#who knows anyways my sire plans are coming together

[abanbas]

anytime someone thinks Sire isn't listening a telltale notification of " Sire will remember that" pops up...or theres a "..." in the corner of the screen.

Sire's whole thing is subversion so if you think he's just here to be funny and hot, buster you don't know how many people in low and high places Sire has under his thumb simply bc his abilities allow him to travel through time and view events from a objective non interactive wormhole.

Basically everyone in thedas watch out bc sire could be big brothering you and watching ur every move

(he's not he's usually to obsessed with learning new martial arts and facts about old architecture and magics, but if he catches a whiff of something he will find it, trust and believe he's just like leliana or briala when it comes to getting what he wants information wise)

[solar4seekstron]

New Beginnings: Old Yet New

IDW!MTMTE!Drift/Deadlock x Cybertronian!GN!Reader x IDW!MTMTE!Ratchet Part One

Solars Indie Series

Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

Introduction Indie Series

Content: SFW, Deadlock and Reader were together, but then he dipped. Ratchet an Drift are together. But Ratchet wants that reader booty to now lol. Lore is changed a lot sorry.

TW/Tags: Angst, Lots of angst, sparkling is so god damn cute, Ratchet wants that reader booty near the end, wholesome moments including sparkling, sparkling with a fever, more angst.

You were Deadlocks Conjunx once. You both becoming one after both joining the Decepticons. Him being the very bot who won your spark when so many couldn’t.

Something most would've expected anyway thanks to the swords and both similar combat skills. It wasn’t always easy though. Him being in an aggressive mood most times. There was a point where you didn’t believe in the cause as much.

But stayed for Deadlock. After speaking to him of his current views.

And so as time went by. You and Deadlcok continued to be used to fight in many missions and execute bots for Lord Megatron.

Something you didn’t enjoy as much as Deadlock did.

On one special night you went to one of your available doctors. Having felt sick for days and so on.

Deadlock was busy with a mission. And….well.

You were with sparkling. This could be bad for not only you. But for Deadlock as well with his status. Usually when Cons have sparklings they can leave but can’t be protected.

As you made it to your shared berth room you grew ever so nervous. Sitting on the berth.

Waiting for him to return. But you’d then notice a data pad with his writing on it. You picked it up. And soon was hit with tears falling down your cheeks as you read.

“My dearest. My Sweetspark. I’m sorry….I know you have your opinions and thought of the clash of bots and cons. But I couldn’t bring myself to come to you with this choice. I was a terrible partner. And I only hope you will find another who can treat you better then I ever could…..Best of wishes…….Deadlock.”

”………………………………………………ah crap.”

———————————————————————————

A couple years went by since then. You left the decepticons after breaking the bond between you both. To live in the city with neutrals. You and your sparkling. Who was born a few months after Deadlocks leave. Were accepted in and from then on you were able to live a safe life with your little one.

You named him Rubble. He looked like the perfect mix of you and Deadlock.

Eventually you were able to join a crew during the war at the time. The Autobots who accepted you. Allowing you to take your sparkling with them and promise to protect him.

Your sparkling grew a little. Being very small. Defiantly from you.

One day, time after the war ended. You and your sparkling were asked to join the Autobots by an old friend of your. Cyclonus. You and him were close. And he loved your sparkling Rubble.

Already wanting to teach him how to use swords when he was old enough to crawl and hold things in his small cervos.

You agreed to join knowing your sparkling will probably be the safest sparkling there.

And so you came along. Staying close to Cyclonus.

Luckily being a big and scary bot no one dared to come near you and your little one. Your sparkling in your arms. At times reaching for your helm as his other cervo clawed at the top of your chest.

Letting out small coos as you gently shhhd him.

Rubble getting happy whenever he sees Cyclonus standing there. Rodimus would start his speech with two bots next to him. Speaking about his plan of the lost light and the future path for them since the end of the war.

You could swear the white bot on his right looked familiar. But you weren’t sure. So you just ignored the feeling. When boarding onto the ship you were greeted by Skids.

He was polite. Charming. And he honestly just wanted to meet the little one and ask where the Sire was. You were walking around to your room next to Cyclonus. You both chatted and got along. Having some things in common with each other. And so you both walked together and talked.

Little Rubble in your arms slowly falling asleep with his helm rested against the top of your chest.

You didn’t notice hw you two past three certain bots going over some news and messages from Optimus prime. As they past.

The white bot was the one to notice you. You didn’t change your look much and he also took note that you had a sparkling in your arms.

He couldn’t build up the courage to stop you until he got a comm from Ratchet…His Conjunx.

After a few days you descided to see Serve. He already knew you have a sparkling and always made sure there was energon goo enough for you to drink. But nothing strong. Since you don’t have a babysitter. You had to take your sparkling with you everywhere.

That didn’t stop the stares and small flirts by some mechs and even femmes.

Something you didn’t understand very well. And so you sat at the bar with your sparkling on your lap as he nibbled on his cervo. He would reach for you and Swerve every now and then.

Swerve at times smiling at finding little ways like doing tricks with the drinks to make him laugh.

He is pretty good at that. The others seem to enjoy hearing your sparkling laugh as Rubble placed his small cervo on the table. Standing on your lap as your cervo gently held and rested on his small belly. The other holding your drink.

You didn’t pay much mind as a mech sat next to you. It was that white one again.

Swerve already knew to give him the drink he wanted and went to serve others drinks as you and the bot were alone. Rubble kept gently slamming his tiny cervos on the counter.

Drift looked at you as you drank and watched the Cybertron news. Your frame and paint still the same as ever.

You had an autobot logo on your chest and shoulders now. You had that damn same warm smile and bright yellow optics. Your sparkling having the same optics as he had a large grin on his dermas. You’d let out a few chuckles because of your sparkling.

”Is Uncle Swerve making jokes little one?” He cooed as he looked back at you then back at Swerve.

Drift also noticed you still have your swords. Just brighter now then when he left. He’s sure you still didn’t recognize him. He honestly wasn’t that sure why he came her. He just knows he must talk to you. And so with a gulp. He spoke.

”Hey….Y/N.” His voice catching you off guard.

No it can’t be. Your helm slowly turned towards him as Rubble did the same as he let out a small sound. Looking at the bot as drift looked at him as well.

“Do I know you?” He let out a soft chuckle as your cervo gently pressed Rubble a bit closer to your chest. Your optics narrowed as drift turned his frame a bit to face you as he tried to find his words.

”I’d…sure hope so. It’s…it’s me. Deadlock.” Your optics widened a bit as you stared at him. He can tell you didn’t know what to say.

Rubble looking at you then him as he sat down on you lap. His little cervos gently holding your larger one.

Drift finally spoke after a moment of silence. “Is he….”

You soon had a small frown. Your optic ridges a little furrowed as you stared at him and tried to not break the cup in your cervo.

You then drink the last of your energon and sets it down. Standing up as you pick your sparkling up to have him against your chest. Soon out of your seat and walking out of the bar. No one seems to notice. Even as Drift chases after you.

“Y/N Wait.”

As you walked down the hall Drift continued to come for you. “Please. Look I’m sorry I never should’ve left. I should’ve came to you as we promised and-“

You were fast to turn around making him stop. Both cervo holding Rubble so he wont look back and stays close to your chest as he cooed for you.

“I don’t need your empty apology Deadlock. What I need if you to stay away from me and my sparkling!”

Drift was panicking. You’re finally here and this could be his only chance. “He’s mine. Isn’t he?….Please I just wish to know.”

You stay still for a moment. Your back toawrds him as your sparkling looks up at you.

He gently cooed at you and reached up at you. You swear he’s trying to tell you something. And so you turned to almost face him. He can tell you’re holding in tears as Rubble looked at him as well.

Unsure as Rubbles cervos gripped at your top chest.

”Yes. He’s yours. Was a month pregnent with him when you chose to leave us.”

Drift stood there in silence for a moment longer. His sparkling. The same sparkling that was just staring at him. Probably not realizing who he was. And what his sire has done years before his birth. All the bad an horrible things he did…

Drift slowly then spoke. “Can I-“

”No.” You said firmly. Turning away as you return to your habsuit. Rubble looking over your shoulder as he stared at Drift.

Drift trying to not cry as he stood there.

After a few months, you have gone on a few dates with Skids. Cyclonus being nice enough to watch Rubble as you went to the other side of the ship. Eventually you both realized it was a small fling in a way. The emotions there then gone.

But you both remained friends and he always loved seeing Rubble when you would cross paths.

Drift stayed away. Understanding his boundaries. ratchet was well aware of who you were and Drift sure got a scolding.

———————————————————————————

One day as you slept on your berth. Rubble next to you in your arms as you both were sound asleep. That is until your sparkling stared to cough. You woke up when you felt a small cervo on your cheek.

His large yellow optics looking down at you as he had a frown. “Hey. What’s the matter my little one.”

He gently patted at his own chest and keeps coughing. He seemed to try too not cry as he stared at you. You soon sat up and gently held him as you got off the berth. He was burning up and kept trying to not cry.

“It’s alright my little one. Lets get you checked out.” You’d then transform around him.

He was in the passenger seat as he couldn’t stop crying. You drove in the middle of the night. There being only guards who all knew you. Sparkling of course. You drove as fast as you could to the med bay.

Rubble keeps crying as you tried to calm him down.

“I know you’re hurting my little one. Hang in there and stay strong for me. Can you do that for carrier sweetspark?”

You can hear him gently trying to hold in a sniffle. His cheeks puffed up as he try’s to not cry but his tears won’t stop falling down. You panick. “No no little one it’s ok to let it out. You’re already being so strong!”

He’d continued to cry as you got closer. Luckily the best medic was pulling an old nighter in the med bay.

You rushed in speaking as you transformed and held Rubble. He continues to cry which annoys Ratchet a little, causing him to turn around. “Please I don’t know if my Sparkling has a high fever or something!”

Ratchet looked at Rubble. Rubble having tears in his optics as he tries to hold back from crying. Ratchet just sighed as he gently took him.

“Alright you little sparkling you don’t have to hold back just to impress me.”

He gently held him in his arm as his other cervo rests on Rubbles chest. Rubble gently grabbing his digits having a firm grip. You stand there with cervos together worried as Ratchet feels his spark beat and all. Then felt his forhelm. Rubble still grabbing at that as well.

”He defiantly has a high fever. He’ll have to just try sleeping and give him some medican. He wont like it but it’ll help. Would you mind sitting?”

You’d nod and sit at the patience spot. He gently sets Rubble on his lap.

Rubble turned his frame so his side is facing you. Gently grabbing your arm as he keeps trying to hold in his tears.

Ratchet then grabs a medican to help with heavy fever and colds. “He wont like it but it’ll help him sooner then most would think.”

He presents you with it. You gently took it and looked at it. Rubble of course curious tried reaching for it as he cooed. Still crying. Still sniffling as tears come down his cheeks.

”Thank you Dr. Ratchet.”

”You both take care now.” You’d nod and walk out with Rubble. He watched you as the door then closes behind you. Ratchet stood there for a moment in silence.

”…………….Damn.” Ratchet said with a blush.

———————————————————————————

“Come on Rubble you have to take your medican. It’ll make the fever go away.”

Rubble only made more baby noises as you try to put the spoon of medican in his mouth. His cervo pushing at yours as he turns his helm away.

“mmmmBA!!” He keeps crying since his fever was still high.

You both were in your berth room. Trying to get him from crying was the hardest part. You’re sure your neighbors aren’t too happy.

You’d then hear a knock on the door. You’d then look back at Rubble who looked at you. “Stay here you little gremlin.” He smiled even through his tears as he watch you leave.

You click the button to open the door and it was Ratchet. He had a small smile on his dermas. “How’s fever sparkling doing?”

”I’m sorry. I know he can be loud when he wants to be.”

”BA!” Rubble yelled. You’re guessing his way of saying hey in baby language as he sat on the bed.

”Would you mind me giving it a try?” You let out a soft sigh and nodded. Stepping out of his way so he walks in. Closing the door behind him once he was fully in.

Rubble continues to cry as Ratchet sat next to him on the berth.

A few minutes went by. Ratchet spoke to Rubble. Not sure if Rubble understood him but his large optics just stared up at him like as if he’s his sire.

You watched the two. Rubble slowly stopped crying and Ratchet was able to get Rubble to take the medican before Rubble realized it. Instantly closing his mouth once he tasted it. Struggling to swallow.

Eventually he does as ratchet comforted him.

Rubble saying BLA many times. “Wow you actually got him to take it.” Ratchet just chuckled as he got off the berth. Rubbing laying back as ratchet makes his way to you. His cervos on his hips.

“That should help him. Um do you mind if I ask you something?”

”Of course not. What’s your question?” he seemed a bit nervous as he trys to speak.

“Well would you like to um hang out at times with me and my partner. I don’t have a shift in a couple days.” You were taken aback but let out a soft chuckle. “I’d love to.”

Ratchet let out a chuckle before speaking once more. “At 4. In a couple days I’ll come by.” He said with a smile as he looked down at you. You’d nod as he then walks out to the hall. The door closing behind him.

You’d look over at Rubble. Who was fast asleep. His little cervos and arms over his belly. You’d then walk over, gently holding the side of his helm as his dermas have a small smile. Leaning into your cervo.

Thank primus he was born healthy. Although it’s awkward for you being on the same ship with his Sire.

But as long as your sparkling can grow with the ones closest around him. You know you can handle anything. So now it’s time to get to know some new bots! Rubble needs a Sire figure after all.

And your carrier instincts are telling you to not disappoint!

Hey guys! Sorry this one took all day I could not for the life of me figure out the ending. So sorry that it’s a the weakest part of the story. I was gonna do a full fic but I realized there’s more depth so I’ll make a part 2.

I hope you guys liked this one it was going to be just Drift but honestly looking at that medic booty by “total accident” I swear guys. I have to add Ratchet but also being for angst too. I swear I’ll make a scene of reader kicking aft at some point in part 2. Might get spicy a few times.

Am I good at doing sparkling scenes? I hope they came out good and still enjoyable. As always I hope you guys enjoyed this and a repost is always appreciated. I hope you all have a good rest of your day and see y’all in the next one!

[11queensupreme11]

Hi queen!! So I have just finished Son of Sea Foam, I'm not sure if you know the fanfic but its wonderful, and I'm now wondering how would Poseidon specially but the greeks in general react to Percy's life in this au where he (she) has to pretend to be a daughter of Aphrodite because children of the big three are considered too dangerous and are killed (also Hercules reaction please I'm begging you)

(i've never read that fic so i might get the details wrong, sorry!)

there is NOTHING pjo!poseidon can do that would make ror!poseidon approve or like him in ANY way. pjo!poseidon's decision to work together with aphrodite to hide percy's true parentage is smart and also shows how much he cares for her, but to ror!poseidon it's an act of cowardice 😭

he'd be like how DARE you lie about MY daughter's parentage and have her be the daughter of that stupid goddess!!!!!! IF YOU DON'T WANT ZEUS TO KILL PERCY, THEN JUST KILL HIM BEFORE HE CAN TRY 🙄

even telling him that gods can't die in the pjo verse wouldn't work, or that waging war is NOT a good idea because percy also wouldn't want that and demigods would be sucked into it, etc. ror!poseidon would just say some bs like "who cares about demigods or what percy thinks, she's just a child anyway, she shouldn't have a say in the matter. YOU have a duty as a father to kill everyone for her 😠🔱"

even ror!hades, zeus, and adamas would be saying the same thing 😭 ror!hades would be more sympathetic, he can see that pjo!poseidon is really trying here and understand the logic, but he's also aware that this plan won't last forever and percy's life WILL be in danger once the truth comes out. in his eyes, pjo!poseidon should take the chance to take zeus out of the equation while he's still ignorant

meanwhile adamas and zeus would just want an all-out war 💀 they don't care about the pjo!gods, the demigods, the humans, they don't care about the lives that are going to be ruined, they don't care about percy's opinion, they want a war because how DARE pjo!zeus try to kill their niece! (they plan on snatching percy back to their universe when everyone's distracted by the war lol)

heracles would be horrified!!!!! his alternate father would kill an innocent child all because of some oath that HE broke first by siring thalia?! in ror verse he's known as the "envoy of justice (idk if he'd be a god of justice too, but i think i'll make him one in my fic)" so this just blows his mind 💀 he would sympathize a lot more with pjo!poseidon and see his plan as smart, but like hades, he worries about how long it would last. he also understands why they would want to avoid a war and agrees with that. he feels that it would be safer for percy to just stay with them... but he also doesn't want to separate her from her og family... poor man doesn't know what to do, he just feels awful that this is happening in the first place 🥺

APHRODITE WOULD LOVE THIS! 😂 percy jackson?? as HER (alternate at least) daughter?????? oh yes she would never let this go. she wouldn't give a shit about the possible war and deaths, she's just more focused on the fact that pjo!poseidon made percy hide as HER daughter 😂😂 she 10000% approves of that idea and now she may or may not scheme to steal percy away from her universe and hide her out in her palace while everyone in the ror and pjo verse look for her. mommy and daughter need to bond after all! 💖

[animentality]

In the fic that I may never write I like the idea of a short little scene that goes like this: Gortash and Durge out among the citizens of the Gate, probably on their way to or from some nefarious business, definitely dressed to blend in and maybe even acting the part of a normal couple/friends/partners. This alone is fun to think that perhaps they had moments of normality as they went about blending in on the outside while plotting death and tyranny in private. But imagine- and I usually picture this as being from Durges perspective- they pass another couple. A pair of lovebirds holding hands, giggling and making eyes. Maybe holding their weekly shopping and teasing each other over who owes who flowers. Perhaps they spy some newlyweds still beaming after their nuptials. Or for a Durge who has avoided siring children for fear of the tragic outcome, perhaps they pass a young family, the parents the same age as themselves and Enver, with their adorable, normal children who won’t grow to kill their own parents. Who will know love and safety with parents who will go home that evening and tuck their offspring into bed and curl up together, happy and safe and content with their simple lives. I imagine Durge pausing, watching, transfixed by a longing for what could have been, a longing for something from their own earliest childhood that they’ve all but completely buried. For them it’s a glimpse into a mirror showing what could have been in another life and another world. Maybe theres a moment of bitterness that they know they won’t ever live that life. No matter how they wish they could have that with Enver- an innocent partnership, a family perhaps- the gods will never let that come to pass. They can only watch with envy as others get to go about their lives while they themselves hide their bloody, wretched reality in plain sight.

