#answered entreaties (asks)
Note
☕️ + Marika
TW: Implied incest; implied marital rape; discussions of child abuse and neglect; discussions of eugenics and genocide.
Malenia chuckled huskily and rested her head against the back of her 'throne' in the roots of the Haligtree, staring with sightless, scarred eyes up at the sky. The red and golden orange of the coastal sunset bathed her face and caught the thick red hair spilling over her shoulders in a flame-like sheen. Miquella, curled up in his blanket nest in the hollow of the roots, slept blissfully on.
" Miquella is far more magnanimous when it comes to Mother than I," Malenia whispered harshly, turning her face towards her brother's nest. " We have discussed our family many a time, and when it comes to Queen Marika the Eternal, Miquella simply feels...sad. He neither likes her nor respects her actions and ideals--and how could he, once he learned of the atrocities and genocides she has committed in the name of the Greater Will. Yet he recognizes that she herself is trapped and mostly powerless in the face of her patron god; indeed, the Elden Ring is as much a shackle around her throat as it is the manifestation of Regression and Causality. The way Miquella looks upon Mother is the way one would look upon a starving, rabid dog in the rain: dangerous, yet so terribly pitiful. He considers the inevitability of stripping her of her Grace as a mercy."
Malenia turned her face back towards the canopy, humming in satisfaction at the faint warmth playing on her pockmarked skin.
" Miquella, as always, is the better of us...for he finds it in his pure, good heart to love her still, whereas my own love has long since wilted, choked in the thick overgrowth of my anger and...hate. Yes, I freely admit that I hate Mother with every inch of my rot-burned body, and every scrap of my weary will. It is a hate that is both personal and ideological. Idealogically, I hate her for the genocides she committed against the giants, the omen, the Nox, and the nomadic tribes. I hate how she has isolated the Lands Between from the rest of the world, converting visitors to our lands but sending none in turn, for who could possibly want more than the stagnant golden grace of the Erdtree? I hate her for cowing to the Greater Will and throwing her own children into the sewers to pitifully waste away. I hate her banishing Lord Godfrey and the entirety of his people from the Lands Between, all in the name of some grand task, some eternal grasping at more and more power and more and more strength. I hate how she has wielded fundamentalism as a spiked flail, forcing the demi-humans into either exile or slavery, and turning a blind eye to the slaughter and persecution of the albinaurics. Even if I was not her daughter, I would hate her for this alone."
Malenia's left hand clenched into a trembling fist in her lap, and she moved from leaning over the back of the chair to slumping forward, picking up her prosthetic arm from the ground with palpable weariness.
" Yet as her daughter, I hate her more." Malenia spat bitterly, resting the prosthesis on her lap and running the fingers of her left hand along the worn, grooved joints, crude gold patches, and hastily hammered dents. The act seemed to calm her somewhat, although her shoulders were still taught with tension. " I hate that she forced Father away from the woman he loved and into her bed without his consent. I hate that she broke both Father and dear Rennala--who will forever be a better woman, queen, and mother than Marika could ever hope to be--all in the name of an Empyrean heir of her own; for she could not let the Carian family line have control of the Elden Throne, now could she?" She chuckled bitterly and let her head hang low between her shoulders. " Is it any wonder that Miquella and I are cursed, having been born from such better designs, such selfish whims, and such...such violation? We would be cursed even if Mother and Father were not..."
Malenia trailed off, unable to admit her family's greatest secret and greatest shame, even to the most well-intentioned stranger. Finlay and Ranni had been the only two beings the twins had ever told, and they intended to keep it that way for the foreseeable future.
Even without saying it, though, the revulsion and bitterness of such a lie...such a blasphemy...such a crime against nature in and of itself...it made her want to vomit.
" I hate her for her hiding me away when I was suffering with rot." Malenia said after a moment of heavy silence. " For believing my pain would lead me to greater strength and power--and then, when I remained rotted and sad and not stronger through adversity, she grew disdainful. 'Should ye fail to be nothing at all, ye shall be forsaken.' That is always what she said to me when I was being too troublesome--too unruly--and I knew in my heart that it was a threat. She had thrown her newborns into a sewer simply because they were born 'cursed'; why would she hesitate with a miserable, unruly daughter disfigured by rot? Even after I grew my skill with the sword, she was cold, distant. I was simply a replacement champion for her--someone to wage her wars and fight her battles as her proxy when Father was too heavy with melancholy to move. Even being chosen as an Empyrean did not satisfy her...although she certainly was cross when I renounced my Two Fingers mere days later."
The memory of her mother's sour-lemon face brought a rueful smile to Malenia's lips. She shook her head and began to flex the finger joints of her prosthetic arm, checking to see if any needed oiling or smoothing.
" Yet even if she was naught but the sweetest, kindest, most devoted mother to me...even if she had not forced Father to lie with her to conceive my brother and I...I would still hate her, for I consider what she did to Miquella innumerably worse than what she did to me. She used his intelligence, his ideas, his brilliant creativity for her own aims, trotted him around like a show pony during political affairs and royal events, only to regard him with naught but cold eyes and stony silence when in private. She considered Miquella to be an eternally innocent, pure, meek little boy; and yet when it came to caring for that boy? The moment he stopped growing was the moment she stopped acting as his mother. He was as old as I was, she said, so he did not need any 'coddling'...and Miquella, so desperate he was for Mother's love, agreed, and tried so valiantly to make himself into an adult he could never be. Yet he was not an adult--still is not an adult--and he still so desperately needed his mother's love and touch. She knew this, but she could not be bothered with him, so it was up to I--his sister--to act as mother in her stead."
Malenia wearily rubbed her eyes with her left hand.
" I do not regret it. I have never once resented Miquella for staying young while I have grown older--for needing more from me than as a twin and a friend. 'tis not his fault, and we are so precious and dear to each other...it does not matter to me that I am younger twin, bosom friend, co-ruler, bodyguard, blade, and mother all at once. I cherish this unique, bewildering, yet beautiful relationship we share, and I would gladly strike this balance until the end of our days if need be. All I have ever felt about Miquella's stagnation is guilt--guilt that I, the younger twin, was forced to leave him behind."
Her lips curled into an almost feral snarl.
" Yet Queen Marika the Eternal, who abandoned her child when he needed her the most...I shall hate her until the stars fall and the sun melts into itself. I shall hate her until there is nothing left of me to feel such hate. And if it turns out the reason behind her disappearance is her death...even if it means that Father is also..."
Malenia swallowed, and when she spoke again, her voice was choked and cracking.
" ...if she has died...then I hope she died in a manner that she deserved: alone; abandoned; slowly; and howling in indolent rage at the Greater Will--the one being in the universe even colder than she."
#answered entreaties (asks)#fulgrantfirstborn#the goddess speaks (malenia answers)#golden abundance and scarlet decay (headcanons)#golden queen of stagnation (marika)#forge red hair and golden hammer (radagon)#cw: discussion of child abuse#tw: discussion of child abuse#tw: discussion of child neglect#cw: discussion of child neglect#tw: implied rape#cw: implied rape#about the rot goddess (malenia)
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a flower by any other name would taste as poisonous
A butterfly flaps its wings and a hurricane happens in a far-off place.
In this case an old eunuch decides to take a different route from his usual one. It takes him by the Garnet Palace, where he’s just in time to stop a loving attendant from feeding an infant a spoonful of honey. Sufficiently warned, the attendant never bears the crushing weight of guilt for the rest of her life.
The infant still dies though. It’s nothing surprising. Infants before a certain age would always be vulnerable and susceptible to natural illnesses. It is no one’s fault.
If the child still died though, what did this change? Surprisingly, a lot.
Eight years later a boy is crying after having a favorite toy taken from him once again.
A girl, merely a year younger than him, asks him in a dispassionate tone where it hurts.
Startled, the boy stops crying. Eyes shining, he looks at this girl who resembles a wood sorrel and decides she’s his new favorite.
How is it that those two seemingly random encounters could lead to this particular scene, one resembling a painting?
On one side, an existence like a celestial nymph, voice of sweet honey, a beauty that could topple nations if he so wished.
One would think that no one could compare, and yet the beauty on the other side was not overshadowed. She was a vision no less stunning for she was once known as a top courtesan of the pleasure district.
It was perhaps fortunate that no one was a witness to this display for no one could hope to count how many hapless victims would be felled by such visions of loveliness.
As to what these beauties were doing, no one could have guessed for in between them stood a single Go board.
tap
tap
“I must admit that while I was expecting a visit from his Imperial highness soon, I didn’t think it would be for this.”
The celestial nymph flushed.
“Apologies for taking some of your precious time, Feng Xian-dono.”
tap
tap
The unfettered beauty took her time deciding her next move. The man who was also called Jinshi did not fool himself into thinking it was because he was a worthy opponent. Although he was used to using his excellent looks as a weapon, why is it that before this woman he felt as if he were merely a mouse being played with? A finely sculpted brow conveyed enough with one gesture. He felt as if he were playing two games at the same time.
“And? What is so important that the Prince of the Moon felt the need to risk Lakan’s wrath to come here? Why, you even roped Lahan into this plan of yours.” The cold beauty didn’t smile but he had a sense that she was amused.
Jinshi wondered. Did he rope Lahan or did that miser rope him? It didn’t matter. Shaking his head, he hoped he was equally composed when he answered, “I must admit it was that esteemed personage’s recommendation that sent me your way. Aside from him, only you could fight on equal ground with our honored strategist.”
tap
tap
Seemingly bored but only just, such that she could not be accused of disrespecting him, his opponent continued her queries, “And? Surely, you don’t hope to best that girl at a game of Go? She has utterly no interest at the game. It’s a wonder if she takes after us at all. I often wonder how she came to be so uncute, though of course Lakan would disagree.”
Jinshi would as well. Or to be more accurate, he both agreed and disagreed. While that girl was often distant, on the whole he could not help but find her adorable.
And from the shadow of a smile he could spy on his opponent’s face, he gathered that she was much the same, and could only dote on her daughter in this roundabout way. Although parent and child both claimed no similarity, he thought in this manner you could not doubt their familial tie.
Likewise with her father, though she only had disdain for the man (not that it would stop that eccentric’s entreaties to be called Papa from happening, thought Jinshi with a shiver). He’ll leave it up to Gaoshun to commiserate.
That wary cat only showed affection for her honored grand uncle. In much the same way, as much as she protested, she and her sire were a lot alike. There was also their utter disinterest in anyone ordinary and unexceptional.
Like him.
Any other family would have accepted just by virtue of who he was. But it mattered not to this particular family who cared not for prestige or power. This family was content to keep to itself and occupied with its members’ various obsessions. Rather than consider it an honor to be connected to the noble line of the rulers of this nation, Jinshi thought that Lakan rather saw him as some annoying fly.
And for that annoying fly to not only buzz around his beloved daughter but also to dare be in the proximity of his beloved wife, the only two people that eccentric fawned over and adored with all his heart, ah surely this was a perilous gamble indeed.
But for an ordinary person like Jinshi, no Ka Zui Getsu, this was the only thing he could do.
Ironic that when he wanted it most, he could not rely on this excellent appearance of his, the only thing extraordinary about him. This family cared not a whit for that. At first he had wondered why that apothecary continued to be unaffected by him, but to have someone like this for a mother, he realizes she must have already been bored by the sight. (She had actually scoffed at him after they had seen each other once again in the rear palace.)
It left him scrambling, but also strangely relieved.
“It’s not that I want to best her. At most I hope to be on equal footing.” Slightly abashed, he shakes his head. “In truth, it is our honored strategist whom I wish to have a match with. Though it may be impossible, the Sage tells me my best hope lie with the only person to have bested the Grand Commandant more times than even him.”
Seemingly intrigued if the slight lifting of one brow indicated such, the once courtesan inquired, “Oh? And to what end if I may ask?”
How to answer.
Grappling with something in himself, Jinshi finally admitted, “Merely to be acknowledged, I suppose. To be seen and recognized.”
