it is.  

Beautiful, Fickle, Fatal  M  

Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, died in the same way he lived - dramatically. Or at least it would have been dramatic had anyone been around to witness his demise. As the morning sun broke across the horizon and illuminated the fog that hung across the surface of the river, a figure broke the surface and took its first long, pained breath. The man who held his wet shoes in one hand as he made his way towards Oxenfurt was not Julian Pankratz, although he would answer to that name until he fashioned one more appropriate for himself. He had all the time in the world, after all  

When We Bloom (And We Will)  T 12,132 SERIES  

a fic in which geralt acquires a baby, jaskier saves the life of said baby, and ciri insists that she has a new sister until it becomes true.  

In Your Arms, I Am A Wild Creature  T   

A different version of Geralt and Jaskier meet; Geralt is still a witcher— it’s Jaskier who’s different.  

Fae Jaskier  G 964  

This was a request, but it's one of my favorite things I've written so I posted it separate of my ask collection.  

Pray All Ye Meet Are The Gentle Fae  EX 11,631 SERIES  

“It was remarkably foolish of you, witcher,” Jaskier drawled, his glamour gone and the picture of his inhumanity complete. “Stumbling into my clearing like this.” Or: Geralt and Jaskier take a night off to have some fun. Less fun? They're overheard. If only their dirty talk didn't sound so...incriminating.  

A Deal Which Cannot Be Refused  T  

Jaskier got into trouble a lot, that was normal. But not until he was too late to help Jaskier did Geralt ever realise that Jaskier was perfectly capable of solving his own issues. He has the ability to turn a whole argument on its head, unfailingly coming out the victor with a smile on his face, and the slightly burnt scent of pure magic in the air. Every time Geralt asked how exactly he got himself out of some new impossible situation Jaskier had just smiled and offered a well crafted but purposefully vague answer. Usually relating to a deal of some form, or a favour that Geralt didn’t really know if he wanted to know any more details of. Or - Jaskier isn’t quite human, Geralt can tell that much. What he can’t figure out is exactly what Jaskier is.  

Featuring misunderstandings, very confused and slightly oblivious Geralt, morally grey and at times ominously terrifying Jaskier and some healthy doses of angst.  

The Weight Of Life  M 25,855  

A few years after the unfortunate adventure with the dragon hunt, Geralt accidentally runs into Jaskier in the exactly same tavern, where the said adventure began. Maybe it wouldn't be that surprising (we are talking about the travelling bard after all), if Jaskier didn't look and behave so strange. How else can you describe approaching the witcher without making any indication to what has happened on the top of a certain mountain and simply paying him for killing a monster?  

Long Live The King  EX 47,450 SERIES  

Geralt placed the crown on his head before kneeling at his side, and the weight of it felt heavy on Jaskier’s brow. Jaskier’s path to becoming king, takes place five years after the fall of Cintra.  

He Fell Into A Faerie Ring  EX SERIES  

Traders are a gossiping sort. If there was a scandal within the noble houses of Posada, you’d hear about it in Cretegor by the end of the week. So, the quick spread of a rumor about a little village in the Kestrel Mountain range was not at all surprising. What was surprising was the story that the traders wove. They said that Luibhtorrach, a sad, ghost of a farming town, had miraculously become a hub for trade, as if overnight. Their lands unbelievably fertile and brimming with crop. Even stranger, each and every one of Luibhtorrach’s people professed that their good fortune was the work of a mysterious beast they’d claimed as their personal deity. Most recent news foretold of their plans to throw a midsummer festival celebrating this newfound god. In preparation, silken blue banners were erected in every corner of the town, each bearing the symbol of their new patron: A delicate dandelion wrapping around a golden sun.- Or -Jaskier accidentally becomes the god of a village he stumbled upon after Geralt’s post-dragon hunt meltdown. Maybe it had something to do with his new look.  

Honey, Where Do You Think I Came From?  M  

It was little things at first. A glare on his face, narrowed eyes and frowning lips, or a comment a touch more cutting than it needed to be. All explained away with simple enough rational: a bad day, lack of sleep. No reason to suspect what truly lay beneath. Looking back, the signs were there. But he didn’t look for what they meant. What the whispered sweet nothings shared in a corner but never taken to a bedroom meant. What the cutting glances and sharp words at an annoying lord meant. What the lack of a dagger tucked away in a boot meant In the beginning, well, he was a simple bard really. Talented, yes, but simple. And that was all.  

A Crown Of Crows  M  

There's something about Jaskier that Geralt can't place. It isn't the bard’s boldness in waltzing up to him, or how he seems strangely unswayed by the witcher's cold front, or even the way he glues himself to Geralt’s side. Jaskier makes Geralt's medallion quiver and tug at its chain any time they touch. Could be that lute of his is enchanted. But Geralt has a funny feeling Jaskier’s hiding something behind that warmhearted smile he finds himself so spellbound by.  

Rues And Bees  G  

Geralt is sick and tired of standing in front of his oak cottage door and peeking through the peep hole as Yennefer stands on the other side, beckoning Geralt to, "Open the door and let me in. It's cold out here," and replying, "You're not Yennefer, she's in the other room, sleeping. I can hear her snoring." So naturally, he does the next big thing: he falls in love with the doppler.  

Through A Field Of Poppies  T 1,060  

Jaskier dies in autumn. Geralt lays him to rest at the edge of a birch grove overlooking a flood plain on the northern banks of the Pontar. He remembers the place, now gilded in the afternoon sun by wayward wheat having made its way to the rich river soil, where his bard had once pressed a ring into his palm (“How about this,” he’d said. “You keep this near and I’ll know you still want me at your side.” And Geralt had closed his fingers around it thinking he’d take ten thousand golden trinkets just to be gifted with that smile) and he knows that come spring it’ll be a meadow thick with wildflowers. The next time he sees Jaskier, he reaches for silver.  

I Want To Know You  T 2,980  

Four questions that they ask each other over the years they spend together. Jaskier herded him to a table when their drinks were on their hands, talking more nonsense and pulling out of the Witcher the information of the monster he was after. The human seemed to take a weird interest in what Geralt did for a living considering his species who preferred to have the whole continent between them and one of Geralt's kind.  

Sunk But Sinking  NR  

He wakes up with a tightness in his chest, the reason for it revealed as soon as he opens his eyes. It’s not light yet, not exactly, but the fire is long gone and the cold had enough time to settle in his bones. He’s aching more than most mornings, but maybe it’s just the weather’s fault. Jaskier grunts and pushes Geralt’s hand off his chest, the unreasonable panic not quite evaporating from him at the same speed as the details of his nightmare.  

He Sleeps In His Bed (While He Plays Pretend)  M 34,049  

When Yennefer leaves him, Geralt comes back to Jaskier, heart in his hand, anger, hurt, and heartbreak bleeding from it. Geralt grieves his love life with his eyes closed, his body bare and fucking into his bard, Yennefer's name on his lips. On the other hand, as months pass, Geralt's begins to fall in love with Jaskier himself, leaving a huge misunderstanding his wake.  

Ensnared  EX 32,014  

Geralt is hired to hunt a creature that has been terrorising the local hunters and traders of Belhaven. He heads into Caed Myrkvid and finds more than he bargained for  

This Isn't The Beginning Of A Joke, This Is The Beginning Of A Love Song...  EX  

Jaskier sings Renfri and Yennefer to life and doesn't think enough about the effect it could have on two powerful women. And the effect it could have on him. After all; he's the first music note ever heard, not a fertility god.And everybody knows Witchers are made, not born.  

No No, Not I  T  

Geralt meats Fae!Jaskier due to a slight misunderstanding (or maybe its destiny messing with them?) and when Jaskier hurts his wing they are kind of stuck together for a while. It’s a journey that not only brings them in more and more danger and to unknown magical places but it also brings them closer together, if they want to admit it or not. The Fae is annoying Geralt to no end but he can’t just let him die, can he? Jaskier saw the jagged edge of the stone a fraction of a second too late and he couldn't stop himself from stepping on it with his bare feet. He hissed in pain, baring his fangs. “Wait, damn it,” a deep voice behind him demanded but he would not obey. He wouldn't dream of obeying the command of a monster that wanted to kill him.  

Namesake Retrograde  EX  

'Fifty years of meticulously crafted lies become dust in the wind before Jaskier can realize what's happening. Distantly, he thinks he hears the tonal crack of shattering crystal, before his mouth rushes with hot saliva and bottom drops out from his stomach.' Jaskier's glamour is obliterated. It goes worse than expected.  

Welcome, Oh Summer Love  G 2,390 SERIES  

After leaving Geralt and making a home in a fairy circle somewhere deep in a forgotten wood, Jaskier learns to move on. He makes a home in that stone ring, detached from the world and his worries. That is, until Geralt stumbles into his ring looking haggard and weary, trailing a lost princess behind him. Should Jaskier stay silent in his tree, let them pass by him as he rests? Will he finally face the love he'd run away from? 

With Romantic Intent  M 8,934 SERIES  

Jaskier decides that it's finally time to start courting Geralt. He just needs to make it obvious enough that the silly man will take the hint — and, in the process, figure out that he was never quite as human as Geralt thought.  

Of Music And Motion And Love  T 12,412 SERIES  

When Jaskier was four, he slipped his mother’s watch and went to the field to gather a bouquet of dandelions. He climbed back into the yard, as stealthy as a child really cared to be, and crept over to the barn. In the barn, lived a secret. (The man he thought his father said the secret was a monster, a plague. His mother said the secret was his sister.) OR Jaskier comes from a far humbler background, and would really like to know why Yennefer never came back for her youngest brother.  

I Come Round Back To You  M 15,567  

He is fifty and there is a man in the corner of a tavern in Posada who hasn’t moved save for the rise and fall of his tankard to his sculpted lips. Julian knows what he is before he knows to know. He should have started chasing monsters sooner.  

Where We Belong  T  

Geralt had many uses for the parasite living inside him. Jaskier could heal bones and regenerate a limbs like it was nothing, could eat the heads of monsters faster than a Witcher could draw his sword; even help Geralt breathe underwater if they so wished. Jaskier was a blessing in disguise if one forgone the constant hunger that came with hosting them. It was not, however, nearly enough to have to sit through the twice-damned singing and chatter inside his fucking skull.  

There's Magic In A Bard's Song (O Lei O Lai O Lei O Lord)  T   

There’s something different about the way the bard sings. There is something underlying his voice, his music. It bothers Geralt.  

As Daylight Dies  T  

The Witcher keeps to himself, gaze downcast, gloved hand extended to his tankard to keep within his lips' reach.  

"Are the stories true?"  

"Depends." The voice that comes from under the hood is deep, a wolf's growl and grunt. The White Wolf, an apt name for the man. A different, darker meeting between Geralt of Rivia and Jaskier. It's going to get darker.  

Once Written In The Stars  EX  

When Geralt accidentally trespasses on a fae forest, only the unexpected kindness of one of the forest's inhabitants saves him. Unfortunately, it also leaves him saddled with a travel companion who has never really met a human, let alone thought about how to play at being one. It goes about as well as you'd think.  

Will You Be Coming Home?  M 52,104  

At fifteen, Julian hires a bodyguard and runs away. At twenty, he's quite happy. At twenty-five, he's fucked.  

(Don't Ask Me) To Follow Where You Lead  M  

Bitter irony that Jaskier had fallen for him despite knowing that his freedom was linked to Geralt wanting him gone deep down more than he wanted him to stay – if Jaskier ever got what his heart yearned for, he'd lose even more than Geralt's affections in the same breath. In that sense, Geralt's words on top of that mountain were a blessing, for all that Jaskier did not at all agree with being blamed for things that were in no way his fault. For someone who had held someone else's fate in his hands for almost all of the years he had walked this earth, Geralt was surprisingly scared of destiny and way too concerned with running from it in vain. Jaskier could and actually had sung several songs about how escaping destiny was impossible – her cruel claws would sink into you one way or another, running from it was nothing but a waste of breath. 

Honey, Bread and Summer Flowers  G 910  

Geralt and Jaskier meet at a crossroads. Neither is what he seems.  

Can’t You See I’m Unholy?  T 1,006 SERIES  

Jaskier was dead. Oddly enough, that’s the part he could handle. The part he couldn’t handle, the part that he’s never been able to handle, is the aftermath. The rebirth. -In which Jaskier is a demon that can’t ever fully die and Geralt is witness to his resurrection.  

Upon The Waking Of The Spring  T 2,074 SERIES  

When Spring comes along, and brings with it new life, Jaskier finds the man with white hair asleep on a bed of violets. And, though they’re not meant to meddle with the Fates of humans, Jaskier just can not resist.  

Like Real People Do  T 3,989 SERIES  

“Are you hiring me, girl?”  

After a beat of silence, the two staring at each other, she stands tall and scoops the coin into her apron pocket and shakes her head. “No, Witcher, I don’t believe I am. Just thought you should know is all.”  

He sighs out a breath through his nose, looking away. He grips the mug still in his hand a bit stronger and brings it to his lips.  

“It’s the wood near your professor is why I thought you should know.”  