And perhaps Enver notices their pause. Sees them stop in their tracks uncharacteristically. Follows their gaze across the street and understands the longing that has twisted so briefly across the features of his nearest and dearest. Maybe feels a pang of grief himself that this- a normal life- is the one thing that he cannot offer them. Or perhaps it strengthens his resolve to go through with the plan and to grab at enough power to defy their gods and be free at last. To grab at power so he can offer them both the very simplest of life’s pleasures that have been so unfairly denied to them.

Anyways. Enjoy my ramblings in this form because I’m not much of a writer ehehe

"Not much of a writer"

Fucking OBLITERATED ME.

I don't even have a RESPONSE, because that just took me the fuck out.

You crafted a whole ass novel there, anon, you made a whole UNIVERSE for durgetash to experience in what would be, what?

A second of real time?

URGH, I am a fucking sap for...little moments, so quick you don't even get to appreciate them.

But they last forever in your heart.

And you shattered mine.

Good job!

You're a writer, anon.

You should write things. Not just asks, but answers.

[koreanbibliophilegirl]

Can I see ur monster Hunter au?/nf

I AM CACKLING AND RUBBING MY HANDS TOGETHER RN. I TOLD DAD I WOULD SLEEP SOON BUT I ABSOLUTELY CAN AND WILL SHOW YOU MY MONSTER HUNTER AU BEFORE THAT.

Okay okay so!!! Tommy!! He's in his last year of high school(totally not inspired off any real life events, nope, no siree), stressed about college applications, and able to "see ghosts". He can see waaaaaay more than just ghosts, but he doesn't know that yet.😀👍

Techno!! Tommy's ghostly older brother!!

Their parents were a**holes & didn't treat Techno very well, so as soon as he was legally able to, Techno broke all ties with them. He ended up getting involved with gangs and stuff, and was eventually killed. After his death he became a Vengeful Spirit(as the boys later learned) and tracked down his parents for revenge. HOWEVER when he arrived there was a literal baby in the house and oh look, Sperm Donor and Egg Donor are abandoning him. And Techno, after some internal conflict, came to the decision to stay with Tommy. It wasn't out of a brotherly protective instinct, not at first anyway. He just couldn't let an innocent baby die- the emotional attachment did happen though, and fairly quickly too😂

So yeah, now he's sticking with Tommy while he grows up in the orphanage.

The town & connected city is based on my own surrounding areas, and I set the orphanage in what is, in reality, an empty lot behind the local middle school. I have no idea if orphanages have, like, certain rules for where it can be located, but ehh whatever.😅👍

Tubbo!! Tommy's best friend since elementary school, and the only one who believes that Tommy can "see ghosts". He himself can't see sh!t, but he sometimes gets to see Techno floating tiny objects around- or, if he's really lucky, Techno scribbling with blood on bathroom mirrors. Techno's too tired to deal with all the shenanigans that will come with blood writing on mirrors, so he doesn't do that often, but he'll sometimes put on a show for his precious little bro and his best friend. Also I have Tubbo living in what is my own family's home in reality.👍 Well, minus the mold. There is so much mold. Help-

ANYWAY the plot!! It's Tommy and Tubbo's first day of being high school seniors, Tommy's homeroom tracher is apparently a new arrival at the school- and rumored to be the husband of beloved Earth Science teacher, Ms. Kristin Trix.

When Mr. Craft walks in though, Tommy is SHOOKETH bc dude has wings. Like, huge, inky black, feathery wings. Tommy already knows enough to be able to tell the difference between generally-visible phenomena and Ghost Stuff™️, and the wings are solidly in Ghost Realm™️. However it is supposed to be the Ghost Realm™️. Mr. Craft is not a ghost but he still has ghostly wings??? What????

And he KNOWS Mr. Craft is aware of them, because he just glanced at the space where Tommy can see Techno is standing, and his eyes definitely widened a bit before he recovered & smiled at the class.

Tommy is both confused and a little scared to be honest, and when he takes the bus home with Tubbo that night, Tubbo asks if Tommy wants to visit the local coffee shop(it's a Korean franchise coffee shop. Their cherry cola is immaculate.) with him.

I'm planning to make the AU into a multiple-choice game(? idk what they're called. What I'm thinking of is basically a dialogue choice game but it's not just dialogue you're choosing.), so there are two ways this can go. Either go with Tubbo & have a nice chat about high school and college (and ghosts) in the park next to the coffee shop, or head straight back to the orphanage. Tommy's inevitably getting ambushed by Phil either way tbh.

Phil attempts to stab Techno, and Tommy only realizes Phil was behind them because Techno yelled out. While most weapons don't work on Techno, charmed paper does keep him out of places/hurt him sometimes, and Phil's weapon(I haven't decided what to give him) is COVERED with them.

Techno ends up slightly hurt. Tommy, of course, is angry, and screams at Phil about it. Phil is Confusion™️ because. This is a Vengeful Spirit. This is a Vengeful Spirit that... protects this kid?? Not attempt to harm him??? And the Vengeful Spirit is actually able to follow this kid and not be stuck to whoever he's actually vengeful against- which goes against all the known rules of Vengeful Spirithood.

Techno: I'm here to love and protect my brother, which is my way of getting revenge on our Sperm and Egg Donors. I'm making sure Tommy has a good life, as best I can as a ghost.

Phil: IMPOSSIBLE. Also it's 'Vengeful Spirit' not "ghost".

There's an explanation to this, but that would come with the Endings, so, not spoiling that just yet👍

Also!!!! Monsters!!!! Korean monsters!!!! :D

I've currently included a 구미호(gumiho, nine-tailed fox)- who is Fundy actually😂😅 I'm basing him off the Fox Sister(여우 누이) folk tale. There's a reference to 어둑시니(darkness creatures, gets steadily bigger or snaller according to your perception of it, swallows and suffocates you whole if it gets big enough for it) too. Ranboo was nearly eaten by one before- which is why they can see monsters now.

People gain the ability to see monsters when a monster chooses to reveal itself to them. Nearly all the monster hunters have some sort of monster-related trauma bc of that. Niki with her brother(adopted or not, haven't decided yet) turning out to be a 구미호, Ranboo with the aforementioned literally-almost-consumed-by-the-darkness thing, Phil is. Fine actually. Bc Kristin is a Herald of Death(저승사자) and she's the one who did the initial reveal to him. He did get a good scare at first though.

Tommy's Opening of the Eyes happened thanks to Techno, a little after Tommy was abandoned. It was winter and super cold, but Techno thankfully managed to figure out how to control the temperature to be warmer, and he revealed himself to Tommy trying to comfort him & stop him from crying. Techno has no desire to be perceived by anyone other than Tommy though, which is why no monster reveal happened to the ppl at the orphanage, or at school.

Uhh yeah!! It's. 3:30 AM already. Oops.😅 I think I should probably be going, so I'll end it here for now.

Thank you for the ask♡♡♡♡

-Lilly xx

[blushing-blushy]

SPOILERS FOR THE DARK URGE

Astarion x Durge Tav (unnamed female character - referred to as she)

Freaking huge spoilers for the Dark Urge storyline. As in I lay it all out. I wrote this thinking about what Tav's reaction might be to learning the truth, because it doesn't get into it much in game.

Oh and this is one sad sad sad hurt/ barely any comfort fic.

-.-.-.-

The dead things we carry

After Tav finds out what she is, she tries the easy way out. Astarion won't let her.

The sounds of blood spilling and bones cracking and the screams of pain and rage begin to fade around her.

“Don’t bring me back,” she gasps with her last breath, watching the horror and dawning fury on Astarion’s face before her vision blurs and fades away. Please, is the last thought that comes from her wrecked mind. Please.

-.-.-.-.-

She comes to. She comes to. At first there is nothing but confusion. It’s not like it’s the first time she’s been revived. But it takes longer for her to gather her thoughts, and when she at last realizes that she’s capable of thought and reason, anger and despair flood through her, perhaps a mirror of the last glimpse of Astarion’s face.

She snaps her eyes open and sits up. She can sit up, she realizes as well, since revivify heals as well as enlivens. And speak of the devil, but if it isn’t Astarion sitting on a chair next to her, eyes on her. There is no expression on his face. He’s just… watching.

A flush of anger is rising up her body, spreading like fire through her limbs, nerves singing with betrayal. She had asked.

“How dare you,” she whispers tightly. “How dare you bring me back. I asked-”

“Yes, you did.” Astarion’s voice is toneless, and she thinks she’s never seen him so closed off. No smirk, no attitude at all.

"And I brought you back anyway. Will you hate me? Leave forever? Make it so that you might have died anyway?”

She just looks at him, and he gazes back. Finally she drops her eyes and notices his hands hanging between his knees. They’re bloody, as if he’s been hitting something. There’s blood around his fingernails, the skin torn around the nails as though he’s been biting them.

“Why?” He asks simply, and she looks back up at him. “I’ve done my hating for tonight. I’ve done my raging and my yelling and my fear and the rest of it all. So now I’m only left wondering. Why? That certainly wasn’t a split second decision, was it?”

She sighs and lays back down, the anger ebbing away. Well, it would have been a conversation they would have needed to have anyway. Death had just been the easy way out. The coward’s way.

“You know what’s been happening to me,” she says and waits for him to nod before continuing. “Well, I know why now. I… remembered. And when I tell you, you will understand. Maybe you’ll let me die next time. Maybe you’ll kill me yourself. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised.”

There’s finally an expression on his face. Abject fear. Fear of what she’s about to say. She laughs weakly.

“Yeah, it’s bad.” She takes a breath and plunges ahead. “I am the one who orchestrated all of this. I planned the cult and created the Absolute. I brought the Dead Three’s Chosen together to control it. I am the scion of the god of murder, Bhaal. Bhaalspawn. I was plucked from my home seven years ago and became murder incarnate, sacrificing and killing without purpose or plan simply to appease him. And because I wanted to. My earlier life is still murky, but I think I was sired by Bhaal to a Tiefling woman whom he discarded, and I was born to her. She cut off my horns and tail and tried to make me as human as possible to keep me from the life I eventually found.

“When I killed a man who was raping me, she left me. She must have seen that I enjoyed it far more than I should have for simple self-defense. Then I found my way… home. To the temple. And took control. And would have the whole world worship as I made my way through it, ending everything in the name of my dread father.

“So, in the end, this is all because of me. And my hubris, my blood-thirsty desire to kill. To kill everyone and everything.”

She’s crying, but she can’t feel the tears sliding down her face. All she can focus on is the pattern of threads on the tent above her.

“Astarion,” she says at last, turning to face him. She can’t begin to parse out what he’s thinking. “You did all those terrible things because you were forced to. Because you were literally incapable of not doing them, and because of what would happen if you didn’t.”

She looks away and sighs again. “But I did all those terrible things because I wanted to.”

After a beat of silence, she sits up, letting the thick blanket pool in her lap. Her fingers lay limply upon it. She’s so, so tired. “So you see why I don’t want to live. I don’t deserve to. I can’t ever make penance for what I did. And since the urges and raging desire has started to rear it’s awful head again, I don’t even know if I could resist long enough to even try to make up for it. It is honestly the best and most sensible thing to let me die or kill me. Now do you understand?”

She can’t look at him now. Can’t face the judgement on his face.

She’s not even surprised when he stands and leaves. Laying back down, she closes her eyes and lets the tears come. Maybe later she can go off and do it herself. Far enough away no one could find her body.

The tent flaps open again and Astarion comes back in. She sits back up at once, brows furrowing. He’s holding a water jug and one of those chipped clay mugs Karlach had found.

There are tear tracks on his face and he looks utterly heart-broken. Of course. He fell in love with a monster. More of a monster than he would ever imagine himself to be.

“Drink,” he says roughly, holding out the mug.

She takes it automatically and sips it, still looking at him. He closes his eyes as more tears fall, and wipes them away angrily.

As she opens her mouth to continue, he holds up a hand. “No, my turn now. And you will sit and listen, my dear. You owe me enough to allow me to answer and have something to say.”

She sits back and nods, waiting. Her heart is hammering in her chest. She doesn’t know if she can handle his reaction, whatever it’s going to be.

“I have been tortured for more of my lifetimes than I can count. I have been flayed and broken and scarred again and again in that place. You saw, you read. I was almost always out of my mind with fear. Every time I went out to bring someone back. Everytime I did or said something I knew would bring me impossible pain. But I have never, ever-” his voice chokes up against the words, and he scrubs his eyes quickly and clears his throat. “Ever,” he continues,” been so frightened as I was when you died. And when you asked me not to…”

He leans forward and grabs her hands roughly, squeezing them hard enough she can feel her bones grinding together.

“You asked me to kill you,” he whispers. “‘Don’t bring me back.’ That means let you die. That means that I have the option to do so and wouldn’t. That means killing you. And you’re as good as asking me to do the same now. Kill you?”

He lets go and stands abruptly, pulling wildly at his hair. “Kill you?” He repeats, his voice becoming shrill. “I love you, godsdammit. I have for much longer than I care to admit. Than I could allow myself to realize. And you want me to end you, to do that to you, to myself? I’ll be selfish until the sun burns out and make sure you never die. You can’t die.”

He’s shouting now, and she wants to shush him in case everyone else hears, but she’s too tired to really care.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers instead. No more tears will come. She’s been scoured clean.

Astarion drops to his knees beside her bed, reaching for her hand again. She lets him take it and he grips it, gently this time.

“I won’t do it,” he says softly, but the resolve in his voice is steel. “And you can’t make me. And if I have to tie you up forever to make sure you don’t - you don’t… end it yourself, I will. That’s a threat, my dear.”

She can’t say anything. Not to that and not when he lifts her hand and turns it to press a featherlight kiss to her palm.

“Ok.” Her voice is small, barely there. “Then what do I do? Please tell me what to do. I don’t want to die.”

The admission comes from so deep down it wrenches out of her, and she wails. “I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die! I don’t want to.” She’s sobbing loudly, great shuddering cries, and the pain is too much to bear. Astarion bends over her as she curls into a fetal position, cradling her in his arms.

“We’ll deal with this,” he says, gently shushing her. “We’ll figure it out. He won’t have you. He won’t win. I told you that, and I meant it. Hells, darling, if you could make a dead heart come back to life, you can defeat this.”

“How?”

He kisses the top of her head gently from where she’s still curled. “I don’t know, but you aren’t alone. And we will. I promise.”

I love you.

I love you.

[bonefall]

I never really put it together but it is kinda odd that Frostpaw’s siblings are named Graypaw and Mistpaw. I mean we already have Graykit named after Graystripe in TC and Mistpaw just immediately makes me think she’s named after Mistystar.

Idk. I’m pretty fond of the three kittens being the real offspring of Reedwhisker but I know in the Bones rewrite quite a few cats are up to be his kittens. Maybe Mist is named after Reed’s mother and Frostpaw is a reference to HawkFROST. Idk about Gray maybe the cats just didn’t have a good enough idea for him

Anything going on with their line so far? Like with Curlfeather, her mother, Jayclaw?

I'm heavily leaning towards Reedwhisker being the sire of Curlfeather and Podlight, for Duskfur. Duskfur always found him attractive and a good choice of parent for her kits, but Reedwhisker was never really able to move on from Hawkfrost.

He sired the kits and agreed to help, but was distant. Not really a 'parent' but a little more involved than the average no-coparenting Honor Sire. He didn't name the kits either. Truth is that he had a lot of names picked out with Hawkfrost and it felt wrong to use them.

It does feel odd that the litter just happens to have super relevant names, I remember when TBC was coming out, people were wondering if it was a chronological goof that they were born BEFORE the Ashfur Fight and not after. bristleFROSTKIT, GRAYstripeKIT, MISTystarKIT.

Though, Graystripe isn't a Light in the Mist in my redux; Ferncloud is. We'll see how the shuffling goes; maybe I'll just indulge and change Graypaw's name to Fernpaw or Cloudpaw. I won't be deciding that until ASC is done though.

Anyway bonus thoughts for you;

Curlfeather

FASCINATED with her in ASC so far, I don't want to touch her too much until the arc is done though. But I do plan to make sure it's clear that Curlfeather is a competent and respected senior warrior in preparation for ASC, and she probably encouraged her children to be invested in medicine because of her ambitions.

Duskfur

I could have sworn she was a brown-black cat with a warm, fluffy orange belly. It was incredibly clear in my mind and I was taken aback when I found out she's apparently a brown tabby.

Anyway I'm definitely seeing her as the sort of person who likes to say her mind, but rarely puts her money where her mouth is. Talks a bigger game than she's willing to play.

She's also around the same age as Birchfall, and was probably one of the apprentices who created Paw Soup during the Great Journey.

Jayclaw

My INCREDIBLY specific headcanon is that he is a fantastic dancer, and this is why Curlfeather fell in love with him.

He was an easygoing guy, a lot like his brother Owlnose, who never desired power or status. Content to do his day's work and spend his free time playing games, Curlfeather was drawn to him because he was charming, handsome, and his relaxing aura was infectious.

Jayclaw was going to be a den dad, but was only able to raise his kittens for a month before dying in a fishing accident. He was a sweet dude and his death hit his family hard.

[late-to-the-fandom]

It felt more, the Dark Prince reflected as he led the mortal into Darkwall Tower, like hosting a foreign dignitary than punishing a penitent soul. Read on Ao3 here.

The ride to Castle Nathria was charged with as many layers of crackling tension as the skirts Elisewin had left back at Theotar’s manor. Renathal knew he was not imagining the way the carriage’s other occupant avoided his gaze - there was only so long one could reasonably inspect the same patch of dark upholstery. Not that he blamed her. He made an equally poor traveling companion, busy as he was beating back the temptation to brush accidentally against her newly exposed knees.

