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madwomansapologist · 1 year

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You gave me your heart (I gave you mine) | Wanda Maximoff

synopsis: A prey. That's what you were, all this time. Just a sacrifice to a goddess you never even heard the name before. But who killed you should have realized that blood, that a heart, means more to a goddess than words of faith. [3K]

warnings: female!reader. Agatha Harkness/Reader stablished. dark. non-consensual intoxication. degradation. physical abuse. murder. a organ will be out of its body. smut. kinda of cnc.

It was easy to love Agatha. Almost effortless. Any mistakes you made were forgiven. It doesn't matter if you had said or done something wrong. All you had to do for her to love you was to stay beside her.

And it was so easy to be loved by her. She always did the right thing, said the right thing, thought the right thing. It was comfortable. So comfortable that a some point you just let you defenses down.

Of course it was to easy to be true.

Sitting on her bed, you tried to open the clasp on your heels. The tiredness added to the few drinks you took were enough to make it a hard task. "You said that you bought me a gift."

"Oh, darling. I didn't said that I bought you a gift." Agatha made you lay in bed. It was more rougher than it needed to be. All you wanted was to burn those high heels and sleep, but she didn't need to pushed you into bed. "But I will give you one."

Alcohol has prevented you from thinking clearly. It was just a few beers, you'd never get drunk on that alone. There was only one logical explanation for your state: there was something beyond. Maybe it was when you needed to use the restroom, or when you got distracted talking to someone else, maybe it was the bartender: there was something else on your beers. Something that prevented you from thinking clearly, acting clearly, speaking clearly.

"I just said that", you murmured. She laughed. And even your drunk being noticed it was mean. "What will you give me?"

Agatha walked around the bed and grabbed your hands away. "I will give you purpose. I will give meaning to your life. I will give you a glorious ending." Something cold made contact with them, something that stopped you from moving your arms. When you looked up you saw a purple energy arresting you. "You are hopeful. Kind. Naive. Perfect for her."

You just thought you really needed to sleep. Purple energy? You couldn't even find the right combination of words to describe it. It just look straight out of a movie. Damn, something was really wrong with your eyes. You tried to get up, but you couldn't move. "Agatha? I'm not feeling good right now."

"Don't humiliate yourself, little thing. Don't ask or beg for mercy." Agatha smirked. "Die with some dignity, huh?"

The room was lit by violet lights. Twisting around, you saw on each of the walls strange drawings glowed. Reason began to come back into your being, and you understood what it was: runes.

"Agatha." You were uncertain if you imagination was that fertile. "Let me go." She took a bunch of keys from her pocket and opened a drawer in her bedside table. From there, Agatha hold a rectangular leather case. It was pretty, and had lilac runes running the length of it. When she opened the clasp all the runes were gone, and you could see the brightness of the dagger inside the case. "I've said let me go!"

Agatha put the case down before raising her arm and slapping you across the face.

"You ungrateful bitch." She grabbed your hair, pulling hard as she slapped you again. "You should be honored that your pathetic filthy existence will be of any use. I was going to make this painless for you. But now? Ah, now you will suffer."

She sat on your waist. With your arms tied as well as your legs, the only thing you could do in an attempt to defend yourself was to twist your body and scream. But none of that stopped Agatha from taking the dagger from the box. None of that stopped her from studying the dagger's edge as if it were the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. And none of that stopped her from plunging the knife into your chest.

And you felt it all.

Every inch of your skin being torn apart. Your muscles ripping against the dagger. You heard she muttering words in an ancient language, but the pain was the only thing that mattered. It burned, it stung, it was as if hot coals had been thrown over your skin. And then came the emptiness. A real void. It was as if a hungry vortex had opened inside your body. Something was missing.

Agatha had your heart in her hands.

"This is my offering to you, Destroyer of Worlds." Agatha chanted. "A pure heart, still beating in my hands and forever beating in yours, in exchange for immortality. Death, I offer you a taste of life."

A scarlet portal appeared in the center of the room. It was as if a hole had been opened there, a error in the universe, and out of it came the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

Her auburn hair was formed into a sort of burgundy crown. Wide earrings swayed with each step, mingling with the wavy strands of hair that fell over her shoulders. A tight fabric with strong lines covered her body, it was the only piece of clothing she wore.

She didn't seem from this world. She seemed to come from somewhere better. From somewhere that deserves her presence.

"You have a gift for me." She was looking into your eyes. In a mess of tears and whimpers of pain, you felt a shiver run up your spine. Your breath was short, and it burned all over your body.

"A bargain," clarified Agatha. She kneeled in front of the goddess. "I gave you her heart, Scarlet."

Scarlet tilt her head to the side. Her gaze dropped from your face to your body ripped in half. All the blood seeping, the ripped muscles, the taut skin. She took it all in before speaking again.

"You took her heart out of her chest?"

"She will finally be important, my goddess." Agatha realy thought she was being smart. "Nothing she ever did during life was meaningful, but her death will be."

"Don't you dare be nothing but respectful and gentle to my sacrifice." Scarlet's voice interrupted her. Agatha apologized. It wasn't enough. "You think your words are more worthy of me than her blood?"

"That's why I offered her to you, my goddess." Agatha was quickly to "Her death was part of your sacrifice. I killed her to show you how much I adore you."

"But she isn't dead."

Agatha looked at you, surprise to see her goddess was right. "I don't... I must have done something wrong. The runes were..."

"There is nothing wrong with my runes." Scarlet hold her by the chin. Now Agatha was the one squirming. You would laugh if you weren't a open wound. "These are the runes to offer me a sacrifice." Scarlet lifted her off the ground. "How can this be a sacrifice for you? Did you lose something? Are you the one in pain? Did you suffered for me?"

"I-I loved her." Agatha yelled, gasping for air. "I do. I really do. And I knew that losing her was the worst thing I could ever..."

Scarlet dropped her on the floor. "I was invoked. I was gifted with blood. With life. But you aren't the one bleeding, are you?"

She took your heart from Agatha's hand. Slowly, the goddess walked towards you. Her warm fingers carressed your cheeks, cleaning the traces of tears. "I can feel your pain." It was so comfortable. You could sleep against her skin. "I remember feeling completely alone. Empty."

"You," surprised with your own voice, you stopped. "You felt that?"

"A long time ago," Scarlet's fingertips touched lightly your lips. She let her hand rest against your skin. "Does it hurt?" Unable to use your words, you nodded. She smiled. It was such a divine view. "You lost something today. Something no other human can replace. And you did it for me, my generous girl. You gave me the best of gifts."

Scarlet opened the maroon fabric covering her body. She let the clothing fall, revealing her body to you. She lead her fingertips to her own chest, you saw them dissapearing inside her body. When they come back, they were holding a beating black heart.

"You gave me your heart." She put your red organ into her chest. Bent over your body, she began to fit her own heart into you. It stopped hurting. Burning. Aching. You felt complete. At peace. "And I gave you mine."

"I made this!" Agatha screamed. You almot forgot she existed. "I did this for you! It should be mine!"

Stroking your hair, she turned to the woman lying on the floor. Scarlet lift you from the bed, holding your body as it didn't weight anything. Walking towards the portal, she smiled at Agatha. "This will hurt."

That was the last time you saw Agatha Harkness.

At some point you must have closed your eyes. When you opened them, you where in a completely different place. Facing a two floor house that was the definition of the american dream, Scarlet walked up the steps carrying you in her arms.

And everything was black and white.

You tried to move away, but she hold you still against her. Then you saw it. You both were wearing wedding dresses. Her was flat and smooth, and she also had a pearl necklace. And yours were exactly like you always dreamed. Every detail, every tissue, every jewel. Perfect, if it wasn't for the absense of color.

"Everything will be just fine", she assured you. The front doors opened without a touch. "No one will ever hurt you again."

"I want to go home." You felt weak again, a sharp pain pressing against your temples. Your body softened against hers. You noticed a weight in your hand. It was a wedding ring with the biggest diamond you've ever seen. Not that you've seen many.

"This is your home," Scarlet's voice was soft. "Our home."

"No, this isn't," she climbled the central upstairs. "Please, let me go. I'm... I'm scared. Just let me go, please."

"I know you are scared. I can feel it. And I understand why." Another door opened. You saw a big bedroom. Again, everything was black and white. "I will take care of you. I will fix what that monster broke. Clean up what she's soiled, sew up what she's torn, fondle what she's beaten. You will never suffer again. I would never allow."

You felt dizzy. When she laid you down on the bed, you couldn't react. It was like you was still drunk. Drunk on her. Scarlet thought this would calm you down for a little bit. "You wouldn't?"

"Never."

"Scarlet, why this is happening to me? Where are we?"

"We are at home." By her tone, you understood that you shouldn't question it again. "And it's Wanda. You can call me Wanda."

Wanda left the room, opening a door at the end of the hall. You tried to get up, but your body wouldn't obey you. "Rest," Wanda said. Wanda ordered. "I'll be right back to take care of you."

Within seconds you heard the sound of running water. Suddenly a black stain appeared on your wedding dress. It wasn't there before, and it smelled like blood.

"Let's clean you up!" The Wanda that entered the room wasn't the one that left it. Her hair was short and artificially curly. Her dress was rounded, something you would see on a 50's movie. Her necklace has daisy pendants. Nothing could be prettier, nothing could be scarier.

Wanda decided to let you be sober. Everything will be way more romantic if you are able to stand up by yourself. Not that she mind carrying you. But she senses you will prefer to have more autonomy.

"I can do this alone" you finally was able to sit.

"You can," Wanda stepped closer. She touched your perfectly brushed hair, and you flinched. Her smile died for a moment, but came back full force. "But you don't have to. I'll take care of you, pookie. I promised."

Before you could counter her, she carried you in her arms again. Wanda took you to the bathroom, a bath with warm water was ready, and left you standing in front of the mirror. You got closer to it, your body bending over the sink, because you... You were perfect. Your hair, your makeup, your nails. The prettiest you ever been. Perfect, if not for the blood stain growing on the torso of your dress.

Wanda got to work on the knots that held your dress together. You tried to pull away, but she was right behind you. Her fingers loosened the knots, little by little the dress became looser. In the mirror, you saw her with a sincere smile. Not wide, but there. She seemed to like it. Like to be close to you, touching you so casually. If it weren't for your shaking body and the huge bloodstain, anyone would think that you two had just come back from a ceremony. "Don't worry about the dress. I can get you another one just like that. I can get you anything really, pookie. Any clothes, jewelry, car, house, book. Anything. If you want another moon in the sky, just let me know. I'll do anything for you."

You held the front of the dress, fearing it would fall off and expose you. You decided to change your approach. "Why? You don't have to do this. You don't have to waste your time with me."

"You're so kind. To think that taking care of you would be a waste of my time... You're all I ever dreamed of. And now you're mine."

Wanda stopped for a moment. Then she rested her chin on your shoulder, bending down so your heads were touching. You exchanged glances in the mirror. And so, snugged against you, Wanda closed her eyes. "Do you know what happened?" You denied.

"Those runes never been used before. The runes of immortality." She gave you time to understand her words. "Agatha stole the power of too many witches to be able to use them. But power isn't enough to deserve that gift. Only someone brave enough to cut their own chest open and give me their heart... Oh, that would be."

"But I didn't sacrifice myself." You whispered. "I was killed. I think so."

"I know that, pookie. I swear, I made that witch suffered." Wanda carressed your shoulders. You didn't react, and that made her happy. "You didn't ask for that, but you suffered. And you did it for me. You died for me. I won't let you go. I love you."

You only notice that she was done with the nods when your dress fell to the floor. You tried to cover yourself, but she held your hands. You could felt she glaring at you through the mirror.

"Please, I don't..."

"Don't be shy," Wanda whispered. She let go of your hands, sliding her fingertips down your arms. "You have all of me, I have all of you."

Her clothes disappear as she walks to the bath. Wanda touched the water with her fingertips. "Perfect." She put her feet in the water, leaning on the tile, and sat down in the tub. She smiled at you. "Waiting for an invitation?"

You didn't have a choice. Slowly, you convinced your body to obey your mind. You sit on the tub, but on the oposite side and with your back turned to her so she couldn't see you. You didn't want to be seen. Or to touched. You just wanted to wake up and find out it was just a really weird nightmare.

"Come here." You didn't answer her, so she pulled you on her lap. Wanda was strong. Stronger than you. "You're such a tease!"

"Stop that! I don't want you to touch me!"

"Oh, pookie. Agatha must have been such a egoistic lover." Her fingers touched your tights, suggesting something more. "I will make you feel so good."

Wanda brushed your hair off your shoulders, letting your delicate skin show. She slid her nose along your skin, up to your neck. Wanda licked your skin, bit lightly, kissed. She treated you like you were made of paper, like any rough touch could break you in half.

Her hands went up to your breasts. You tried to stop her, but soon she was holding and caressing them. She teased your nipples, her middle finger twitching them. "You're mine," Wanda was saying. "Only mine. All mine."

"Please... I don't..."

"You smell so good. Your skin is so soft. Your body... Ah, pookie, it feels like you were made for me. Maybe Life decided to give me a gift." Slowly, her hands moved back down to your thighs. "I want to fuck you in my temple. Make everyone watch how gods fuck. I want to show how perfect you are, how mine you are. You're mine. All mine."

"Wanda," you cried. "Please, I don't... Ah... Uh-um, Wanda, I can't..."

"You're my princess. My girl. My bride. My everything. Mine, mine, mine."

She opened your legs. Without you being able to help it, she slid her fingers across your lips. She touched your pussy, rubbing it carefully, while her other hand pinched your nipple. Wanda touched your clit, a shock was sent through your body. You squirmed in her lap.

"Let me feel you," Wanda whispered against your ear. But she wasn't demanding. She was begging. "I'll give you anything you want. I'll do anything you want. Be anything you want. You just have to need me."

"I," your voice cracked as a moan escaped your throat. Wanda sped up the movement, her fingers so blunt against your sex. Being with Agatha was easy. Loving her was easy, but only because she was using you. But Wanda... She will truly love you, and she's asking for something so simple. "I need you."

Without wasting a second, Wanda penetrated you. The two long fingers opened you slowly, until you got used to it. Moaning her name, you let her kiss you. Clunging into Wanda's arm, unable to do anything but kiss her back, she started to really fuck you.

"So wet, so tight." Wanda bit your ear. "Mine. All mine."

"Yours," you replied. "All yours."

Wanda didn't stop until she saw you shaking. Your walls squeezed her fingers, it was so warm inside you. She didn't stop fucking you, even when you stopped breathing from the pleasure. She continued until you came again on her fingers. "Wanda! Oh, fuck, Wanda. It's... sensitive."

Wanda stroked your face. "You are mine. Forever mine."

"Forever," you muttered. You weren't even able to imagine eternity next to her. "Forever?

"Forever."

GENERAL TAGLIST: @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

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ask-obt · 1 year

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Lady Woo whose the favorite OBT design?

// the......... unseen milotic design LMAO

but that's mostly because I already love milotic!! it's my number one favorite pokemon, with cresselia following closely behind (whose design I also like, but don't wanna show until she appears in the comic. I think I posted it on twitter once, but good luck digging through that if you wanna find it)

out of characters who have actually shown up, my favorite is dielle! I struggled for a while finding a good look for her, before hitting (what I think is) gold. maybe I just like fluffy cats? hehe

I do also like rune and malachi's designs, but I actually can't take credit for them! you may remember a previous ask I mentioned I was playing design telephone with those two since they were my oldest characters- and trying to get out of my head to redesign them was a tough task. so, I enlisted the help of my partner Pika to help me redesign them!

She took Rune from this:

To this!

So you can thank her for Rune's cute pink heart motif, instead of looking like she rolled in dirt! She also gave her the trademark Vulpix curls back. I ended up slicking her hair back later because Rune has a lot of expressions with her eyebrows that got covered up by the hair, which made drawing her a pain.

And Malachi used to look less like a half-evolved Shinx and more like a very small Luxray:

Which Pika also fixed!

I love this rendition of him a lot more haha, he looks like such a lil nerd! He also got his tail back in this redesign, which I quite liked. It's hard to imagine both of them with their old designs now!

As far as designs go, I also like Requiem's! Their design actually has a little bit of a backstory, funny enough. See when I was a kid, my mom was friends with a face/body painter at the local art market, and I loved getting paintings of various things I liked. One such thing was [REDACTED], my absolute favorite pokemon for SOME REASON as a kid. I would bring a reference for her (in the form of one of those pokedex books found at book fairs) and I always loved her style and thought she was an amazing artist for being able to paint full characters in mere minutes. One day I forgot to bring a reference of [REDACTED] and she went by memory- it looked a bit bootleggy, but I was absolutely enamored with the design. So soon I started "forgetting" my reference... on purpose. I loved seeing how the design for [REDACTED] developed and became something new over time. I think she was always a bit embarrassed with the inaccuracies, but my favorite one was one that made [REDACTED] look like a completely different pokemon. Like some sort of big, flowy purple dragon kangaroo creature. I think I especially loved it because it looked like a combination of [REDACTED] and [REDACTED... 2!]. That was the last time she drew [REDACTED] for me, and she retired from face/body painting shortly after to pursue other artistic interests. A lot of Requiem's design is based off of what I remember from that painting! Though without kangaroo legs, haha. I'd love to share a picture of the painting, but I'm not sure if we ever took one. Maybe I'll bug my mom to see if we can find it.

I won't be sharing the artist's name here due to internet privacy reasons, but I do have some art she made for me once! I didn't have a bedroom for many years growing up, and my mom's solution to that was a (kinda crusty) camp trailer, which her friend painted the front of with a fun ocean view. This trailer has long since fallen into disrepair (it's almost completely rotted now), but the painting still remains.

and to give you an idea of how far flung her designs could be without reference, here's the seahorse toy I had that painting was based off of haha

anyway this huge ramble all to say... I love character designs, and varying from the norm!

#on borrowed time comic #ask-obt #ooc

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ascendancy-echoes · 5 months

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Interlude: Memories

Upon returning home, Janus went straight to the bedroom to hide the sketchbook once more. As he went to hide it in a new place under the bed, he spied the box that Lucca had made for him to hold other treasures from his past. Setting the sketchbook on the bed, he pulled out the box and opened it. Inside was the Gate Key pendant he created, his bracer, and the silver charm Schala had given him all those years ago. Picking up the charm, Janus closed the box and nudged it under the bed with his foot as he sat down. He sighed as he ran his fingers over the charm’s engravings, wondering how his sister had truly fared in his absence. Had she understood his reasons for leaving? Was her life a good one in the past?

“Daddy’s happy?”

Janus looked up from the silver charm in his hands. Zarya had crawled onto the bed and across to his side. She leaned against him and repeated her question.

“I’m okay,” Janus replied softly. He didn’t feel happy that Zarya had snuck into their room and taken his sketchbook to the castle but he couldn’t be mad at her. She hadn’t meant any harm by her actions.

“Daddy’s necklace?”

“Oh this?” Janus looked back at the charm. Oren’s question about the drawings in the sketchbook made him realize he had been denying Zarya the chance to know her heritage. A heritage that he had tried to deny since returning to Lucca, but maybe it was time to face the past. After all, Zarya was getting older and she understood far more than one would assume.

“This is a special magic charm from my big sister… your Aunt Schala,” Janus explained.

“Aunt Schala.” Zarya echoed quietly.

Janus nodded. He and Zarya sat in silence for a few minutes as Janus held the charm in his hands. Suddenly, he offered the charm to Zarya.

Zarya happily took the charm into her hands and rubbed its smooth silver surface. She looked up from it as Janus opened the sketchbook that had caused everyone to get upset.

“I’m sorry.” she murmured.