To be accepted.
By whom, his companion seemed content not to ask if the curl of her mouth was any indication.
Maomao had often complained (though she would deny it with a blank look if asked) in a bland tone that she thought she must surely be adopted by the one she called father, for surely she had no resemblance to this beauty in front of him. Chicken bones she called herself. (Incidentally, she was adamant that she was not ugly enough to be related to the fox. She was, in her own view, perfectly normal. Jinshi almost spat out his tea upon hearing this if only it wasn’t unbefitting his station.)
But seeing what could pass for an amused look on this normally expressionless face, Jinshi for the first time in front of another great beauty, blushed for he could only see traces of the one he yearned for in this visage.
Truly, they were mother and daughter indeed.
He was caught in a daydream of a scene years into the future, with Maomao dressed in such finery, of when he could finally lavish her with all his attentions as he pleased.
tap
tap
The harsh clack of the Go stones brought him back from his musings and his attention onto the board. Upon seeing how he was completely dominated, he let out a deep sigh.
“A long way to go, your highness.”
As if echoing his thoughts, an imperious voice declared his resounding defeat. If not for the twinkle in her eye he could detect, he would no doubt feel as if he was not even worth the heel of her shoe, never mind that he was the current Imperial heir. Distantly, he wonders if this was the sight that bewitched and entrapped that eccentric so long ago.
Privately laughing at his own folly, he decides he was no better for it was the same look from that tiny wood sorrel that sealed his fate. Flowers could heal, but they could also be poisonous. He knew better than most. No matter. Regardless of the outcome, he would swallow her whole.
Truly there was a long way to go before he could turn that dream into anything close to reality. He doesn’t mind tasting defeat again and again for the chance of victory one day.
Once more, he resets the board.
notes:
Jinshi and the Imperial brother are still switched at birth so he still doesn’t know who he really is.
The imperial brother still dies in infancy but not so soon after his birth. Since Luomen manages to stop the honey incident, the tragedy with Aduo’s head maidservant doesn’t happen later on. He doesn’t get punished nor does he get driven out.
Because he doesn’t get driven out, Lakan isn’t pressured into a military expedition to reclaim the honor of the family. He manages to redeem Feng Xian immediately.
Lakan still somehow ends up the head since his younger brother doesn’t really see himself suited to the position. He still ends up taking the headship from his father probably because Feng Xian was insulted or something and he wants to spoil her. His father and sister-in-law probably still end up leaving on their own like in the original timeline rather than being driven away. One way or another, Maomao, Rahan and Rahan-nii end up being raised together.
Maomao is still the same. Sure, she’s raised as a noble lady but she still spends half of her life at the pleasure district with Feng Xian, her sisters and penny-pinching granny. I doubt Lakan would stop them since this isn’t a conventional family after all.
Luomen probably sneaks in town undercover to still be an apothecary for those who might need it most, with Maomao accompanying him.
Since Maomao is raised as a noble, one way or another she ends up as Jinshi’s playmate. Of course, Jinshi still ends up attached. And of course Lakan puts a stop to it as soon as he can. It doesn’t have anything to do with any political maneuvering. He’s just an overprotective papa.
Maomao still ends up in the rear palace, this time as Luomen’s apprentice so of course she ends up crossing paths with Jinshi once again when they’re older.
And so the adventures of the young prince and apothecary still continue, fates still intertwined.
#jinmao#maomao x jinshi#kusuriya no hitorigoto#knh#the apothecary diaries#jinshi#maomao#fengxian#a preventable and inevitable tragedy#we already had a mother and daughter-in-law talk#I wanted to imagine a mother and son-in-law talk#I can’t even imagine the interactions with fengxian#let’s admit it both jinshi and lakan are just simps *coughs coughs* masochists for their loves who would sooner look at them like a bug#au#fic#ficlet#fanfiction#writing#kusuriya no hitorigoto spoilers#the apothecary diaries spoilers#knh spoilers
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https://twitter.com/cozyhuii/status/1601625356813107200?t=5HO1-EhU347t91RGRQUSnQ&s=19
Soft König
This has been sitting in my inbox for far too long
(SFW, Domesticity, Fluff, Living together, Soft König, Clingy König, Established relationship, Hugging, Cuddling, Slight manhandling, Sexual suggestion, Word count < 1k)
You sense him before you hear him.
König’s heavy footfalls creak up the stairs of the flat, the wet, shirking wood groaning under his weight. It’s a familiar sensation now, that of your boyfriend’s lumbering form shuffling up the stairs to your shared apartment. You feel the impact brush gently against your feet, clothed in slippers as you hover above the pot on the stove.
Warm, aromatic steam wisps upwards from the simmering broth. It fogs against the glass window of the kitchen, where delicate frost has begun to creep across the planes in a natural, frigid abstract. It rattles when König opens and closes the door in the other room with a small mutter of irritated German loose on his tongue. The chill of the winter squall chases him inside, and even from where you stand you feel the brief, cold gust of it brush against your skin.
“Schatz?” You hear him call, his voice obscured with the rustle of cloth as he tugs off his jacket and drapes it lazily beside the door.
“In here!” You return, not bothering to turn from your current task. The thin, worn pages of the aged cookbook graze against your fingertips as you squint, attempting your best to decipher the scrawled German across the pages.
Absently, you count the number of footsteps it takes König to reach the doorway of the kitchen, tracing his movements like discerning the change of seasons.
…Seven. Eight.
Less than his usual count, his strides long as he paces quickly into the warmth created by your cooking, humming a low, appreciative note at the smell that greets him.
“Did you get the potatoes?” You ask, eyes reviewing a measurement as your hand fumbles blindly for an open container on the counter.
“Da.” König returns, and a smile tugs at the corner of your lips with the realization that warmth bleeds into his tone. “And the cream.”
“Danke.” You offer without turning, refusing to be distracted from the dish before you.
Yet König doesn’t reply, and after a moment you feel him shift so he stands just behind you, the chill winter still seeping from his form into yours. A hand settles across your fingers still reaching for the small container on the counter, his gloved grip all but swallowing your smaller one.
He presses into you then, one hand settling at your hip and dragging you back into his taller, frigid form so your shoulders press against his chest. There, he hums a deep, rumbling noise of contentment as you automatically ease into him. A hand snakes around your front, and soon you find yourself secured to him, his head dipping to nuzzle into your hair.
“I missed you.” He mutters quietly, and you have to contain a little roll of your eyes at that despite the broadening smile on your lips.
“You were gone for thirty minutes.” You return, but twist your hand in his to graze your thumb along the inside of his palm reassuringly.
“Thirty minutes too long.” He adds, and there’s a hint of petulance in his voice, reticent and slightly sullen. “I wish you could have come with me.”
You huff at that. “Who would make the soup?” You question, and he doesn’t answer beyond a grumble, his hold on you tightening.
“You’re cold.” You whine, trying to wiggle from him with little success.
“Come warm me up then.” He pleads, and it takes effort not to bat at him with the wooden spoon in your hand.
“We need to eat.” You protest gently, lowering the heat of the stove and trying to twist in his arms to look at him. “König.”
He doesn’t respond, barely even shifts beyond allowing you to adjust enough to reach for the pot lid and secure it over the stew.
“I’m starving, Schatz.” He murmurs lowly, voice a rumbling, beseeching entreaty whispered into your hair.
“You wouldn’t be-” You return, trying again to gently twist free of him with no avail. “-If you would let me finish cooking.”
Yet König only chuckles, and that makes you still with the low, churning noise echoing in his chest that extends outwards, brushes against your thoughts with the barest hint of suggestion.
“I’m hungry for you, Liebling.” He whispers, and his voice changes, warps into something darker, licking at the back of his teeth like he’s trying to chase the taste.
You barely have time to blink before he steps back, twists you in his arms deftly to face him. He towers above you, with one hand clasped at the small of your back, the other rubbing insistent, dragging circles into your hip. The chill of him has begun to dull now, replaced by a heat that pulls at you, seeking to tether you to the gravity of his desire. His eyes glint with an emotion you recognize. Interest, bright and keen, like a wolverine that’s spotted a hare in a thicket.
Hungry.
“Dinner can wait.” He tells you, and he all but growls the suggestion down at you, his thumb digging into the soft flesh at the base of your spine. You shudder, feeling excitement, desire, running its familiar course through your veins in a song that calls for him with clarion notes that hang in winter frost.
You blink at him, lips parted but melting into his touch instinctively, seeking him out like the warm embrace of a hearth.
“Come here.” You offer, raising a hand to graze against the curve of his jaw as he descends downwards towards your waiting lips. “Let me keep you warm.”
You can taste his laughter on your tongue.
#König#könig x y/n#könig x reader#König x you#könig fluff#mw22#mw 22#cod mw22#reader insert#drabble#request#ask#my writing
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hi GT!
Lionheart had me the moment you kicked it off with “it’s a nice day to start again.” Might i ask why you chose that particular line?
And, if you havent already answered to this emoji:
❄️
P.s: you have my eternal gratitude for creating the most brilliant piece of writing i’ll ever read. I shout about it from the rooftops, share it on my socials, requested my spouse to read it so we may discuss it together (in lieu of a present for my 30th birthday), et cetera.
I see from your URL you are a fellow lad of taste.
There's a couple things going on in the epigraph for Book 1. On one level, it's a lyric from the first muggle song I picture Draco listening to on his walkman at the end of the book, so there's a cute full-circle thing there. The second layer is the theme of change and redemption, which, in Lionheart, doesn't so much come from major moments or self-sacrifice, but from the slow, grueling, everyday work of living, and living better. It's a nice day to start again because every day is. You always have the opportunity to start making better choices, no matter what lies behind you. That's the thesis of any Draco redemption arc, right? You have to imagine that he could have chosen to be better.
And then thirdly, there's the audacity of doing a full Hogwarts canon rewrite, a good 30 years after the original books came out, millions upon millions of words of fanfic later, and basically asking everyone to read the same story they did the first time around, only different. So it's a kind of winking entreaty. It's saying to readers, many of whom are understandably wary of doing it over, zeroing out the characters to starting positions, and starting from the beginning with 11-year-olds all over again. It's going: "hey. That was fun, right? Why not do it again?"
#thank you so much for the compliment -- honestly it's terribly kind#i hope your spouse likes it. for their own sake also because by god that is so much assigned reading#you're iconic for that tbh. all birthdays should come with a syllabus#oh! and ❄️ ⇢ what’s your dream theme/plot for a fic#and who would write it best?#tbh i've wanted someone to write a really good pacific rim AU for years and years#and it has always fallen juuuuust low enough on my writing pile for me to never get around to it#like it's always the thing i want to write 3rd most and i only let myself have 2 projects at a time#not sure who would write that best - I think anyone who loves and Gets the movies#the premise of which is 'what if you and your soulmate could pilot a 50-foot mech by having mindsex so good it killed godzilla?'#and if you don't want to stand up and cheer just thinking about that i don't know what to tell you. perhaps you have never seen a movie#also like it's about love and trust and trauma and healing. AND killing really giant monsters#and it takes itself JUST seriously enough to nail all of that without getting mopey or goofy#movie of all time. someday i will kiss guillermo del toro on the lips#in my (delusional) world his oscar win was actually a belated award for pacific rim.
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„You, Colin Bridgerton, will not be going near that woman!“ Anthony almost spat into the face of his younger brother, waving his finger at him. „Not only have you defiled her but her honor with your foolish words!“
„Brother-“ Colin tried but Anthony didn't let him have the word.
„No! You will do as I say, otherwise you can feel free to leave again.“ Anthony's arm pointed towards the door of his study but his gaze was firmly planted on Colin.
Colin‘s jaw tensed while he fumbled with his hands. „You can not expect me to follow your instructions,“ he told his older brother, withstanding the viscount's gaze.
„And why is that so?“
Colin took a deep breath before he walked a step towards Anthony but when he wanted to say something nothing came out of his mouth, so he closed it again.