And beneath whatever uncertain current ran between each other were the worries about the reception awaiting them both at the journey’s end. With every rattle of the carriage around another hairpin bend, Renathal’s nerves about what Denathrius would say when they arrived together increased. His Master had not expressly forbidden him from interacting with Elisewin, so technically, Renathal reminded himself, he had not done anything wrong. But his Master knew him too well; knew his predilections, his... weaknesses. He held no hope he could hide - as he had never been able to hide - this knot of inexplicably visceral desire from the Sire who had created him.

As the carriage left the Redelav district and entered the outskirts of the castle grounds, Elisewin’s face twitched in what Renathal assumed was recognition of the landscape, as he assumed the pink pallor overtaking her lavender skin had to do with whatever welcome from the Master she also anticipated. He opened his mouth to say something reassuring, remembered his injunction against cultivating additional camaraderie, and closed it again. Anyway, what could he tell her? He had known Denathrius his entire existence, and even he could only speculate how his Master was going to react.

But not for nothing was Renathal the Dark Prince and the Firstborn of the Venthyr, and what he did know was the power of a well-choreographed entrance.

Thus he eschewed any of the castle's convenient - and secretive - side doors, instructing his dredger driver to deposit them at Nathria's more public main gate. There, he leapt from the carriage and, in full view of perambulating courtiers and patrolling Stoneborn, offered a startled Elisewin his hand and helped her solicitously down. He switched his grip to her elbow, gentle but firm, as he led her across the courtyard, under Nathria’s high archway, through the castle's empty vestibule, and up the stairs to the Grand Walk beyond.

The Harvester of Dominion returning the Master's wayward mortal. It was a bold, brave approach, calculated to prove neither of them had anything to hide, and Renathal was confident in its prospects. Assuming Elisewin followed suit - left the talking to him and refrained from doing anything suspicious.

“Really, your Highness,” she said - in direct defiance of his unvoiced plan - wincing as her whisper echoed shrill as a scream off the Grand Walk's high stone walls. She glanced quickly at the Stoneborn bats waiting frozen on their pedestals before continuing, “I'll be alright. You don’t have to do this. I can make my own explanations to Den- the Sire.”

“Can you now?” The booming challenge stopped both Renathal and Elisewin mid-stride. “I would be delighted to hear them.”

The unctuous baritone seemed to come from Nathria itself, but Renathal knew instinctively where to turn his head. Sure enough, across the raised and regal dais at the room's far end, a shadow fell, and a second later, the Sire stepped sedately into view atop it. Bedecked in full, glittering red and gold regalia, slashed cloak held aloft by some invisible, subservient breeze, he put the room’s dim torches to shame, eclipsing their light, and throwing the two smaller beings on the ground below into darkness.

“Well, well, well. At last, my penitent mortal deigns to arrive. And where has she been, I wonder..."

Denathrius waved an elegant hand, as if inviting someone hiding behind him to speak. But the room was silent except for the fading echo of his own words, and the hitch in Elisewin's breath Renathal could just hear as she wriggled her arm from his grasp. Before he could stop her, she had taken two steps toward the waiting Sire, craning her neck to meet his gaze, her flat voice betraying neither insolence nor fear.

“I have been in the Endmire, Sire. As you specifically instructed. It was harder to reach than I expected, and..." Her pause was a fraction of a second too long. Denathrius caught it. Renathal could tell by the gleam in his glowing red eyes. "It... took some effort to escape. I returned as soon as I could.”

“So I see,” the Sire replied languidly. “After procuring for yourself mention a royal escort and new, unapproved attire, but not the anima I specifically instructed. Nor anything else, apparently, unless you are hiding something interesting underneath those new clothes.” He made an exaggerated show of looking her black and scarlet ensemble up and down. “No? Well... come then! I am dying to hear your explanations.”

But Elisewin was either too intimidated to answer or had exhausted her prepared store of words. Her arms were rigid at her side, fingers plucking the edge of her tunic, and Renathal fancied he could feel the heat radiating off her cheeks from two steps away. He, on the other hand, felt the cloak of wary nerves he had assumed on the carriage ride fall from his shoulders.

Denathrius was posturing. Renathal was intimately familiar with this grand, orchestrated display. Granted, it fell a bit flat without Remornia’s enthusiastic chorus, but the implications of the performance heartened Renathal all the same. The Sire was wholly relaxed. He felt in-control and unthreatened. Such magnanimous moods generally inclined him to lengthy lectures and elaborate lessons rather than swift, decisive punishments. This was a Master with whom Renathal could reason.

He strode forward, past Elisewin, his own dark coat catching air behind him as he declared with equally dramatic chagrin, “The fault is entirely mine."

The Sire's head rotated in Renathal's direction.

“I discovered the mortal on her way to the Endmire," Renathal explained, choosing each word with care. “I found her claims of an unsupervised errand on your orders rather suspicious, and decided it would be prudent to monitor her movements. I can confirm she did in fact collect a modest amount of anima, however, I was obliged to … requisition it... after an encounter with one of the Endmire’s more deadly amalgations.”

He paused, expecting queries or comments. Denathrius only stared. Instinct of an older, more primal kind crawled through Renathal’s limbs, bidding his knees bend, his tongue confess every truth, half-remitted, half-obscured. He wrestled it down.

“She did offer to remain in the Endmire and recover more anima,” he went on, now focusing on a point just beside Denathrius' ear. “But I thought it best I return her to you promptly - after having her cleaned so she would not dirty the castle, of course. It is my opinion, based on my admittedly cursory observation, that mortals may be ill-equipped to endure such perils as lurk in Revendreth's wilds."

This presumptuous pronouncement hung in the still, shrouded air like an unaccepted offering before dissipating into laden silence. Renathal dared not move. He resisted the impulse to adjust the fold of his cuffs or the drape of his coat. The Master's practiced pose and sanguine demeanor had vanished, replaced by a palpable menace and a grip on the balcony’s iron railing as hard and unyielding as any of the Grand Walk's leering Stoneborn bats.

“Assisting souls in their atonements is not your purview, Renathal,” he intoned, each overenunciated consonant like the slice of a blade across Renathal's prickling skin. “Nor is it your place to stand in judgment of my express commands. If I sent my mortal to search the Endmire, then the Endmire is where she will stay until her search is complete!”

Behind him came the sound of Elisewin's soft-soled boots shifting in place. Renathal, too, felt the urge to run, or to grovel, but stood his ground. His brain was racing. Of all the reactions he had anticipated, this cold, brittle fury was not one. But why the Master's mood had taken such a capricious turn for the worst was a question for another, safer time, and if they were ever to see one, a new approach was required. Fortunately, he had eons of experience in meliorating his Master. But to fall to his knees and beg forgiveness, to agree unconditionally to any demands, meant Elisewin's return to the Endmire, at which that incomprehensible instinct to protect her balked.

Renathal wet his lips. There was still a card he could play. Distraction.

“Of course, Master, my humblest apologies,” he said, a hand to his chest, head bowed; the very picture of contrition. “I merely thought," he lifted his face just enough to see past the loose strands of his hair, "you might find it inconvenient for your new charge to perish under such mundane and... avoidable circumstances. I feared her destruction might be remarked upon - her presence here being such a singular occurrence, after all. Will not someone be checking on her progress in order to escort her back to the mortal realms when her atonement is complete? The Arbiter, perhaps? Or whatever messenger of the Purpose delivered her to Revendreth? I confess confusion on that particular point."

For one interminable moment, the Sire of Revendreth looked speechless with rage, and Renathal straightened, bracing for the blast or the blow, convinced he had gone too far. He took a surreptitious sideways step, attempting to shield Elisewin from view.

Then, Denathrius smiled. Not a cruel smile, or a punitive one. Something had shifted in his face, sliding quick as mercury from fury to fatherly benevolence. He cocked his head, appraising his Firstborn with an almost formal interest, flicked his eyes to the half-hidden mortal, then back to Renathal again. And without warning he was walking, heading for the platform's winding stairs, striding briskly down them, hands folded behind him, wafting a pragmatic, business-like air.

“Walk with me, Renathal,” he commanded on approach, but Renathal could as soon fly; he remained frozen, frantically processing this second unexpected change. At the equally nonplussed Elisewin, Denathrius waved an imperious hand and instructed, "Wait here. Think on your sins.” He added the last as a careless afterthought, passing them both and beckoning Renathal to follow.

Behind the Sire's retreating back, Renathal and Elisewin exchanged glances. She blinked. The cut across her cheek stood out stark red against her lavender skin's pink pallor, but her expression remained impassive, and Renathal’s stomach lurched as he realised this might be the last time he saw it up close. Whatever the Master had in store for him, his earlier resolution remained. The mortal was a dangerous, addictive luxury; one he could not trust himself to indulge in with any degree of moderation. The responsible choice was to quit her, wholly and permanently, and perhaps it was best done this way - no chance for second guessing, no time for prolonged farewells.

Elisewin’s lips twitched at him. Renathal thought she might be attempting a smile. He allowed himself one final, stolen second to memorise its graceful lines. Then, with a masterful exertion of will, he tore his gaze and thoughts away from her, turned, and followed the Sire from the chamber, leaving her warm comfortable presence behind.

They walked single file down the Grand Corridor’s comparatively narrow hall. The sound of Denathrius' heavy plate bootsteps swallowed Renathal's own as they trod the worn stones. Renathal kept a cautious distance, aware the Master's mood might curdle again at any time, but for all his current tumultuous - and treasonous - confusion towards his Sire, it was impossible not to admire his dedication to anima conservation. A promising sign, he thought, that the Master of the realm chose to walk, rather than wend them away to their unknown destination.

Which turned out to be the corridor’s farthest, most sequestered corner. It was several paces past the last of the convenient wooden benches, meaning Renathal was forced to stand as his Master stopped and leaned casually against the wall, but it was also free of echoes, he realised, when the red and gold plate armor met stone with a muted, un-carrying thud.

"Thank you, Renathal," Denathrius began, folding his arms across his chest, and whatever Renathal had expected him to say it was not that. "For returning my mortal guest to me," he continued. "You are correct. Her death would have been an unfortunate blow. I had it on authority from..." He hesitated - an unusual display - his red eyes narrowing as he sought some elusive word. "The parties responsible for her presence," he chose at last, "that she possesses a peculiar resilience to most forms of bodily harm. However, it is entirely possible her reputation has been exaggerated, and it would not do to overestimate her abilities. But tell me," he tilted his head at his Firstborn, "why were you following her in the first place?"

The Sire's voice was level; his tone candid, conversational; everything in his face and posture suggested this was an informal tête-a-tête. A meeting of minds. The two of them, father and son, tackling Revendreth’s problems together. It was such an unusual tactic on Denathrius' part, and such a long-nursed wish on Renathal’s, he could not resist it; could only hope it was as sincere as it appeared.

"It was not my intention," he admitted honestly. "I happened to see her from my carriage as I returned from the Halls of Atonement.”

“And what were you doing there?”

“I had an ... enlightening meeting with the Harvester of Pride. At her request. She has some legitimate concerns."

"Oh?" Denathrius uncrossed and recrossed his arms, but his voice was still perfectly even and pleasant as he asked, “What might those be?"

And Renathal, dizzy from so many rapid shifts in atmosphere in such a short time, found his conversation with the Accuser spilling from him before he could decide if a full confession was wise. Words flowed fast and free like the anima fonts of Revendreth’s glory days: the Curator’s pitiful state of mind, the waning of the medallions, the anima conservation discrepancies and the destruction of penitent souls they were apparently necessitating.

He stopped himself just short of revealing the Accuser and Curator's clandestine affair. It was irrelevant, he decided, shutting his mouth abruptly, disguising his pause as a deep intake of superfluous air. Monitoring Venthyr relationships - and outing them to the Master - was the Countess's purview, not his. No reason to do her distasteful job for her.

"Well," said Denathrius slowly. "This is certainly troublesome news.”

For most of his speech, Renathal's gaze had flicked between the walls, the ceiling, or the narrow castle window overlooking the tops of twilit buildings outside. Now, he focused on his Master, scanning him for signs of disbelief or disappointment or another outburst of cold fury. But Denathrius' face was a perfect depiction of thoughtful concern as he tapped his chin and continued:

"It would appear my new pet project, as it were, has unwittingly caused me to neglect other equally important tasks." He sighed - a great gust of air tinged with a sound like wistful regret - then pushed suddenly off the wall. "A course correction is required."

It took Renathal a moment to recover. Denathrius' equanimity at his own shortcomings was every bit as alarming as his earlier rage. And, while it was the exact sentiment he had hoped for from his Master, it still managed to evade any actual answers.

"Sire," he said smoothly, falling back on basic tactics. "An entire world's worth of responsibilities rest upon your shoulders, and all of them in constant competition for your attention. It is hardly surprising if a few should… slip your notice. And if there is any way I may provide you greater aid, I am, of course, ready to serve. But, may I ask-"

“As a matter of fact," interrupted Denathrius, "I believe there is," and, before Renathal could squeeze in even the bluntest of questions, the Master had turned in a rattle of armor, and clapped his hands. 

In the distance, a door creaked open, followed at once by prompt, measured footsteps. Awaiting his summoned servant, Denathrius faced his Firstborn again with a beatific smile.

"You have done well, Renathal," he announced with solemn pride, "in investigating this unrest, and in bringing it to me. It is most gratifying to know that you, at least, I can trust in all things." He stretched out an arm and placed a hand on Renathal's armored shoulder. "But perhaps I have entrusted you with the wrong task."

"Master?"

The title fell childlike from Renathal’s dropped jaw. He had barely heard the words, every fiber of his being focused on the feel of his Master’s hand. Denathrius was not given to physical demonstrations of affection. The number of times he had offered his Firstborn an unprompted and unthreatening touch were grievously few. Anima tingled down Renathal's arm as if the Sire were imbuing him with it. And all of his musings and mysteries and carefully constructed queries - so important just a few seconds ago - crumbled away like another of Revendreth’s ruins.

"Yes, Renathal," answered the Sire, though Renathal had not managed to articulate a question. “I think it best if I take responsibility for addressing the drought's ramifications myself. The safe keeping of Revendreth and its souls is, after all, my eternal duty. I should never have burdened you with it. Instead..."

Removing his hand, Denathrius turned to the servant observing the scene from a respectful distance and declared, "My mortal guest is waiting in the Grand Walk. Bring her to me." Then, to Renathal, he finished, “Instead, I will give you Elisewin.”

The servant’s satin slippers pattered lightly on the stone as he hastened to do his Master’s bidding. But Renathal was sure the sound must have obscured Denathrius’ words. He could not possibly had said-

“Give me… what?”

“Elisewin. The mortal. Surely, you remember her name?”

Renathal could only gape. Denathrius’ smile grew sharper and wider, as if preparing to take a bite of him.

“This is the second time you have contrived to return her to safety, and both times she has obeyed your commands. You have a…” He hesitated a second time. “A connection. That, apparently, cannot be easily recreated. I shall use it to my advantage. I refer to her atonement, of course,” he added hastily. “Perhaps she will find lessons in repentance from you more palatable. Or at least easier to swallow.”

A rush of distinctly unprofessional images flooded Renathal’s staggering brain. So vivid and visceral, saturated in base desire, his Master must surely smell them on him. Had it been his intention? Ice crept through Renathal's veins at the thought. Was he being punished after all? Had the Sire's displays of affection - his compliments and confidences and rare, extraordinary touch - simply been another well-crafted performance designed to put him off guard?

Denathrius was watching him closely, waiting on his response. Renathal cleared his throat. His mouth was suddenly dry.

"As you command, Sire,” he replied and bowed his head, hiding his hurt and bemusement behind formality and turning the situation to his advantage; a strategy, he thought heartlessly, the Sire must surely approve. “I assume I shall be vouchsafed her relevant history and her Sinstone?"

“Oh, I doubt you will need them," said Denathrius with a dismissive wave. "I have every confidence you will discover all her remarkable sins in time.”

Heat coiled fast in Renathal's gut. He ignored it.

"But without knowledge of her sins, how will I know what acts of penance to prescribe? It is, as is so often noted, not my customary purview."

“Follow your instincts, Renathal!" The Sire's smile had become an unmistakable smirk. "After all, you have such a well-defined sense of what is needed in Revendreth. I trust your judgments entirely.”

After eons spent savouring his Master's every complimentary crumb, Renathal was surprised how little he enjoyed this generous sampling. But footsteps were echoing up the corridor behind him. Two sets of footsteps, and Renathal’s heart affected a faster pace.

"Ah. Elisewin," called Denathrius. Renathal, not quite ready to turn around, watched his Master shrug on his brusque, business-like manner once more. "A change in your accommodations has been arranged."

"Sire?" came the expressionless response.

"You have been remanded into the service of the Prince," the Sire explained, nodding at Renathal. "He will oversee your further education, and you will obey him as you would myself. I expect to see swift and significant progress."

His words were clipped, and the last had barely left him before the Master of Revendreth spun on his booted hoof and strode away. The billowing tails of his cloak were halfway up the corridor before his Venthyr servant gathered himself to follow. And Renathal, still reeling, turned just in time to catch the slow blink of white-blue eyes he had been sure such a short time ago he would never again see.

If the carriage ride to Nathria had been fraught with awkward tension, the journey from the castle to Darkwall Tower was doubly so. It was shorter, at least. A quick trot across the Court of Harvesters, then a lift ride up, the sinrunners champing at their bits as they endured the ascent.

Renathal fancied he knew how they felt.

His nerves were now a living thing scuttling across his skin, and this time it was he who picked a spot of dark upholstery and fixed his gaze, studiously ignoring the carriage’s other occupant. Elisewin had maintained an impenetrable silence since Denathrius' abrupt exit. She had not asked what occurred between Sire and son, had expressed neither regret nor relief at her unexplained dismissal. Renathal wondered if she was unhappy with her ostensible demotion, but there was no time to entertain such self-indulgent fears.They had already arrived.

