#who up along the seething coast!

[cousingregs]

i eat a couple milky ways for breakfast take my coffee light and sweet show up for dinner when you tell me to i heap the sugar high and white on everything i eat carry an apple in my pocket i write reminders on my skin clip meaningless pictures from old magazines i tape them to the walls its a bad place im in and nothing you could say or do will stop me and a thousand dead friends cant stop me i go back to places i remember see whats been going on without me stare down the strangers at the bus stop pretend theyve been gossiping about me white sugar by the spoonful cantaloupes and grapefruits and watermelons i force it down like it was medicine anybody asks you tell em what you wanna tell em but the best youve got is powerless against me and all your little schemes break when they come crashing up against me

[myboipotterimagines]

Golden - Weasley Twins x Reader (Soulmate AU)

Request: Would you do one where a shy Hufflepuff is Fred and George’s soulmate? Maybe they are connected somehow like a song or marks or something and it takes them a while to find her because she’s so reserved but they end up bumping into her and finding out?

It was common knowledge within the wizarding world that the age of twelve was the most common to find your soulmate. You weren't sure why twelve was the magic number, but you were never the type to question to origins of magic. What you were sure of that twelve passed by with no soulmate to speak of, then thirteen, and then fourteen. It was in your fourteenth year of life that you had given up the notion of having a soulmate altogether. Your parents had found each other even before going to Hogwarts and you had now been lapped by your younger sibling who had matched their first year.

Your parents marks glowed golden on their pinkies - a lifelong reminder of the most important pinkie promise they ever made. Your brother's soulmark was a simple streak on his shoulder from where he brushed against his soulmate waiting on the sorting ceremony.

Before you first touched your soulmate, the mark on your skin was just a dark patch. Muggles that fell in love with wizards or witches often just mistook the patch for a birthmark. The marks on your skin, however, could never be mistaken for anything but a soulmark. You had two marks that were completely separate from the other. The first was a line around your waist and the second a handprint from mouth to ear. The line on the waist could always be a hug from behind. It was easy enough to believe. But the hand print? You tried to keep the worst out of your mind.

It had been four years since you had given up on your soulmate. Exams were just around the corner and then you were out. You were quite tempted to just move into the muggle world and never have to deal with the concept of a soulmate again. You'd marry someone who, even though they weren't your soulmate, treated you well. And wouldn't that be enough in the end?

With that thought in your mind, you turned in your final examination to Professor Umbridge, who you were quite sure never even got a soulmark as it seemed impossible that anyone could love her. A huge wave of relief washed over you as you exited the Great Hall and, just for a moment, you allowed your eyes to close and a deep breath to escape your lungs. It was over.

Your moment was short lived as a chorus of "Get down!" rang out behind you, before a set of arms wrapped around you, yanking you to the ground. Your body slammed against the rough ground, but your head was caught before it hit by another set of hands. Still, your heart raced as you tried to catch your breath.

"Shit," one of the voices said - the one with his arms around you. He transitioned from holding onto you to rubbing your back. "We are so so sorry." "We let out fireworks. Thought the coast was clear but obviously we were wrong," the other voice said, hand still supporting your face. "Here, let us help you up," he offered. You had barely made it upright when the boy in front of you began to scowl. "Fuck, Umbridge," he seethed. "I'm sorry but we have to go."

Instead of leaving you, the boy pulled you along. The other tailing closely behind. "What are you doing?" you asked. "Unfortunately, you're an accomplice now and we're about to be caught." "Accomplice? I just met you!" "Yeah? Explain that to Umbridge over a hot cup of tea and a puddle of blood. You should be thanking me!"

It wasn't until you made what felt like four laps around the castle before you quit running. You didn't even know where you were and you had been attending Hogwarts for seven years. All you know was that you were in a tiny broom closet with two boys you just met. "Lumos," one of the boys spoke, and you finally got a good look at their faces. You rolled your eyes. You should have known it was the Weasley twins. You had never really met the two but the entire school knew of the mischief they caused. It had been far too easy for you to steer clear of them up to this point. "Fred," the twin on the left, George, asked quietly. Fred was looking down at his hand, then up to you. In the dim light you could barely notice the golden glow that now shone on his hand. "It's you," he spoke gently. "What do you mean?" you asked, eyebrows furrowed. Hesitantly, Fred reached his hand up to your face, placing it where it had been only moments ago. "You're golden," he smiled.

"My whole life I was wondering how I would get those marks," I laughed. "I always feared the worst, just because of where they are. Did you feel the same way?" He shook his head. "I always just assumed it would be a handshake." You rolled your eyes. "A handshake wouldn't give you this, though." You pulled up the other sleeve of his robes - nothing. No mark whatsoever adorned him. "That doesn't make any sense." When your eyes rose up to meet Fred's, he was looking beside you, at his twin, whose forearm revealed the missing piece of the puzzle. He, too, glowed gold.

***

Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

[littlejuicebox]

A Midwinter Carol / The OneShot

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x F!Reader/Tav

Story navigation: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Summary/Setting: Fifteen years post BG3 / You turned down Astarion's offer and went your own way after the ending of the game and you've just returned to BG. Astarion sees you again for the first time in 15 years and then has a surprise visitor that changes everything for him.

Rating/Warnings: M+ / Gore and Sexual Scenes / Spoilers for the game / Prob OOC Ascended Astarion

Word Count: 3K

Notes: This is 2/5 "Days of Star-mas!" "A Christmas Carol" but make it BG3 Ascended Astarion, of course!

I'm also entering this into the #BG3HolidayFluffle23 challenge under the prompt "new beginnings."

Click here to see my master list.

-----

Fifteen years. The Vampire Ascendent hadn’t seen you in fifteen years, since you’d rejected his offer to become his loyal consort for the final time.

You two couldn’t reconcile your differences. You’d wanted him to trust you, to believe that your love was stronger than any desire for power, that you could remain a mortal or become a true vampire like him and still remain loyal. You didn’t want to be a spawn. You’d considered his offer a great disrespect, and ultimately, his changed behavior had driven you away.

“You’re nothing like the man I fell in love with anymore. I don’t know who you are.”

Your words had stung, though he’d never admit it.

It had been an awful, messy, seething breakup, to be sure… and the Vampire Lord almost turned you against your will anyway. But at the time, Astarion’s soft spot for you had reigned supreme, and he still thought himself better than Cazador and above such things. So, against his own wishes, he’d let you go.

Last the Vampire Ascendent heard of your movements, you were somewhere along the Sword Coast, playing valiant hero once again. So, when he walked into Duke Ravengard’s Midwinter Gala with some pretty little thing on his arm that he’d picked up for the occasion and would likely drain of blood and dispose of later, he was flabbergasted to see you sitting at the high table. Right. Next. To. Wyll.

Fifteen years and it still felt like the greatest betrayal, as if you’d staked him through the heart in that moment. It took every ounce of The Vampire Lord’s control to not to turn into a cloud of smoke and break The Duke’s neck then and there. Oh, but how desperately he wanted to.

But he couldn’t risk such a spectacle… many of his dealings were hanging tenuously as it was, and creating a power vacuum in the city was just as bad for him as it would be for those against him. No, Wyll helped to maintain the balance… and generally tolerated Astarion with some level of old-ties respect. They had an agreement: the pale elf would keep his business private and primarily drink from criminals, and Wyll would turn a relatively blind eye. So no, as much as he wanted to, Astarion couldn’t afford such a loss of control.

The Vampire Ascendent watched as you walked about the room with Duke Ravengard, hanging on his arm like a prize and chatting with nobles and old contacts. Astarion’s date — what was their name again? — tried more than once to steal his attentions away, but resigned themselves to drinking heavily and dancing with several other guests. The Vampire Ascendant watched you join the dance floor with The Duke and his blood boiled at the sight; he even bent the stem of his golden goblet while witnessing the vile scene.

No. Absolutely not. This wouldn’t do. Astarion had to do something, had to interrupt whatever game this was. How dare you and Wyll disrespect him like this! So, he stood and abruptly crossed the dance floor, the other guests parting like the Red Sea before him in their shock. Lord Ancunin never made his way to the dance floor for anyone.

“May I interrupt and have this next dance?” The Vampire Ascendent’s voice is honeyed and saccharine as the music pauses and the band readies for their next ballad. Everyone around the room is clapping politely. A gentleman’s smile is plastered across the elf’s lips, but it doesn’t meet his eyes, as he extends his pale hand to you.

Wyll bristles and turns to look at you, and there’s a moment of silent communication between two sets of eyes that must know one another quite well, because Astarion cannot read their nearly-imperceptible movements. Finally, the Duke relents and passes your hand to the Vampire Lord.

“No funny business, Astarion. My men and I will be watching your every move.” The Duke warns through a benevolent-appearing smile, a warning hand clasped on the vampire’s tensed back, before locking eyes with you once more and then turning and walking toward the high table.

You smile at Astarion, as if it’s just the two of you back in the center of that clearing, draped in moonlight and barren to one another, all those years ago. “It’s good to see you, my old friend.”

Old friend? Old friend? The words make the Vampire Ascendent’s mouth practically fill with bile as he spins you about the room. He can feel the steady beating of your heart and smell that intoxicating, tempting bouquet of blood brimming beneath your skin that he’d never quite forgotten.

You two catch up, to some small extent, as you tell the Vampire Lord about your journeys along the Sword Coast and he tries to impress you with his growing influence and wealth, but before long the song is over and The Duke is, annoyingly, coming back to retrieve his prize. You smile so sweetly at Astarion before you depart that it almost hurts; no one else looks at him with that level of love and kindness… all he ever sees anymore are eyes filled with fear, mistrust, or hate.

“I hope you’re happy, Astarion. Truly. I’m glad to see you looking so well. Now go find the date you came with… they’re owed a dance, I believe.” You press a chaste kiss to his cheek, sending an electric shock through his numb heart. He almost gives into his urges and bites you right there, in front of everyone, claiming his love and his prize. But again, he lets you go, slipping through his fingers like sand through an hourglass as you meander back toward Wyll and continue the festivities.

Astarion can’t take any more of this. He goes to find his date, rips them away from whatever conversation they were having with whatever noble, and swiftly exits the party. Back at the Palace, the poor little thing is used for mindless sex and then for sustenance and then left to be disposed of by one of the staff with nary a thought. The Vampire Lord couldn’t even remember their name.

——-

A week rolls by, and gods what a terrible week it was. Astarion’s grip had weakened on the city after a few poor calls. In his pride, he’d never admit they were his fault, and instead he quickly blamed his advisors and sent them to the dungeons. Furthermore, the meeting he’d hosted today with several of the Guilds had practically blown up in his face as the Guild Leaders came to blows in the middle of the Great Hall. Mortal creatures could be so… overzealous. The entire ordeal was giving him a massive headache. If the Guild Leaders didn’t come to an agreement soon, he would lose his monopoly on the shipping industry.  

The Vampire Lord settles into his bed, alone, after downing several goblets of wine, but sleep does not come to him. He’s awake, staring at the ceiling, and all he can think about is you. Gods, he thought he’d moved past all this. But as he remembers your face, your nights together, the way your body felt on his… he feels his erection growing. Astarion is about to stick his hand inside his trousers to provide himself with some relief when a familiar, annoying voice travels through the room.

“I’ve been watching you, Astarion.”

Fucking Gale. The fucking God of Ambition. The Vampire Lord shoots up in bed and sees the silvery form of his former campmate standing at the foot of it.

“What in the hells, Gale! A God and still an absolute pervert, I see.”

The God ignores Astarion, moving to sit his ethereal form on the edge of the bed. The Vampire Lord wrinkles his nose and pulls his legs as far away from Gale as he can.

The God sighs, “Astarion, you’ve rejected my help before, and the strides you’ve made within the city are falling… it’s beginning to seem that you are headed down a path you are not going to be able to return from. A few more bad calls and you won’t come back from it. You are wasting your potential because you refuse to become the master of your own ambition rather than a slave to it. I’m beginning to wonder… is this what you truly want? I can see many lifetimes of yours, with many choices you’ve made along the way, and I’m sorry to tell you this lifetime seems to be the most miserable.”

Astarion scoffs. The fact that Gale is the only prior friend that keeps in touch with him, albeit for his own peculiar reasons, is a sad fact that the Vampire Lord refuses to acknowledge. He’d pushed everyone else away years ago. The only other person he ever saw was The Duke at obligatory balls, galas, and political events… and obviously the last time had been less than fulfilling. But loneliness resided deep in the Vampire Lord’s heart, hidden away from even his own acknowledgement, so although Gale had always been his least favorite, the pale elf still engaged in conversation.

“What do you mean by that? That you can see several of my lifetimes? I find it difficult to believe that this is the worst. Surely there is a lifetime in which I’m still under Cazador’s control.”

The God of Ambition considers this, and then turns and looks off into the distance, as if he’s examining something Astarion cannot see. “Hmm. Actually, there is only one lifetime in which that is still ongoing. So yes, that one may be the worst. I stand corrected, this is the second worst. You’re dead in more of them, a spawn in most of them… and your Tav, or some other version of Tav, is in several as a friend or a lover, to both the spawn and ascendant versions of you. You might be surprised to know that in more than one, you and I are coupled… it’s quite interesting.”

Astarion cringes at the thought of being in a relationship with Gale, but chooses to move past the thought and acknowledge the only bit of information he actually cared about, “My Tav is in several of them?”

“Of course. Would you like to see it? Let me take you on a little journey.” Gale holds his hand out the Vampire Lord, and Astarion cannot help but feel the pull of intrigue. Gods… at least this would guarantee a more interesting night than one with his hand spent down his own pants.

The pale elf sighs and extends his hand to the God of Ambition, and just as their fingers brush, he feels himself enveloped in the warmth of the Weave. Light spirals around the two beings and then suddenly, Astarion and Gale are standing outside a tomb. The Vampire Lord hears himself screaming from inside the tomb and feels the panic and shame rising within his own body. This is from his own past, when Cazador locked him up for a year.

“Why the hells have you brought me here, Gale? This isn’t what I asked to see!”

“No… but I thought it might serve as a reminder of where you came from. You seem to have forgotten… and subject others to similar fates and tortures, nowadays.”

Astarion hears the begging and pleading, the scratching on the inside of the tomb, and his gut churns again at the memory. How something that happened years ago, that he’d shoved deep in his mind never to acknowledge again, could still rip such a reaction from an all-powerful Vampire Ascendent, he did not know. The elf felt himself shaking as he was flooded with the emotion of the memory. Had he really turned into an exact replica of his former master? Hadn’t he wanted to be better than Cazador?

“Had enough? Okay, onto the next one.” Gale snaps his fingers, and both beings are pulled through the Weave.

Suddenly they’re standing in The Duke’s parlor room… the vampire had seen the room just a time or two before, during some business negotiation or another. Then he sees you, bursting through the door with one hand on your swollen belly. Gods above and below, were you carrying Wyll’s seed in this one? The thought made his skin crawl and his stomach churn in disgust.

“Hurry, my love! We need to place the presents here for the others.”

Astarion’s eyebrows crinkle as he listens to the voice responding to you from down the hallway, joined in by the giggles of what is clearly a child. “We’re coming, darling. This little imp is just slowing me down a bit!”

And then he sees himself coming through the door with a silver-haired, giggling toddler wrapped around his leg… but it’s not himself. Pink skin, beating heart, a few more years on his face. Mortal… but how?

Mortal Astarion is carrying a bundle of presents that he places on the coffee table in the center of the parlor. The child grins and puts a hand drawn card on top of the small pile of gifts. The card reads: ‘For Uncle Wyll, Auntie Euphemia, and the Ravengard Twins. Love, the Ancunins.”

Astarion feels his pulse thrumming in his ears as the scene plays out. Mortal Astarion envelops you in his arms and plants a kiss on your cheek, before bending down and placing a kiss on your pregnant stomach.

“Let’s go and join the others, shall we? Auntie Shadowheart and Auntie Lae’zel have a gift for you, my little love!” The mortal pale elf cheers, bending down to pick up the drooling toddler.

