#THIS IS WHAT SOUL OF GOLD SHOULD HAVE GIVEN US!

[thatoneluckybee]

Okay, so lemme ramble about the Wild Hunt for a sec, given the new episode, because I am certain there is/will be symbolism at play

Essentially, the Wild Hunt is this germanic (though there's many similar ones around the world) myth. It's this horde of spirits/ghosts that travels through the night on an eternal hunt. Crossing their path is generally seen as a big no-no and a good way to become part of the horde of hallowed dead stuck in the eternal hunt. The same goes for copying their sounds of howling wind (and sometimes barking dogs). However, either of these can be rewarded (usually with something that seems worthless and usually turns out to be gold)

Now, for that sweet symbolism. First of all, the Wild Hunt usually consisted of the hallowed dead. They didn't get to pass onto the afterlife, instead bring swept up by the hunt. In the story this more than likely is replaced by those floating eyeball thingies - the souls of those who got stuck in this world before the afterlife

What I'm more curious/concerned about though is who leads it. It's most certainly someone's Phantom, given the little card with abilities. But who could it be? Let's use some clues from both the episode and the myth

First, the episode. There's 3 main things to consider here. 1) this phantom was outside the gate (and thus also unlikely to be a dean or student). 2) your phantom has to do with how you die (this also ties in with the myths). 3) looking at it's abilities, it has something called 'overclock', and while this could be some sort of rage mode, I think it'd make more sense if it means that this Phantom form can stay up either for a long-ass time, or straight up indefinitely

Now, for the myths. The figure who leads the Hunt actually changes a lot depending on the specific telling, and it's been both men and woman. A largely common factor though is that they get stuck in the Hunt after exclaiming their love for hunting, and something along the lines of wishing they could do it forever (potentially specifically instead of an actual afterlife). Given the thing I said before, I think it's a fairly safe bet the person who's Phantom it is died hunting, or at the very least pursuing something

The person who leads the hunt also seems to be searching for Lenore specifically, which is interesting to me. The Wild Hunt generally hunts animals, not people. So I propose 2 possibilities:

1, mythological: The Wild Hunt, like I said, should generally not be interacted with according to most myths. A possibility is that Lenore or on of her predecessors did do that in some way, shape, or form. Maybe in the real world, but Phantoms can't really be there I think? Maybe someone else like her brother or parent were also in this between dimension and messed with it, though I don't believe that's how it generally works. But maybe that thing at the start of the story, where they got noticed by those monsters, was actually them getting noticed by the Hunt, which is why it's now after her (and likely Annabel too in that case)

2, relationship driven: Essentially, my other idea is that the Phantom that is the Hunt is going after Lenore specifically because of who she is. Maybe her father died or something? But in that case I think her brother is way more likely. Think about it, Theo was first looking for (pursuing?) Lenore. The tree got knocked down by lightning (one of the Phantom's abilities). And he was riding his horse when he was killed. Just saying, it could be possible

Also, interestingly enough, both Lenore and Annabel have a certain degree of connection to the Night Hunt? Lenore has already denounced the 'natural' way passing onto the afterlife is supposed to go in favour of having herself and all her friends coming back to life, somewhat reminiscend of the leaders of the hunt commonly rejecting the afterlife in favour of their hunt. And the woman that led the Hunt in some stories likely all stem from the same figure, the supposed Old Mother Frost (and what, if I may ask you, is Annabel's ability?)

No matter who it is though, I'm hoping they touch on that idea of someone who crosses the Wild Hunt (and shows cleverness/boldness) sometimes gets rewarded. And while is generally looks useless at first, it often turns out to be valuable. Who knows, this endeavor just might be the key to escaping...

...well, that or I'm looking way too deep into it and the writer just chose the Wild Hunt because it looks/sounds cool and vaguely fitting of spirits of the night coming to get you. I mean, most thing I just said are honestly closest to incoherent rambling with vague connections, but who knows...

This is nevermore, you’re NEVER looking too deep into it

IM MAIN TAGGING THIS THIS IS AMAZING

I think it could be Theo? We know SOMETHING happened to him as he was at the top of his class. Was he reincarnated? I doubt it. Theo is also connected with deer and hunting. Would also explain why the Wild Hunt (which Lenore thinks is her curse) seems to be targeting her and her family.

#nevermore webtoon #asks #the wild hunt #lenore nevermore #lenore vandernacht #theo nevermore #theo vandernacht #nevermore webcomic #random-gamer1942

[nightmarist]

Some Zevlor Things —

EDIT 12/2/23: Added a few more things

A fellow Tiefling Hellrider, Tilses, is with him in the caves acting as his bodyguard. He sometimes calls her Tilly.

There is one bedroll in the caves shoved off in the far corner with a book titled "The Devil You Know: An Autobiography" - not sure if it's his personal writing or if he's reading it, either way it adds to the flavor of his of his tiefling pride (and/or anguish).

It reads:

Have you ever had a god change your blood? It is a horrifying thing, even for those who may desire it. Yet few tieflings wished for Asmodeus to claim their bodies, only be given no choice in the matter. It is not as if we were well-loved before the archdevil's gambit. Our people have always struggled against the notion of 'devilkin', as if a single drop of infernal ichor inescapably corrupts. How amusing, when so many others willingly sell their souls to fiends, yet their culture as a whole escapes the blame. By what method can we redeem ourselves, when the crime is not ours? I would drive a blade into every warlock that aided Asmodeus' damned ritual, but personal vengeance cannot undo the will of a god, much less one as slippery as the Lord of Lies. When every passerby thinks you a thief and heretic, it is deeply tempting to become one. (cut off) The only thing that has stopped me is knowing Asmodeus wants nothing more than for all of us to fall from grace.

Around the his table are Invasion Plans for Elturgard, Traveler's Guide to Baldur's Gate, Traveler's Guide to the Sword Coast Vol IV: The Risen Road (which aligns when he tells you earlier there are gnolls on the road), and "Front and Center: a Thespian's Memoir" that reads:

"... in fact, the greatest joy of my life hasn't been acting, but becoming. When you choose a character to play, you don't just wear a mask - you take a little bit of their soul for your own. Whoever you are in your heart of hearts, if only by the faintest note."

Zevlor aside I think this is a sweet quote for the player and player character relationship <3

Dialogue in the Caves:

Zevlor: I Hardly need a bodyguard, Tilses. This isn't Avernus. Tilses: No sir. At least the monsters there looked like monsters.

—

Tilses: Commander— Zevlor: Just Zevlor, Tilly. We're civilians now, remember? Tilses: With respect, sir — being a Hellrider is for life. They can't take — Zevlor: They can, and did. Avernus changed things — best we get used to that. Tilses: ... Yes, Zevlor

—

Tilses: The Watch or the Flaming Fist? Zevlor: Pardon? Tilses: When we get to Baldur's Gate. Where are we enlisting? Zevlor: I'm done soldiering, Tilly. I'd like a clean start. But go with the Watch. You're too honest to be a mercenary.

—

Zevlor: No word from the scouts, yet? Tilses: No sir. But if there's a clear path past the goblins, they'll find it. Zevlor: Yes, of course.

ITEMS —

in the Chest there is a bronze goblet, 46 gold, and a battle-worn blade. On his person he has his gloves (Hellrider's Pride), an apple, a camp supply pack, and the key to his chest.

The blade says:

A fine by well-used sword. It seemed to have once belonged to a holy order, but the indication of rank and patron deity at the hilt have recently been filed down.

The gloves' flavor text says:

A waft of sulphur emanates from this proudly-kept piece.

Celebration at the Camp:

"I should be out there, talking with them. In... Just a moment, maybe." "Is this everyone? Our numbers have grown so few..." "No more. I can't afford to lose any more of them." "No. Let them have fun. I'll be ruining it come morning anyway."

Mindfayer Colony:

Things he mumbles in the Pod:

The pod will show you his memories of Elturel:

After saving Zevlor, I forced myself to pick the "mean" options just to see how it goes.