Not Quite Right  M   

The meat suit ages around him. He can feel it grow every passing year, stretching and contorting over a too-big entity. The original soul died far before it was born into this world. It allowed him to step in and takes its place. His brethren are like vines that choke out trees, retaining their shape even as the mighty oaks or pines wither and die beneath them. He is like a weed with a lovely flower atop it. Mistaken for something meant for a bouquet, but even when identified, still plucked for flower crowns or innocent gifts. He calls himself Jaskier.  

The God Of Scraped Knees.  M 8,342 

Jaskier’s been pretending to be human for so long now that he hardly remembers what it feels like to be a sorcerer. He doesn’t want to remember what it feels like to be a sorcerer. But people still murmur his name with reverence in certain dim halls; Dandelion, Dandelion, destroyer of worlds.    

Blue And Yellow, Blue And Gold  T 4,292  

There is a blue-eyed boy living in Geralt's shadow.  

Fallen For A Lie  T 6,995  

It was a long time before Geralt suspected anything. Geralt had been trained to notice such things at Kaer Morhen, and had gone years, decades even, without missing something as large as this. He could hear Vesemir shouting now at Geralt’s blindness, unexplainable aside from the locked away knowledge that this had escaped his attentions because he liked the way Jaskier chattered at him, the coin he brought in from his little tunes, liked him. Any bizarre incident that arose was brushed aside in favor of Jaskier’s easy company. And there had been many incidents.  

What's Mine Is Yours  T 7,506 SERIES  

Jaskier had always had a set of lungs to rival the North wind. By the time he was old enough to put words to his wailing, his poor mother’s head was grey and her heart torn by the babe who had never once stopped crying. There wasn’t a healer or witch she took him to who didn’t say the same thing: there was nothing to fix. They could treat a bruise, bandage the reflections of another’s injuries that sometimes echoed onto his skin, but there was no curing pain that wasn’t his.  

Edge Of Nowhere  T 1,361 SERIES  

Jaskier needed no introduction to Geralt of Rivia, not when he knows who this Witcher is on sight. On the other hand, this is his opportunity to make a new and different name for himself, a guise within a disguise, and perhaps fame that'll hide the secrets that he keeps.  

Wolf & Songbird  T  

“Do I not warm you when it’s cold?” asks Geralt. “Feed you when you’re hungry, carry you when you’ve had too much too drink?”  

“Well,” says Jaskier. He gulps. “But you never said anything.”  

They may be destined to meet in every universe, but they always stay together by choice. 

And The Seasons, They Go Round And Round  T 2,938  

Taking hold of his emotions enough so he won’t begin shouting, Geralt stands before Jaskier, arms crossed protectively around his beating heart. “What are you?” he growls.  

With a heavy sigh, Jaskier leans on his elbows and peers up at Geralt. “Do you know the story of the seasons Geralt?” Jaskier inquires.  

In which Jaskier isn't all he appears and his rivalry with Valdo Marx is a bit more complicated than Geralt realized. 

Dear Fellow Traveler  EX 39,567  

Geralt had a rule: he refused to accept anything but coin for his work, no matter what was being offered to him. So when a man offered him a creature by the name of Jaskier, he elected to say no. After several incidents left the two no choice but to become traveling companions when they are forced to go on the run, things begin to change between the pair as they struggle to find a way for Jaskier to return to his home. 

The Man From Oxenfurt  M  

Jaskier is an assassin from the school of Oxenfurt, assigned a target with no name, picture, or any information besides the target's species (witcher) and the fact that he trained under Vesemir. His luck changes when he meets another witcher from the same school in a tavern in Posada, and he vows that he'll build a life with Geralt with the money from this last assignment. If only it could be that easy. 

Granted  EX 12,314 SERIES  

Jaskier feels it the moment the words leave Geralt’s lips. A rush of energy flooding from his core to the tips of his fingers and toes. ‘Oh no,’ he thinks. The magic spills from him like wine from a glass and before he can grab it, it’s done. He’s bound. Geralt’s wish has been granted.  

Lord Of The Forest  NR 7,521 SERIES  

Jaskier is not human, he is Lord of the Forest, and post season 1 episode 6, he returns to his natural form to wreak vengeance on Geralt.   

Pathway To Your Lips  EX 5,5145 

Geralt meets with Lord Pankratz about a monster in the forest of his duchy. In the process, he meets Jaskier, the Lord's son who is always dressed in a most extravagant manner. Amidst chaos at the dinner time and troubling thoughts, Geralt gears up to fight the monster he has been hired to kill.  

Into The Woods  G 1,318  

Geralt gets lost in the woods. But there's someone -- or something -- else following him.  

Like Real People Do  G 55,687  

A twilight that refuses to wane, the lingering scent of clean, bitter dandelion milk, and a strange man buried deep in the soil of a peaceful bog. Or, Geralt finds a traveling companion in the strangest of places.  

Muse Of White And Gold  G 1,573 SERIES  

It’s been a week and the person is still following him. What’s more, they haven’t attacked yet. Geralt isn’t quite sure what to do with this. OR Jaskier sees Geralt slay a beast and is instantly drawn to the stunning man of white and gold.  

Play Out A Spell In Your Sequence Of Chords (To Inspire And Sharpen Our Rusted Swords)  T 10,813 

Geralt cocked his head to the side curiously to regard the chittering fox caught in the hunter's trap. The beast had deep chestnut fur and eerily bright blue eyes. He knelt, and the creature hissed at him, baring his teeth in fear.  

"I mean you no harm," he rumbled, hands palm-up. His swords were at his campsite, regardless. He reached forward slowly, and the fox didn't move, though it's teeth remained bared. It was a simple matter to pry open the trap, and the fox leapt away, chattering its teeth at him. Their eyes met for a long moment, amber to fantastical blue, and the fox dashed off.  

Sighing faintly, hands resting on his knees, Geralt bowed his head tiredly. He rolled his neck to crack it, and rose to his feet to shuffle his way back to his camp.  

Set out neatly next to his bedroll were three cleanly gutted rabbits, and Geralt paused in surprise. Roach whinnied softly, and stamped a hoof. A crown of golden wheat rested primly between her ears.  

Ah. Fae, then. Services paid for services rendered. Hopefully the fae would consider them even, now, but something in him doubted it.  

Left Alone  T 7,026  

There's almost something between them, Jaskier can see it. An almost relationship. Almost love. That's why the sight of Geralt and Yennefer shatters his heart, leaving him broken and alone and in pain. And well, all there's left to do is go home.  

While Jaskier reunites with his siblings and remembers what's it like to hold his blades, Geralt looks for a way to break what the djin made. And well, Destiny wants them together so, in the end, they always come back to each other.  

Farewell Wanderlust  T 1,124  

After being left on the mountain, fae!jaskier goes dark. Geralt is contracted to take out the dark fae tormenting the village, unbeknownst to him that it is his old friend.  

Of Home And Gentle Hands  G 1,582 SERIES  

It’s been almost a year since Jaskier started travelling with Geralt, and he still can’t believe his luck. Geralt is having trouble understanding the way he’s feeling. Meanwhile, Yennefer shows up with a job offer. Travelling with Geralt, Jaskier decides, is far better when he’s allowed to walk next to him rather than stuck to following him from a distance. From this close, he’s able to see different things, things he never noticed from afar.  

Normal Human? Never Heard Of Him.  EX 6,955  

Three times Jaskier acts suspicious and one time Geralt gets his mind blown.  

What Is A Monster?  G 996 SERIES  

“You’re not a monster.”  

Geralt sighs, and puts his sword away. Kissing Jaskier’s head, he wants to say a million things, I’m not a monster to you, you make me feel normal, I love that’s how you see me but reality is different, I love you, but he understands that what would make Jaskier feel better is none of that. What he wants, needs, is far simpler, “I know.”  

Welcome To The Storm, I Am Thunder  EX 4,239  

They've barely left the tavern in Posada before Geralt has made up his mind about Jaskier. He's annoying and persistent, has zero sense of self-preservation, talks too much and is, first and foremost, painfully, vulnerably human. The next few weeks prove almost all of those things to be true—all but one.  

Look What You've Done To Me  M   

Jaskier can't ignore who he really is, and Geralt's not sure he can either.  

A Rose, But Only One  T SERIES  

A retelling of the ballad Tam Lin wherein Jaskier is Tam Lin.  

Witness Me, Old Man, I Am The Wild  T 1,787 SERIES  

Jaskier always asks to stop whenever they reach meadows, to cut as many flowers as he can manage. He usually aims for white heather and feverfew, and Geralt usually ends up with some threaded through his hair. He assumes at first it’s just Jaskier’s restless fingers and part of his campaign to change Geralt’s image. It takes him nearly three years, and a fight with a higher vampire, to realise there's more to it than that.  

Surprises Surprises  T 2,832 SERIES  

Yennefer isn't sure what's so special about the human bard that the Witcher cares so much, but she intends to find out. They meet again and again and again, and each time she sees more and more. Turns out there are more than a few surprises there  

Changeling Jaskier  T 1,022 SERIES  

Jaskier was far more observant and aware than most people gave him credit for, after all he had grown up among the fae and had gotten himself his freedom. He also knew Geralt better than the witcher thought he did, and he was not above using that knowledge when the man was doing something stupid.  

I’m Lost, I’m Found In You  T 1,190 SERIES  

Meeting Geralt of Rivia had initially been quite the shock. The man offered up his name so easily, thinking nothing of it, and everything in Jaskier’s body screamed mine mine mine. It wasn’t as if he didn’t get first names on a daily basis. But that was from humans, gullible creatures that had forgotten the tales of the fae, the warnings, choosing to live in blissful ignorance. But Geralt was a Witcher. Surely he could smell what Jaskier truly was, if not see through his glamour entirely. And yet…Jaskier felt his instincts awaken and tingle with joy - his mind was begging him to take, use, own this beautiful man with his name. But Jaskier gave up that life long ago.  

I Am Flesh And I Am Bone  T 2,601  

Geralt is pretty sure Jaskier isn’t quite human. He has a list of evidence, really, he does. And it starts with a petty challenge issued by Jaskier one night at a tavern. The list grows from there.  

His Love, Soft And Sweet  G 754 SERIES  

"I'm going to die," he says, voicing the thought aloud. "This is the end of me, dear heart. My final moments, the finale, the fine. Remember me fondly as you continue your journey down the Path—"   

"You're not going to die, Jaskier," Geralt interrupts him with exasperation. "It's a fever, that's all."  

A Wilted Warning  T 1,071 SERIES  

After the initial discussion, Geralt decides it’s best if he explores the woods surrounding the village. There’s only one issue…  

“I told you to stay in the room.”  

“And I told you I’m coming with you. How else am I going to write my songs?”  

OR Jaskier and Geralt search the woods for the culprit. Geralt gets to learn more about Jaskier, even if the bard is acting a bit strange... Well stranger than usual.  

Day By Day  G 1,261 SERIES  

Jaskier has been alive for a long time, has met his fair share of witchers and sorceresses and even Princesses. Some were dumb, some were smart, and some were somewhere in the middle. However, none were so completely dense that they didn't realize he wasn't human by the end of a five-year friendship. He's known Geralt for twenty years. Geralt still hasn't caught on. Now, Jaskier isn't saying Geralt is dumb because the man is obviously very intelligent, but Geralt is…. Well, he's dumb. Jaskier loves him, would sacrifice immortality for him, but his witcher is very stupid.  

The Curse Of The Fae-Child  T  

“I… there’s an estate, half an hour up north,” Jaskier started, avoiding Geralt’s questioning gaze. “It’s not on the map, but there’s a chance they won’t kill us if we ask for shelter. Don’t ask me to elaborate, if I am wrong we’ll simply find somewhere else and forget about it forever.” Forced to go back to his childhood home, Jaskier is soon tasked with some fae nonsense, because fairies do not exist... right?  

A Midwinter's Daydream  G 1,396  

“Either I mistake your shape entirely, or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite called Julian Goodfellow?” Her laugh tinkles on the breeze, shrill to his ears. “Are you not sheep-stealer, milk ruiner, or wife stealer? Come sprite, I recognise thine face.” Her pale hand stretches out to pluck a delicate yellow flower from his hair, “or should I call you Jaskier, or sweet puck, and then will you bring me luck?”  

He matches her pitched giggles with a sharp strum of his lute, bowing low in mockery. “Thou speak’st aright! I am that merry wanderer of the night."  

Check Mate, Valdo Marx  T 1,227  

The sanctuary of Kaer Morhen was broken so much sooner than Geralt had hoped. He had a sorceress and three other witchers on his side to fight the whole army of Nilfgaard. All while a bard hid out in the pantry with his child surprise and a dagger in hand with instructions to use it when their last defence had fallen. Except, Jaskier was going to have none of that. He had won this round fair, Valdo was just a sore loser.  

The Voice Beloved By The Trees  NR  

“Why do you not like the forest, mama?” Julian had asked her once, age nine, knees pressed in the mud beside her. His mother sat demurely upon a rich blanket of gold and sky blue—the colors of their house. He remembered, briefly, how her fingers stilled at his question, though careful not to bruise the bud of the flower she was attending.  