“Yay, daddy! Go!” The little babe cheers, clapping uncoordinated hands together, causing both this version of you and his mortal self to giggle in adoration. He watches as you take this version of him by the hand and exit the parlor, headed towards a clamor of conversation filled with several familiar voices. The Vampire Lord tries to follow the little family, desperate to see how the scene continues, but he’s ripped from the scene and thrown back into the Weave with Gale.

“I wasn’t finished!” The Ascendent Vampire shouts in frustration, running his hands through curled hair.

Gale simply sighs and shakes his head at Astarion, before settling onto another scene entirely.

In this one, you are a vampire. Not a vampire spawn, a true vampire. Astarion watches as you don your dress, unabashedly taking in the familiar curves of your body before they’re covered up, and then turns to see himself entering through the bedchamber door.

“My treasure, we’ve done it! We’ve secured educational and apprenticeship programs for the orphans from the Guilds as a show of good faith for our support and protection.”

Your vampire self runs to this better version of Ascendant Astarion, enveloping him in a shockingly passionate kiss. It was enough to make even the Vampire Lord’s skin run hot as he imagined what it would feel like to have you on him like that again.

“I’ve just put on my clothes, my love.” You murmur, voice coy, as you slowly drop your shoulder out of the gown and focus on your Astarion. “But perhaps you won’t mind helping me back out of them… I think that announcement is cause for a bit of… celebration.”

The scene quickly devolves into something overwhelmingly hot and heavy. The Vampire Lord feels himself tingle with desire as he watches everything unfold. Just as the other version of Astarion is about to plunge himself into the vampire version of Tav, the Weave swirls around Gale and Astarion once more.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” The Vampire Lord hisses as he glares at The God of Ambition.

“I know… steamy, right?” Gale responds, with a small chuckle. “Onto our final scene… this one is your… unfortunate future, if you continue down your same path, I’m afraid.”

The Vampire Ascendent soon sets his eyes on possibly the most gut-wrenching scene he could ever imagine. There you are, standing before him, holding a stake that’s driven straight through his heart. Blood pools around the wound. He’s trying to reach for you, to touch your face, to choke out something he cannot say. And then he’s gone, slumped on the floor, as you hold him in your arms and let out a bloodcurdling wail.  

The crying goes on forever. Your body is wracking with sobs as you turn the corpse onto its back and throw yourself over it, almost desperate to have his body close to yours. After what feels like an eternity, your trembling hands come to his face, and you plant a surprisingly tender kiss on his lips. Astarion notices, with some level of shock, bleeding wounds along your arms and neck. Some bites, some blade slashes… had he really been the one to do that to you?

“I really loved you, you know, Astarion… I wish it hadn’t come to this. How dare you kill The Duke and throw the city into upheaval! My city! Our city!

There was nothing between Wyll and me. Just two old friends, catching up… I’d wanted to be back home, I’d fled from my city for fifteen years after what happened between us. Wyll offered me a soft place to land and a kind transition back into society.

I was sure everything would be okay after all this time. That we could at least talk. It had been fifteen years! But you didn’t come to speak to me, you ignored my scrolls, and then—why?!”

The sobbing returned, and you were slamming shaking fists into the corpse version of himself over and over and over and over.

The Vampire Lord sucked in a breath and turned back to the God, “I’ve seen enough, Gale! Take me home right now.”

“As you wish.” The God of Ambition murmurs, and with a snap of his fingers, Astarion is back in his bed in the Palace.

“So?” Gale asks, lifting himself from where he is still sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I need to talk to Tav… I need to speak with her. Tomorrow.” The Vampire Lord murmurs, his head still reeling from everything he saw. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. What would he even say to you, after all this time?

“I would agree. It's far past time for you to pursue a new beginning, Astarion." The God responds as the Weave starts to swirl around him in bright flares of azure, “Oh... and Astarion? I know we were once friends, if you could really call us that… but don’t think this little show and tell was for free. I’ll be asking something of you, when the time comes.”

The Vampire Lord nods. Of course. It could never be that simple, could it? And just like that, Gale disappears in a spray of light, and Astarion is left alone once more.

No. It could never be that simple. The only simple truth in Astarion’s life was this: you were and would always be his saving grace.

——-

Story navigation: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

[withonly-sweetheart]

Seven Years Close

Do you accept Leon's proposal to marry? You can't tell if he's trying to get into your bed or if he has genuine feelings.

a/n: so this was supposed to be knight leon and then somewhere along the road i was lost in lana and taylor and so now you get this asjkfwfioasajwqe do you fw me???

tw: sweetie pie fluff <3

wc: 2.9k

You cast a distasteful glance at the platter of raspberry tarts being passed around the room, servants anxiously staring up at you, wide eyes silently pleading you to take one. Taking pity, you curl your fingers around one of them and slowly nibble, leaning back against the wall.

Your twin sister, Rebecca, the heir to your family legacy, is nowhere to be seen. It’s become a rare occurrence to even see her around the estate, since she’s almost always frolicking off with one of her new suitors, twirling her hair and giggling as they make such fools of themselves, performing advanced melodies on their lutes and harps.

What good is art if there is no soul behind it? In twenty one years, you have not yet met a single man with a personality outside of the court, outside of succeeding to their family’s expectations, siring heirs before retiring to their homes on the coast, living out the rest of their miserable lives listening to the redundant waves wash onto the shore.

“What’s a lovely miss like you doing here, all alone?” You don’t recognize the voice and have to look up to match the tone to the face, and the face you see is not one you wish to see. 

The prince of the kingdom, the man every woman wishes for and sees in their dreams. Leon Kensington. Believe it or not, it hurts you every time you see him, because anytime he meets your eyes, all you can remember is…

“Take it. Don’t be shy, it’s my gift to you!”

“Good evening, Your Highness,” you mumble, the once sweet fruit tasting infinitely bitter on your tongue. You resist the urge to scrape it on the back of your hand and instead offer a polite nod, shifting your weight so you’re facing away from him. “How nice to see you here.”

“There are times when I look at you and wonder what my life would be like if we had never met,” he says wistfully, completely ignoring your greeting.

“And?”

Leon smiles. “And my breath hitches, like my body’s reminding me that not meeting you would be like living a life with no air.”

“That will not work on me, dear prince,” you drone, steeling your mind against the sweet line. As much as you wish to believe it is true, you know he’s just trying to get into your bed. “I’m not as incapable as your lovers.”

“Indeed,” he agrees, stepping even closer to accommodate for the space you very deliberately just put between you two. “It is a nice gathering, yes?” You note the subtle change of subject and resist smirking.

“Nothing I wouldn’t expect from the House of Redfield,” you jest. “They are known for their majestic sceneries.”

“I didn’t know the Duchess was accustomed to the wilderness,” he replies with fake shock, arching his hand on his chest. “I always took you for a lady afraid to get your slippers wet.”

And just like that, in one mercurial swing, you’re back to irritation. 

“Duchess is a title reserved for my sister,” you hiss from behind clenched teeth. “If you put effort into every woman you woo with your irresistible charm, you might’ve known that.”

You’re mad, but you can’t pinpoint the exact reason why. It’s not like you recognize the man in front of you. He’s older, more mature, and it shows in the defined slants of his face. But you can’t forget what you’ll always remember.

You don’t wait for a response. Instead you stroll away, seething in anger, searching the crowd for your sister. When you finally spot her usually tame, brown locks, somehow already tousled, you link your arm through hers and pull her away from the Baron Wesker, who looks far too old for her.

She lets out a yelp of protest, fixes her face and wiggles her fingers in goodbye to the man, before turning to you and huffing.

“How dare you!” she whines, smoothing out her dress. “Where are you taking me?”

“We’re going home,” you grumble. “I will not stand a second longer in this wretched place.”

“Excuse you! Duchess Claire is one of your closest friends!”

“And, unfortunately for us, she’s fallen ill, and her brother is tending to her. So unless you get in the carriage, I will be forced to resort to shoving my slippers up your-”

“I get it!” she groans. “You ruin all my fun.”

Aren’t I the only one.

<><><>

When Jillian hobbles into your room, you already know that something’s been arranged. The woman raises her eyebrows and lets out an amused chuckle when you groan.

“Are you far too busy to be bothered by His Royal Majesty himself?” she muses, handing you an envelope tightly clutched in her frayed hands. Streaks of gray already line her dusty hair. She’s old enough to be your mother, so, lacking a parental figure, you and Nysa consider her to be. 

“Your uncle has requested you attend the-”

“Absolutely not.” 

Jillian frowns. “Child.”

You’ve already skimmed the letter, and after getting past the first line, your mind has already been made up. Of all the things your uncle could force you to do under the illusion of ‘it’s what’s best for the family’, this was one you simply could not comply with.

“The arrangement for alliance between House Kensington and House Chambers? Seriously? That isn’t even my true name!” you protest, pointing directly to where the loopy handwriting, signed by the prince himself, ends.

“This is not an offer, girl,” Jillian lectures in return, her long, simple ivory dress sweeping the dust from the wooden planks. “You are expected to attend. Tonight.”

“What if I choose not to?” you reply defiantly, glaring up at her. She looks down at you for a moment, fingers tightening around the roll of newspapers in her hand before frowning and immediately proceeding to whack your back with the paper.

You scramble from your chair and she chases you around the room, pummeling you until you finally agree, panting heavily. For someone who looks old enough to be Queen, she sure is quick on her feet.

Later that evening, her nimble fingers thread your hair into complex twists, weaving in strands of worn-out gold, like a tapestry not quite finished.

“I wore these when I met my lover,” she whispers as she works, her faded eyes finding yours in the mirror. “He said I looked radiant, outshining the sun itself.” She presses a soft, tentative kiss to the top of your head. “Do not lose this one, child. I only wish to see you happy.”

You can’t tell if she’s talking about the braids or if she’s talking about Leon. Giving your hand to him in marriage seems like the worst possible idea you’ve ever had, and although you are sure you will deny everything Leon thinks of you, some part of your mind wants to make this woman happy, wants to gain her approval, wants to see her smile again, because you did this for her, no? You’ve done everything you’ve ever done for her.

The self-defense training, the balls, galas, everything you dreaded growing through your teenage years, it was all so much more tolerable with Jillian’s comfort, however weary.

That’s exactly why you put on your brightest, most stunning smile as you approach His Royal Highness, his wife, and of course, his two eldest sons.

Steven, heir to the throne, sulks in his chair, lazily slouched with his feet draped on his armrest. He is the image of one of the seven deadly sins; sloth. 

You were raised in a family where sins were forbidden and to even think of them would require serious action. Rebecca chose to ignore your uncle’s rules after your parents’ passing while you strove to stick to them, knowing that if it were not for your uncle, there would never be a future for either of you.

“Your Majesty,” you finish, curtsying in front of Leon. You feel his gaze on your neck, dropping everywhere on your body, and you feel Rebecca tense besides you, because she doesn’t know why he’s not paying attention to her.

You do. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of you since you walked in. 

While your uncle converses with Their Majesties for wedding plans, you all are excused to mingle in the common room. You realize that this is the perfect chance to leave Leon alone, therefore providing you with solitary comfort, but then Jillian flashes through your mind, and you realize you have to make this work, however uneasy you feel.

His eyebrow arches as you approach to stand next to him, while your sister shoots off to bat her eyelashes at Steven.

“You’re much more boring than you usually are,” Leon drones, thumbing the sleeves of his linen jacket. “I was expecting something more extravagant.” 

“If you wanted extravagant,” you retort, “you should’ve picked one of your bedchamber women to marry.”

“You think I want to marry you?” Leon scoffs, as if the idea’s never crossed his mind. You hope it hasn’t. “Heavens no. This is for the sake of the throne.”

“Your father thinks marrying into our bloodline is best for the kingdom?” You restrain from making a sarcastic sound of your own. “Pardon, but he’s thoroughly mistaken.”

“How so?” Leon twists to face you, eyes sparkling with a newfound curious light.

“Truly? A bastard orphan and a woman who’s already shared her bed with multiple other men,” you drawl. “Is that the ideal legacy you’d like to uphold?”

“We would be in shambles without you,” he admits, looking down at you, thin, golden eyelashes framing his pensive eyes. “And even if you don’t wish to marry me, I assure you that I will do my best to be whatever you need.”

“I… suppose I can reciprocate that,” you stumble over your words, finally coming to some kind of unspoken agreement. At your flushed state, Leon smirks.

“What if I asked for your firstborn child?”

You can’t hold back a grin. “What, are you suggesting you participate in witchcraft?”

He chuckles, a gentle, unrestrained sound that seems to resonate through you. “No, of course not. I was simply curious.”

“Hm,” you hum, debating the reality of the question. “You are the prince, yes? I have sworn my undying loyalty to you, so if you asked for my child, however heart wrenching, it is my duty to hand whatever you wish over.”

“Heart wrenching?” Leon pauses, then shrugs, laughing softly. “Have you forgotten already, my dear? Your firstborn child is mine either way.”

“Oh.” You flush an even deeper red, realizing the true meaning of his words. “Yes… I suppose that is correct.”

“Why are you always like this around me?” he queries after a beat of silence. “You seem… tense?”

“I’m not tense,” you assure, far too quickly to convince him.

“Don’t lie,” he says, voice lower, quieter. It has a new level of intimacy you weren’t prepared for. “Tell me what you are thinking about.���

“Right now?” 

He nods. “Right this moment.”

You inhale sharply. “I’m… thinking about our ceremonial day back when we were in school.”

Leon tilts his head to the side. “Why on Earth would you be thinking of that?”

“I have this image of you in my mind, as a small boy, with mud in your suit and branches in your hair, and you came up to me.”

“I… handed you a leaf,” he continues slowly, as if just remembering the memory. “Yes, I recall that day. You were wearing that lovely pink dress.”

“Do you…”

“Recall that I asked for your hand in marriage?”

There’s a beat of silence before you hesitantly answer, “Yes?”

“Can I ask why this is bothering you?”

“You are so… different, now,” you rush to finish, wanting to get all your thoughts out quickly. “You’re not the same Leon.”

“Are you the same?” he asks in return. “It has been seven years. A lot has changed, between the two of us.”

“We were so close,” you whisper, slightly dazed.

“We are close now, too,” he says, but you get the sense he’s not talking about emotionally. He’s moved to sit near you, breath fanning your nose, eyes searching yours with a familiar warmth, yet deeper. A spark stirs in your core, fading embers rekindling.

"The boy who gave me leaves cared deeply," you say softly. "As I hope the man does."

Leon smiles. "As does the woman. You still love me?"

You scoff. “Still? You’re still as cocky as ever.”

Leon grins boyishly. “Some things will never change, hm?” His hand finds yours, fingers entwining. But where innocent affection left off, desire awakens, smoldering beneath your skin.

Eyeing lips but a breath apart, Leon whispers, "May I?"

Your pulse quickens as you nod. As his lips meet yours, the fluttering flame within blossoms into a radiant glow, spreading warmth through your veins with sentiments left unspoken for too long. You finally realize that avoiding your past was the worst mistake you’ve ever made.

When he pulls away from you, curling his fingers along the side of your cheek, the longing in his face is evident, like he’s finally seeing something he forced himself to block out for so long. 

“Why did I ever let you go?” he asks, voice feather soft, but you understand he’s asking himself, pitching his regret. His expression is gentle as his gaze shifts to your hair. “Was your hair always golden?”

“I do think you have been paying attention to me over the years,” you muse, lying your head against the sofa. “I’m flattered.”

“Who didn’t?” Leon arches a golden eyebrow. “Surely you’ve noticed the amount of suitors trailing you around everywhere you go? Just last month I rode past your estate and there was a line of men waiting to call on you.”

“And they were all such boring lads,” you drawl, groaning just from the memory. Leon leans on his fist, propping himself up against the wood to face you.

“No one is as charming as me,” he says sweetly. “It pleases me to hear that you’ve finally realized this.”

“Yes, Leon,” you manage through snickers. “You are indeed very charming.”