“You don’t need to apologize, Zarya,” Janus said softly. “I should be the one saying sorry. I was afraid to show you this for a long time but I realize now that you’re old enough to be told some things.”

He turned to the page with the drawings of his family. His expression softened as he pointed to each face and named them. Zarya did her best to repeat her grandparents’ names but even Janus had to admit his parents’ names were rather long and hard to say. He explained to Zarya that his family all lived a long time ago but they were gone now. The kingdom they lived in was long gone too.

“Daddy’s a prince?”

“Not anymore, no,” Janus sighed. “And that’s okay. I wasn’t happy then but I’m happy with you and your mom here.”

Another moment of silence passed between father and daughter before Janus said, “I promise I’ll tell you more stories about your grandmother and your aunt… and maybe it’s time to show you something special but it’s a secret that stays at home. Okay?”

“Okay!”

Janus smiled. He traced a rune in the air, soft white light forming a swirling symbol, and whispered, “Svet.”

Zarya’s eyes went wide with glee as a sphere of light floated in Janus’s palm. She reached out to touch it. It was warm, like sunshine and tickled her fingertips.

“Light!”

“That’s right,” Janus grinned. “A floating light. See?”

He lifted the orb into the air and it bounced softly out of his hand and floated around like a soap bubble but it did not pop or vanish. Zarya squealed and giggled.

Janus felt oddly nostalgic as he waved his hand around to move the light about, watching Zarya slide off the bed and try to catch the light. It felt good to use magic for something besides looking for threats. Janus thought, maybe someday, he could teach Zarya some magic too. As much as the ability had caused him so much grief in Zeal, magic was still a part of who he was and a way to connect to Zarya.

#chrono trigger au #echoes in time #chrono trigger #zeal ascendancy #chrono trigger janus #zarya

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whumpwillow · 2 years

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Demon’s Haven | one

remembered this old series I used to write last year but then deleted because I didn’t like it so I edited it a bit and I’m gonna re-post it ✌🏻

masterlist

warnings: past torture, church mention, graphic wound description, demon whumpee, witch caretaker

—

Haven made sure to get everything correct. The runes drawn with pristine, painstakingly straight lines, the points in the proper directions, and the offerings in their proper places. She’d never done this level of dark magic before and no matter what anyone else said about it being commonplace to the dark mages of today, she did not want to mess it up. There was quite a bit her mind could conjure up about what could go wrong when summoning a demon.

Haven decided to readjust things, just a little. Just to make sure it was ready. She spread out the flowers more so they filled in the runes better, made sure the gold ring was still there, and stood back to inspect her work.

Contrary to popular belief, especially that of a non-mage perspective, summoning a demon did not require a human sacrifice. Nor a sacrifice of any kind. She was quite glad she didn’t have to find a lamb’s heart or buy pigs blood from some shady back alley; all she had to do was draw an intricate set of lines and symbols that took nearly two hours on her hands and knees. It was hard work, but it had to be perfect. There was no room for error—no smudged runes or wobbly lines. She had no idea what to do if she ended up setting a demon loose in the city, and whatever the church said about witches being unholy, she was pretty sure those folk didn’t have what it took to defend against the worst of it.

She wasn’t going to find out. This were going to work; she had to tell herself that to believe it. She prepped for this, read all the demonica books she could get her hands on, and practiced what she would say when she actually summoned the thing. The demon would try to trick her, to twist her words and logic to its own gain, or at the very least, its amusement at her suffering. She was ready. She wouldn’t fall victim to any sort of deceit, and besides, she had only a simple request. A favor in exchange for a favor. Not a soul.

Another thing the mundanes didn’t know about summoning was that trade with demons was a popular enterprise, dealing with but not exclusively limited to souls. Haven certainly would never sell hers, though she’d heard no one ever had to. Summoning a demon could be for the smallest of things in exchange for a price equal to the request. Erasing a tricky spell, casting a more powerful hex, whatever anyone could wish from the dark magic of a demon. Small favors, in return for something less than one’s immortal soul. The reason it wasn’t all the more common than it was—despite its growing popularity in recent years—was the amount of danger that came along with it. Summoning a demon into this plane of existence meant exactly that: there was a now a demon in the same space as oneself, and it was the mage’s responsibility to make sure it didn’t escape.

Hence the protection runes that took forever to make.

Haven took a deep breath to settle her nerves and began on the candles, one by one tipping the flames into each other to light them. Setting down the last one, she stepped back and admired her handiwork for a moment, hoping it would be enough. She then began the incantation.

The candles flared the moment she began speaking, their quivering plumes of fire rising high into the night air. As Haven called to whatever demons lurked in the depths, she wondered what the creature would look like. Would it be a towering monstrosity? Or a beautiful humanoid, too perfect to be real, ready to seduce her into the darkness?

She certainly had not expected it to look dead.

The demon materialized in the circle just as planned, but it wasn’t smirking or snarling or even standing up. It just lie there, motionless except for the shaky rise and fall of its chest. It moved its hands, tracing its fingers over the ground with trembling motions, just barely touching the rough stone it now lie on, as if it didn’t believe it was really there. Realizing it had been summoned to the human realm, it curled into a ball and continued to shiver.

Haven, too stunned to speak, merely stared, trying to process what she’d just done. She’d braced herself for a fight, or for a battle of wills and wordplay at the very least. She’d expected to be facing a monster.

What she got was a broken thing, huddled on the bare floor.

Haven took a cautious step closer, wondering if this might be a trap. Perhaps the demon was trying to garner her sympathy, to entice her into the summoning circle or lull her into a false sense of security that would cause her to make a mistake. Maybe she’d already made a mistake—this wasn’t what she was expecting at all.

The demon in front of her looked nothing like what she thought one should look like. She thought it would stand tall and proud, and would at least look at her. Here, It appeared as a human male would, albeit one who’d been badly beaten. It had curled in on itself so Haven couldn’t see its face, but its torso was uncovered and a pattern of long scars ran down its back, overlapping one another, layered deep and ruthless. Bruises marked its sides, shoulders, and pretty much everywhere else. A patchwork of purple and brown and blue.

Haven felt a pang in her stomach, then quickly chided herself. There was no room to feel sympathy for the thing. It probably wasn’t even injured—the blood and bruises just a glamour put on with magic.

Haven huffed, crossing her arms. The demon flinched at the slight sound, curling further in on itself, shivering violently.

“I want to make a deal,” Haven said, going into her rehearsed scripts.

The demon could play it’s tricks, but she would never fall for them. No matter how pitiful it seemed, cowering in front of her, she would make sure to have the upper hand.

No response.

Haven waited a beat, but only the sound of waves and distant crickets met her ears. If she listened hard enough, she could hear the demon breathing, a fast-paced and shallow beat. Occasionally its breath hitched, catching, resuming.

Haven swallowed awkwardly. “I said I would like to make a deal.”

No reaction from the demon. Haven observed it, with its knees curled into its chest, head bowed and arms raised as if to protect itself from a blow. From this position, Haven could see its ribs, which must have been broken. The movement of them was decidedly wrong. A bruised portion of its chest drew inwards as the creature breathed in, while the rest expanded as it was supposed to. The effect was disconcerting—lopsided and awkward and definitely not something that should have been happening. Bruises littered its skin, ranging in severity from small brown dots to large patches of blue and purple that stained its side like runny watercolors. Long scars ran down its back from the tops of its shoulders, crisscrossing and overlapping one another. Some looked fresher than others, still bleeding red on top of fleshy pink. Symbols—the meaning of which, Haven could not decipher—marked its body as well, burned into it with a precision that couldn’t have come from fire.

Holy water, Haven’s mind supplied. She knew it burned them, but she hadn’t known it would leave actual burns.

Whatever. Maybe it didn’t.

Haven shook her head to clear away the thoughts. She needed to focus. There was no use getting caught up in the grotesque imagery when it was all a lie anyway. She didn’t know why the demon kept up this act, but she wasn’t going to fall for a trap just because this was her first time summoning.

The demon whimpered softly.

The wounds were awful.

It’s just an illusion, Haven told herself. A magical glamour.

She sighed, trying to ignore the urge to take the figure into her arms and stop his shivering. Because it was not a he. It was a demon.

If she took one step into that summoning circle she was dead—or worse.

“Demon,” she said, more forcefully.

The demon cried out and scrambled backward, hitting the edge of the summoning circle and yelping when the magic zapped it. It curled its legs to its chest and held up its arms to try and protect itself, all the while quivering something fierce. Its breathing grew rattled, short and pitchy. The motion made its ribs look even more unnerving.

Haven could finally see its face.

And it was beautiful.

Beyond all the blood and bruises, Haven knew this was a creature that could seduce unwise summoners into treacherous water, able to lure them in like a shark disguised as a lustrous jellyfish. Both of which were deadly. High, sharp cheekbones, full lips, pointed ears, and the most vivid green eyes Haven had ever seen. A shade of emerald that could only belong to a demon, too lurid to be born to any mortal or mage.

Tears trailed from these gorgeous eyes, the red around them making the color stand out even more in the contrast. Haven really had to admire the work the demon was putting into the act—she could almost believe it.

The demon held up its hands, trying to shield its face as if Haven would spontaneously leap forward into the summoning circle. As if she was that stupid.

“P-ple-please,” it croaked with a voice that was rough and hitching. “P-please—I—”

More tears fell from its eyes and it brought its hands up to cover its face, bowing its head to rest upon its knees. Haven stood there, not sure what else to do. Everything she’d used to prepare had said that all she needed to do was summon the demon, ask to make a deal, negotiate the price, try not to die, and that was it.

Nothing about what to do when the demon refused to make the deal in the first place. Maybe she’d summoned a low-level one that was too powerless to do anything? Or was it a high-level demon she’d somehow acquired and it recognized her newness and decided to mock her for it? Using this pitiful, injured guise. She thought demons would have more self-respect.

Either way, she wasn’t getting her deal tonight.

Oh well.

The summoning circle lasted for three days—she’d come back tomorrow and try again. Hopefully the demon would be back to normal by then. She didn’t think it would want to stay a sobbing mess forever.

—

spoiler alert: the injuries are not a lie :)

#whump #whump writing #my writing #willow writes #original work: demon's haven #oc haven #oc envy #demon whumpee #demon whump #i have a. very soft spot for demon whumpees #witch caretaker #reluctant caretaker

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myangelbach · 2 years

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I saw this picture of Ty and Kit in Twitter today and while I was looking at it, I noticed the drawing of the clockwork angel and I thought "what if the picture is giving us clues of some sort??"

Maybe the clue was:

clockwork angel = Tessa = kit adoptive mum

And then I thought maybe there are more clues here, so I've been trying to read all the titles in the books but some of them are hard to read, so if someone has a better sight than me, please tell me what it says in the book spines.

Anyway I did managed to read a couple of them and one talks about Fairy circles which I don't really know what it means but it is near Kit which is funny since we all know that Kit is fairy royalty. Also in kit's hand there's a necklace, which it maybe be the Herondale necklace (again, cc was giving us all the clues we need it).

Again near Kit there's a knife that it seems to have some kind of message or rune script on it, thou I don't understand the meaning behind the "rune" in the hand of the knife, I do think is curious how Kit also got a knife from Jace in tda (I'm telling you, this picture is full of clues)

Now talking about Ty, behind him there's a hand with an eye draw on it. Now this was hard to discover but I was sure that in some TSC book there was something about a hand and dark magic so I looked it up and... I guess you know by now that the hand is called the hands of glory and it is indeed used in dark magic, more specifically to resurrect the dead, which means of course necromancy.

Now since there are so many clues of things that happened in tda, I was thinking that maybe there are some clues about what is going to happen in twp too.

For example, what is the mortal cup doing there? I don't remember any specific scene that involves Ty and kit with the mortal cup (or with any cup at all) so maybe it's some kind of clue for the future books?

There is some kind of stick next to Kit hidden behind a sheet of paper, I wonder what it means? It looks like a really specific object to put in there for no reason at all.

And last but not least, I was thinking that the library behind Ty's back and the place itself remind me of something, and after reading today's installment of sobh I connected the dots. The place looks like The Merry thieve's club, the library with all kind of weird, probably illegal, books is Jamie's personal collection. The fireplace was also described in Choi and the weird objects and how Ty seems to be looking to a paper as if all those objects there were something they discover at the moment, makes me wonder if those are not the marry thieves possessions.

Also the place feels so Victorian, even that lamp in the middle of the table is old, for me all the place screams the devil's tavern secret room. Maybe the room itself is a clue from CC to us, maybe the merry thieves club is going to be significant or even used by twp gang.

#I know is kinda a theory out of nowhere but I felt like I had to share it #the merry thieves #the devil's tavern #the last hours #tlh #kit herondale #ty blackthorn #the wicked powers #twp #james herondale #lucie herondale #cordelia carstairs #christopher lightwood #thomas lightwood #matthew fairchild #anna lightwood #sobh #secrets of blackthorn hall #tsc

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shootingstarwritings · 3 years

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Keepin’ it in the Family

Manfred—Freddy for short—was a young man that spent his life in the shadow of his uncle’s side of the family. Meek, shy, unassuming, and more of an indoors type. “I’m more of a type B kind of fellow,” he would answer whenever someone asked him what kind of person he was. Meanwhile, Daniel Crawford and his son, Alex, were the exact opposite. Tall, strong, and always willing to get down and sweaty in an activity. They often dominated every family gathering and gleefully hogged the spotlight shined on them.

“Did you know Alex got a football scholarship… Daniel bought a second house… oh my gawd, li’l Danny got so buff last year, can’t believe he used to be my younger bro…!” On and on Freddy would hear until he got sick of it.

“Why dontcha join a team or somethin’, squirt?” his cousin Alex teased him while roughly messing up his hair. Although Freddy couldn’t deny his cousin was annoying and far too energetic, he couldn’t bring himself to hate him. There was always an authenticity behind his invites to play football with his friends. He was brutish but kind. That was all.

Freddy’s uncle Daniel was a different story.

On a certain day during a family gathering, Daniel concerned Freddy in a hallway. “Perhaps if you applied yourself more," he once told Freddy, the disdain clear in his voice, "you'd get as far as my boy does in life." The rest of the family was just a few rooms away, but their cheerful voices were worlds away. “But until you do that, I want you to stop spending any time with Alex. Honestly don’t know why he wastes his precious youth on someone like you.”

Freddy didn't respond but nodded while glaring defiantly at the floor. He jumped back as his uncle grabbed him by the throat and forcefully tilted his head upwards. Freddy let out a sharp hiss of pain but prevented himself from screaming.

With a low voice, his uncle Daniel said, “Look at me while I’m speaking, you little shit. Don’t want your mediocrity holding my golden son back. Stay away from him or else.” He punctuated his last words by shoving Freddy to the wall. “Can’t believe you and your father are related to us. Well, guess we know who got the better genes in the family.”

Freddy glared at him as he walked away. It was painful, but he could endure. As long as he lived, he would not let this abuse break him. The day would come when he would prove him wrong.

However, it all came to a head about a week ago, when Freddy announced his plans for a graduation party. Most of the replies in the texts he sent out for his family were some variation of, “Oh, I’m sorry Freddy, but your uncle Danny is planning to celebrate his promotion at work that day. Perhaps you can reschedule.” As always, Freddy remained overshadowed.

“Bastards,” Freddy’s father, a rotund and balding man by the name of Benny, exclaimed as he saw the texts. “Can’t even spare a day for you. It’s always those two pricks.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Freddy muttered, glaring down at the texts on his phone. How often had his family ignored him in favor of those two? How often did his uncle mistreat him to guarantee that his ‘golden child’ Alex would remain as successful as he was? The questions kept echoing in his mind until, finally, he decided to cut this cycle.

“If you want,” his father tried again, “we can spend that weekend just the two of us, son. We can travel and celebrate our way."

“It’s all right, dad. I know exactly what I’m gonna do,” said Freddy as he marched off to his room. He would have to draw up the runes and memorize the incantations before long. By being efficient, he would have the spell all set by dawn’s early light.

However, his father stopped him by placing a firm hand on his shoulder—a rarity. “Hold on son," Benny said in a tender voice. "I understand what you're going through, believe me, I know. I was never the golden child of the family either. Danny made sure of that." There was disdain in Benny's voice that Freddy had never heard from before, but he had little time to dwell on it as his father continued. "But, to me, you'll always be the golden child, Freddy. I just want you to know that." Then, Benny pulled his son in for a hug.

Freddy eagerly returned in, shoving his thoughts of revenge to the back of his mind for the moment. Now, he just wanted to spend time with his father. Dusk came and went, and the two bid each other good night as they settled into their rooms on different floors. With nothing to interrupt Freddy, he set off to work.

It began when he found a book of occult rituals and spells in his father's study. Never had Benny spoken about this to Freddy, and Freddy lacked the courage to confront his father about it. Instead, he took photos of the various pages of spells and tried them out for himself—another reason why he did not want his father to know that he knew. By doing this magic in secret, Freddy could indulge in his fantasies that were now just a spell away. Coaches, classmates, and neighbors all fell to his charms and rituals; fulfilling deviant actions according to his whims.

My father can never know, Freddy thought bitterly to himself as he drew the sigils on his rug with chalk, he’ll never know so he’ll always be proud of me, his pure and hard-working son.

Tonight would be the first time Freddy would attempt the possession spell as well as the first time he broke a rule he had set for himself when he first began to use magic: never involve a family member. Now, he read through the procedure on his phone and prepared to sink into an even deeper level of deviancy. A bit of the text at the bottom of the page was faded, but the instructions were all written out. It’s most likely flavor text, Freddy thought.

This spell would allow the invoker to project his soul towards an unassuming target. From then on, a battle of wills would begin, and the dominant soul would take over the body. The invoker is not guaranteed to be successful. Caution must be exercised, and a strong will is heavily recommended.

It was a frightening thought, but Freddy did not allow that to slow him down. His hands trembled with excitement and his heart raced with pure adrenaline as he pictured his uncle’s sexy yet punchable face.

In the heat of the moment, Freddy cast the spell alongside the rising sun. Once those accursed words left his lips, a sharp and painful sensation spread throughout his body. It was as if his soul was being stretched and twisted, like a rubber band. However, he just gritted his teeth and endured it as he always did. The suffering of a spell or his uncle’s harassment was all the same—nothing he couldn’t handle. However, when the pain continued to grow in magnitude, Freddy was afraid this spell was going to rip his soul in half.

Then came the release—the catharsis. The spell catapulted Freddy’s soul at a speed rivaling that of a bullet train’s. Freddy screamed both in terror and sheer jubilation as his soul traveled through the dawn-dyed sky. Everything, even the sun, was a blurry mess until he arrived at his uncle’s expensive house, where he finally stopped. He was back in control.

Slowly, Freddy glided through the halls of a home that alienated him for most of his life. While searching for his uncle’s room, he stumbled upon his cousin Alex sleeping on top of the covers, clad in just a pair of boxer briefs. Though Freddy intended to keep moving, he remained still and watched his cousin’s chest slowly rise and fall as he slept peacefully.

“You deserve a better father,” Freddy whispered, caressing his cousin’s cheek with his ghostly hand. His voice and touch were nothing more than a chilly breeze on Alex’s bare skin. When Freddy noticed the goosebumps that spread down his cousin’s arms, he drew back and excused himself from the room. His target still needed to be punished.

A few hallways later, Freddy found himself floating above his uncle. Daniel, just like his son, slept above his covers and nearly in the nude to deal with the brutal summer heat. Even so, beads of sweat still glistened in his half-naked, furry body. His breathing was just as peaceful and gentle as Alex's as it passed through his heart-shaped lips. "If only you were as kind as you look while sleeping," Freddy said as he glared down at Daniel. Hatred and lust pushed him forward, and he gleefully enacted his plan.