“I should have known,“ Anthony groaned, massaging the bridge of his nose. „She may not be my responsibility but we both know that she has no male relative to do so, nor does her mother care.“ Anthony smoothes his suit jacket down, looking at Colin again. „That is why I made her my responsibility, Colin. So, either you keep yourself at bay or I need to resort to other means.“
„You would not-“
“Do not dare me to,“ Anthony hissed, his gaze fierce. Colin barely saw his brother behave like that. It made him take a step back and gulp. Anthony was serious right now…
-
When Varley opened the door her jaw almost fell slack to the floor. „Lord Bridgerton?“ She cleared her throat and stepped aside. „How may I be of service to you?“
Anthony crossed his arms behind his back, glancing down at the older woman. „I would like to speak with Miss Penelope Featherington.“
Varely only blinked at the viscount for a second before she cleared her throat and nodded. „Certainly my Lord. I shall inform her of your presence. Please, spend your wait in the drawing room,“ she guided him down the hallway into the formal drawing room.
Antony nodded. „Thank you Varely.“
„Lord Bridgerton,“ Penelope walked into the room, the hint of a frown on her face. „What is the honor of your visit?“ She bowed her head and Anythony did the same.
„Miss Featherington, I am pleased to see you. I shall speak to you.“ Anthony glanced at Varely who still stood in the door frame. „In private.“
Varely curtsied and left, closing the door behind her. Meanwhile Penelope curiously eyed the man opposite to her, still trying to plaster together the reason why he was here. Perhaps he wanted her to stop visiting Bridgerton House? Or he wanted her to stop her friendships with Eloise? It was well known that where the Featheringtons were, scandal was close.
Anthony cleared his throat, searching for Penelope’s gaze. „I hope we can leave the formalities aside now that we‘re alone,“ he asked.
She hesitatingly nodded as she carefully sat down on one of the couches. Anthony remained on the other side of the room, arms crossed behind his back.
„So, Lord—“
“Anthony,“ he interrupted. „I insist.“
„Oh…“ Penelope nodded again, thinking what to say next. „Then, please, call me Penelope.“
„Very well Penelope.“ Then he started pacing. „The following entreaty may appear peculiar, yet I hope you will let me explain.“
“Certainly, my—Anthony,“ Penelope said, growing more confused with every passing moment. What did he want that seemed weird to him?
Anthony took a deep breath before he straightened his back and looked directly at the youngest Featherington daughter. „Given your lack of a male relative, I wish to undertake the responsibility for your welfare and protection.“
Penelope opened her mouth to answer, but she wasn‘t able to form any words. What?
„I am aware“—Anthony let out an almost nervous chuckle—„that this may be an imposition, yet I—and Kate, as well as the others—only seek the best for you Penelope.“
„I—I can‘t possibly ask this of you!“ Penelope stuttered, still not sure if this wasn‘t a dream or not. There was no way Anthony Bridgerton—Viscount Bridgerton—asked to take responsibility for her. She surely was dreaming or—
„I am the one asking Penelope,“ Anthony interrupted her thoughts, purposely walking towards her.
should i continue this lol? this is a really rough first draft and idk if i should make something outta it or if it should just stay a blurb🧍🏼
(masterlist)
REQUESTS/ASKS OPEN!!!
#writing#ao3#fanfiction#archive of our own#story writing#bridgerton#anthony bridgerton#anthony is being protective#colin bridgerton#colin x penelope#colin bridgerton x penelope featherington#penelope featherington#anthony wants to be a big bro for penelope🧍🏼#help is needed
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Greetings!
If I may ask, what delineates an interesting natural find in the woods or river and a find that is a gift from a spirit?
How does one tell the difference?
I often find hagstones, calcite, and quartz geodes in just about every waterway I've come into contact with (albeit, nearly always after asking) and while I would love to believe that I've somehow interacted with the local water spirits, there always lingers a doubt within me that maybe I'm just lucky, or good at spotting patterns and I don't realize it. I a similar fashion, as of late, I've been stumbling upon whole, pristinely preserved white snail shells during my wanderings in the woods (again, usually after being struck by a sudden urge to move a specific pile of leaves, picking up trash, or being moved to place a different shiny in a specific location). It just strikes me as strange and wondrous that such things seem to happen in this manner for me, and I'd honestly like to know if my experiences are mere chance or if they are encounters with the Other.
On this note, what can one do with a surplus of hagstones and what are the uses of stump/tree hollow water? I recently "discovered" such a hollow in a tree I've frequented many times before but somehow never noticed the hollow in the trunk. I feel I'm supposed to collect water from it for something, but I'm not sure what.
Thank you again for your time!
That's a good question, though it can't exactly be satisfying answered in a one-size-fits-all sort of way.
For me, personally, I generally tend to consider something a Spirit Gift if it comes to me one of four ways.
The first is when I explicitly ask my Spirit Kith for help locating something and then end up discovering it within a reasonably swift window of time following my entreaty.
Secondly, I will sometimes find something I've been looking for in a particularly strange place or especially well-timed way, and it's hard to overlook those cases, even if I didn't specifically entreat a numinous entity for assistance.
Thirdly, I occasionally find something entirely by chance that I wasn't actively looking for, but which is so striking or unusual to find that I suspect that "hand" of the spirit world.
Finally, sometimes I'll find something without thinking much about it, only to discover later that this item is exactly what I need for a given ritual or magical operation.
As the circumstances I listed above descend in order from 1 to 4, it becomes less clear whether something is definitely a spirit gift or not. But in the end, I often choose to simply view it as such with gratitude, and leave offerings to cover my bases. In situations where it does prove important to know whether I've really gained the attention of a spirit or not, I use divination to clarify
As for your last additional questions: There is plenty you can do with a surplus of hagstones; you could incorporate into spellwork, you could use them to make amulets, you could gift them to others, or you could simply collect them. And I actually have articles on my website that talk about both Stump Water and Hollow Water.
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"I'm sorry... I didn't even realize" for the "why are you avoiding me" prompt list, anyone of your choice <3
"i'm sorry...i didn't even realize" tw: depression
Essek doesn't like to think he's particularly needy. For so long now, he's danced on this tightrope solo, entirely responsible for his own survival in these war games he started. It's instilled in him a comfort in being alone, something he's been more often than not as he's been forced to stay on the run from the various entities who'd like to bring him to his knees.
Which is why it's so very strange, this grumbling in his chest, when for the third day in a row, his sending has gone unanswered. He's been in this derelict cabin in the Copia Wildwood for two weeks now, languishing and bored, and all he wants to do is be somewhere else. He doesn't think it's asking too much to reach out to Caleb for distraction—Tell me what you're working on, Caleb Widogast. Surely it is more interesting than the crumbling walls of this shack.—and yet his entreaties are answered with silence, and it's driving Essek mad.
Maybe he's done something. It's true that it's been longer than usual since he's visited the little cottage in Rexxentrum that is the closest thing he knows to home—perhaps Caleb has taken offense to his prolonged absence. Or maybe it's the question itself; is Essek prying where he ought not be prying?
(There is, of course, the horrifying possibility that Caleb is unable to reply to Essek's sendings, that something has happened to him, that in his desperate instinct for his own survival, Essek has left the most important person in his world vulnerable and alone. No. Caleb is capable. This is a possibility Essek cannot entertain, even for a moment. Not if he is to stop himself from going mad in this Light-blasted cabin.)
Three more days of silence, and Essek is ready to pull his hair out. He doesn't care that it's risky, doesn't care that Beau warned him of increased interest in his whereabouts in the chatter overheard from the Cerberus Assembly. He throws his meager belongings into his pack and quickly erases all traces of himself from the cabin. He takes out the thick wool gloves that Caleb gave him for their many sojourns to Aeor and uses them to focus his teleport. The familiar push and pull is almost a comfort as he disappears and reappears in the foyer of Caleb's cottage.
The place is a mess. The cats have clearly taken over, meowing in chorus and digging through the already-ransacked pantry. The smell is atrocious, and the worry Essek's been holding at bay rises in him like a tidal wave.
He doesn't call out, in case there are others in the house. He glides silently toward the closed bedroom door, almost too afraid to know what's on the other side of it.
What he finds is Caleb's bedroom, much as he remembers it, but far less bright and airy. The curtains have all been drawn, and there is debris and detritus from half-eaten meals everywhere. There is a large lump beneath the duvet, which Essek approaches slowly. "Light, is that you?" The lump shifts, and Essek floats to sit on the edge of the mattress just beside it. He pulls the duvet back to reveal the most disheveled, unkempt Caleb Widogast he has ever seen in his life.
"Oh dear." There is a haunted look in Caleb's eyes, eyes which seem to stare straight through Essek as if he isn't even there. His beard, normally shiny and well-shaped, is scraggly and rough, and the hair Essek loves to card his fingers through is oily and matted.
"Essek?" Caleb croaks. Essek wonders how long it's been since he's spoken, since he's had water. "You...are here."
"I'm here, my Light. You had me very worried." When Caleb's brow furrows in confusion, he says, "You haven't been answering my messages."
The confusion doesn't go away. "Oh. I'm sorry...I didn't even realize...I don't remember hearing them."
Essek doesn't even know where to begin. "It's been nearly a week since we last spoke. What happened?"
The glassiness has returned to Caleb's eyes, and Essek wants to climb inside of him and claw him back from wherever he is retreating within himself. "A week. I did not notice that either."
"How about we forget the whys, yes? First, a bath, and I will clean the cottage." He quickly casts prestidigitation on the few plates and bowls piled up on Caleb's nightstand in demonstration. "And then some proper food, I think, for you and the cats, and when you're ready, you can tell me what has been keeping you from me this past week."
Caleb nods, and Essek leans down to kiss his sweaty forehead. As he gets up to go run the water for Caleb's bath, his mind is swirling and buzzing with the possibilities of what has so thoroughly reduced the strongest person he knows to shambles, but he knows that he would face down the Dwendalian and Xhorasian armies together if it meant being here to help him piece himself back together.
#ask#ravendruid#critical role#critical role fic#cr fic#mighty nein#mighty nein fic#shadowgast#shadowgast fic#my fic
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Bitterly Beautiful, Part 6
Chapter 6: In The Eye of the Storm
Wednesday sits in the center of her dorm room, reciting a dark chant as she holds the necklace her mother gave her. Surrounded by lit candles, she continues with her eyes closed. Sitting in front of her was an Ouija board with "Goody." Wrote on the front.
"In case you're wondering, I don't hold séances very often. I can barely tolerate the living. Why would I want to commune with the dead? But my mother told me Goody is the only one that can train me to control my psychic ability. The sooner I master that, the sooner I crack this case." Wednesday thought, the door opens suddenly and the gust of wind bellows, knocking the candles out, Wednesday thought the seance was successful as a shadowy figure stepped in front of the frame, but much to her disappointment, it was just Enid.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt your... Uh, do I even want to know?" She says.
"I was reaching into the black maw of death to contact a relative."
"Feels very on-brand for you. But you should be careful, (Y/n) told me summoning spirits from the after life is like super dangerous."
"(Y/n) severely underestimates me." Wednesday replies coldly.
"I guess, he was pretty serious when he said it after i made him watch Paranormal Activity with me."
"... You forced a blind man to watch a horror movie with you?" Wednesday asked as Enid clarifies.
"Well it was mostly just him holding my hand and me telling him what was happening." Enid explains, she peers over to the Ouija board and sees the name.
"You have a relative named Goody?"
"She was one of the original outcasts. Been attempting to summon her, but she seems to be ignoring my entreaties."
"Oh, you thought about using one of my scented candles? The aroma of steak tartare is to die for." Enid smiles, suddenly, a slip of paper was dashed under their door.
"..Maybe Goody answered you after all." Enid said, and Wednesday approached and read the note in magazine cut out letters. "If you want answers, come to Crackstone crypt at Midnight."