“Yes, very well, go on,” he replies, the corner of his mouth lifting. “What else do you find lovely about me?”

“You’re truly asking for this?” Leon nods eagerly, so you consider him for a moment.

"Let's see..." you ponder thoughtfully. "Your ego knows no bounds.”

Leon pretends to wince. "You wound me, my dear!" He declares with feigned drama.

"Your hair remains equal parts charming and disastrous, as in days of your youth." He runs a hand through his tousled locks, shifting them so the sun hits them perfectly, an effervescent glow around them.

"Your smile is as radiant as the summer sun. Your eyes are as warm as a crackling hearth," you continue, gazing deep into azure depths.

"My, such flattery! When did you become such a poet?" he quips, returning your easy smile.

You cock your head sideways. "There is one quality more that makes you singular amongst men..."

Raising his eyebrows, Leon leans forward as if onto a delicious secret. "And what quality is that, pray tell?"

"Your boundless arrogance knows no competition!" you exclaim as Leon clutches his chest in exaggerated fashion.

“Wounded yet again!” he whines, but there’s a playful twinkle in his eyes. “And here I was, blindly assuming your adoration for me was sincere.” 

“Of course it is,” you say dotingly. “But someone must keep that ego in check.”

“Who better for the job than my future wife?” 

You tilt your head, regarding him with amusement. "Is that a proposal, my prince?”

"Would you accept, if it were?" Leon returns casually, yet beneath you spot profound hope. Perhaps there is a way to not only get what you want, but also to win Jillian’s praise.

“Yes. Yes, I would.”

“Lovely,” your uncle states from across the room. You peek over the top of the cushion to see your uncle and Their Majesties standing behind you. You don’t know how long they’ve stood there, and you’re not sure you want to. “Then the wedding will be set.”

“Do you know where Steven is?” I hear the Queen murmur.

“I’m quite sure he disappeared off to his chamber.”

The Queen sighs. “With the girl?”

“With the girl,” the King confirms. “I suppose this would also mean that we will need to plan their wedding, as well?”

“Splendid!” your uncle coos. “The royal family will be covering all expenses, correct?”

You assume they nod, because your uncle starts to gush about all the decorations and banquets and how your wedding will be the most stunning wedding of the century.

You cast a wary look at Leon. “Are you still sure you want to marry me?” Leon rests his hand on top of yours, looking at you with utmost sincerity. 

“Are you being serious? Because, darling, I would love nothing more than to spend the rest of my life in love with you.”

[le-monchou]

𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐚 || 𝐑𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐞 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐜𝐡𝐢 || 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭: 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞

literally a continuation of my day two: sea of lights this fic crossed my word limit twice (first 500 and then 700 so now i'm making it 1000 words) also tagging @midnightmah07 and @owlisbuffering

as you expected, you don’t see ruggie bucchi for quite a long time after rescuing him from those fishermen- no matter how long you stroll by the sea coast, the only response to his name is the gentle sea foam, something he called the tears of the moon. despite his self-attested illiteracy, the merman whose hair was as golden as the strands of silk woven by the moon from the sun had many stories to tell, and in the short time you knew him, you dared to think of him as more than a friend. 

you groan as you push your hands onto your face, blood rising in the places where they smacked you a little too hard. am i really so starved for romance that i decided to go after ruggie of all people? he’s not even a person!!!! he’s like spongebob- he lives at the bottom of the sea! you sigh as you remove your hands from your face, watching the sky turn a beautiful orange with the sun’s setting, the moon already risen a little bit in the distance. the area around you reminds you of the day you set him free, and you can’t help the second sigh that escapes your lips. 

taking the boat you’d been lent by one of the fishing crews, you set out into the ocean once again, looking for a nice place to sit and admire the moonlight on the water, waiting for a young man who’d probably never come. sitting on a comfortable-looking rock, you toss the petals of a flower ruggie had mentioned liking the look of when he was restricted to your small bathroom onto the surface of water and scream as bubbles pop up, accompanied by a shishishi you found all too familiar. 

“you!” you seethed as ruggie laughed, doing cartwheels with his entire body on the surface. “miss me?” ruggie teased, sharp canines glistening. “i mean, who else are you waiting for on this rock?” you roll your eyes as ruggie laughs once again before quieting down. “anyway, this is really good timing from both our ends- i’m gonna show you my place so you don’t have to worry!” 

“ruggie. how am i going to breathe underwater?” 

—

“oh woah,” you breathed in the air bubble ruggie had managed to create via a spell he asked the prince about (or so you assumed, because you were reading his lips and he was very distorted underwater), bouncing up and down in the tiny menagerie as ruggie dragged you towards the cave system. “this is where i live,” ruggie mouths as he pushes another vial of potion through the bubble, letting you leave the thing for a bit to swim with him. “this is my home.” 

“it’s wonderful, ruggie.” you smile as he flushes. “i’m serious. you could do so much with a cave system as big as this. show me more!” ruggie harrumphs with flushed cheeks before he grabs your hand and leads you inwards towards his room. at least, if he were human, that’s technically what it’d be, with all the human junk arranged around you and this gigantic skeleton hanging from the ‘ceiling’. “what do you think? arranged it all myself. i mean, leona and jack helped too, of sorts, but it was mostly me.” 

“this is lovely, ruggie!” you beam. “honestly, if i were a mermaid, i’d love to come here and chill with you. too bad i can only swim like this,” you chuckle as ruggie rolls his eyes fondly before kissing you on the cheek. “well, if not now, then maybe in the future,” ruggie starts as he leads you deeper into the cave system, showing you all the marvellous trash from the surface along with the little gems and pearls and gold they find. and as the two of you keep exploring, ruggie realises again that your time together with him is up, so he brings you back to the surface all too reluctantly as you kiss him close to his lips. 

“i loved tonight, ruggie.” you smile as you climb back onto the rock, the boat you loaned still bobbing on the waves of the ocean. “i know it’s a little too early to say this… but i love you, and i hope to see you soon.” something twists on ruggie’s face, something nice and hopeful, and he says nothing as he kisses you goodbye and dives back into the water all flushed, but you think you’ve found your happy ending. i love you, ruggie bucchi.

[arcane-vagabond]

Meet Me at the Sea: The Squad Confronts Jake

The Squad Confronts Jake

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the summer at his family's home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but when you wake up on the beach one morning after having fallen overboard the night before, you can't help but think that maybe you hadn't imagine the strong arms and deep, green eyes of the man that had saved you.

Word Count: 1,050

A/N: Here is a little blurb I wrote that takes place after Chapter Three of Meet Me at the Sea wherein the Dagger Squad confronts Jake about marking Skipper! If you enjoy my writing, please consider buying me a ko-fi! As always, comments, reblogs, and likes are greatly appreciated!! 18+ ONLY!! You can find this and all of my other updates on AO3 under the username sailor_aviator!

Series Masterlist || Tag List

“You’re a prick,” Bradley hissed, eyes blazing as he glared at Jake. Jake sighed, resting his head on his hand as he stared at the glass of water in front of him. He had been waiting for this ever since that moment on the beach.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he muttered, taking a sip from his glass. Bradley grabbed his shoulder, pulling him so that he faced the larger man. Bradley’s lips were pressed into a thin line, nostrils flaring as a dangerous glint sparked in his eyes. Jake cocked an eyebrow at him, which seemed to further enrage the other man. Bradley grabbed onto Jake’s shirt, curling his fists into the fabric as he pulled Jake up and out of his seat.

“Bradshaw, there will be no fighting in my bar!” Penny hollered, arms crossed and eyes glaring. “Take it outside or knock it off.”

“Sorry, Penny!” Nat called over her shoulder as she placed a hand on Bradley’s. “C’mon Brad, take a breath.”

Bradley spared her a glance before releasing the blond, stepping back as Jake ran his hands down his front. Looking up at his friends through his lashes, he heaved a sigh before sitting back down.

“Y’all going to join me, or are you just going to stand there looking at me?”

Bradley, Nat, Reuben, Mickey, and Javy all sat down at the previously empty table, never taking their eyes off of Jake.

“Where the hell do you get off staking a claim on her?” Bradley seethed, hands balled into fists where they rested on the wood. “You have Mandy.”

“I don’t want Mandy,” Jake responded.

“We know,” Javy said, earning a nod from Reuben and Mickey. “But what’s changed?”

“Who the hell cares what’s changed?” Bradley snapped. “He can’t have them both. He has to choose.”

“He’s right,” Nat said, fixing her eyes on Jake. Her expression was calm, but there was an underlying warning in her gaze. “You can’t claim both of them.”

“I don’t want to,” Jake sighed.

Bradley leaned back in his chair, eyes still cold as they regarded his friend. “So why’d you do it?”

“Thought you didn’t care?” Jake spat. Bradley narrowed his gaze at him.

“If that’s how you’re going to be,” he said, moving to stand, “then I’ll just go and stake my claim on her then.”

Jake snarled, the beast inside him rearing its ugly head at the thought of Bradley touching what was his.

“Over my dead body,” he sneered, standing up to block Bradley’s path. Bradley sneered right back, shifting like he was ready for a fight.

“Are we going to handle this the old fashioned way?” He asked Jake.

“Boys!” Penny hollered. Javy and Reuben stood up, the former holding Jake back while the other held Bradley.

“Sorry, Penny! It won’t happen again!” Mickey smiled, and the older woman let out a huff before stomping towards the back.

“Would you two neanderthals sit down?” Nat hissed, watching Penny as she retreated. “If you get us thrown out of here, I’m kicking both of your asses!”

The two men let their friends guide them back down to the seats, eyes still focused intently on the other as tempers simmered.

“Jake, tell us what’s up, man,” Mickey said, a look of concern on his face. “This isn’t like you.”

“For him to be a dick?” Bradley snickered.

“For him to put an intention bite on someone,” Nat scowled. “And Mickey’s right. What is up with you?”

Jake didn’t say anything, eyes fixated on the table. He was still trying to wrap his own mind around it. He knew what happened, but how could he expect the others to understand when his own mind was still reeling from it all? He knew you were his, he felt it. He knew it with the same certainty that the sun would rise in the morning. You were like a breath of air he didn’t know he needed.

But there was the problem of Mandy. He knew that once he revealed the bond between the two of you, most everyone would accept that as the end of things. But Mandy? She had always been possessive over Jake. She was used to getting what she wanted, and she had made it clear since they were kids that what she wanted was Jake. What would she do once she found out that she couldn’t have him? Jake shuddered at the thought.

“Nothing to say, asshole?” Bradley snapped, crossing his arms as he continued to glare.

“She’s mine,” Jake all but whispered. Five pairs of eyes stared at him. "She's my mate."

“Bullshit,” Bradley spat.

“Bradley-” Natasha sighed.

“No!” He shouted at her, rising back to his feet. “It’s bullshit! You’re telling me Skipper is your true mate?”

“Bradshaw, would you keep it the fuck down?” Reuben snapped, eyeing a pair of tourists on the other side of the bar.

“It’s true,” Jake said with a clench of his jaw. He tried not to focus on how good it felt to finally say it out loud. “I knew when I saw her at the bar the other night.”

He looked up to meet Bradley’s eyes, and after a moment, something seemed to shift in the brunette’s gaze - acceptance. Mickey let out a low whistle as Reuben chortled, leaning back.

“You been singing to her?” Javy asked him, raising an eyebrow.

Jake grimaced. “I don’t always mean to, but you know how the frenzy gets. I’m having a hard time controlling my song around her.”

“You told Mandy yet?” Mickey asked, leaning forward with wide eyes. The whole group sucked in a breath at that.

“I’m going to,” Jake said quietly.

“You better,” Nat warned him, a frown on her lips as she watched him.

“Somebody’s going to have to tell Bob,” Mickey muttered, looking at Nat. She rolled her eyes.

“Yes, fine,” she groaned. “I’ll do it, but he’s not going to be happy about this little development.”

“He’ll get over it,” Bradley said, lips thin as he continued to stare at Jake. His brown eyes searched green ones before nodding. He knocked on the wooden table twice before moving to head outside.

“Figure your shit out with Mandy,” he called over his shoulder nonchalantly. “If you don’t, then Skipper is fair game.”

Tag List: @jakeseresinlover @haley-hotchner @queerqueenlynn @nicestgirlonline @dempy @fanficfandomlove @aworldwideapart @stoptaking-the-good-names @maximus890 @sky2nd @devil-angel-winchester @hopip99 @hookslove1592 @lemmons1998 @yuckosworld @uniquedreamlandcheesecake @imamomof8 @pietrothemovie @comicgollum20 @kmc1989 @mayhemmanaged @rhettsluvr @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog @deliriousfangirl61 @devrill @hangmandruigandmav @blue-eyed-mary

[hussyknee]

hi, i hope i am not crossing a line, please ignore if this is bad question. i am just curious

in one of your posts u said your caste is karava. this is the first time i am hearing a sinhalese talk about caste (i speak tamil and never really felt confident in my sinhala to make sinhalese friends)

can you explain about the castes or tell me where find information about it

Caste is a fucked up concept across the board, obviously, but Sinhalese castes are different from Tamil Hindu in that they involve the cultural and socio-political organisation of the Sinhalese community, and has no connection to religious scripture.

There are thirteen castes that still exist today. We used to be a chiefly agrarian society, so the majority of Sinhalese are Govigama ("Govi" means farming) and they're the kind of "bourgeoisie" of the social order in that few are above them and anyone else is below them. Those that rank below them are castes like Bathgama and Kinnara (who are meant to be agricultural labourers) Vahampura (something to do with making cinnamon or treacle) Navadanna (artisans, especially makers of jewelry) and Rada (launderers). Radala is the caste of the nobility, and afaik the only one above Govigama. They're all from highlands of Kandy, the last Sinhalese holdout against the Europeans for about 200 years. There's no nobility among the lowlanders (between the Portuguese, Dutch and British, they were either killed, assimilated or fled to Kandy) so the Govigama caste is the highest one everywhere else. This means Govigama used to be the only one that was qualified to join the Theravada Buddhist priesthood* and also receive education and job opportunities as government servants—right up until the mid-20th century, when the karava gentry turned into robber barons under the British Empire's demand for cash crops.

Karava people are the majority inhabitants in the Southern coastal lands, which are predominantly Sinhalese Buddhist, as opposed to the Tamil lands of the Northern coast (Eelam really) and the proliferation of sparsely-populated Muslim communities in the rest of the coastal belt. Karava is called the fisherfolk caste by the rest of country, despite their own strong objections. Caste is reckoned patrilineally. I'm Karava through my Dad and I married into a Karava family. Nearly every Karava person I know insists that we're actually the warrior caste and were given the coastal lands as reward for our service to the king. I'm sure there's a legitimate case to be made for this, (this site keeps being referred to me) but I don't care enough to find out because the Karava insistence that being called fisherfolk is a Govigama conspiracy is incredibly funny. I mean, it could be true, what do I know, but so much of the cope and seethe stem from our lingering inferiority complex and resentment at having been treated as inferior until a few decades ago. After being ground under the Radala and Govigama feet along with the rest for ages beyond record, suddenly us lowlanders were rolling in money from our toddy, coconut and rubber plantations, matching or surpassing the wealth of the nobility. We were chasing off Tamil and Muslim minorities to establish our own lost cultural capitals in Anuradhapura and Pollonnaruwa that predated the Kandyan kingdom and making our own sect of the Buddhist priesthood (Amarapura Nikaya) that would ordain Karava people. The robber baron types also got very chummy with the British colonial administration and were awarded cushy jobs in government over the Govigama, who still disdained industrialization and commerce. (To this day my mother's family looks down on business people no matter how rich. Merchants are considered grasping and untrustworthy.) By the time of Sri Lanka's independence from the British in 1948, we had two varieties of equally rich, snooty, virulently ethnonationalist Sinhalese elites who had gotten ahead by selling us out to the British, but with the highland Radala still believing they were too pure-blooded to mix with the hoi polloi and the lowland Karava resentful at being considered the polloi no matter how hoi they'd become. Post-independence, Sri Lanka's adoption of free education and free state universities saw masses of lowlanders, Karava, Durava and Salagama all, sending their kids to university to attain upwardly mobile careers in engineering, medicine and teaching. "If the boy is Karava he's probably in engineering" is a common joke. It's a clear shift away from our rural agrarian roots into urban sprawl and high socio-economic competition in place of social stratification.