Having spent quite a long time manipulating the wills of men, Freddy knew that the best way to overwhelm them was to do so post-coitus. “You’ll be my ticket to happiness,” he whispered to his uncle, “you piece of shit asshole.” He began by running his tongue down his uncle’s bare chest, giving the nipple a lick.

The effect was immediate. Daniel’s eyes shot open as he shivered at the paranormal touch. He looked around, perplexed. “What the fuck?” he said.

Freddy snickered at his uncle’s confusion. He pushed his uncle back onto the bed, one hand twirling and playing with his nipples while another teased the bulge hidden by the briefs. “W-Woah, oh shit!” said Daniel, trying to kick his invisible assaulter away to no avail. When the sensation didn’t stop, Daniel attempted to rise only for Freddy to roughly shove him back onto the bed again.

“I’m not done with you!” Freddy roared to his uncle’s terror. The rush of power was intoxicating, and Freddy greedily drank in every pathetic whimper and moan from his uncle. He pulled his underwear off, revealing his uncle’s large hard-on, and threw it to the side. “God, you’re thick,” Freddy moaned as he took his uncle’s cock in his hand. “C’mon, cum for me, old man,” he said as his lips played with the pecs. He continued to mercilessly play with his uncle, humping his body to elicit more of his moans.

“N-No—aahh, mmm! Pl-Please stoooAAAAHH—stop!” said Daniel as he felt his core tighten. Freddy noticed it too and quickly released his uncle from his sexual grasp. “AH! Oh fuck, I’m—ngh!” said Daniel as his abused dick begged for release.

“Not yet, that's gonna be my climax, uncle," Freddy said. To reward his uncle was far more than what the bastard deserved. Instead, Freddy would steal his climax, his body, and his dignity. “You’re mine!” he said, caution be damned as he dove into his uncle’s body.

“F-Fred—OOF!” The sheer force of Freddy’s dive caused his uncle to bounce on the mattress. “Oh FUCK!” Daniel cried out as he felt impossibly full. Two souls occupied the same space, and much like the shifting plates of the ever-changing earth, stress was born of this conflict. Daniel gritted his teeth, even more sweat coating his convulsing body as he attempted to hold onto his consciousness. However, Freddy’s essence continued to spread.

The possession spell operated on a similar concept as ink falling upon a cup of pure water. Slowly, the water would darken as it took on the shade of the ink until it was almost completely indistinguishable from the original ink that tinted—or tainted—it.

Just as the ink colored the water, so too did Freddy’s soul spill and tint his uncle’s very essence—mind, body, and spirit. Daniel, of course, continued to push his nephew’s soul out of him. He kicked at his bed and gripped his sheets so tightly his veins were visible in his arms. Until the very last second, he tried to will his body back under his control. However, he eventually collapsed onto his bed, eyes rolling into the back of his head, and blacked out. His body convulsed for a few more minutes as it took on the last remains of Freddy's essence, before finally quieting down.

Freddy opened his new eyes and immediately put his attention back on his uncle's dick. "Oh god, uncle, you're so sensitive!" he said as he continued stroking himself. “I-I’m CUMMING!” he bellowed as he shot load after load in his new form, seeing white as he fell back onto the sweat-covered sheets. “Oh my god, Danny-boy, I can’t wait to wreck you today.” Freddy would seize the day, and by nightfall, he would make his uncle a shame upon his family.

A few hallways away, Alex had his own visitor.

“S-Stop, uncle!” Alex screamed as the much larger soul of Benny finished entering his younger body. “Y-You can’t—AH! AAAHHH!” He whimpered and moaned just as his father did before collapsing into a mess of convulsing limbs.

Alex blacked out, and his uncle Benny awoke. “God, that felt good,” he said, stretching his new, muscular body. It was pleasurably sore after the workout he gave his unwilling nephew. “Ya got a good lookin’ bod, kid,” he said, grinning as he rubbed his hands down his new form. “But it’s my turn to be the golden child, if only for a day,” he finished, excited to have his hole filled in a day filled with debauchery.

Unbeknownst to father and son, there was more to the spell lost as the ink faded from the page. It read as follows:

Just as the water becomes nearly inseparable from the ink, the souls also become unable to be torn apart. There is no hope for the water to become pure and no hope for the ink to be whole. They are bound together for eternity, as are the souls tainted by the invoker. The invoker’s body will perish upon the spell’s completion, and the invoker will remain in their new body until the possession spell is used again, thus killing the old target.

#male possession #dilf possession #jock possession #possession #male body possession

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edda-grenade · 3 years

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Sleep.

Adaar and Solas attempt fadewalking for the first time.

#feral verse, 2000 words. on AO3.

They were lying on a hilltop in the forest, on a fur to keep the cold of fall at bay. Well, Adaar was lying down—Solas had sat up to give her a curious look.

“You wish to leave?”

“No! I mean, yes, kinda—maybe—I don’t know.” She groaned and covered her face with her hands.

“You seem very happy, here,” he said, in that slow, careful way he had.

“I am! I am. I don’t want to leave my family, or this place, or you—”

“Me?” His voice cracked, just a little. Adaar glanced at him from between her fingers.

“Yes, obviously. I know you like to pretend you’re some lone wolf apart from all living creatures or whatever, but you’re my friend, alright? You’re not getting out of that so easily.”

“I don’t—pretend…” He sighed, his skin staining with blush, the faint freckles even fainter. His lips twitched like he was trying not to smile, until he gave up and his mouth crooked. Adaar loved it when that happened. She was pretty good at making it happen, too.

“You do not wish to leave, but?”

Now she sighed and clamped her hand over her eyes again. It was easier in the dark, unwatched.

“The world is so big and so full of things I don’t know,” she said softly, “and I want to learn everything.”

“Adaar…”

She hadn’t figured out if she loved that yet—the way he said her name sometimes, how he looked at her. Like she was the sun coming over the horizon, or a thunderstorm in the distance, or the wind dancing through the fields so hard it sang. At least that’s what she imagined the expression would look like on her face—an expression that was meant for immense and somewhat unfathomable things, not for a single person.

“There is a way I could show those things to you. Not all of them, of course—but more than what is accessible to you right now.”

Adaar sat up so quickly her head spun a little.

“I’m listening.”

He explained, and her head continued to spin, although for different reasons. Lucid dreaming, delving into the Fade like into a cave, how the deeper you went the older the memories imprinted upon the Fade would be…

It sounded ludicrous. Like magic, if she had never heard of it before. It sounded amazing.

“Can we just do that?” she asked. “Right now?”

Solas gave her another weird look; his eyes wide and searching for a brief moment.

“I—yes. Come with me.”

They left the little barren hilltop that poked above the forest behind and instead descended into the small cave Solas had chosen as his resting place. She’d tried often to convince him to join her family at the settlement, but he’d steadfastly refused every time. It didn’t bother her as much anymore—the cave looked more and more like an actual home these days, with a fire pit and cooking tools, shelves he’d carved out of the rock to hold utensils using a spell she hadn’t quite figured out yet herself, and a warm, dry place to sleep.

Solas had a ball of light bobbing in the air above his shoulder, and gazed down at the bedstead. It was cozy: a pallet of hay covered in cowhide, with a blanket and fur to keep warm in winter. It was also not nearly big enough for both of them. At least not if they intended not to share breathing space.

“There’s a bigger bed at home, you know,” Adaar said. “Actual walls and a door, too.”

“I would prefer to try it here. I have set the requisite wards quite often, and I’m familiar with the peculiarities of the Fade in this place.”

She shrugged, glancing around at the runes and sigils he had marked into the walls of the cave. “Yeah, makes sense. I’m just saying, you can get familiar with the farm, too. There’s space for you, it’s not a problem.”

“I’m aware, since you keep reminding me so diligently.”

“It keeps being true.”

She smiled a little at how that statement made his ears dip and his head turn away so she wouldn’t see his face. He cleared his throat.

“I have never… attempted to teach this to anyone else.”

“Because you didn’t want to, or because there was no one you could teach it to?” She hesitated, thinking of his arguments with Lavellan's Keeper. “Or because no one wanted to learn it?”

He let out a low breath. “All of the above,” he replied quietly, “at one point or another.”

Adaar slapped her hands together to resist the urge to hug him, then clapped her palms briefly onto his shoulders because not touching him at all was even more frustrating than being shrugged off. “First time for everything. How do we start?”

Solas showed her how to set the wards—they’d talked about spellwork like it before, but mostly in abstract terms. It took a good while, because she kept stumbling over new questions, like how specific a ward could be, how permanent, how big a space it could cover… They were halfway into designing one that might be used to keep beetles out of the grain, until they managed to get back to the task at hand.

She settled on the bedstead with crossed legs while Solas puttered about by the fire pit and brewed a concoction he insisted wasn’t tea to help them fall asleep. Then she got up again and started pacing, as much as was possible, because her legs were too jittery to sit still. She was just glad most of the cave was high enough that she didn’t have to stoop—she halted, gazing at the stone close above her.

“Solas, did you shape the ceiling, too?”

“What do you mean?”

“The rock here has a different texture.” She reached up to touch it and closed her eyes, searching for that low echo of past magic—and found it. “And it’s been worked with magic.”

“…A little. It is not your fault you are so tall.”

A smile bit into her cheeks. “Aw, that’s sweet.”

“It was a practical consideration,” he muttered, but he didn’t sound like he was actually put out. “You insert yourself into others’ spaces inevitably, it was only a matter of time until you would find your way into this one.”

“That almost sounds like a criticism.”

“An observation. Foremost.” He handed a steaming cup of the not-tea to her, then sipped from his own. She breathed in the smell—chamomile, juniper, and something spicy she didn’t recognize—then exhaled a bit of frost across it to cool it down before taking a sip.

Solas was watching her when she looked up from the cup.

“Something wrong?”

“No, it is simply… nice, to see how certain magic has become easier for you.”

“The frost? Yeah, I barely have to think about it anymore.” She blew a puff of snow into his face to demonstrate. Solas startled, grimacing, and wiped the rapidly-melting crystals from his cheeks.

“Sorry,” Adaar said, very earnestly. “Couldn’t resist.”

He shook his head and grumbled something in Elvish, but he was smiling again. That small, helpless, trying-not-to smile. They finished their cups, put them aside, and regarded the bedstead again.

“I shall take the fur, next to the pallet,” said Solas.

“I thought the point was to fall asleep more easily? And to sleep more deeply?”

“Yes.”

“Then why make it harder on yourself? We just gotta… scrunch up a little, it’s gonna be fine.”

There was a long silence.

“I am not used to sleeping among other people,” Solas said finally, his tone even. He wasn’t used to other people—flesh-and-blood people, that was—in general, Adaar suspected, but she kept it to herself. Right now was probably a bad time to bring that one up.

“Alright, no spooning then,” she said instead and sat down and stretched out along one side of the bedding. Then she remembered she had to get rid of her shoes, untied them, and hucked them against an empty wall. Lying down, the scent of lavender became obvious amid the hay and fur; sprigs had been stuck to the corners to keep bugs away. She’d told him about that trick months ago.

It really was cozy; warm and inviting. She curled onto her side, drawing her feet up, and patted the mattress next to her. Slowly, Solas joined her, folding himself up so he took up even less space than usual. It was still a tight fit, especially since he tried to avoid any real contact beyond the brush of fabric.

“I will attempt to find you once we are dreaming,” he said. “With our current physical proximity it should be an easier task.”

“There’s really nothing else to it? We just fall asleep?”

“It is… difficult to put into words. Question your dreams, if you can. The key is to become aware—awareness begets agency, which in turn begets control.”

Adaar tugged the fur and blanket up to cover them. “Alright. Sleep well?” There was a flash of a smile on Solas’s face before he closed his eyes.

“I shall see you soon.”

It was not soon. Adaar’s mind refused to quiet, anticipation thrumming in her limbs. She kept shifting, unable to relax, and she worried she’d spend the entire night sleepless, when she finally woke up again to a dark, quiet cave.

She must have fallen asleep at some point, then? So was this the Fade? It didn’t feel different. She was sleepy and bleary-eyed just as she would be when waking up in the middle of the night, and a cursory examination of the cave with a bit of conjured light—a spell that behaved no differently than any previous time she’d used it—told her it looked exactly as it had when they had bedded down. Except…

Solas lay tucked against her front, his body warm, his breathing even. His temple rested against her collarbones and his folded legs leaned against her hips. He was curled up as he’d been before, but now it seemed less about making himself smaller, and more about fitting into the curve of her body.

Adaar stared into the darkness. That was… unexpected. Solas didn’t seek out physical contact. Sure, he usually melted into it for one or two seconds when it was offered before pulling away, but nothing like this.

Cautiously, she tried to brace herself on her elbow to get a better look, both at the cave and at him. She bit down on a sharp inhale when pins and needles erupted in the limb, breathing through it with care until the sensation passed. But even on a thorough second look, nothing changed. The cave was still the cave, nothing remotely immaterial about it, and Solas still slept soundly, curled up against her.

Part of her wanted to wake him up. Let him know it hadn’t worked, at least not yet, and try to figure out what might be changed, because merely the thought of consciously walking in the Fade was enough to make her heart beat faster.

But he looked so much younger in his sleep. His features softened and relaxed, like he might actually be at peace. Adaar wasn’t sure she had ever managed to catch him this unguarded. When they were together, it felt like he hardly stopped watching her.

She let out a small sigh and settled back down, gently wrapping one arm around his waist. Hopefully that wouldn’t upset him, if he woke up before her come morning. Right now at least, a soft, sleepy noise slipped from him, and he rolled even more thoroughly into her embrace.

#don't worry solas is gonna get slammed with the pining soon enough #feral verse #adaar #solas #saar gets her own tag #inquisitor x solas #soladaar #time for those tags to make a regular appearance in this verse :3c #art tag #fanart #fic tag #fic related #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da:i

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wolf-and-bard · 3 years

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The Geraskier dark academia AU of my dreams (because writing these up keeps me sane; TLDR at the bottom because this escalated):

-Jaskier is so ready for college. Like, the readiest he's ever been for anything in his life. He couldn't wait to get out of his stuffy family home, away from his narrow-minded hometown, he is ready. He signs up for a Liberal Arts major, moves into a dorm, drinks his brains away during the first week. He makes an archnemesis, he makes friends, he live-documents the whole affair on Snapchat for his friend Triss who lives across the country, but is always with him in spirit. Life is good.

-Jaskier doesn't think twice when his roommate Zoltan invites him to come along to a party at the Kaer Morhen fraternity house because hello? Orientation week was last month, high time he goes to an actual frat party full of guys like wardrobes that eminate sexual self-assuredness and hopefully some sexual flexibility as well. He puts on his most revealing shirt and too tight jeans and joins Zoltan. The fraternity house is old, red-brick with sandstone pillars and iron-wrought gates which would seem rusty if not for the ivy that curls around them. It's chock-full with people of every kind of major and age, most of them drunk beyond reason by the time Jaskier and Zoltan arrive. Zoltan disappears in a tangle of rugby-players and leaves Jaskier to his own devices. He befriends a group of Archeology majors, their leader being a cute blond called Filavandrel, and they share a bottle of red wine, round and round. He meets his archnemesis, the one he spent all orientation week bickering about music with, Valdo or some nonsense, and they do tequila shots. It’s a nice party and Jaskier has the time of his life until he returns from the bathroom to find a god of a guy standing in the hallway.

-"Oh hello," Jaskier mutters under his breath. Before, his evening was aimless, he let the wave of the vibe take him wherever, let the alcohol blur the world around him. But now, he has an objective. And that objective stands all by his lonesome, scowling down the hallway. Man, does he brood well. Jaskier usually goes for people that are easy to read if some casual fun is what he has in mind -and it's not out of his mind just yet - but this guy intrigues him; there is more to him than simple dudebro-ness. He has shock-grey hair and startling amber eyes and seems to cast the longest shadow. Jaskier wants to ride him. Jaskier also wants to serenade him on a starlit wooden bridge and collect all the guy's deepest secrets and desires to keep under his pillow and draw divine inspiration from. Okay, that may be the Tequila shots talking. He scurries over to the bar, downs another two, then approaches the guy.

-"Hi," Jaskier says as he sidles up to him. The guy half-heartedly raises his beer in greeting. Taciturn, dark, dramatic. Jaskier decides to go for it. "I absolutely adore the way you just stand here and brood." (Jaskier will only learn much much later that he accidentally used some weird Kaer Morhen frat code and set off a chain of events that changed his life forever). "Lamb," the guy calls out instead of answering, something that makes Jaskier think he's so far gone that he's actively hallucinating. But no, seconds later a guy with equally lush red hair and equally thick arms appears from the crowd. He wears a scowl which has Jaskier's throat tighten. "What is it, Wolf?" Wolf, huh? "Go collect Goat and Kitty-Cat. I found him." And Wolf-Guy grabs Jaskier by the back of the neck and hauls him through a door, down some stairs - is that marble? are those torches? GARGOYLES? - and into pitch blackness. Jaskier squeals. This is what he imagined when he dreamt of college. Well not exactly this, but close enough.

-They bind him with silk scarfs and put a blindfold over his eyes which, okay. Jaskier knows he shouldn't find this as sexy as he does, but he can't help it. He has no sense of self-preservation and this will just be the best of fuel for the first assignment in his screenwriting class. "Oh, this is fun," he murmurs when someone tugs off his boots and someone else smears a fatty paste onto his lips. It smells like... okay it smells lot like his uncle Matthew's pigsty. Weirdly disgusting. "Who are you guys anyway?"

-They don't speak at all that night, don't take off the blind-fold until way later. All night, Jaskier can hear them rustling around him, chanting in some language he doesn't understand. They give him several drinks, most of which honestly taste like asphalt, but make his insides go fuzzy. When the blindfold comes off eventually, Jaskier finds himself on the front-seat of a pick up truck, Wolf guy behind the wheel. They are parked behind the frat house. "Look, I don't think you're a suitable candidate. The guys all said they want to keep you, but my friend recognized you from the freshman introduction party and we usually only inaugurate sophomores." Jaskier blinks. He has absolutely no idea what's going in anymore. His friend Triss is probably worried sick because he hasn't checked in all evening. The faint taste of burned rubber clings to his lips and all Jaskier can think is: Fuck, is this man hot. "Go out with me," he blurts. "Go out with me, I'll show you how suitable I am."

-Over the course of a month's worth of introductions, preparation and inauguration traditions (which, among other things, have him dropped butt-naked in the middle of the forest, requiring him to find his way back to campus; have him spend more time learning long-dead languages than he is comfortbale with; have him getting thoroughly intimate with Eskel's (Goat) helper syndrome, Lambert (Lamb) and Aiden's (Kitty-Cat) ostentatiously loud fucking, Coen's (Hawk) frequent absences and Geralt's (Wolf) quiet, but passionate idealism) Jaskier learns the truth at the core of Kaer Morhen. It is more than a fraternity, it is a brotherhood of students that spend their free time in rituals to protect the college, its city, likely even the whole state from supernatural creatures that threaten to cross over into the world. The existence of these is no surprise to Jaskier who's come out of an adolescence of escapism and coping through fiction and song, but the fact that there are handsome tough guys who work to banish him is too much of a dream to be true. It is true. Unofficially, the call themselves Witchers. They catch wraiths in cricles of runes, they re-direct necrophages into Kaer Morhen's basement and slay them with blades of silver. They brew potions and cast minor spells to get rid of mutated insectoids. And Jaskier is to be one of them. They call him Lark.