“It’s not safe,” His mother had said simply, her blue eyes much too bright. She plucked the scissors up off her white saffron gown and quickly snipped a mature bloom, placing it tenderly in her wicker basket. A basket that was always full of flowers: roses, forget-me-nots, orchids, and the handfuls of dandelions that Julian snuck in—his mother's favorite name for him. For the wild boy with mud on his shins and rumpled riches. Her little Jaskier.  

On The Wings Of Love  EX 5,420 SERIES  

After spending the winter in Kaer Morhen, Geralt and Jaskier get on with their travels again, and Geralt gets to see Jaskier in all of his Fae glory - the good, the bad and the weird. Somewhere along the way they get married, acquire a child and meet a djin. Somehow, they're all good things.  

Wolf's Temper  M  

Geralt never expected himself to be stuck traveling with a werewolf, but when one night of drinking with Jaskier turns into a secret being revealed Geralt realizes what this means for him as a person and as a Witcher. He needs to protect Jaskier at all costs.  

You Don't Have To Hide From Me  T 1,737 SERIES  

Geralt had always known, something was different with Jaskier but he hadn't been able to say what it was until the day they slept together for the firs time  

Curiosity And The Cat  T 2,834  

Jaskier had always been different from everyone else. Odd, loyal, and a touch too curious for his own good. Or Geralt isn't sure what kind of being Jaskier is but one night while hunting a werewolf, his bard's persistence leads to a great deal of trouble.  

Through The Desert  M 3,397 SERIES  

Jaskier is hungry for the world - even before he flirts with the wrong woman and gets turned into a vampire. Jaskier is not a bard anymore, he is a creature. (And witchers kill creatures, don't they?)  

Could Be, Will Be, Maybe?  T 6,445  

“Do you want to hold her?” The princess doesn’t really wait for Jaskier’s answer; simply deposits the little babe into his arms, and Jaskier scrambles to hold her right, sneaking a hand to delicately cradle the head. She’s so small, he thinks to himself a little hysterically, and then, in quick succession, Geralt is going to love her. Or: the story of how Jaskier visits Cintra over the years, and carves lasting bonds with Pavetta, with Ciri - and finds himself as bound to Geralt as if Destiny herself had twined their fates together.  

A Buttercup Plucked From The Side Of The Road  NR  

Alfred Pankratz is barely two years into his professorship when he finds a boy passed out by the side of the road leading to Oxenfurt. A small, adorable child with a buttercup tucked into his hair. Alfred Pankratz is 27 years old and can be described as many things, whimsical, flighty, headstrong but not as father material. He's not fit to be a father, he's not. He'll take Jaskier to the healer and then the orphanage as soon as the healer is done with him. Aforementioned healer raises an amused eyebrow, “You’ve named him?” Fuck he's already named him. Mentally, he rearranges his plans for the next decade or two. By sunset Alfred has already filled out the necessary papers, informed his colleagues, bought new children's clothes and cleared out a room in his quarters. He brushes his new son’s, Jaskier’s, hair out of his sleeping face and sighs a deeply resigned sigh. It will be the first of man  

The Heart Is A Muscle  T 31,045  

The one where Jaskier is fae, Geralt can’t connect the dots to save his life, and, with some help, the pair discover what it means to find your true family.  

Masquerade As The Love Of Your Life  EX 20,667 

“As you know, Nilfgaard is pressuring Kaedwen borders. Our lands are struggling.” Vesemir has his arms crossed over his chest, his face stony. “We have a very promising solution but it’s also our least favourable.”  

The Highest Reward  T 2,240 SERIES  

“What do you want in return?”  

The fae’s smile was anything but reassuring. “Oh, nothing you will miss. Nothing you have ever wanted. I only ask for your first child.”  

His Bard, Eternal  EX 3,678  

Geralt is just about to Kaer Morhen with Ciri when he comes across a village that desperately needs his help. He continues taking Ciri to Kaer Morhen so she is safe before turning back to take the job offer. There, he comes across a familiar bard that he had not seen since the dragon hunt with Borch. Can he make things better? Is Jaskier willing to forgive him? Find out here!  

Make Them Hear You  M 2,514 SERIES  

The first year Jaskier goes to Kaer Morhen, he's struck almost dumb by the pain of the keep, the losses it's seen, and the cries of the land. There's little he can do to help, but what little he can, he will.  

Thomas The Rhymer  T 37,401  

Jaskier, heartbroken and banished from his Witcher's side, finds himself employed by the Fae Queen for seven years. In return for teaching music lessons and performing for guests of the Seelie Court, she promises the bard a longer life, knowledge of the Faerie Tongue, and an escape from the pain that haunts his shattered mortal heart. After seven years of searching the world over for his bard, Geralt stumbles upon a familiar face in a clearing. A man with cornflower blue eyes, wavy brown hair, slightly pointed ears, and absolutely no memory whatsoever of the White Wolf.  

Iron Blood  T   

It’s inevitable that it would’ve happened, sooner or later. He’d imagined that it would be at the hands of some mercenary or a hunter, though. He presses his eyes closed, hissing against the smell of burning flesh as it tears through his throat. In which Jaskier pretends Geralt doesn't know anything, and Geralt tries to court a fae.  

Love/Home/Heart T 34,851

Jaskier remembers his birth. Or rather he remembers his first breaths in this world. A woman, unrelated to him by blood but his mother all the same, pulls him wailing out of the ground. He feels her joy and the stench of old magic in the air, the… the knowledge is gone. Contrary to popular belief, thank you Lambert, Geralt was not stupid. As soon as he’d walked into the Tavern in Posada, he’d known something was different about the bard. After an encounter with a Djinn, Yennefer finds herself with a Fae indebted to her. They keep running into each other.

Fingertip Distance. NR

People didn’t like to touch Geralt unless it was for a purpose. To hand him coin so he could deal with a couple of pesky monsters, to try and best him in a fight, or to lay with him for a night after they’ve been paid. People didn’t like touching Geralt, but Jaskier isn’t people. Jaskier touches him all the time, when he’s drunk and trying to regain his balance, when he’s tired and needs someone to lean on, when he needs Geralt’s attention he will press his fingertips to Geralt’s elbow. And Geralt? He finds himself fixating on those fingertips. Yennefer has warned him, told him that his control wasn’t as good as he thought it was, but as Jaskier stares at him, wide eyed and open mouthed Geralt can only hide his head in shame and blame the summer heat. For all the times Jaskier might have touched him, this is the first time Geralt reciprocated.

Escaped My T 17,005

Jaskier followed Geralts wish, of course he would grant his friends' one final request to leave. Jaskier was done with singing, after all his friend hadn't thought much of it, instead used his silver tongue for other things- much less honourable things. What did it matter Geralt was gone anyway so no one could tell him to stop.

His Name Means Air T 7,062 SERIES

Always too loud and too bright, Jaskier believes that he’s a changeling. He also believes that if Geralt finds out, he’ll kill him.

Out Of The Night That Covers Me EX 37,820 SERIES

Jaskier has begrudgingly agreed to accompany Geralt to Kaer Morhen for the winter. He has not, however, agreed to being up front about his true nature. Meeting the family is stressful enough without the threat of a painful death.

You Wingless Thing M 26,650

So, Geralt saves the terrorizing for the actual noble lord, and makes himself as unthreatening as possible. Contrary to popular belief, he isn’t a savage, bloodthirsty beast, and he’d rather this boy not be raised under that falsehood - though, it’s likely no matter what Geralt does that he will.The boy’s voice stutters as he looks up at Geralt, words coming out too fast and heart beating rabbit-fast. “S-sir, Lord Erynd requests your presence.” Geralt gets a contract in a town called Eristan, but it turns out the only monster there is human.

The Price Of Wanting M

He hadn't the imagination to build a human from scratch at the time, when he decided that no other shape would truly suffice, so he acquired one in the grand tradition of his people. He had offered the mortal a trade, as one did, and in return for his aid, he was granted his name: Julian Alfred Pankratz.

[blueraineshadows]

Sebastian Sallow🔺️F!MC🔺️Leander Prewett

11.8k words. Tags: NSFW / Trauma / Alcohol / Angst / Yearning / Dark magic / Anxiety and PTSD / Grief / Gaunt family drama

AI image of the MC created by @newbienewness with thanks 💜

Chapter Master List and Ao3 link

Chapter 17: Perfectly Misaligned

Sebastian

The darkest hours of the night felt like the lonely hours for Sebastian. It seemed as though the rest of the world slumbered in deepest rest, whilst he would battle the shadows that lurked in the corners of his mind. Guilt and shame would come out to play, and old favourites that often liked to torment him were the memories of his early teenage years. In the aftermath of his parent’s passing, he had struggled to find his way, and Solomon had been a thorn in his side throughout his tortured grieving process. Even now, to this day, he was fairly certain that he hadn’t faced the true depth of his loss. Perhaps that is why he clung so desperately to his belief that saving Anne would save him, too. 

After seeing the disturbing artwork that Anne had thought hidden away, the uneasy fear had crept into his bones that Anne was damaged far more deeply than he had first believed. So caught up with his own grief and troubles, perhaps he had not thought to consider that she had her own demons trying to bring her down. He had leaned on her heavily, his guiding light. Perhaps he had been selfish, taking from her and not giving enough back. The thought sobered him, pulling his thoughts downward into a dark spiral that had him pacing the floors of Noctua Gaunt’s old home. 

Back then, Anne and he had been alone. If he had let her down, then Solomon had been the only other person she could turn to. For her, not such a terrible thing because she had always been their uncle’s favourite. She had never felt the back of his hand slamming into her cheek, never felt the iron grip of his fingers in her upper arm whilst being dragged to the old shed. There had been no love lost between him and Solomon. It hadn’t been too far a reach to snuff him out as he had. 

In a choice between his bullying uncle and the new girl at school with the bewitching eyes, he had chosen MC. She had seen him. She listened to him. She made him feel like he could be better, something more. It hadn't even been a choice. 

Entering a room lined with bookcases, furnished with a bureau and arm chairs, Sebastian gazed around, his attention drawn to the family portrait above the fireplace. Moving closer, he studied the faces of the Gaunt siblings, and immediately he could pick out the similarities in MC’s facial features now that he knew what he was looking for. The resemblance to her mother was actually rather striking. How different her life would have been had she been raised within their walls. Would she have been happy? Likely, they would have married her off by now. They would certainly be gloating about the power she possessed, and the notoriety it would bring to their family name. 

Anne’s words came back to him, her accusations that he only wanted MC for the power she held in her veins. He couldn’t deny the lure of such magic, and when he had been a fifteen year old with everything to gain, he had been lured towards her mysterious powers, of course. He could never resist discovering new magic, especially when held an element of the forbidden. He had always considered anything new to learn as an opportunity, a chance to soak up new knowledge was a good thing, and never a waste of time. 

He hadn’t been prepared for the tempting package that ancient magic had come along with. MC had got under his skin, she had kept him awake at night with thoughts of her voice, her eyes, a mouth that he longed to kiss. Any teenage boy could lose an hour or so on daydreams over a girl, but she had stolen his every waking thought there for a while, even now she remained embedded in his psyche. The first girl he had taken to bed, the only one to ever hold his heart in her hands, and he figured she would always be the only one. He could fall into bed with any number of faceless girls, but it wouldn’t mean anything. Other girls were momentary releases, shallow connections that gave him nothing but hollow feelings and a sense of disconnection to himself. Not like her. With MC, there was truth. She made him feel something that transcended all of that, and made him feel like he could be better, more whole as a person. There was a power in that emotional connection that went further than any magical spell one could cast. 

Stroking his fingers against the red scar on his palm, a feeling of resoluteness settled over him. She was the only one he wanted. Anne was wrong, blinded by the darkness that appeared to have swallowed her. MC made his heart pulse with that feeling of being truly alive. When she was close to him, it felt more like home than any four walls ever had. He knew he had fucked up with her, made mistakes, but underneath all the stubborn foolishness and selfish wants, he loved her. Navigating these feelings wasn’t something he could research and learn from a book, he had to learn this path alone and somehow, make her believe that together, they were better. His desire for her remained an ache that lingered, a constant within him, bound to him and strengthened by a promise made as a boy.

And she was out there in the dark searching for his lost sister while he wandered the halls of a house that echoed with the ghosts of its past. 

A glance at the clock revealed the late hour, and she still hadn’t returned. It made him tense, anxious, and he pushed a hand through his hair as the need to do something tingled through his restless bones. Making a snap decision, he strode from the little study and sought out Ominis, finding him dozing in his chair by the fire. He put a hand to his shoulder, gently rousing him. 

“The hour is late,” he said quietly. “I’m restless, old friend. I want to go and find our girls. Will you be alright if I leave?”

Ominis reached out a hand and Sebastian took it. His skin felt cold, and Sebastian felt a glimmer of concern for him. The shadows under his eyes gave him a look that lived up to his name, drawn and ghost-like. 

“I’ve got a terrible feeling,” he said, his voice thin and laced with fatigue. He frowned, his pale eyes like galaxies of ice. “It’s like she has already gone.” 

A chill slid down Sebastian’s spine and he squeezed Ominis’ hand a little tighter. “You must not think like that. Both of them are fighters. They will come back to us. I’m going to find them. Make sure you get some proper rest, and eat something while I am gone. Be ready for our return.” 