We also have a caste of Untouchables called the Rodiya. In ancient times, you and all your family being stripped of their lands and titles and banished into the Rodi Rahaya was one of the punishments reserved for the noble houses that ran afoul of the monarchy. It condemned your entire lineage forever. This was such a dire fate that some would have favoured execution.

Rodiyas were not permitted to cross a ferry, to draw water at a well, to enter a village, to till land, or learn a trade, as no recognised caste could deal or hold intercourse with a Rodiya [...] They were forced to subsist on alms or such gifts as they might receive for protecting the fields from wild beasts or burying the carcasses of dead cattle; but they were not allowed to come within a fenced field even to beg [...] They were prohibited from wearing a cloth on their heads, and neither men nor women were allowed to cover their bodies above the waist or below the knee. If benighted they dare not lie down in a shed appropriated to other travellers, but hid themselves in caves or deserted watch-huts. Though nominally Buddhists, they were not allowed to go into a temple, and could only pray "standing afar off"

(Source)

Allegations of witchcraft and cannibalism aside, the Rodiyas themselves were known to be a proud folk that considered themselves the pure-blooded descendants of the royalty that were punished this way. Here's a Reddit post that expounds on them more, along with photographs. It seems that the strictures against covering up had fallen away between the turn of the 20th century and the '70s. Not much is known about their current living conditions, but I believe that, like India's own Untouchables and the low caste of Eelam's Tamil Hindus, they must have converted to Christianity to escape the stigma.

Casteism is still somewhat of a problem in the Sinhalese community, but it's lessening every generation. My maternal grandparents weren't entirely happy about my mother marrying my Karava father but conceded because he was an engineer with a stable career. My older cousin had to fight his Karava family to marry his school sweetheart because she was both poor and Bathgama caste (I think "Padu" might be a derogatory name for it). The fact that he succeeded is noteworthy because it would have been a huge scandal in my parents' time. The Radalas are still a bunch of insular dipshits who try to keel over and die if one of them tries to marry out. But many of them are also migrating abroad so Idk if it's too much to hope that they leave the caste shit behind when they assimilate into Western society. It certainly hasn't worked for the Brahmin Indians. But the outlook is better for the rest of us.

*There is no caste system in Buddhism. The Buddha in fact was an egalitarian social reformer who advocated against the Vedic caste system and ordained Untouchables as well as women. So obviously the Theravadin priesthood of Sri Lanka, that bastion of the Buddha's Word, would make sure that only high caste men could ever be ordained. Love the fact that the Karava social revolution just made sure they had their own sect instead of, y'know, pushing for anything more equitable. I always say that if we really want to protect Buddhism we have to abolish the Sinhalese.

[moorheadthanyoucanhandle]

BANANA REPUBLIC

Now in theaters:

Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes--Generations after the death of Caesar, the chimpanzee who founded ape civilization, apes live in clans along the California coast, around the grown-over ruins of human civilization. Our young hero Noa (Owen Teague) is part of the Eagle Clan, a sort of peaceable low-tech utopia that practices fishing by falconry.

Trouble arrives in the form of a raiding party which abducts the Eagle Clan while Noa is away. He follows, along the way picking up a scholarly orangutan, Raka (Peter Macon), and a waiflike human, Mae (Freya Allan). Noa eventually finds his clan enslaved on a beach, under the rule of Proximus Caesar (Kevin Durand), a swaggering monarch complete with crown and throne, demanding in blustery rhetoric that his throng of subjects pay him obeisance outside his palace, a rusted shipwreck.

Proximus claims authority in the name of Caesar the Lawgiver, but Raka has already taught Noa that his tyranny is an outrage to the true Caesar's egalitarian traditions. What Proximus really wants, it turns out, is to open the massive door to an underground seaside vault full of old human technology and all the potential power that any potentate could want.

This fourth of the latter-day Apes movies is, one might say, the ape-iest of them, the one most immersed in an established ape culture and with the most meager human presence. Directed by Maze Runner veteran Wes Ball from a script by Josh Friedman, it's also the most modest, in blockbuster terms; the cast is made up largely of journeyman TV actors mostly unfamiliar to me. The only name player I recognized was the always reliable William H. Macy, as a human bookworm who's teaching Proximus the follies of human history, often to the King's uproarious laughter.

It's a moody, evenly paced adventure that borrows not only from the original Apes series, especially 1970's satirically seething Beneath the Planet of the Apes, but from other mythic sources including Star Wars and The Lion King. And it's admirably unsentimental, with characters seemingly ripe for redemption that aren't redeemed and alliances that don't warm into friendships. The atmosphere is bitter but bracing, and the film has a heart of hard but noble honor.

It's difficult, these days, for many of us to see any movie about autocratic rule, or the undermining of democratic values, or the allure of "strongman" leadership, as anything but a political allegory for our times. The mangy, orange-furred ape tyrant "Skar King" in the recent Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire, for instance, seemed like little more than a heavy-handed, though entertaining, political cartoon. But if Proximus was intended as a stand-in for our current would-be sovereign, I have to say, his high-flown language and historical curiosity make for an overgenerous caricature.

[lunabenoit]

Joaquinn & Luna @joaquinni

Where: downtown

If Luna were to lay her life out in order of most painful moments, there was a safe bet that most of them would involve Joaquinn. In some form or another, whether he was simply there, a passive player in the way life had its way with breaking her heart, or if he was the direct result of all that pain. Once upon a time, he had been her ultimate freedom, the person with whom she felt most like herself. There was no need to play the role of the perfect daughter, beauty queen. She had no need to be anything other than exactly as she was, and at the tender age of sixteen, she believed he would be all she would ever need. Falling helplessly in love with how every woe she'd ever felt dissolved when she laid her head against his chest.

Running away with him was easy. The only thing in her life she had never second-guessed. She was fearless when she got on the back of his bike and left it all behind. At sixteen, there was no other way to hold onto the first real thing she'd ever felt. Maybe if she had been older, wiser, and a little less reckless, she wouldn't have let her youth slip from her palms. And test, years later, with all she knew now, Luna could not answer if she would have done it any differently. There wasn't much Luna knew about life, but she was certain she could count on the lack of predictability. She was a young girl swept away in the love affair with Joaquinn. Never could she have imagined she'd spent years after being haunted by the ghost of his absence. His leaving had been sudden and terribly painful. It tore something asunder at her core, scattering the pieces of all she had known of herself into the terrible unknown.

She had been twenty-three when he left. The day was not one she could recall in anything more than soul-sickening loss, but in the days, months, and years since, there had been times when Luna caught a glimpse of someone who could have been him. Her heart would plummet, and she'd focus and realize as quickly that it was not him. Surely it never would be again. She wasn't completely clueless. She knew he was someplace in California. Perhaps it was what drew her back years later, knowing that there were worse things along this coast to be haunted by than the man who was still written all over her. Still, sometimes she could convince herself she imagined it all if there wasn't his handwriting inked along her wrist to keep her planted in the painful now. Hiding out in a small town forty-five minutes outside of San Francisco until she could figure out what she was supposed to do next. Paint and ink-stained her fingers as she carried her groceries down the street, suddenly stunned in place by the phantom vision of Joaquinn. Luna blinked hard, certain she would focus and realize it was just another tall dark-haired man. But by the third time she realized with a heavy sinking feeling it was in fact him. After twelve years her heart raced blood rushing to her face and Luna was swept up like a memory.

Unfortunately, she had plenty of years to think about what she would do with this opportunity. All the things she wanted to say rushed to her lips, and as she grew closer to him, they were replaced with blinding rage that came forth as she shoved her groceries into his chest with a sharp shove at the center of his chest. "You rat bastard." She seethed without the soft remembrance she had hoped would have set in by now. Luna thought it would be enough time to let the wound scar over, tender scar tissue, but all healed nonetheless. She found, as her palms crashed against his chest, her groceries spilling at their feet, that he was nothing but a bruise that ached as if it had been pressed too hard. All the soft parts of her had been damaged by what Joaquinn had done to her, and now confronted with him after all these years, Luna was more aware than ever that she was more rage than woman. All her flimsy attempts at healing at becoming something better were dashed before they even took shape, and in a breathless moment, she knew it was him.

Luna had spent years chasing his ghosts, looking for answers in silence, only to have all of them slip through her fingers like water. Tears stung at her eyes, stubbornly unshed as she jutted her chin up at him twelve years later, and all her best-laid plans dashed as her head spun. A quite smothered sob threatened to spill tears over her cheeks. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his top before she ripped her hands away. Pushing up on the tips of her toes, she closed the space smacking her hand against his cheek with a sharp slap that stung her palm. "I thought you were dead. I wished you were dead."

[tothedarkdarkseas]

Hello i have read your entire collection of fics and i gotta say. Wow . what a Talent for the Grime. im not a 2doc girlie unfortunately but I've been softened. won over. I can now see 2doc and go "well that's very interesting. I wanna see where this author goes w it" instead of the general feeling of he would Not fucking say that. bc the truth isthat maybe he would . say those things he says in your fics etc. You understand. Most of all i have an appetite for grime and i have had it Saciated. i saved the plastic beach fics for the end bc i knew they'd be the ones id be more predisposed 2wards and while i was right i will say -> paula fic sweep. i love ms cracker she's such a cunt. as a dyke well all i can say is come 2 bed sweetheart your horrible mean gross standoffish attitude is wasted on a rockstar like stuart. I haven't read a hotter woman in a while Congrats. um but yeah also the plastic beach fics i left some comments bc oysters got to me Bad i never fully felt the impact of plastic beach from a murdoc perspective w such INCISIVENESS and POWER just the fucking spiraling horror of putting yourself in that position out of desperation and PRIDE??? god. GOD. and then the fic you have pinned. the fic that.made me check out your ao3. god . ive been in bad relationships that hurt me greatly and i had to keep seeing the.person. It was So cathartic. the mixing of 2ds identity w murdocs the enmeshment the. The

sorry 4.the.long ask im a little drunk but you HAVE to know you have got a NEW BIG FAN

i wanna see.more of your noodle and cyborg noodle :( noodlez mean so much 2me and 2d and noodle in seething coast got to me so fucking bad. russ' small role also got me weeping but not as much as 2d and bday girl noodle ending did. your 2d is perhaps the most interesting read ive seen on the character so far .

This message brought so much joy to my night, as did your comments on AO3! I apologize for my lateness; I absolutely intend to respond to them over there (as far as my intentions go for the foreseeable future I will always respond to comments or asks, so long as anyone is kind enough to stop by! It just takes a few days sometimes, whoops) but I'm so enchanted by the ephemeral nature of the drunk message, I've got to let you know I've seen it, haha.

I love the sentence "unfortunately, I am not a 2Doc girlie" as it feels quite backwards from the other side of it. I would say, being someone who has written exclusively 2Doc stories for their fanfiction career and runs a bizarrely devoted 2Doc blog years longer than they ought to have, being a 2Doc girlie is an unfortunate thing to be. I wouldn't blame you having apprehensions! If you can believe it, when I got into Gorillaz I would avoid the shipping element altogether and skip past any 2Doc that popped up along my way; I also felt a sense of... neutrality to profound disinterest toward it, and had things gone differently after I may have bowed out without any lasting words exchanged and moved forward along the fandom line, as so many do. I felt some sense of shame, I think, to admit I was reshaping the characters by my own wants, but I accept now that this is what Gorillaz fandom is; the nearer to canon one can go in tone, the better, but there's a point where the road forks (splinters into four forks, and four more further down, really) and for the sake of your own stability and consistency, you have to make a decision about that character's path. Anyway, sorry, I'm rambling! Hopefully that doesn't bore you to tears, but your message made me think about it all again, and I enjoy doing so!

Thank you for reading everything, good gravy, it's a tall order and I'm just-- I am beyond flattered. I am beyond humbled. I am moderately embarrassed by some of the early writing, but I'm incredibly touched nonetheless. I am especially grateful for Paula to make her way into a loving home, biting and spitting all the way. Stuart is not and will never be equipped for the job. ("It's rotten work, especially if it's you," only Paula's not asking him to do it and she's sure as shit not offering it in return. God, I love that woman.)

Thank you. I don't know if it's too sappy and too sincere to say, but I think we grow in sincerity, I think we are emotionally and mentally fed by honesty even to a degree of discomfort, and so I swallow that embarrassment and say... you naming those stories, sharing your thoughts, sharing with me a connection and a sense of caring for Oysters, Ampersands, Seething Coast-- the stories that I cared most for, stories that drew the most from myself even when I tried to obscure it, stories that still sit close to the breast-- that is special. That really means more to me than a comical reply can express. I'm really glad that these scenes meant something to you and that they get to live in another person. That's the horror and the prize of writing, it's the thing you dread doing wrong and losing in the void; but to hear months or years later that it's found someone, and they felt something for it, and they're not embarrassed for you that you've stumbled through making something like this from these characters, that's all you can dream of. That's everything. It matters very much. I can't say I have anything new on the horizon for Noodle (...and I can't say what I have done in the past few months is anywhere near cresting the horizon) but this message gets my heart thu-thumping and has me mulling her over. Maybe one day we can revisit the mess again. If you'd like to listen, this song always makes me think of Stu and Noodle, specifically on that illusion of solid ground in the years after Plastic Beach. I listened to it sometimes to get in the mood to write them.

[garnette-gal]

Angle of Attack: Hangman x Fem! Reader

Summary: You make new friends at the Hard Deck before training for the secret assignment begins. Hangman is 100% certain he’s going to lose his mind if he has to watch you play pool with Bob for one more second. Reader callsign = Diamond.

AKA: the real reason Hangman stole Bob’s cue stick.

Part 2 of A Diamond in the Rough series. See Part 1. Series Masterlist.

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: Some cuss words, Hangman’s dirty mind of course :) 

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

Angle of Attack (AOA) - Angle of the wing relative to the forward flight path of the airplane. On any aircraft, too great an angle of attack will cause the wing to stall, as airflow across the upper surface becomes separated and turbulent.

Despite the constant air conditioning running in the bar, the Hard Deck was noticeably warmer tonight. This was due to the increased humidity in the recent weather and the growing number of bodies inside.

Upbeat music thrummed in the room, and you took a gulp of the cold beer in your hand to cool down, knowing very well the alcohol would have an opposite effect.

What felt so different about the Hard Deck this time was the friends you’d bonded with so quickly. 

Phoenix, the dark-haired and incredibly perceptive female fighter pilot, was quickly becoming your new best friend. The two of you got along quite well, jumping right in to discuss your previous experiences at Top Gun and how you got your callsigns. 

You had to admit that Phoenix sounded cool. You admired her perseverance and initiative. Instinctively, you knew she would be a good ally for the assignment should you be lucky enough to be selected. 

“Diamond, huh?” Phoenix grinned over at you, raising a beer to your callsign. “Welcome to the team.”

You had known Rooster for a while since both of you had been assigned to the same fighter squadron at Naval Air Station Oceana. It was nice to enjoy Bradshaw’s easy-going personality in a more relaxed setting. His trademark Hawaiian shirts blended in more in California than they did on the East coast. The two of you exchanged a tight hug, and you patted him on the back before separating and sending him a proud smile.

You caught a look from Phoenix as her dark eyes flickered in contemplation. You had the slightest feeling that she may have a crush on Rooster, but you didn’t have enough evidence to back up that claim.

For the first time since your return to Miramar, you were looking forward to starting the assignment tomorrow. Something about being around the best of the best sent your competitive side into overdrive.

And then there was sweet Bob, Phoenix’s new weapon systems officer. Bless his heart. The poor guy was awkward as hell, but he truly meant well. He was simply much quieter and more reserved than the others.

So when Phoenix offered him a cue stick to play a round of pool with your group, Bob hesitated. Then, with what you could only guess was a burst of courage, he pushed his glasses up higher on his nose and took the stick.