Drawing to a halt in the courtyard, the sinrunners were, at last, granted their reprieve. Venthyr servants unhitched the beasts and led them away; a task made cumbersome by their slack jaws and open stares as Renathal helped the conspicuous mortal from his carriage for the second time that day. This time, however, he let Elisewin walk unassisted up the cobbled path. She made slow work of it. Her head swiveled curiously, appraising the modest grounds, and Renathal drew his coat about himself self-consciously as he followed her unblinking eyes. The carved front door swung open as they reached it, and there was Breakfist with a proper greeting for his Master and a professional indifference at the unexpected addition.

It felt more, the Dark Prince reflected as he ushered the mortal into Darkwall Tower, like hosting a foreign dignitary than punishing a penitent soul.

The front door closed firmly behind them, and they stood in the circular foyer, Renathal more uncomfortable than he had ever been in his own home. Taking pains to avoid actually looking at the figure beside him, he cleared his throat and introduced her to Breakfist and his coterie of dredgers as - in imitation of Denathrius - his guest. 

“And shall I h'ave a coffin prepared for h'er, your H'ighness?" asked Breakfist, his little round chest swelling with pride at every careful H.

Renathal shook his head.

"Our guest is a mortal," he explained. At the chorus of muddy, uncomprehending blinks, he elucidated, "She will require a bed."

That prompted a few curious mutters, snuffed out quickly by the butler's well-trained glare. 

"O' course, your H'ighness," said Breakfist solemnly. "I believe there h'is still a bed in the guest room across from the Master's soo-eet."

It was Renathal’s turn to emit a low noise of consternation.

Briefly, he debated alternatives and found none of them satisfactory. Coffins were a Revendreth standard for servants and the Venthyr lower class, but Renathal knew from his reading, and the historic reticence of most souls, mortal beings generally found them distasteful. And to move a bed to one of the rooms on another floor would require more dredgers than he kept on staff.

"That shall do," he conceded, unsure if the writhing in his stomach was excitement or dismay at this final blow to his crumbling resolution, or simply a call for much needed anima and rest. "Have the room prepared. It will have been centuries since it was last used."

Breakfist bowed, his round, earnest face free of even the shadow of a sly or knowing expression. Any Venthyr servant worth their place would have leapt to the most obvious and salacious conclusion, and rumours that the Prince and the mortal's beds lay opposite each other's would have run the rounds through all of Revendreth within a week. Exactly why his house was staffed by dredgers, thought Renathal smugly as Breakfist straightened and began barking orders at his underlings who trundled into immediate action.

Renathal allowed one dredger to take his coat and another to retire to the kitchens to prepare a spot of tea, remembering only after it had shuffled away Elisewin's expressed distaste for the drink. Face twisting at his own faux pas, and unable to reasonably put it off any longer, Renathal let his gaze wander to the spot in the entryway where Elisewin had been -

- and found her missing.

Alarm surged through him like an anima current. He whipped around, checking the entrance to the parlor, the kitchens, the front door - surely, surely she would not attempt escape? Not after everything he had done for her. But a splash of lavender and scarlet moving across his vision as he turned full circle cut his panic short.

There - behind his grandfather clock, wrapped in the enormous arms of the winding staircase, Elisewin was craning her neck to peer up at the distant ceiling and its elaborate candle-filled iron chandelier. Light and shadows played across her as she spun slowly in place, eyes following the wind of the stairs and its numerous floors and landings, like so many paneled and wall-papered veins branching from the tower's central artery of dull, dark stone. Not that the base building material of the staircase was much visible. The Dark Prince had seen to that. The walls practically sagged under the weight of the tasteful tapestries, pictures, and paintings he had spent millennia collecting and curating for every spare square inch of his home. 

As he watched, Elisewin lowered her gaze, examining the voluminous tapestry on display behind the clock. A particular favorite of Renathal's. It depicted the forest of the Banewood, embroidered in moody blues and blacks, complete with delicately stitched fuchsia widowblooms and a frenzy of yellow-fanged, red-eyed bats. She traced the air above one of the creatures with a trembling finger, and Renathal's eyes were once again drawn to the cut marring one smooth cheek. Did the memory frighten her? Or were her wide eyes and shaking hands more to do with her existence's abrupt upheaval? An understandable response, he grudgingly conceded. Unable to remember her own realm or people, Nathria would be the closest thing to a home she had. 

Elisewin dropped her hand, and Renathal shook off his dispirited reverie. Whether the Master had sentenced her here as punishment for one or both of them, it was no excuse for him to neglect his duties as a host. 

Gathering himself to his full, not insignificant height, Renathal spread his arms wide and called across the foyer: “Welcome to Darkwall Tower!"

Elisewin looked up swiftly. Renathal attempted his most ingratiating smile. But perhaps he was out of practice. Her face remained unusually clouded. While he waited, her gaze flicked again to the stairs, the ceiling, the tapestry, then back across the foyer as if searching for something. Renathal felt another prickle of self-conscious nerves and busied himself tucking his cuffs more securely under his bracers.

"I know it is not the castle to which you are accustomed," he said more stiffly. "I suppose it will take some time to adjust. Darkwall is certainly smaller than Nathria, and nowhere near as grand, however-"

"No."

Elisewin's voice was soft and distant, barely carrying across the space between them, but the word cut through Renathal's deprecations like a knife.

"It's not... like Nathria," she went on thoughtfully. "It is.. it feels different. I can't explain it. I like it," she added quickly, catching sight of Renathal's face. She stepped hastily around the clock and put a hand on the staircase's carved banister. "I do! It's just... I don't know how to describe it." She cast a final searching look around the room, then on Renathal himself who waited tensely for her verdict. "It feels very much more like... home."

All offense Renathal was preparing to take melted away. 

"I see," he said, restraining his pride like an eager gargon. "Well, that is... most gratifying. And would you prefer to be shown directly to your room, or shall I give you the tour along the way?"

Elisewin blinked.

"I get a tour?"

"Certainly," Renathal replied. "Darkwall may not be as extensive as Nathria, but there are still enough halls to get lost in if one is unfamiliar with them."

A faint twitch of her lips revealed Elisewin's amusement. She tapped the banister's carved orb finial, remarking dryly, "No one ever gave me a tour of the castle."

"Really?" Renathal lifted an eyebrow in his own surprise. "How did you find your way about, then?"

"I figured it out. Eventually."

Her shrug was careless, but Renathal noticed her grip on the finial had tightened. Perhaps her experiences in Nathria did not engender nostalgia after all. This time the smile curling past his fangs was as easy and thoughtless as his stride across the foyer.

"A creditable approach," he said wryly, joining her at the foot of the stairs. "But suppose we make it a bit easier on you this time."

With the charming ghost of a formal bow, Renathal offered Elisewin his hand, enjoying her warmth as she took it and the colour in her high cheekbones that accompanied her genuine smile.

The next hour was spent lazily perambulating every room of Darkwall Tower. They wandered the kitchens, the formal and informal dining rooms and parlors, the ballroom, the breakfast room, lunarium, even Renathal's private study. The music room was of particular interest to Elisewin - "Do you play?" he asked, indicating the clavier, to which she laughed, "I have no idea," - as was the library, where she spent nearly half an hour perusing the floor-to-ceiling shelves, running her fingers across the ancient books' crumbling spines - to a parallel shiver down Renathal's - until Breakfist appeared at the door with the news her room was ready and Renathal, reluctantly, led her away.

On the landing outside, the dredger butler stood waiting for them, uncharacteristically wringing his hands.

"If the preparations require more time, there is no rush," said Renathal magnanimously, glancing covertly at Elisewin who smiled as she caught his eye. 

She had done a lot of that in the last hour. And to Renathal's surprise - and weary cheekbones - so had he. Showing off his home to such an interested guest was the most enjoyable thing the Dark Prince had done in longer than he cared to remember, and he was not quite ready for it to end. But Breakfist was shaking his hairless head.

"It... is ready, yer 'Ighness," he admitted, and Renathal raised an eyebrow. If his conscientious butler was dropping his Hs, something was dreadfully wrong. 

"What is the matter, Breakfist?" he asked, not unkindly, but the dredger did not seem capable of articulating his distress. He only bobbed a series of plaintive bows, begging his Master to follow, and when they had climbed two flights of stairs, crossed a hall, and reached the open door to the guest bedroom across from his own, Renathal immediately understood.

Dredger, venthyr, and mortal stood in the doorway, each one hesitant to enter, as if what they saw inside might be a mirage. Surprises on surprises, it was Elisewin who spoke first.

"This is beautiful!"

It was the most open display of enthusiasm Renathal had yet heard from the implacable mortal, and it went a long way to soothing his current tumultuous state of mind. He managed to shake off the worst of his astonishment, close his hanging jaw, and follow her inside. The room was of modest size and furnishings; a four-poster bed, vanity, wardrobe, and mirror occupied most of the space. A thin layer of dust and cobwebs clung to the higher surfaces the dredgers could not quite reach. But it was not the items in the room that bothered him. It was their distinctive shade.

Had this room always been so purple?

It was an unusual colour scheme - not at all Renathal's style. He watched as Elisewin ran a bare hand along the bed's heavy coverlet, her skin disappearing into the plush lavender-hued faux fur. 

As if reading Renathal's thoughts, she tilted her head and asked, "Were you expecting me?"

"No," he assured her honestly. "A... happy coincidence."

Which statement was technically true. Elisewin's face flushed with excitement was an exact match for the gauzy curtains behind her. And, on turning and spotting the room's other extraordinary feature, she gasped in unfeigned delight.

"Is that-" She rushed forward, hands outstretched, then stopped, and glanced back at Renathal, teeth tugging her lip. "May I?"

Renathal nodded regally. At least, he hoped it appeared that way. But if Elisewin saw confusion in his face, she let it pass unnoted, her attention focused on the glass-paned doors set into the room's far wall.

They led to a balcony. An impressive one. Had it been anyone else's, Renathal would have had many admiring compliments to impart. As it was, he was too bemused to appreciate its dramatic shape, like the swell and point of a leaf; or the low balustrade, sculpted to obscure none of the glowing Ember Ward's boundless view; or the wind whipping pleasantly about them as if it, too, had somehow been crafted specifically for this magnificent space.

When had he built this? Why had he built this? He already had a balcony on the uppermost floor. This room had been abandoned for centuries, and even before that its occupants were infrequent. Renathal was positive he would remember commissioning - and paying - for something this elaborate to be constructed somewhere so strange. It was a mystery almost as unsettling as the windows in his study. And one equally impossible to comment on without giving his alarming lapses in memory away.

Staring vacantly into the distance, a sound that was not the wind whistled past Renathal's ears. Then a gentle warmth flickered up and down one arm, pooling in his fingers and shoulder. He twisted around. Elisewin's hand was on his elbow, her face just beneath his, peering up in apprehension. Had she said something?

"What?" he blurted, aware as the word left him it was too gruff. He winced as she dropped her hand, the lines of concern in her face rippling smoothly back into impassivity.  "My apologies," he added in a more appropriately measured tone, shuffling in place to face her fully. "I... did not hear you properly. What did you say?

Elisewin wet her lips. She was close enough Renathal could see every bead of moisture before her mortal warmth melted them away.

"I just wondered," she repeated tonelessly, "if I would be allowed to use the balcony... whenever I want."

Renathal considered this for exactly half a second before declaring, "Certainly! You are free to go wherever you like within the tower." As her blink and his better sense caught up with him, he hastily amended, "Assuming, of course, you are not engaged in some other set task. Naturally, your atonement must come before pleasure. It is, after all, the reason you are here."

It was the first time the events precipitating Elisewin's arrival at Darkwall had been mentioned, and the memory trampled like a dredger big'un over the last hour's easy rapport. Elisewin shifted a little in place, hunching her shoulders as if cold.

"And, what will those be," she asked warily, "my... new tasks?"

Wind whistled across the balcony, but it was not the cause of Renathal's own unfeigned chill.

Follow your instincts. Those had been the Master's instructions. But the instinct aroused within Renathal was not one in which he could safely indulge. Doubtless, Denathrius expected him to lean in that direction. Sending Elisewin here had most likely been punishment for them both. Only they did not punish in Revendreth, they educated. This was a lesson, the final exam of a class in which Renathal had never excelled. But this time...

The Dark Prince drew himself into a more appropriately royal stance. He crossed his arms securely behind his back... this time he would not fail.

"Your tasks shall be determined on a case-by-case basis," he intoned at last. "But largely similar to whatever the Sire set you before. Domestic endeavors. Assisting in preparations for my upcoming court. Perhaps a few household errands, though not quite so many excursions to the Endmire. Assuming you behave."

Violet pinpricks blossomed on Elisewin's cheekbones. Renathal grimaced. He had not intended the words to sound so prurient. Clearing his throat roughly, he put his back to the twilit view and strode purposefully for the glass doors, Elisewin's footsteps padding swiftly behind.

"You understand," he called over his shoulder as they walked, "this is not a reward, nor a reprieve. You are here in Revendreth to atone for your sins. You are simply continuing your atonement under a different master."

"Is that what you want me to call you, then?"

A last burst of errant wind whipped Renathal's pale hair into a wild frenzy. He retreated into the safe, unmoving air of the guest room, waited for Elisewin to step over the threshold, then shut the glass door.

"If you prefer," he said, without the least trace of flirtation, tucking his hair back into place, impressed at his own masterful control. "However, Your Highness or Prince Renathal are also sufficient. Now, if you will excuse me, I have other matters to attend to." He gave her a somber nod, then all but bolted for the door." Should you require anything, you may ring for a dredger." A careless wave indicated a little bell on the bedside table as he passed it. "But for the moment your only task is to rest. This has been a long day, even for Revendreth."

Two long strides and Renathal gained the doorway. One last step would grant him the safety of the hall. He lifted his foot-

"Thank you," Elisewin called politely from somewhere in the room behind; it sounded just far enough way he might turn and offer farewell without undue risk. "Your Highness," she added, and Renathal could hear her smile.

He chanced a glance over his shoulder.

She was standing by the bed, her skin such a match for the silk satin pillows she looked like another of the room's permanent and inexplicable purple fixtures. Her face was set in an impassivity Renathal knew by now meant nothing. It was her eyes one had to watch. The indistinct sclera like sheer, drawn window shades disguised the thoughts within he was sure were currently racing to understand his rapid change in demeanor.

"You should get some rest, too," she said, cocking her head as she appraised him. "You look... tired."

"As soon as is feasible," Renathal replied, and closed the door on her before she could glean any more from him. 

He was tired. He was exhausted. His brain's need for reprieve echoed plaintively in his every tissue and bone. Renathal knew his body would shut itself down eventually, force him to sleep, but a few hours unconsciousness could hardly count as rest. Rest was something Renathal doubted he would ever have again while the mortal he craved just as desperately waited for him nearby. 

Read Chapter 6: Home Improvement | Visit the Masterpost

If you enjoyed this story, I would love to hear it 💜

[ladysternchen]

Yet Were Its Making Good, For This- Talk It Out

The feast that Elu and Melian gave in honour of their unborn child was a joyous one, and one that was long remembered among the Eglath. Melian smiled rather shyly at them after the announcement, clearly not altogether comfortable with all the renewed attention. It must be unpleasant, Mablung mused as he sat with the other captains and lords, to reveal news like that and knowing that all of Beleriand would wonder about how they had achieved what was natural to everyone else. Or have their captains do nothing more sensible than imagine them… well, doing as husband and wife did, Mablung scolded himself silently. 

He still had no clue as to how he could have ever overlooked it, how anyone could have overlooked that Melian was expecting. True, as it had been unseasonably cold, the Queen had easily been able to hide her growing belly under her mantle, but she was so much changed in her whole demeanour that his ignorance had Mablung marvelling at himself. 

He marvelled even more at the fact that he had not noticed the change that had come over Elu, for that, at least, he should have done. Like Melian, Elu was radiant with joy, and it was very clear how much he looked forward to welcoming their child. But underneath all his joy, Mablung noted now for the first time how worn the King looked, and that he winced ever so slightly at loud noises. Naturally, Mablung mused. The Quendi raised their children together, and unlike with beasts, the fathers took great share in bringing their children into being, pouring their very selves into those new elflings. He remembered well the time when his mother had been pregnant with his twin-sisters. Weary though she had been towards the end, his father had been no less so, as he had ever helped her in spirit, strengthening her and watching over her sleep so her mind could truly rest. 

This sharing of duty must have an even greater effect if the child was not wholly an elf. Coming to think of it now, he wondered how Elu had even done it- sire a child that must be so much mightier than he himself was. Mablung was quite glad he had not known in advance, or he would have truly feared for him.

He was stirred out of his thoughts when Elu rose, excusing himself from the feast for a while, as if to prove Mablung right. Beleg, who sat beside Mablung, wordlessly nudged him to go after the King. As he rose, Beleg quietly passed him a jug of wine as well, and Mablung could have sworn he saw a knowing smile passing between Beleg and the Queen. This distracted him for a moment. Was Melian aware of this? Had Beleg told her? But no, he wouldn’t, and Mablung really had other things to focus on.

His heart beat very fast as he followed after Elu. What in Arda was he supposed to say? That whole idea was truly ridiculous. But then, he had to admit that Beleg’s plans had worked out in the past, and he had no reason to think this time might be different, so he resolved to watch as Elu sat down by the roots of a tall beech, leaning against its trunk and closing his eyes for a moment. He looked exhausted. 

“My King?”

Mablung did his best to keep his voice formal and cool, but that there was no possibility to fool Elu was in truth clear from the start. And indeed, the King looked up, smiling as he saw Mablung standing there, and inclined his head in a gesture of greeting.

“Mablung. You came after me worrying after I so unseemly left the feast. You need not have, dear friend. I was merely escaping the bustle for a while.”

Elu’s tone, too, was polite and formal, and Mablung bowed.

“I shall leave you in peace then, my lord. Forgive my intrusion.”

“Oh no, not at all. You are most welcome to stay with me if you want to. I was not fleeing company, merely the noise. And besides, you are always welcome at my side, though you seem to have forgotten that lately.”