Ominis nodded, but the cloak of doom seemed to linger on his pale face. Sebastian tried to suppress his own fear, swallowing it back with promises to Ominis. Fetching a warm robe and taking another restorative potion, he steeled himself to Apparate out and begin his search. 

MC

The throb echoed through her skull, rebounding off the sensitive edges of her existence whilst her stomach seemed to rage and twist violently in a storm of her own making. Every limb felt lethargic, her skin heightened with a triggering sensitivity that made her reluctant to move. Unfortunately, she had no choice but to roll from the comfort of the bed and hit the floor on her knees with a desperate groan. 

As if by magic, a chamber pot was placed beneath her nose, and she released the belly full of tumult that made her shiver uncontrollably. As she retched, her vision clouded with stinging tears, and she felt gentle hands pulling her hair back from her face in soothing strokes. Blinking through the confusion spinning in her head, she tried to glance around at her surroundings, picking out things that she recognised. The changing screen, the soft rug nearby, the chest of drawers lit by the weakened rays of a dawn sunrise. She knew this bedroom, but had no idea of how she had come to be in it.

“Lee,” she choked, gasping as another wave of nausea assaulted her.

“Shh, it’s alright. I’m right here,” Leander soothed, a firm hand rubbing her lower back. “Just get it all up. You’ll be okay, I promise.”

She sobbed, wiping a stray tear from her cheek and sniffing. “What happened? How did I get here?” 

“I brought you here. I came and found you,” he said, handing her a neatly folded handkerchief. She risked kneeling up, the room spinning slightly as she looked up at him, slowly taking the linen and pressing it to her mouth. 

She felt sour, disgusting, and she must have looked like it, too. Her mouth felt dry and itchy, her eyes were tight, and her head just rattled with a persistent throb. Leander, on the other hand, looked as impeccably neat and unruffled as ever. His hair was combed, and he was fully dressed and clean shaven. 

She searched through the tangled mess of her memories, trying to pinpoint when he had found her. She remembered Hogsmeade in the rain, the chilling conversation with Anne, and Rosier taking her away back to London. Rosier. 

She groaned and put a hand to her head as she remembered necking drink after drink, his hand at her waist, his lips on her neck. She shuddered and bent over the chamber pot again, dread mingling with the boiling cauldron of her stomach. 

Utterly spent, she tried to get up, legs shaking. Leander helped her get back on the bed, brushing back her hair as she fell back against the pillows. 

“I’ll fill a bath for you,” he said, and pointed towards a cup of water on the nightstand. “In the meantime, you need to drink some fluids. Sip it, though. Don’t gulp it down.” 

He straightened the bed cover, smoothing it at her waist before giving her a warm smile. She lay completely still, a trembling husk of herself, the only thing moving were her eyes as she watched him effortlessly take care of her. She didn’t deserve this treatment. None of it. Shame swamped her and she felt dirty, panic squeezing at her throat as she feared what she may have done last night. 

“How did you find me?” She asked, her voice hoarse. 

“You sent me a message,” he replied, pausing to look down at her. “You were completely out of your mind on drink, and in a most notorious nightclub with dubious company. I came to get you immediately once it became apparent the state you were in.” 

She didn’t miss the flicker of disapproval on his face, nor the underlying tone in his words. Her defences made an attempt to slam up, an overwhelming urge to squirm under his honey-brown eyes making her grit her teeth. That shame made heat creep up into her pale cheeks. She huffed and turned her head, covering up her embarrassment with irritation. “I sense a lecture incoming.” 

“No, no lecture,” he said, moving towards the changing screen. “I’m sure the hangover is punishment enough. That, and having to face your friend, Rosier, again.”

She stiffened, her hand shifting awkwardly across her torso and up to her neck. She risked a glance in Leander's direction, but he was now filling the bathtub before the fireplace with a spell, a merry fire crackling in the hearth warming the room. She kept her silence, hating that she couldn’t remember. Alcohol was a wickedly terrible thing in its aftermath. 

Disapproving he may be, but his hands and eyes remained kind as he assisted her out of bed and handed her a soft drying sheet. “Have a soak,” he urged, his touches respectful. “I’ll put some toast and tea on. I need to head into the office soon, but take all the time you need. You’re welcome here, as always.” 

Remaining close lipped, she watched him leave the room, and it was only when he closed the door behind him that she allowed her shoulders to slump. Feeling desolate and foolish, she stripped and allowed her body to sink beneath the pleasantly warm bath water. Leaning back against the edge, her knees poking up out of the water, she closed her eyes and tried to think past the constant throb.

Surely, she wouldn’t have given herself to Rosier. He was pretty, yes, but he was also a scoundrel, and Sebastian’s friend. Groaning again, she rubbed her face. Sebastian was going to be pissed off. She had left in search of Anne, and would return empty handed after getting roaring drunk and potentially making a fool of herself. Not to mention spending another night in Leander’s bed. 

Her gaze drifted towards the unmade bed. Had he slept beside her? Had they…? No. He wouldn’t have. Not with her so out of it. He was too much of a gentleman. Nevertheless, her hand drifted down between her thighs and she touched tentative fingers to herself. She didn’t feel sensitive, and there had been no physical residue of him finishing when she had removed her clothing. Him, or Rosier. She bit her lip, almost bringing herself to tears for having to try and figure this out. She shouldn’t have put herself in such a vulnerable situation. As if things were not complicated enough. 

Sitting up, she took the bar of lavender soap and began to wash the stench of cigarettes and liquor from herself, scrubbing harder against her skin than normal as though she could erase her stupidity. She was soaping her hair when a knock sounded on the door. It opened a slither, but Leander didn’t come in. 

“There is tea and toast on the table for you, or I could bring in a tray. I need to go to the Ministry. Can I fetch you anything else before I leave?” 

Trying to think clearly, she cleared her throat. “You can come in,” she called, swiping suds from her forehead before crossing her arms across her breasts and bringing her knees up higher. The door swung wider. 

He stepped cautiously through the door, his gaze falling to her and his cheeks instantly flushing. He averted his gaze and straightened his tie. “Oh, sorry, I er…I can go fetch the tray in. Give you a moment to be decent.” 

She swallowed. “Nothing you haven't seen before. I was wondering if you could pass me the jug so I can rinse my hair,” she said softly. 

“Oh! Well, of course,” he said, hurrying to fetch the porcelain jug and bringing it to her. He held it out and she met his gaze, a pang of something stabbing through her chest at the softness she saw there. 

“Would you mind?” She indicated her hair and tipped her head back slightly. “You’re more likely to get all of the suds out if you do it.” 

“As you wish,” he said, coming even closer. “Shuffle forward a bit.” 

She did so, careful to maintain a little modesty, and he dipped the jug into the bath water. She closed her eyes as he placed his palm at her forehead, pouring the water gently over her hair before scooping up more. The action was soothing against her skull and she sighed as the water and suds slid down her back. If she opened her eyes and looked at him, she knew what she would see. Guilt tugged at her, shame for being so utterly selfish when it came to him. Feeling low like this, the need to have someone take care of her had her taking advantage of his kindness. It wasn’t fair, and she knew it. He wanted more from her, more than she could ever give. She should have left him alone, but she couldn’t. Not when he had the power to soothe the dark loneliness that harboured in her chest.

“You’re too kind, Leander Prewett,” she said, keeping her eyes closed. 

He remained silent and tipped another jug load onto her head, his hand smoothing along her long locks, his touch grazing the skin of her back. She shivered and he pulled away, placing the jug on the hearth. “There, all done,” he said, keeping his gaze averted. “Hopefully you are feeling a bit better.” 

She nodded, but the hollow chasm in her chest suggested otherwise. “I am, and that’s all thanks to you. I’m sorry to have been a burden on you, especially so soon after leaving the hospital. How are you feeling now?” 

“All mended,” he said, drying his hands. His smile was tight. “How did you end up drunk in a club with Rosier? Where is Sebastian?”

“Recovering from a bad case of Crucio,” she said, staring into the bath water, holding herself tighter. “I left him with Ominis, and then I tried to find Anne.” 

He turned to face her. “Crucio? Merlin’s bloody beard! Why? Did you find Anne? The Aurors are looking for her, too.” 

Her lips trembled, the weight of it all pressing down upon her now that the effects of the alcohol had worn off. Drinking to forget was okay in the moment, but all the problems lay in wait, pouncing on you with renewed vigour when you were suffering from your own foolishness. Forgoing her modesty, she pressed her hands to her face, the swell of it all threatening to burst out of her, attempting to try and hold it all in and failing as a shuddering sob escaped. Leander had become someone who seemed to effortlessly pierce the barriers she erected around herself. How easy it had become to reveal things to him. It was trust, she realised. Looking up at his honey brown eyes finally, she knew she could tell him the truth. 

“I found her,” she said, her voice wobbling. “But, gods, part of me wishes I hadn’t.” 

“Hey, hey,” Leander soothed, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around her, soaking his perfectly lovely suit in the process. “You’re okay. It’s alright.” 

Pressing her face into his chest, she let go of the barriers, tears leaking from her eyes. Everywhere she went, she walked a fine line. She had thought the oppressive walls of prison had been hard, but out here where she could walk in the sunlight, it seemed that the shadows lurked unseen, stealing the freedom and the warmth, leaving her uncertain and small despite the power that slumbered impatiently in her bones. Constantly on edge, she felt drained. Here, with him, felt like a safe harbour. 

“I’m not sure anything will ever be alright again, Lee,” she said, her voice thin. “Getting out of Azkaban has been harder than I expected. The whole world either hates me, or wants me for my power. I don’t know if I can do this. Anne said I would destroy anyone who got too close to me. What if she was right? I’m a freak, Lee. Nobody should have this much power, especially me. Maybe Azkaban is the best place for me, shut away in the dark where I won’t be able to hurt anyone.” 

“Don’t you ever say that,” he said firmly, lifting her chin to look down at her. He shook his head, his eyes pained. “You did not belong there, MC, and you are most definitely not a freak. Don’t ever think you are not good enough.” 

She wished she could believe that, but her strength and self belief seemed to have melted into the bath water with the soap and grime. “You need to remove your rose tinted glasses, Lee.” 

“No, you need to get back that fighting spirit I know you have in there,” he said, his hand gripping her jaw, his eyes determined. Whilst his hold was firm, the sweep of his thumb was delicate. “The MC I know and remember, is the girl who spent hours of her free time practising how to roll her balls perfectly across the Summoners Court board, despite saying the game was ridiculous. You hated to lose, and sought me out to show you my tricks so you could beat everyone at it, including me.”

“You let me win,” she accused, her hungover brain fog sorting through memories to a time that felt so far out of reach now. Sunny days in the grounds of Hogwarts, laughter, friendship, and all despite the burden of her trials and the goblin rebellion. 

He huffed in amusement, his eyes so warm. “I did not. Maybe to start with because I wanted you to like me, but then when things got really competitive, my thirst to win got the better of me. You still beat me, though, fair and square. I think that enforced the massive crush I had on you.” 

“You still have a crush on me, Prewett, whence the rose tinted glasses,” she said, the hint of a smile ghosting across her lips. 

“We both know it is more than a crush at this point,” he murmured, a flicker of sadness darkening his gaze. “Somehow, we have become tangled up in something that defies explanation. I know you don’t feel the same way I do, and yet, we seem to end up in situations like this. I don’t think I could ever deny you, no matter how much it may hurt me.” 

Her eyes burned and her throat felt thick as she swallowed. The twist of pain in her chest robbed her of breath momentarily as she stared at him. Safety, warmth, trust, stability. It was all right there in front of her, if she could but reach for it and take it for her own. But, it would be wrong. 

“I’m not being fair to you,” she said, the truth of it searing her throat. “I know how you feel, and yet I come here and take from you when in truth, I should do the right thing and let you go. I’m dangerous. People get hurt, or die around me. I would never forgive myself if…” 

Choking on the words, the terror of imagining Death stealing him away because of her darkness making her clutch at his soaked waistcoat, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to shove the image away. She felt his forehead press to hers, the warmth of him radiating over her rapidly cooling skin. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he vowed, his breath ghosting across her cheek. “Even if you can’t return it, you have my affections.” 

“No, you shouldn’t do that. You need to live your life,” she insisted, and yet she wasn’t letting him go, her hands still clinging to him. “You don’t deserve to live under my shadow.” 

“You have to stop trying to push people away who care about you,” he said, releasing his hold on her jaw. His hand lingered though, his long fingers grazing her neck. “You don’t have to fight all of this on your own. People care about you, MC, and that is not something you can control. Let them help you.” 

He glanced away, hesitating, his teeth worrying at his lower lip. “There’s something I need to tell you, something important.” 

She immediately went rigid, her body instantly expecting the worst. “What is it?” 

“While I was in the hospital, I had a visitor,” he said, eyeing her carefully. “A woman dressed as a nurse, but that’s not who she really was. I think she came to get a closer look at me, to make some kind of contact, because she had clearly been watching us from a distance.” 

“Us?” MC frowned, her thoughts ticking rapidly. Then, the memory of the robed woman following her down the corridor that day flashed behind her eyes. Her heart quickened, the feeling of threat increasing. What new danger was this? “Someone followed me from your room that day, but they vanished. I think it was a woman.” 