"I doubt she communicates in magazine cutouts." Wednesday said, and she and Enid now make their way to the crypt, Enid being obviously afraid of the darkness and what lies within it. Enid jumps at the howl of an animal.
"You insisted on coming along. I was fine on my own. Seems like our wannabe dееp thrоat is already here." Wednesday and Enid approach the door to the creep, with the hinting smell of death.
"Ew. What died?"
"Smells like childhood. Come on."
"Second thoughts. Why don't I just stay out here? You know, as a lookout." Enid said, which Wednesday ignores and simply heads inside, she slowly creeps around the Crypt, using her flashlight to analyze any possible hint that could have been left by the assailant, but what caught her ear was the odd whisper from behind the tomb.
"Whoever you are, show yourself. Try anything and you'll lose limbs." She says with an ice cold stare, much to her disappointment, (Y/n) and others step out, with a cake.
"Surprise! Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you / Happy birthday, dear Wednesday / Happy birthday to you!" They sing, which Wednesday just glares at (Y/n), as thing crawls on his shoulder.
"I should have known you two were behind this. What part of "no party under the penalty of death" do you not understand?" She says as she looks at the cake which was a grim reaper, with a pink balloon.
"I thought my cake design was pretty inspired." Xavier says.
"The pink balloon was my little touch. Why don't you make a wish?" Enid says, Wednesday as per usual ignores their friendly banter and turns to see something written in Latin, etched onto the wall.
"Wait, it's Latin. Fire will rain... when I rise."
"That's not really a wish..." Enid said.
"The first part of that was burned onto Nevermore's lawn. It can't be a coincidence."
"Wait, we're never eating that cake, are we?" Ajax asks, Wednesday slides her hand along the Etched words, and has another vision, this time she's before a gate to a manor. And beyond that gate was Goody.
"Crackstone is coming. Crackstone is coming." She repeats and disappears into the fog, Wednesday is surprised by Goody again, this time next to her.
"Goody. You're the Raven in my bloodline. Wednesday. I was told you could teach me how to control my ability."
"There is no controlling a raging river. You must learn to navigate it without drowning. Time is not on our side. To stop Crackstone, this place you must seek."
"Do you always speak in riddles?"
"Do you always seek simple answers? The path of a Raven is a solitary one. You end up pushing the people you care about away, unable to trust others, only seeing the darkness within them."
"Is that supposed to scare me?"
"...It should." goody replies, as Wednesday comes back from her Vision, knowing what could lead down the path.
The Next Morning, Wednesday is doing her homework, when things crawls along her shoulder.
"Careful, that's my cold shoulder." She says.
"Don't blame Thing. The party was me and (Y/n)'s idea. Everyone deserves to be celebrated on their birthday." Enid says approaching.
"I prefer to be vilified."
"What happened? It looked like you were having a seizure."
"I wasn't that lucky.”
"Can I at least get some kudos for pulling one over on you?"
"The subterfuge was impressive." Wednesday admits, her train of thought was crashed by thing dragging something from her bed, she sees the tag and reads it. "May your 16th be as sour and misery-filled as your desire." "Your ever-doting mother and father." They asked Thing to hide it before they left on Parents' Weekend." Enid says and she opens it, much to the horror of Enid. A taxidermy set.
"Ew! That's so gross."
"I would've preferred live squirrels." Wednesday says, she looks over to Enid; who hands her a present.
"While we're still accepting presents" she says smiling, Wednesday opens it to, a, scarf? A rag?"
"Well, do you like it?" Enid asks excited.
"What is it exactly?”
"It's a snood, silly. I made it in your signature colors. And you want to know what the best part is? I have one too! We can wear them together to class!"
"Oh, Enid, this is far too unique to wear to something like class. I suggest we wait for a more special occasion, ...like a funeral." Wednesday said, they continue through their day. (Y/n) was investigating the burning, kneeling down and touching the burned and seared grass.
"Found anything yet?" Wednesday asks behind him, he stands up as she walks up next to him to also investigate the grass.
"I did, more or less, flames are natural no magic or supernatural occurrences. But..."
"But?"
"The ground, where it burned reeked of gasoline. Meaning they had to have set the gasoline down for a while and let it seep into the ground and then burn it. It was planned, premeditation at best... but no Normie could get into Nevermore."
"So You're suspecting one of us?" Wednesday asks.
"No, well i can't rule the possibility out, you've made a few enemies but not enough to kill you. Also i "found" this." He says and hands her a slightly rectangular box, Wednesday cautiously takes the box. She reads the tag, "From (Y/n), Hearts to Wednesday, Broken hearts with many "XO" and "Hugs and Kisses" in pink, which didn't fit well with the pink wrapping paper which read "To my Future Wife."
".. Are you sure this is for me?" Wednesday said.
"Of course! I got Enid to do the wrapping and message. " (Y/n) to Wednesday." Black wrapping paper, Something basic." He says, Wednesday says nothing and unwraps it, and sees a black box. She opens it to a pair of gothic black leather boots.
"Hm, black leather; very utility like." She says, he takes one and opens his palm, he slams it on his palm, and from the Toe roll, a blade ejects from it. Surprising Wednesday.
"Hidden blade, much more convenient then a blade on your wrist like some assassin." He smiles, and Wednesday takes it.
"I can see you put much thought into this gift... Thank you." She says, and he gently nudged her.
"See? You can be nice."
"Me not acting upon the want to strangle you every day Is me being nice." She says, he just laughs and turns back to the burned ground. "Will you be seeing Eugene?" (Y/n) asks.
"Yes, i suppose it's the least I can do."
"Well, after that, since you obviously hate birthdays with people, why don't you and me celebrate? Alone together, maybe some cemetery with black roses, a picnic, maybe read some Edgar Allen Poe, or dig up graves, whatever you're feeling." He says, Wednesday never heard such a better night to spend. It almost made her smirk, but her lip quivers just slightly.
"While that seems Dreadfully Pleasant, i believe you and I know there are more pressing matters at hand then some picnic date. There's a murderer around and I plan on finding out who." She says. (y/n) looks obviously upset, but puts it to the side.
"You're right, sorry about that." He says, he senses Wednesday leave; and he just lets out a sigh of sadness.
"I haven't always been against birthdays. Each one reminds me I'm a year closer to death's cold embrace. What's not to like about that? Besides, my parents always made sure my birthdays were memorable." Wednesday said, remembering a her 10th birthday, where with a piñata, she knocked it open to live spider crawling out, absolutely terrifying the other children.
Wednesday is inside the Hospital checking on Eugene.
"But now parties and presents and games, it... it all feels so trivial. Goody warned me I was destined to be alone, and that I would be sorry for it." she says, someone clears their throat behind her and she turns and rose up to see Dr Kinbott, her therapist.
"Dr. Kinbott." Wednesday said, and she smiles, holding a bouquet of pale roses.
"I haven't seen you since our session with your family, which was... certainly one I won't forget. How are things with them?"
"My mother and I spent some quality time together. Got our hands dirty."
"Gardening?"
"Grave-digging."
"Hmm."
"And I managed to keep my father out of prison. What brings you here?"
"Eugene's moms, I'm working with them. Trauma like this leaves emotional scars on the whole family. They had to head home for a few days, so I promised I'd check in on him."
"I'll leave you to it." Wednesday prepares to leave, but Kinbott asks.
"Who's Goody?" she asks, Wednesday, halting in her tracks turns to face her, "She's a very distant cousin. Very distant."
"Sounds like she doesn't see you for who you really are."
"She sees more than you know. I want to assure you I remain as cold and heartless as the first day we met."
"I doubt a cold, heartless person would be sitting by her friend's bedside feeling guilt for his condition."
"I didn't ask for a free session."
"Consider it my birthday gift." Kinbott replies before Wednesday left. She decided to return to the cafe to sit and read a book on pilgrims, trying to find any information on Crackstone. Her reading was interrupted by a cup being gingerly placed on the table, which read "Happy Birthday" in the foam. Tyler sat across from her:
"I know you're usually a quad kind of girl, but I've been working on that all week."
"Birthday, yes. Happy, never. Is there anyone Thing didn't tell?"
"Well, who do you think delivered the cake? Yeah, I went with the 98% dark chocolate ganache knowing your... preferred color palette. Oh, is that, uh... that Enid's gift?" Tyler asks, seeing the Snood next to Wednesday.
"It's perfect if you're fleeing a war-torn country on foot."
"Come on. Don't you like a day that's all about you?"
"Every day is all about me. This one just comes with cake and a bad song."
"So, if I asked you out to a non-birthday, song-free dinner... would that be something you're interested in?" Tyler says smiling, and Wednesday looks at him, a hint of disconnect in her eyes.
"I have a tight deadline. Emphasis on dead."
"Term paper?" Tyler said.
"It's about how whitewashing the sins of our past will come back to kill us all."
"Oh..." he replies, Wednesday slides him a drawing of a gate.
"Have you seen that before? Uh... What's that supposed to be?"
"Never mind."
"Okay, did... did I do something? I just feel like you've kind of been ghosting me. Am I wrong?" he asks, Wednesday never had a response to it, just silence.
"Guess I got my answer." Tyler replies, he stands up to keep working when his father enters.
"That threat burned onto the lawn at school, it's also etched on the wall inside Crackstone's crypt." Wednesday said to him.
"Don't tell me you've been digging up more bodies."
"There's a connection there. I know it."
"I'll put out an APB on the dead pilgrim."
"I figured since you no longer have an old vendetta to obsess over, you're free to solve some real crime."
"Your father and I buried the hatchet. Maybe you should do the same."
"I don't bury hatchets. I sharpen them."
Xavier was within his studio, painting. Wednesday enters.
"I need your help. Don't gloat." She says, Wednesday hands him the photo as well.
"What, do you want some drawing lessons? Your line work's a little shaky. I saw that in a vision."
"Do you recognize it?" She asks, Xavier shows Wednesday a much more well done drawing, amazing.
"When did you draw this?"
"Couple days ago. I started having those dreams again, like before, it was bad one, (Y/n) helped me talk it through."
"Was the monster in them?"
"No, but I could feel it in the shadows. You know, kind of lurking in my mind."
"You know where this is? Yeah. It's the old Gates mansion. I pass it when I go running. Why?" He asks, before an answer could be given, a covered painting drops down, which was of Wednesday during her cello session. Beautifully drawn in black. Wednesday just looks at it, the beauty of it.
"Okay. Listen... After the dance, I just wanted to forget about you, but I couldn't. So I started painting and that's what came out. I can hear you up there playing." Xavier raises his hand to it, and the painting begins moving, playing "Cello Concerto in E minor" by Elgar.
"I can tell how you get lost in the music. I feel like it's the only time I get to see the real you." Xavier said, and Wednesday for a moment was truly mesmerized by it all.
(Y/n) sits down in Weems office, who is less than enthusiastic to see him there.
"Now, Mister Healy. As my job as Headmaster, I must ensure the safety of all Nevermore students, you included within that, especially due to your.. circumstances." She begins.
"Im Blind, Not Handicapped, I can take care of myself, I'm not weak willed."
"Your will seems to deteriorate when it comes to Miss Addams." weems responds coldly, (Y/n)'a attitude softens up a bit. Weems sighs and leans in a bit.
"I understand your.. Feelings towards her, Remember i was your age at a time. I knew how hormones and emotions can drive us to do, foolish things. But I'm telling you, sometimes it's best to stay away from someone. As the term goes "Let sleeping dogs lie." Mister Healy, for you own good." Weems says, and (Y/n) scoffed.
"The last time I checked my mom wasn't a shape shifter, you may be the principal but you cannot control who i can or cannot see. I'll keep seeing Miss Addams as much as i want."
"You mean as much as She wants. You mean, she can just as easily toss you to the wayside as quickly as you entered her existence.” Weems replies, but she shrugs.
"I suppose puppy love cannot he avoided.
"I am not in love with her!" (Y/n) retorts, getting annoyed.