Mablung lowered his eyes, but followed Elu’s invitation to sit down beside him on the grass anyway. 

“You look tired, lord.”

He could not stop himself, much as he’d have wanted to.

“I am. It is the price of… well, of begetting a child that is half Maia.” Elu answered, thus proving Mablung right. “But there is no need to look like that, Mablung, I am quite alright. Melian worried so much as well, but as I did not drop dead after begetting that babe, I will not do so now. And even were it so, I’d find it to be a small price to pay. I never dared dream that Melian and I would be parents one day.”

“You will be a wonderful father.”

At that, Elu suddenly laughed.

“I hope so. But to tell you the truth, I have never in my life been so scared. And you know what my charming brother did when I confided in him? Told me to stop being such a baby myself and that all my exhaustion was really just nerves. Well, I guess he knows.”

Mablung chuckled now, too. He could well see why Elmo would have greatly enjoyed that conversation. After a while, he passed Elu the wine, and the King drank before offering the jug back to Mablung.

“I shouldn’t do that.” Elu mumbled, more to himself than to Mablung. “I’ve had quite enough already, but… ah well.”

They smiled at each other, and a warmth spread through Mablung that had nothing to do with the wine. He could not tell how long they sat without speaking, just enjoying each other’s company and the drink, but at length Elu said: “I miss your friendship, Mablung. You know that?”

“But you have it, lord, you always…” Mablung started to protest, but Elu would not let him finish.

“I have not been clear- I miss being able to talk to you as I could on the journey, when the fact that I was your lord has not bound your tongue. Nor aught else.”

Mablung sat up straighter.

“Have I leave to speak openly, then?”

Elu looked at him, bewildered.

“You always have it. Forgive me, I… I never thought of telling you that, I thought it was obvious. Do you think I have forgotten what we shared? Do you honestly think that you are nothing more to me than my Captain?”

Mablung took another swig of wine, very thankful of Beleg’s foresight. He would need quite a bit more of it for that conversation.

“Not forgotten, but repented.” he said without looking at the King.

“I would never repent of it. I loved you ever, and I do so still, as a friend. You are dearer to my heart than I can express with words, and always will be. 

Yet I hoped to find you’d left with Olwë, together with your family, so that you would be safe, and free to find happiness across the sea. Call me very selfish, but I was nonetheless relieved when I met you again on these shores. My life would have been so much darker, so much more bereaved had you sailed. But for your happiness I grieve, Mablung. I found my true love, my soulmate, and I so wished you had as well.”

Mablung looked long in silence at Elu, then, his tongue loosened by the wine, said: “You know perfectly well that I have done that, long before you did. I loved you as long as I can remember, and growing up, that love grew, too. Nay, don’t say you’re sorry for waking false hopes, for you did not. I always knew what situation I got myself into. I knew you did not return those romantic feelings. I will not say it did not hurt to see you with Melian at first, but as I said when first I bedded you, I am happy when you are happy. To this I hold. I am happy with life as it is, and my heart desires no other life, not the tree-light, not another companion. If I am allowed to remain by your side, and see you happy and well, then I am more than content.”

“I’m still sorry…” Elu sniffed, and Mablung looked up to see him wipe his eyes. The King was quite drunk by now, something he admittedly found rather endearing.

“Don’t be.” He answered, noting as he did so that his thoughts and speech were not actually clear, either. Unsurprisingly so, perhaps, as they had emptied the entire jug of wine between them by themselves. He laughed.

“Lie down, Elu. Before you nod where you sit.”

Elu merely hummed, but curled up obediently, laying his head on Mablung’s lap, whose throat was suddenly tight. He had never imagined to ever share such an intimate moment again with the elf he loved, but now that he thought about it, it should perhaps not have been a surprise. Elu had ever been one for cuddles, be it with his brothers or his friends.

“Some things never change, it seems?” Mablung asked, but received no answer, so he busied himself with stroking loose strands of hair behind Elu’s ear. For a while, he remained as he was, savouring the moment and waiting for his head to clear, then he slowly and carefully disentangled himself from his King and rose, spreading his mantle over him. 

“Sleep tight.” he murmured, then went to find the Queen.

He found her sitting in the glade where they had held the feast, with Thônwen, her sister-in-law, braiding her hair. They both smiled as they beheld him, and Mablung bowed low.

“Have you two at last talked it out?” the Queen asked, laughter in her eyes. Mablung felt himself blush violently, but nodded all the same.

“We did. But I am afraid we emptied the jar of wine and…”

Thônwen snorted. 

“Is he behaving in any way that will warrant me denying our kinship?”

Now Mablung allowed himself a smile as well.

“Nay, lady, he’s sleeping soundly. But I deemed it prudent to let the Queen know anyway.”

Melian returned his smile, and got up, covering the distance between them dancing, clearly rejoicing in being able to move freely again.

“It is wonderful” she said, as if in answer to Mablung’s thoughts “… not to have to hide it anymore.”

She stroked her rounded belly tenderly, then bade Thônwen goodnight and followed Mablung to where he had left Elu sleeping. 

“I apologise for making you so uncomfortable earlier, Mablung.” she said after a little while in a very earnest voice. “I did not mean to.”

“That is quite alright, my lady. I was merely… astonished that you knew.”

Melian laughed.

“How could I not know? Elu told me even before we left Nan Elmoth. You hold a very special place in his heart, as I am sure you know. And as he has told you so again tonight, I should guess?”

“So he has.” Mablung answered gravely.

“I thank you, Mablung, for being so generous as to not begrudge me our love, as you easily might have done.”

Melian’s words came somewhat surprising for Mablung, and he felt the heat creep into his cheeks once more.

“Nay, lady, how could I? Much rather, I should thank you for not shunning me for what I did.”

For a while, Melian walked beside him in silence, then she said: “Shun you for loving my husband still? What fell creature of Melkor would I need to be to do that? Nay, Mablung, I’d much rather call you a dear friend for it, if you should permit it? Our fates are tied together anyway through that shared love.”

Mablung felt overwhelmed in a very beautiful way. He had not counted on Melian offering him her friendship, but that she had seemed to lift a heavy weight off his shoulders.

“I would be honoured, Lady Melian. You have my love anyway as my Queen, and as the one to make Elu so very happy. I… he’s everything to me.”

“I know.” Melian said earnestly, and she smiled at him before she went to where Elu still lay sleeping. Mablung remained standing where she had left him. His relief now truly started to sink in, and a deep peace settle over him. It would be alright, he thought. Now it would finally be alright.

[dykeferatu]

VAMPIRE DYKE RANT INCOMING

so anna and dani are kindred who's fledgling and early neonate years were during the tail end of the frontier. dani (my oc) was a humble cowboy who had to run from his hometown for dyking it up too much. he started disguising himself as a man to avoid those troubles, which only kind of worked because he did continue to dyke it up (fuck lots of women) but he was always on the move anyway so it didn't matter much! eventually though a bunch of his cattle started to get mysteriously sick and when he investigated he got chomped. a suck-and-run. he never saw his sire again. gangrel btw. unlife was hard for him but he managed to survive until he stumbled upon anna

i don't actually know anna's human backstory but she's a toreador who was embraced a little bit before dani. her sire was trying to establish camarilla power in what would become southern california. anna was embraced to be her sire's personal pawn & sheriff. dani came across the town she was in and her sire was immediately like "Um what the hell. oh hang on i can use this" so dani started working for them 👍

anna didn't like dani at first because she obviously thought he was a man. but she was also strangely attracted to him and after the Reveal she was like "oh" [lesbian awakening] and they eventually became a thing <3 so cute. young love. they lasted until anna's power grabs became too unethical and she was asking dani to help her do something really fucked up (what was it? idk we never figured it out LOL) and dani was like "what the hell anna. we're not doing that" and she was like "wtf do u not love me???? ok i'll do it without u." then dani sabotaged her plans and they became Enemies

what it boiled down to though was anna constantly being a nuisance and fucking with dani over the decades without actually hurting him (physically) too bad because she never really got over him. dani went with the anarchs during the revolt and anna stayed with the cam so they saw less of each other. nevertheless there was a lot of animosity between them and they could not be in the same place without getting into it. it would be pretty obvious to onlookers that they had History, but the observant among them would notice that anna had access to animalism and dani had celerity. leading many a neonate to think "can they just fuck and get this over with." don't worry dear reader i'm getting to that

some time in the indeterminate future anna rolls the worst blunt ever and is asked to leave the camarilla. sorry i don't think we ever had solid lore for this either but she DOES fuck something up real bad and she does leave the camarilla. a kind and generous baron helps her lay low, in exchange for a few jobs. dani is also working some jobs :) so they have to do it together :))) so they have a "begrudgingly working together" arc and kind of start to make up and ummm yeah on their last job together they do fuck. but they immediately regret it because they were really just living in the past and not seeing each other for who they are now. their entire unlives have been defined by each other and neither of them know themselves! dani squared all his debts and left town. said he'd come back but who knows... anna just hung around and was depressed the end

maybe in a century or so they can try again

ART DUMP BROUGHT TO U BY MY EX HIIIII @cradlingsongs

[1] [2] [3] [4]

i love vampire/vampire relationships. who wants to hear about my old west lesbian vampires and their dyke drama

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Merlin has to explain an odd nickname,

only after Gwaine has a Fun (read: Stupid) idea. It’s not... illegal (not most of it, anyway), just... frowned upon.

TW: Bruises/minor injuries and fighting?

“What’s everyone up to later tonight then?”

Gwaine’s voice booms across the mostly empty training field, and it’s inhabitants look to him warily. The King, his manservant, and the First Knight just raise an eyebrow each as Sir Percival responds:

“Got no plans, something in mind?”

Sir Elyan is quick to follow:

“Having my night ruined by whatever you’re about to suggest.”

Sir Lancelot just grins, and Sir Mordred nods to Percival in agreement. Gwaine looks to The King:

“Sire?”

“I’ve a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

Gwaine's grin grows and moves his gaze over:

“Merls?”

“Sorry, Gwaine. I promised to run some errands for Gaius after I finish with the prat, and I’ve got a few other bits and pieces I need to get done as well.-”

He claps his hands together and smiles brightly before continuing:

“-Speaking of, I actually need to get going.-”

He turns briefly to Arthur, yanking his hair to catch his attention before turning and walking back towards the castle, speaking over his shoulder:

“-I’ll send George out to help with the rest of training, I’ve got a shit ton of laundry to do.”

Arthur scowls but doesn’t say anything, and Gwaine pouts and mutters a quiet “You’re no fun,”; the rambunctious knight knows he isn’t going to get anywhere, having lost this argument many a time, and he finally looks over to Sir Leon:

“M’Lord?”

The knight grimaces, regretting more with every word out of Gwaine’s mouth mentioning to him that he’s the only Noble Born among The King’s closest circle.

“I, for one, stand with Elyan on this. Doesn’t matter whether I say no and stay well away, I’ve not got Merlin’s skill in sneaking around and I’ll still end up tangled up in whatever mayhem you have planned, so lay it on us.”

Gwaine just grins proudly, happy to have all bar one in on his little plot. He does however tap the side of his nose with a finger, as he winks conspiratorially:

“Ah, that would be telling. Meet me by the castle gates at about an hour before midnight. I promise I’m not just dragging you to the tavern but I... uh, well... whilst I was in the tavern I heard a pretty solid rumour, more than once, about a certain something I’m eager to try out.”

Arthur looks doubtful, giving Gwaine a suspicious up and down look before slowly speaking:

“Not the tavern?”

Gwaine nods and crosses his hand over his heart obnoxiously:

“Cross my heart, not the tavern. It’s a special, rare opportunity to... well... have fun! So come on, who’s in? It’s not like any of us have anything on in the morning, and I promise it’s not illegal.”

The knight receives a round of nods and agreements, varying in enthusiasm, and that keeps him mostly quiet for the rest of the afternoon, bar his knowing, excited grin, and loud ”I’ll see you all later, then!” as they re-enter the castle and go their separate ways. 

~

No one had any idea what to expect. They all talk of course, analysing Gwaine’s word choice and cheeky grin from that morning, but ten minutes after they had all met at the citadel gates, they’re still waiting for the rogue knight to join them and explain what the hell is going on. It’s late, a half hour before midnight, and Arthur is about ready to give up and go back to his chambers when Gwaine jogs around the corner, out of breath and red in the face:

“Sorry, sorry, I couldn’t find my boot and then I was going to double check that Merlin isn’t just sleeping on us, but that involved potentially waking Gaius trying to sneak into our boy’s room, and I didn’t fancy a cuffed ear.-”

He takes a moment to catch his breath as the rest of the knights roll their eyes, before he dons his wild grin and begins leading the way out of the castle courtyard and into the city:

“-Come on, officially it started hours ago, but the interesting stuff won’t kick off for a while yet.”

It’s Elyan, used to Gwaine’s antics but not a fan of being kept in the dark, that huffs as they all follow like ducklings:

“And where exactly are we going?”

Gwaine turns on the spot, walking backwards down the deserted cobbled pathways as he shrugs his shoulders and answers:

“That, my friend, is still a surprise.”

They all roll their eyes again as he turns around again and continues his march, Elyan and Mordred the most frustrated and nervous, and the others just sort of resigned to it, on a spectrum between annoyed and amused. 

It doesn’t take them long to reach their destination, and true to Gwaine’s word, it isn’t the tavern. They actually ended up at the back entrance of one of the smaller seamstresses’ places in the very lower town, and this time it’s Leon who interrupts Gwaine’s cheerful humming, stepping in front of the other knight before he can pull open the door:

“Gwaine I swear to all that you may possibly find even remotely holy, have you brought us down here just to break into a small business?”

Gwaine winks and shakes his head, pushing Leon aside and opening the door. They all realise with just a little bit of confusion that it wasn’t locked, and there was quite the amount of noise coming from somewhere below them:

“Come on, I promised you it wasn’t illegal, didn’t I? They leave the back door unlocked, it’s sort of assumed that the only people coming in know exactly where they’re going, and luckily, I’m quite the eavesdropper, so go on then, in we all go.”

The entrance does not in fact lead them to the back of the seamstresses’ store, like they’d expected, but opens immediately on to a set of steep steps. Gwaine waves them all to go in before him, shutting the door behind himself as he follows them down, the noise growing with every step they take. When they eventually reach the bottom, there’s a short corridor that leads to yet another door, and it’s behind there that all the noise comes from. There’s yelling, and the occasional chiming of a bell, but none of them can make out what is being said, and Gwaine pushes himself through to the front, turning around and raising his hood pointedly, and not opening the door until everyone else follows suit.

The noise grows impossibly louder when he opens the door, and light spills into the corridor from the multiple lit torches around the room. The heat is almost unbearable, and with so many bodies packed into one room, it’s unsurprising. He leads the group through the boisterous crowds, careful not to lose anyone as they find a small clearing near a back corner. He finally turns to them as they all look around, trying to figure out what exactly it is they’ve just walked into:

“This, my dearest friends, is the semi-final evening of this season’s fighting ring!”

They all stare at him, deadpan, and it’s Mordred that first yells over the crowds:

“Aren’t underground fighting rings illegal?”

Gwaine’s grin grows as he waggles his eyebrows and yells back an answer, looking pointedly to Leon and Arthur:

“Nope!! Frowned upon, maybe, within the upper classes, but as long as the rules are followed it’s perfectly legal. Thought it might give us an evening of slightly riotous fun, without getting The Princesses’ or The Lord’s knickers in a twist!”

Mordred shakes his head with a short huff of laughter, though Elyan and Percival are quick to join in on Gwaine’s grinning. Leon and Arthur still look mildly annoyed, but the rambunctious knight can also tell that they’re just playing it up a bit and are secretly intrigued by the idea. Leon proves this when he waves a hand at the match board on the other side of the room:

“If this is the semi-final, then why are there so many fights up on the board for tonight?”

Gwaine puts an arm around the taller man’s shoulders and pulls him down, much to Leon’s chagrin, as he explains:

“From the quarters onwards, everyone has to fight everyone. Plus the last couple weeks of the season also run the qualifiers for the next season. You get into the semi-final, you automatically qualify, you want to get in otherwise, you need to put your name down and be matched up. You can add your name to the list right up until about an hour before the final fight of the season, then it’s qualifiers over. Sometimes these last hours into the morning, depending on how many names get put down.”

Arthur turns to the knight with a slightly doubtful raised eyebrow:

“I thought you said you’d overheard a conversation in the tavern, how do you know all this?”

Gwaine blushes slightly as he mutters, unheard over the din:

“Damn, didn’t think you’d catch on to that.-”

but speaks up with his usual grin:

“-You got me, I actually pestered the blokes talking about it until they told me everything, didn’t get into a brawl though! Promise!”

The King glances down at his perpetually bruised knuckles with a raised eyebrow:

“I’m sure.”

~

They’d missed most of the night’s qualifying rounds, but Gwaine said that was deliberate. They normally start around mid-afternoon and are mostly boring; sometimes it’s easy to see a winner among them, but nowadays it’s just farmers who'd like a little extra cash, or squires who want to prepare for becoming a knight and are wholly unprepared for what a real punch feels like.

There are five competitors left, meaning fifteen fights. In earlier rounds, each person only has to take part in a certain number of fights, and the top number, depending on each round, move on. From the quarter finals (which takes places over three or four nights normally, to give the fighters a break) onwards, like Gwaine had explained, everyone has to fight everyone. 

The group mostly ignore the qualifying and earlier fights and stay nearer the back for a while, only hearing snippets of the announcements over the crowd. Though they can certainly tell when the favourite of the season is on, by the noise of the applause. They finally push closer to the ring when the thirteenth of the proper matches is announced. It’s then, as the fight between a guard that Arthur recognises and a truly bulking farmer is taking place, that Percival asks:

“What sort of rules make this legal?”