His hand cupped her face. “Don’t panic,” he soothed. “She spoke to me, and her intent was not to harm. It was your birth mother. Elizabeth Gaunt. She looked me right in the eye and asked me to take care of you.” 

If she hadn’t been clinging to him, she feared she may have drifted through the bath water, a strange feeling of weightlessness sweeping over her that had nothing to do with the lingering effects of alcohol in her system. “My…my mother?” 

“I know you’ve had a lot thrown at you lately, but this could be a good thing. MC, she looked just like you. She seemed to care about your safety.” 

“Not enough to speak with me herself,” she said, her blood pulsing so fast she felt faint. “I don’t understand. What else did she say?” 

“She called Rookwood a stain on this earth,” he said, his thumb still stroking her cheek. “She said she had done her research on me, and she knew who you were. I get the impression she has been watching us for a while.” 

MC couldn’t pin down how she felt about this, the confusion seeming to blend with an elation that her mother had found her, but there was also a pain. Why hadn’t she approached her sooner? Why hadn’t she come to help her? Instead, she had lingered in the shadows just watching. She shivered, the bath water now chilled, weary from the night before and yet more emotional webs to fight through. 

“Are you alright?” Leander’s eyes were concerned, his touch gentle. 

“I…I need to think,” she said, glancing down at herself. “I ought to put some clothes on, too.” 

“Of course,” he nodded, a blush sweeping across his cheeks. He withdrew from her, extracting the remaining warmth that left her shivering. She wrapped her arms around herself as he gathered up the drying sheet and held it up, his face turned respectfully away. “Here, get yourself dry and warm. Your clothes are behind the changing screen.” 

She stood, water dripping from her body as she stepped out of the tub and into the waiting drying sheet. Her eyes burned with tears, her shivering not only from the chill as he wrapped the sheet around her. His simple acts of taking care of her seemed to strip away everything, leaving her raw and vulnerable. Her inner child craved it with a fierceness that made her ache, whilst the icy walls she had crafted shook on their foundations, but she remained rigid and silent.  

It was only once he had left the room, closing the door quietly behind him that she allowed the tears to properly fall again. They tracked down her cheeks as she forced her hands to move, drying herself down and dressing. It made her heart squeeze even more when she found her clothes, clean and neatly folded on the chair. He thought of everything, and it made the wretchedness twist all the sharper. 

Fastening her wand holster to her thigh, she took a deep breath. Her head throbbed, but she had to resist wallowing in her own self pity. She wouldn’t find answers that way. Avoiding thoughts of having to face Sebastian, she braced herself to eat something and tackle the mystery of her roots. Today, she would make an effort to find out.

Sebastian 

His stomach growled in protest, hunger making him feel even more irritated than his circumstances could claim credit for as he stalked through Knockturn Alley. He was cold and damp after travelling through various known locations in the Highlands looking for the Ashwinder camp, but turning up nothing. It wasn’t unusual for the camp to move around, especially when the threat of discovery was higher, but they had clearly located somewhere he couldn’t recall, or knew nothing about. It irked him, no closer to finding Anne or MC, and nobody to hex into talking. So, he had returned to London in the hopes of gleaning some answers. 

The morning saw the slightly more respectable folk moving through the Alley, and that wasn’t saying much. These folk would still likely stab you in the back than wish you a merry morning. At least there was a pale gleam of sunlight rather than the misty rain of Scotland that still had his robe clinging uncomfortably to his legs. Stopping at a tea shop that passed his standards to an acceptable level, he purchased a cinnamon bun and mug of tea to stave off the hunger pangs. He ate quickly, almost scalding his tongue as he gulped his tea. Time was pressing. Casting a swift drying charm on his clothes, he left the tea shop and made his way towards the Black Rose. 

Using the rear entrance, he avoided the exclusive back room and made his way up the stairs. The whore’s rooms were silent at this hour, the girls getting their heads down to sleep before they would be up and selling their wares later in the day. The stairs creaked under his boots, and he kept his steps light as he made his way to the room he shared with Rosier. He had not slept here in a while, but he hoped Rosier would still be crashing here. 

Entering quietly, he saw the spread eagled form of his partner in crime snoring softly on his bed, his boots discarded haphazardly on the floorboards, his robe slung over the bed frame. He reeked of whiskey and perfume, and a match booklet on the floor near his boots told Sebastian that he had spent the evening getting blootered in The Alyssum club. 

Rolling his eyes at Rosier’s insatiable appetite for booze and women, Sebastian sat down on the edge of his own made bed and pushed his hands through his hair as he eyed the snoring man. Waking Rosier after a heavy session was always a challenge, but he needed to ask him what he knew about Anne. 

The beds were placed fairly close together in the confines of the room, and he placed his booted foot against the frame of Rosier’s and gave it a few sharp shoves. It rocked and creaked, but Rosier snored on. Sighing again, Sebastian stood and poked at his arm, shaking his shoulder firmly. “Hey, swizzler, wake up!” 

Rosier groaned and made a pathetic attempt to swipe Sebastian’s hand away, but Sebastian wasn’t about to give up. Grasping both of Rosier’s shoulders, he shook him hard. “Wake up, you damned fool!” 

Rosier opened his eyes, blinking blearily. There was one particular skill that you needed to hone as an Ashwinder, and that was the ability to shake yourself out of a stupor if trouble came calling, which was highly likely when you were in this trade. Rosier clapped eyes on Sebastian and immediately became alert, an edge of panic lighting his eyes as he held both hands up, spluttering. 

“Woah, easy, mate. Easy! I never touched her, I kept my promise, I swear! I kept it in my pants, just like you said.” 

Sebastian frowned down at him, the muscles in his stomach tensing. “What are you talking about?” He asked slowly. 

Rosier stared up at him, stubble darkening his chin and his eyes bloodshot from booze. “Ah, shit,” he groaned, wincing. He eyed Sebastian warily. “Is MC not with you? Maybe they haven’t released her from the lock up yet.” 

Sebastian’s mouth tightened and he grabbed the front of Rosier’s rumpled shirt. “What do you mean the lock up? What the fuck are you talking about? Answers, Rosier. Now!” 

“Okay, okay,” Rosier nodded quickly, still holding up both hands. “Merlin’s balls, I told her you’d be pissed off, but she kept downing the gins like a trooper. I get why you like her, Sallow. MC’s got spirit.” 

“She got drunk with you?” Sebastian was incredulous, letting Rosier go and straightening up, his gaze catching the match booklet on the floor again. He bent to retrieve it, holding it up. “You took her here?” 

Rosier nodded. “She got all sad after talking with your sister, and asked me to take her somewhere fun.” 

Sebastian’s eyes bulged, his fist crushing the match booklet into a crumpled mess. He had been searching all of Scotland for MC, and she had been necking gin with Rosier all night. A flash of fury lit his blood, but he remained calm. He had been looking for answers, and by gods he was going to get some. 

“She spoke to Anne?” He asked through gritted teeth. “You’d better start from the beginning, Rosier, and tell me everything.” 

Leander 

The tall stacks of files and books loomed over them, the weight of history adding to the silence of the Ministry archives as Andrew spread out his findings on the table top. The lamp light shone off Andrew’s fair hair, his gaze flitting nervously towards MC as she leaned over the documents, her face a pale, closed mask as she pulled one of the parchments closer toward her. She had been quiet since they had left Leander’s flat, insisting she wanted to accompany him here despite the hangover she was suffering through. 

He had kept an eye on her as Harrington quizzed her over Anne, sending two Aurors to Hogsmeade to investigate the abandoned house overlooking the cemetery on her word that Anne was being held there. Her duty to her probation met, Leander had whisked MC into the archives to meet with Andrew, the questions that lay heavy in her eyes demanded answers, and she was determined to dig them out. 

Whatever weakness she had succumbed to in the bathtub seemed to be under control now, the familiar grit and strength visible in the set of her jaw as she read the parchment. As much as Leander was glad to see her being her strong self, he couldn’t help but ache at the vulnerability she had displayed to him. There had been something in her eyes, in the way she had clung to him, that made him believe she felt something for him. If only she would bend to it. If only she could love him as he loved her. 

“You said there were more of these letters from Mrs Sallow?” She asked, her gaze lifting to Andrew as she put the parchment back down. 

Andrew nodded and sifted through the papers, handing her another. “These are only the ones I could get my hands on. Each letter requesting access to the Department of Mysteries and being denied. There is also this ledger, which notes a few visits to the archives by Mrs Sallow, accompanied by Miriam Fig. They were definitely researching something together, and the symbol on the final letter matches the one you drew for Lee.”

MC nodded, her face drawing into a frown of concentration. “Anne was telling me the truth,” she mused. “The Sallows knew about ancient magic. Do you know if they were ever successful in gaining entry to the Department of Mysteries?” 

Andrew shook his head. “That’s where my jurisdiction ends I’m afraid. Anything the department holds on ancient magic, or this Circle of Avalon, is kept firmly behind closed doors. If I can’t be given access, then I am fairly confident that Mrs Sallow and Mrs Fig were never granted permission either. What goes on behind those doors is a closely guarded secret.”  

Leander pulled a book closer, his eyes scanning the page Andrew had opened it up to. The symbol for the Circle of Avalon was there at the top, along with mention of witch trials in Muggle courts, the charges of dark sacrifices making him wince. Magic and muggles had a troubled history, both sides telling the stories very differently, but the dark arts were nothing to be dismissed. They existed, and magical folk were known to practise it. It kept the Auror Office viable. Even humans with the deeper wisdom of magic could be fools when it came to power and the abuse of it. 

“Do you think this Circle is dangerous?” He asked, turning the page to see an ink illustration of women hanging from nooses on a scaffold. 

“I can’t believe Miriam Fig was involved in anything dark,” MC said, shaking her head. “Which in turn means that Mrs Sallow was of like mind.” 

“Sebastian finds it easy enough to dabble in the arts,” Leander muttered. 

She stiffened, her chin lifting. “He had his reasons.” 

Their eyes locked across the table, none of the vulnerability showing in her eyes now. She would always defend Sallow, even when it was him she came to when she needed help, it would always be Sebastian who laid claim to her. There lay the real reason she held herself back from him. Caught in his web, all the time Sallow pulled his strings, she would bend to his whims. Leander figured he would always feel bitter about it, feeling as though any chance he may have of being able to love her fully would always drown under the bond those two had. 

Dropping his gaze to the book, he turned it to face her, forcing his thoughts to remain focused on the matter at hand. “I don’t know how well read you are concerning muggle witch trials, but until fairly recently these trials were held regularly up and down the country. Our kind were hunted out and executed. Most were innocent, but some did practise the dark arts. Aurors tried to keep a certain amount of control over our own, but Parliament ignored any pleas the Minister may have made about keeping our own justice.” 

“I have read some of the history, and being raised around muggles, you hear the stories,” she said, her gaze dropping to the illustration of the hangings. 

Leander tapped a finger to the text beside the drawing. “This was a high profile case in both the magical and muggle world. The Pendle Witches.” 

“I’ve heard of them,” she said quietly, her throat working as he moved his finger to the symbol drawn on the bottom of the page. She brushed back some loose strands of hair and sighed. “Just because the symbol is there, does not prove that this Circle is made of dark witches and wizards. We don’t have enough evidence.” 

“You found out about this Circle from Gaunt family journals, right?” Andrew asked carefully. “It’s not too much of a stretch to consider the possibility that dark arts could be involved.” 

“Not all Gaunts are evil,” she bristled, the taut expression on her face making her appear even more pale and drawn. Andrew flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. She shook her head, her mouth a tight line. “Regardless of the true nature of this Circle of Avalon, they have ties to ancient magic, and I need to know more. Miriam Fig believed in the good that ancient magic could do, I refuse to believe she would meddle with dark arts, and it would seem that her and Sebastian’s mother were friends. Both of these women were killed researching all of this, and I want to finish what they started. I need to do it.” 

“I’m not sure how much more I can dig out of here,” Andrew said, the regret plain on his face. “I have to admit, I am also intrigued to learn more. The history and lore surrounding your abilities is fascinating. In the pursuit of knowledge, I can understand the tenacity that a Ravenclaw such as Mrs Sallow would possess, despite the risks.” 

“Someone was determined to silence them, perhaps going to the extremes of killing them both,” MC said bitterly. “Such a waste. If only we knew who would go to such lengths.” 

“Not to mention the lengths that higher ups are prepared to go through in order to keep information hidden here, too,” Leander said, chewing his lip thoughtfully. “You can't help but wonder what it is they are hiding. Where else can we look?” 

MC sighed and put her hands to her head, staring at all the information Andrew had found, and yet it only raised more questions. “Most of the people who know about this are either sworn to secrecy, or they are dead,” she said, lifting her gaze to Leander again. “There are some people I can speak to via their portraits who know quite a lot about ancient magic, especially Professor Rackham. He was a Seer. I would bet a few galleons he has heard about the Circle of Avalon. How did you fare in getting me access to Hogwarts, Lee?” 

“We just need to make Professor Black aware when we intend to pay a visit,” Leander said, touching his hand to his tie. 

“How about today?” The determination on her face told him she wasn’t expecting a refusal. 

“I shall send the owl,” he replied with a nod. 