-His first ritual goes bat-shit wrong. Jaskier is reasonably sure he did everything right, but the wraith doesn't stay contained after they bound it . "Fuck," Geralt growns after, pressing a cloth to the gaping wound in Jaskier's shoulder while they wait for Eskel to whip out the first aid kit. Jaskier shudders, can taste blood. "There shouldn't be fireflies here, right?" - "Ah, nope," Lambert says. He keeps snapping his fingers before Jaskier's eyes. "Hey, Lark, stay with us, okay?" - "He's fine," Aiden says, inspecting his nails. "If anything, it's Geralt we should be worried about. He's about to have a full blown panic attack." Geralt grunts and holds Jaskier closer.

-"Does this mean I can ask Priscilla to let me copy her homework," Jaskier asks later. He's in bed, bundled up in one of Kaer Morhen's bedrooms. Portraits of alumni line the wall and a hearth crackles away. Geralt sits next to the bed, a pretense-book on his lap. His eyes bore into Jaskier, wide, haunted. "Jask," he breathes out shakily. - "Hello, big guy. How are we doing?" - "Better now that you're awake. We... we had to call in Vesemir. He will want to talk to you." - "Alright, okay," Jaskier says. He knows who Vesemir is of course, but he has no idea what exactly his job entails or what having to talk to him means. "Geralt?" - "Hmm?" - "What did I do wrong?" - "Nothing. You were uncharacteristically precise... but it turns out I was right all along. You're not suited for this kind of work." - "Because I'm not big and buff like all of you?" Jaskier asks, pouting. Geralt has the audacity to laugh. But he also takes Jaskier's hands and kisses his knuckles and huh? What? Jaskier's brain short-circuits. Fuck when did he fall so hard for Geralt? "No, Jask, you're perfect. I mean, uh, ah, perfectly annoying." That bastard. "The wraith went crazy because it turns out you're an amplifier. That means supernatural creatures are pulled to you and can draw from you to manifest easier in our world. You wouldn't have noticed this unless you ever passed by a spot where the spheres overlap significantly. As it is, your participation in the ritual poses a danger." - "TLDR: I'm fired?" - "That's for Vesemir to decide... truth be told, I don't want you to go. But I can't stand the thought of you being in danger. Because of me, this." - "Go out with me, Geralt. Please. One coffee," Jaskier practically begs. Yes, his shoulder is minced meat and he feels exhausted from the blood loss but Geralt has never been this open and honest with him. "...fine."

-Jaskier heals up under the diligent care of his friends. Priscilla is allowed over too, practically drags him though his classes with tutoring and copies of her homework and sugar-coated emails to his various professors. Triss video-calls him three times a day. Eskel's med school expertise leaves Jaskier with the most neat scar he is ever going to get out of this, Lambert and Aiden hang out to play Gwent with him, a strange card game they invented and custom-painted, Coën even pops in to bring Jaskier his guitar and a venti Matcha Tea Latte even though the nearest Starbucks is miles away. Geralt... Geralt is there almost all the way. He sleeps in the chair at first, then - on Jaskier's stern insistence - in the bed with him, though careful to keep his distance. He helps Jaskier into the shower, something so strangely intimate without feeling innately sexual, he takes him out on slow walks. Geralt doesn't talk much, but Jaskier knows he feels responsible. It's fine. Sure. Absolutely fine. Jaskier is so far gone for this man by the time he moves back into his own dorm that he considers getting injured again just to have Geralt by his side. They never do go out for coffee.

-Vesemir doesn't so much invite Jaskier as have him called out of his choir session by a girl about Jaskier's age. She has the same hair color as Geralt and Jaskier thinks he's seen her around Kaer Morhen's bigger parties. "Hello, Jaskier," she says sweetly, but one look at her tells Jaskier she's deadlier than any of the frat boys. If his drunk memory serves correctly she also does a phenomenal keg stand. "Ves sends me to collect you." Which has Jaskier even more impressed with her. None of the boys dare to call him anything but Vesemir or Sir, even when he's not around. - "I've been expecting this," Jaskier says, shouldering his bag. The girl laughs and grabs his arm to guide him out of the building and across campus. - "You are cute," she says. "Geralt said so, but I thought that was just because he's so infatuated with you. I'm Ciri, by the way, his younger sister." Infatuated, huh? Jaskier has just enough brainspace left to save her name. Ciri. They will have to become very good friends. Infatuated.

-It turns out, Vesemir isn't half as scary as the boys made him out to be. He's closer to sixty than fifty, has a stern face, but a kindly voice and the first thing he does after dismissing Ciri with a meaningful glance is offer Jaskier a glass of whiskey. Jaskier sneaks a photograph of the bottle's label when Vesemir stands at the window and glances down at the campus, hands clasped behind his back. Triss will never believe this. It's the sort of alcohol that exists only in myth, at least to college students. "So, Mr. Pankratz. I'm afraid apologies are in order." - "Please, I prefer Jaskier." - "I know," Vesemir says and turns. "I would kindly ask you to delete that picture, my office and its contents fall under the terms of the non-disclosure agreement you signed when entering our brotherhood." Jaskier gulps heavily, the whiskey suddenly sour on his tongue. But he's quick to paste over a smile. He's gotten this far with the mysterious Kaer Morhen fraternity, he can pull all the way through. He deletes the picture. "Good," Vesemir says. "Now down to business." Vesemir gives him two options. Jaskier can consult a local magical artisan and have his memories of Kaer Morhen's true purpose removed. It is an easy procedure, won't cost him anything. Except for his new-found friends and the love he feels for Geralt. Except for the only place he's ever truly felt at home. Jaskier chooses the latter option which is to become the fraternity's chronicler.

-After that, things are supposed to calm down and they do, for a bit. Geralt still dodges any and all attempts Jaskier makes at flirting even though it's evident his resolve is thinning out. Jaskier observes and documents the rituals, begins to collect old notebooks. He's planning to go above and beyond his job and compile a comprehensive history of Kaer Morhen and its members before he's graduated. He may not be able to partake in the rituals or help the guys protect this city from monsters, but he can play his part. Leave behind a legacy.

-Between that and his normal studies, hanging out with his theater group, meeting Triss on alternate weekends and throwing epic frat parties, all of Jaskier's time is consumed. There are several instances in which Geralt and him almost manage to have their coffee, but then they have Eskel on the phone because Lambert and Aiden managed to give themselves poisoning over a simple Endrega job, or Priscilla needs an emergency stand-in for her weekly performances at a local bar, or Jaskier is simply too tired and falls into bed, sleeping over Zoltan's aggressive snoring. Jaskier doesn't mind so much. They catch glimpses of intimacy, Geralt's hand on the small of his back as he guides him downstairs for another ritual, a good night kiss on the cheeks once it's done, a spot of quiet homework-doing in Kaer Morhen's common room together, their legs pressed close under the table. One of these days, Jaskier will find the courage to close the last bridge between them. He just wants to wait until Geralt seems absolutely comfortable with it.

-All is as well as can be until Vesemir comes up with an idea. Because more and more creatures have been getting through and they are unable to hold off all, he wants to capture one of them, an Archgriffin, to bind in their world and act as guardian against lesser creatures. "You're mad," Aiden says. "That's fucking brilliant." - "It's a good idea," Eskel and Coën agree. Lambert keeps exchanging grim glances with Geralt because they both know what this means. They will have to use Jaskier to lure the beast. Which is why they both protest the idea heavily and Geralt gets into a fight with Vesemir. Jaskier is not there for it, but Aiden and Lambert tell him later, once he's back from theatre rehearsal. He watches them fight over it too and then it's only him and Lambert. Jaskier steals one of Zoltan's bottles of spirits and they get stupidly drunk, wandering around campus all night until Eskel collects them and tucks them into bed at Kaer Morhen. "I will not stand to lose you," Lambert slurs, arm dragged over Jaskier's chest. "You're like, almost my best friend. Plus, Wolf would be devastated." - "Aiden seems to think it'll be fine," Jaskier says, snuggling up to Lambert. - "Yeah, fuck him." They fall asleep like that and the first thing Geralt does when he finds them is kick Lambert all the way down the stairs.

-In the end, Geralt and Lambert are outvoted, not that they can stop Vesemir. Geralt is more silent than usual throughout prep and Jaskier can't seem to cheer him up. He knows his life is likely on the line, but he wants to help so badly. These guys are his family after all. If he can make their lives a little easier by doing this... well, he wants to. He needs to. Being in Kaer Morhen is the first time he seems to have a purpose other than writing angsty teenage songs. Eskel keeps checking up on him. Vesemir writes preliminary excuses for all Jaskier's exams which leave him with only A's, something Priscilla does not appreciate in the slightest. Lambert and Aiden fight and fight and won't stop fighting over this whole affair until Jaskier sits them down and makes them talk. Geralt... remains quiet. Jaskier can tell he doesn't sleep. Can tell he rarely eats. He decides now is as good a time as ever.

-It's the night before and the others have all returned to their dorms, but Jaskier stayed in Kaer Morhen under the pretext of Zoltan having his girlfriend over, and Geralt rarely ever goes home. He has a flat off campus, but Jaskier suspects it's drab and lonely. He gets it. Kaer Morhen has soft fluffly beds and fire places and wards and books. Currently, it has the two of them, bundled up in one of the upstairs rooms. They share an armchair before a low fire, not an unusual sight for them, not anymore. And still, Geralt pretends they're just friends. It's ridiculous. "You know I'll be fine, right?" Jaskier says. He has his head tucked under Geralt's chin and has been humming show tunes under his breath for the last half hour, something that usually puts Geralt right to sleep. Not so now. "I can't know that," Geralt replies. He lifts Jaskier's hand which he's been holding and traces the veins on the back of it with his thumb. "You've no idea how dangerous the ritual is. Even more so with you being an amplifier." - "So protect me." - "I will. I promise, I will." - "Geralt, when are you going to finally give in?" Jaskier sighs and pulls back a little. Geralt stares at him, a little cross-eyed and Jaskier gives a shaky laugh. "I'm going to kiss you now. Pull back if you don't want to, but allow it and I'll never let you go." Geralt allows it, kisses back. It's the first night they indulge in a love that has been growing for almost a year and it's gloriously sweet, blazing, beautiful. It leaves Jaskier with faith that, even if things go sideways, Geralt will get them both out of it alive.

-The ritual goes well thanks to the Witchers' meticulous preparations, the dozen or so warding spells they put on Jaskier and Geralt's reflexes that save him from a swipe of the Griffin's claw. They bind the creature to one of the basement holding cells and celebrate with excessive amoutns of vodka and cake. "All is well that ends well, huh?" Jaskier asks from where he sits on Geralt's lap. Strong arms hold him and his chest is full of nightingales that flutter and sing. He watches Eskel drunkenly dance-offing with Coen in a corner, watches Lambert and Aiden make out in another. Vesemir took off, but Ciri is there, lounging next to them on the couch, nose buried in her phone. "I will never put you through such danger again," Geralt grunts, his nose buried in Jaskier's hair. "Of course, love." Jaskier relaxes into the embrace. All is well, though it is not nearly the end of this story.

-TLDR: Kaer Morhen is an occultist fraternity that keeps supernatural beings away from campus. Jaskier, unable to participate in the actual rituals due to a genetic predisposition, becomes their chronicler. Geralt worries a lot. Jaskier tries for the longest time to get him to go on a coffee date or something. Lambert and Aiden are a disaster couple. Eskel keeps them all together, literally and figuratively. Ciri is the one who got all the brain cells.

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hajime-isayama-official · 3 years

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One main arguments I’ve seen from non Jewish and poc snk Stan’s and that will have that one token Jewish person or friend who says they are not offended and snk isn’t anti Semitic or Nazi propaganda. Or say well isayama isn’t a anti Korean racist or Japanese imperialist that’s all been proven fake blah blah blah. Even if it’s fake the series is still problematic stop using that one Jewish person who isn’t offended they don’t speak for all Jewish people obviously-part 1

Part 2 he also named miksasa after a imperial Japanese battle ship and dot pixels is based off of a Nazi Japanese imperialist I think? Same for Erwin I might be wrong that’s what I looked up. I’m personally not comfortable supporting the series anymore for valid reasons but it’s honestly so hard to find blogs like you who criticize the series and author I’ve only found a small amount of blogs who acknowledge the problematic aspects in both manga and anime unfortunately :(

Oh Anon, you get me going here.

Yes, Mikasa is named after a very successful battleship (it’s supposedly certain success if your manga has a character named after a battleship).

Pixis was inspired by a Japanese imperial general. He died before WW2 tho. Anyway that sparked huge controversy with the Japanese fans, leading to hate messages towards Yams for years.

German SNK Wiki claims Erwin was inspired by Erwin Rommel, a general in WW1 and WW2 who later turned against Hitler (it’s fine cause he wasn’t REALLY a Nazi, right? no.). Erwin’s Birthday is the death day of Erwin Rommel. However, since I can’t find a source I’d take that one with a grain of salt. The main Inspiration for Erwin as a character is Ozymandias from Watchmen. So only fictional mass murder for Erwin here lol

These points are already kinda icky, but can be ignored I guess. Of course SNK searches inspiration in military. It’s a series about literal Child Soldiers (which somehow is never a critic point on any anime/manga?!). However it’s also full of dogwhistles and even more uncomfortable references.

My main points are the portrayal of grey-morality on the case of genocide and the way Isayama clearly draws inspiration from Nazi Germany when he portrays Marley. The latter is not per say problematic. Fullmetal Alchemist is also inspired by The Third Reich and carries a strong anti-imperalist and anti-nazi message. SNK however falls short on that till now. I am not Jewish myself, so I can obviously not determine what is antisemitic and only point out the obvious. Plus my knowledge of things is obviously limited so feel free to correct or join in.

Isayama pretty much paints the Eldians as the Jews of this “mirror world” World War we witness since the time skip. This is clear by the imagery of the Ghettos he shows, the armbands the Eldians have to wear and much more (Short images search should do the job here). The coding of the Eldians as Jewish equivalent is complete with the Marleyan myth of Eldians ruling the world if no one does anything to hold them in control (aka every antisemitic conspiracy ever). But it doesn’t end there. We know from the manga that Paradis island is basically Madagaskar.

The Nazis planned to deport about 4 million Polish Jews to Madagaskar in the 1940′s. That plan was shortlived and obviously never put into action for various reasons. So in SNK we have the scenario that the Eldians fled to Paradis in order to get an advantage over the Marleyans. The Eldians who are not on Paradis live in Ghettos on the mainland. That’s a weird coincidence, considering how many islands our big blue planet has.

What I think is pretty bizarre is that Isayama distorts this by pairing this imo pretty obvious real live inspiration with references to Norse mythology. This is fucked up in so far that Norse mythology is so heavily appropriated by the Nazis that many runes are outlawed in Germany till today and showing interest in Norse mythology is still often associated with white supremacy (have a look at Neo-Nazi signs and see the pattern). Like, this combination of Norse and early 20th century German imagery isn’t even a dogwhistle anymore, it’s yelling “I SUCK NAZI DICK AND I LIKE IT”. The references he uses are especially Ymir and the paths, that can then be seen as the world tree Yggdrasil:

The tree connects the Eldians and the nine titans which share their number with the nine realms that Yggdrasil holds. There’s some more, tiny stuff, like Erwin being easily interpreted as a reference to the God Tyr (God of battle, who loses his right arm in the mouth of a beast) and Hanji to the God Odin (Losing an eye in a well in the pursuit of gaining knowledge and wisdom). Both of these Gods are probably the most appropriated by white supremacists. When Ymir first turns into a titan it is at castle Utgard. In Norse mythology Utgard is a place in Jotunheim, the realm of the Jotun who the giant Ymir is the first ancestor of.

In general the pairing of clear WW2 imagery and references to Norse mythology is a mixture that is VERY sketchy and should always make you suspicious. Especially since these two are not going together (as in Marley using references to Norse mythology), but against each other. So we have both sides (Marley and Eldia) associated with white supremacy. Another thing that I will never be over is that Zeke and Eren are obviously named in reference to the German words Sieg und Ehre (Victory and Honor) referencing white supremacist buzzwords.

Then we have the issue that the main conflict is not with the Marley people, who are basically our mirrorworld Nazis. The conflict is AMONG the Eldians. Liberating the Eldians form the Marleyans is not even a thing, because we’re busy keeping two Eldians from practicing genocide/euthanasia on their own kind. So in this aspect Eldians are painted basically just as bad as Marleyans (and we have that “everyone is wrong in a war” Issue again).

I think in the end Eren’s will to kill everyone will lead to Eldians and Marley people accepting their differences or whatever and leading to unision in the shared enemy (kind of already happens in the manga) and while I think that’s a possibly interesting way to go it’s imo not when one of those parties has been subjected to centuries of genocide by the other. Assistant says a good closure to the Norse Mythology theme would be the manga going for Ragnarök, so everyone, Marleyan and Eldian, dies, except for two people who start the world anew. After all anisemitism or in this case anti-eldian sentiment doesn’t just stop after a world war. I don’t really fuck with this bullshit we got in one of the recent chapters where this one Marley general was like “Oh no, they were only people after all”. Bro, your whole society is built on them not being people and all of that is gone in one day of crisis? *doubt.png*

There’s obviously more to it than that and especially my understanding of the manga might be a bit off, since I don’t read it as attentively as I used to anymore. At this point I’m so fucking suspicious of this manga tbh. I doubt that we can come out of this with an anti-imperialist or anti-fascist message.

This does of course not mean no one should read or watch the manga or anime. I read/watch it too as you see. But it’s always good to be critical of the media you consume and take concerns from others serious, when it comes to stuff like this.

#oof #long post #ppl are not gonna like this lol #Anon #nazi mention

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k-xxiv · 2 years

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Tessa looked from one of them to the other. There could not be two boys who looked more different, or who had more different dispositions. And yet. “Is that what it means to be parabatai?” she said. “Finishing each other’s sentences and the like? Because there isn’t much on it in the Codex.”

Will and Jem looked at each other. Will shrugged first, casually. “It is rather difficult to explain,” he said loftily. “If you haven’t experienced it—”

“I meant,” Tessa said, “you cannot—I don’t know—read each other’s minds, or the like?”

Jem made a spluttering noise. Will’s lambent blue eyes widened. “Read each other’s minds? Horrors, no.”

“Then, what’s the point? You swear to guard each other, I understand that, but aren’t all Shadowhunters meant to do that for each other?”

“It’s more than that,” said Jem, who had stopped spluttering and spoke somberly. “The idea of parabatai comes from an old tale, the story of Jonathan and David. ‘And it came to pass . . . that the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul. . . . Then Jonathan and David made a covenant, because he loved him as his own soul.’ They were two warriors, and their souls were knit together by Heaven, and out of that Jonathan Shadowhunter took the idea of parabatai, and encoded the ceremony into the Law.”

“But it doesn’t just have to be two men. It can be a man and a woman, or two women?”

“Of course.” Jem nodded. “You have only eighteen years to find and choose a parabatai. Once you are older than that, the ritual is no longer open to you. And it is not merely a matter of promising to guard each other. You must stand before the Council and swear to lay down your life for your parabatai. To go where they go, to be buried where they are buried. If there were an arrow speeding toward Will, I would be bound by oath to step in front of it.”

“Handy, that,” said Will.

“And he, of course, is bound to do the same for me,” said Jem. “Whatever he may say to the contrary, Will does not break oaths, or the Law.” He looked hard at Will, who smiled faintly and stared out the window.

“Not everyone has a parabatai,” said Jem. “Very few of us, actually, find one in the allotted time. But those who do can draw on the strength of their parabatai in battle. A rune put on you by your parabatai is always more potent than one you put on yourself, or one put on by another. And there are some runes we can utilize that no other Shadowhunter can, because they draw on our doubled power.”