The poor guy looked like he had never been offered to play pool in his entire life. You felt bad for him and wondered what his previous experiences had been like in his squadron.

So, like any good friend, you stepped in to give him some pointers. 

You didn’t realize such a small action would set off a brooding Hangman who sulked at the bar. Then again, you didn’t even know you had that much power over the cocky pilot.

Even Jake was still trying to come to terms with his fixation on you.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. The blonde fighter pilot repeated over and over like a mantra in his head to contain himself. 

Jake had a reputation to maintain, for God’s sake. He was usually known for being calm, composed, confident, and always arrogant. It made him the most remarkable pilot of his generation, and it was why he always came out on top.

But right now, all he could do was seethe in silence as he glared at the sight that infuriated him to no end. The ultimate cause of his state of displeasure was you.

You were playing pool with Bob. 

Fucking Bob, of all people. As you talked to him with that bright smile on your face, the socially awkward, nerdy weapon systems officer for Phoenix looked like he could barely hold the cue stick.

Okay, yeah, maybe Jake was still a little bitter about your previous interaction. You hadn’t given him the time of day when he approached you for your number. But now here you were, having fun with Bob. Didn’t you realize who he was? How lucky you were to have him approach you?

Hangman could have almost any woman he wanted. Almost.

The pool table was supposed to be Hangman’s arena, and the only other domain he ruled was the skies. And the bedroom, his mind reminded unhelpfully.

Bob bumped the cue stick forward, an absolutely horrible attempt. The cue ball moved slowly, managing to miss all of the balls nearby and roll into a wall with a quiet thud.

“That’s a good first try, Bob.” Your voice soothed the embarrassment of the officer.

Like hell it was, Jake’s brows furrowed in annoyance. Bob didn’t even come close to hitting another ball. Why were you being so nice to him?

You patted the amateur officer on the shoulder, your voice soft and gentle as you comforted him before giving him some pointers. A genuine smile curved your lips, and your eyes glittered with something that he could only describe as warmth. Like…like sunshine.

Damn it, you were making him way too sentimental.

Jake curled his fist, and his temper flared in jealousy that you were giving your attention to someone other than him. It should be him, not Bob, for Christ’s sake.

He knew he had to take a different approach from last time to successfully gain your attention. So Jake was taking his time, observing you like a predator would its prey to identify the best opportunity to attack. While you certainly made beautiful prey, he didn’t particularly enjoy monitoring you from afar.

There was a reason he became a fighter pilot. Jake enjoyed the action, the thrill, the pursuit, and the danger. 

When your turn finally came around, he watched as your sharp eyes scanned the table, scouting for the most advantageous shot. Carefully rubbing chalk on the tip of your stick, you moved forward. 

He observed the little things that changed in your expression, from the way you bit your lip in concentration to the raise of your right eyebrow or the way you narrowed your gaze. You moved into position when you found the shot you were looking for. 

Fucking adorable. Jake’s mouth went dry at what he saw next.

You leaned over the pool table, your uniform tightening around the curve of your rear as you took your time to prepare your shot. You were too focused, way too fucking oblivious, to notice Coyote openly staring at your rounded ass. Even the “innocent” Bob peeked before quickly looking away, his face flushing pink.

He would at least give Bob one concession; he had the common sense to look away. 

Fanboy sends a concerned glance in Hangman’s direction as if suddenly sensing the murderous intent from across the bar.

Unable to stop himself, Jake’s mind immediately conjures up mental images of bending you over the pool table and having his way with you in front of those idiots. The very idea sends his blood pounding southward as he imagines you moaning his name in that feminine voice of yours.

Fuck.

Calm down, he tried to breathe, but the tightness in his chest and shoulders intensified the longer he watched you. With no other option at this point, he turned away and took a hefty swig of his beer.

His strategy lasted a commendable 5 minutes before he heard your soft laugh echo around the room, crystal clear and drawing his attention once more to see that Bob had successfully managed to hit a ball into a hole. 

“Nice job!” You congratulated the nervous weapon systems officer.

Jake didn’t like the way you grinned proudly at Bob, who fumbled with his glasses with a nervous “thanks.” 

Hangman’s green eyes narrowed with frustration. Why the fuck were you acting like he had won a combat medal?

His patience evaporated when you gave a side hug to Bob, who blushed and patted you awkwardly on the back. That was too much, and Jake couldn’t stand it anymore. He had been generous enough as it was.  

When it came to you, Jake Seresin was an impatient man. 

He stands up so abruptly he nearly tips the barstool over in his fury. Forming calculations in his mind, he saunters his way over to the group, waiting until you turn to talk to Phoenix to make his move.

The fact that Rooster was now amongst the group made it all the better. 

Emerging from behind a group of officers, Hangman easily swaggered around the back of the pool table. Making eye contact with his current target, he smirked, “Bradshaw, as I live and breathe.”

Out of his peripheral vision, he sees you turn to look at him. 

“Hangman,” Rooster’s returned greeting revealed a lack of enthusiasm. Hangman’s grin widens at Rooster’s poor attempt at polite discussion. 

Moving swiftly in a preemptively planned way, he reaches forward and grasps the back of Bob’s cue stick. He catches Bob by surprise, who had been focused on lining up his next shot rather than paying attention to the ongoing conversation. Jake quickly pulls the stick from Bob’s weak grasp and regains control.

He doesn’t miss the way your gaze narrows at him or how your hand clenches tightly around your cue stick to keep yourself from doing something foolish. 

Yes, his male ego purred in a twisted form of gratification, pay attention to me and only me.

“You look...” Rooster paused, “Good.”

Using the cue stick he had no regrets about taking from Bob, Jake gracefully lined up for a shot. “Well, I am good, Rooster.” Jake stared back at Bradshaw and hit the ball without looking.

It went in, just as he had practiced hundreds of times over. There was a reason it was his favorite one to hit in front of the ladies.

Straightening back to his full height, he glanced back at you to verify he still had your attention.

When you glared at him in response, his lips twitched in delight at your visible annoyance.

“I’m very good.” His voice lowered in satisfaction, “In fact, I am too good to be true.” He strolled over to the corner of the pool table where you stood, his long legs carrying him easily. He finally stops when he’s less than a foot from you, once more in your personal space, much to your displeasure. Jake loves that you have to tilt your head up to keep eye contact with him.

He inhales slightly and smells your sweet scent, instantly making him think impure thoughts. He’s addicted to you, Jake realizes. 

You cross your arms over your chest and lift your chin at him in an attempt to look unconcerned. But your eyes display your genuine emotions every time, and Jake was beginning to learn that it was your dead giveaway.

Your lips purse at him, and he eyes them for a second, the thought of kissing you crossing his mind. Somehow, in his distorted mind, he finds you even hotter when you’re pissed at him. 

He slanted his head as he looked down at you. God, he was enjoying this way too much. “Isn’t that right, baby?” He grinned at you, sending you a flirty wink that made your cheeks flush even as you rolled your eyes at him. You found it nearly impossible to remain unaffected by his comments.

It was official, you decided.

Hangman won the title for most insufferable man on the base the moment he stole Bob’s cue stick right in front of you. You know you really shouldn’t even dignify his comment with a response, but you can’t help yourself around the arrogant pilot.

“Good isn’t a term I’d use to describe you.” You snapped at him, instantly regretting it when you see his green eyes flash in delight. You had given him the attention he wanted.

A victorious smirk curves his pretty lips, and you can’t help but wonder for a moment what it would be like to kiss him. To run your hands through that perfectly styled blonde hair. To have that low voice of his whisper dirty words only for your ears.

No, nope, not even going there. You were definitely not going to continue that train of thought. You were not falling for Hangman.

“How would you describe me then, sweetheart?” He teases you, that southern accent doing horrible things to your heart.

How about an asshole? You had been moments away from saying, but Payback interrupts just in time to redirect the conversation elsewhere. Luckily for you, it works, and Hangman is distracted for the time being. You manage to recover your personal space, eventually retreating near Bob.

You’re finally able to think a little bit more clearly; the haze that had clouded your mind from being in such close proximity to Hangman was slowly dissolving.  

Seresin looks less than pleased to see you near Bob, and for the life of you, you can’t understand why he dislikes Bob so much.

Could it be that he was jealous?

You glance back in Hangman’s direction as you go to join Rooster at the piano, but you’re disappointed to see that Jake’s not even looking at you. He’s already back to playing pool.

You quickly extinguish the feeling of defeat that sinks into your chest. You do your best to focus on other things, like the new assignment you’ll be starting tomorrow morning.

But that night your dreams are consumed by intense green eyes and a smooth southern accent.

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

Taglist:

(Let me know if you want to be added or the tag didn’t work)

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp​​ 

​ @fangirlofallthings22 

@luckyladycreator2​​ 

@wanderingmaximoffs​​​ 

@alanadetigy

@fantasias-creativebubble​​ 

@hangmandruigandmav​​

@ssaic-jareau​​

@kajjaka​​

@dempy​​

@strangefirething​​

@gretavanwhore​​​

@ellabellabus07​​

[primofate]

Shortfic: Pretend boyfriend

Scenario: You’re being badgered by someone who is obviously interested in you. You’ve turned them down time and time again but they’re WAY too persistent.

Characters: Scaramouche, Kaeya, Venti x fem! reader

Warnings: not proofread, swearing, obvious sexual innuendos for Venti but still safe for work turn away if you’re not into that though.

Read: (Kazuha Version) (Itto, Zhongli Version)

Note: These are for the anons requesting for Venti lately. Haha. Sorry I don’t give him much attention.

Scaramouche

So the guy pining after you occasionally shows up when you’re at Liyue Harbor. He likes to call you cute and although you have an annoyed face most of the time, the guy still finds you endearing and you’re starting to get pissed off.

“Listen... my boyfriend isn’t going to be happy,”

The guy guffaws with laughter. Knowing that you didn’t have one. He’s never seen you with a guy before, what makes you think you can lie to him? Before the guy could even say anything back to make fun of you though, you feel a presence walk up behind you. 

Your head turns a little to see Scaramouche, the hat atop his head looks only the slightest bit comical right now as his head swings around, but the look on his face definitely isn’t. Your eyes light up, and quickly take this opportunity. “Scara honey, you’re back!” You raise your eyebrows at him and give him a pointed look to signal that you needed help, and that he would hopefully play along.

You never knew what would happen with Scaramouche though. He had such a mood sometimes.

Scaramouche glances at you and then stares over at the guy. The guy, sensing that this was some type of act goes for your wrist, only for it to be SLAPPED away. Scaramouche wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you towards him, your front crashing against his. You can’t see the seething look on his face but you hear it in his words.

“Keep your hands off or I’ll cut them off for you,” The guy is now confused. Why was he so possessive over you? Perhaps this wasn’t an act after all? “Also, fuck off,” Scaramouche finishes and the guy quickly turns away under Scaramouche’s sharp gaze and words. 

When you sense that the coast was clear, you peek up at his face. “Thanks, Scara,” you try to pull away but he’s still staring down at you and his arm is tight around your waist. You forget sometimes how strong he actually is. “Where do you think you’re going? You can’t just call me ‘honey’ and not do anything about it,” and he smirks. 

Kaeya

The guy pining after you is actually quite a nice guy. Difficult to turn down and overall just polite and pleasant. You’re not interested though and is having a hard time breaking it to him.

“Oh, uh... I’m kinda busy today,” you tell him. “How about tomorrow then?” he counters, polite smile on his face. “Well of course, I should’ve asked you a bit earlier. Haha, my bad. How about you just tell me when you’re free, that sounds a little better,” he suggests right after. 

Off behind the polite guy you see Kaeya stroll in view, and your body automatically goes toward him. “Kaeya!” you fast walk and hug him around the middle, head tilted up to give him a pleading look. He’s still kind of confused, but doesn’t complain about having you in his arms. 

You turn towards the polite guy and bow your head a little, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I actually already have a boyfriend,” and that’s when it clicks in Kaeya’s mind. His arms suddenly pull you up into a bridal style carry, knowing that you needed saving from your suitor. You squeak a little in surprise, face flushing the slightest pink, but automatically wrap your arms around his neck. 

He completely disregards the guy and looks down at your flushed face. “Now, now princess. Your face is all red, shouldn’t you be used to this by now?” It feels as if he’s also taunting you. He chuckles but looks back at the guy, smiling at him sweetly. “We’ll be taking our leave,” and he turns to start walking away from the scene. 

When you were sure the two of you were out of earshot you tug on him and say “Okay, you can put me down now! Thanks for your help,” but Kaeya shoots you his pleasant smiley face. “I have another idea, how about seriously considering me as your boyfriend? Hm?”

Venti

The guy pining after you is a bard. He just constantly wants to play songs for you, and wants you to listen. Frankly you don’t really care about music that much.

“...and I wrote this song atop a hill, I got caught in the rain and I thought it was...” the guy kept on rambling and you didn’t know how to stop him. At some point, he stops talking and just plays. You shift there uncomfortably, wanting to go as soon as you can but not wanting to be rude. 

Suddenly there’s someone who joins next to you. You turn your head to see that it was Venti. He was merely watching the bard play too. The bard stops playing though, and looks at Venti. “...Excuse me... This is a song I wrote for her, and I kind of wanted her to be the first one to hear it...”

You nearly roll your eyes but force a smile instead, until an idea comes to you. “Actually...Venti here writes a lot of songs for me too, he’s my boyfriend,” you smile and the bard looks heartbroken. You can feel Venti give you a surprised side glance but he recovers pretty easily, catching on to the act. 

“Ah yes, Y/N is just such a beauty, it’s hard not to get inspired just looking at her, right?” he makes small talk with the bard as if he’s known him forever. Venti wraps an arm around your shoulder, “Ehe,” but his face turns dark at the next moment. “Also, being a bard, I do get a lot of practice with my fingers. You know, Y/N has a really nice singing voice too, but you should hear her in bed, she--”

“OKAY THAT’S ENOUGH!” You shriek and cover your face. You did NOT expect him to say something like that. The bard pining after you had already started to walk away, possibly offended by the fact that you already had someone else, and someone seemingly lewd as well.

“Ehe~!” Venti drops his hold on your shoulder but smiles at you innocently. “You didn’t have to go that far Venti!” you hiss at him, face with a slight blush. He lets out his signature laugh again. “Maybe not... but now that I’ve said it, how ‘bout trying it out, eh?” he picks his hand up and pretends to be playing a lyre, but the focus is obviously on his fingers.

Taglist: @larkspyrr @outlet-0 @rim0na @sweeti-pie @yamsthegod @reaped-winnower @hai-q-haikyuu @tkshoki @fanfictionenthusiast @skatercashew @leefletter @kimbapsana @hentaje @marginmaster87 @tempehlust @rinnesy @hallohun @softlybeloved @ssalamanderr @ben6ett @rytszk @guilixi @mondstadts-favourite-traveler @mkazuyuh @ayra2452008 @l3mon-mxshroom @tastypaimon

If I didn’t tag you, it’s because it didn’t let me! 

Masterlist

https://primofate.tumblr.com/post/653296890583154688/masterlist-for-mobile-version-main-links

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[joezworld]

Electric Evil

Traintober Day 12 - Poltergeist

So, for context here, I stole took inspiration for most of this from the Extended Railway Series on the Sodor Island Forums (not for the first time and not for the last), and as usual, I've put some tweaks on it to make it better. #humble

Here I based a lot of this on ERS Novel 2 - The Peel Godred Railway, and while I recommend reading that, it's not required for this.

-

Summary - The DC Electric Line dies a violent death, and something rises out of it. Godred keeps it off his mountain.

-

1 - Nature

Those who believed in such things thought the very Valley was having its revenge on the rails.

It was not an entirely unreasonable belief. The Valley had not been consulted, nor did it want, the input of Man on how to conduct itself, and yet Man imposed his viewpoint anyway. 

The first rails to reach the fortified Peel of King Godred was a small one, coming from the western coast. They were not of issue to the Valley. 