A nostalgic look crossed Andrew’s face as he glanced between them. “Returning to Hogwarts,” he said softly. “I can only imagine walking those halls again.” 

“I used to think the same when the Aurors hauled me away to Azkaban,” MC said bitterly, a darkness lingering on her face as she touched her fingers to the prisoner tattoo on her neck. “It will be strange to enter there as a convicted criminal. I’m sure Professor Black will have a few choice words to say on the matter.” 

“Well, you won’t be going alone,” Leander said firmly. “I will be right there beside you, and no matter what the headmaster has to say on the matter, he need only know that we are there on important Ministry business. Anything else is between you and these Keepers.” 

The look she gave him still had the shadow of those cold walls she held about herself, but the faintest glimmer of the vulnerability she allowed him to see lingered in the depths of her sky blue gaze. He hoped she could see the truth in his eyes, the words he left unspoken in front of their old school chum. He had meant what he had said to her back in his flat. There wasn’t a lot he would deny her, no matter the cost. It was both inevitable and terrifying, but that was the depth he had fallen to. 

“Well, I wish you luck in your pursuit of truth,” Andrew said, giving Leander a pointed look as he continued. “Just be careful. Clearly, this kind of research is a risk.” 

“Don’t worry, Andrew. If anyone dares to try and stop us, they will have me to contend with,” MC said firmly. Avoiding any further eye contact with Leander, she gestured to the letters written in Mrs Sallow’s hand. “May I take copies of these?” 

“I already prepared you some, along with the excerpts from the texts,” Andrew said, slipping a file from the pile and handing it over to her. 

Her smile was genuine, stripping away the shadows in her eyes and highlighting the beauty she possessed. Combined with her next words, it brought a pink flush to Andrew’s cheeks.

“You are a star, Larson. Thank you.” 

As they exited the Ministry, MC was quiet, her face resolute. Walking the street in search of a secluded spot to Apparate, her eyes were everywhere. Leander took note of the finely dressed ladies and gentleman going about their business, listening to the rumble of a carriage rolling over the paved road, certain they were both looking for the same thing. A woman in a robe. Knowing that you were being watched gave one a strange feeling, like delicate fingers touching the back of the neck. Every face became suspicious.

“Will your partner not be accompanying us?” MC asked as they entered a narrow alleyway. The sunlight barely reached the rough ground here, the brick walls towering upwards. 

Leander had allowed Montgomery in on a few details to do with MC, agreeing to let her assist, but he still clung to the feeling that this was his responsibility. As they paused, turning to face each other, he couldn’t help the jealous need to have MC all to himself. He already had to share her with Sallow, and his greed burned hot in his belly. Shameful, yes, but hard to deny. 

“No, it will just be us,” he said, holding out his hands to her. “Is that alright?” 

She stared at him for the longest time, her eyes guarded. Then, she nodded, her hands taking hold of his. She felt cold, and his thumbs instinctively caressed against her skin as he offered her a reassuring smile. 

“Take us back to Hogwarts,” she said, her voice low and hoarse. 

Tightening his hold on her hands, he envisioned the sweep of Hogwarts Valley, the winding road that led towards the castle, and the great pillars of the entrance topped with hogs. London vanished around them, the sharp pull behind his navel making him grunt as they travelled hundreds of miles in the blink of an eye, landing in a much chillier and fog shrouded Scotland. 

Reluctantly releasing her hands, they both turned to gaze across to the great castle reaching towards the sky through the fog. The surrounding trees still clung to the last remnants of their red and golden crowns, the ground carpeted with the autumn fall. The air was fresh, clean, more wholesome than the rotten smog of the city. As they began to walk, side by side, Leander felt that familiar comfort stealing over him, a feeling that only the magic of this place could create. 

“It never fails does it,” he murmured, the hint of a smile touching his lips as he gazed towards Hogwarts. 

She slowly shook her head, her own memories shifting in her eyes. “Of all the places I’ve ever laid my head, this one felt the safest, the most like home,” she said. “I’ve yet to find anywhere quite like it. Perhaps the closest I ever came to feeling protected was your cottage by the sea. That held the same kind of warmth.” 

His smile widened. “I’m glad it could be a safe harbour for you.” 

“I think it may have had something to do with the company,” she said, the barest hint of a smirk appearing as she glanced up at him. She took a few more steps, her face turning more solemn again. “I don’t deserve it, you know, the kindness you give me. I will only hurt you in the end, and it’s the last thing I want for you.” 

“Neither of us know what lies before us, anything could happen,” he said, feeling the torn chasm inside of him give way a little more as she tried to push him back. “Like I said this morning, let people help you. You don’t have to be alone, and I choose to stand beside you like this.” 

“Just don’t be afraid to walk away when you have to,” she said, her gaze averted. “That day will come, and I won’t blame you.” 

As they walked closer towards Hogwarts, he considered the differences in their childhoods. He had the comfort and benefits of a family in his background, a stability that allowed him to grow into the man he had become. For her, she had faced everything alone, and anyone who came close either left her or died. He could understand her natural reaction to isolate herself behind her icy walls, pushing away those who could just as easily leave like all the others. Even Sebastian. 

Despite the blood bond she had made with him, she had not run to him when things had crumbled last night. Even today, she had not been desperate to run back to him. For all his worries about her choosing Sebastian over him, he considered the possibility that she would just vanish and leave all of them behind, choosing neither of them. It made him shiver, the fear of her slipping away to some place he couldn’t reach her, alone and lost in her own darkness. 

“Promise me something,” he said, pausing before the entrance to the castle grounds, the fog curling up from the lake to drift around their feet. He touched a hand to her sleeve, almost as though to prevent her from blending into the mist and fading from his view. “If you ever make the decision to leave, don’t go without saying goodbye to me. Don’t just disappear on me, okay? I couldn’t bear it.” 

Her eyes darkened with that vulnerability and she swallowed hard. “Trust me, Lee. You are one of the few people in this world I care enough about to make that promise easily. As much as the thought of saying goodbye makes me want to choke, I would do that for you. I won’t just disappear, I promise, and if I do, then know it wasn’t by my own choice.” 

“You know I would look for you in that instance.” 

She met his gaze, the shadow of a smile on her lips. “I wouldn’t expect anything less, and just so you know, I would do the same if the situation was reversed. You’re my Auror. I still haven’t forgiven that bitch, Luella, for nearly killing you in those tunnels. I won’t forget either.” 

He blushed, seeing the way her eyes narrowed with her intent, warmth swelling inside of him at her words. “I’m your Auror?” He smirked, his chest pushing out a little. 

“Of course, you dragged me from the maw of darkness and removed my chains. You saved me, and continue to do so despite my unworthiness. You’re my Auror,” she said, reaching to adjust his tie and smooth her hands over the shoulders of his robe. “Now, escort your wayward prisoner into the castle, Auror Prewett. Our old headmaster awaits.” 

“You are not my prisoner,” he reminded her softly. 

But, maybe he was hers. She made it so easy to love her, it drove him crazy that she couldn’t be his. 

“Yes, well, I have a feeling Professor Black may not see it that way,” she sighed, taking his hand and placing it on her upper arm before surrendering her wand towards him. “Escort me as though you have this under control. I’m dangerous. I know it, and they know it. Make them feel safe whilst I walk the halls.” 

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, his heart breaking a little as he stared at her wand. “You saved this school, remember?” 

“When you do bad things, people forget what came before,” she said, her eyes sad, but knowing. “They only remember the wrong that you did, and as far as anyone is concerned, I killed people. I killed an Auror, and the mark on my neck is a reminder to all of what I am capable of.” 

“You are more than that, MC, and you know it,” he said, reluctantly taking her wand and tucking it safely away with his own.

“You really are determined to see me through those rose tinted glasses, aren’t you? I should admire your unshakable faith in me, even if it is misplaced.” 

“Do you have faith in me?” He countered. 

She stared at him. “Yes, I do.” 

Those three little words meant more to him than she would ever know. All his life he had strived to be someone capable, someone who lived up to the traits of his Gryffindor house. Becoming an Auror had instilled some confidence into him, but to have someone as rare and beautiful as her believe in him filled with him a warmth that could almost move him to tears. Unable to find words to express it, his hand gave her arm a squeeze, his throat choked up as he bent to press a kiss to her forehead. She was still staring at him, and he fought the desire to press another kiss to her lips. 

Managing a smile, he nodded towards the school, clearing his throat and dragging back his focus on their reason for being here. “Come on, let’s see if we can get some answers for you.” 

Sebastian 

The early hour probably meant it wasn’t wise to hit the bottle, but his fury seethed in burning coils and he needed to drown it out, suffocate it before he did something really stupid. He poured the whiskey into a glass on the bar top, having secured a bottle for himself after storming from the room upstairs. He flexed his hand, the knuckles smarting slightly after he had slammed his fist into Rosier’s jaw. His temper had got the better of him, and Rosier hadn’t thrown any punches back. He’d merely tackled Sebastian down onto the bed, apologising for getting MC drunk, apologising for letting her be taken away by an Auror. 

Not just any Auror, either. Fucking Prewett. Which meant that she wasn’t thrown into the Auror lock up for the night, and more likely tucked away somewhere cosy with that fucking smug git.

His fury surged and he threw his glass back again, the whiskey burning a trail down his throat and settling into the tense pit of his stomach. She had been gone all night, and still no sign of her this morning. She had to be with him. 

He had thought they had been getting somewhere, they had been growing closer, he had been winning her back to him. Why hadn’t she come to him? Why stay with Rosier and drink herself into such a state? Surely, Anne had not got to her so deeply. His sister could spit venom, he knew that first hand, but MC was made of tougher stuff than she looked. What could Anne have said to her to make her stay away like this? Why did MC leave Anne to the mercy of the Ashwinders rather than bring her home?

Fear fed his fury. Nothing was ever simple. He threw another mouthful of whiskey into his throat and winced at the burn, his eyes dark with his thoughts as he glared into the glass. Just like his uncle, he hoped to see the answers in the bottom, but they would never show up. Self loathing dripped through his veins. Just like his uncle, he had resorted to using his fists because he had been displeased, hitting one of the few people he could call a mate. 

“Fuck this shit,” he groaned, leaning his elbows on the bar and pushing his hands into his hair. 

“Life givin’ you a kickin’, Sallow?” 

Sebastian glanced up, the hardened face of Jez, the barkeep, stared down at him. He was a tall bloke, thin, all angles and boney joints, with a long pale face and dark eyes. He might look like a breeze could blow him away, but he took no prisoners when it came to trouble in the bar, his spider leg fingers possessing an iron grip that bit into flesh as he hauled you out on your backside for daring to mess up his bar. 

“You could say that,” he huffed, pouring a fresh measure into his glass. 

Jez eyed the bottle. “You plan on emptying that today?” 

The bottle remained half full, or half empty, depending on one’s mindset, and Sebastian figured today was a half empty kind of day. He shrugged and swallowed a mouthful of whiskey, grimacing. 

Jez shook his head. “Either Rookwood has put the boot in, or it’s a damned woman,” he guessed, his black eyes narrowing. “Did daddy find out you were giving his baby girl the blanket hornpipe?” 

“No,” Sebastian scowled, roughly pushing his hair back. “That’s long over, and best forgotten. It’s family business…private.” 

He fixed Jez with a meaningful look, not wanting to unburden his fucked up life to someone who would likely whisper into another’s ear. Jez arched one ebony black eyebrow as he folded his tea towel, draping it over his scrawny shoulder. 

“If you say so, lad. But, I’m watching you. Any trouble, and you and the pretty boy are out. Don’t care who pays the room rate,” he warned. 

Sick of these arseholes dictating what he could and couldn’t do, he dug into his pocket and pulled out some coins, slamming enough down onto the bar top to cover the cost of the whiskey. “I’ll save you the trouble of evicting me, Jez,” he growled, slipping from the bar seat and draining the remaining contents of his glass. “See you around.” 

The London air felt thick and heavy, the lingering smog clinging to the stench of the city and carrying a chill that made Sebastian turn his collar up as he strode through Knockturn Alley. Ignoring all he passed, he made it to Diagon Alley before he felt a strange sensation on the back of his neck, turning to glance over his shoulder, his gaze taking in the wizards and witches moving about their day. Nothing seemed out of place, but the creeping sensation of being watched stayed with him as he headed further down the cobbled street. 

The whiskey burned in his belly, his frustration and anger still sizzling in his veins. He sifted through his thoughts, wondering who might be persuaded to give up Prewett’s address. He had to live in the city somewhere, close to the Ministry, close to his happy, little circle of friends. Nice, dependable, Prewett, with the good job, outstanding moral fibre, and the smug ability to offer MC something that Sebastian couldn’t ever imagine possessing. 

A safe, real home. 

Sebastian blinked, the backs of his eyes actually stinging. He rubbed at them, pausing a moment to lean against a brick wall. He refused to cry, sucking back his emotions and pressing them deep, he took some steadying breaths and turned his attention to a family gathered outside a nearby shop. 

The little girl was pleading for her parents to let her have a cat, pointing excitedly at a basket of kittens in the window. He could see the way the mother doted over the girl, stroking her hair affectionately as the father explained that the time for a familiar would come when she left for Hogwarts. Sebastian’s attention shifted to the boy, older than the girl, his face more serious as he listened to his father, nodding in agreement, his gaze filled with the admiration and respect that came from a loyal son. 