“But what if you decide that you don’t want to be parabatai anymore?” Tessa asked curiously. “Can the ritual be broken?”

“Dear God, woman,” said Will. “Are there any questions you don’t want to know the answer to?”

“I don’t see the harm in telling her.” Jem’s hands were folded atop his cane. “The more she knows, the better she will be able to pretend she plans to Ascend.” He turned to Tessa. “The ritual cannot be broken save in a few situations. If one of us were to become a Downworlder or a mundane, then the binding is cut. And of course, if one of us were to die, the other would be free. But not to choose another parabatai. A single Shadowhunter cannot take part in the ritual more than once.”

“It is like being married, isn’t it,” said Tessa placidly, “in the Catholic church. Like Henry the Eighth; he had to create a new religion just so he could escape from his vows.”

“Till death do us part,” said Will, his gaze still fixed on the countryside speeding past outside the window.

“Well, Will won’t need to create a new religion just to be rid of me,” said Jem. “He’ll be free soon enough.”

Will looked over sharply, but it was Tessa who spoke. “Don’t say that,” she admonished Jem. “A cure could still be found. I don’t see any reason to abandon all hope.”

She almost shrank back at the look Will bent on her: blue, blazing, and furious. Jem seemed not to notice as he replied, calmly and unaffectedly. “I haven’t abandoned hope,” he said. “I just hope for different things than you do, Tessa Gray.”

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avengershumanresources · 3 years

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blood 2 - Strange/Stark!Reader

Relationship: Dr. Strange/Princess!Stark!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Adult Themes, eventual smut (like, wayyy down the line), adult language, implied sexual violence, general violence

Synopsis: Reader is the daughter of the legendary King Anthony Stark, Uniter of Lands, The Iron Defender, and leader of the realm. When the king disappears during battle, hope is lost and he is presumed dead.

When the late king’s uncle, Obadiah, takes the throne until your brother Peter is of age, he quickly arranges a marriage for you with a wicked king in a neighboring kingdom.

With the realms politics in question, and rumors of an upcoming siege to overthrow Peter’s rule before it starts, you quickly learn who is loyal to the crown and who is not.

part 1 - part 3

Masterlist

Chapter Playlist

2 - a night at the pub

You parted from Stephen the moment you saw Natalia and James in the crowd at the pub. They were sipping from large beer steins, listening to a bard sing a sorrowful song about the death of the great Iron Defender.

When the music ended and the pub applauded, the entertainer switched to something more upbeat to soothe the mood.

“A bit sentimental for you two, isn’t it?” you asked, pulling back your cloak. Stephen had transfigured your overbearing mourning garb into something that would better fit in the village.

“How on earth did you slip out tonight?” James asked in surprise, brows raised to his hairline. “I would’ve though t they’d have had you under lock and key.”

“Everyone’s a bit... distracted, believe it or not,” you replied coolly, taking a seat at their table toward the back of the room.

“So we hear,” Natalia leaned in. “Any news of the next king? I have a wager with the barkeep’s wife.”

“Anthony has an uncle who still lives,” Stephen supplied, taking a seat at your side. “Or so my companions informed me. Until Peter is of age, he would be the presumptive heir.”

“What do we know about him?” Natalia asked quietly, lowering her head conspiratorially.

“Nothing,” you replied with a long sigh. “He’s been at the winter palace my whole life.”

“Nothing suspicious about that,” James shrugged and took a swallow of his drink. “Nat, what do ya think about Asgard this time of year?”

“Stop up James,” the redhead nudged her companion and returned her attention to you and Stephen. “And if he doesn’t give up the job in six months?”

“He is removed,” Stephen replied bluntly.

“Yikes, you’re scary, did you know that?” James murmured.

“I’ve been told,” the sorcerer grunted, flagging down a barmaid for a drink. He could already tell it was going to be a long night.

“Don’t forget, you owe me,” you reminded him.

“Lose a bet?” Natalia asked in amusement, eye rating between the duo.

“I caught him enchanting my tea without permission,” you replied.

“Uh oh, broke the one rule,” Natalia mused, watching Strange for a reaction.

“It was a protection spell, hardly worth mentioning, I cast them over the princess all the time,” he snorted under his breath.

“All the time?” James asked in a voice low enough that only Stephen could hear.

“That’s dangerous conjecture, Barnes,” Stephen warned. “My responsibilities include keeping my student, who happens to be the princess, safe.”

“If we were being honest, if I were kidnapped or traded away, it wouldn’t do much to the kingdom,” you reasoned, eagerly grabbing the first mug of ale before Stephen could take a sip. He waved a hand over the drink, ensuring it hadn’t been poisoned, before you took a long swallow. “Peter is the one who has to stay safe. Who knows where we’d be without a true heir?”

“You know that’s ridiculous,” Nat snorted. “Gods, you’re so dramatic sometimes.”

“My father’s funeral was today, give me a little sympathy,” you huffed in response, taking another swig of your drink.

“To King Anthony,” James stood up, his voice bellowing through the pub. You ducked your head down into Stephen’s shoulder while onlookers cheered and joined in the toast. “May he rest in peace!”

The pub shouted in response, with steins clinking against one another and another song starting up.

“We’re trying to draw attention away from the princess, you oaf,” Natalia muttered tersely toward James.

“Who would be looking for her here?” the brunette assassin shrugged. “Besides, no one would be able to slip past the three of us.”

Stephen snorted under his breath, giving the room a quick glance to ensure any unwanted attention hadn’t been drawn toward them. James did have a point. Someone in hiding would seldom encourage a room to drink.

Besides, he looked over at you laughing over something Natalia had said, you were genuinely smiling for the first time in weeks. The risk was worth a little relief.

He nursed at his drink while you signaled for another round for yourself and your friends. Stephen did well to avoid becoming drunk in your presence, mostly for your protection, but also as a means of avoiding embarrassing himself in front of you.

The last thing he needed was you armed with an artillery of teasing that he couldn’t even recall.

As the booze flowed and the music picked up, James grabbed your hand and pulled you to the center of the room, dancing with some of the villagers to the upbeat song.

Stephen watched, almost transfixed by the way you spun and twirled so lightheartedly to the sounds. As if you hadn’t a care in the world, and your life was back to the simpler time when he’d first met you.

“You’re drooling a little,” Natalia chuckled over his shoulder.

Stephen’s head whipped around, unconsciously wiping at his mouth before scowling at the nosy redhead.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, doing his best to keep his composure under her hard gaze.

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed of,” she hummed, eyes falling where you and James continued your antics. “You’ve seen the man I’ve dedicated myself to.”

“You know the oaths I have to take,” he murmured.

“Aren’t you the one in charge of said oaths?” she challenged coyly. “I’d never understood your antiquated ways. I would argue that loving another gives you more reason to stay dedicated to your craft.”

She had a point, Stephen reasoned to himself. The ways he’d worked to ensure your protection, the kingdom’s protection, and the advancement of his knowledge at your urging was beyond any work he’d done on his own at Kamar-Tai.

Still, the distractions. The liabilities.

By the Vishanti, if an enemy were to ever get their hands on you… oaths be damned. He’d burn the world to the ground to ensure your safety, and that was the problem.

“She’s going to marry a prince, and have kings and queens as babies,” Stephen replied coolly. "We have our roles and our duties.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t mind giving her a few babies,” Natalia smirked up at him, laughing when his face went as scarlet as her hair.

“Regardless,” his voice cracked slightly, adding even more to the embarrassment when Natalia quirked a brow. “I would need permission from the king to consider breaking my oaths and wedding a princess.”

“Oh, you’d marry her? That’s a new development,” she replied, eyes falling behind him while you and James returned.

“I’m going to need another ale,” you complained, staring down the empty mug after chugging down your second drink.

“You’re going to need to watch how much you drink,” Stephen replied. “Remember last time. The hungover elixir only works so well.”

“You have a hangover elixir?” James asked. “Gods, I’d murder a man for one of those. Maybe it’s time I go to Kamar-Taj. Find my true purpose.”

“Don’t look at me,” Stephen held up a hand. “Wong is the one who brews it. He claims it’s an old family recipe.”

“Might have to pay Master Wong a visit tonight,” James stated, sliding a pair of fresh ales toward you and Natalia. “This one’s on me.”

“Are you going to tell me which lord you stole the coin from?” you asked, sipping at the drink before Stephen could check its contents.

“It’s the one with the wart on his nose,” James snickered behind his drink. “I picked him specifically because you mentioned he beats his wife.”

“He’s getting another visit from the Widow in a few nights,” Natalia added with a wicked grin.

“I don’t pity the man-,” you started coughing, trying to clear your throat. “-Ah, excuse me-!”

Caught in a fit of coughs, Stephen’s focus became you. You couldn’t catch a breath, even when he tapped your back, and you hadn’t had anything to eat- the ale. A wave of his hand confirmed the liquid had been tampered with.

“Find out who served that ale,” he demanded the assassins, grabbing your arm and hauling you outside of the pub.

You gasped for air, clutching at your throat while he drew up a portal back to the observatory. If this was what was happening with the protection enchantment in your system, he hesitated to think of the alternative.

Scooping you up, he stepped through and situated you on one of the chaise’s strewn throughout the room.

He thumbed through his collection of vials before finding a generic antidote and opening your mouth to pour the liquid in.

It worked- kind of. You were able to take a few shallow breaths, but your eyes rolled back and you collapsed, falling back against the chaise.

This was literally his worse case scenario. Everything he’d been afraid of, because he’d let you convince him to go out, and because he’d distracted himself with his conversation with Natalia.

He summoned a spell book, fingers finding the page he recalled from his apprentice days. It was written to purge someone of any toxic entities within them, be it poison or dark magic. Moving his hands through the air and reciting the runes, your body was overtaken by a wisp of winding yellow light.

It threaded itself through you, eventually hitting the source of the poison in your chest and pulling the toxic liquid free in a cloud of rancid black smoke. That was peculiar. Generally such a reaction was associated with dark magic rather than a consumed poison.

Poison was usually a dark red or green.

You stirred the moment the spell had finished its work. Taking a deep breath and clearing your throat, you looked to Stephen in wide-eyed horror.

“I was wrong,” you stated, hand to your chest.

“How do you feel?”

“I’m not dying,” you answered quickly. “Stephen, I am so sorry… I underestimated my… wait, Peter.”

Stephen understood your meaning immediately. He instructed you to stay within the safety of the observatory and opened a portal to the outside of the prince’s chambers.

The knights on guard jumped at the sudden appearance of the sorcerer, who took no time for pleasantries.

“An attempt was made on the princess’ life,” he informed the duo. “Have you heard any disturbance from the prince?”

“No one has been in or out since the prince retired,” Sir Samuel informed him, looking to Sir Clinton with a shrug. “He hasn’t made a noise.”

Just as Samuel finished his sentence, there was a loud crash from within the room.

The guards charged in, finding the prince in a struggle with a masked man. The prince was doing his best to fight off the dagger brandishing assassin, kicking him in the chest when he was distracted by the entrance of the guards.

When the assassin realized he was outnumbered, Stephen saw his hands move rapidly to open a portal, and before anyone could intervene, he was gone.

“Your highness!” Samuel rushed to the prince’s side while Stephen ignited the candles in the room with a snap of his fingers. “Are you injured?”

“Sir Clinton, get to the queen and Princess Morgan,” Peter ordered after catching his breath. He looked to Stephen. “And the older princess?”

“Safe,” came the sorcerer’s response.

“You said an attempt was made on her life,” Samuel retorted.

“A what?” Peter glared up at the sorcerer.

“I took care of it, she is safe,” Stephen assured him. “Are you injured, your highness?”

“I’m fine,” he brushed off the two men and stood up. “I want the guard awoken and informed of what has happened.”

He turned to Stephen.

“I want the wards reconstructed around the castle,” he continued. “I don’t trust the foundations of previous Masters. If you must call in sorcerers from Kamar-Taj, we will provide what they need.”

“Sir, your great uncle is due to arrive in a fortnight,” Samuel reminded him. “Shall we inform the convoy of the attempts on the royal family?”

Peter looked to Stephen with a frown. One of the young king’s first major decisions.

“Let’s address the question in the morning,” he decided. “I want to know my family is safe.”

As if on cue, Queen Virginia and Princess Morgan were led into the room by Sir Clinton and Sir Steven.

“Peter,” the queen pulled the prince into a relieved embrace. “Clint told us what had happened.”

“I recommend we reconvene in the throne room,” Steven suggested with a nervous glance around the chambers.

“The wards are strongest there,” Stephen agreed with a curt nod. “I’ll go retrieve the princess.”

He returned to the observatory and found you sitting, staring down at the floor in deep thought.

“Princess?” he called softly. You leapt up at his voice, hurrying over.

“Are they safe?”

“Peter was attacked, but he fought the assassin off,” Stephen informed her.

“And mother? And Morgan?” you bit your bottom lip anxiously.

“Safe,” he confirmed.

You let out a relieved sigh, your hands trembling slightly at your sides.

“Sir Steven suggested we go to the throne room to discuss our next options,” he offered his arm and she took it gratefully.

He hoped she didn’t feel his own tremors. His own panic at the thought of losing her. The aftershocks of their new reality and his worst nightmare.

“I won’t allow this to happen again,” he promised her quietly.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you assured him, your voice was shaky. “I was hurting, and whoever did this, acted on our vulnerabilities. I’d been selfish to hide in the village when I should have been by my family.”

“You slipped up once,” he countered, slowing his pace down the hall. He could have easily drawn a portal to the room, but he figured you both needed some time to manage your emotions. “You’re human. We make mistakes. It just happened we both made a mistake at the same time tonight. I wouldn’t have allowed you to go if I hadn’t been confident in my judgement of the situation.”

Your hand trailed down to his and you gave it a squeeze.

“Thank you Stephen,” you murmured, holding on a moment longer before replacing it on his arm.

He felt his heart give a small throb at the minute action, his fingers left tingling, and not from the damage from the accident.

“Always at your pleasure, your highness.”

(---)

3 - a new day

TAG LIST (Message to be added to this fic or my general tag list!):

@ayamenimthiriel @drstrangely-strange-deactivated @ladynothing @im-a-bi-disaster-help @idkwhatthisislol

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southerneldritch · 3 years

Text

-One Year Later, Isaac-

With a satisfying scrape the metal tip of the chisel finished its last draw across the cold stone. A few short words were spoken and the newly-etched sigil began to glow. A smile came across the speaker’s lips and he lifted the cold stone with its warm glow to gently place it onto a tray with several others. The placement of this particular stone had no significance, but Isaac found the alignment of the glowing colors satisfying as the stone was nestled among them with intent and power. He wiped his hands off on his leather apron in time to see Oliver approach.

“Well now, did this latest addition change anything?” Oliver inquired. His firm, deep voice indicated genuine interest along with some concern. “We’ve been working on the Telum for well over a year and with your brief hiatus I was afraid I might have lost my most valuable asset to uncovering more of this mystery.”

“You’re too kind, '' Isaac retorted. “Yet I find this particular sigil, though drawn from what we’ve found not only on the Telum and the Son Fire, to be lacking. There seems to be no significant difference.” He let out a sigh as he grasped a stale, but still warm, cup of coffee and brought it to his lips. The flavor certainly… existed, but even as Isaac had advanced in his position with Oliver here at Verum, the coffee did little to encourage his permanent residence. He smirked. “Though this shit doesn’t help the brain”

“No” Oliver laughed “It really doesn’t.” He leaned on the table near the setting of softly glowing sigils, “But Goodwin has no intent on supplying us with anything better. If we want it, we gotta go across the street ourselves.”

“Well Goodwin can stuff it” Isaac smirked as he downed what was left in the cup. Before he could add anything to his comment, a woman came through the door and handed Oliver a slip of paper.

“Alright. Thank you Maria.” Oliver turned to Isaac. “Well, take a break, we got some simple rifling engraving to do. Seems like there’s a Bokrug that’s somehow found its way through the looking glass, as it were.” He glared at his own cup of coffee. “Normal sort of Glassway banishing will do, you know what to do.”

“Right” Isaac nodded as he slipped the barrel of a Military 1911 off an opposite workbench and began etching into it. “You know” he spoke as his steel cut steel “We might be going about this all wrong. Maybe my pop and Maxim were working with a different intent.”

“Oh?” Oliver quereied as he locked a piece of metal into a vice. “And what intent do you think we’re missing?”

“Something deeper” He paused as his blade easily cut the last curl across a signet that emblazoned the barrel. “Something that they felt in themselves. We appreciate the drive and the goal of our actions, but maybe we aren’t channeling the correct feeling into the glyphs….not firing the sigils properly to cast the power we know is there?”

“Hmmm” Oliver looked up from his piece and scratched the hairs on his chin. “That seems like something we should have considered.” With a smirk, he turned his stool and faced Isaac. “Do you know when your father did what he did to your revolver?”

“Well” Isaac paused, he thought long and hard. While his dad had always been a loving and caring man, a dutiful person, he could not recall a single instance of his father doing anything other than hanging his gun up at night. He was not the sort to brandish or even play at flair with it. In fact, Isaac as a young man hardly thought of the firearm until he received it. “No... but maybe that’s because it’s a part of it, right?”

“How do you mean?”

“If we’re to take the sigil expression from left hand path practice and combine it with Preternatural iconographic tendencies then we have a practice, or rather...” Isaac stood and pointed at the sigils glowing on the stones, copies of the Telum and Son Fire. “...Perhaps these were cast with intent but ignored afterwards?”

“But chaos magik is one shot, kid.” Oliver asserted as he rose and stood beside him by the glowing stones. “If this were something of the left hand path then we’d see the object destroyed after use, but both these things can be used again and again. With any user” He sat on the back of a chair as he sought a response.

“You’re right” Isaac considered. He laid out his experience, from the shattering atrium of the greater history museum, to the last time he saw the good doctor transform into something well beyond reason over a year ago. “But what if that’s precisely it? Perhaps we’re seeing why a Left hand cast sigil might have power to those unaware?” He quickly stepped towards one of the many bookshelves inside the smithing shop and pulled a volume. “What if the caster couldn’t use it, as their intent would be recognizable? Maybe they needed others who were unaware to wield it?!”

“...” There was a stunned silence on Oliver’s face “So...your dad did what he did for you….and Maxim for what? The war? Profit?” Before Isaac could answer Maria walked in another time.

“Goodwin is requesting GoldShot Mr. Wade '' Her voice was mellow and cool, like she had mentioned the weather at midnight in the basement of a downtown office building, which coincidentally was where she was.

“Not a problem. Isaac, grab that box over there” Oliver gestured.

As Isaac reached for the box the whole structure of the building shook, down to its foundations.

“What the?” He paused. The lights flickered and then went out. Every rune, sigil, and icon they had etched into the stones was now glowing a sickly blue. His eyes quickly shifted to his shoulder holster where the Son Fire was glowing with the orange of the sun. Peering over towards the case with the Telum, the edges emitting a vibrant orange light. “Goodwin needed wh…”

The phone rang. Isaac cut off. With little hesitation he lifted the receiver and answered. A brief pause to listen... “What’s happening where, John!?” He exclaimed.

“What’s happening?” Oliver asked with a slight amount of panic in his voice. He was not accustomed to his shop growing dark or the sigils he’s working with changing. “Which John?”

“Randolph” Isaac rolled his eyes and went back to listening to the voice in the receiver. A nod, a shrug. “Well, head that way, we’ll meet you there” He answered and hung up.

“Well?” Oliver said, smirking as he eyed the aprons they both wore. “We doing field work?”

“Yes. Now grab a gun” Isaac stepped towards his jacket on the coat rack. “The sky apparently is falling….”