If you tell him its his fault tieflings were imprisoned in moonrise, he says:

If you tell him "Do yo have a right to ask?" when he asks about the tieflings:

He doesn't argue with any of your remarks except one, when he says "For a moment I welcomed it" and you tell him "For a moment until you realized your reward would be a tadpole" he corrects you:

If you tell him if he wanted power he should live up to his own ideal:

If you tell him to get out of your sight:

When you tell him it's not his fault he was enthralled:

If you tell him "Fine. Good luck, Zevlor."

If you say you could use another blade in the fight to come:

At the Netherbrain:

(smiling <3)

"The journey has been brutal, but I stand here a Hellrider once more, and I would die a proud man if I died this day."

I know it's a Soldier thing to be proud to die for a cause but it still makes me worry for him given his background so far <:]

If you click on him, he has two unvoiced lines:

if you pickpocket him at this point, he'll have the same items on him as before (in this save he has a carrot instead of an apple for me).

His stats at this time: (Steeped in Bliss is from one of my items)

Post Game (Patch 5)

I don't know if there are other permutations of this letter, yet, but this is what I received:

I hope my penmanship has improved somewhat in the past months. When I first stumbled into this city, I shook so badly that I could scarcely hold the soup the priests pressed into my hands - let alone write and thank you as you deserve. It is only when the city itself began to shake that I felt my hands grow still. Along with the other veterans sheltering at the temple - discards of Elturel's 'unworthy' legions - I watched that monstrosity rise over the city. We felt no fear. Only anger. Disgust. Purpose - and with it, power. I do not know what oath we cling to now, or how long it will last - but we shall use it to ensure that this city will not suffer as Elturel did. Whether it wants us or not. It is more than thanks alone I owe. No words can make amends for what I did to my people, but that is as it should be. More come to the temple every day to aid in the relief efforts, and if I am permitted to work alongside them, then I am content. Come and see us, when you can. Zevlor

It's interesting — if not bitterswet, tragic, and inspiring — to hear that Zevlor and other Paladins regained their Oaths via pure, stubborn devotion to saving people when it began to look as bad as Elturel.

#zevlor #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #act 1 spoilers #act 2 spoilers #bg3 spoilers #this man reeks of self loathing i want to bathe him in love and comfort #i also want him carnally #act 3 spoilers #bg3 meta

[romanoffsdarling]

Summertime Sadness

Pairing: Dom!Wanda Maximoff x MILF!Reader

Summary: You hadn’t expected the summer after your divorce to be anything more than you simply getting used to being alone and drowning your sorrows in glasses of wine. The sudden homecoming of your daughter brings those plans to a screeching halt, but nothing could have prepared you for the woman that she brought along. Her best friend, the woman you’ve been hearing about in all of her phone calls home, offering you a glimpse into parts of yourself you never even knew were there. 

Word Count: 4,891

Warnings: Legal age gap, oral (R receiving), fingering (R receiving), and hints of possessiveness. 18+, Minors DNI.

Author’s Note: I’ve seen a lot of stories with Wanda being the MILF, rightfully so, but I wanted to spin it a bit and make the Reader the MILF in this instance. Hope you all enjoy! (Also, I’m so sorry for disappearing for so long, college has been absolute hell.)

You never truly comprehend how much time you waste, how much had truly slipped through your fingers, until it’s already too late to do anything about it. Until you look into the mirror and see the once youthful face marred by faint wrinkles, a sign of wisdom your best friend would tease, and hair speckled with the vaguest hint of grey. 

Twenty-five years... You had been married to your husband for twenty-five years; giving him your youth, giving him your heart and soul, and you never once imagined that he would have tossed all of that away for some floozy at his law firm. Never thought that you’d look down at your left hand and not see the delicate gold band situated on your ring finger. Of course, even now, you didn’t regret marrying him-- for it had given you the house you lived in now, the friends that had flocked to your side when the news of his infidelity spread through the neighborhood, and it gave you your darling daughter. Even if she was not yours by blood, you couldn’t imagine anyone housing the same space in your heart like your beautiful Natasha did. 

All you did regret was being stupid enough to trust him so much. For putting your faith, and your dreams, in his clearly incapable hands. It had hurt, and still does hurt, but it wasn’t because you had lost him-- your marriage, in truth, had been dead for years-- but for all the time you had lost in chasing smoke and mirrors; in staying for something that should have been let go of long ago. You hated him for what he did, for getting caught with his pants down in between his secretary’s thighs, but you hated him even more for not being man enough to simply let you go, to give up the fight when it had already been lost after his first thirty seconds with his new whore, and it’s for that reason that you were currently scrubbing every inch of his old office clean. 

You wanted to get rid of any reminder of him-- both in your home and in your mind. 

The smell of bleach and lemon disinfectant surrounds you, but you had long grown used to the cloying scent. Dark oak floors, and the matching desk, gleamed underneath the antique lighting of the room; it had been a long time since they had been given the proper care they needed. It seems that I have more in common with inanimate objects that I thought, you muse, a sense of bittersweet irony strewn within the thought. 

Settling back on your haunches, a sigh escapes your lips, and you roll your shoulders, wanting to relieve the tension that had been slowly building up for the past couple of hours. “I’m not getting any younger,” you mutter, tossing the damp rag to the side. “I just hope everything will get a bit easier.” 

Even to yourself you knew that was asking for a miracle. 

Before you could delve down into that specific line of thought, you faintly hear the sound of the front door being opened and the familiar sound of jangling keys with the slightly deadpan calling of ‘mom’ permeates the usual silence. The sound, although not unwelcome in the slightest, causes a small frown to furrow your brow all the same. 

“Natasha?” You call back, already making your way towards the living room, sure that your confusion rung clearly within your tone. An expression that only grows that much more pronounced when you’re met with the shimmering gaze of your daughter; tousled red hair cut short, falling to just above her shoulders, and her usual penchant of wearing darker colors being tantamount. “What are you doing home, sweetheart? I wasn’t expecting you for another month.” 

Her lips twist in a wry smile. “Are you not happy to see me, mother?” She tilts her head, faux hurt making an appearance. “I thought you’d be glad to see me.”

You gently swat her arm, before pulling her into a tight hug. “Of course, I’m happy to see you, Natasha,” you murmur, your lips briefly brush across her cheek before you disentangle from her completely. “I just know how you value your independence too.”

“I knew that you were alone in the house, mom,” she replies, a shrug calmly following her words. “I didn’t want you to wallow in self-pity while that fucker I call a father gets his rocks off with someone half his age across town.” 

“Language, Natasha,” you gently chide, well aware your daughter was in her early twenties now and didn’t need to be reprimanded for it. “You know that your father still loves you dearly, and I believe he’s excited to see you whenever you get around to going to his new house.” 

Jade eyes roll so hard you’re almost concerned about them getting stuck. “He should have thought about that before he stuck his tongue down someone else’s throat.” Natasha’s lips press into a line, clearly agitated, but she takes a deep breath through her nose and forcibly calms herself down. “But I’m not here to talk about him. I’m here to spend time with you.” 

Sudden movement from behind Natasha causes your reply to catch in your throat when you finally focus on the woman standing behind your daughter. Whose presence you were completely astonished you hadn’t noticed before, especially given how electrifying it felt to have her emerald eyes honed directly on you, but your gentle smile doesn’t fall away; even if you do feel it twitch slightly due to your surprise. Your hand, that was near enough to your daughter’s forearm, clenches around it in a silent reprimand, but you try your best to keep the pleasant tone to your voice. 

“I see that my daughter didn’t think it best to introduce her guest first.” You gently pinch Natasha once before stepping closer to the unknown woman in your home. “I apologize for not noticing you sooner.” 