Their small line worked with nature, inching along tight cliffs, running around mountains, and poking through gaps in the rock. Their service was first-rate, and the Valley’s People could soon move both themselves and their goods to markets far away. The Valley might have even enjoyed this - if one were to put stock in those sorts of beliefs - and caused no trouble for the second railway. 

The second railway only touched the Valley on its edges. Its rails ascended The Mountain, reaching for the heavens. It courted the mountain, edged along it, never daring to defile it. The Valley paid it no notice, even as The Mountain slowly but surely became One with the rails.

The third railway, however, did not please The Valley. Its rails charged northwards, up to the base of The Mountain and then beyond, caring more for the River than it did for the Valley. This was a slight, but one that the Valley was willing to overlook. 

What the railway brought with it, however, was an abomination. A massive blight on its natural order. A huge, noisy, dirty, stinking industrial plant that took ores from outside the Valley and processed them into Refined Aluminium, leaving equally huge piles of filthy, dirty, stinking refuse as a waste product. 

The Valley disliked waste. It disliked aluminium, and by extent, it disliked the railway that served it. Its dislike grew as the first railway suffered and died as a result - their careful and meandering path to the sea was too small and too slow, and they lost even the most loyal passengers, slowly siphoned away by the bigger rails.  

If the Valley disliked the railway, then the River was furious. The construction of the plant required massive amounts of Electricity, a new and unwanted evil that required nothing short of total damnation of everything around it, as a sacrifice.

Up and up the dam went, towering into the air until it seemed like it might touch the sky. The River raged, furious at having its path disrupted. The Valley seethed at the itching feeling of the huge structure. 

During all of this, the Mountain was ambivalent. Man had lived here for hundreds of years - it was them who had ascribed life to the Valley and the River, and had built the Mountain Railway. To live in Harmony with them would be better for all involved, it soothed.

The Valley ignored the Mountain, and the River flooded its banks in displeasure. 

Then Man fully damned them both. The huge concrete and earth structure was complete, and the River was soon fed into it. 

And into it

And into it

And into it

Until there was no longer a River and a Valley behind the concrete, but a massive lake, made purely for man’s needs - a total damnation of nature, as a sacrifice at the demonic altar of Electricity. 

The railway that ran up the mountain was powered by Electricity. Now tied together in both circumstances and rage, the River tried to flood it, and the Valley tried to collapse the land around it. 

Man was multitudinous, and whenever they tried, a hundred men, or a thousand, would arrive, and right their wrongs. 

The Mountain chastised them. Are they not Of This Land? It asked as the two cursed the railway, the plant, and the Men who worked on them. Are they not worthy of our care?

No. Responded the Valley And The River. They tried again, but Man stopped them. 

And again.

And again. 

Man simply persevered, expanding His mind through the concepts of “reinforcement”, “retaining walls”, “flood prevention”, and “embankments.” By the end of the first decade, the River was in check, and the Valley was unable to continue its crusade. 

While the Mountain watched with concern, River and Valley waited for a time to strike. 

They needn't have bothered; the denizens of the rails retaliated against themselves. 

-

2 - Steel

The Valley Railway has had two lives - the second is still being lived, but the first died a long and unhappy death, done so by its own buffers. 

Man was inexperienced in the ways of Electricity - they knew not how such technology would apply to the field of steel wheel to steel rail. They brought in a set of locomotives three - one of each power type, and named them for the Lakes around the Mountain that fed the River. 

Loey Machan - The strongest and largest. An express locomotive with delusions of grandeur, his line had sold him after the line he was to lord over was cancelled. Instead of a fresh start, he thought the Railway to be an exile - banishment from his own personal Kingdom of Heaven, thrown instead to the wolves and the sheep and the peasantry - who were altogether worse than the beasts. 

Poll-ny-Chrink - The middle engine. Neither the smallest or the largest, she was the youngest of a family of coal haulers, sold off during unfavourable economic times. Hard work was in her very being, and she arrived fairly aglow at the prospect of more challenging duties. 

Dubbyn Moar - The runt. Tiny even by the standards of the time, she was surplus to requirements - a third engine on a ¾ mile horseshoe of a line that did well with two. She knew her position and size acutely, and would’ve had self-consciousness issues on even the kindest railway. 

This was not the kindest Railway. Tucked away in the valley, far from notice of Men with Hatts - obsessed with Steam as they were - they worked alone, in the long shadows of the Valley, their complaints silenced by the rushing roar of the River. 

Left to his own devices, Loey Machan felt that he needed to re-establish his dominance by any means necessary. In the long shadows and loud silences, he turned himself from a fallen god into a tyrant king. 

Slowly, with equal parts bad luck, stupidity, and sociopathic insidiousness, Loey ground down the cheer and stability of his fellow engines. He believed that by turning them against themselves, he could engineer some kind of fiefdom, where he ruled over his serfs with an iron will. 

Instead, he created an emotional horror show, with himself at the center. 

Dubbyn Moar, now known as Maude, was his first target. He exploited her weakness, her doubts, and her size. Convinced of her own uselessness, she became moody and withdrawn. The engines of Steam and of Mountain, who knew not of what was going on behind their turned backs, assumed she was but a misanthrope and labelled her “Miserable Maude.” It soon became a self-actualising name. 

Poll-ny-Chrink, nicknamed Polly, found herself alone in the world. Gone from a family of loving 11 to a hateful group of 2 drove her to the edge. As Loey pushed Maude to new lows, Polly drew into her own shell, believing the whole world to be as cruel and miserable as Loey claimed it was. 

Finally, there was the mad king himself. Loey Machan was too stupid to understand the danger he put himself in, and too cruel to contemplate it if he was. In his quest to be the leader of a line where he was already “E1”, he drove away any emotional stability, any meaningful relationships, any hope of having friends. When he finally declared himself “King”, one sleep-deprived night during the war - where a stray German bomb “nearly” demolished him, he was already gone. In declaring himself King, he believed his own bullshit: that the world was cold and cruel, and the strong must crush the weak. 

Loey was at his peak in that moment, and although he didn’t realize it, it was lonely at the top; nobody arrives alone and remains sane.

-

Far away but yet so close, the Mountain watched with concern. It could do nothing to help the Railway, and so merely kept the engines on its Railway as far from Loey as it could.

-----------

3 - Starstrider

Peace almost came to the Railway. 

In the late days of the sixth decade of the twentieth century, an engine arrived on the Railway. He was strong, contemplative, quietly charismatic, and surplus to the mainland’s requirements. The Men In Hatts - different ones, still obsessed with Steam, but in a much more frantic way - recognized his ability to calm the demons that plagued the Line. They thought that there were three such problems, not realizing that exorcising Loey would purge the evil from the rails. 

They named this new engines after one of the greatest warrior kings in the Island’s history - Orry,  he of the famed Ogmudsaga. Said to bring peace and security to the Island†, the Men hoped that the engine could do the same. As he was prepared for his first train, they quoted a historical text. “Starstrider had arrived.”

And arrive he did. 

Sure of mind, free of heart, and generous with patience, the great Starstrider worked hard to undo what had been done - he brought happy news of one of Maude’s sisters surviving into preservation, and helped Polly through the guilt of being the only one of her kind to live. 

With each passing day, the Starstrider brought more joy, and banished more fear and hate. The silencing roar of the river no longer covered hissed insults and vague threats, but brash laughter and cheery jokes. Smiles were common for the first time in decades. 

Loey was furious. He had become so high on his own supply that he had forgotten that his castle had been built atop sand. A king that rules through fear will inspire fealty and obedience. A king that rules through respect will inspire loyalty and love. 

To borrow human expressions, Maude and Polly wouldn’t have pissed on Loey if he were on fire, but they would have triple-headed a train with Orry through the gates of hell.

Naturally, the Tyrant King of the Valley could not allow this to stand. His castle began to slip, the mortar cracking as the sand shifted underneath it, and he worked like mad to keep everything as it had been.

Orry matched him wheel-turn for wheel-turn, and it seemed like he would eventually besiege Loey’s castle and send it tumbling to the ground, freeing Polly and Maude once and for all. 

Privately, the engine with a saint’s patience and a king’s heart even hoped that Loey himself could be brought kicking and screaming into the light some day.

But it was not to be. 

One rainy night, on the front of a heavy double-headed train, Loey failed with a pop and a bang. Was it really an accident, or was it more? No one will ever know for certain. Polly was insistent, perhaps at Loey’s urging, or perhaps her natural stubbornness, and the heavy train set off with her alone leading it.

It would never make it to the bottom of the line.

Halfway down the Valley, the train overcame the brakevan on a steep hill that ended at a sharp curve. A double load of aluminum ingots ran wild, and the train ended in a mangled pile between the rails and River, with what was left of Polly at the bottom. According to the tear-stricken Men who told Orry, forty cars worth of ingots had come loose and acted like buckshot through an animal - there was truly nothing left, other than shredded metal. 

For Orry and Maude, this was a loss the likes of which they had never felt before. Polly was theirs, in every way that could possibly matter, and sudden destruction like this… was pain indescribable. 

Then there was Loey. 

Somewhere, deep inside his faltering mind, two wires that had no business being near each other crossed and sparked. In a moment of soulless and cruelty-laden pseudo-genius, he took this as a positive - claiming with sociopathic bombastity that he was fated to have avoided the accident. That the accident would have happened regardless of who had been pulling, and his exclusion from Polly’s horrible demise was simple and undeniable proof of his betterness. He was invincible. He was eternal. He was a god! The proof is right here!

There was, for a brief moment, true and total consideration on Orry’s part of figuring out a way to kill him, but Maude’s already fractured emotional state shattered like glass before that could happen. As Starstrider worked to rebuild his promised peace and security, the Tyrant King was banished to the top shed, deep within the plant’s shunting yard, well away from everyone else. Inside there, his miniature Saint Helena, he planned and he plotted ways to escape, to make his triumphant return to His Kingdom. 

Locked away, inside the little shed that was barely bigger than he was, kept busy with shunting work in a yard that was bright even in the darkest night, and isolated from the line by a tunnel connecting the plant and top station to the rest of the Line, Loey Machan went quite mad. 

--------

4 - May Day

As Loey went mad, and Orry worked to fix what could never be, the Valley and the River plotted. 

There were many lakes that fed the River. Over the years, Man had defiled and damned them like they had done to the River, mostly for sport fishing purposes. One of these reservoirs, known as Corloey, was directly in line with the largest of the many damnations - the one that powered the horrible stinking plant and the Railway.

It was a natural reservoir, and Man had done little more than reinforce what was already there, but they had done that nearly 60 years ago, if not more. The reinforcements were primitive, and had destabilized the layers of soil and clay that had held the hills together for millenia untold. 

Working together, well out of the Mountain’s sight, the River and Valley worked together to weaken the bonds between clay and soil, until something eventually gave. 

On the first of May of the seventy-ninth year, the clay and the soil separated. Thousands of tons of dirt, trees, grass, and soil crashed down into the water of the Corloey reservoir. Its banks burst almost instantly, and fifty feet of water roared along the cackling River, down the gleeful Valley, destroying all in its path. 

The dam was strong - far stronger than it had any right to be  - and as the water hit it, slightly weakened by its mad charge down the miles of Valley, it held. 

But it was only so tall. 

A blue wall surged over its top like the waterfall from hell, and erased everything in the Valley below from existence.  

The Peel of King Godred was saved from the worst of it - the great King had built his keep at the top of a small hill, surrounded on all sides but one by steep Valley. It was in that Valley that the River ran, as did the Railway, which tunneled under the town rather than skirt the edges like the River. The Plant was there too, and the dam. When the water destroyed all but the dam, the city survived - the annual May Day fete meant that even the citizenry were in the town square, and they watched the water surge below them. 

For a brief moment, Orry had given a sigh of total relief when the reports came in. Loey was not allowed around passengers, and with the May Day traffic biased towards people and not freight, the Tyrant King was likely gone - destroyed under unimaginable tonnes of water as his yard was erased by the hand of God. 

Then the rescue train returned - a stranded passenger train behind it, powerless after the wires went dead. It was not Maude who was uncoupled, but instead the Tyrant himself. 

She failed, He explained, his shock already wearing off, insanity already taking its place. I was beseeched to take her train for her. Last I saw of her, she was in the yard.    

In the yard. 

The deep emptiness that opened in Orry’s heart that day would never truly go away, and his indomitable spirit finally broke as he listened to Loey prattle on about divinity and invincibility. Words were shouted, threats of murder issued, and the two Kings were separated, each one foaming at the mouth. Orry declared himself done with Loey, and the Island in general. The Man in the Hatt granted his transfer to the line of his brothers, and Starstrider departed, his spirit broken. 

Meanwhile, the Tyrant King was jubilant. He’d driven off the interloper and reaffirmed his claim as King of this line. In his mind, power was all that mattered; The fact that he ruled over naught but dust never occurred to him. 

They eventually reattached the wires to mains electricity, and the Tyrant King was allowed to roam his empty kingdom, shuttling trains of refuse from the reclamation site at the tunnel portal to the junction with the main line. By all accounts, these were the happiest days of his life.

Meanwhile, at the Mouth of the River Tid, the Man in the Hatt made a choice - the dam would be rebuilt, the plant as well; that much was out of his control. The dam owners had offered him a choice: keep the frequency of electricity that flowed through the Line now - one that was out of date and falling out of use on the mainland, or upgrade to the Standard Frequency of the Future?

If Loey had been the one reduced to scrap under the water, and it was Orry and Maude cleaning up the mess, the Man may have changed his mind - might have kept their Direct Current. 

But all that was left was the Mad Tyrant King. 

The order was placed, to a company in America, for Alternating Current equipment, the newest available. 

Loey’s days were numbered. 

His power was, quite literally, about to be turned off.

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

5 - Sic Semper Tyrannis

Loey found out about his forced abdication, and reacted accordingly, frothing at the mouth and howling invectives at anyone and everyone. Men soon avoided him altogether, afraid of straying too close to his drooling maw - being eaten was a suddenly real fear. 

Eventually, they turned the power off and left him on a siding - steam engines were infinitely better than an insane electric, and the final days of Loey’s life were spent hurling powerless insults at Scottish Twins who said worse to each other in loving jest.

Like Polly and Maude before him, Loey’s life ended violently and suddenly - the Ninth Engine was storming away from the rebuilding site, a heavy train of spoil and waste behind him, and a thick cloud of smoke and swears above him. There was a sudden snap, and the unbraked train parted at a broken coupling just behind the tender. Twenty-five cackling and screaming wagons roared down the grade leading towards the yard, the brakeman leaping for life. A quick thinking shunter threw a lever in panic, and the train was diverted away from the works site. Towards Loey. 

The Mad Tyrant bellowed claims about his invulnerability until his last breath. 

The railway sold what was left of him for scrap and used the proceeds to buy clothes for children who had lost theirs in the flood. It was the first time in years that he had been of any use to anyone. 

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

6 - Poltergeist

The Valley and The River felt the great evil snuff out. They had been infuriated by the failure of the flood. Clearly another means of revenge must be chosen. Pooling their great power carefully, they reached out, finding the faintest of threads connecting this world to the next, and they pulled.

The Mountain bellowed at them in horror, but they ignored it. 

Slowly, but surely, an evil presence began to become known in the yard outside of Peel Godred. 

It was an evil, machiavellian, scheming, plotting, altogether stupid presence. One that cared not for who you were or where you’d come from. All it wanted was to cause trouble, and re-establish itself as King of the Valley.  

It wandered around, searching for lives to ruin. 

First it tried the city, but as it approached the walls it began to feel pain - an unfamiliar sensation, and it turned and left. It was too idiotic and maddened to see the Norse Runes carved into the city walls glow with great power. 

King Godred may be long dead, but his city he still protected. 

-

Next he tried the rails that led up the mountain. His cloudy memories showed them to be stupid, and quiet, and purple. 

He hated purple things. 

He made it less than a wheel’s-turn onto the Mountain Railway, when the very ground shook. 