Everyone gathers around Gwaine as he points out various things around the room:

“Well there’s a Physician over there, he and the referee just have to make sure no one dies, if at all possible. Uhh... There are noise regulations as well, the city guards know that this sort of stuff mostly happens at night for convenience, so it has to be quiet enough that it doesn’t disturb other buildings, hence the basement. The competitors have to wrap their hands, no weapons allowed, and there are certain moves that aren’t allowed. You can punch someone wherever you want, but kicking is generally disallowed. Basically just a whole bunch of safety stuff.-”

He waves a hand over to the opposite corner, where a loud crowd is gathered around a well-lit table:

“-Plus there’s all the regulations around gambling, though it’s a tad stricter here than it is in dice halls or on card tables. All that stuff makes this legal, technically speaking. Take any of it away, the ref, or the hand wraps, or the Physician, or the low noise level, you get the guards storming the place. Oh! And as much as there’s no limit on the number of fights, there can only be two actual tournaments a year, so a season normally runs for the whole of Spring, then there’s a gap, then the whole of Autumn, then another gap.”

They all nod in understanding, starting to enjoy themselves more and more, the more they settle into the noise and overcrowded-ness. None of them make any bets or give in to Gwaine’s goading to put their names up on the board, and the night, now the early morning, seems to whiz by as the qualifiers dwindle down and the fourteenth proper match is had. Soon enough, it’s time for the final fight, and the gang each hope that this will involve the favourite that they have yet to see.

The ref, doubling as a commentator so any newcomers and people not in the front row can tell what’s going on, stands in the middle of the ring as he yells to the boisterous crowds:

“And now!! The fight we’ve all been waiting for, between this season’s two favourites to win, our very own Wall Guard-!”

Cheers go up around the room as the guard from before walks into the centre of the ring, already bruised and battered, but looking just as ready to fight as he had done hours ago as he waves a hand to the crowd:

“-And The Guard Dog!!!-”

At this, the applause gets even louder, and The Guard Dog, whoever he is —Arthur can’t quite decide if that’s an incredibly cool fighting nickname, or an incredibly stupid one—has to force himself through the jostling to be able to jump into the ring. When he does, the whole group freezes as everyone around them goes crazy, because that... that’s Merlin. That’s Merlin, stood in the ring, shirt off, hands wrapped, grinning like crazy and waving to the applause. Arthur is the first to break from his stupor, about to rip his hood down and tell everyone to scram so he can knock some sense into his servant for sneaking into a competition like this, but the referee continues:

“-Who will win? Our Wall Guard, the first ever to win every fight in his first season, or The Guard Dog, who is ironically not a guard, but who has been in the final eight times over the years, this season being his ninth, and won six of those eight finals??-”

He turns to the two men as the crowds go crazy, and the gang slowly allow themselves to be jostled backwards, partly in shock, and partly because they’re not sure they really want Merlin to notice them:

“-A clean fight you two, you know how it goes. Best of luck, and I pray the two of you got the morning off.”

No one hears this, or their replies:

“Always, Garrett. I booked two days out to nurse my bruises. Merls?”

“I’m always clean. And no such luck, you know what his majesty is like, I’ll just tell him I tripped over, he normally buys it.”

The three of them snigger, bumping fists before the referee moves to the side and the other two settle into their positions. It doesn’t really matter who wins this match, both of them have already solidified their positions in the final, but whoever wins can change the order of the next fights, so for that, and to keep it fair, the fight still has to happen.

The gang don’t let themselves be moved all the way back, they still want to be able to watch, and potentially step in if Merlin starts taking the sort of beating they know that guard can give, but they blend into the crowds a little more. 

At least they think they do.

Merlin already has a smattering of bruises, old and new, over his ribcage (his scarred ribcage, though that seems to be fuel for a later conversation), but he throws the first punch without hesitation, and it’s a strong one. It sends the guard stumbling, but Merlin follows him quickly, throwing two more before the other man finally joins the fight, swinging his fist up and catching Merlin in the jaw before he can dodge. The others wince, that definitely would’ve hurt, in fact it easily could’ve broken something, but it doesn’t deter Merlin for even a second, and the fight continues. Every hit landed seems much more impactful and painful than they had in previous fights, and the knights reckon it’s probably because of how closely they’re paying attention, because it’s Merlin. A fact which they still haven’t quite gotten over yet.

The fight seems to drag on for hours, though Arthur knows it’s only been a minute or so at most when Merlin shakes out his arms and stalks towards the guard, his face steely and his fists raised, before he reins blow after blow down on the other man. He goes down quickly, and stays down until the ref shouts an end to the match, at which point Merlin sags and takes the offered water-skin, downing it through deep, gasping breaths. He cradles a hand to his jaw briefly as he contorts his mouth and stretches his ribs, grimacing slightly with the pain, but otherwise smiling and laughing at the applause.

He leans over to help the guard up, who offers him a congratulatory, if a little shaky, smile, and the two of them walk off into the crowd, heading to some sort of back room where they can re-dress and deal with any injuries. And presumably so Merlin can collect any winnings.

The crowds begin to dissipate quickly now that the last fight is over, the only people hanging around are working the event or waiting to pick up their winnings (or pay up) at the gambling desk. Lancelot is the first to break from his stupor:

“We should tell him.”

Gwaine looks to him quickly, eyes wide and grin wider:

“We should, we should tell him, but think about this... we can only tell him once.”

Elyan and Percival snort and shake their heads at Gwaine’s antics, though Leon and Mordred look like they agree with Lancelot. It’s only when Gwaine smacks Arthur on the shoulder and raises an eyebrow that The King replies:

“Gwaine is... and I can’t believe I’m saying this, right. I want to see how much he’s willing to lie to us about this. We should keep a closer eye on him from now.”

Gwaine laughs as they all begin to slowly make their way from the building, taking lungfuls of thankfully cold air when they finally step outside, but Lancelot pales, and starts planning how he can warn Merlin.

~

Arthur doesn’t say anything about the faint bruise on Merlin’s jaw when he wakes him the next morning, but by the time afternoon training comes around, it’s turned dark and angry and purple. Not that Merlin seems too bothered about it.

After the knights all share a pointed look (Gwaine can hardly keep his glee in, and gets a few odd looks from the servant), Arthur turns to Merlin to loudly ask:

“What in God’s name happened to your jaw, Merlin?”

Merlin lets out a fake wince at the reminder, and touches his fingers to the bruise tenderly:

“Fell over late last night, smacked my face off a step. Gaius said it’s not broken though so I’ll be fine.”

Lancelot gulps as Arthur raises an eyebrow, gesturing down to Merlin’s bruised knuckles, thankfully only on one hand (the wraps protect from breaks and split skin, but bruises still appear every once in a while, depending on how hard you hit):

“Really? Because it looks like you were in a fight.”

Merlin immediately snorts and looks at Arthur like’s an idiot, hands on his hips:

“And you... what, you think that it’s more likely I of all people got into an actual fight and came out with a grand total of two bruises, than the fact that I tripped up the stairs and smacked my hand and face on the way down?”

Leon has to stop himself from whistling at Merlin’s skill in lying, and everyone wonders absent-mindedly just what else he’s lying about. Arthur’s face turns slightly sour but he quickly covers it with a smirk, conceding the point:

“Hmm, I suppose you’re right.”

~

A few hours later, Lancelot catches Merlin alone and drags him back to the Physician’s chambers:

“Merlin, they know.-”

Merlin raises an eyebrow and smiles slightly, nodding his head:

“-... which you already knew...-”

The smile grows and he nods his head again:

“-How?? And why didn’t you say anything?”

Merlin laughs like Lancelot’s asking what two plus two is:

“Lance, there were seven of you, all wearing hoods, just stood stock still in the middle of the room. I do Arthur’s laundry, I’m the one that gave Elyan that cloak, Percival’s stature is kind of... hard to miss. And I didn’t say anything because, just like Arthur and Gwaine think it’s funny to see how much I’m willing to lie, I think it’s funny to see how much they’re willing to push. This is the best entertainment I’ve had since... well... last night, actually, but you know what I mean.”

Lancelot doesn’t seem to see the funny side, huffing and shaking his head:

“Merlin, they’re planning on keeping an eye on you. If you’re not careful they’re going to follow you whilst you’re doing non fighting ring stuff—which I’m definitely going to talk to you about at some point, by the way— and they’re going to find out the truth truth.”

Merlin rolls his eyes and huffs out a gentle laugh:

“First off, they’re not that smart; I’m good at sneaking and they are terrible and following. Second off, wait a few days and tell them that you overheard someone talking about the final; it’s the same night next month, in barn two on McGuckett’s farm, just outside the city limits. That should stop them following me around too much, if they know when the next fight is. And third of all, you’re not my mother, Lance, you don’t need to talk to me about anything.”

Merlin frowns slightly as he finishes off. He loves Lance to pieces, but the age gap and the knight’s anxieties surrounding Merlin’s magic means he has a tendency to be a little condescending every once in a while. He can usually keep a lid on it, but Merlin is never very impressed when it slips through; they’re best friends, not parent and child. Lance blushes slightly and runs a hand through his hair as he responds:

“Right, sorry. You know I’m just worried, Merlin.”

Merlin’s eyes soften and he smiles, patting the knight on the shoulder:

“I know, but I looked after myself for years, I can handle Arthur just fine. Tell them about the fight, and I’ll see everyone there I suppose.”

The servant grins and Lancelot just laughs and nods, leading the two of them from the room as he continues quietly, making sure there’s no one around to overhear them:

“When did you get so good at fighting anyway? You threw some pretty hefty punches last night, Merls...-”

~

As agreed, Lancelot spends an evening in the tavern a week or so later, with a confused but agreeable Leon. After spending far too long at the bar ordering another pair of drinks, he sits himself down heavily, and whispers about what he’d overheard at the bar:

“Guess Gwaine was telling the truth: couple blokes at the bar were talking about the fighting ring thing. They’re gone now, but apparently the final is a month after the semis in some farmer’s barn just outside the city. Not sure which, though I can’t imagine it’ll be hard to figure out when we get there, they don’t have to worry about noise all the way out there.”

He figures giving every single detail might be a little suspicious, so keeps it vague but easy, and Leon, after Lance dissuades him from looking for the men he overheard, agrees that they should tell the others and plan to all go down to watch again. To make sure Merlin stays safe, of course.

~

The month passes, and no one mentions Merlin’s fading bruises or good mood in the run up to the final, nor does Merlin mention everyone’s secretive glances or unsubtle muttering.

Thankfully, by the time the night comes, Gwaine had figured out which barn the matches would be held in, and they make their way there a couple hours earlier than last time so they can watch more of the qualifying matches before the big ones start. They wear their hoods again, to stop themselves being recognised as The King and his most trusted knights, and to stop Merlin from seeing them (despite Lancelot’s knowledge that it actually just makes them more obvious to him). 

The qualifiers, like Gwaine had said last time, are fairly boring. There are a few promising competitors, but it’s mostly young upstarts, bulky farmers, and the occasional cocky knight or fairly successful guard. Arthur is very annoyed to see that the knights don’t do very well in the grand scheme of things, and when Gwaine sees his unhappy frown, he laughs and explains:

“The knights are used to fighting cleanly with swords, weighed down by armour. None of them get much practice with hand to hand, but they still think they’re hot shit, so they overestimate their own abilities and always do terribly. I don’t think a knight has ever gotten to even the quarters before. The guards always do really well though. They’ve got more discipline, having to stand still for hours on end, and when it comes to actual disaster, they’re always the first to react and start getting things done whilst the knights flounce about protecting you and making plans. Plus coming to these things... I think it’s sort of an unspoken rite of passage for the guards, most of them will compete at least once, if not they definitely come to watch.”

Arthur settles for grumbling about how hand to hand will definitely be added to the training schedule, whilst also being incredibly proud of the guard garrison. Perhaps he should bring a few guards in to help train with the hand to hand? Though that’s a plan to be made at another time.

Eventually the qualifiers finish up, and the final matches begin; Merlin isn’t in the first, but he appears soon enough, grinning like normal and kicking unexpected arse (though they think perhaps they should expect it now, considering The Guard Dog (they definitely plan on questioning that at some point) is the favourite to win) and gaining more bruises that don’t seem to bother him. It’s Leon, after the third of six matches, that asks:

“What if there’s a draw?”

Gwaine frowns slightly as he thinks, counting in his head:

“Well there’s four competitors, six fights, so it’s impossible for everyone to win the same number of matches. Two people can win two each, in which case there’s a few hours break before they have to fight each other again I think, though it’s rare for that to happen.”

The others nod in understanding, paying close attention to who’s winning what. A farmer’s son, surprising everyone with how far he had gotten at only seventeen years old and in only his second season, according to the referee, has won two matches, and so has Merlin. But there’s one more match, Merlin verses someone they don’t know, someone who’s matches they had missed in the semis. The other competitor can’t win, but he can fight to up his own standing slightly, and he can fight to make things more difficult for Merlin. If Merlin wins this, he wins the season.

Gwaine gives up on being quiet, cheering for The Guard Dog as loud as he can as the two men circle each other, though it goes undifferentiated in the screaming crowds. Merlin limps slightly, after a heavy punch clipped the side of his knee in a previous fight, and he’s definitely favouring his left hand more than he normally would, but the other guy is equally injured, barely able to open one eye and shielding a section of his ribs that are badly bruised. Like normal, Merlin is the first to throw a punch, and once things get going, it all seems to be over in a matter of moments; there’s no posturing this time, no flimsy hits to test the waters; Merlin goes for it, and he goes for it hard, knocking the other guy on his arse in about thirty seconds. He gets up again quickly, but the next time he goes down, not ten seconds later, he stays down. 

Merlin wins.

The barn explodes with applause and Merlin, after catching his breath, laughs along with them, allowing the ref to lift his aching hand high in the air as the end of the season is announced. Merlin gets plenty of pats on the back, no bad sportsmanship is tolerated in these competitions (plus he’d won the last three, now four seasons in a row, no one was really expecting anything else) from his fellow finalists, and the other competitors who had tagged along to watch. His gaze roams the huge space, seeming to look for something, or someone, before he finally lays eyes on The King; he winks and salutes, making direct eye contact with Arthur before turning and exiting the ring, heading to the back to, like normal, get changed, treated, and collect his rather hefty winnings.

Arthur freezes in place, as do the other knights, who’d all seen the exchange clear as day. It’s Leon who mutters everyone’s joint realisation:

“He must’ve known we were here the whole time.”

Elyan tilts his head, seemingly unbothered by that idea as he asks a different question:

“I wonder how much he won?”

Gwaine whistles, the crowd slowly dissipating around them:

“A pretty hefty sum, I’d wager. Enough that he can buy a round at the tavern I’m sure.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and mutters something about “the only thing that’s ever on your mind, Gwaine,” as the others laugh. They all seem to silently agree that they’re hanging around to wait for Merlin, and a quarter candle mark later he wanders out from a back room, shirt and neckerchief back on and a bag slung over his shoulder. He’s talking amicably to the young farmer’s son, seeming to encourage him to come back next season, especially since he’s already qualified by making it to the finals. The boy blushes and nods as Merlin pats him on the shoulder before finally making his way over to the huddled knights, all of whom have decided they don’t quite care if anyone recognises them and had pulled their hoods down:

“Fancy seeing you lot here, hey? I’m surprised none of you fought in the qualifiers, I was sure Gwaine would have gone for it at least.”

Leon snorts and shakes his head:

“Believe me, he tried, Arthur and I said no though.”

Merlin laughs and pats the grinning, chastised knight on the shoulder:

“Maybe season after next then, though I’ve sort of built myself a name around here, I could probably get you in without qualifying if you change your mind.”

Gwaine shakes his head, still grinning, mainly at Leon’s pale face and unhappy huff of air, but responds truthfully:

“Nah, I was joking mainly. Occasionally winning a tavern brawl is vastly different to this-”

He gesture to Merlin’s various bruises:

“-and I don’t fancy embarrassing myself.”

Mordred lets out an amused snort and smacks the knight on the back playfully:

“You embarrass yourself on a daily basis, Gwaine, I’m surprised that’s your reasoning for not wanting to fight.”

Gwaine rolls his eyes good naturedly, pushing the young knight off as they all slowly make their way out into the cold night, starting the hike back towards the city. It’s Elyan, still curious, who questions:

“Speaking of making yourself a name around here, what’s up with your nickname? The Guard Dog?”

Merlin trips slightly but manages to stop himself from falling all the way over, and Arthur rolls his eyes, once again questioning how Merlin can have the skill and discipline to win such a vicious tournament whilst also still being the clumsiest person he’s ever met. The servant seems to blush slightly as he clears his throat and begins to explain:

“Well... when I first starting competing they just called me The Servant, I guess because most people recognised me from the castle. Then after I got pretty far in my first few seasons, they started calling me The King’s Guard, because they knew I was Arthur’s personal manservant and he’d only just been crowned, and it was common knowledge that I was always running around after him on quests and stuff. Then it just sort of... evolved... into The... The Guard Dog.”

He seems to stutter on the last part of the explanation, but before Arthur can question it with narrowed eyes, Leon asks:

“How long have you even been doing this? The referee last month said you’d won, what? Six times? And been in eight finals? If there are two seasons a year that’s now four and a half years, if you include this ninth final.”

Merlin bites his lip, like he’s loath to admit it, but nods in agreement and answers the question:

“The first two seasons, I made it about half way through, which was super impressive compared to people’s expectations, but not that impressive in the grand scheme of things. Third season I got to... the semis, I think. And the fourth season I only got to the quarters. Every season since then I’ve been in the final. I came fourth once, second once, and won every other time. Including this season, that’s thirteen seasons, with seven wins. So yeah, this is the first tournament of my seventh year, the next one starts in Autumn.”

None of them say anything for a while, but Gwaine is the first to break the awkward silence:

“How on Hell’s Earth did we not notice?? It’s not like you’re unhurt.”