The woman smirks, the light emerald of her eyes shifting to tantalizing jade as she observes you. “It’s quite alright,” she replies, her voice a husky whisper that’s enveloped in an accent you couldn’t pinpoint the origin of. “I’m not surprised that Nat was too focused on her mother to remember me.” 

Subtext is etched into every inch of that statement, but you didn’t have time to even try to sift through it before your daughter’s teasing voice cuts through. 

“It’s not my fault my mother is more interesting than you, Wanda.” She slides past you to stand beside the now smiling woman. “You just need to learn to get on her level.”

Wanda’s gaze shifts from your daughter to you once more-- the barest hint of her earlier smirk returning. “I don’t know, Nat,” she teases, amusement, mixed with something else you couldn’t put a name to, laced within her words. “I think I quite like my view from where I’m at.”

Your daughter, once again, rolls her eyes skyward but her easygoing smile doesn’t leave her lips. “Mom.” She turns back to you and gestures towards Wanda. “This is Wanda Maximoff, I’ve talked about her a bit when I’ve called home.” 

The name finally clicks into place within your head. Memories of your daughter’s exasperated voice, filled with hints of fondness, come forth from the recesses of your mind. All of the stories, all of the thinly veiled jokes, that your daughter had shared with you, and the clear warmth that she felt for the other woman, brings a fond smile to your lips. An expression that causes various emotions to flicker across Wanda’s face for the briefest of moments before it smooths over. 

“So, you’re the one my daughter kept talking about?” You couldn’t keep the genuine amusement out of your tone if you tried. “Her best friend?”

Wanda arches a brow. “I’m your best friend, Nat?” She playfully places her hands to her heart. “I’m honored that you think so highly of me.” 

You can tell your daughter just barely refrains from rolling her eyes. Not even bothering to deign Wanda’s teasing words with a response, Natasha turns back to you. “Can we go put our things away, mom?” She rolls her shoulders, and, for the first time, you notice how tired she looked. Of course, it was over a four-hour drive from your house in Westview to her college in Ithaca. 

“Of course, sweetheart,” you soothed. “I’m just going to finish up some work down here and then I’ll get started on dinner, okay?”

Natasha smiles. “You’re the best, mom.” 

Your heart flutters at her words, a simple compliment to most, but one that you’ve desperately needed in the last few months. Knowing that you may start crying at any moment if you tried to speak, you wave your daughter towards the stairs and step back towards the hallway to continue your work in the office. But, before you could a throat clearing behind you causes you to turn back around-- only to be met by beautiful emerald eyes that seemed to encompass you in a bubble you didn’t know if you wanted to escape from. 

“Is everything alright, Wanda?” Your gaze quickly flicks over her body: from the black skinny jeans with holes, to the simple red leather jacket, and the casually tousled way her dark auburn hair fell over her shoulders. “Did you need something?” 

Pale pink lips quirk for a moment, before a genuine look of something passes over Wanda’s face once more. “I don’t need anything.” She shakes her head, a low chuckle escapes her, but you weren’t quite sure what was so funny. “I just wanted to thank you for letting me stay here with Natasha. Especially since it was clear you didn’t know I was coming in the first place.” 

“It’s not a problem, Wanda,” you reply, a smile of your own playing across your lips. “I’m glad that I won’t be alone in this house for however long you both decide to stay. It definitely beats what I was going to do.”

“What were you going to do?” 

You shrug. “Just wallow around and get drunk off of some wine.”

Wanda considers you for a moment, emerald eyes cast in shadow. “I’m not so sure about the wallowing, but I’d love to have a glass of wine with you sometime.” 

“Oh.” You’re surprised by the simplicity in which Wanda makes the offer. None of Natasha’s previous friends, or best friends, had ever bothered, or seemed that keen, to spend time with you. Not that you’d ever fault them for doing so. Who would want to spend time with the parents of their best friend? “I’m sure you’ll have much more interesting things to do, Wanda.” 

A smile, much softer than the one’s she had shown you before, plays at the corners of her lips. “I’m not so sure about that, but the offer still stands regardless.” She looks over her shoulder when the call of her name from Natasha’s room spears through the house, an almost disgruntled look etching itself across her face because of it. “I think it’ll be fun to get to know the woman that raised Nat. Her stories of you haven’t done you justice in the slightest.” 

You’re not able to reply before Natasha’s annoyed voice from the upper-level calls Wanda towards the stairs, clearly impatient with how long her friend was taking. Conversation over then, you think, taking a small step back, towards the direction of the kitchen. The action elicits the smallest of frowns from Wanda, an expression that is there and gone before you could even blink, and you offer her one last wave before heading further into your house, vaguely aware that you didn’t hear the telltale signs of footsteps on your stairs until you rounded the corner. 

The following week passes quickly, and you easily grow used to having Natasha back home-- Wanda slipping in seamlessly throughout it all. It was nice to have some company in the large house, even if Natasha did tend to disappear to reconnect with friends she had left behind once she went off to New York and left Westview behind, but knowing that your daughter was there, and would continue to be, if you needed her soothed you in a way that you hadn’t even known you needed. 

Wanda, despite Natasha’s persistent pestering, seemed to enjoy spending her time lounging around the house, citing that she didn’t know anyone in Westview and didn’t plan on getting chummy with the locals, offering her help whenever she saw you doing something, with an ever present look in her eyes that you still couldn’t place. Although you didn’t exactly mind spending time with the younger woman, her perception of the world was enlightening, along with your shared interests in various topics that had never seem to intrigue anyone else except you-- until now, of course. 

You could feel yourself getting close to her, closer than you’ve allowed yourself to be in a long time. Not since college, you muse, taking a small sip of the chilled wine that Wanda had just brought you. Finally deciding, with Natasha going out for friend’s birthday party, that it’d the perfect time to finally share that glass of wine. You didn’t bother trying to argue with her, not when she looked so earnest in her request. 

Wanda settles next to you, causing you to shift your position, pressing your back into the arm rest, in order to be able to look at her. Emerald eyes were glued onto you, a smile playing on the edges of her lips, before she shifts into a comfortable position of her own. 

“So,” you begin, setting down your wine on the coffee table. “What are you planning on doing once you graduate college? Any idea on where you’d like to end up?” 

“I’ve always loved the idea of being a Producer, being the magic behind the scenes if you will,” Wanda replies, a charming grin catching her lips. “And, yes, I do believe there’s a place that’s caught my eye on where I’d like to end up.” 

You arch a brow. “Really?” 

Wanda simply hums in response, a spark of mischief dancing within her gaze-- a look that you had long since grown used to. It’s clear that she wasn’t going to answer you, not that you truly expected her to, after all what college kid has plans on where they’d like to end up? Ideas, perhaps, but nothing concrete as most go where the wind takes them. 

“Well,” you continue, a soft smile pulling at your lips. “I’m glad that you have everything figured out. I definitely envy you for that?” 

The younger woman’s brow furrows at that, bottom lip disappearing behind pearly white teeth. “Why do you say that?” Emerald eyes flit over the immaculate expanse of your house, one that you had strived hard to maintain through the years. “I think you’re definitely a few steps ahead of me in that department.” 

“I wouldn’t say that.” You wave the pseudo-compliment away. “All of what I have isn’t what I originally dreamed of, or wished for, myself, but when certain cards are laid out in front of you.” Trailing off, you run a singular look over the now empty expanse of your ring finger. “You either fold or raise, I wasn’t willing to do the latter. Not when it had so many other consequences attached to it.” 

“What would you wish for then?” 

You shift your focus back to Wanda, confusion etched across your face. “What?” 

She waves a hand. “You said that all of this isn’t what you originally wished for yourself.” Wanda shrugs. “What is then? What would you wish for?” 

“I wish I could find someone that’d treat me in the way he never did, that’d show me what love truly is, and make me forget about all that he’s put me through,” you sigh, taking another sip of your wine. “Of course, with my age, I don’t think that’s really in the cards for me anymore.” 

Wanda scoffs. “I don’t think that’s true. I think there are quite a few people that’d love to be with you.”