Far away, in a university on the coast, a machine tuned for earthquakes started vibrating as a small earthquake rumbled out of the Valley. 

He suddenly found himself flying through the air, as though He’d just been struck by a massive hand. He crashed into the far wall of the Valley, his incorporeal form bending and twisting in pain as he laid there, his infernal power drained in an instant as he tried to stay in this realm. He succeeded, but only just. 

STAY OFF MY RAILWAY

The voice boomed in such a way that every hill, tree, and babbling brook for miles around could hear it. Elsewhere on the Island, other creatures that straddled the line between life and death jumped at the sudden sound. 

The ground shook

The air shook

The very fabric of the veil between the two worlds shook

A sense of massive and untapped power emanated from the mountain, like a piece of heavy electrical equipment coming to life. 

The Valley and the River suddenly knew great fear. 

THIS ENDS HERE

The voice thundered down into the Valley and River. It promised great pain if they ever did so again. 

Godred may have been long dead, but his railway he protected. 

-

†Awdry, W., & Awdry, G. (1987). ORRY, KING*. In The Island of Sodor: Its people, history and railways (pp. 109–110). essay, Kaye & Ward. 

[littlejuicebox]

Midwinter Carol 1 (v2) / The Prologue

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Elf Sorceress OC

Word Count: 3.4 K

Story navigation: [1][2][3][4] [5] [6] [7]

Summary:

Astarion completed the Ascension Ritual, and shortly after, his lover left him. Eirianwen fled from Baldur's Gate for fifteen years, only to return unexpectedly at Wyll Ravengard's Midwinter Gala with some news of her adventures. Astarion, who has not been doing as well as he'd hoped gaining control over The Gate, is forced to confront his unresolved feelings for the woman and all the horrors of his past as well as the horrors he's inflicted upon others. One thing is made certain: the elven sorceress is the key to any ounce of salvation he may have left, if only she stops slipping through his fingers like sand from an hourglass.

But old habits die hard, and old feelings are pulled to the surface for both the elves. This unanticipated meeting catalyzes a series of events which force Astarion to confront the wounds of his past and deal with the damage he's done while trying to run from himself. The Ascendant is forced to decide whether he will continue on his current path or forge a new one... perhaps one that leads him back to the love of his life.

Warnings: This will be 18+ / in game spoilers / Eventual Smut / Angst, trauma, fluff / Gore / Violence / PTSD / Astarion’s past trauma

A/N: Apologies everyone, not a new update, just a re-write of my original one shot to align more with Eirianwen/Astarion and have a 3rd person version of this for continuity purposes. :)

-----

Fifteen years. The Vampire Ascendent hadn’t seen her in fifteen years, since she’d rejected his offer to become his loyal consort for the final time.

They couldn’t reconcile their differences. She’d wanted him to trust her, to believe that her love was stronger than any desire for power – that she could remain a mortal or become a true vampire like him and still remain loyal. She didn’t want to be a spawn; she’d considered his offer a great disrespect, and ultimately, his changed behavior had driven her away.

“You’re nothing like the man I fell in love with anymore. I don’t know who you are.”

Those words had stung, though he’d never admit it.

It had been an awful, messy, seething breakup, to be sure… and the Vampire Lord almost turned her against her will anyway. But at the time, Astarion’s soft spot for the sorceress had reigned supreme, and he still thought himself better than Cazador and above such things. So, against his own wishes, he’d let her go.

Last the Vampire Ascendent heard of the woman’s movements, she was somewhere along the Sword Coast, playing valiant hero once again. So, when he walked into Duke Ravengard’s Midwinter Gala with some pretty little villain on his arm that he’d picked up for the occasion and would likely drain of blood and dispose of later, he was flabbergasted to see his ex-lover sitting at the high table.

Right. Next. To. Wyll.

Fifteen years and it still felt like the greatest betrayal, as if she’d staked him through the heart in that moment. It took every ounce of Astarion’s control to not turn into a cloud of smoke and break The Duke’s neck then and there. Oh, but how desperately he wanted to.

But he couldn’t risk such a spectacle… many of his dealings were hanging tenuously as it was, and creating a power vacuum in the city was just as bad for him as it would be for those against him. No, Wyll helped to maintain the balance… and generally tolerated Astarion with some level of old-ties respect. They had an agreement: the pale elf would keep his business private and primarily drink from criminals, and Wyll would turn a relatively blind eye. So no, as much as he wanted to, Astarion couldn’t afford such a loss of control.

The Ascendent watched as she walked about the room with Duke Ravengard, hanging on his arm like a prize and chatting with nobles and old contacts. Astarion’s date — what was their name again? — tried more than once to steal his attention away, but resigned themselves to drinking heavily and dancing with several other guests. The elf watched the sorceress join the dance floor with The Duke and his blood boiled at the sight; he even bent the stem of his golden goblet from merely witnessing the vile scene.

No. Absolutely not. This wouldn’t do. Astarion had to do something, had to interrupt whatever game this was. How dare she and Wyll disrespect him like this! So, he stood and abruptly crossed the dance floor, the other guests parting like the Red Sea before him in their shock. 

Lord Ancunin never made his way to the dance floor for anyone.

“May I interrupt and have this next dance?” 

The Ascendent’s voice is honeyed and saccharine as the music pauses and the band readies for their next ballad. Everyone around the room is clapping politely. A gentleman’s smile is plastered across the elf’s lips, but it doesn’t meet his eyes, as he extends his pale hand to the woman.

Wyll bristles and turns to look at his companion. There’s a moment of silent communication between two sets of eyes that must know one another quite well, because Astarion cannot read their nearly-imperceptible movements as he waits, his hand outstretched mid-air. Finally, the Duke relents and passes the sorceress’s hand to the Vampire Lord.

“No funny business, Astarion. My men and I will be watching your every move,” the Duke warns through a benevolent-appearing smile, a warning hand clasped on the vampire’s tensed back, before locking eyes with the woman once more and then stiffly turning and walking toward the high table.

She smiles at Astarion, as if it’s just the two of them back in the center of that clearing, draped in moonlight and barren to one another, all those years ago. 

“It’s good to see you, my old friend.”

Old friend? Old friend? The words make the Vampire Ascendent’s mouth practically fill with bile as he spins his ex-lover about the room. He can feel the steady, stable beating of her heart and smell that intoxicating, tempting bouquet of blood brimming beneath her skin that he’d never quite forgotten.

They catch up, to some small extent, as she tells the elf about her journeys along the Sword Coast and he tries to impress her with his ever-growing influence and wealth. But before long, the song is over and the Duke is, annoyingly, coming back to retrieve his prize. The sorceress smiles so sweetly at Astarion before she departs that it almost hurts; no one else looks at him with that level of love and kindness… all he ever sees anymore are eyes filled with fear, mistrust, or hate.

“I hope you’re happy, Astarion. Truly. I’m glad to see you looking so well. Now go find the date you came with… they’re owed a dance, I believe,” she says before pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek and sending an electric shock through his numb heart. He almost gives into his urges and bites her right there, in front of everyone, claiming his love and his prize. 

“Goodbye, Astarion,” she says before once again turning her back on him and walking away.

“Goodbye, Eirianwen,” he calls after the woman as her hand ghosts away from his own.

He wants to reach for her hand and pull her back to him. He wants to ask for a second dance. But again, he lets Eirianwen go, slipping through his fingers like sand through an hourglass.

Astarion cannot take any more of this. He goes to retrieve his date, rips them away from whatever conversation they were having with whatever noble, and swiftly exits the party. Back at the Palace, the poor little thing is used for mindless sex and then for sustenance and then left to be disposed of by one of the staff with nary a thought. 

The Ascendant couldn’t even remember their name.

*

A week rolls by, and gods what a terrible week it was. Astarion’s grip had severely  weakened on the city after a few poor calls. In his pride, he’d never admit they were his fault; instead, he quickly blamed his advisors and sent them to the dungeons. 

Furthermore, the meeting he’d hosted today with several of the Guilds had practically blown up in his face as the Guild Leaders came to blows in the middle of the Great Hall. Mortal creatures could be so… excitable. The entire ordeal was giving him a massive headache. If the leaders didn’t come to an agreement soon, he would lose his monopoly on the shipping industry, as well as his tenuous control over the blackmarket smuggling ring. 

The Ascendant settles into his bed, alone, after downing several goblets of wine, but sleep does not come to him. He’s awake, staring at the ceiling, and all he can think about is Eirianwen. Gods, he thought he’d moved past all this. But as he remembers her face, their nights together, the way her beautiful body felt pressed flush against his… he feels his erection growing. The elf is about to stick his hand inside his trousers to provide himself with some relief when a familiar, annoying voice travels through the room.

“I’ve been watching you, Astarion.”

Fucking Gale. The fucking God of Ambition. The Vampire Lord shoots up in bed and immediately sees the silvery form of his former campmate standing at the foot of it.

“What the hells, Gale! A God and still an absolute pervert, I see.”

The God ignores Astarion, moving to sit his ethereal form on the edge of the bed and indenting the silken, cerulean sheets with the ghosting of his form. The elf wrinkles his nose in displeasure as he rips his legs as far away from Gale as he can.

The God sighs, “Astarion, you’ve rejected my help before, and the strides you’ve made within the city are falling… it’s beginning to seem that you are headed down a path you are not going to be able to return from. A few more bad calls and you won’t come back from it. You are wasting your potential because you refuse to become the master of your own ambition rather than a slave to it. I’m beginning to wonder… is this what you truly want? I can see many lifetimes of yours, with many choices you’ve made along the way, and I’m sorry to tell you this lifetime seems to be the most miserable.”

Astarion scoffs. The fact that Gale is the only prior friend that keeps in touch with him, albeit for his own peculiar reasons, is a sad fact that the Vampire Lord refuses to acknowledge. He’d pushed everyone else away years ago. The only other person he ever saw was Wyll at obligatory balls, galas, and political events… and obviously the last time had been less than fulfilling. 

But loneliness resided deep in the Ascendant’s heart, hidden away from even his own acknowledgement, so although Gale had always been his least favorite, the pale elf still engaged in conversation.

“What do you mean by that? That you can see several of my lifetimes? I find it difficult to believe that this is the worst. Surely there is a lifetime in which I’m still under Cazador’s control.”

The God of Ambition considers this, and then turns and looks off into the distance, as if he’s examining something Astarion cannot see. 

“Hmm. Actually, there is only one lifetime in which that is still ongoing. So yes, that one may be the worst. I stand corrected, this is the second worst. You’re dead in more of them, a spawn in most of them… and your Tav, or some other version of Tav, is in several as a friend or a lover, to both the spawn and ascendant versions of you. You might be surprised to know that in more than one lifetime, you and I are coupled… it’s quite interesting.”

Astarion cringes at the thought of being in a relationship with Gale, but chooses to move past the thought and acknowledge the only bit of information he actually cares about, “My Tav– Ani–  is in several of them?”

“Of course. Would you like to see it? Let me take you on a little journey.”

Gale holds his hand out the Vampire Lord, and Astarion cannot help but feel the pull of intrigue. Gods… at least this would guarantee a more interesting night than one with his hand spent down his own pants.

The pale elf sighs and extends his hand to the God of Ambition; just as their fingers brush, he feels himself enveloped in the warmth of the Weave. Blue light swirls and spirals around the two beings before, suddenly, Astarion and Gale are standing outside a tomb. The Ascendant hears himself screaming, voice raw with anguish, from inside the tomb, as his nails scratch against the unyielding stone. 

This is from his own past, when Cazador locked him up for a year. The panic, shame, and fear pulse in Astarion’s body, unleashed from the small corner of his mind he’d locked those emotions into. 

“Why the hells have you brought me here, Gale? This isn’t what I asked to see!”

“No… but I thought it might serve as a reminder of where you came from. You seem to have forgotten… and subject others to similar fates and tortures, nowadays.”

Astarion hears the begging and pleading to the gods, the crying and scratching inside of the tomb, and his gut churns again. How something that happened years ago, that he’d shoved deep in his mind never to acknowledge again, could still rip such a reaction from an all-powerful Vampire Ascendent, he did not know. The elf begins to shake, flooded with the emotion of the memory. 

Had he really turned into an exact replica of his former master? Hadn’t he wanted to be better than Cazador?

“Had enough? Okay, onto the next one,” Gale says dryly, and then he snaps his fingers; both beings are, once again, pulled through the Weave.

Now they’re standing in The Duke’s parlor room… Astarion had been in this room just a time or two before, during some business negotiation or another. Then he sees Eirianwen, bursting through the door with one hand on her swollen belly. Gods above and below, was she carrying Wyll’s seed in this one? The thought alone made his skin crawl and his stomach churn in disgust. The Ascendant thought he might actually vomit up his dinner.

“Hurry, my love! We need to place the presents here for the others.”

Astarion’s silver eyebrows crinkle together as he listens to the voice responding to the sorceress from down the hallway, joined in by the giggles of a child. 

“We’re coming, darling. This little imp is just slowing me down a bit!”

Then, he sees himself walk through the door with a silver-haired, giggling toddler wrapped around his leg… but it’s not himself. This Astarion has pink skin, a beating heart, a wedding band on his hand, and a few more years on his face. 

Mortal… but how?

Mortal Astarion is carrying a bundle of presents that he places on the coffee table in the center of the parlor. The small child grins and puts a hand drawn card on top of the gifts. The card reads: ‘For Uncle Wyll, Auntie Euphemia, and the Ravengard Twins. Love, the Ancunins.”

Astarion feels his pulse thrumming in his ears as the scene plays out. Mortal Astarion envelopes Eirianwen in his arms and plants a soft kiss on her cheek. The child walks, on two unsteady legs, up to the sorceress and fists their hands into her dress. The version of Astarion runs his fingers along the swell of the woman’s abdomen before bending down and placing a kiss on her stomach. Then he crouches in front of the silver-haired, drooling child with a smile.

“Let’s go and join the others, shall we? Auntie Shadowheart and Auntie Lae’zel have a gift for you, my little love!” The father cheers, his arms opening to receive the child, who immediately steps into Astarion’s arms.

“Yay, daddy! Go!” The little babe cheers, as Astarion returns to standing. The child is clapping uncoordinated hands together, which causes both this version of Eirianwen and his mortal self to giggle in adoration. He watches as the sorceress takes this version of him by the hand and exits the parlor, headed towards a clamor of conversation filled with several familiar voices. 

The Vampire Lord tries to follow the little family, desperate to see how the scene continues, but he’s unexpectedly ripped from the scene and thrown back into the Weave with Gale.

“I wasn’t finished!” The Ascendent shouts in frustration, running his hands through curled hair.

Gale simply sighs and shakes his head at Astarion, before snapping his fingers and settling them into another scene entirely.

In this one, Eirianwen is a vampire. Not a vampire spawn, a true vampire. Astarion watches as she pulls her dress on, unabashedly taking in the familiar curves of the woman’s body before they’re covered up. The bedchamber door swings open, and the Ascendant turns to see another version of himself entering the room.

“My treasure, we’ve done it! We’ve secured educational and apprenticeship programs for the orphans from the Guilds as a show of good faith for our support and protection.”

Eirianwen’s vampire self runs to this better version of Ascendant Astarion, immediately enveloping him in a shockingly passionate kiss. Tongues twirl together in a familiar dance. It was enough to make even the Vampire Lord’s skin run hot as he imagined what it would feel like to have the woman on him like that again.

“I’ve just put on my clothes, my love.” she murmurs, her voice coy, as she lowers her gaze to her dress and slowly drops her shoulder out of the gown before returning her focus to her version of Astarion, “but perhaps you won’t mind helping me back out of them… I think that announcement is cause for a bit of… celebration.”

The scene quickly evolves into something overwhelmingly hot and heavy. Better Astarion pounces on the woman instantaneously, strong hands tearing at the laces of her dress in a frenzied pace. Eirianwen is giggling in delight as her version of the elf pushes her onto the bed with a sly grin. 

The Ascendant feels himself tingle with desire as he watches everything unfold. Just his other self rips off the woman’s underwear and is just about to plunge himself into the vampire version of Eirianwen, the Weave swirls around Gale and Astarion once more.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” The elf hisses as he glares at The God of Ambition.