The twist of pain in his chest made Sebastian gulp, and he turned his head away from the loving family, feeling the black emptiness in his chest swallow up whatever warmth the whiskey had given to him. The barren wasteland of life felt expansive and cold, gripping at him with long fingers and dragging him ruthlessly through the hard grit, and him helpless to stop it. The shadowy wraiths of guilt and shame mocked him, tangling up with the tempting devil that made him want to hurt, destroy, obliterate. He clenched his hands, the desire to choke the life out of something making beads of sweat stand out on his forehead. 

Everything was so fucked up, and he needed someone to blame. He needed to lash out, rip everything away and make it all stop. He just wanted the pain to stop. 

As he tried to calm his racing pulse, his breathing quick and shallow, his gaze caught on the slender form of a robed figure standing in a shadowed corner, watching him. The hood was too low to make out a face, but he assumed it was a woman. Then her head tilted, and he caught a glimpse of ebony hair, pale skin. 

“MC?” He whispered it, like a prayer. 

She turned, melting away into the narrow passageway that led between two shops, her pale, grey robe billowing out behind her. No, it couldn’t be her. It wouldn’t make sense. Would it? This could be a trap. 

If anyone asked him, he wouldn’t have been able to tell them why he pushed himself away from the wall and crossed the street to follow her. His booted feet carried him forward, his heart and mind still racing, but cold curiosity won out. 

The alley was winding, the paved walk tidy and not unpleasant compared to those found in the muggle streets. He caught a flicker of her robe as she turned up ahead, and his pace quickened. He rounded the bend and stopped in a courtyard with two exits. He glanced between the two, uncertain, and then she appeared in one. He caught the flash of a pale cheek, maybe a glimpse of a satisfied smile, before she backed away. 

“Wait,” he muttered, feeling slightly foolish now as he hurried across the courtyard after her. 

Through more alleyways, he followed her, unable to give up despite the creeping certainty that this was not MC. At last they came out into a London street, the buildings fine and arranged in a courtyard around a garden surrounded by a wrought iron fence. The robed woman entered the garden through a gate, drifting through a carpet of leaves as she passed under the trees. 

Sebastian caught up to her under a canopy of gold and red, where she stood waiting. She turned, her hands lifting to draw back the hood that obscured her face. He slowed to a stop, staring as her face was revealed. He sucked in a breath, eyes wide. She was older than he had first thought, strands of white showing through the ebony of her hair, but her face could not be mistaken. He thought of the portrait hanging in Noctua’s house, the girl standing with her Gaunt siblings, his eyes drinking in the shape of this woman’s nose and mouth. 

“You are not MC,” he said softly, taking a tentative step forward. 

Her smile was soft, her blue eyes drenched with knowing confidence. “No, I am not,” she said, her voice low and gentle. She studied him, her tilting slightly. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Sebastian.” 

“You know my name,” he said, his gaze narrowing, feeling on edge. “You wanted me to follow you.”

“I’ve been wanting to meet you for quite some time, Mr Sallow. You intrigue me,” she said, completely calm. “You are dangerous. I’ve watched you duel in the underground pit, I know the company you keep, but there must be more beneath all the darkness. I think there are layers to you, a softness beneath the strength you portray to the world.”

Wariness crept over him, his hand hovering at his wand holster as he instinctively began to settle into a stance ready for a duel. “You have been watching me. Why?” 

“I want to know what she is drawn to, what she has found behind your tendencies for darkness,” she replied. “I’m going to assume you know who I am, Sebastian. You are so very close to my nephew, so close that you are, in fact, family now. Your sister is a Gaunt, and in the hands of the enemy.” 

“You seem to be rather well informed, Elizabeth,” he said, keeping his focus, not ready to trust her yet. She had a way of holding her head that reminded him of Marvolo, her utter calm not fooling him in the slightest. “Don’t tell me you are concerned for my sister’s welfare, or that of Ominis. If you were that fond of him, you would be present in his life. Ominis believed you to be dead until MC discovered otherwise.” 

She bowed her head slightly. “You are right, of course. I did abandon my blood roots, but I had my reasons, Sebastian. Good ones. But, blood has a habit of calling you back. I know MC has a Ministry man delving into the archives on her behalf. In fact, she was there this morning with that lovely, young Auror with the red hair.” 

Sebastian stilled, catching the curious look in her eyes as she watched for his reaction. So, MC really was with Prewett, just as he had suspected. It felt like a kick to the gut knowing she was chasing this research without him. 

“How do you know that?” He asked, a hint of ice in his tone. 

“Portraits have eyes and ears, Sebastian. It’s just a case of knowing which ones to speak to,” she smiled. 

Elizabeth Gaunt was proving clever, resourceful, and she clearly had the upper hand here. A true descendant of Slytherin. Knowledge was power, he knew that better than most. The question here remained unanswered, and he maintained his wary stance, his fingers itching to hold his wand.

“What is it you want with me?” He asked. “You clearly wanted me to follow you here.” 

“What do you know about the Circle of Avalon, Sebastian?” 

He frowned thoughtfully, his mind sifting through the vast stores of information he accumulated over his years of reading. “From what I can recall, they are connected to the arts of dark sacrifices. I believe they have roots in paganism, and the study of magical beasts, but this is mostly conjecture by historians.” 

“Oh, very good, Sebastian,” she smiled, her eyes lit with warmth for the first time since he had seen them. “I heard that you were a smart boy, very well read and curious. I’m pleased to find this an accurate description. How curious are you, though? History is always written by the winners, by hands that want people to read what they deem more appropriate to keep the sheep in line. Would you like to know the truth behind the written word, Sebastian? Are you curious enough to come with me? I can show you.” 

“Why should I trust you?” He asked, remaining firm. 

“Because you love her, don’t you?” 

For the first time, he saw a true softness in her gaze before she dipped it. Her feet moved gracefully over the fallen leaves, her robe shifting smoothly as she came to stand right before him. Her resemblance to MC was unmistakable and it was jarring. Her eyes had the same blue hue, but there was a different kind of strength in these depths, and a confidence, a woman who knew herself. 

“For years, I believed that my daughter was dead,” she said, speaking softly, a mother’s loss shadowing her gaze for a moment. “I handed her over to the Auror who found us. I was all alone in the world, my husband murdered, my family estranged from me, and my precious girl was the only thing that held me together, but I put her innocent life in the hands of an Auror. I did what I had to do to save her. He took her away, and I never saw her again.” 

“You…you gave her to Solomon?” Sebastian stared at her, goosebumps spreading up his arms.

“Yes,” she said, her gaze hardening. “I gave my daughter over to your uncle. Then my despicable brother found me, punished me with his wand and fists, and took great pleasure in telling me that my filthy blooded daughter was dead. I believed him, grieved for the loss of a child born out of nothing but love, until I saw the photograph of a girl who had stopped a goblin rebellion in the Daily Prophet, a most unusually gifted student of Hogwarts. She looked just like my grandmother, like me, and I knew in my veins that she was mine before I even had to read her name. She was a Brierley, she was the right age, and I needed to know more. But, then she was taken in for murder before I could get close, and it was a different kind of photograph on the front page of the Prophet. My daughter, my child, a murderer, and who did she kill but the very same man who took her from my arms all those years ago. Fate can be a dangerous game, but also a fascinating one.”

Her smile was sinister. Sebastian held his tongue knowing full well that MC did no such thing, that it was he who had murdered Solomon. 

“Knowing what I do now, that son of a bitch deserved what he got,” she said icily. “My sisters put me on a path that led to true discovery, and I have your mother to thank for it.” 

Sebastian’s gasp slipped out before he could even think about holding onto his restraint, his face paling, and his eyes widening in shock. “My mother?” 

“Your mother was one of life’s rare and wonderful witches,” Elizabeth said. “She was a great loss to the world, and I miss her, as I am sure you do, too. She spoke of you and your sister often. Know she loved you, that her pursuit for truth was fuelled by her desire to give you and Anne a world worth living in.” 

“You knew her?” He said, his voice breaking, his grief shifting under the weight of her words. 

Elizabeth nodded. “I knew her well. We attended Hogwarts together, and she found me later when I was wretched with my grief. But, the Circle helped us. When I discovered that MC had become close to you, it was as though the stars had aligned just so in order for you two to meet. Our lives seem to be fated to blend, our paths meeting at a crossroads, and should we leave that path, we will always find our way back to it.”

She reached out carefully, her cool fingers grasping his left hand and turning it over. They both looked down as she smoothed her touch over the vivid red line seared into his palm. “You bound yourself to her,” she whispered. “Blood bonds are strong, Sebastian. Family bonds, magical bonds, and the fiery burn of desire and love. Such bonds carry their own magical weight. How strong is your connection to my daughter?” 

“I would die for her,” he said immediately, his gaze lifting to meet the intensity of hers. “She is everything to me.” 

She studied him carefully, then nodded, keeping hold of his hand. “Well, let’s hope there will be no dying required today. I’ve found you, now we must find MC. The burdens you carry are so heavy for ones so young. You both need the truth. Will you come with me?” 

She had played to his weaknesses, the promise of knowledge and discovery, cornering him with her understanding of him and her connection to his mother. She had played a good game, and he knew that the lure of this was not something he could say no to. She knew it, too, her request merely a formality.

“Do you know where MC is now?” 

“I have a fairly good idea,” she smiled. “I have eyes everywhere.” 

He nodded, returning her grip on his hand, wrapping his fingers around hers. “I will come with you,” he said firmly. 

To be continued...

[wegog]

You have no idea how much I need to see Himawari with Red Eyes and Fangs.

Give her a KCM! (Kurama Chakra Mode)

Let her be unhinged!

Hell yeah!

Himawari deserves her power up! She deserves to have an opportunity to defend her love ones!

[crzytgther]

this but with the van scene!! 😭

" "How far is Nina from Vegas?"

"From Vegas? Um, if Suzie's reckonings be true, about ninety more miles. Why dost thou ask?"

"Well, once we save El, we ought to stop on the way back. El could make us rich beyond measure, and we’d ne’er need to toil again. We could play at dice and Nintendo for all our days."

"Aye, truly."

"We’re going to make it, Mike; she shall be well."

"Aye, I know it… I know it in truth. Yet, what if, once all this is done, she… she hath no need of me anymore?"

"Nay, surely she will still need thee, Mike. She ever shall."

"I keep telling myself so, but… I believe it not."

"I mean, El is wondrous. She was born so, and perhaps I was among the first to ken it. Yet, truthfully, when I found her in the wild, she simply needed someone. 'Twas no fate, no destiny—naught but blind fortune. Someday, she will see I am but some hapless lad, favoured by chance when a power beyond reckoning fell at his door. Even Lois Lane, she is a mighty scribe for the Daily Planet, no? But… forgive me…”

"Nay…"

"Nay, I… 'tis foolish, given all that now stirs about us. It’s just… I know not, I just…"

[tender, emotional music]

"Thou art afeard of losing her."

Mike nods.

"Might I… show thee something?"

Mike nods again.

Mike unrolls the painting and smiles wide.

"This is marvelous! Didst thou paint this?"

"Aye! Aye, well, I mean… El bade me make it, she did commission it, in a sense—she told me what I ought to draw. But mark here… see how thou art leading us? Guiding the whole company, lifting our spirits? That is thy strength. And see thy coat of arms here? 'Tis a heart, and I know 'tis a bit plain in meaning, yet ‘tis the heart that holds this company together. For without heart, we’d all break asunder. Even El… most of all, El. These past months, she hath been so lost without thee; she is unlike any other soul. And… when thou art… different, sometimes… it seemeth as though thou art a mistake. But thou makest her feel she is no mistake at all. Rather, she is better for her difference. And that granteth her courage to stand and fight. If she hath been unkind to thee…"

Mike glances at Will's lips.

"Or if she seemed to press thee away, perchance 'tis only for she too doth fear to lose thee, as thou dost fear to lose her. And, if she feared she must lose thee, she would fain have it done swift and clean, like… like tearing a bandage from the skin. So, aye, El needs thee, Mike. And she ever shall."

"Aye?"

"Aye."

Will turns aside and begins to weep. "

GUYS I ASKED CHATGPT TO TRANSLATE THE COOL COOL SCENE INTO OLD ENGLISH IM CRYING

"Hast thou pack'd already?"

"Aye, I mean, I scarce ever did unpack."

"My thanks to thee, by the by."

"For what?"

"For knockin' some sense into me. I was, truly, a pitiful fool."

"I spake it not."

"Thou hadst no need."

They share a smile.

"Hark, also, regardin' these past few days—"

"Thou needn't say aught. I was a churlish knave to El, and deserv’d it."

"Nay! Nay, thou deserv’d naught of the sort. Mark me, the truth is, this past year hath been strange indeed. Max and Lucas and Dustin—they’re… they’re wondrous. Yet Hawkins, it’s not the same without thee. And, perchance, I worried too much of El. Mayhap I felt as though I’d lost thee, or such like. Doth that make sense? I know not what cometh next, but whatever may come, I… I think we should labour together. 'Twould be simpler were we… a team. Friends. Dearest friends."