Something tells you, maybe some deeper part, a more sensible part, of your brain, that you shouldn’t continue forward with this conversation, that you should take her words as the compliment they are, but another, more needy part of your brain, one that desperately needs to feel some form of validation after so long, doesn’t want to in the slightest. 

Rolling your shoulders, you level Wanda with a look. “Really?” She hums in confirmation. “And who might those people be?”

“Me.” 

If it wasn’t for your back being wedged against the armrest of your catch, you’re fairly certain you would have reared back completely at the calm nonchalance in which she gave you the answer. “Y-You can’t be serious Wanda.” You shake your head, not believing at all what you were hearing. “I’m over a decade older than you.” 

She tilts her head. “So?” A salacious smirk tugs her lips upward. “I think that makes you even hotter.”

“You--” You huff out a breath. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Wanda. I think I’m going to get you some water because you’ve obviously had quite a bit to drink already.” 

But, before you’re able to even push up from the couch, Wanda’s hand grabs your wrist and tugs you closer. Noses almost smashing together, you’re only able to keep yourself steady by grabbing ahold of Wanda’s shoulder with your free hand. “I know exactly what I’m talking about,” she hisses, warm breath ghosting across your face. “I’ve wanted you from the first time I saw you on Nat’s phone and it only grew the moment I saw you in person.” Her hand lightly traces down your face, almost reverently. “You’re the most beautiful woman that I’ve ever seen. No one could ever compare to you in my eyes.”

The sweets words, coupled by the earnest expression etched across her youthful face, causes your willpower to begin to falter. How long has it been since someone looked at you like that? Spoke to you in such a manner? Have you ever had that? The thought makes something twist within your gut. 

“You’re my daughter’s best friend,” you begin, trying to force some semblance of reality into this situation. Trying to make yourself see reason before you did what this was no doubt leading to. “We can’t do this, Wanda.” 

“We can do whatever the hell we want. We’re both adults, I’m not some child.” She tugs you closer, nuzzling her nose against yours. “And what I want to do is kiss you the way you’re supposed to be kissed.” 

A hitch in your breathing gives Wanda all the information she needs, and seals your fate completely, but, even with that go ahead, at the clear sign that you wanted her as much as she clearly wanted you, her lips still descended onto yours at a snail’s pace, giving you the opportunity to pull away. 

You didn’t want to. 

Didn’t want to have this moment be ruined by what could potentially come after. For the first time, in what felt like forever, you were going to put what you desired, what you wanted, before everything else. So, when Wanda’s lips finally did meet your own, and you’re able to faintly taste the cherry chap-stick she seemed so fond of, you give your all to the embrace. Mouth easily opening to her questing tongue, a small moan escaping from deep within your chest at the feel of it entangling with your own, and Wanda seems to press even closer. 

At this point you’re not even sure where you begin and Wanda ends, being pressed so closely together as you are. All you do know is that you never want this to end, never want to go a moment without Wanda’s warm hands trailing down your body, slender fingers digging slightly into your sides to pull you tightly against her, never want to be without the feelings she invokes within your chest-- the butterflies she causes within your stomach. 

With a small snarl, Wanda rips her mouth from yours, making you just barely stifle the noise of disappointment the action causes within you, but the darkened emerald eyes leveled with your own renders you temporarily mute. Wanda’s chest heaving in her effort to get enough air, but she doesn’t once stop running her hands down your body-- seemingly not being able to get enough of touching you. 

“I want to see you,” Wanda growls, hands gripping the material of your flimsy shirt and quickly pulling it over your head. Darkened green eyes taking in each inch of flesh that’s been revealed to her-- on any other circumstance you’d be mortified by the fervor in which she was looking at you, but underneath all that hunger, you could see a sense of awe, a spark of reverence, as if you had just made a wish of hers come true. “You’re even more beautiful than I imagined.” Her head dips, pressing a hot kiss against your neck, tongue soothing the place her teeth had dug in. “I’m going to worship you, baby, I’m going to make everyone else before me feel obsolete.”

Your back arches on its own volition, pressing yourself further into the heated touch of the hand trailing down your abdomen. Burning kisses, that feel like they’d send the raging inferno coursing through your veins absolutely haywire, following the path her fingers had just traced-- sharp canines delicately nipping the flesh of your navel before her tongue sweeps over the flesh to soothe the mark that she had undoubtedly left behind. You’re barely aware of when Wanda had been capable of tugging your sweatpants down your leg, along with your panties, before tossing them in a random direction behind her, but you’re definitely honed in on the moment her tongue, that had just done such sinful things to your chest and stomach, made contact with the apex of your thighs. 

A breathy whine escapes you then, the feeling of Wanda’s tongue lapping at the wetness beginning to escape you, little hungry mewls escaping her throat, as if you were the most appetizing thing she had ever tasted, brings a whole new high to your pleasure-- something you had never felt before. Digging your fingers through her hair, tugging at the long strands to pull her impossibly closer, you’re rewarded by a breathy snarl, Wanda’s lips latching onto your clit and sucking it into her warm mouth-- slender fingers taking up residence where her tongue had just been, entering you hard and fast. Not giving you even a moment to get used to the new feelings before she’s pounding into you, the slender digits curling up just right to brush the spot within you. 

The sounds of your wetness, of the sloshing noises that Wanda’s fingers made every time she pulled out, would have normally made you embarrassed, and it probably would have, if Wanda hadn’t made sure to maintain eye contact with you throughout it all. Emerald eyes, blown almost black with lust, keenly observing every minute expression that flits across your face, tongue lashing across your clit in the precise moment that you needed her to, fingers scissoring inside of you the moment you felt your high coming that much closer. The simple fact that she already seemed to know your body so well, that she could already read your face, in a way that your ex-husband never could, makes the need to have her closer almost like a drug coursing through your veins. 

With the fingers still tangled in her hair, you tug her upwards. Seeming almost hesitant to leave, Wanda follows your wordless command after another thorough swipe of her tongue, her mouth latching onto your own the moment she’s within reach. And, the heady mix of yourself and something that’s inherently Wanda, fogs your brain, but you still have half the mind to wrap your arms around her back, arching more fully into her body-- needing to feel connected to her in some way. Moreso than you already were. 

Ripping her mouth away from your own, when air becomes a necessity, Wanda groans. “You’re doing so good for me, baby.” Nimble fingers are quickly accompanied by a third. “Taking my fingers so well. Fuck you’re so tight for me, aren’t you?” 

You nod, a soundless scream escaping. The stretch, the feeling of being so full, and the warmth of Wanda’s breath across your ear, a combination you never knew you needed until now. The cliff, that you hadn’t been able to achieve by yourself, and rarely ever with your ex-husband, seems to be getting closer and closer; you were more than excited to finally take the plunge. 

“That’s right, baby,” Wanda coos, thrusting harder into you. “Just feel my fingers in your perfect cunt. He never fucked you like this, huh? Never treated with the roughness you’ve obviously wanted?”

Something in her voice, in the darkened tone, tells you that this line of questioning wouldn’t be as rhetorical as the first. “N-No--” A sharp whine is pulled from your lips. “Only you. Only you’ve fucked me the way I’ve wanted.”

A sharp grin pulls at Wanda’s lips, her free hand gripping your hip in a possessive hold. “And I’m only ever going to be the one to do it from this point forward.” Her head dips, teeth digging into the sensitive flesh right beneath your pulse point. “Isn’t that right, baby?” 

“Yes!” Your back arches, your incoming orgasm nearly blinding you. “I-I’m so close. I-I can’t--” 

Wanda rolls her hips, shushing you gently. “It’s alright, baby. You’ve done so good for me. Be my good girl and cum for me.”

At her command your body finally releases the final coil that had been prepared to spring forward, as if it had been waiting for her words all along, and a keening cry passes your lips-- Wanda-- as your world is whitened by your pleasure. Only vaguely aware of Wanda’s lips pressing repeatedly against your cheek, her fingers gently guiding you through. 