"Your emotional outburst says otherwise. Let me tell something, why I brought you to this. The Mayor was hit in a hit and run an hour ago, and Miss Addams was in the back of his vehicle when the incident happened. She's fine, someone getting hit by a car? Was probably on her Bucket list. Wednesday is a Black cat, dragging misery and despair at her wake. Just try not to get caught up in it." Weems says, "You're dismissed.", (Y/n) was actually at a loss of words, he stood up and left. He steps out of her office and turns to the window and can just barely sense via the reflecting sound waves, the window which stood before Wednesday and Enids dorm.
"(Y/n)" a voice says which scares him, he turns around to Wednesday.
"Jumpy?" She asks, he tries to laugh it off.
"Something like that Heh.. so, what have you been up to?" He asks.
"Scratching off my bucket list." She said, there was an awkward silence until Wednesday said something, off.
"Your offer, I've.. reconsidered it." She says a bit reluctantly and (Y/n) smiles.
"Great, so, lovely cemetery? 8? He asks. Wednesday keeps her stare at his smile, almost as if she's transfixed on it. "But, you can't go off of school grounds, can you?" He adds in, a bit disappointed.
"I have that covered." She says. After Wednesday was brought back, she decided to reconsider Tyler's plans as well, and Enids. She enters her dorm room and immediately begins.
"I've been thinking about my less-than-enthusiastic response to your surprise soirée. And I must admit, I regret not showing my gratitude towards you more appropriately."
"You really mean it?"
"Take the win, Enid. If only there were a way for us to get off campus and have a little birthday redo. Just two best friends. Too bad the school is on lockdown. Would you look at that full moon..."
"Oh, how about I say I'm about to wolf out and get a pass to the lupin cages? And say you volunteered to lock me in!"
"My deviousness has finally rubbed off on you. Good."
"Oh, we should wear our snoods!"
"Oh, I... I believe I left mine at fencing."
"Actually, you left yours at the Weathervane. Luckily, Bianca brought it back." Enid hands Wednesday her Snood, much to the disgust of Wednesday.
"Like a monkey's paw." She says.
Night Falls and (Y/n) sneaks out of his room and outside Nevermore. Taking a few cautious steps, he stops abruptly, as he senses something next to him. He turns left to a red car.
"Can I.. help you?" He says, and Tyler awkwardly laughs.
"Sorry I was, waiting for Wednesday."
"... Why?"
"Let's go." Tyler and (Y/n) jump as Wednesday appears in the passenger.
"Uh... Uh... Hi. Nice to see you too." He says, Enid then arrives, getting in the car.
"Wait, he's our Uber driver?"
"Uber driver? I thought we were going on a date."
"Date?" (Y/n) Said, obviously shocked.
"I thought this was a girls' night out." Enid says to Wednesday who stares forward.
"There's been a change of plans."
"What's up with the weird matching hoodie scarf things?"
"Don't ask. Just drive. Get in." Wednesday says to (Y/n), as he soon begins to realize he's been duped, but if Enid is going he is too. He gets in the back seat with Enid, absolutely fuming. They drive to the Gates Manor, and Stand before the gate.
"Seriously, you wanna go in there? This place is creepy AF." Enid says, obviously not up for this
"I know." Wednesday said.
"So you lied to me about the date..." (Y/n)'s voice wasn't the suave heroic or the gentle sweetheart, it was angry, betrayed, sad.
"I didn't want to celebrate my birthday by going to dinner or a surprise party. I want to do this."
"Then you shoulda just said so. You didn't have to trick us." Tyler says, and Wednesday turns to him.
"If you want to go, you can. I'm going to go check out the garage." She unlocks the gate and enters, Enid follows and (Y/n) does, silently. They reach the front of the old manor and left to the garage doors which don't open.
"Let me try." Tyler says, he attempts were futile as well, (Y/n) walks up. "Move." He says, Tyler steps back and (Y/n) grips the handle of the door and yanks, somehow with absolutely monstrous strength he tears the garage door off its hinges and drops it on the ground with a loud boom. He turns to Wednesday.
"Let's get this over with." He said and they entered the building. It was dim with blood red lights inside, but what was most shocking, was a blue Cadillac inside.
"This hit the mayor." Wednesday said.
"Okay. This just took a dark turn. We need to call Tyler's dad right freaking now." Enid says, growing in worry.
"Why? So he can take me back to Nevermore and get me expelled? It's not gonna happen." Wednesday continues forward and they reluctantly follow.
"This is the night I'm gonna die." Tyler says sadly,
Enid was whimpering quietly, (Y/n) felt her grasp his arm tingly and he keeps her close. They enter the living room and to the main part of the home, before a fire place in as a painting.
"Here they are. The Gates family. They scrub up well for psychopaths. There's Garrett, his outcast-hating father, Ansel, and you must be Laurel. They're all long gone. So the question is, why did Goody lead me here?"
"Seen enough?" Tyler asked, and Wednesday continues to look, noticing that two engravings in slight pillars on the wall don't seem the same, she presses against one and it moves, the sound of interlocking mechanisms echo in the house and the painting comes don't into a latch, revealing a mural to Crackstone.
"Who doesn't have a spooky built-in altar in their family library?" Tyler said looking at it with the flashlight.
"Ours is in the living room. More seating for year-long Dia de los Muertos." Wednesday says, Enid whimpers harder and squeezes (Y/n) like a stuffed teddy bear, Wednesday turns around and sees them, a hint of, anger washes over her and she turns back to investigate and notes burned candles, and the warmth from their put out stems.
"They're still warm. (Y/n), Tyler, you two check the rest of the ground floor. Enid and I will search upstairs."
"We will?" enid says looking at Wednesday, she desperately looks at (Y/n).
"It'll be fine, just do what she says so we can leave, if you get scared I'll be Downstairs for you." He says, she hugs him tightly and lets go. Enid and Wednesday head upstairs and (Y/n) walks off.
"Uh.. don't you want a flashlight?" Tyler asks, "What for?" He asks, "You know so you can see beeee.. tter..." Tyler said as his voice began to drone on as he realizes his mistakes.
"No... I don't think I'll need a flashlight”, he snaps back and heads to the Kitchen. Upstairs, Wednesday and Enid reach a splitting hallway.
"All right, you go left, I go right." Wednesday said.
"You seriously want to split up? In here? That is literally how every best friend dies in a horror movie."
"The faster we search, the sooner you can leave." Wednesday said, before Enid walked off.
"Why am I even here? I know what my mom would say. "Enid, you're a doormat." "You're too needy." "Show some teeth. Nobody likes a desperate little furball." Shut up, Mom. Get out of my head!" Enid yells, downstairs under her, (Y/n) is looking though the cabinets. Empty, he turns on the water and sees it runs.
"Hm..." he says, he kneels down past the sink and opens it to reveal basic boxes of things but a matchbox. He picks it up and sniffs it. "red phosphorus and antimony sulfide.." he said. Feels.. burned, someone used it.. Wednesday was right someone was down here.. Shit. Tyler cmere.." he said and there's silence.. "Tyler? Tyler!" He yells and hears growling, something dripping on the floor. He enters the living room and tries to sense the origin of the sound and looks, horrified.
"Oh... Shit."
Upstairs Wednesday and Enid begin to head downstairs before the shadow of the monster was downstairs.
"Enid! Wednesday! Run!" (Y/n) yells, they bolt back up as the monster comes upstairs.
"The dumbwaiter. Go!" Wednesday and Enid hide inside and shut it tight. It was silence before it scratched the metal plate, scaring both girls.
"Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God!" Enid looks terrified, the monster slowly creeps closer to the dumbwaiter, before (Y/n) comes and leaps on his back, using his cane to strangle it.
"GO RUN! GET ENID OUT OF HERE!" He yells, the beast screams and tries to grab him, he backs (Y/n) into a wall, slamming him and forcing the dumb waiters rope to snap. and drop the girls down the chute, they crash into the badement and they hear fighting. (Y/n) ducks and rolls from the beast, he grabs dust with his hand and clenches it.
"Go dtuga Belenus Tóirse d'anam!" He yells, he blows the dust which somehow turn into flames!
"May Belenus Tourch your soul!"
The flames hit the beast and makes it spiral out of control. Enid and Wednesday rush around. They reach an exit and Wednesday actually looks around, and sees it's hard fill of severed limbs.
"What are you doing?!" Enid yells.
"These are the body parts from the monster's victims." Wednesday said, they hear something being slammed hard against the wall, monster crawls down the stairs and Wednesday luckily escapes out a window with Enid who storms off.
"You okay?"
"Since when do you care?" She says and walks back.
"Where are you going?" Wednesday said.
"(Y/n)! He's still in there." They step back to the front and see a trail of blood, they follow it to see (Y/n) leaning against a tree, a deep wound in his side. Tyler Is there with a small burn on his arm. Wednesday quickly rushes to his side.
"You're hurt." She says and for a moment, a look of guilt washes over (Y/n) who's being helped by Tyler up. A rag was offered, suddenly by Xavier who, conveniently was there.
"Where'd you come from?"
"Here. Take this." he says and pushes the warm rag into (Y/n)'a back who has muffled yells of pain. Enid looks like she's about to cry. And Wednesday realizes that this is all her fault, blue and red lights flash in the distance. The police arrive, seemingly from an anonymous tip. But when they enter the garage or basement, it's all gone. Everything is, like it never even existed.
...
"You directly violated my explicit order and left campus during a lockdown. Not to mention putting your peers and yourself in danger." Weems stands before Wednesday, who can only watch as Weems fumes. (Y/n), Tyler and Enid almost murdered; breaking and entering. All of this from Wednesday herself.
"Which is grounds for expulsion. I know. And you have every right to exercise that option. I do believe it would be a grave error on your part."
"I think contrition might be in order right now, Miss Addams. Not hubris."
"I'll never apologize for trying to uncover a truth." Wednesday shows a competed photo, of a pilgrim and woman seemingly facing off.
"What is this?" Weems asks.
"It's a warning from Rowan. Is this why he tried to kill you?"
"His mother drew it before she died. Said I was destined to destroy the school. But I think I'm meant to save it. Now you know what's at stake. Everything you vowed to protect, no less. I think I deserve another chance...Please." Wednesday asks, and as angry as weems is, this seems. Truthful.
"One more infraction... One more step out of line and you will be expelled. No ifs, no buts."
"(Y/n), Enid and Xavier are spared as well—"
"And no more negotiation! Good night." Weems leaves, and Wednesday returns back to her dorm, (Y/n) winces in pain as Enid sighs.
"Sorry! Sorry!" She says and cleans the claw mark on his back.
"It's fine, I'm okay.. I just need some sleep." He says laughing a bit, trying to convince Enid he's okay, but the pain his killing him. Wednesday walks over, arms folded.
"Are you alight?" Wednesday asked, and (Y/n) just shook his head.
"Dont act like you care." He responds coldly.
"You're being dramatic—"
"Just, Shut up!" He yells; he stands up, limping a bit, Enid tries to help him but he shakes his head. He walks over to Enid, boiling with rage.
"First, you lie about wanting to go on a date with me, you then drag me and Enid to some haunted murder house to fuel your own investigation! I told you our deal and you broke it! You could have gotten Enid killed!"
"Deal?" Enid asks, and (Y/n) scoffs.
"Yeah, the deal was that as long as she never put you in this investigation I'd help her, but you broke it! You dragged us to that place with that monster! Something could have happened to Enid! To you.. I wouldn't forgive myself if you got hurt, but you wouldn't say the same for me."
"(Y/n)—" Wednesday began but he cuts her off again.
"No! You don't give a shit about anyone but yourself! You'll lie, manipulate and use anyone to get what you want. All the time we spent together, the times you helped me, did you actually care about me or was that just to manipulate me into helping you?" He said, Wednesday, could only be silent, he scoffs again and limps to the door.