He pokes Merlin’s right hand and the servant winces slightly and childishly sticks his tongue out at him:

“The same reason you all thought you could wear recognisable clothes, stand together in a group of seven, and not think I’d notice. Because none of you are very bright.-”

They all scoff and begin arguing, but at Merlin’s raised eyebrow, they realise he has a point, and quickly shut up:

“-And besides, this isn’t the worse I’ve had by far. The only reason I came fourth a few years ago is because I broke two ribs in my final match of the semis. I went down really quickly in the final and had to forfeit my other matches. The year after that I won, but got a concussion and had to be carried back to Gaius. He was so mad, made me stay in bed for three days, wouldn’t let anyone come see me as punishment.”

He laughs and Leon nods, muttering:

“I remember that, we’d all thought something terrible had happened because Gaius just kept saying you were sick, but he wouldn’t get any more specific.”

Merlin winces and nods:

“Yeah, sorry. He tried to stop me competing but I told him I either competed or started punching Arthur every time he deserved it instead of letting pent up energy out during the tournaments. He agreed fairly quickly after that.”

Arthur exclaims an offended sounding “Hey!” but everyone else laughs and nods along. The King drops it quickly however, narrowing his eyes and shoving his way to Merlin’s side just as they walk through the city gates, slyly asking:

“You never said how your nickname went from The King’s Guard to The Guard Dog. Fancy letting us in on it, Merlin?”

Merlin almost falls again, and Arthur raises an eyebrow as the servant blushes and stutters:

“Uh... I don’t know, it just sort of... happened. No reason.”

Arthur puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes as they continue to walk:

“Merlin, how can you simultaneously be the best and worst liar I have ever met? Come on, out with it.”

Merlin huffs, still hesitating even as Arthur’s grip gets stronger. Percival mutters a quiet “This is bound to be good” to Elyan, who snorts and nods his head in agreement:

“Fine. IF there were a story behind that name, it would be entirely hypothetical.-”

Gwaine snorts and Arthur sighs:

“I’m not going to like this am I? Hypothetically, I mean.”

Merlin bites his lip as he shakes his head and continues:

“No, you are really not going to hypothetically like this. Ok so, there are the perfectly legal fighting tournaments, but, hypothetically, sometimes people want to compete more often, and in a... different way. So there are, occasionally, hypothetically less legal tournaments with far fewer rules. IF my nickname were to have a hypothetical story behind it, which it doesn’t, it would be because, in one of these hypothetical, illegal tournaments, with far fewer rules, I may have... hypothetically... bit someone.”

The whole group stops walking as they whirl on the bright red servant. Gwaine immediately starts laughing, but everyone else just looks variations of horrified and disgusted. Arthur is the first to speak, loudly and demandingly:

“You bit someone?!”

Merlin just throws his arms in the air, blush somehow deepening even further:

“Yes!! I wanted to win, ok?!”

Arthur just shakes his head incredulously as Elyan laughs and says:

“You wanted to win hypothetically you mean?”

Merlin nods and waves a purposeful hand in the knight’s direction:

“Yes, exactly, I hypothetically bit someone because I wanted to hypothetically win this hypothetical competition because it was... hypothetically of course, a LOT of money!”

Arthur just shakes his head, exclaiming even louder:

“Merlin, you BIT someone?!!”

The whole group chimes in this time, all bar Merlin saying in tandem:

“Hypothetically!”

Arthur shakes his head and mutters to himself “I can’t believe this... my own manservant... biting people... Dear Gods what has this Kingdom come to...” as he continues his way back up the cobbled path, taking an obvious turn towards the tavern. The others just continue to laugh as Merlin blushes and tells them to, respectfully, fuck off.

The rest of the night is spent getting slowly drunker at The Rising Sun, everyone ignoring Arthur as he, every once in a while, mutters about the ridiculousness of Merlin biting people as a way to win an illegal fighting tournament. Merlin buys all the rounds, though also gets most of his own drinks free as at least two thirds of the people filling the tavern are people who came from the barn.

I imagine it becomes a little bit of an inside joke, every time Merlin mentions doing something slightly questionable, at least one of the knights will mutter “hypothetically, of course” under their breath, to which Merlin will respond with a quiet, deadpan “woof”, much to their amusement, Arthur’s exasperation, and everyone else’s confusion.

~

THE END!!

I really enjoyed writing this lol, I actually finished it before The List was even posted. I hope ya’ll enjoy it to!!

Let me know what you think!!

[yabai-korra]

The reasons why we're getting Manorian book

There has been a lot of speculation whether SJM is going to favor us with book/novella about Manon Blackbeak and Dorian Havilliard, recently I saw some fans doubting it, so here's a list of logical reasons why it's happening.

1. It's SJM

This woman writes two 500+ pages books per year, for her it would be a piece of cake.

2. There have already been books focused on side characters

a) Chaol and Yrene - Chaol was one of the most unpopular characters before Tower of Dawn (which made me love him hehe) and she still wrote a 600+ pages long book about him, just imagine what she'd do with the most popular character (Manon) and one of the most popular ones (Dorian).

b) Nesta and Cassian - this is ship is the closest to Manorian equivalent in ACOTAR series, aka starting from a physical relationship that develops into a sentimental one. Also 6th ACOTAR book will be focused on a new characters (most probably Elain)

3. Favoritism

SJM has talked multiple times about her love for these two. When asked about her favorite TOG character, she said Aelin, but Manon was a close second place and she said that she absolutely loves writing her.

In another interview, when asked who she would go on a book tour with and a few similar questions, she answered Dorian.

Now, I haven't seen all of her interviews ever and I'm not sure how much she loves Nessian and Cahorene (seems to love Nessian a hella lot tho), but it's definite that Manorian are some of her favorite characters and it's just logical that she would write about them.

4. Unfinished story/Unresolved feelings

Ships at the end of TOG:

Rowaelin - married

Elorcan - engaged

Lysaedion - engaged

Chaorene - married with a baby on the way

Nestaq - engaged

Manorian - hug and "we'll see"

All the ships basically got engaged in the last chapter (it's not like I didn't like it hehe) and their stories, romantic-wise, were pretty much finished and they have no unresolved tension between them. Manorian on the other hand, have enough of it for all the ships lol.

KOA spoilers ahead!

Keep in mind, Manorian relationship was mostly a sexual one, and they don't quite yet have a way of communicating their feelings properly. So there is a lot of unaddressed between them, even though they obviously care a lot about each other.

The unresolved things between Manon and Dorian:

"“And if I asked you to stay?” / “I’d need a very convincing reason, I suppose.” / “Because I don’t want you to go.” - they just fucked and Dorian left for Morath later, which impacted Manon a lot but they haven't discussed it

"I even care about you." - Manon got up and left

"There is only one witch who will be my queen." - Manon doesn't know about this

Manon saved Dorian from Valg demon even when Aelin couldn't. It was the worst thing to happen to Dorian and he still bears scars from it, yet he didn't have an appropriate situation to thank Manon for it

Dorian knows that Erawan lusted after Manon, which got him pissed of course, and he didn't have a chance nor time to ask Manon about it. It might be nothing, but if I were Dorain and my girlfriend who doesn't show feelings was locked up with a crazy guy who has a thing for her, and have seen the way he treats women, I'd be concerned. Erawan was a Valg king, a tough opponent even for Manon. If he had done something to her, and he had plenty of means and opportunities and wish to do so, Manon would never openly tell anyone (maybe Asterin) about it, because it would imply opening up and being weak, which is Manon's worst fear. Again, SJM, as the Queen of Foreshadowing, wouldn't just randomly throw in the main villain having a thing for an important character, everything in her books always has a meaning and purpose.

"Would you miss me if I didn't [come back]?" - Manon didn't reply

This is how SJM described Manorian marriage: "She would be his wife, his queen. She was already his equal, his match, mirror in so many ways. And with their union, the world would know it." - and you're telling me it's not deserving of its own book? Not just that, Manon asked Dorian for marriage and they, again, just had sex, with Dorian loving the idea but deep down knowing that Manon would feel caged in a marriage. And that attitude won't just change out of the blue. It takes time and development which is something SJM writes amazingly.

With the Thirteen gone, beside Abraxos Dorian is the only creature Manon cares about.

Dorian's mortality (although as you'll see in point #6 I'm sure he's not human)

The dreaded "You could just marry each other." / "We'll see." (Thanks Yrene :)

5. Foreshadowing

Listen here, SJM IS THE QUEEN OF FORESHADOWING. She thought of a detail (Dorian's dad's name) in the first book that would matter in the last book. Of course, there are many many many more examples of that, but if we got "We'll see." then we'll fucking see it happen.

6. Unresolved things about Manon and Dorian as individual characters.

Manon and Dorian and both pretty broken at the end of KOA.

Manon lost the Thirteen, the only people she cared about. That is a huge trauma that needs to be addressed, especially with someone so reluctant to show feelings and heal like Manon.

Dorian can't be human?? He has fae abilities due to his relation to Gavin and Elena even though he's not even called a demi-fae. He possesses powers no one else does, phantom hands for example, which he didn't steal like shape-shifting. And Maeve pointed out that due to his father being possessed by Valg when Dorian was sired, it's possible he got some of the Valg abilities. (Also she said that he's stronger than Aelin) The main villain, especially written by Queen of Foreshadowing, wouldn't just let drop it there and that's it. Also not to mention Dorian's own struggle with depression and self-worth.

They have both just become rulers of their kingdoms, completely new to it. Dorian has spent a big part of KOA imagining what kind of a king he wants to be (one that will have a witch queen hehe) and it was a major point of his character. And addition to that affecting them as characters, the future of Adarlan and Witch Kingdom could make a good plotline.

7. Other TOG characters

Although pretty much all the readers would die to see Chaorene baby, Lorcan in Perranth, Aelin and Rowan ruling Terrasen, Lysandra and Adeion officially adopting Evangeline, Nesryn and Sartaq becoming Khagan and Empress of Antica, all of these don't make enough of a plot on its own. They are great side-plots.

We know all of these characters love each other and are happy together, there isn't that much to be added to their personal stories other than kids. (same way Feyre and Rhys got a baby in Nessian book) Manorian however, they haven't even kissed without it leading to sex, they hugged at the end of KOA and it was the pique of their relationship. Their relationship is merely at the beginning, whereas others have pretty much reached their ultimatum (ofc SJM can decide to add some drama with betrayal, kidnapping, pregnancy etc. but for now everyone is good and settled beside Manorian)

Not to mention the way other relationships would affect them. Chaol, Dorian's brother, and Yrene, Manon's wannabe bestie and Manorian shipper, would bring their baby to meet his/her uncle Dorian and aunt Manon, and imagine Manon with a baby lol.

SJM loves Aelin and other characters way too much not to give us an insight on them as married couples, but since her books are huge and it's her, it needs a plot with drama, addressing traumas, repressed feelings, worldbuilding, and sex, and Manorian's got all of that.

8. Abraxos

We need more Abraxos, that's just a fact.

Wow that was a long one. Anyways, in conclusion, we're getting that Manorian book. Pretty sure it's gonna a book rather than a novella (TOD was also planned as a novella but then guess what) because there is just SO MUCH possible content.

[queen-of-the-vampires]

Don’t Mess With The Queen

Characters: Klaus Mikaelson x Hybrid!Reader

Word count: ~1.7k

Warnings: none

Request by anonymous: Could u do a imagine where the reader is friends with the mystic falls gang and is a werewolf and finds out that she and klaus r mates?

Summary: People who you want to call your friends are planning on killing the love of your life. It’s your job to show them who’s really the boss.

Author’s Note: This is a female!reader. I did change this request a tad, but I hope you like it! I haven’t written for TVD in a while now, so please bear with me on this. After asking a few people, I have decided to end this on a fluffy note. I did write an angsty alternate ending, but I don’t know if the anon who requested wanted that or not.

No one knows why you’re really here. They all think you’re their friend, so they feel comfortable disclosing their plan right in front of you. You want to be friends with them because they seem like genuinely nice people, but they are so fueled by rage and revenge that they’ll do anything to get it… even plotting against your mate, your sire, the love of your life.

Stefan and Damon have spent their entire life fighting each other and putting their noses in places where it doesn’t belong. Elena and Caroline have always been the people who want to fix others, to make them better even if there is nothing wrong with them. Bonnie is always stuck in the middle of everyone’s problems, putting herself and others in danger for no reason.

“So, what’s the plan here?” Elena asks, taking out the last bit of weapons she has stashed in the Boarding House.

“First thing we need to do is pick a location. When is Klaus most vulnerable?” Stefan asks.

“Yeah, the last time we did that, Elijah betrayed us. That moonrock or whatever was our only chance to get him at his weakest.”

“You were one of Klaus’ bitches. What do you think?” Damon asks and turns to you.

“What?” you ask, pulling back from your own thoughts.

“You spent over two years sired to him before Tyler saved you. You must know things that can help here,” Elena says.

What she says is true. You were sired to Klaus for two years, but not in the way they believe. You were sired to him in the beginning when you were first turned by Klaus’ mother. You were a werewolf that was in the same village as Klaus and his family. You two became fast friends, always leaning on each other whenever his abusive father and your abusive mother decided to make you two their toys.

Everything was going fine until one of your own decided to kill the youngest member of the Mikaelson family. There was a family friend of Esther, Tatia, that she used her blood in a spell that would make them the Original vampires. Klaus wanted you to have the same thing, so without his parents knowing, he gave you some of that wine. You were the first-ever turned hybrid that came from a spell.

You and Klaus have spent every moment together ever since. What the gang of Mystic Falls doesn’t know is just how old you are. They think you were just another hybrid that he made with Elena’s blood, stuck with him against your will. Tyler found your pack in the mountains and proceeded to unsire every single one of Klaus’ hybrids. When Tyler got to you, that’s when you started to catch onto what he was doing.

If Tyler wanted to desperately to save you, then you were going to act like you wanted to be saved. You came to Mystic Falls and befriended the vampires in the town. Now, they all think that you hate Klaus as much as they do when really, you’re just as in love with him as you were when you first met him.

“He really liked hiding out in the woods, though, they’re usually on werewolf territory, so good luck trying to get there. It’s probably why you can never find him. The werewolves will get to you before he does. He hears chatter in the wind and he moves to another pack site.”

“That’s smart,” Caroline comments.

“Yeah, so you’re not going to find him there.”

“Guys, we need to figure out something, or else more people are going to get hurt,” Elena says. Sometimes, you really want to kill her so you don’t have to hear her speak. “Klaus needs to die.”

Hearing them talk about killing the love of your life enrages you a little bit. You could take every single person in here without breaking a sweat, but you don’t turn to violence just yet. You take out your phone to let Klaus know exactly what they’re planning. You’d be a bad girlfriend if you let them attack without warning him.

They’re planning on killing you, my love.

It’s cute if they think they can.

They seem hell-bent on figuring it out.

I’m not afraid of them if that’s what you’re worried about. They can’t hurt me even with their best player.

I’m worried someone is going to get very hurt. What should I tell them?

Tell them where I am. Let them come. If it’s a war they want, I’m only happy to provide.

Are you sure?

I’m always sure, love.

You put your phone away and look at the small group, getting up to join the elite circle.

“I do know where Klaus lives.”

“That would have been nice to know a little earlier, don’t you think?” Damon sneers.

“Damon, don’t,” Stefan butts in. “Where is he?”

“New Orleans. That place is crawling with witches and vampires, but he and his family are stationed there.”

“How do you know this?”

“Because he took me there once. The witches will know once you arrive, but most of them are scared of Klaus anyway that they’ll help you blend in. Everyone from that town knows the Mikaelsons are royalty, but their castle doesn’t have a lot of guards protecting it. If you want to get to him, that’s where you want to do it.”

“How do you know all of this? This seems awfully suspicious for someone who isn’t sired to him anymore.”

“He still thinks I am. He’ll call me every day and ask for something. He figures if he has a hybrid in another state that I can do his dirty work for him elsewhere. You want to get Klaus? That’s how you’re going to do it.”

“She does have a point. Better to take this fight to his turf than ours. He’s more comfortable there,” Stefan points out.

Now that they know a location, it didn’t take long for them to come up with a plan of attack. Of course, you told everything to Klaus as soon as you were on the plane to get to New Orleans. He told you not to worry about a thing because he’ll plan a little something for their arrival.

No one messes with the King and his Queen.

When you land in New Orleans, the gang is eager to carry out their plan of attack. Just like you said, the town is crawling with witches who sense you the minute you landed. Every single witch knows you by heart, so they’re confused why you’re with them and not with Klaus. Your love must have only told them the basic information instead of what was really going on.

“Okay, where is this son of a bitch?” Damon asks.

“The French Quarter is where he likes to hang out. You’ll want to start there. Caroline and Elena will blend in more since they’ve never been here, but you two might stick out like a sore thumb. Just be prepared. If anything, I know these guys so let me do the talking.” You pause right in front of the group and turn to Bonnie. “And Bonnie? These guys know you’re a Bennett witch. Try not to do magic unless absolutely necessary. Klaus has a thing with witches.”

You lead the group into the French Quarter while keeping your head down to avoid conflict. The group follows your lead until you reach the middle of the place you call home.

“Stay here,” you say and leave the group on your own.

You approach the small bar within the Quarter, and lean over the counter a tad, looking at the bartender.

“Is Klaus here?”

“I’m right here,” you hear your lover’s voice. You and the Mystic Falls gang turn to see him standing in one of the many doorways that enter the French Quarter. “I hear you’re looking for me?”

“Where in the world did you hear that?” Damon asks, giving you a side glare. You step away from the group and speed over to Klaus, standing just a tad behind him. He smirks and doesn’t break eye contact with the older brother. “Traitor.”

“It isn’t a betrayal if I was never on your side to begin with,” you state.

“What are you doing? You’re not sired to him anymore,” Stefan tries to appeal to you.

“My sire bond wore off in the tenth century. I’m a lot older than you think I am. I really did want to be your friend, but you’re all so driven by rage and revenge that you can’t leave us alone until we’re fixed to the standards set by you. Next time you plan to kill someone, you should think twice about who you let into your home.”

“We should get going,” Elena whispers.

“Always the level-headed one, Elena. Too bad you can’t,” Klaus grins.