When you come down from your high, from the toe-curling pleasure that she had given you, and your vision clears enough for you to see Wanda, still hovering over you, with that same look of reverence on her face from before, you couldn’t help the almost shy smile that appears. Something that causes Wanda to dip forward to place a chaste kiss against the smile, so tender from the hungry ones that she had bestowed on you only a moment before. 

“How the fuck could he ever leave someone like you?” It’s said in a low voice, one that you don’t think you were supposed to her, but her clear confusion fills you with warmth, nonetheless. Emerald eyes raise to meet your own gaze, softness suffused within it. “Will you give me that honor, baby? The honor of making you forget.” 

Your earlier words, said in a mournful whisper, come back to you instantly: I wish I could find someone that’d treat me in the way he never did, that’d show me what love truly is, and make me forget about all that he’s put me through. 

“I’m over a decade older than you, Wanda,” you rebuke. “Why the hell would you want to be with someone like me?” 

Her brow furrows. “Why wouldn’t I?” She lowers herself, finally pressing her body against yours, allowing you to feel the warmth of her skin, she places another gentle kiss to your lips. “You’re the only woman that’s ever made me feel like this. I don’t give a damn how old you are, I don’t give a damn if Natasha has an issue with it, I’ll talk to her, all I care about is that I get to have you like this again. That I get to love you in the way that you deserve to be.” Emerald eyes sharpen, her grip on your body tightening. “In a way that only I could ever give you.” 

Your eyes flutter shut at her words, something you’ve been wanting to hear for so long. Could you actually take this plunge? Allow yourself to take such a huge risk? Potentially cause a crisis with your daughter and Westview at large? What if it didn’t work out? 

What if it did? The gentle voice of your conscience counters. What if this is your chance at finally being happy? At finally finding the one person you’ve been searching for? Are you really going to let that pass you by? 

You didn’t know how this was going to turn out, how any of this would end up snowballing into years down the line, but as your eyes open and you peer into emerald green, a color that had enchanted you since you first looked upon it, you know your answer instantly-- have known it for longer than the question even being posed. 

“Yes.” 

Wanda’s answering smile, bright with her happiness, is all you see before she descends onto your mouth again, clearly wanting to show you everything that you’d now be experiencing from this point on. 

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #summertime sadness #mcu imagine #avengers imagine

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Happy Birthday, Norton Campbell

Rated Mature | None

To the second hunter and survivor I ever wrote since playing IDV (the first was Morningstar!Ithaqua and High Roller!Orpheus) and had tried to go against during his event (he rocked me a lot), this is for you babe!

Norton Campbell

“You know what they say about Pisces?” You say as lay on top of him wiggling your eyebrows suggestively.

He uncovers his face where he places his arm to look at you. The look of ‘What weird thing did you come up with this time?’ because you are one to say the most outlandish things. He won’t say it but it is often appreciated when his thoughts are not pleasant, “What do they say?” Tired, not of you— Well, he tired because of you and that boundless energy of yours. God, you and Lucky Guy are always ready to go.

“... I don't know.” You forgot or probably had no idea where you were going with that.

“You are lucky I love you or I would have kicked you out.” Covering his face again.

“Out of my own room!? Naked? Wow!” Sitting up causes the sheets to shift and expose your bare chest but the lower half is still covered, “After I gave the best birthday gift too, boo!”

“How do you still have energy?” Mumbling.

“I have to keep up with you, both of you.”

“Agh.” Norton does not want to think about how Fool’s Gold is going to demand a birthday gift too, “Do me a favor and blue ball him.”

“Norton, you won't let me top and you expect me to do denial on him? Hah, no.” Using a modern term for being the dominant one, supposedly. You simplify a lot of your bedroom explanations to him.

“At least, make him work for it.” Moving to lay on his side with his arms wrapped around you.

Fool’s Gold

There is no dressing up for this, he would not appreciate it like his counterpart likes seeing you in lace. Simple lingerie, especially when he can rip it off. No, the hunter likes simply having you on your knees playing your role. He has not forgotten about this, about how it turned him on.

“Bark.” Commanding you. His legs wide open while he sits in the chair made for the hunters.

You are on your knees with your arms up partly as you copy a dog stance while standing, “Arf!” Barking a little too easily, the usual grin on his face widening at the sight of you degrading yourself as his gift. “Woof!” He pulls on the makeshift leash that is his belt.

“Open your mouth for your treat.” His fully formed hand is tugging at your bottom lip, “Tongue out.” Unzipping his pants, unbuttoning it so he has room to pull out that thick reconstructed cock. Pulsing with the purple glow. Tugging you so your breath is hot on his cock. Oh, he likes this sight with his thick nonhuman cock on your tongue weighing heavy.

The way you remain in place waiting for his command, and even better how soon he is going to see tears of pleasure running down that pretty face of yours.

“Go on, suck your treat up.” Norton definitely likes this. You normally would not do this again after the last time he did this with you, but it seems mercy is on his side.

A wish is granted for his birthday.

Soul Catcher

Mortals. All of them from animals to humans, their lives are fleeting, finite, he did not understand why he must assist in preserving these souls. They all will return to the land of the living upon reincarnation, to suffer and struggle. He sits watching a soul that captives him these days, singing a song and often messing up the lyrics, you currently are doing chores. Nothing special about this life or how you live it.

A plain soul, he found the company of such a domestic person a change of pace, a way to see the beauty of life before he claimed it for death. Soon you will follow like all mortal things.

“A celebration of life and another,” You explain, “Though you are not alive, we should still celebrate the contribution you give to all life.” Smiling as you hand him a poncho you created for him. “Death is equally as important as life.”

A birthday, he has no need for such a thing but the gift is given to him, here in this field of cut wheat, the window blowing softly as he stands up and puts on the article of clothing.

“It looks great on you!” Clapping your hands together, “Do you like it?”

“I do.” A quiet one as he often keeps to himself, “Thank you.” He does not have a need for this, yet he does not want to say that nor want you to think him ungrateful. The Soul Catcher touches it fondly as this will be treasured like all the memories he will have of you when the time comes to collect your soul.

Highway Cavalier

“Hiya, speedster.” Waving to him before leaning on the door of his car, “Practicing?”

“No, just checking on the girl before Luca and Demi kick me out for the day.” The engine sounds clear as he revs it and slowly winds it down, “You?”

“Soon, I need to test run the Mach Two before the entry races next week.”

“You've been test-running the damn thing all week.” Shutting the car off, “Join us later.”

“You know I can't, speedster. I gotta do my checks and do my practice laps—”

“Yes, you can because it's my birthday.” He grins, leaning in close towards you.

“What!?” You cover your face, “Oh, my God, Norton, why didn't you tell me?! I could've gotten you a gift or something.”

“I'm mentioning it now and the only gift I want is to see you at the bar getting drinks with us.” Pinching your cheek when you uncover your face to pout, “Maybe a kiss or two for an extra gift too.” Wiggling his eyebrows suggestively before laughing when you hit his arm.

“Silly man as if I don't already kiss you enough,” Rolling your eyes playfully.

The Orphan of Goetia

“A mutual gift for both of us to enjoy the desires of the flesh.”

Infernal Sin, King of the Seventy-Two demons of Hell, the Lord of the damned, has gifted him what they both desire. Norton’s heart is the Infernal Sin's heart only with a human host, he feels what the other feels too.

“I am such a benevolent King, aren't I?” A rhetorical

question as he laughs with glee, “Well!? Go on! Indulge.” Here in this bedroom of red lights and sheets of silk, a heavy smell of wine and iron, Norton is unsure if he should even touch you.

There you sit wrapped up with large fabric ribbons presenting you as a gift. The makeup on your face waa done by that worshiper obsessed with the demonic king and him. You look away, gagged with a ball held by leather straps.