(By J. Daily)

#paranornal #supernatural #southern eldritch #microfiction #writing #private detective #southern gothic #Avenyork #Georgia #Magic #Sigil

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beautifulterriblequeen · 3 years

Text

What do your elf eyes see? Runaan and Nyx

This is exactly the kind of distraction I needed today, so please feel free to get inordinately excited about this like I did.

First, a collection of fun but seemingly unrelated eye facts in TDP:

Runaan has mild heterochromia, with his left eye being just a little lighter in hue than his right.

Viren’s eyes are gray, until Aaravos puts bug spit on one of them and turns it a nice purple like his own astral-projection eyes.

Nyx has obvious heterochromia, with one blue eye and one brown.

And the oasis in the Midnight Desert sure is fun, pretty, and mysterious.

Eyes are cool, eyes are fun. They’re pretty, and there’s some cool subtext about seeing clearly, vision, etc. etc. going on too.

But I’m gonna talk about color today. Actual literal eye color. And what it means for Runaan, Nyx, and the defense of Xadia.

Here’s a smidge of background: @kotikala had an awesome hc that Nyx was actually guarding the oasis, that her endless nomadic lifestyle was really so someone was always nearby for some reason. I added the observation that the big weird swoops in the black sand looked not-random, and kind of like huge (warding?) runes one might draw with the tail of an ambler, which could be refreshed against windstorms on every circuit around the desert.

The oasis is clearly Moonshadow. The obelisks, the towers, and even the tents are bristling with Moonshadow motifs.

Maybe Nyx is there because Skywings like to be mobile and Moonshadows don’t. And also because shadows are hard to come by in a desert.

So what does the oasis have to do with eyes?

Let’s set the scene with some S3 developments.

Viren’s eyes used to match, until Aaravos performed some kind of spell and turned one of them a different color.

The thing is, when one of Viren’s eyes changed color, so did one of Aaravos’s.

he looks so adorkable right side up, omg

Aaravos’s top of pupils, right and left:

Aaravos’s bottom of pupils, right and left:

In the dungeon, too, because lighting is lighting and I don’t have a 3D turnaround for his astral form:

Aaravos’s top of pupils, right and left:

Aaravos’s bottom of pupils, right and left:

His right eye, presumably, has changed to match more closely with Viren’s right, as if he has given up some of his color to affect it.

*rubs hands gleefully* So let’s take a look at Nyx and Runaan’s eyes. If their left eyes have some kind of similar connection, the blue of her left eye should match pretty closely with the blue of his right eye. So, just a quick dropper test to get us started:

Bottom of Nyx’s left and Runaan’s right eyes:

Top of Nyx’s left and Runaan’s right eyes:

UMM!!

I... I can barely tell them apart, guys. And I can’t remember who’s is whose, so:

<Mythbuster> Remember kids, the difference between science and messing around is writing it down. </Mythbuster>

Runaan, upper iris, right eye (bg color is Nyx):

Nyx, upper iris, left eye (bg color is Runaan):

Runaan, lower iris, right eye (bg color is Nyx):

Nyx, lower iris, left eye (bg color is Runaan):

(They’re not perfectly identical--and pixels be pixels--but I don’t have a 3D turnaround headshot for Runaan to compare with Nyx’s, so I had to use a screenshot in the best lighting I could find. Even then, it’s nearly impossible for me to spot the difference.)

The design team could’ve picked any color for Nyx’s left eye if they only wanted her to be a cute Skywing with heterochromia. But they picked the colors of Runaan’s right eye. (btw I checked, and her right eye doesn’t match Ethari’s) And since we’ve seen Viren’s eye change color due to magic, and we can tell that Aaravos’s eyes don’t 100% match after the eye spell he did, I think this counts as a secret parallel in the show.

I think it means that Runaan can see through Nyx’s eye, at least sometimes. Probably with some extras that Aaravos just skipped over with Viren, like asking permission and being able to withdraw it. Consent is not Aaravos’s strong suit, but Runaan would want a willing ally for security’s sake--even if he has to work with a chaotic Skywing. (omg the Rayla parallels, omg the Callum parallels)

Why would Runaan want to do a spell like this? Security of the oasis. It’s a Moonshadow place, clearly very important since it’s guarded by the Wonderwall. And he’s the leader of the assassins. Security--protecting Xadia--is his whole job. Nyx could be some kind of ambling security camera for him.

Why would Nyx agree to something like this, though? This trope can be very iffy, and as we’ve seen with Viren, it’s easy to abuse it. Maybe their arrangement gives her almost complete autonomy in the desert with no one pestering her except some random bossy Moonshadow elf every full moon or something, and he’s not even there in person, he just knocks on her eye and asks to take a look around for a second, maybe to make sure the Wonderwall looks tip top and the tents are okay. (because Moonshadows like tents, apparently)

We don’t know anything about the oasis yet other than what it looks like, so maybe it doesn’t get much, or any, use, and Runaan’s connection to her is more of a Use In Case Of Emergency kind of thing and they’ve never even talked aside from when the spell was created. Either way, changing eye color via a watching spell might be a small price to pay for all the cool salvage she finds all over the desert while she’s “working.”

Additionally, Nyx’s staff has Moonshadow motifs in it. Moonshadow colors, Runaan’s actual shoulder markings, Moon rune points! I love headcanoning that Ethari made it for her--and then she used it to smack his arrow. What a chaos bird.

Rayla seems to recognize something about it, while Callum’s all “Something so strangely familiar.” Yeah, you think?

Alternately, there could be some angst in here. Just because Nyx has Runaan’s eye color and an Ethari Special in her hands doesn’t mean she really wants them. Maybe she, and maybe Runaan too, feel this is one of those “duty first” kinds of things. I can see Runaan making this part of his “my heart for Xadia” mentality, doing whatever it takes, but maybe this explains why Nyx is her particular brand of chaotic. Skywings like their independence, and living with the possibility of a broody Moonshadow borrowing your eye sometimes is likely less independence than Nyx would like if she had her druthers. If she didn’t enthusiastically sign up for the eye spell, she could act more rebellious and chaotic than she normally would--destroying lighthawks, stealing dragons, you know, the whole Hanna Solo bit.

If I had to guess, I’d go with some cooperative shenaniganry, like echoes of the Order of the Phoenix from 300 years ago. Standing against Aaravos put the elves all on the same side, so Runaan resigns himself to this extra duty pretty quickly, and Nyx finds a way to answer the question “But what’s in it for me?” pretty quickly.

As for how Runaan might use this, say, while he was in an extreme situation? Well, first of all, he wouldn’t if he was planning to die in Viren’s dungeon. If he called for help, he’d only be endangering more elves. Plus, his honor was a bit tattery at the moment, and he might’ve felt he didn’t deserve saving even if it were easy (don’t, don’t get me started).

And second, I’ve got no idea how their connection might function, except that it’s got to be different than Aaravos and Viren’s. Is it to do with her staff, maybe, and certain phases of the moon? That seems very Moonshadow.

Also, thirdly, I don’t know how much these two characters interact, so it’s possible Runaan “I have trust issues” of the Moonshadow Elves wouldn’t trust Nyx to carry a message for him to the nearest shady pawn broker, let alone Ethari. But I did think about it, ha. I’m really hoping now that we get to see some hints or use for this connection in future seasons, whenever we get to learn more about the oasis!

The only downside I’m getting from this wild detail and fun headcanoning is that I really enjoyed Nyx having natural heterochromia. But she’s still amazing, and her eyes are still brilliantly pretty, and I support her.

Anyway here’s Nyx giving Rayllum the bird.

I’m cackling at the thought that she gave it to Runaan at some point, too.

#tdp theory #tdp analysis #tdp headcanons #nyx #runaan #aaravos #viren #heterochromia #tdp parallels #ethari #midnight desert #moonshadow oasis #tdp

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my-writings-and-musings · 3 years

Text

I have another lovely commission to share with you all! An awesome person wanted a super cute bit of interaction between Springload and Quillfire, so here it is!

Quillfire tried to keep the frown on his face from appearing too off putting as he left the base behind, keeping pace with Springload but ensuring the two of them had considerable personal space at the same time. To the benefit of their mission Earth's forests offered ample cover all around, ensuring neither had anything to fear in regards to detection. Though, to the anarchist, potential discovery was the least of his concerns. His last parting with the other mech had been under less than amicable terms, so he was fully anticipating a very unpleasant mission. In fact, he wouldn't have been surprised to learn Springload was planning to ditch him at the nearest opportunity. Such a prediction seemed more likely than not considering how the amphibicon had a tendency towards the dramatic. Was he going to be accused of defying invisible spirits, or sullying important signals from some great deity before he was exposed to corrosive attacks? It all seemed equally probable...

Frowning a little harder, he watched Springload hop ahead of him and wondered if this mission would end in failure like the last. They'd been up against considerable odds, and things weren looking much better. Steeljaw had been very insistent on them teaming up, so he had a bit of hope this would go well, but-

Crossing his arms, he huffed quietly to himself as he abandoned the train of thought, plodding along behind his chosen partner all the while. Why should he be the one to mend things? More importantly, why did he want to? There were a million other activities he could be doing at the moment, all of them more conducive to speeding up a revolution than this! Just imagining all the injustice on this backwards planet made his quills twitch with unease. Oh, how he longed to tear down the tyranny that was evident around every corner-

"Can you move more swiftly?" Springload barked back at him unexpectedly, hopping along through the forest at a pace few could match with a mere walk. Admittedly though, Quillfire was lagging behind as he mused over his unhappy thoughts. The amphibicon fixed him with an impatient glare. "The sooner this mission is completed, the sooner I may return to my quest!"

Quillfire obeyed with a gulp, a reaction so out of character for himself he didn't know what to make of it. For some unfathomable reason, he wanted to make peace with this bot, and he was stuck with that. Perhaps he just didn't want to endure an entire mission tainted by awkward silences and angry glares, but what could possibly make things amicable between them? This bot wanted nothing but the treasure of a fabled city that didn't exist, how was he supposed to provide anything like that? Perhaps… just some conversation might do the trick? If only to lighten the mood...

As they came to a road that marked the next leg of their mission, he made an effort to think of something to say as the amphibicon pondered their map, as well as the instructions they'd been given.

"Steeljaw instructed us to wait here and construct an ambush site. When the human transport arrives, we are to steal their cargo…" he said, finishing the statement with a most distasteful croak. Clearly, his fellow bot was not especially interested in the mission either, and likely was imagining countless other ways his time could be better spent. Such was a common feeling at their rank, and he did truly share most of the frustration. With that as a starting point, Quillfire imagined they may have some common ground after all.

"I will keep watch on the road, so that you might strike at the most opportune time!" he declared boldly, emphasizing his faith in the others skills. It wasn't even a stretch, as he firmly believed the other was more than capable of getting this done. Looking up and down the simple paved path to ensure he had a good vantage point, he found one in the form of a sheltered outcrop. Looking to Springload for a reaction the entire time, he smirked confidently and clamored up to the flat bit of earth above the road, gesturing to the wide field of observable forest as he did so. "We will claim our quarry with a single attack, and return victorious!"

Springload merely observed him with a blink of apathetic consideration. "Yes, indeed." he said simply, hopping into position and making sure to face away from his teammate when he did so. Pulling out the holo of his supposed map, he began to study it as he always did, scanning the runes for what had to be the millionth time. A terse tone made his feelings on any future reconciliation clear. "Then I may continue my quest for Doradas, alone."

The anarchist's quills sagged at the turn of events. While he hadn't been expecting immediate friendship, he also hadn't anticipated that the other mech would be so openly hostile to any kind of amicable teamwork, and found himself quite disappointed by the lack of success. For whatever reason, he just wanted Springload to like him, and failing at that was bothering him. I'm fact, it was bad enough that some part of him just refused to accept the defeat. There had to be a way he could earn the other's camaraderie. Considering how much time they still had left before their mission began, he had a good window in which to ponder a solution.

Sitting back on the soft grass, he put a hand to his chin in intense thought. Springload himself only openly cared about one thing, and he didn't know him well enough to be aware of any other likes or interests… Casting a glance at the amphibicon, he felt his processor buzzing at the strain of thinking so hard to produce no results. He simply didn't know anything about geography, archeology, linguistics or any other topic which might help the other mech in his quest. The thought that he might not be able to do anything ate at him much more than it should have. It was enough to make him sigh sadly to himself at the hopelessness of it all.

"Do you see something?" Springload asked, mistaking his small sound for a potential signal. Embarrassed and surprised, Quillfire coughed and babbled out an excuse as fast as he could come up with one.

"Ah… no! I simply mistook a… an organic being for the target!" he explained lamely, not even believing himself. Springload arched an optic ridge, looking as incredulous as he did frustrated at the false alarm. Quillfire laughed awkwardly to clear the air, shrinking down beneath the edge of the outcrop to disappear from view. A dissatisfied croak let him know the outburst was thoroughly not appreciated.

Frowning miserably to himself, the anarchist occupied his lonesome by doodling in the dirt at his pedes, practicing his signature mark as he often did while thinking. What was he supposed to do? Apologies were not in his nature, least of all because he didn't want to give them. As a loner he just didn't have much practice saying he was sorry to anyone. Ordinarily he was busy disrupting systems of power, overthrowing tyrannical systems, or freeing trapped souls with no one else to save them… Thoughts and feelings like these were too new for him to know what to do with them.

Thinking hard, he tried to come up with something he could do to earn the favor of the other mech, but still came up short. It was frustrating enough to make him draw more aggressively, because deep down he was certain there had to be a way to succeed. Springload wasn't too different from himself, after all. A lone mech, seeking his goals, using his natural gifts and weapons to take down those who opposed him…

Just as he was about to growl to himself at his failure to be inspired, his digit bumped against something in the soft earth. Without anything better to do, he slowly went about digging the object free. A flash of a white, shiny exterior motivated him to continue. Briefly forgetting about his troubles, he dug until a dirty but visibly solid object began to reveal its shape. Round and about the size of his palm, a glossy white stone came from the dirt without too much fuss, and he smiled at the small accomplishment. It was a rather lovely treasure for such a simple planet.

Just as he began to dust some of the remaining dirt from the granite or quartz exterior, he was struck by an idea, one so foolish he had to wonder how it could work.

Still, he was a champion of crazy ideas, so he dared to consider it.

Springload was a mech who one could describe as… extravagant, both in mission and mind. He required one to go all out, as he never held back in regards to the quest that he'd dedicated his entire life to completing. Overall, he was just an unusual bot. Perhaps, if Quillfire was thinking this through properly, that meant he could be reasoned with through some unusual means?

Tilting the rounded stone in his servo, he dared to believe a simple yet unusual gift would be enough to at least get the two of them started on a path to mending their teamwork. If nothing else, he'd at least get to tell himself he tried. The hardest part would be working up the courage to begin, but hopefully after that things would be easier. He just needed to take that first step…

Peeking over the edge of the outcrop, he saw that the amphibicon was in the same place he'd last been, reading over his map and murmuring to himself. Despite having read it every day for eons, the dedicated bot didn't look the least bit uninterested in his work. If anything, he looked downright eager, as if on the verge of a breakthrough at any given time. Quillfire hoped interrupting him wouldn't cause an even greater rift to form.

Clearing his vents, he found his pump pounding with unnatural anxiety as he forced his voice box to speak up, his servos almost trembling about the stone as he took a considerable leap of faith.

"S-Springload?" he finally croaked out, nearly losing his nerve when the other mech looked up to him with painfully obvious annoyance. Gulping, he overcame his anxiety to speak up and stand tall to appear more confident than he felt. "Can you… come up here? There is something you must see!"

Brightly colored optics widened, then fixed him with a look equal parts incredulous and irritated. "Is it important?"

"Very!" he insisted, sounding honest because he truly meant it with all of his spark. What could be more important than mending his fued with a fellow teammate?

In a single hop, Springload tucked away his map and cleared the entire road, landing just before Quillfire with a graceful thud.

"I, er…" he stammered as the silliness of what he was about to do hit him in full. Unable to remember the last time he had given or received anything, he was without a clue as to what to say, so he simply held out the stone in his cupped palms with an attempt at a smile. There was a perceptible tremble in his arms as he did so, but he remained strong. "I believe I'm supposed to give this to you!"

Springload didn't immediately react beyond a raised brow, so he stammered forth more of an explanation, spark sinking in his chest. "As a s-sign of… teamwork."

"A white stone?" the amphibicon said at last, as if awakening from a light trance. Taking the rock carefully into his large servo, all while ensuring his acidic coat didn't touch the other mech, he held the item aloft into the light. Just seeing him interested made the anarchist dare to hope things might work out, but in his wildest of dreams he'd never have anticipated what happened next. Springload lit up like a mech beholding a Prime out of the blue, his optics turning away from the stone for just a moment.

"Just the same as those that line the gates of Doradas!" he exclaimed in awe.

Quillfire didn't have any response for that, good or bad as it may have been.

"What?"

"The sacred text makes it clear!" he shouted in explanation, bringing forth his scroll of indecipherable runes as if it made everything make sense. Gesturing to the lines of what Springload saw as gibberish, he began to proclaim their meaning with enthusiasm, optics wide and wild. "You see, here?! The gates of the Holy City will be lined with pure stones to mark the way!"

"I'm…" was all he could reply with, still a million miles behind the other mech in regards to understanding. While he'd hoped at most for appreciation or a mere thanks, Springload looked about ready to burst with excitement, and for reasons he couldn't even begin to comprehend. At the very least he figured he should be happy for the turn of events when he was surprised yet again.

"But how could you know?" Springload pressed, catching him more than a little off guard. Holding up his servos in surrender, Quillfire tried to figure out what exactly he was supposed to have known, and how he might have gone about figuring it out. He'd just thought it was pretty and would make a decent gesture of peace! Fumbling for a response so as not to lose his progress, he was saved by another burst of revelation he had no part in.

"Of course, the spirits!" he exclaimed, almost dropping the rock in his excitement. Clasping his servos over the apparently precious gift, he explained his excitement more or less by simply talking aloud to himself. "They must have guided you, enabling you to find such a sacred object, so that you could gift it to me!"

Accepting he would never truly understand, Quillfire only smiled and nodded at the other's exuberance. More than happy things had turned out so well, he was content to let the other mech believe whatever he wanted, even if he didn't follow it. "Of course!"

"As to why they would do this… they must know you are key to my quest!" Springload continued, using an avid free servo to clasp the other mech's arm in a sign of commitment. More surprised than confused, the anarchist tilted his helm in shock at how fast things had changed between them. Just like that, everything that had happened was forgiven? More than forgiven, in fact, he was seen as a friend and ally? It didn't seem inaccurate to say he was also being looked at as a divine being at the moment. By the Primes, this bot was like no other!

"I was a fool! To think, I tried to push you away!" the amphibicon cried, deactivating his acid so he could better cling to the taller mech. Seeing the emotion in his eyes, Quillfire wondered if he might start weeping, and hoped it wouldn't come to such a show. Not only was he not the best at providing comfort, he didn't have any tissues… Mercifully, the big optics looking into his seemed to sparkle with jubilation rather than tears.

"Ah, it's really nothing…" Quillfire reassured, beginning to blush from the high praise. A spare servo massaged the back of his neck in an open show of bashful deflection. Such a small thing hardly felt worthy of this kind of praise, even for a mech as glory seeking as himself. Not that he was disliking this turn of events.

"It's everything!" Springload corrected, emphatic and no longer impatient. "You must have been sent into my life by the spirits themselves!"

Actively blushing at that, the anarchist looked away, rubbing harder at the back of his neck. He hadn't a clue what to do with this newfound respect and admiration. Perhaps the other bot was just having a momentary burst of affection, which would give way as soon as the next symbol or sign grabbed his attention, but at present such a turn seemed beyond doubtful. Quillfire was being regarded in a way typically saved for the most ancient and holy of altars to the Primes. In the depths of his spark, he wanted it to last.