Stefan and Damon try to leave using their vampire speed, but they are blocked by the spell put there from the witches in this town. It’s like a big spell to trap the four vampires and the one witch inside. Caroline steps into the sun and immediately screams in pain, seeking the shade to calm her burning skin.

“My daylight ring isn’t working.”

“Yes, you’re all trapped here. For how long is still yet to be determined. Welcome to the French Quarter ladies and gentlemen,” Klaus chuckles.

“I can’t use my magic,” Bonnie panics.

“The next time you even think about going after Klaus, I won’t be so nice,” you say.

Klaus wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close, whispering something into your ear.

“Pardon us, we have other business to tend to.”

Klaus leads you away from the group, and only when you two are alone, does he turn you so that you’re facing him.

“You can relax, Klaus, no one is going to hurt you. Not as long as I am alive.”

“I can take care of myself, love,” he chuckles.

“Yeah, but isn’t it better when I do it?”

“Tenfold.”

“Always and forever, my love,” you whisper.

You lean in and press your lips to his, showing him just how much you love him.

wanna be tagged? add yourself to this document! if your tag doesn’t work, find out why! (not sure how much i will write for this fandom, but add yourself if you want!)

@essie1876​ @choosemyname​ @cuddlyklaus​ @sotmperrie​ @akshi8278​ @chynarosep101​ @gh0stgurl​ @littlemissslytherinprincess​ @honeybums-blog​ @kendall-michele​ @tdntu0​ @miraclesoflove​ @nasatonie​ @thelazywitchphotographer​

[roselyn-writing]

When a rose turns black chapter 6

Hello people!, It’s been a while since i wrote a chapter this long! Anyway i hope you enjoy and stay tune for future updates! ;)

“A meeting before the calamity”

In a very large golden decorated hall, A man stood in the centre. He is meditating in a lotus position. He was interrupted by the coming of another person.

“Sire Aham.”A man with a thick British accent called, bowing respectfully to him.

“Yes, Sire Kilam?” The Man replied, While looking at him.

“Sire Aham it's the sorcerers again,” Kilam answered him. His face is expressionless.

“What of then, Sire Kilam?” Aham Asked, Facing the man.

“They are plotting something against us, It must be bad,” Kilam replied to Him.

“And what of Sire Russell?” Aham ponders at that. Aham quickly got up from the ground, he quickly fixes his clothes.

“He is on his way to Virginia,” Kilam answered him.

“Sire Aham!” Another man called.

“Yes, Sire Noah?” He muttered, looking at the man who called him.

“Sire Aham! King John III is coming.” Noah says, he took a moment to breathe.

“Really? How far along is he from Virginia?” Aham asks. Thinking of the two tasks at hand Right now.

“Two days from here” Noah replied, feeling a bit tensed because of the news. Of the new proclaimed King.

“Sire Kilam Please inform the King to prepare a proper welcoming to the “King”,” Aham responded, then he looks to Noah. ”and Sire Noah come with me to discuss the matter of the sorcerers” Sire Aham suggested

“Yes, Sire Aham” Kilam uttered then left to do his task, while Noah Goes with Aham to Discuss the matter. And what to do.

“So.. any suggestions?” Russell says, looking at all the superiors in the meeting hall.

“The sorcerers are looking for a way to take the cursed book. There is a suggestion, Sire Russell.” Mervyn Uttered while clenching his hands together upon the table.

“And what is it, Sire Mervyn?” Malcolm Says.

“Easy. Guard the halls with Guards, No not just any Guards. But Guards with anti-magic armors.” Mervyn replied.

“That is a good idea, But Sire Mervyn we do not have the time to craft anti-magic armor.” Sire Aham uttered.

“There is. The Sylvans. The Guardians of the forest.” Russell suggests

“I do not think that the Sylvans have the time to face mortals' problems.” Sire Aham added while crossing his arms.

“Then what about Orm?” Wilbur replied,” Orm? Orm the great forger?” Norman repeated

“Yes Orm the Great forger” Sire Aham replied

“I will ask Sire Orm, I know that he will not refuse us,” Millard suggests

“He will not refuse us, He must not!” Russell growled Anger defined in his tone

“Calm down Sire Russell anger is useless.” Sire Aham told him.” I pray the remained one to guide us to a solution, I know that the great remained one will not forsake us” Aham added

“Praise the remained one.” All in the hall said in union.

“Blasted, Those sorcerers. Nothing good comes from them” Russell Cursed, as he angrily slammed his hand on the table.

In a place that reeks of foul deeds and stenches alike. A demon smiles in pure happiness and mockery at the Sorcerers and mages.

“Ah!, That is Interesting, I hope their plans are thwarted.” Raquol sneered at the sorcerers. Raquol hated them to the bone. If there is anything Raquol hates other than Lucifer. It's the sorcerers and those lowly humans who beg the demons for help.

“I hate them so much, I wish that they disappear from the face of the universe” Raquol growls.

“But alas. They are Lucifer's favourite pets.” Raquol muttered in annoyance.”But soon, I’ll plot my revenge against Lucifer and those sorcerers” He promised. Raquol realized that he needs time to do so.

“But certainly not today,” He uttered, annoyed

Donovan is a great sorcerer, His birth alone is something to be explained. He is a hybrid between a Human and a Hudaronic, He is also a great huge beast that resembles a triceratops head and size. He is known as the “Master of evil”. He is the enemy to a lot of people mostly the Royal monarchs of Morbidia, And also to sorcerers.

He once cursed the Queen of Morbidia with a sleeping curse. But she woke up because of King William's kiss of “true love”. After the Queen found out about this she paid a female assassin to kill him. The female assassin managed to let Donovan fall in love with her. She tried to slit his throat but he managed to survive by turning into an hudranoic beast called “Antaris” then he ate her for dinner.

The news quickly reported to the Queen about the female assassin's death and the whole mission is but a failure she paid with her life. The Queen is burning with anger and hatred for Donovan. This unearthly beast and mongrel. She fears for herself, Her daughter, and her husband. The last thing she fears for is her people. She doesn’t care about them at all even if Donovan ate them or cursed them.

Donovan on the other hand promised himself to never be fooled by humans or fall in love with them. He had learnt the hard way That trust is earned not given easily. His hudranoic nature saved him from certain death.He’s thankful for it, He concluded that life is full of experience. And he must live it all.

Nothing can describe how awful a disgusting feeling is for the likes of Ashure. He doesn’t care about wasting lives and efforts. The only thing he cares about is his goal to be achieved. And that’s all he cares about it.

“I don’t care about the loss of children, on the contrary, I hate them.” Ashure cruelly confessed

Sadly there are many sorcerers, mages, and also normal people like Ashure. Cruelty is in their veins.

It’s safe to say that there are two types of people one’s that good and one’s that bad.

It's like two sides To one world.

“I don’t care about people's feelings, I killed my father and I didn’t care about it, Why would I care for people?” Ashure cruelly added.

And Cruelty is one of the main reasons for his demise.

“It's time,” An eerie voice spoke to him,” It is Indeed”

It’s one of these normal and lovely days for the Aepel family. It’s also a morning lovely day to wake up and do the daily routine.

Hadi Aepel wakes up to eat breakfast and do his daily routine stuff.

“Good morning honey!” Farrah greets him

“Morning beautiful~” he greets back

“I heard that Nora is giving birth today. I will go to her after I make breakfast!” she said. She finished the breakfast and then put it on the table. She and Hadi sat on the seats to eat.

“Oh, Honey that’s so kind of you to take care of her” Hadi muttered, after taking a spoonful of food into his mouth.,

“Is there anything you want? My dear husband” she uttered. Smiling to him. as she lovingly side-hugging him.

“No honey I don’t want anything I just wanted you to be safe. Be careful honey.” Hadi says.

“Okay then. I will be careful, Dear husband” Farrah replied, smiling at him

After that, Massoud knocks on the door. He completely startled them.

“Dear brother, what’s wrong?” Hadi asked, startled because of his brother’s sudden knocks.

“No, No nothing is wrong!” He apologized by raising his hands while giggling at their reaction.

“So what is it, Why did you come Massoud?” He asked his brother

“Mister Peitz and Mister Salem ask if you’re coming today for the work, You know,” Massoud replied.

“Oh, Of course, I'm coming to work today,” Hadi uttered back.

“Okay then! I will inform them that you’re coming!” Massoud muttered but before he left

“I can’t go with you brother, My wife is giving birth today.” He apologized.

“No worries at all brother,” Hadi said to him.

After Hadi finished eating breakfast, He left to work. And Farrah goes to Baby Aliyaa to feed her then she hands her to her Grandmother Salwa.

Farrah gently and carefully carries Aliyaa, Aliyaa is still sleeping peacefully on the cot bed. Farrah didn’t want to wake her up so she hastily and gently carries her on her shoulder.

Salwa is waiting patiently for Farrah to come with baby Aliyaa, Moments pass by and she comes with Aliyaa, She gently handed Aliyaa to her grandmother,

“Did you feed her Farrah?” Salwa questioned, as she gently carries Aliyaa.

“No, But I brought the milk bottle with me!” Farrah responded, As she left to fetch the bottle

“Good, Please hurry, my dear,” Salwa murmured.

“Okay!” Farrah replied. while fetching the bottle

Back to the superior’s hall. Every known superior

in Virginia is there.

“So. Is there something from Sire Ormm?” Sire Aham Spoke.

“Not yet,” Millard declared,

“I say we fight back! We will fight them to the bone! We are superiors we do not cower from mere sorcerers!” Sire Russell snapped, As he clutched the fiery swords,” I do not care I have a family to protect and care for!” He angrily Raised his swords, Upon Clutching the swords the holy fire engulfed him, Changing his citizen clothing to his Light one’s armor.

“We are the superiors! We do not run from danger, We fight it to the bone!” Sire Russell added, as his white wings spread out of his shoulders. The other superiors were moved by this and they all joined him.

Sire Aham calmly crosses his arms, as he carefully observes the scene in front of him.

He knows that it's foolish to take action unprepared. But there is nothing to do now as most of the superiors are swayed to Russell's side.

“Sire Russell, Please do not take action unprepared. It’s unwise!” Sire Aham cautioned.

“Sire Aham, You know that we are much stronger than them, Then why waste time making plans?” Russell maintained his anger.

“It's important to observe everything before reacting.” Sire Aham calmly retorts

Russell didn’t reply, In fact, He knows that sire Aham is right, and He is always right, So Russell took only a moment to breathe and clears his mind of negativity and anger.

It’s time. To react before the calamity,”

@lorabeyc @loryeenb @loryeen @mollyb9 @florafoom @alexapenz @lisadelise @kyd35 @melissalix @noelle9 @monapome @huepazu

[shandidellamorte]

Shandi’s Whumptober!

Thanks to @gh0stfl0ra for helping me with planning this out because I had no idea what to write. Hope it comes out half as decent as I imagined! ^^;;

~Shandi 

Day 12: What Could Go Wrong?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Nikki had heard of the Sweet Brothers from Mick. 

Master Hunters. Dangerous. Once you’ve met them you wouldn’t survive to see your next sunset.

Sure, they were a force to be reckoned with together. 

But what about apart? 

The possibility intrigued Nikki to no end. 

He didn’t have anything better to do anyway. The Old Man was with Paul. He had the whole night to himself. Time to get into some serious mischief.

He spotted them coming out of a church. Of course. Replenishing their supplies, no doubt. He followed them in his bat form, mentally cursing them all the while. Fuck, were these two joined at the hip or something? He thought they’d never separate until one crucial moment. The blond asked his brother to wait outside while he went into a shop..and it was definitely not a normal shop. He would only have a few short minutes to observe. He took the chance, changing back into his human form to walk past the brother into the shop. It was bright, and smelled heavily of incense. A smell that made him incredibly dizzy. Definitely some kind of ward. He spotted the blond looking at glass bottles. Bottles decorated with gold crosses. He took a few steps back. “Shit..this was a big mistake..” 

“And you’re the one who made it..Vampire.” 

Nikki turned to see the brother standing behind him, his expression irritatingly calm. “Such a fool..” the blond held a bottle filled with water in his hand as he turned around. “Did you think we didn’t know you were following? You’re quite terrible at being stealthy.” 

“He must be one recently turned.” 

“Indeed. He didn’t bring his Sire with him for protection. A amateur's mistake.” 

“Extremely amateur. Like blindly walking into a Holy place.” 

Nikki, tired of the brothers’ sanctimonious prattle rolled his eyes. “Fine. You’ve proven your fuckin’ points. You have me.” 

The blond sighed. “You poor dear. You must be in so much pain you can barely keep your eyes open. Does the holy incense sting? Does it dampen your murderous senses?”

“Not..as much as you’d like to believe!!” Before the blond could react Nikki grabbed him and escaped through the skylight.

~*~

“Unhand me, you vile creature!!” 

“Quit your struggling and I will!!” 

“Don’t think this will stop my brother from destroying you!! This..is a mission given to us by God!!” 

“Yeah yeah..” Nikki finally found a clear open space to land far away from the city. He stripped the blond of his coat and threw him on the ground. “Not so tough without all of your toys now, are ya?” 

The blond just glared. “I don’t need my weapons..the Holy Light of God will protect me..” 

Nikki snorted. “You say I’m the fool.. God is only a myth. He won’t keep me from sinking my teeth into that pretty neck of yours~” 

“Unholy monster!! Don’t touch me!!” 

It was only a few moments. Nikki wasn’t even sure anything had actually happened, until he felt a dull pain in his chest. He looked down to see that a rusty railroad spike had been driven into his rib cage. He took a few steps back to allow the shock to wear off. “Haha...nice try. You actually..managed to..hit a lung..” 

The blond cursed. He could’ve sworn he’d punctured the heart! 

“Naughty..taking the Lord’s name in vain~ You should be punished for such an..offense to God’s ears~” 

“It may not destroy you..but it will stun you.” 

Fuck. He was right. Nikki could feel his body seizing. He collapsed to the ground while the blond managed to pick himself back up. 

“What did you..do to me..?” 

“I blessed it before I stabbed you.” He slowly walked past Nikki to pick up his coat. “You may have caught me unprepared before, but you will not be so lucky a second time.” 

“ROBERT!!”

The blond looked up to see his brother running towards him. “I’m alright, Michael. But only just.” 

“If he’s paralyzed, we should just finish him now.” 

“No. Not yet.” 

“Why not?” 

“It might be..possible to save him..” 

“Robert..” 

“We can! If we can destroy his Sire he can be normal again!” 

“We don’t even know where he is!” 

“We can look! Brother..God would task us to save his soul. We find the one who made him and we can end the cycle.” 

Michael sighed. “Very well, Brother..we’ll try this your way. But if it doesn’t work..we’ll destroy them both.” 

“Agreed. Let’s get out of here before my blessing wears off.” 

Only the smallest of glances were exchanged before Robert disappeared with his brother into the night. 

It left Nikki to ponder.

Did a Hunter..just show him mercy?

~END~

[devinwolfi]

ohhhh my god ok pls keep in mind that i watched angel one (1) time ????? years ago (more than 10, time is fake, etc) and immediately turned off the tv at the end like “wow what the fuck was that. anyway” so lots of this may be misremembered or made up so please accept this salt shaker 🧂 and let’s fucking goooo

so this happened in one of the later seasons iirc? 4 maybe? anyway cordy and angel either had a big dramatic breakup or he cheated on her, i can’t remember. but either way he fucked (drum roll) darla??? yes that darla, his sire who for sure died in buffy s1, but we don’t deal in continuity here, this is angel. so she’s??? back??? somehow??? and they fuck which ok whatever except!!! she gets pregananant! which again, theoretically not possible, but this is basically fanfiction so what the fuck.

so she’s knocked up with her vampire zombie spawn thing, and i can’t remember if she sticks around for a bit while the baby cooks and ups the angst factor with cordelia? or it might just be a magical uncle ben’s 2 minute baby situation. either way she dies in childbirth (like she dusts out and there’s just?? an infant???) so angel is left to raise this monstrosity alone. sad.

but then! the babby! is…kidnapped. to hell, for some reason? unclear. so angel has to go to hell to get his child back, except OH NO time dilation shenanigans, the baby is all grown up now even though he was just born last week! he’s a moody teenager and angel is a deadbeat dad, oops

so he brings this understandably angsty and resentful teenage boy (i wanna say connor? don’t quote me) home to his weird bunker thing with all his monster hunting friends, which like. good job, a+ parenting. and it’s rough and the kid hates him for abandoning him in hell (fair) and it’s all very the first half of a steve martin movie where the divorced dad tries to bond with the kid he doesn’t know, yk?

but then. THEN. cordelia decides this is her moment. her friend/ex/whatever is struggling! he is trying to bond with his child! cordy can help! by….fucking him. yeah, she fucks this traumatized 16yo monster baby who was literally born last week, because that’s a responsible adult choice. reliving her queen of sunnydale high glory days??? literally who knows

and if you think that’s the worst bit about this nightmare plotline, strap in! we’re not done! guess who else gets pragnet? that’s right babeyyy, cordelia is having *checks notes* angel’s grandchild????

who turns out to be, i shit you not, gina torres. fully grown gina torres who is also god, for some reason? and this whole thing starting with darla mysteriously coming back from the dead all the way to connor being raised in hell (where angel couldn’t influence him to be uhhhhh a normal well adjusted child ig??? didn’t seem to be a huge risk all things considered but what do i know) was part of the great ineffable plan to get cordy to give birth to gina torres in white robes and return god to the world

except she turns out evil (obv) bc she’s like some alien thing idk and they have to kill her. but yeah. that’s the most fucked up thing i remember from angel? also the only thing rly. pretty sure cordelia and angel get back together in the end? there might be another love triangle with spike, which like, can a guy catch a break? goddamn

what in the twilightriverdalesupernatualvampirediaries

the only part of this that makes any sense is gina torres is god bc that just feels right

but seriously every modern monster show wishes they were buffy(& co(angel(through gritted teeth))) no one will ever have what they had

also assuming xander has been brutually killed by this point which, i hope so, i wonder how he feels about cordy and angel bc his type in women is women who are into angel