“Go on. This is for us.”

You are laid back, the Orphan of Goetia and the Infernal Sin above you, the hands you feel however are only Norton’s. Carefully unwrapping you, freeing you but you remain on the bed. His hands remove the gag, his mouth on yours immediately desperately.

The sensation of a rocky hand sliding up your legs before slipping between them.

The King once told you here you will find heaven or hell, here you can be worshiped or be made to grovel. He will— They will have you one way or another.

“This is…” Norton speaking with laboring breath, “(Name)...” His lips on your skin, your neck to chest, a trail of hickeys following.

“Norton.” Moaned out as the monster enjoyed himself preparing you, “Please, God.” Thick fingers preparing you, it is as if he knows just how to touch you.

“Not God, us. From now on it will only be us.” The demon king says— Promises.

Mining Director

“You can open them.” Saying as the dining room table is covered with gifts sent to him. Perks of being the most desired and envied man in the mining business— With a hand in other businesses and politicians. Norton Campbell made himself the most powerful man both in the public eye and behind the scenes. “Useless junk.”

You sit there unsure what to say or do given his mood today. It is his birthday and though he has a ton of gifts and riches fit for a king, you had hoped he would celebrate with you… Like old times… When you were both two kids trying to make it in the cold world.

“What?” Norton says, he sees you not moving from your spot, his eyes go to the small box in your hand.

“It's nothing.” Putting the box down, turning around ready to leave the room. The boy you loved, that boy has grown up into a materialistic man. You married him because you love him, but you wonder if he loves you… If that boy is still there wanting to play with you like always.

“Wait,” Grabbing your arm, “Is this for me?” Looking at the poorly made box.

“... No point in asking. It's with the rest of the junk.” Sounding every bit hurt.

Norton curses in Spanish under his breath before pulling you into his arms and squeezing you, “Mi Vida, nothing you give me is junk.”

You hide your face in his chest embarrassed by your feelings of inadequacy, he has the world and you want to show him your love.

“Let me open it.” Opening it while still hugging you, “Hah! You found the old thing!?” Pulling out the old toy model car he would play with as a kid, “Can't believe it. Thought the old man sold it.”

“I found it when visiting the old neighborhood. The pawn shop had it on display and I… I hope you like it, Norton.”

He drops the box to touch the toy, this small piece of the past. When he was a boy, he used to play with this car pretending to be a racer. The grand places he would imagine with you in tow chasing after him.

“Norton?”

His face is buried in the crook of your shoulder, you touch his hand as you feel him trembling against you. 

#idv #idv x you #idv reader insert #idv x reader #idv prospector #reader insert #norton campbell #norton campbell x reader #norton campbell x you #identity v x you #identity v x reader #idv norton #identity v #fool's gold x reader #fool's gold #idv fool's gold #fool's gold x you

[fruitsoxs]

New Year's Kiss

pairing(s); Gale x (GN)reader summary; You somehow end up kissing your rival at midnight OR you seriously misinterpret the vibes Gale is giving off (modern au) warning(s); reader is a dumbass, they are so bad at understanding social ques, Gale can't flirt, this is mostly fluff wordcount; 1.8k notes; this was beta read by both @linklebard and my partner! i couldn't have done it with out them &lt;;33

You never really liked parties. They were often too loud and too crowded. You hate being forced to socialize with other people. You’re definitely an introvert, and when given the choice would rather stay at home. You especially hate work parties though. Not only do you have to talk to people, but these people are your peers. Your educated, rude peers that have an “I’m better than you” outlook on life. The hardest part about work parties? You can’t escape them. Unless you are on your deathbed, you HAVE to attend. It’s an anxiety fueled nightmare

That is exactly how you ended up at your university’s New Year’s party. 

You grip the champagne glass with so much vigor that it may just explode in your hands. People around you are talking, creating a sea of noise which threatens to drown you. Face a little pale, you slowly raise the drink up to your lips and sip. The liquid does little to help you unwind, but it serves as your life vest on this treacherous adventure. Without it in your hands you’d just be standing there awkwardly amongst your peers. 

The party is being held in the Performing Arts center, in a large room adorned with gold  decorations and giant pillars. In the center there is a live band playing. A jazz band whose music should be relaxing, but in this environment it only adds to the stress. Many people are dressed in their finest clothing, showing off their expensive brands. You opted for something a little more simple, but elegant nonetheless. You’ve done your best to look presentable, but you can’t deny the fact you struggled to force yourself off your computer for this event. Despite it being winter break, you’re working relentlessly to put together a research paper that will HAVE to pull in grants.

You’d much rather be putting all of your energy into that than standing here awkwardly at the party. You need to work hard in order to draw in the attention of benefactors, especially with that certain someone who always seems to be fighting with you for the same grants. It wouldn't be such an issue if the man didn’t beat you almost every time. It was only recently that you lost against him after presenting what you thought was your best work. It didn’t even seem to be a fight in the end, his project was chosen without a second thought. You worked your ass off day and night to perfect every inch of that proposal, and in the end you were left with nothing. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here.” A voice rings out beside you, pulling you from your solitude. When you look over you are met with the big brown eyes of the coworker you were just thinking about. Gale Dekarios, the most annoyingly smart person you know. The one who you are constantly butting heads with, and the person you can safely say you hate the most. The worst part about him? He always seems to be correct in a way you can’t refute. He’s wickedly smart, with looks that match. You don’t think there’s a single soul who would describe him as anything but handsome.  It’s utterly unfair. Despite your harsh feelings for the man, he always seems to worm his way into your thoughts

“I think you may have misread the email then, Professor Dekarios. The word required was used more than a couple of times.” You answer, crossing your free arm over the one holding your drink. You would know, you were the one in charge of sending out that email. He lets out a soft chuckle and nods. “I happen to thoroughly read every email I get, especially the ones I get from you. I just figured you’d skip out on the festivities seeing as the word “required” doesn’t always guarantee your attendance, Professor.” He points out, taking a sip of his own drink.  

While he’s not wrong, you don’t appreciate the way he says it. Everything sounds so sassy coming from his mouth. It feels like a slight on your attendance to these ordeals, or like he’s comparing himself to you. There’s no doubt in your mind that he shows up to every single one of these events. They seem like something he would enjoy. You, on the other hand, do like to skip out on parties, even when they are technically required to go to. The reason behind you playing hooky though, is the man in front of you. He’s always somehow one upping you, making it so you have to work extra hard to earn any amount of attention. And while you could earn that attention by attending these parties, and schmoozing up to the department leaders, you’d much rather gain attention by doing good work. Besides, you’ve never been all that great at networking. 

“I do value my job, you know.” you snap, clearly angered by what he said. It is all his fault after all. If he wasn’t so goddamn competent at his job, you might be able to relax every once in a while. 

He doesn’t seem phased by your anger, simply nods along. “Ah yes, and how lucky are we to have you here. One of the finest Historians I know.” 

‘But never the best’ You think bitterly, sipping your champagne again. You find yourself thinking back to those late nights, scrolling through Rate My Professor to compare your scores. Despite your best effort, he always seems to have the most positive reviews. The students love him, the faculty love him. It seems he will always be better than you, no matter what he is doing.

You intend to end the conversation there, but it seems Gale has other plans. Always the sociable one, he opens his mouth again. “It does seem like you’ve been much more engrossed in your work lately. Planning anything big?” he asks, genuinely curious about your work. However, you have never been good at social cues. Thinking he’s making fun of you, you narrow your eyes at him. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Professor” you snap.

He always seems to be trying to gawk at your work. For what? You aren’t sure. Every chance he gets he’s asking what your most recent project is. Sometimes he even asks to view your lesson plans for classes, which always pisses you off. What right does he have inserting himself into your work? Not only that, but what intentions does he have? There’s no way he’s trying to help you, right?

He holds his hands up in feign surrender. “Alright, No need to get snappy. I'm just curious. Who would I be if I was not interested in my colleague’s work?” he asks, offering you a smile. 