A distant but heavy sound caught his sharp audials, just as the tremor sensitive Springload perked up in synchronized recognition. Something was rumbling its way down the primitive earth road. Recalling their mission so fast his quills flared in alarm, the anarchist stood up to his full height, catching a glimpse of a truck through the densely packed pines. Their target was approaching fast. Worse, they were in no position to intercept it as planned.

Thinking fast, Quillfire pulled one of his namesake weapons from his back, preparing to strike as the unknowing human drove their way.

"I shall block the path." he announced, redirecting their strategy from before to include himself. Business came first for them both, so each was ready in an instant. Springload crouched low on his powerful legs in anticipation of his orders, which came just as the truck began barreling down the final stretch in their direction, multiple tons on a solid course they needed to stop. "You, render it motionless once it is stopped."

An agreeable ribbit communicated hearty understanding in the final moments before their strike.

While massive by earth standards, the truck was small enough for Quillfire to plan his moves without much of a risk. Still, he was careful in his timing, as the cargo was as valuable as it was delicate. Any great crash would render it useless. Their success hinged on him being precise more than cautious, so he waited for the perfect amount of distance to be between himself and his target before he leapt down into the asphalt below.

Well practiced using his own weapons, he tossed his quill just ahead of the already braking truck, funneling their path to the point of nonexistence. With nowhere to go, the driver was forced to slam on the brakes and skid to a stop, not having the option to go around or turn back. Quillfire smirked in pride at the human's textbook reaction, and could have sworn he heard Springload give a cheer at his victory. Near victory, that was, there was still one crucial step for them to see through.

"Now!" he ordered as the multiple tire sets came to a stop just shy of him. With the speed of someone working on the same page, the amphibicon dove from his perch, shooting his tongue out like a whip. Acid and force popped the tires in rapid succession, filling the air with a series of bangs and creaks until the heavy machine collapsed onto nothing but it's hubcaps. Rubber flew in every direction and nothing even resembling tires remained to spin, leaving multiple tons collapsed on the asphalt. The truck would not be going anywhere.

"A clean victory!" Springload declared happily, still clutching his gift as he hopped back beside Quillfire. "Truly, the spirits are on our side in full. You are their greatest emissary."

Beaming at the praise, Quillfire turned when he heard the door of the vehicle opening up. Both mech's turned just as the human driver jumped from the vehicle, landing in a heap on the ground as he did so. Catching their mutual gaze, the tiny being threw up his hands in surrender, wide eyed and terrified as could be. A gigantic, metallic frog and an even bigger metal porcupine had not been mentioned when he'd taken the job.

"Look, I'm n-not paid enough for this!" he stammered, gesturing wildly to the trailer as he slowly stepped backwards on shaking legs. Giving up the goods completely for his own sake, he unknowingly earned the approval of a certain anarchist. Abandoning one's shackles for self preservation was a key tactic, and he smiled as the human gave them both full clearance, dropping his keys on the spot. "Just take the truck! A-all of it!"

"We shall, your cooperation is appreciated." Springload replied, sounding a bit haughty. In truth the human's cooperation meant little; either mech was fully capable of taking what they wanted without much effort. Happy just to see someone making the right choices, Quillfire praised and comforted the terrified earthling in what he considered to be the best way.

"Fear not, brother. You have been liberated from the bonds of oppressive labor!" he encouraged, presenting the human with a smile of reassurance. Reacting with what he presumed to be unfathomable joy, the tiny being turned about and began to sprint, disappearing into the trees with a considerable ruckus of breaking branches and fussing animals. Screams of jubilation began echoing out after he was long gone from sight.

Waving the lucky one off, Quillfire smiled at the impossible fortune this day had brought him, happy to share it with others. If humans could figure out the true way to live, perhaps there was yet hope for them. He dared to believe as much while shouting after the former truck driver. "Go forth, tiny earthling! Enjoy the freedom we have given you!"

Turning back to the work yet to be completed, he found Springload using his selectively acidic touch to melt through the lock of the truck's trailer, his gift still peeking out through his other servo's protective grip. Marveling at how the other mech seemed intent on believing his truth, Quillfire still decided to let it be. Though happy just to be friends, it was quite likely this was just how things worked for such a dramatic bot. He was surprised how he was beyond accepting of such a concept, and in fact, quite looking forward to it.

As the doors opened, the two of them found a rather manageable cluster of boxes secured tightly to avoid damaging movement. Comfortable as the load would have been for two bots, it doubtlessly was too much for one, yet Springload began freeing it from its bonds with a smile.

"Allow me to carry this burden, great one! It is the least I can offer!" he said eagerly, tucking his stone away into a subspace beside his spark. Cutting their payload free, he began to move the boxes happily outside, no doubt planning to pile them all into his altmode. While usually happy to get some time off, Quillfire didn't feel right about leaving the other mech to handle it all. Their new partnership deserved to get off to a much better start than that.

"I can help." he reassured simply, taking his fair share of the boxes to carry in his hands. Though the smaller mech needed his altmode to handle his share, he didn't allow transforming to stop his eager chatting, and continued to extoll the virtues of his new ally as a happy pickup truck.

"Such generosity!" he praised, putting along to leave the abandoned truck behind them. Though a little overwhelmed by the idea of someone seeing him as a bona fide gift from ancient deities, he allowed the other mech's chatter to fill the walk home, finding it to be far better than the awkward silence that had followed them here. Who ever would have been able to guess a mere stone could change so much?

"I shall have to insist we are partnered together for future endeavors! As two individuals chosen by the spirits, our camaraderie can bring only success!" Springload gushed, turning about happily on his bouncing tires. "Would that please you, great one? I am certain riches will come to us both!"

Though he still had his own dreams, Quillfire didn't indeed find the idea of more missions like this very agreeable, so much so that he had no problem smiling in affirment.

"Riches indeed, my new friend!"

#transformers #maccadam #transformers rid2015 #rid2015 #rid2k15 #rid #robots in disguise 2015 #quillfire #springload #my writing #my commissions #aligned

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mommymooze · 3 years

Text

Anxious Restraint

Sylvain x reader

Warning: war, death, destruction, sad families, blood, injuries

Its a beautiful day during Great Tree Moon. Your nose is filled with the mixed scents of the flowers that are blooming everywhere, their petals catch in the winds and scatter across the cobblestones. You are strolling quietly through the pathways of the school having just left one of your classes and heading to your next when you are suddenly joined by a fellow student, interrupting your thoughts about the upcoming battle.

Apparently, you have caught the eye of the school’s skirt-chaser, the notorious Sylvain Gautier. “Hey beautiful, how are you doing today?” He smoothly slithers up to your side, brushing his elbow up against yours.

“I’m fine, Sylvain” you respond listlessly, wishing this conversation was already over.

With his ‘every girl wants a piece of a guy who smiles like this’ look plastered on his face, he continues, “Want to grab some dinner with me today? Such a beautiful day would be even better if we shared a little time together, eh?”

Eyes straight ahead, you keep walking as if he’s not even there. “No thanks, I have to work on my magic and I was going to practice after grabbing a bite in the dining hall.”

“What about tomorrow?” He pushes.

“Tomorrow I have a test.” You just want him to stop. Mother taught you not to be rude, but he is testing every bit of your patience.

“And the next day?” He sounds desperate.

“Working with Felix on my sword skills. And improving my Pegasus riding so I can be a dark flier. I really have to get going.” Your voice getting louder as you run at top speed to anywhere before you lose your temper.

Sylvain is left in the dust, again. You’re in the same class as he is. You haven’t known him long, but Ingrid fills you in on his life history of philandering. Classes keep everyone busy. You have to study fairly hard, but you are rewarded with great grades. Sylvain is smart, but doesn’t apply himself, he tells you he shouldn’t have to bother to be the best because no matter what, his dad’s just going to make him take his place someday. Seems like every time you see him he has a different girl hanging off his arm. He still asks you out once or twice a month. More out of a force of habit than anything else.

Time flies by with unusual problems happening quite frequently at the monastery. The Church sends the students out to fight their battles for them on a regular basis. Classes are taught, battles are won, then suddenly war is declared. The battle of Garreg Mach leaves everyone numb. You head home to find it is gone, the whole village burnt to the ground. Everyone you knew is gone, you’re unsure as to who lived and who died. You become part of a mercenary group, continuing to fight and develop your skills and battle techniques. Your group will take any job that will take down Empire soldiers or people allied with them. Yuri hires your group a few times. Most of your jobs are in the Kingdom and Alliance territories.

Five years pass and you find yourself back at Garreg Mach, wondering if your friends will be there for the reunion planned so long ago. You are completely shocked when Byleth appears, fighting alongside a battleworn and feral Dimitri.

Once the battle ends the Blue Lions light up the stove in the kitchen, salvage what they can and cook up food that doesn’t quite go together but gets something in their stomachs for the night. Sitting around a table in the dining hall they each tell their stories of what they have been doing the past five years. Most of them protected their territories, saving their people. Byleth was sleeping, Dimitri is absent, everyone draws their own conclusions on what his time was spent on.

Sylvain finds you alone one afternoon sitting on a bench after having spent the entire day organizing and cleaning the library. “So you became a mercenary? You could have come to Gautier or even Fraldarius. Felix and I would have helped you. You didn’t have to be alone.” He said, sounding sad.

“I guess I needed to find myself after everything I knew was gone. I felt like I had to crawl my way up from the bottom. I refused to give up. I hadn’t planned on being a mercenary. I knew I wanted to keep fighting, keep working to be stronger, needing to make a difference for the right cause. Waking up every day knowing that I would work to improve the lives of the people, sure it didn’t win any major battles. But it made a difference to them. I gave them hope. Stealing supply wagons from the Empire and taking them to those that were starving or had no way to protect themselves kept me moving forward all of this time. I may have lost all of my things, but I gained a true purpose.

The next few days are filled with finding places to sleep, hunting and gathering food, repairing rooms and critical buildings, and greeting others that have returned such as Seteth and Flayn with the Knights of Seiros. You work with Byleth, offering to train anyone in reason magic.

Sylvain comes to your classes. You notice that he behaves himself, having grown up somewhat, and actually studies and gains better control of his magic. He finds you in the training grounds late one night, working with the new recruits and decides to lend a hand, helping them with their incantations, manipulation of runes or simply being encouraging.

Finally, the last student leaves. You wave as you grab your tomes and notes. Sylvain takes a seat on a nearby bench.

“You have your spellcasting mastered. I can really see the improvement since we were students.” Sylvain genuinely smiles.

You have a look of shock on your face. That has to be the sincerest compliment he has ever given you. “Um…thanks.” You weakly smile.

“I’ll see ya tomorrow.” He says waving as he turns.

You stumble after him quickly. “Sylvain, thank you very much for helping me tonight. If you hadn’t, I could have been here until morning. That was really sweet.”

He flashes a grin at you and heads out the door. You are confused. The Sylvain you remembered from before the war was always flirting and shirking work. Now he’s helping with working and training. He actually volunteers. Maybe he really is growing up.

Battles come and battles go. Being the eye in the sky, you are always watching out for your friends. After surviving for this many years of war, it would be heart wrenching to lose any of them now. You throw a Thoron into a group of archers that are terrorizing Felix. You guide Ingrid to help Ashe when someone is sneaking up on him. Always, always you have one eye on Sylvain, making sure he doesn’t get himself surrounded or run through on an enemy’s lance. The fights are all the same, only the names of the places change and the numbers of scars on everyone ever increases.

Reclaiming the Capital is a painful battle. Everyone’s heart breaks seeing the city in such ruin. The people are hiding from the soldiers on both sides. Titanus running amok cutting down everything in their paths. You fly quickly, attacking the Empire from the air, then leading innocent citizens to safety and hauling the wounded back to the rear of the lines to get healed. Fire and smoke is everywhere. Your Pegasus is breathing hard and needs a break. You leave it with the other beasts not currently in the fight and run in on foot to see where you can assist. You scurry back to where you had seen the heaviest fighting just in time to see the last Titanus fall with a thundering crash. Dimitri, Dedue, Felix and Sylvain are dashing towards Cornelia. As soon as you are in range you hit her two closest archers with Swarm-z, slowing them down as well as injuring them. Felix and Sylvain defeat the enemies quickly. Dedue and Dimitri are facing Cornelia. Angered by your magic, she casts Luna Λ at you. Normally you have a fairly high magic resistance, however this is a dark magic spell that doesn’t care what your resistance is, it’s going to hit and hit hard. Your last thoughts before you lose consciousness is that your friends can finish this easily and you are glad you’re on the ground and not falling off your Pegasus.

Waking up on a hard cot in the makeshift infirmary of the palace you hear the sounds of people walking softly and whispering all around. You mentally take inventory, wiggling toes and twitching fingers. Opening your eyes you have to blink a few times before you can finally get them to focus. At first you only see oranges and blacks, then you can focus a bit and see Sylvain and Annette standing at the foot of your cot. You see her point your direction and he turns to face you. He was frowning but when your eyes meet his, his face relaxes.

Kneeling down at the head of your bed he says softly, “Hey, welcome back. Think you can take a drink for me?” pulling a waterskin to your lips and lifting your head a bit, helping you take a few sips.

The water is cool and feels amazing on your parched throat. “Mmmm. Thanks.” You whisper as you smile up at him.

“Let’s see. What did you miss? After Cornelia hit you with that spell, she was easily taken down by Dimitri and Dedue. The fighting was over soon after that, we just had to take out a few pockets of enemy soldiers here and there. As you can tell we took over the royal palace. The people rallied outside and demanded Dimitri to present himself to them. They’re accepting him as king and happy to have him back. Your Pegasus is in the royal stables, Ingrid was able to coax her in there. I had no idea she hates men so much, I almost lost my right hand, gauntlet and all.” Sylvain chuckles softly.

“Sorry. She was probably mad at me for leaving her in the first place. Glad I did.” You take another drink, the fog in your head lifting a little more.

Sylvain looks up at Annette, who is getting some bandages together for another patient. “Do you think she’ll be able to make it to the party tonight?”

“If she behaves. She’ll have to take it easy.” The shorter redhead points at you. “No dancing the night away.”

The cavalier pats your shoulder, “It’s nothing big, just the Lions hanging out together, to relax a minute before the next battle. Gotta take a break sometime, right?”

“I will try to make it. I haven’t even tried to sit up yet.” You mumble.

“When you’re ready we’ll sit you up. If you want to eat we’ll get you some food.” He begins, “After you’ve settled a bit we’ll try to get you walking around and show you to a room so you can clean up and change. I’ll come by before the party and help you get there if you want to go. Sometimes these corridors can all look alike. Wouldn’t want you spending half the night trying to find your way there.”

“Sitting up sounds like a good start.” You propose, knowing that magical wounds take time you recall. There’s only so much healing magic and potions they can pour into you. You weren’t sliced open and didn’t lose blood. Mostly once you wake up, you could go about your business, just treading a bit more carefully.

The cavalier is tall and agile, stepping over a few empty cots with his long legs he grabs a wooden chair and sits it down at the head of your bed. Before you can start to turn to stand up, he picks you up and gently places you seated in the chair.

“Wow.” You gasp. “Um..thanks.” a tinge of red warms across your cheeks.

“I grabbed one with arms so if you’re still tired you would have something to lean on. Are you feeling alright so far?” He has the tiniest upturn to the corners of his mouth.

He looks adorable, you think to yourself. Wait. Sylvain. Adorable? Um…hey brain, are you going to answer him? “My head is a bit fuzzy.”

“I’ll check on you in a while, in time for lunch, ok?” the redhead says as he pats your hand while he walks past and leaves.

You sit looking around the room. Soldiers mixed with citizens. A woman with her baby is holding hands with a man that looks like he was badly burned. You can see the strength and determination in her face, she is being strong for him. A young boy sitting by the cot of an older man that is sleeping. The clerics are checking bandages, stopping to talk to every patient and giving them words of encouragement. The physical fighting here has ended, now everyone is gathering themselves together, healing, and getting ready to rebuild and make a better world.

You start moving yourself, getting your blood flowing and stretching, kicking your feet for a while then holding them up in the air. Soon you feel brave enough to try to stand up. Putting your feet on the ground you use the chair to help you stand on your own feet. You don’t feel like falling over, no affects so far except for some anxiety. You spy a chair 15 feet away and decide to go the distance. Your first few steps are taken gingerly, but you gain a bit of confidence and make it the last few steps fine. Sitting down your legs gave a bit so you came down a bit hard, but it felt good to move. Now you realize that you are in a simple gown and socks. Not exactly the best clothes for heading out of here, hopefully someone will be by soon to tell you what to do next. After taking a careful stroll back to your original chair, you spy Annette coming down the row of cots, checking on patients. You take a sip of water and wait for your turn.

“How’s your head? Any signs of a headache? Any pain anywhere?” Her bright and cheery smile always makes you smile back at her.

“I feel pretty good. Whoever worked on me did an amazing job. I just have a tiny headache. I’ve even been taking a few steps back and forth between the chairs here. So what should I do next?”

Annette reaches under your cot for a small bundle. ”We have a change of clothes and boots for you.” She shows you to the bathroom to change. You nod happily, “I would love to get real clothes on. It gives you the mental kick like you’re getting back to normal.”

“You have a great attitude! I’ll bet you’re fine in no time.” The redhead bubbles, walking with you to the powder room.

Clothes changed, washing your face and hands, you feel like a gold bullion. No mirrors in here, probably so the recovering wounded are not shocked about how they look after battle and keep concentrating on healing. You feel much more confident walking back to the chair by your cot. Observing the healers running around, you feel quite useless and guilty for not being able to help them. Before you spiral too far into a frustrating mindset, Sylvain arrives.

“Look at you, all ready to go!” He smiles. “They said if I take it easy with you, we can get you to the dining hall. Ready to give it a go?” He stands next to your chair, his elbow ready for you to grab it for support if needed.

“Sounds wonderful.” You stand up and place your hand on his forearm letting him lead you out of the infirmary.

The first few times he spies a bench he checks if you want to rest or keep going. The continued movement is a little tiring, but also feels really good getting your heart pumping. Once you really begin to feel tired you are already at the dining hall. Felix, Ingrid and Ashe already at the table with their food.

“Welcome back!” Ingrid smiles, waving with a roll in her hand. Felix does his usual nod in your general direction. Ashe waves excitedly as he tries to chew whatever he has in his mouth faster.

“Great to see you!” Ashe begins, switching to recalling his view of the end of the battle. “I saw Cornelia hit you with that spell, it was so scary. You were taking out her archers protecting her and then Bam! This ball of black and purple hit you and you go down. Dimitri and Dedue took her out and when Felix and Sylvain finished her other archers they put you on Sylvain’s horse and he took you straight back to the healers.”

Sylvain returns to the table with a tray full of food. “So I wasn’t sure what you were in the mood for, so I brought a few things. Doesn’t matter because whatever you don’t eat, Ingrid will finish for you.”

“Hey!” Ingrid puts her hands on her hips, pouting for a second. Then she changes her mind. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

You decide the soup and a soft roll may be a good place to start. Everyone chats about things that happened in the fight, trying to concentrate on good things that happened such as saving a child or protecting a merchant.

“Oh Ingrid! Thank you for taking care of my Pegasus and getting her stabled.” You happily pat her hand in thanks.

“It was nothing. She was being feisty and knucklehead over there tried to grab her reins and she didn’t take to it too kindly.” Ingrid grinned at the cavalier. “they are not the same as horses!”

The redhead puts his hands up, “I get it! I get it!”

Lunch ends and before you get a chance Sylvain grabs everyone’s dishes and piles them on his tray to take back.