"Guess I got my answer, glad to know how you really feel about me now... now, I refuse to be some pawn in your game." He leaves; slamming the door as Wednesday watches, Enid gets up and begins to pack.
"Where are you going?"
"Yoko's room. Thornhill said I could crash there for a few nights."
"There's no need. I spoke with Weems. You, (Y/n) and Xavier won't be punished."
"Am I supposed to thank you?"
"I already apologized. It's over."
"Over? Tonight was the icing on the birthday cake you couldn't even be bothered to cut. You'll use anyone to get what you want, even if it means putting them in danger. We could have died tonight because of your stupid obsession!"
"But we didn't. And now I'm one step closer to solving this case. That is what is important."
"I've tried really, really, really hard to be your friend. Always put myself out there. Thought of your feelings. Told people, "I know she gives off serial killer vibes, but she's just shy."
"I never asked you to do that—"
"You didn't have to because that's what friends do! They don't have to be asked. The fact that you don't know that says everything. You want to be alone, Wednesday? Be alone!" Enid, rightfully angry leaves with a bag. Wednesday is alone, Goody accurately predicting what happened. Wednesday sits against the window, contemplating wether what she did was truly right.
"Goody warned I was destined to be push everyone away, to be alone. Maybe it's inevitable. But for the first time in my life, it doesn't feel good. There's also something else. A gnawing feeling. That death is close at hand. Watching me. But I won't be intimidated. And I will never give up. That house. That family. Crackstone. The monster. Somehow me. We all seem to be connected like a spider's web. And when Mayor Walker got too close to the truth, he was silenced. But I won't be. So whoever's watching me, know this. I will find you.
#netflix#male reader#reader insert#wedensday x you#wednesday x reader#wednesday#wednesday addams x male reader#wednesday addams x reader#enid sinclair#fluff#angst#blind character
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if tbv!jk had been in oc position and she was the one in a coma, would he have ever moved on? he’s so he’ll bound on her betraying him but he wasn’t thought about her having to see him almost dead everyday for years and the possibility of him never waking up. so it just makes me wonder would he have stayed by her hospital bedside for entreaty like he expected her to or would he have lost all hope like she did and thought moving on would be a way for him to heal?
Hi!!
First of all, your ask has been sitting in my inbox for two months straight and I’m so, so sorry for that!! Thank you for sending it in, even though I haven’t answered it in forever it is a very valid question;
TBV couple have been together since they were teenagers, they moved very quickly with their relationship because both of them were sure there was no one else for them. Throughout the whole story you can see him mentioning their vows, kind of even blaming MC for her actions because, in his mind, he would never do that. (Sidenote: there is a drabble coming for TBV from JK's perspective where he indulges in the thought/your question more, so keep your eye out for that!)
For him, it’s very hard to understand her POV, and he even refuses to do so to some extent.
For him ‘til’ death do us part’ was literal, and as long as his heart continues to beat everything else is reduced to excuses.
His complete devotion/obsession is seen here “My wife doesn’t even care I wish I’d be dead, then live with the knowledge that she’s sleeping in someone else’s arms, living the perfect life we promised each other”, where he very brutally blames MC for her betrayal.
Fragments of his mindset can also be seen here, "The past week had been excruciating, he was alone in your home, in the place he should’ve felt the safest at. But void overtook his mind, coldness seeped under his skin, and he felt like he’s back in the cage he barely escaped from. No matter how high he turned on the heating, his body was shivering from cold, and he awaited the day his body would freeze, and the pain would go away. Death seemed like an escape."
He took their vows seriously, and MC did as well, but the human factor of seeing your spouse unresponsive and basically gone for years on end did its own toll on her, just as it would to almost everyone. She was miserable for a long time, and homegirl just wanted to feel happy again 🤷🏼♀️
Everyone was so divided on who’s in the right in TBV, so gotta love some standing up for MC 🫡
Thank you for the ask, hun! Again, I’m sorry for leaving it for so long, but it is/was a really good question! Hope I managed to answer it!
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A Bittersweet Farewell
(A Woven Souls Snippet)
Aboard the Misery, Carvallain leaned over the rail, grinning at the Scions. “Honored guests! Say your farewells, for the moment of our parting draws nigh! A fair wind blows, and I mean to follow it!”
Alisaie sighed, rubbing her hand over her arm. “It would seem our ship is set to sail,” she said to Urianger, who gave her a compassionate smile “Pray give my regards to Thancred and the others. And… take care.”
“I do promise thee, my lady,” Urianger replied, offering her a slight bow.
Kal’istae smiled at the interchange between the two, amused, and took one last glance back at the rocky spires of Limsa Lominsa. She almost turned back to the ship when a familiar figure caught her eye. One hand raised in entreaty and she blinked, then frowned. “Tell Carvallain I will be aboard shortly,” she told Alisaie, who gaped after her as she slipped across the docks, winding her way through the cargo.
“Kali!” Alisaie called, but when the Au Ra waved her off, Lyse caught at her arm, tugging her towards the ship. “Damn it. She’d better not get left behind.”
Lyse snorted as she hauled Alisaie towards the gangway. “Do you really believe we’d leave behind the whole reason we’re going to Doma in the first place?” she asked . “Come on, she probably saw one of her adventurer friends or something. She’ll be fine; she’s never late.”
Alisaie knew it, but still glanced over her shoulder, watching as Kal’istae slipped behind a pile of crates waiting to be loaded onto one of the nearby ships. Once the Warrior was out of sight, she sighed again and allowed Lyse to drag her up the gangway and onto the deck of the ship.
Kal’istae was aware of Alisaie’s eyes on her, but ignored the red mage in favor of the mystery ahead of her. As she slipped behind the crates, she opened her mouth to speak, only to find it covered by a wide, calloused hand. Gazing up into Thancred’s single dark eye, she obeyed the silent signal he gave by pressing his finger over his lips.
They stood in silence for several heartbeats, gazing into one another’s eyes, before he lowered his hand, exhaling. “I just wanted to be sure none of the others followed you.”
“Why? Urianger told us you stayed back in the Rising Stones,” Kal’istae replied, still frowning as she gazed up at him. “Why hide?”
Thancred eased back, leaning against the crate behind him with a grunt. “Urianger thinks I did. I didn’t want anyone else to know I was here; there’d be all these questions and goodbyes and the lot and I didn’t want to deal with it. But I was hardly going to let you go traipsing off on a two-month ship ride without one last goodbye.”
Her eyebrows speared upwards. “And why is it so important that you say goodbye to me, without the others knowing?” she murmured.
“You know the answer to that,” came the rogue’s soft reply, and unaccountably, she blushed, ducking her head to hide the sudden flush that turned her indigo cheeks violet. “My lady, there is no time. No time to talk, to say that which I feel needs be said between us. The pirate will not wait forever. But I will,” he added softly, and she raised her head to meet that single dark eye, the intensity of his gaze increasing her blushes. “Come back, Kali. Come back whole, and hale, and healthy, that we may speak of things long overdue.”
Swallowing, Kal’istae twisted her fingers together. “I have no intention of doing otherwise.”
His sudden smile, slight though it was, twisted wryly. “You never do, and yet, circumstances so often demand otherwise.” Sighing, he reached out, snagging her hands and pulling them apart to draw one to his lips. “Godsspeed, my dear Kal’istae,” he whispered against her knuckles. “And fair winds to take you there and bring you back to me once more.”
She gazed up at him mutely and they stared at one another, caught in a tableau. Finally, she broke it, drawing her fingers gently from his grasp. Before he could do more than sigh, however, she reached up with both hands to frame his face. “Take care yourself, dear Thancred,” she murmured. “I know that though I journey into the unknown, you journey into certain danger. I will be most put out should I return home and you do not.”
“There is naught on this world that could keep me from returning to your side,” Thancred murmured, raising his hands to cover hers.
She could hear the impatient shouts from Alisaie and Lyse and gave a soft curse. “I will be back,” she promised him, and, greatly daring, leaned in, rising up on the tips of her toes to press a hard, fast kiss to his mouth. Doing her best to ignore the lightning that seared her lips and raced down her spine, she tore herself away from him, whirling.
“Kali!” he called out, and she halted mid-step, half-turning back towards him. His mouth worked, but he couldn’t seem to say anything more. She gave him a slight smile, then started to turn away again. Abruptly, he managed to gasp out, “I’ll miss you.”
Raising her hand to her breastbone, she squeezed her eyes shut. “I’ll miss you too,” she replied, then dashed away, leaving him to stare after her with an expression caught halfway between pleasure and concern.
And he waited, hiding in the shadows, watching as the Misery slowly pulled out of port. It was not until the ship was long out of sight before he finally extracted himself from his perch and made his way from the city, and from there, to Garlemald, to his own duties.
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December 20th
pairing: Pero Tovar x reader
warnings: angst then fluff!
words: 994
a/n: more of Pero set in the vague past, lots of tears lol. Candle light/oblivious idiots/tears prompt from @toomanystoriessolittletime's winter writing challenge ❄️
more Pero, Full List
🌨️🌨️🌨️
When you found out Pero was leaving, you spent the whole rest of the day in your room, burying your face in your thick woolen blankets and crying. You couldn’t imagine life without him in your tiny little village tucked into the mountains. For the past six months, he had been boarding at your brother’s farm where you lived, helping with the planting and the harvest. And for the past six months, despite your best intentions, you had been falling in love with him. But now he was leaving.
Your sister-in-law, Jane, came in the room to make sure you were alright to come to supper, and sat up to see her. You had finished crying a while before, but at the sight of her sympathetic face, you lost it all over again.
“Oh, honey,” Jane said as she sat by your side, pulling you into a hug.
“I just— I didn’t think he would leave! I thought— I thought he would stay and— and we could— we could…” you trailed off, not wanting to voice your hopes and dreams for him and you.
“I know, sweetie,” Jane murmured, rubbing up and down your back. After a minute she pulled back and looked you in the eye, “Do you maybe want to talk to him? Tell him how you—?”
“I can’t! What’s the point? He’s leaving and he’d reject me either way. He wouldn’t be leaving if he felt the same way, because I would– never— leave— him!” you burst into another fit of sobs and crumpled against Jane again.
Jane sighed and just soothed you, wondering how on earth she’d be able to get both you and Pero to admit your feelings to each other.
___
The next day you saw Pero for the first time since his announcement. You ducked your head, hoping he wouldn’t notice your puffy and bloodshot eyes and also that you wouldn’t cry again.
“Did Jane tell you she and your brother will be gone until late this night?” Pero asked you, voice quiet and gruff.
You nodded, “Yes, the market. I, um, I can make supper for just the two of us tonight.”
The thought of what supper for just the two of you would mean in a different context sent a stab through your heart and you stood up quickly from the table, making quick excuses and hurrying back to your room, too quick to hear the soft entreaty of “querida” that followed you.
___
Hours later, you served Pero and yourself supper, eating by candlelight instead of gas lamps since it was just the two of you and you didn’t need it as bright.
The meal was awkward, almost completely silent. Anytime Pero tried to ask you a question, you answered with just one word, not trusting yourself to say more without bursting into tears.
You made it through almost the entire meal without looking at him. Even less so when you realized that every time you did look at him, he was looking at you.
Afterwards, you went to the water basin to start washing the dishes. Pero came over to help dry, a sweet gesture that made your chest ache.
Minutes of more silence went by before Pero finally said, “I wish you did not hate me.”
You turned to him quickly, “I don’t hate you. I l– I don’t hate you Pero.”
“Then why do you not look at me anymore? Not talk to me in the way you always have?” he asked, searching your eyes.
You wanted to look away, but his deep brown eyes were too compelling and you couldn’t. “I suppose I am preparing for when you leave us. You won’t be there for me to look at or talk to then.”
“I see,” Pero said quietly, switching his attention back to the task at hand. Only when you had resigned yourself to being heartbroken forever, feeling the pinpricks of tears in your eyes, did he speak again. “Then I will have to stay.”