You really have no idea what to make of this guy. You’ve always hated conversing with him, because it genuinely feels like he has some secret motive behind his kind words and smiles. He has to be making fun of you for something. There is no other explanation. At least not in your mind. Still, maybe you are being too harsh. You let your glare fall, and give him a small nod. You shift your eye over to the clock. Only five minutes to midnight, which means it’s almost time for you to go home. 

Your eyes go back to Gale, who is still by your side sipping his drink happily. Why is he still next to you? Doesn’t he have some other poor soul to chat to? You open your mouth to voice this, but he cuts you off by clearing his throat. 

“The music is rather lovely today, is it not?” he asks you, avoiding eye contact as if he’s nervous. 

What? Why is he talking to you about the music? You seriously don’t understand this man’s intentions with you at all. Is he trying to get you to lower your guard so he can learn all your secrets? No…he’s much too smart to need to do that. He goes above and beyond, relying purely on his brain alone. He would never commit messy tricks to get what he wants. You arch an eyebrow at him, and look over at the band. They’re playing a pleasant tune.

“I guess.” you mumble.

“And the decorations are nice!”

“It’s a little cheesy.” 

“Perhaps, but cheesy isn’t always bad.” 

You take another sip of your drink, realizing it’s growing quite empty. Well, It’s only three minutes until midnight, You can survive with what you have.  You start to get comfortable with the silence, before Gale starts to speak again. “You know we are probably the smartest people in our department. How would you-” You cut him off this time, utterly confused as to why he’s STILL talking to you. “Don’t you have someone else you’d like to talk to?” you ask with complete sincerity. He seems a little taken aback by your question, his smile disappearing for a small second. Within a few moments it’s back on his face though. “No. I actually quite enjoy talking to you.”

Two minutes until midnight.

You’re stunned. What does he mean? You feel your cheeks heat up despite yourself. You clutch onto your drink a little more intensely. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I enjoy talking to you. You are great company and I-” he cuts himself off.

One minute.

“You?”

He clears his throat, his face turning a bit pink. He then turns to you, taking a deep breath. You expect him to say something, but this time he’s quiet. He just waits for a moment. Once the clock strikes midnight, he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you in closer to him. He does it slowly, giving you time to move away if you want. You find yourself wanting whatever he is doing though, a flame lighting up inside you. Carefully his lips meet yours, and the room disappears.

The kiss only lasts for a moment, but you can feel the fireworks light up inside you.

“I quite like you.” he admits after pulling away, his face inches from yours. Unsure how to respond, you reach up and kiss him again. This time the kiss lasts a few seconds longer. His lips are warm, a little dry, but so pleasant against yours. When you pull away, he’s smiling again. “I’ll take it, you feel the same?” he asks.

You nod shyly. 

“Good. Now, might I propose something that I meant to ask earlier? Would you be willing to do a joint proposal with me?”

How could you possibly say anything but yes?

#gale x reader #gale x tav #gale x you #gale dekarios x reader #baldur's gate 3 x reader

[augenblicklich-lila]

cod incorrect quotes #4

I did warn you that I have a ton of these :D

the usual jazz, mainly Y/N/reader stuff, platonic and romantic, also some suggestive stuff but I feel like that's a given with these dummies. Also has some Soapghost!

at some point, I feel like a masterlist might be useful.

- Lila

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.✭・♛ ♛ （ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)つ━━✫・*。 ⊂　　 ノ 　　　・゜+. しーーＪ　　　°。+ *´¨)

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.✭・♛

Y/N: Made you all playlists! Y/N: Ghost, yours has only heavy metal, and is dark like your soul. Y/N: König, yours has sad songs and blues to pair with your crippling depression. Y/N: And Soap has the ABBA Gold album.

Price: For self-defense reasons, I'm going to pretend to be a burglar and you guys have to act wisely. Ghost, Soap, & Y/N: Okay. Price: If you don't want to die, give me all your money. Soap: Bold of you to assume I have money. Ghost: Bold of you to assume I don't want to die. Y/N: Bold of you to assume I can die.

Y/N: Subs are so fun to play with. All you have to do is hint at what you might do, back them into a corner with a look, or grab their wrist in a certain way and they're a wide-eyed mess. Ghost: What the fuck kind of Subway are you going to? Soap: Substitute teachers deal with so much shit. Gaz: Guys.

Soap: I just found out from Gaz today that when Sheperd died and the service did the 21-gun salute at his funeral, Y/N said, “They should aim at the coffin to be sure.”

Gaz: What’s up with Ghost? He's been laying on the floor for like….an hour now? Soap: He's just a little overwhelmed. Gaz: Why? Soap: Y/N smiled at him.

Price: sees Ghost and Soap together Price: They're cute. I would put them on a boat. Y/N: You mean… you ship them?

Y/N: I am darkness. I am power. I am your worst nightmare. I could kill a man in more ways than you can imagine. I am the night. I am fury, I am a weapon, I am- Soap: A doll. Gaz: A cinnamon roll. Ghost: A sweetheart. Y/N: Y/N: …stop it.

Price, teaching Y/N to drive: Okay, you're driving and Soap and Graves walk into the road. Quick, what do you hit? Y/N: Oh, definitely Graves. I could never hurt Soap. Price, massaging his temples: The brakes. You hit the brakes.

Y/N: You were stabbed. Do you remember anything? Ghost: Only the ambulance ride to the hospital. Y/N: That wasn't an ambulance, I drove you. Ghost: But I heard a siren. Gaz: That was Soap. Soap: Sorry, I got nervous.

Y/N: That's ridiculous, Ghost doesn't have a crush on me. Price: Yes, he does. Gaz: Yes, he does. Ghost: Yes I do.

Gaz: What is it called when you kill a friend? Ghost: Homicide. Soap: Murder. Y/N: Homiecide.

König: What is love? Alejandro: An emotional minefield. Ghost: A neurochemical reaction. Y/N & Soap: Baby don't hurt me.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.✭・♛ 　 ∧＿∧ （｡･ω･｡)つ━☆・*。 ⊂　　 ノ 　　　・゜+. しーＪ　　　°。+ *´¨) “Hie thee home, little wanderer.”

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.✭・♛

#cod #call of duty mw2 #cod mw2 2022 #cod incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes #call of duty x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #oc #x reader #alejandro vargas #rodolfo parra #könig cod #cod x reader #imagines #ghost x reader #soap x reader #price x reader #gaz x reader #alejandro x reader #rodolfo x reader #soapghost #ghostsoap #alerudy #y/n #my post

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Through the Labyrinth the Thread Guides; Idia Shroud

Strings tie together fates. Strings build fates. But should the thread unravel, will your fate follow?

Supporting Roles; Ortho Shroud & Grim

Content; Soulmate AU (I use the term soul match instead), gender-neutral reader, can be read as familial, platonic, or romantic, hurt/comfort, Idia being prime wet cat energy

Content Warnings; Idia & Ortho's backstory (brief mentions of death), some heavy self-depreciation & blaming (Idia), swearing, crying (Idia)

Word Count; 5.5 K

Do not put mine - or other creators’ - works into AI; that shit steals.

In rare instances, humans are given soul matches. It is an odd occurrence, but in a select few families, it is quite common to have one. One of these families being the Shrouds.

There is a story, a myth from aeons past, of a woman using a ball of thread to lead her and others in her company to safety. There is another tale, that one’s life is like that of a string, which the three fates cut with their shears. Strings connect things. Connect people in often invisible ways. They can create. If one snaps, or is loose, everything can unravel. But they can also ensnare; like the sticky strings of a spider’s web. Strings are something the Shroud family is well acquainted with. Alongside the family curse was a family blessing, placed upon them by the God of the Underworld.