You raise an eyebrow at Ingrid, she shrugs her shoulders. Felix and Ashe are already out the door talking about some training they are interested in. Ingrid says she will check on your Pegasus and let you know this evening how things are. You assure her you’re going to try to make the gathering tonight.

Sylvain returns, placing his arm at the ready, you grab on and as he escorts you, talking about his history here, having grown up frequently visiting the palace, how he would chase Ingrid, Dimitri and Felix down the halls until they would get in trouble and their amazing snowball fights in the courtyards. He leads you down the corridor to your room. Annette and Mercedes are staying in the room next to yours.

“Who am I bunked up with?” You wonder.

“Nobody. This is all for you. The room is huge with a sitting area, a grand fireplace, a huge bed with multiple fluffy pillows and a bathroom with bathtub big enough to swim in. You spy your bags set on tables next to the dressers.

“I am so confused.” You don’t realize you are speaking out loud. “Why this special treatment? I’m just like everyone else. I don’t understand?”

“Remember when we were up against Cornelia?” Sylvain explains. “The person she looked at, the one she needed to stop first wasn’t Dimitri, wasn’t Dedue, it was you. You’re the most powerful mage we have. Sure, Annette is pretty amazing, but she can’t do the damage you do. Cornelia saw it. I know you can dance circles around me. You’re pretty terrifying. We’re thrilled to have you on our side.”

You’re absolutely flabbergasted. You never compare yourself to anyone else. You go out, do your job. You feel a blush to your cheeks even though you find this hard to believe.

The redhead continues, “Then there’s the fact that you do this while flying on your Pegasus. We’ve seen you do maneuvers on that animal that shock Ingrid. You make some seriously fast dives, then stop. The wind force from its wings is stronger than some of Annette’s spells. I’ve seen enemy archers rolling over backwards from it.”

You could be knocked over by a Pegasus feather. You’re just a regular person in the army and he’s put you up on a pedestal…wait. This is Sylvain you’re thinking about. But it’s not his usual flirting escapades. Where is that flirtatious attitude anyway? You have spent a lot of time with him today and walked past plenty of pretty ladies, but you can’t recall his saying hello or paying a compliment to any of them.

“I think I should get a nap.” You say, not sure if you’re overwhelmed or tired or both.

“I’ll let you rest then. I’ll be back for you to get you to the party in plenty of time. See you in a few hours!” Sylvain smiles widely as he heads out the door, closing it behind him.

You sneak over to the door, hearing his footsteps going off into the distance. You peek out to watch him head down the long hallway. You watch him walk past a few female fellow soldiers without a hitch in his step. He comes to the end of the hallway where a cute maid is dusting a portrait and he just keeps going, not even giving the maid a sideways glance. Who is this guy and what have they done with Sylvain? You’re not sure, but you need to find out.

You decide a bath then a nap may clear your head. There are wonderful smelling soaps with flowers imbedded in them and something that smells fresh and relaxing for your hair. Cleansed and warm, it is definitely nap time. You comb your hair out, braiding it a bit and surround yourself by the fluffy pillows. You are asleep as soon as your head hits the pillows.

Several hours later you wake up, glad to see it’s not dark outside yet. You dress in a soft blue tunic and black slacks with your boots. You let your braids loose so your hair can dry. You head next door to visit Annette and Mercedes.

“Knock, knock, anyone home?” You chuckle.

“Hey! Come in!” Annette’s bubbly voice calls back. You enter, hmm, their room is much smaller than yours. You frown.

“Merci’s in the bath right now. Do you feel well enough to join us tonight?” Annette is looking at two outfits she has laid out on the bed, trying to decide which dress to wear.

“I’m about ready. I need to fix my hair a bit, that’s all.” You pause. “Annie, if I ask you some questions will you answer me honestly?”

“Pssshhh. Of course. We have no secrets.” The blue eyed woman smiles from ear to ear.

You want to ask her the right way, not fishing for compliments, because you don’t want that. “So. I’m just one of the many mages in the army, right? I’m no different than any other Pegasus rider. Just a regular old normal person.”

“Well…” Annette scrunches her eyebrows and puts her finger to her chin. “For Faith magic, nobody can beat Merci. Reason magic I’m pretty good, but you’re better than me, and Byleth too. You’re the only one that can cast Dark magic. Byleth does call on you frequently to do some very tough jobs, being out on the front lines where normally mages are not.”

“You can be quite scary!” Laughs Mercedes as she emerges from the bath in a short tunic and her slips. “A bolt of darkness coming down like a demon on the dark wings of your steed.”

“I guess I’m just confused by Sylvain. Did Byleth tell him to watch over me or something?” You look so flustered.

Mercie puts her hand over her mouth to hide a giggle.

“You should have seen him when he saw Cornelia hit you with her spell!” Annette is leaning so far forward off the bed she’s going to fall over any minute. “You fell over and he tried to run over there. Felix nearly pulled his arm out of his socket. He had to stay and finish the archers. Sylvain insisted on getting you back to the healer’s tent as fast as possible.”

“Why am I in a big room at the end of the hall all by myself? Shouldn’t I be bunked with someone?” You are grasping at anything trying to make sense of today.

“That could be from me.” Mercedes advises. “I did tell Dimitri that you need peace and quiet, healing from a magic injury is impeded by stress like loud noises or bad roommates.”

You shake your head a bit. Maybe you’re just tired and after a good night’s sleep you’ll be better in the morning. You remind yourself not to stay up too late at the party.

The three of you chat a bit, getting into gossip and girl talk. Dimitri and Byleth have been getting closer now that he has been feeling much better. You elbow the red-headed mage sitting next to you on the bed, teasing her about a certain dedicated swordsman. She refuses to admit if they have kissed yet, but by the redness on her cheeks, there is something going on there for sure. Mercedes admits to having a few cooking dates with Dedue. He is showing her how to make some dishes. She’s always felt comfortable baking desserts but not cooking main courses and side dishes.

The two ladies corner you asking if you have your heart set on anyone. Sheepishly you have to shrug your shoulders. You haven’t had time to do much beyond teaching the new mages and their battalions, being sent on a few covert missions, and working with the Pegasus knights training, working the stables and working out with your own steed. You see Ingrid the most of the group, frequently Dorothea would be hanging out nearby waiting for her.

Suddenly you notice the time and need to get back to your room to finish getting ready. You wave goodbye and will see them in a little while. There is a lovely vanity with an adjustable mirror. You take a seat and decide to braid your hair in one of the more intricate braids like Petra had shown you in recent months. Tying it with a white ribbon you leave it on your right shoulder. Dusting your cheeks with a light rouge and dabbing your lips with a bit of color you’re done. This has probably been the closest you’ve been to being dressed up since the war started.

A knock on the door brings your attention back from staring at your face in the mirror. You walk quickly to the door to find Sylvain there, smiling brightly.

“You look…like you are feeling much better. Did you get to rest?” he asks.

“I feel great, I’m sure tomorrow I will feel even better.” You smile as he steps back to let you exit the room and he closes the door behind you. You grab the crook of his elbow like you had done earlier and he leads you to the parlor where the gathering is taking place.

“It is great to just hang out together for once. It has been exhausting.” Sylvain announces.

“War takes so much out of you. We have come so far, just a little bit more.” You sigh wistfully.

“The end is in sight.” The tall redhead says quietly. After a pause, he asks, “So have you thought about what you’re going to do after the war?”

“I don’t know.” You slow your pace, trying to gather your thoughts as you walk. “I’ve been so busy with the war, its hard to think about it being over. There is still going to be a million things that have to be done. Setting up government, rebuilding, trying to get everyone to work together. The work never ends.”

“Well, let’s not think about all that work for tonight.” He says as he pauses outside the room. “Let’s relax for just a bit before it all starts over again tomorrow.”

Inside the parlor is a large table with many chairs. Tables loaded with foods, fruits, savory treats and desserts. A large circle of comfortable chairs, couches, loveseats and settees with small tables scattered between them is the right, a few seats already occupied by Dedue, Dimitri, Byleth and Ingrid.

Everyone stands and greets you as you enter. You hug them all, so happy to be back together with everyone. Sylvain holds his hands out hopefully.

“Of course, you didn’t get one yet either.” You smile as you place your arms around him for his hug as well. He smells good. He hugs back ever so gently, his touch is feather light.

Byleth returns to the settee that she is sharing with Dimitri and asks you to sit next to her. You take a spot on the loveseat and chat with her about what happened during the battle from her point of view and she shares how proud she is of everyone. The rest of the Blue Lions filter into the room. Sylvain hands you a glass of water with lemon slices in it then walks over to talk to Felix who has found the spicy meatballs.

Once everyone has a drink in hand, Dimitri offers a toast thanking them all for their help in taking back the Kingdom capital. Plaudits of the attendees fill the room.

The conversations are lively. Ashe sits next to you for a while, talking about some new books he has ordered and offers to let you read them after he is finished. Annette also sits next to you for a while, talking about all of the different and delicious desserts. You prefer the peach tart, however you agree that the strawberry cheesecake is simply divine. The redhead then joins Felix on the couch on the other side of the room. Sylvain stands between you and Byleth, talking about differences in armor quality and comparing different blacksmiths. You invite him to ‘take a load off’ has he likes to say to others, as you move to let him sit next to Byleth and you sit on the other side of the seat, patting the loveseat for him to sit himself. He nods and smiles as he takes a seat and continues his conversation with the former Professor. Mercedes bustles through the room, taking your empty plate and another that Annette had left on the side table.

Sylvain finishes his conversation and looks out into the room. You tap him on the hand to get his attention.

“What have you been up to today?” You ask him.

“I had to work on repairs for my saddle, one of the cinching straps had become frayed. I don’t need it breaking and falling off in the middle of battle. I also had to make sure my horse is in great shape, trimmed her hooves and then took her out for a ride. I used to ride a lot out here with Dimitri. It was good to feel the wind through my hair, the sun on my back and simply ride just for the sake of riding.”

“That sounds delightful.” You think wistfully. “Just going for a ride to be riding. Can’t wait to be able to do that again.”

“Any time you are up for it I would be happy if you would like to join me.” Sylvain smiles.

You gently wrap your tiny hand around his much larger, calloused hand. “Sounds great.”

Another hour of chatting with your friends goes by until a yawn suddenly escapes your lips.

Sylvain immediately notices. “Looks like you have had enough fun for today. I should take you back, okay?”

“Mmmm. I agree. Mercedes will tie me to a cot if I don’t rest.” You giggle

Mercedes laughs, “I have ways of making you sleep.” Her voice is much deeper, lower than normal as she squints her eyes menacingly. She wiggles her fingers in a creepy taunting manner at you, making you laugh even more. Sylvain stands and offers his elbow for you to take. Both of you bid goodnight to everyone as you head back out to the corridors of the palace. You are silent as you both walk back to your room. At the door he is preparing to take his leave.

Placing your hand on his shoulder you stop him from moving. “I would like to talk with you, that is, if you want to speak with me as well.”

He gives a slight smile and follows you into your room. You move to the sitting area. You take a seat on a soft cushioned char, he sits on an identical chair next to you.

“First, thank you so much for all of the help you have provided to me today. Bringing water, helping steady me in the hallways, and making certain I was not lost wandering the palace looking for the party.” You say this with all the sincerity you can muster, placing your left hand on your chest to show your heartfelt thanks.

“It was the least I could do. You have given of yourself over and over, it was wonderful being able to help you today.” A tinge of red covers his cheeks. “You really should get some rest.”

You really want to talk to him but he is right, you can barely keep your eyes open. He opens the door to leave, but you hold your arms out to give him a hug goodnight. He gently wraps his arms around yours as you press your cheek into his chest, exhaling with a sigh. You wave as he steps through the threshold and closes the door.

The early morning war council is held in one of the palace’s meeting rooms. Dimitri shares a message delivered to him earlier this morning. It is a plea for assistance from the alliance, Claude asks for help in Derdriu. Everyone agrees to make the detour to the city then head on towards Enbarr to finish the war.

Arriving at the coastal city, Claude has done an excellent job preparing the city for the fight with the Empire. The battle zone has been evacuated of the citizens and merchants. They only ones involved in the fighting are soldiers. The Kingdom’s army is motivated and strong, overtaking the Empire forces in record time.

There is a meeting between Dimitri, Byleth and Claude. Claude announces he is headed for his own future and wishes everyone well.

The Kingdom marches for Enbarr. The final battle in the war. Edelgard does nothing to prepare the citizens, they flee in the streets as the fight rages around them. The fight is long and bloody. There is no surrendering by Edelgard, she and Hubert fight until their last breath.

You volunteer to stay behind, but Ashe, Ingrid, Dorothea, Linhardt and Caspar remain to start the repairs and healing from the war. The rest return to the north. Sylvian and Felix return to their territories to check on everything and keep their lands going.

Back in the Kingdom capital, your days are filled with rebuilding, not just the buildings, but the mind and bodies of the citizens. You are always amongst the people, one day clearing rubble, the next helping in the orphanages, another day watching a mother’s children so she could take care of business. You explain you are doing this for king and country. If there is anyone to thank, it is Dimitri.

Soon everyone is gathered here again, this time for Dimitri’s coronation. The ceremony is long. Byleth being the archbishop has the honor of placing the crown upon the king. There are so many speeches and the lords of every territory must approach the king and promise their allegiance.

A grand ball celebrating the coronation is held in the evening. King Dimitri is seated at the head table, next to Archbishop Byleth. Felix is next to Dimitri as his chief advisor, Dedue next to him as his Vassal. Ashe and Ingrid are knights, standing guard behind them. They insisted on working, reveling in the honor of being among the first to protect the newly crowned King.

You sit with Annette, Mercedes, Dorothea, Caspar, Linhardt and Sylvain. The conversation is never ending, you haven’t seen several of them for months, so everyone has to catch up. Mercedes and Dedue are engaged. Annette and Felix are officially a couple, as well as Caspar and Linhardt. You have been busy helping restore the school of sorcery. They have been begging you to become a teacher, you are still considering your options.

The orchestra on the opposite side of the ballroom begins to play. The king and archbishop take the floor, starting the dancing for the remaining couples. Sylvain had been seated next to Dorothea and they spoke quietly with each other several times during dinner. You would look up and smile at him and he would always return the gesture.

After the first song ends, it was time for the rest of the couples to dance. You are shocked when he stands and walks over to you, asking you to dance with him. He takes your hand and leads you to the floor. The first few minutes you smile at each other. Then you hear him sigh. You catch his eyes and he smiles at you.

“I’ve missed you.” Sylvain whispers softly in your ear.

“I was hoping you lived close enough that you could come visit here more frequently. Maps can be quite deceiving.” You frown briefly, “How are things in Gautier?”

Sylvain seems to stiffen a bit. “My father is going to step down, leaving me to take his place.”

You try not to frown, “Is that what you want to do?”

He hesitates as the song is ending and he asks you to step outside with him. You stroll through the gardens together, the smell of moist earth and roses fills the air. You stop far enough away that the brightness of the party no longer blocks the light of the stars on this perfectly clear night.

He seats you on a bench, taking a the spot next to you. He leans back and looks up at the stars.

You can’t look away from his face, so you simply watch him watching the twinkling in the skies.

He gently takes your hand in his. “I never wanted to take my father’s place. I never wanted to be like him or like he wanted me to be. I was always such a rebel. I wanted to ruin the world around me, pay it back for all the pain that I had been through. There was nothing that I was looking forward to, being forced to fit in the mold that my father made for me. When they had announced that Dimitri would be executed it made my father physically ill. The kingdom had fallen that day to him. He had no hope left. He stopped pushing me to get married. He couldn’t arrange anything, not knowing who would come out victorious. He didn’t know if he would be keeping his position or would the Empire trample him into the ground. He stopped leaning on me that I would have to be the next margrave, not having any idea how long he was to be the current one. I no longer had anything to defy, to rebel against. I pulled back. I had to learn how to take care of myself properly. Then we came back for the reunion. I had been feeling sorry for myself, then I found out you had lost everything. I saw how strong you had become. Even though you had nothing you had such passion to help everyone else to be better. It was so beautiful. I had never seen anything so beautiful. It wasn’t just a smile, a pretty face, it was radiating from so deep within you. I wanted to be near you, that’s why I had offered to help you, just to be near you. I knew I wasn’t worthy of you. But if I helped you at least I could be close to you. When Cornelia hurt you, I went mad. I thought you were dead. Felix brought me back, telling me we had to finish what you started. I wanted to talk to you after you were recovering, but then we were pulled into Derdriu and went to Enbarr right after that. And then I had to go back to Gautier. After the war, when I went back I thought my father would lord over me, make me continue to do everything his way. But he’s become tired. My parents are going to move to the coast to spend the rest of their days. Managing Gautier is left to me to handle as I see fit. I’ve been working on reaching out to the Sreng, to see if we can find peace between us. Everyone is so tired of the fighting. I know I am. Maybe I could be the Margrave, but I can’t do it alone. I’d like you to help me, teach me to be a good leader, to do right by my people. I would do anything and everything for you.”

You squeeze his hand. “At the reunion I noticed a big change in you. I wanted to talk to you about it but the war never let us have five minutes to ourselves. I noticed you were behaving differently. I wanted so badly to talk to you after we won back the capital, but the war jumped between us again. Maybe the only way I can have an opportunity to speak with you for any length of time would be to go to Gautier with you.” You grin at him.

“I really don’t deserve you.” He puts his arm around you for a half hug. “I know you are so good with the people. Everyone here loves you.” He rests his cheek on the top of your head.

You’re beginning to become flustered. At the moment you miss the old flirty Sylvain. He’s acting..shy? Inviting you to Gautier sounded like a business transaction more than inviting a woman over. “Are you seeing anyone right now? Have you decided what you want to do for yourself?” you ask.

“Uh. No. I haven’t really thought about it for a long time. Its like once the pressure was off from my father, I just didn’t need to do that anymore. But yeah, I want to get married to a woman that I love, maybe have children, and shower them with as much love as I can muster. Make peace with the Sreng. Make the people of Gautier happy too. What about you? Are you seeing anyone? What do you want?”

“Well, I’ve always wanted to get married and have children. Now that the war is over that certainly is a possibility.” You begin. “And you know I like to help people, help them help themselves. I am seriously considering a job offer that I feel I am qualified for. I’m thrilled to find that someone I have been interested in for quite a while is currently single. So things are looking pretty good.” You look up at his face smiling.

Sylvain looks down at you smiling, but unsure.

Your hands slide up his chest, going around his neck and you pull him down toward you, finally he gets the idea and bends down to kiss you gently.

“That took you forever.” You gasp smiling up at him.

“I thought I had already missed my chance. I thought at least if I could be near you that would be fine.” He smiles, kissing you again.

“Ever since I saw you at the reunion, I could tell you were different in the best sort of way. You weren’t hiding behind a mask, you were acting like yourself. As long as you be your true self with me, I will always want to be near you.” You hold Sylvain tightly under the stars.

*****Epilogue

The wedding is the following spring. Both of you frequently travel all about Gautier territory, constantly talking with the people and responding to their needs. You find some people that speak Sreng and learn the language and culture well enough to be able to parlay and work towards a peace agreement. You give up some of the Gautier lands that the Sreng say are important to them. In turn they pay for this property with many rare minerals and jewels that are from their lands. You use this money to improve the roads and lives for the people of Gautier. Sylvain does spoil you rotten. You have at least 8 children and have no idea if any has a crest, not that you care. The Lance of Ruin is given to Byleth to do whatever she wants with the horrid weapon.

#fe3h x reader #fe3h #Fire Emblem Three Houses #fe16 #sylvain jose gautier #my stories #sylvain x reader

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