“You what?” you asked him breathlessly, scrutinizing his face for even a hint of a lie or joke.
“I will have to stay, querida. Because I cannot survive one more day— one more minute without your beautiful eyes upon me, without your gorgeous smile cast my way, without hearing all of your clever thoughts,” he told you sincerely. You couldn’t move, couldn’t blink, just trying to process what he was saying. “In all honesty, I cannot let one more second pass before I tell you that I love you.”
“You— you what?” you asked, completely unable to believe your ears.
“I love you, querida. And I hope against hope that you may feel even a fraction of the same,” Pero said, brushing his fingers over your cheek.
After five seconds of heavy breathing, you exclaimed, “Oh, I do! Pero, I love you, I do!”
And then you threw yourself at him, kissing him before he even knew what you were doing. Your arms wrapped around his neck and his came to your waist, holding you tight as you lost some of your balance from kissing him so hard.
Pero reciprocated the kiss in turn and you would’ve taken him right there on the kitchen floor had Jane and your brother not arrived. The two of you broke apart reluctantly but sheepishly and you turned back to the dishes to distract yourself.
When you next had something to say to Pero, able to now without the knowledge of him leaving pervading every thought, you turned to him and saw something on his collar. It was water droplets and you realized that the darker part was not the design of the fabric but the water you had had on your hands when you kissed him.
When Pero looked at you expectantly, you said, “Um, your shirt is wet.”
Pero chuckled, eyes shining with mirth and what you thought you now recognized as love, “Yes, I know, querida.”
🌨️🌨️🌨️
#pero tovar#pero tovar x reader#fluff#angst#blurb#snowy fics 23#nobedofroses#stephswinterwritingchallenge
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What are Miquella's favorite games to play?
In terms of table games, Miquella adores strategy games. I imagine that, alongside chess, the Lands Between probably has a few primitive style tabletop games (like senet) and card games he likes to play with Malenia. I'm halfway tempted to say that he and Malenia have also invented a prototype DnD-style tabletop game, complete with dice and equations. The kid loves equations.
At the very least, Malenia and Miquella have invented fantasy 'jenga', and they play it all the time with Finlay and Loretta. Loretta has infuriatingly steady hands and has never had a tower collapse on her. Finlay accuses her of cheating every single time. Finlay is also a klutz who often ends up with a lap full of wooden blocks.
In terms of imagination games, don't let Miquella's serene, adult-like demeanor in public fool you; in private, he's still down for exploring and playing pretend. What Malenia and Loretta will call 'examining the structural integrity of Elphael and Haligtree Town' really means scaling the trees and crossing over branches like balancing beams. What Malenia calls 'strategic planning' is Miquella pretending to be an Tree Sentinel while Malenia throws on a blanket and takes on the role of either a Putrid Tree Spirit or a beast of the void.
Don't think Malenia resents this, either; she finds joy in spending time with her elder brother, and she herself isn't going to turn down climbing trees or drawing imaginary cities with her elder brother. Just because he's brilliant and wise beyond his physical age doesn't negate the fact that he has the body and brain of a child, and playtime is necessary.
(PS: Malenia and Miquella take turns reading each other bedtime stories...albeit 'intellectually' stimulating ones. Miquella prefers fantasy and philosophy and Malenia prefers adventure and romance. Both adore mystery novels.)
#golden abundance and scarlet decay (headcanons)#about the rot goddess (malenia)#about the abundance god (miquella)#answered entreaties (asks)
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(Different anon from the one who asked the previous ask)
Expanding on the "finding the scary farmer passed out in a pond" prompt, how would the SVE bachelor/bachelorettes react to that? Plus Marlon if you want, because even though he's not a marriage candidate, I still love him a lot-
Hey hey 👋
I've... already done quite a few reblogs, so the post got lost 😅 (If anyone doesn't know for the first part, you can find it here). Thanks for the question, dear anon, and enjoy! 🫰
SVE bachelors/ettes + Marlon:
_________________________________________
Lance knows they may both be busy with work and adventurer duties, but Farmer said they'd be home today. They aren't. Finding his spouse wasn't difficult for Lance, but his heart trembled a little when he saw the state in which he caught sight of his beloved Farmer. Fortunately, the sudden awakening and outburst of aggression Lance was able to easily stop, but even though he seemed calm on the outside, inside his heart was pounding with worry. The most important thing now was to get them from this strange pond to their home, to heal their wounds.
Magnus is already checking the whole forest looking for Farmer, because they always came home on time from the forest. Today it didn't happen, and his clairvoyance skills don't show the location of his missing spouse anywhere. Fortunately, he can always ask the spirits, and they showed him the way to the pond, where he found them lying wet and unconscious, in mud and... blood?! Even though they were wounded, even though they had attacked Magnus - the main thing was that they were alive, so with a snap of his fingers the Wizard delivered himself and the Farmer to his tower. He would help them, and if someone or something had done this to Farmer, then let them start praying to Yoba...
Poor Victor asked all the inhabitants, but no one had seen Farmer all day. Concerned about the fate of his missing spouse, he called all the volunteers to start a search. When the search moved from Pelican Town to the woods, Victor came across them about twenty minutes later. Yoba, what happened! Why are they lying on the ground near the pond, wet and dirty? Before Victor could check on their condition, he had to jump back so his own spouse wouldn't hurt him. The poor man is frightened, and still, he take the Farmer in his arms and call loudly for help so that the other people would find him by his voice.
Sophia has a bad feeling about this. The farmer should have been back at her house a long time ago. She shouldn't be worried at all, but it's a bad feeling, just like when her parents... The girl decided to turn to Gus after all, he had gathered some people to search. Sophia, despite Gus's entreaties to stay, went along with the group. And she was the first to find the Farmer near the pond, and it was her heartbreaking scream that rang through the forest when the farmer suddenly lunged at her. Luckily the girl was unhurt, but she couldn't stop crying as something bad had happened to her favourite person...
In addition to the locals, Olivia wanted to call in a search party outside the Valley. Some might say the woman was overly worried, but she had every reason to be. The Farmer wasn't answering thier phone, the locals hadn't seen them, the time was already midnight, and that scared her. Finding them scared her more. Olivia, despite people urging her to remain calm, immediately ran over to her unconscious spouse lying there, and immediately fell over herself in surprise as they got up and pounced on her. The farmer fell senseless again, as did Olivia herself, shocked and horrified. But at least they were alive.
Claire didn't know the Valley well, as she had only recently moved in with her spouse, but her anxiety made her go in search of them. Farmer had promised to come, but they had not returned, and her heart was still pounding frantically. And that pounding became even stronger, ringing in her ears, when she found them. In a shallow pond that looked more like a puddle. They were lying there, covered in mud and something red (not the blood, please...), not moving. And then they got up abruptly - and ran towards the girl, who couldn't even make a sound out of horror. But they fell right at her feet, and Claire felt like she was going to faint as well. But she had to gather her strength and call for help.
It was not the first time the old one-eyed adventurer had found the Farmer lying face down in the mud, but this time was different.... Never had they been so far away from a human settlement, unconscious beside a shallow pond in which you could still drown if you weren't careful. And their sudden attack on Marlon almost made him pull his sword out of its sheath. Something's not right here, Marlon's gut tells him.... So this time he takes them not to the local doctor, but to Rasmodius. Marlon hopes that the old wizard/his colleague will help the young Farmer, whatever happens to them.
#thanks for the ask!#sve#stardew valley expanded#sve lance#sve magnus#sdv wizard#sdv rasmodius#sve victor#sve olivia#sve claire#sve sophia#sdv marlon#sve headcanon
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Wip Whenever
Tagged by @impossible-rat-babies and @lilas tysm both 💜💜💜
Shadowbringers, only dialogue outline, Tuana and ratman are playing 6d chess mentally after the cave revelation. Some game dialogue before Kholusia happens right after Rak'tika because Tuana is smart and figured shit out early.
---
Tuana: You've said Hydaelyn sundered Zodiark, the star and all who dwelled upon it. You meant the people, didn't you? Their souls...
ES: Well well... You actually managed to get there all by yourself, hero. How very impressive. Before I answer your question, however, I would like to know how you've reached such a conclusion.
Tuana: Simple logic, oh you ancient mountain of wisdom? The density of an Ascian soul is not the same as a mortal one. We need a white auracite to put you down for good. How you managed not to get shattered, that's what i'd like to know.
ES: Very well, I'll give you this one. You did manage to impress me for once, after all. We escaped through the rift. Only three were fortunate enough to escape the sundering─me being one of them.
Tuana: ... The Paragons.
ES: A charming name your people give us, that's for sure.
Tuana: ...And the others?
ES: Why, their very beings were divided into fourteen, of course. Yet by our power, we unsundered Ascians may raise up one of their fragments to their original office. Ah, but I suppose this in itself bears explaining. So...the names by which you know us are not, in fact, our names.
Tuana: If not names then... Titles?
ES: Yes. Be it Elidibus or Lahabrea or Igeyorhm, all are titles of office. And when an office is vacated, it may be filled by another. Over the eons, I have overseen several changings of the guard among our sundered brethren. And in such instances, the vacant title ordinarily goes to another fragment of the selfsame soul.
Tuana: ...I shutter to think how such process works. And you're able to find these souls due to your talent, I assume?
ES: And thus my tireless work has been counted for naught. Combing through the millions to find a dozen is not an easy task, Hero. Even with the soul sight.
Tuana: Then why bother? Does it have to be those souls?
ES: Well, while it is by no means impossible to raise up wholly unrelated individuals, 'tis we whose fervent entreaties brought forth Lord Zodiark─whose souls He claimed in the beginning─who make the truest servants.
Tuana: The way you talk about Zodiark really is strange, you know that, don't you?
ES: I'm not here to put you at ease, my dear.
Tuana: Hah. Couldn't do it if you've tried- But let us not get distracted. So... Three unsundered, and eleven sundered Ascians.
ES: ...Eleven?
Tuana: I saw your little meeting room thanks to Nabriales. There were fourteen chambers, I'm sure of it. If three of you escaped the sundering...
ES: ....
Tuana: ....
ES: ... Ten. Ten sundered. Three unsundered. Though it would be two now since Lahabrea left the stage.
Tuana: But-
ES: ... Before we summoned Zodiark, there was... one among us who defied our decision. And left us. Defected. So her seat serves as a reminder. It will never be spoken and will never be remembered– save for her betrayal.
Tuana: Was she one of those 'naysayers' who summoned Hydaelyn?
ES: ...No. She was vehemently against any god that would be summoned.
Tuana: How refreshing to know there was one among you who hadn't lost it completely.
ES: Do you honestly think we did what we did because for what... kicks and laughs, hero? It's because we had to! We had a duty to save the star. And it's by Zodiark's grace that your miserable ilk dwells upon the star and its reflections. Meanwhile she kept insisting there was another way only to come empty handed every single time. If we had kept waiting for her to find a way, I assure you, there would be naught left to save.
Tuana: ...What did you sacrifice? To your God, I mean. You say you're telling the truth but I feel like you're omitting something. So I'm asking, what did you sacrifice?
ES: ....
Tuana: It's as I thought... Do you want to know what I think? Maybe you're right. Maybe she would've failed. Because it sounds to me like she was alone.
Tuana: And I too would rather be forgotten than to be remembered as a mass murderer.
ES: *slightly manic laughter*
ES: Of course you would think that.
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“Though I could not but suspect, I was still surprised to discover that they were a mass of correspondence—daily almost, it must have been—from Linton Heathcliff: answers to documents forwarded by her. The earlier dated were embarrassed and short; gradually, however, they expanded into copious love-letters, foolish, as the age of the writer rendered natural, yet with touches here and there which I thought were borrowed from a more experienced source. Some of them struck me as singularly odd compounds of ardour and flatness; commencing in strong feeling, and concluding in the affected, wordy style that a schoolboy might use to a fancied, incorporeal sweetheart.”