“I know… steamy, right?” Gale responds, with a small chuckle, his eyes analyzing the strands of the Weave, “now, onto our final scene… this one is your… unfortunate future, should you continue down your same path, I’m afraid.”

The Ascendent soon sets his eyes on possibly the most gut-wrenching scene imaginable. There she is, standing before him, holding a stake that’s driven straight through his heart. Blood pools around the wound, drenching both himself and Eirianwen in splotches of scarlet. He’s trying to reach for her, to touch her face, to choke out something he cannot say. 

And then he’s gone, slumped on the floor, as Eirianwen holds him in her arms and lets out a bloodcurdling wail.  

The crying goes on forever. Her body's racking with sobs as she turns the corpse onto its back and throws herself over it, almost desperate to have his body close to hers. After what feels like an eternity, the sobs slow and her trembling hands come to his face before she plants a surprisingly tender kiss on his lips. Astarion notices, with some level of shock, bleeding wounds along the sorceress’s arms and neck. 

Bites. Had he really been the one to do that to her? 

“I really loved you, Astarion… I wish it hadn’t come to this. There was nothing between Wyll and me. Just two old friends, catching up… I’d wanted to be back home, I’d fled from my city for fifteen years after what happened between us. Wyll offered me a soft place to land and a kind transition back into society.

I was sure everything would be okay after all this time. That we could at least talk. But you didn’t come to speak to me, you ignored my scrolls, and then— why?”

Eirianwen’s voice cracks as the sobbing returns. She starts slamming her shaking fists into the corpse version of himself over and over and over and over. There is a dull thud pounding in his ears as he watches his ex-lover repeatedly drop her fists against his corpse’s chest.

The Ascendant sucks in a breath and turns back to the God, “I’ve seen enough, Gale! Take me home right now.”

“As you wish,” The God of Ambition murmurs, unbothered. With a final snap of Gale’s fingers, Astarion is back in his bed at the Palace and wrapped in silken, cerulean sheets.

“So?” Gale asks, lifting himself from where he is sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I need to talk to Ani… I need to speak with her. Tomorrow…” the Ascendant murmurs, his head still reeling as he tries to process everything he just saw. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs a slow, belabored breath.

What would he even say to her, after all this time?

“I would agree. It's far past time for you to pursue a new beginning, Astarion," the God responds as the Weave starts to swirl around him in bright, crackling flares of azure. Gale begins to turn away and then pauses at the last minute, his focus settling back on the elf still sitting in bed.

“Oh... and Astarion? I know we were once friends, if you could really call us that… but don’t think this little show and tell was for free. I’ll be asking something of you, when the time comes.”

The Vampire Lord nods. Of course. It could never be that simple, could it? And just like that, Gale disappears in a spray of light, and Astarion is left alone once more.

No. It could never be that simple. The only simple truth in Astarion’s life was this: Eirianwen was and would always be his saving grace.

[basedklee]

yandere genshin men reacting to y/n being infertile? especially timaeus. thanks

um who tf said that i was going to be doing requests? i'll write it but damn bitch, wait for me to give you the okay next time.

anyways i added dainsleif, xiao, heizou, and huai'an to this order along with timaeus i hope you enjoy it anon <3

Timaeus

He’s a little disappointed because he wants to build a family with you (to keep you tied to him, of course), but he doesn’t blame you or put you down for things outside of your control. You’ve been so understanding towards him and all his failings (his sloppy alchemy work, the way he can barely speak a word to people he admires like Albedo, his natural all around awkward nature, etc.) that it’s only right that he reciprocates that kindness.

He wraps his arms around you the day that you tell him and vows that he’ll make your dreams of having a child a reality. Timaeus would give you a child. He wouldn’t let anyone or anything get in the way of your happy ending. The very next day, he talks to Sucrose about looking at her notes, telling her that he’s suddenly developed an interest in bio alchemy.

He pours hours and hours of his time working on his studies, the few spare moments he has left spent with you, reassuring you that you’re perfect and beautiful and that your family will be even more so as soon as he makes his breakthrough.

He slips up, though.

Albedo finds out what he’s trying to do and orders him to stop his research at once. For the first time in his life, Timaeus argues against Albedo. You don’t understand! he screamed as Albedo began to confiscate his research, two members of the Knights holding him back. This research is the only way. You would never understand why we need this. You’ve never been deprived of family before.

Albedo is quiet and cold as he takes the last of Timaeus’ notes. He shows him no sympathy, but more importantly, he shows you and your dream no sympathy.

That night, Timaeus comes home and holds you like the world is crumbling beneath him, legs quaking like a baby doe’s. Let’s leave Mondstadt, he says, peeling his sweaty face away from where it had been buried in the crook of your neck. I don’t need his approval to continue my research. I promised I’d make you happy, Y/N, and I meant it.

You move to a small hut on Falcon Coast. It’s a nice, quaint little place, fresh air for you and slimes for him to experiment on.

Eventually, though, you and Timaeus begin to realize that his research just isn’t moving fast enough. You’re in your forties by the time you can sit him down and tell him -- gently -- to give up. You don’t need a biological child to be happy. All you need is a child that you can raise with him.

He weeps for five and a half minutes before saying -- through snotty sobs -- that that’s all he needs too.

You adopt a child from an orphanage in Mondstadt (Timaeus keeping his head down low in case he runs into Albedo or Sucrose) and the three of you live in relative bliss, Timaeus only getting jealous of your love for your child occasionally.

Heizou

He honestly doesn’t mind much at all. Heizou is an older man with a fast paced life, so he wasn’t really looking to have children in the first place when he entered this relationship with you.

Sure, he’d contemplated adding more serious commitments to your relationship to keep you tied to him, but he was thinking of getting you two a shared cat or a dog rather than a baby.

He’s fairly indifferent when you break the news to him, and it makes you cry. It feels like he isn’t serious about you at all, and that he isn’t as committed to you as you are to him.

When he hears you say that he slams his fist on his desk, (breaking the coffee mug that he was holding and spilling hot coffee all over his hand) and seethes at you in rage. How dare you question my love for you? I won’t tolerate this disrespect, go to our room!

You’re grounded for the whole night and then the next day too for “pouting”.

You end up locked up there for a few days, actually. Not because he’s still punishing you, but because he runs off on another mission and completely forgets to let you out.

You survive off water from the en suite bathroom and the granola bars he thinks you don’t know about that he’s hidden in your mattress.

When he comes back three days later he’s very apologetic, and you just wave them off. Those three days taught you that it’d be best to steer clear of any kind of baby talk from now until the end of time.

Heizou may be a great detective, but he’s not the nurturing type, even if he has a fatherly aura with his mustache and dad bod.

Dainsleif

As soon as you admit your secret to him he gets very still and quiet.

After about 25 minutes of sitting in pure silence he finally turns to look you in the eye and confesses, I’m infertile too.

Though he looks young, apparently he has the same sperm production as a man his age would. He’s not even shooting out blanks at this point, the gun is simply not functional anymore.

The two of you have a long talk about whether the two of you are interested in having a family together and what that family would look like if you were to agree to have one.

He’s a bit opposed to having a child. He likes to have you all to himself and, him being immortal and you being mortal, he knows that your time together is limited. Why on earth would he want to share that time with a child that he doesn’t have the confidence to raise (in all his centuries alive Dainsleif doesn’t think he’s even held a child before).

You, however, want to have a child. Not because you’ve always wanted a child, or because you believe you can build a sweet and tender family with him but because you’re yandere too and you’re scrambling to find a way to keep him tethered to you.

Dainsleif is so beautiful and worldly he could have anyone he wants. And, as a traveler meant to roam the earth for all his days, you’re hoping to find something that will keep him coming back to you.

In the end, the two of you settle on not having a child and instead entering into a black magic soul bond where your life is bound to his. Any time he thinks -- even for a fleeting moment -- of leaving you for good, he will go through an unimaginable searing pain that will affect his whole body and vice versa.

This keeps the two of you feeling very secure and happy throughout your days.

Huai’an

He’s ecstatic by the news.

He’s been keeping your relationship a secret from Verr Goldet for years, and the knowledge that he’ll never have to worry about you blackmailing him with telling her about a secret love child puts him over the moon.

You’re upset though.

You’ve been begging him to leave Verr Goldet for years now, or at the very least persuade her into considering opening up their relationship. And now, when you’ve found out that you can’t have a child with the man you love, he’s practically jumping for joy knowing that he can continue to keep things a secret despite your pleading.

This isn’t fair.

You’ve given him everything. You’d do anything for him. And yet he can’t even pretend to care when you tell him your dreams of having a family will remain just that: just a sad pathetic dream.

He’s about to leave and go home, back to the inn, back to his beautiful Verr Goldet when you smack him on the head with the silver platter full of squirrel fish he brought over to celebrate the news.

You drop the platter when you’ve realized what you’ve done, Huai’an bleeding and groaning on the floor.

You think for a moment.

Well, you think, grabbing a shovel and dragging him out back to your garden. I can’t very well just let him leave and get the Millelith now can I?

You bury him up to his chin in the ground, placing a little chicken coop around his head so no one can see him. He begs to be set free for a few weeks, just like you used to beg.

And just like your begging, his is utterly useless.

He spends years in the chicken coop, learning about the outside world through you.

You can’t help the sly little grin on your face when he weeps upon hearing the news that Verr Goldet -- having remarried the year before -- is pregnant.

You never thought someone else having everything you’ve ever wanted (a loving husband and child) could bring you so much joy, but you feel it as you’re wiping the tears from his dirty face.

Xiao

Though he isn’t happy, he’s very relieved to hear this.

Though he’s a yandere and doesn’t want to share you with anyone, he doesn’t like the idea of hurting children and he just... doesn’t trust himself to be able to care for a child.

He’s a monster. A killing machine. His hands are so stained with blood, he wears his gloves even when touching you. How could he ever hope to hold his newborn with confidence.

This is for the best, he says, staring off into the distance, voice barely heard over Verr Goldet’s loud sobbing coming from the other room.

Her husband has been missing, and the Millelith have finally decided to call off the search and pronounce him dead.

It wouldn’t have been right for the two of us to build a family when those close to us have lost theirs, Xiao says, taking your hand then thinking better of it and just grabbing your sleeve instead. He doesn’t want to put his filthy mitts all over you. We should focus on the family we already have.

For the next few years the two of you work on your relationship and Xiao’s fears while simultaneously telling Verr Goldet that she should put herself out there and find happiness herself.

Despite both of you being yandere for each other, you and Xiao were also platonically yandere for Verr Goldet and only wanted the best for her. Though you would obviously thoroughly background check and threaten everyone who approaches her to make sure she’s safe, you want her to have the life and family she’s always wanted.

Eventually, you and Xiao are clapping at her wedding, a single tear in Xiao’s eye as he congratulates the new Mrs. Ragnvindr, shaking (and trying to crush) Diluc’s hand as he tells him not to hurt her.

In two years the two of you are in your new godson’s nursery, Xiao holding him with trembling hands, flinching when the baby grabs his ungloved finger.

You smile.

This wasn’t the family you had in mind, but you’ve found that it’s the one you’ve always needed.

[bonniebird]

Clary x Male!Reader

Requested by anon​

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Clary yelled, kicking and screaming as she tried desperately to fight off her attackers. They tied her down to a chair and that was when she got her first really good look at them.

Some had horns, others had eyes like Magnus’. Warlocks of Downworlders of some kind Clary thought, though she wasn’t experienced enough to make a solid guess. She tried her best to loosen to ropes they used to tie her down with. She could hear Simon yelling and shouting from another room.

“What do you want!” Clary shouted.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N).” One of her captors snapped. She stared at them. No idea what you could have possibly done to get involved with Downworlders.

“Excuse me?” She said in shock.

“We want the warlock, (Y/N) (Y/L/N). We want him now. He was supposed to be working for us but one of you Nephilim had to get involved. So tell him he helps us. Or next time we won't let you go.” The other captor said. Clary glared at them. They had to have been mistaken. But just as quickly as she and Simon had been snatched off the street they found themselves tossed out and abandoned. Clary hurried to see if Simon was ok and the two of them started to make their way to your house. 

“They said that (Y/N) is a warlock. There’s no way he’s a warlock right? We’ve known them for years. We grew up with them.” Simon said as the two of them hurried along the street and turned down an alleyway that cut out several blocks.

“These days I don’t know which way is up. We’ll just have to find (Y/N) and talk to them. We need to warn them too. Whatever they wanted him to work on can’t have been good.” Clary insisted as she led the way to your apartment, four doors down from where Clary used to live and hurried to knock on the door.

*****************

It had been a while since Clary and Simon were attacked. Since then Magnus had found out the work you were supposed to be doing for the other warlocks. They had wanted you to kidnap humans for them. Smuggle them out of Shadowhunter-protected areas so they could do, who knows what, with them.

When Clary confronted you, you had admitted that you were avoiding doing the work for them. But she couldn’t get you to give her a clear answer that if they came and forced you, would you follow through or not?

When people started to go missing and you couldn’t prove that it wasn’t you Clary spent hours shouting at you. Telling you how you’d betrayed her and Simon, how they’d trusted you, grown up with you and now. All they knew about you was villainy beyond anything they could comprehend. When you told her you thought she was being over dramatic she had become too furious to speak and stormed out. You hadn’t seen her for weeks after that.

“Warlock!” A seething voice called out. Turning on your doorstep you found one of the older warlocks that you were supposed to be working with.

“What do you want?” You asked.

“For you to do your part.” They answered and glared at you. It was starting to get dark and you could see something out of the corner of your eye. A vampire, though without looking directly at them you couldn’t be sure who it was. There wasn’t a chance that you would look away from the warlock in front of you until he backed off.

“I told you. I’m not helping you kidnap mundanes. Find someone else.” You snapped. The older warlock shrugged and then smiled at you, revealing rows of sharp teeth.

“Fine.” His hand flew up before you could react and you felt yourself being blown backwards through a portal. Simon had been watching from the rooftop. He ducked down as the warlock passed down the road and waited until the coast was clear. He tried to search for you but was quickly certain that the portal had whisked you away rather than forced you back into your apartment’s front hallway as he’d hoped.

He hurried to get to the institute. Alarms blared as he hurried to find Clary. He heard Alec behind him telling people to let him through.

“They took (Y/N).” Simon said. He found Clary in a side room with Jace, Magnus and Izzy.

“What?” Clary said.

“He was refusing to help them kidnap Mundanes. This warlock with loads of teeth. He pushed him through a portal.” Simon explained. Clary’s eyes started to tear up. She’d doubted you and felt immediately guilty.

“Well. We should go and look for him.” Clary said when her voice was strong enough.

“I wouldn’t advise that. If you’re describing who I think you are. Then you don’t want to be on that warlock's radar. We should do this rather carefully. It won’t end well for us if we rush into it.” Magnus advised. Clary nodded and wiped the tears from her eyes as Jace stepped closer.

“So where do we start?” He asked.

“Pandemonium. There’s a little lowlife of a warlock that knows him. We start with him and work our way up until we find (Y/N).” Magnus said firmly. As he spoke Alec entered the room and once Izzy caught him up he agreed. He left to get permission to gather Shadowhunters to help bring in the warlock who had taken you. Simon went to ask the vampires for help and Clary went with Jace and Izzy to ask Luke for help or to at least put out the word that a warlock was snatching people off the street and he wasn’t above taking out downworlders to do it.

Clary tags:

@linkpk88 @babypink224221 @lisainhell @spiderwebs-blog @gryffindorqueensworld @rockyrascal @twerp8999 @bluebear142077 @multi-fandom5 @rafecameronswhore @supernatural-wolfie @babygrinchsblog @love1deandra @archaeologydigit @im-eating-rn @bucketbunny @littlefreakingfangirl @jayyeahthatsme @lelapine @bluejaysaysstuff @kaitieskidmore1 @stupendousbelieverzombie @bluejaysaysstuff