"Verily."

"Verily."

what scene should i do next 😭😭

[markerofthemidnight]

Currently lying in bed and coming to the slow, dreadful realisation that Wiggly x Miss Holloway is actually a really fascinating idea for a crackship.

I thought of this, so now you all have to think of it too.

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 24

"What is this place?" Manon asked Glennis as she found the crone polishing the handle of a gold-bound broom beside the fire. Two others lay on a cloak nearby. Menial work for the witch in charge of this camp.

"This is an ancient camp-one of the oldest we claim." Glennis's knobbed fingers flew over the broom handle. "Each of the seven Great Hearths has a fire here, as do many others." Indeed, there were far more than seven in the camp. "It was a gathering place for us after the war, and since then, it had become a place to usher in some of our younger witches to adulthood. It is a rite we've developed over the years—to send them into the deep wilds for a few weeks to hunt and survive with only their brooms and a knife. We remain here while they do so."

Manon asked quietly, "Do you know what our initiation rite is?"

Glennis's face tightened. "I do. We all do." Which hearth had the witch she'd killed at age sixteen belonged to?

"You're not a cold person."

He arched a brow. "Is that your professional opinion?"

Manon studied him. "You can descend to those levels when you are angry, when your friends are threatened. But you are not cold, not at heart. I've seen men who are, and you are not."

"Neither are you," he said a bit quietly.

The wrong thing to say.

Manon stiffened, her chin lifting. "I am one hundred seventeen years old," she said flatly. "I have spent the majority of that time killing. Don't convince yourself that the events of the past few months have erased that."

"Keep telling yourself that." He doubted anyone had ever spoken to her that baldly-relished that he now did, and kept his throat intact.

She snarled in his face. "You're a fool if you believe the fact that I am their queen wipes away the truth that I have killed scores of Crochans."

"That fact will always remain. It's how you make it count now that matters."

Make it count. Aelin had said as much back in those initial days after he'd been freed of the collar. He tried not to wonder whether the icy bite of Wyrdstone would soon clamp around his neck once more.

"I am not a softhearted Crochan. I will never be, even if I wear their crown of stars."

He'd heard the whispers about that crown amongst the Crochans this week-about whether it would be found at last. Rhiannon Crochan's crown of stars, stolen from her dying body by Baba Yellowlegs herself. Where it had gone after Aelin had killed the Matron, Dorian had not the faintest idea. If it had stayed with that strange carnival she'd traveled with, it could be anywhere. Could have been sold for quick coin.

Manon went on, "If that is what the Crochans expect me to become before they join in this war, then I will let them venture to Eyllwe tomorrow alone."

"Is it so bad, to care?" The gods knew he'd been struggling to do so himself.

"I don't know how to," she growled.

Ridiculous. An outright lie. Perhaps it was because of the high likelihood that he'd be collared again at Morath, perhaps it was because he was a king who'd left his kingdom in an enemy's grip, but Dorian found himself saying, "You do care. You know it, too. It's what makes you so damn scared of all this."

Her golden eyes raged, but she said nothing.

"Caring doesn't make you weak," he offered.

"Then why don't you heed your own advice?"

"I care." His temper rose to meet hers. And he decided to hell with it-decided to let go of that leash he'd put on himself. Let go of that restraint. "I care about more than I should. I even care about you."

Another wrong thing to say.

Manon stood—as high as the tent would allow. "Then you're a fool." She shoved on her boots and stomped into the frigid night.

I even care about you.

Manon scowled as she turned in her sleep, wedged between Asterin and Sorrel. Only hours remained until they were to move out—to head to Eyllwe and whatever force might be waiting to ally with the Crochans. And in need of help.

Caring doesn't make you weak.

The king was a fool. Little more than a boy.

What did he know of anything?

Still the words burrowed under her skin, her bones. Is it so bad, to care?

She didn't know. Didn't want to know.

[yashley]

But my head rolls with the multiple layers of orym's intent in asking fearne “are you with me?” And then upon fearne validating that outreach, immediately putting it to fearne that she’s “going to be the one who has to… do the thing”. god knows orym trusts fearne but I honestly do believe that he knows enough, not judgmentally at all, to know fearne and know that as much as kindness can be in her nature, her nature is chaos. And it can’t be lost on orym with his perception to have caught those moments when imogen tests how brazen she can go, that fearne doesn’t oppose it at all but instead blithely joins in those moments. Yes, orym’s entire motivation is stopping the people who killed his family, stopping the end from swallowing all of the people he still cherishes in his world, his motivation and intensity is absolutely justified in its desperation, that he has the humility to acknowledge that he can support but he can’t be the only one jumping into the position of most danger for once. that orym tells fearne “YOU HAVE to be THE ONE” and assigns that severity of responsibility to an irresponsible (affectionate) fey creature of nonchalant chaos and blasé violence, it’s so much more than just a sudden “it’s on you”. he’s not just tapping fearne on the shoulder to have them suit up to stop imogen together if it comes to that, the way orym watches fearne, and watches. fearne. WANT. to dismiss his level of concern and plea to her; it’s like orym testing fearne, testing her reaction, testing her resolve, and while I believe he sincerely wants to trust her and he does trust his connection with her, orym wouldn’t love fearne completely if he didn’t also love her nature. In all its dangers. And I just love that if it wasn’t just a simple “we’re gonna do this, and YOU have to do THIS”, there’s like a splintering of more love orym has for his best friend because it’s like “I am asking you to be something other than who you are, but I will love you though my heart will break for you even if you can’t”. like this conversation was less about orym devising a contingency plan to keep imogen out of initiative and more so genuinely and so orym-ly confronting fearne about how much he needs her on his side, even if that breaks his heart to put that clearly unbearable task specifically on her shoulders, explicitly telling her “I am RELYING on YOU to potentially take out someone who appeals to your nature, a friend”, it’s like orym can be better prepared if he also needs to consider the depths of how much fearne’s nature silently aligns with her desires in the upcoming altercation. And it’s like this degree of discomfort he deliberately (though not lightly) puts on fearne actually could help her in making whatever decision she’s going to make and not make it as lightly as she might have before. orym, who was there when fearne first started to feel experiences so deeply, who has been through everything of sincerity and companionship, looking her in the eyes and pleading her to willingly choose the harder path. even though he knows just how painful it’s going to be.

[the-physicality]

i do think, aside from mercury bias, if bg had been in all season she would have been all wnba, first or at least second. i think people undervalue her because of the rebounding but she is 1000% the worst officiated player in the league, on both sides of the court. so the fact that she's been able to have the performance that she had is incredible, and that she didn't get the acknowledgment really just underscores how much people take what she does for granted.

[katyspersonal]

Okay aside from ibuprofen, I have a serious question for when you feel better—

How do you think Rom felt after she ascended? Do you think she gained any sort of higher perspective that allowed her to see what the others she had left behind were doing and to look back on her own life? Could she see Micolash? Caryll? Willem? Yurie? What did she think of all their goals and ends…most of all…why was she hiding the rituals? To save the world from Mico’s horror or to help him hide his sins out of some lingering sense of care? Was she even think much at all? I wanna hear your thoughts!!

Well hmmm 🤔 First things first, I always felt like Willem urging the hunter to go in the lake was a signal from him to hunt Rom, which I think would be counter-productive if Byrgenwerth's goal was TO conceal that specific ritual! My interpretation is that Rom was a volunteer to conceal the horrors of the cosmos prior to what Micolash did; as far as Byrgenwerth and Willem were concerned, she was their special asset to gatekeep the Eldrich Truth from those who are not ready to handle it, as well as the one concealing Byrgenwerth ITSELF! Argh, this is a slightly long theory to recite, so I will just link it here: ( x ). Byrgenwerth we see in "reality" is only a very small building, and the rest of it (Lecture Hall) is between Nightmare and the waking world! The true univercity used to be accessed through the lake like a portal! .....really, please, just check the linked theory ;-;

So yeah, that's the gist of it! Rom knows that if 'unprepared' people witness a cosmic horror - nothing good will come out of it, and also chooses to protect Byrgenwerth. She cared for humanity in general and the evolution, just like other best Byrgenwerth scholars! So, protect humanity, but also ensure the research to improve it continues.

It was my recent idea that what happened with Byrgenwerth was a very similar effect to creation of Hunter's Dream - Rom having sort of a "pact" with Ebrietas instead! Now, yeah, whether she REALIZES what she's doing is a question that torments me to this day! @_@"

The best explanation for Willem's gesture I can give is that he is aware of Mensis Ritual and wants it stopped, realizing how damning it is for humanity! Damian, the one from School of Mensis himself works with us to break Rom's concealment, too... Like I said before, insanity for "strong ones" and beasthood for "weak ones" could never be stopped by any means as long as ritual is ongoing! The note in the Hunter's Dream for us is my best clue for this headcanon:

The night of our Hunter ends when Mergo is silenced (aka ritual is stopped), so this would be the 'source'. Rom's barrier mitigates the severity of the ritual's effects, but doesn't stop it. Her barrier is penetrable for those who are "ready" (you start to see things like Amygdalae even through her concealment if you have enough Insight), but Mensis Ritual is special in how it still bears effect on people in Yharnam whether they are aware of it or not. One could completely avoid blood and eyes both, but as long as ritual is ongoing, sooner or later they WILL give into either beasthood or madness.. That is not very acceptable, right?

My version of Yurie becomes aware of what is happening, together with Fauxsefka, but agrees to let it happen. She thinks that keeping the ritual but also concealing it could cause a positive effect on humans by making their conscious evolve sooner or later.. So, what if some people become beasts instead of elevated as the cost? Can't help everyone! Fauxsefka thinks she is a callous bitch for that and bails. Laurence, I think, would be really proud of the way she thinks, on the other hand.. Willem, like I said, doesn't seem to agree with something so drastic! (Sadly, the only way to stop the ritual would be to first unveil it, which.. not everyone could survive. Like ripping the bandage.) But Rom is... still up for questioning.

Prior the spider form, Rom did believe in making people smarter through "deception". She witnessed the 'cursed', 'forbidden' knowledge beyond 'Stars and Moon' early and knew that Choir people would not listen. And she did hide Micolash's true antics at Mensis, trusting him to figure things out in his own way. And to do things that no one else would have the courage to do, herself included. I think it would be very bittersweet if even after her ascension, Rom still blindly trusted Micolash to figure everything out while she covers his back, even if now at more instinctive level. So, when Micolash decided to lock the Lecture Hall passageway to protect himself further (after Edgar betrayed the Choir for him), Rom just... let it happen. Helped, even! Placing herself in opposition against Willem. During her human life, she allowed Micolash to do a lot of awful things - with herself too, using her as a test subject, believing that she was "too stupid to decide such things" and Micolash always "knew better", so could that persist even now? That... deep trust, even in the most insane plan, not knowing that Micolash completely lost the objective.

But on the other hand, the idea of her being so completely lost within her own power that she doesn't even understand what happens (and when) is really appealing! That she just experiences and observes so many things, in so many timelines, on so many levels at once... well, until Hunter trying to kill her would make her focus on their specific universe and timeline. :') But yeah, complete transcendence + theme of a powerful "idiot god" that doesn't realize their power is really good. So, yeah, Rom doesn't leave the lake past the Mensis Ritual because of either blind faith in Micolash's plans or because she just... well, everywhere. She might not even notice with how many other things she's seeing. The motivation of milking the "use" of the ritual's effects I already gave to Yurie. 🤔

I just think the whole vibe of her being a genius that never credited herself properly fits her the best! She kept hearing that she was too dumb to decide for humanity or herself from the only family she had and just... agreed with it? Although she is aware that progress is impossible without sacrifice and very daring experiments, as soon as Mensis Ritual happens, Rom believes that "smarter people know what they're doing"... if she IS still aware of anything. Whatever Micolash is doing, he has good intentions and knows what is the price and the result, right...? RIIIIIIIGHT?? Yurie, Damian, Willem and Fauxsefka know Micolash is batshit, though.

If she still has some lucidity - she can "see" people that she used to know, yes. She just would not think of them or miss them in the same way us normal humans do... Memories would be torn, like in a dream, she'd know of Yurie, Micolash or Caryll but not have lucid comprehension of becoming a bit too "enlightened" to interact with them normally. Most of her attempts to interact with someone would transcend the space and time, but also she'd be too incomprehencible in this way... Not even for the most Insightful people. It could come like a dream, or like sixth sense, and Rom would "envision" herself as still a human. Close person like Yurie or very smart person like Caryll would still guess that the strange 'feeling' must be Rom, just not able to grasp her. That'd be beyond their perception! Micolash, that lil shit, would think whatever he could perceive to be a sign from Kos, though. -_-" I think even Ebrietas would not be able to truly grasp Rom now, should she try to contact her via the 'astral projection'! Think of it as almost no one having enough Insight / Eyes Inside to see her like this... This is very lonely, like being a ghost. Rom has to be there physically to communicate! But she should NOT leave the darn Lake!!

Patches, who is also a 'spider', got split across the multiverse in a much more solid way, of course 🤔 Rom is simply Too Many Things to have a similar fate... becoming a person-per-universe is too little to contain her, at least yet. Great Ones are more complex than just bald lil shit who messed with something forbidden!