(Chapter 21)
“For shame! and you must have led the way in writing such absurdities: he would not have thought of beginning, I’m certain.’
‘I didn’t! I didn’t!’ sobbed Cathy, fit to break her heart. ‘I didn’t once think of loving him till—’
‘Loving!’ cried I, as scornfully as I could utter the word. ‘Loving! Did anybody ever hear the like! I might just as well talk of loving the miller who comes once a year to buy our corn. Pretty loving, indeed! and both times together you have seen Linton hardly four hours in your life! Now here is the babyish trash. I’m going with it to the library; and we’ll see what your father says to such loving.’
She sprang at her precious epistles, but I hold them above my head; and then she poured out further frantic entreaties that I would burn them—do anything rather than show them. And being really fully as much inclined to laugh as scold—for I esteemed it all girlish vanity—I at length relented in a measure, and asked ‘If I consent to burn them, will you promise faithfully neither to send nor receive a letter again, nor a book (for I perceive you have sent him books), nor locks of hair, nor rings, nor playthings?’
‘We don’t send playthings,’ cried Catherine, her pride overcoming her shame.
‘Nor anything at all, then, my lady?’ I said. ‘Unless you will, here I go.’
‘I promise, Ellen!’ she cried, catching my dress. ‘Oh, put them in the fire, do, do!’
But when I proceeded to open a place with the poker the sacrifice was too painful to be borne. She earnestly supplicated that I would spare her one or two.
‘One or two, Ellen, to keep for Linton’s sake!’
I unknotted the handkerchief, and commenced dropping them in from an angle, and the flame curled up the chimney.
‘I will have one, you cruel wretch!’ she screamed, darting her hand into the fire, and drawing forth some half-consumed fragments, at the expense of her fingers.
(Chapter 21)
(Italics mine)
I think we overlook how creepy it is that Cathy Linton essentially had her sexual awakening through letters dictated by Heathcliff.
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A wretched fate
Day 1 prompts: Daily life
For: @silmarillionepistolary
Rating: E
Character: Finrod
Epistolary format: Journal entries
Themes: Dead dove | Dark | Care/Comfort | Thrall! Finrod AU
Warnings: Captivity | Thralldom | Some violence | Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent | Major character death prior to the beginning of the story | Mentions of torture | Trauma | Werewolf feedings
Wordcount: 2.1K words
Summary: Finrod learns Edrahil is alive, and is able to have him placed in his care
A/n: This is part of an AU where Finrod falls to Sauron after their great duel of song, and his true identity is discovered.
Minors DNI | 18+
This is also available on AO3
Ingoldo Findaráto’s journal
3rd day of Hithui, Firith, year 375 of the First Age.— After much fear and indecision, I mustered my courage and decided to learn for myself what became of those who followed me. My captor revealed to me the fates of those loyal few who agreed to aid Beren and me on our quest to retrieve a Silmaril, and his words were more than my soul could bear.
Lord Mairon lied to us all. None of my companions were allowed to leave the isle. Beren had perished. He was used as food for the great beasts that I have not yet seen, beasts who are only spoken of in whispers. Of my own people, Edrahil was all who remained. I dare not reveal what became of the others; their ends were darker than that which befell the mortal who called on us for aid, and it grieves me deeply to think of how much they would have suffered until the great judge called them into his embrace. Still, I am no longer ignorant of what took place.
I will not lie when I say that Lord Mairon—for that is how we must all address him—did not relent to my entreaties so easily. My pleas, more often than not, were answered with sharp barbs and backhanded blows whenever he came to my chambers of a night, and I asked, yet again, what became of my companions. Nevertheless, I persevered, determined to learn the truth.
“You are relentless, my pet,” he observed one night after sating his needs. It took much flattery and—as much as it disgusts me to admit it—a great many pillow tricks before he finally loosened his tongue. “And your incessant pleading exhausts me greatly. Very well! I will tell you. But you must never ask such things from me again.”
He claimed he was weary, but the wicked gleam in his eyes said otherwise. I believe this was a ploy of his to weaken my spirit and make me more willing to please him. Perhaps his efforts were fruitful, and I was indeed slowly losing my resolve to defy him. Still, he told me all, and he told me Edrahil was still alive. He had been saving him for last, though why he did so, I cannot say. Despite my grief over hearing what became of the others, I still pleaded Edrahil’s case, using the flattery and tricks from before, and he acquiesced to placing my servant into my care.
“Consider this the first and only boon that you will receive from me,” said the missive that was sent to me along with Edrahil. “Do not ask for more from me, my pet, or else life on this isle will go far worse for both you and your servant if you do.
M”
A victory, no matter how small, is a victory all the same. And now Edrahil is abed, resting peacefully. I will tend to him as diligently as I can manage, for it is the least I could do after leading him and the others to such peril.
5th day of Hithui, Firith, year 465 of the First Age.—Lord Mairon is abroad, tending to the many tasks his master has set for him. I have some respite for once, for which I am most grateful.
Edrahil rarely stirs, save for when he is plagued with terrible visions of his time in the pits. He cries out in agony, and he cries out for the others, calling out their names and begging for them to be freed. I go to him, take his hand into mine, and comfort him. I sing to him ancient songs of healing. They soothe him a little, but I can see that they are not powerful enough to drive away the torment that has him in its grip. When he opens his eyes again, I will not press him to speak to me on such matters; Edrahil must tell such tales only when he feels he is strong enough to do so. And I pray that he will grow stronger, for he is near skin and bone. His fair hair, which oft reminded me of obsidian polished to a high sheen under starlight, is now brittle and turning bone-white. The soups and water I feed him keep him alive, but I fear that even I do not have the power to restore the luster to his hair or make strength return to his sinews. All I can do is hope that he can find in his heart to forgive me for all he has endured because of my own folly.
8th day of Hithui, Firith, year 465 of the First Age.— Lord Mairon has not yet returned, much to my relief. Tending to one such as him is a most terrible burden, and words cannot describe the true extent of what I must undergo each and every day. I will still write down some of my day-to-day life and what I have observed here in the isle that has now been renamed Tol-in-Gaurhoth, or Isle of Werewolves. They may prove useful someday.
A meal is brought to me just before dawn. It is always good, much like the rest of the meals sent to me. They may not be a king’s meals, but they fortify me all the same, and they are far superior to the thin gruel and unclean water often provided to the other thralls. I, too, am a lowly thrall despite whom I must serve; the golden collar with its brilliant jewel and chain are a visible sign of this. A poor substitute to the Nauglamír, it no longer chafes at me like it once did, but I digress; I will return to what I was writing before.
After my meal, I must bathe and dress in the simple white robes Lord Mairon gave me. The water they bring me is fresh and warm, and my robes are always washed. This is in accordance with Lord Mairon’s commands, as I, the one who must serve him in every way, must be clean, for I do more than fetch him his meals and serve him wine and garb him in his robes and jewels; I must satisfy his appetites for pleasures of the flesh as well. Before I fell to my new master, I had only ever envisioned indulging in such acts with the one I would someday come to love and call my own. Alas, such delights are lost to me now; they will be forever tainted by the memory of his embraces, how they oft left bruises on my skin whenever he touched me, and how he found delight in my tears. I must not dwell on such thoughts. To do so is to deprive myself of all hope. This, in turn, will sweeten Lord Mairon’s victory over me, and that is something I cannot allow.
I will admit that despite my station as a thrall, I have been given freedom to explore the fortress that I, and later, my beloved brother, once ruled as its lords. Additions have been made. Tol-in-Gaurhoth is a true stronghold now, with a thick curtain wall shielding it from attack. The trees along the shore have been cut down, and nothing but grass and stone and soil remain. The gardens are a shadow of what they used to be, and they are confined around the library and tower Lord Mairon uses for his own purposes. The werewolf pits adjoin the barracks, and the howls I hear of a night are like mournful dirges. The screams that follow are bloodcurdling, and they frighten Edrahil, making him shiver violently even while he sleeps. I close the windows and drape pelts over the shutters to dampen the sound; it is successful to some small degree, and Edrahil rests all the easier for it.
Orcs make up the chief of the warriors present, and they are the only ones allowed to tend to the wolf-like monsters Lord Mairon breeds on behalf of his lord. They feed these beasts flesh, and from the screams I hear at night, I fear this flesh does not come from bird or deer or boar. These orcs also spar every day at dawn and dusk, and their blades are dark, crude things, poorer imitations of the elegant blades their lord and those whom he trusts most explicitly wield. Still, they are doughty fighters, taking vicious cuts and blows from their challengers with little to no complaint. Or perhaps they do not complain because they are afraid. Lord Mairon does not take kindly to weakness in them, and those who do not pass muster are, for lack of a better term, culled in a brutal fashion before the others. His method is clever. Uncommonly cruel for even one such as him, but it is clever. It compels the others to learn faster and not falter. With each passing day, the number of those who fall grow less and less, and the numbers of those willing to fight and die for Lord Melkor’s cause grow more and more. I fear for the future, of the darkness that will follow in their footsteps. Unless the Valar intervenes on behalf of the peoples of Endórë, Lord Melkor will reign supreme over us all.
9th day of Hithui, Firith, year 465 of the First Age.— There is still no sighting of Lord Mairon, but his herald made it known that he was returning even as she spoke, and that a great feast was to be held on the night of his arrival. I shudder to think of what this could all entail, but I dare not seek Lady Thuringwethil out. She is a vampire—a mercurial one at that—and I am an elf who once drank from the dews of Telperion. Lord Mairon’s collar may keep me safe, but I must not vex her in any way. Blood from one such as myself is like an exceedingly rare, intoxicating wine for those such as her, and the frenzy she whips herself into while she is caught in the grip of satisfying her thirst is a most terrifying thing to behold.
“The master is returning,” the others cried, running to and fro. Hunters rode abroad for fresh game, and I set myself to the task of setting Lord Mairon’s chambers to rights. I laid fresh coal in the brazier, and I kept my eyes closed while I placed new pelts on his featherbed. It is something I have become quite skilled at, and it helps greatly not to gaze upon one of the many reminders of his treatment of me.
There was also some joy to be found, a sliver of light that pierced the darkness. Edrahil opened his eyes at last, which pleased me greatly. He did not speak, or even smile. It was a good sign still, and I grasped it with eager hands.
“You are awake,” I declared, and moved to his side, relieved. I sat by the edge of the featherbed and brushed my hand over his hair. “Are you hungry? They have not brought me my meal yet; I will share it with you when they do. Or would you like some water to drink first?”
Edrahil remained silent. He moved to rest his hand over mine, his eyes bloodshot and already wet with his tears. When I brushed my hand over his hair again, those tears fell freely.
“How could this have happened to us?” He cried, hiding his countenance from me. Was he ashamed? I prayed that he was not. “How were we so easily defeated? Forgive me, my lord, for not doing more to keep the others safe! I tried! Truly, I tried!”
All I could do was draw him into my embrace and comfort him. “Do not blame yourself for what happened to the others,” I said softly while he wept without restraint. “The fault is not yours. It was never yours. The fault lies with me, my lord, for leading you all to such a wretched fate.”
He wept still, and I did what I could to ease his agony: a tender word whispered here, a warm squeeze of the hand there, a sob that mirrored his own. He clutched desperately at my back while he wept, and I remained with him until he wept himself free of his tears.
“What will become of us, my lord?” He asked and looked around. My chambers were a shock to him; they were an immense improvement from the dark pits he once found himself in. I will have to explain what has become of me, the collar I must wear, and the master I must serve. I must also caution him to guard both his tongue and his thoughts. Lord Mairon sees and hears much, and his patience must never be tested.
“I do not know,” I confessed, “but I give you my word, I will find a way out for us.”
His worn, starlit eyes held neither anger nor malice. “I will have faith, my lord. I know you will find a way out for us both.”
#silmarillionepistolary#epistolary#the silmarillion#the silm fanfiction#Finrod#Thrall! Finrod#Edrahil#Mairon#dead dove do not eat
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