No two strings are the same, as they reflected the qualities they shared with the person at the other end. The base colour would stay the same, but the brightness would change with their match’s emotions and well-being. The brighter and lighter the colour, the happier and better their match was. The darker the colour… it meant they were unwell, or under extreme conditions. But there were conflicting ideas within the family over the generations, all written down in a codex that dated back to the very first Shroud.

But, as with any blessing, there is a price to pay for such happiness. For nothing in this world comes for free. Each Shroud is born with two strings. The string on the right leads to the person who will love them for them, of comfort zones, a safety net if you will. The string on the left leads to someone who will change them, make them reassess their life. Right is the known, and left is the unknown. These strings can lead to many different types of relationships; familial, platonic, romantic, and many more.

The strings don’t ever disappear, but if the other person connected by the string dies, then their shared string snaps. The thread around their finger, now white, serving as a cruel reminder of what was. Or in some cases, of what could have been. 

Another steep price is that the person at the end of the winding thread, should they choose their match, will also be subjected to the Shroud family’s curse. So there are many cases across the decades of select Shrouds choosing to ignore the thread, to not bring someone else to their fate. But not all matches felt the same way, as a few matches actively searched and confronted their match. These pairings serve as a reminder; that even though you may try to ignore fate, it will catch up to you. And both are transported into a labyrinth, disguised from each other; only able to get out with each other and without the one looking back.

Is this guarantee of happiness truly worth putting someone else, someone innocent, through the same cursed fate as them though? Many a Shroud, if not all, are conflicted by the prospect. Should happiness really come at the cost of someone else’s? Even if they would be happy together?

…

…

…

Idia looked into the crib where the yellow string on his right hand led, glowing a faint sunshine gold. This baby — Ortho — was supposed to be the person who will love him for him? 

“Idia, honey, what’s with the frown,” his mom asked, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

Idia peered into the crib, where Ortho was peacefully sound asleep. “My thread leads to him,” he muttered. He knew that eventually he and Ortho would bond, but it would be several years until the two could really get close. You can’t exactly have a conversation or play more complex games with a baby. “What does that mean?”

Mrs. Shroud hummed, her usual chipperness being a bit more subdued due to the little amount of sleep she was getting. Well, both parents really, but Mr Shroud just was extra tired and quiet when compared to his wife. “Well, remember the stories I tell you when you go to sleep, honey?”

“Like… Ariadne and the string? But that’s just a story, Mom,” Idia huffed, pushing the mobile and making the pegasi fly in a slow circle. “Plus Ariadne didn’t have a happy ending… the hero didn’t stay with her.”

Mrs. Shroud’s eyes were fixed on him, and she was thinking. “Well, the string that led to Theseus was on her left hand, dear; the left string changes us, for better or for worse. But on her right hand was another string, much like the string on yours. The string on your right hand is for those who will love you as you are. Regardless of what happens.”

Idia looked down into the crib again, where the pegasi cast dancing shadows. “But he’s so … small.”  

“Well he is a baby,” Mrs. Shroud laughed, looking between her bewildered son and her peacefully sleeping baby. “Don’t worry, before long the two of you will be running and playing. You’ll be the best of friends, trust me. Okay?”

Idia didn’t look impressed but he nodded at his mom before heading back to his room. He finally knew where the yellow string, the string on his right hand, led. But why was the string on his right hand floating up before fading out into nothingness? A translucent thread, save for the tiniest hint of blue. No one in the stories, either old or new, had a string that went up. If his soul match were dead his thread would be white and hanging limply off of his finger. But no, it just led somewhere where he couldn’t see. A place that no one knew of.

Left strings lead to someone who will change us. But Idia had heard enough stories of how left threads led to either happiness or utter despair. After all, Ariadne’s left thread only brought her heartbreak, and her other soul match, the God of Revelry, was the only one that brought her solace. 

…

Laughter haunted his mind. Cheer-filled laughter. Love. memories haunted his mind. But they were only that, memories. Memories could not replace Ortho. Memories could not bring back his brother. Memories could not fix everything that has happened.

It’s all my fault. He looked down at the mechanical parts. It’s all my fault. How long has it been since he last slept? It’s all my fault. “It’s all my fault,” he hissed, shoving the parts away in frustration.

Ortho wouldn’t have… We wouldn’t- Ortho would still be here if it weren’t for me! That was what Idia constantly told himself since the incident. If it weren’t for me, Ortho would be here! I’m no hero! I just want my brother back! GIVE ME MY BROTHER BACK!

But he wouldn’t get Ortho back, not truly. Death is a permanent thing, it cannot be undone. But Idia was not the only one hurting, for his parents were also grieving.

“Island of Woe,” Idia sighed, looking into the reflection off of one of the many monitors. “Rather fitting. Nothing but misery… but pain. Is this to be our fate?” His hair, once a dull blue, was now shining a brilliant angry red. “Is this Ortho’s fate? To die because of my influence?! He’s a kid! HE DIDN’T KNOW!” I’m just a kid. But as soon as the anger came up, it vanished, and the room went back to its dim blue glow from the multiple screens showing blueprints.

Sighing, Idia went back to work, fiddling with wires and reading over blueprints and various magic texts. If magic alone could not bring back Ortho, then maybe technology could. The past two years have been like this; Idia working long into the night, trying to find a way, any possible way, to bring Ortho back.

It’s all my fault, so the least I can do is make it right. He didn’t care how long it took him, he was going to make sure that Ortho would be back home. 

The thread on the right-hand leads you to someone who will love you as you are. Idia loved Ortho, and he would still love him, even if his brother was now made of steel and wires.

“Here goes nothing.” What was this, the one-hundredth attempt? He spent nearly three months working on this body, but now was the moment of truth. “Please, please work.”

And he started up Ortho’s programming, waiting for the blue flame to ignite. And as the blue flame sparked to life, the string on Idia’s right hand connected itself to Ortho. Glowing a blinding yellow, changing from a bright pastel to a dark ochre, mirroring the complex emotions running through the older Shroud’s mind.

But the string on his left hand was still translucent and led nowhere, nowhere but up.

…

…

…

Eyes, eyes are everywhere. Voices are everywhere. And Idia could see all of this from the other side of the screen. Where the others were standing around the mirror chamber, whispering amongst themselves, Idia sat at his desk, watching everything take place. He really didn’t even want to be there, even virtually, but the Housewarden of each dorm was required to attend, he just happened to pull a few strings so he didn’t have to endure the social interaction.

Besides, the ceremony was the same every year, and Idia really didn’t need to be there to welcome the newcomers. So he wasn’t, instead watching and adding his input as needed, working on a new customization for Ortho. He looked down at his hand. The thread on his left hand was still translucent and went nowhere but up, fading into nothing. Idia still didn’t know what that was meant to mean, and there were no records in the family library or database about any other cases. 

Left is the unknown. Left is what changes you. But what is there to change? Why should Idia change? He looked to his right hand, where the yellow thread on his pinky connected to Ortho. Right is who loves you for you. All Idia needed was Ortho, he didn’t need nor want anyone else. Especially someone waltzing in uninvited to throw a wrench in his life. Ortho was all Idia needed. Ortho was all Idia wanted. Never again was he going to lose his brother. He would go to the ends of the world and back for him.

The ceremony didn’t go off without a hitch though. Through the screen, Idia saw blue fire, saw students clamouring out to escape the flames. But the fire is not what caught Idia’s eye though, no. What caught his eye was that the thread on his left hand was glowing blue, and led outside his door, out into the campus of Night Raven College. 

He felt a lump form in his throat. Left changes you. The thread dulled in its luminosity, becoming clouded. Confused. Both Idia and the person at the other end of the thread were confused. For Idia, it was that the thread was… active? It was the realization that the person who would change him was here, and that thought alone terrified him. But for the other person at the end of the thread, it was an entirely different kind of confusion. It was more along the lines of “Where the hell am I? WHY AM I IN A COFFIN?! WHY IS EVERYTHING ON FIRE?!” type of confusion.

And out of all the possible colours it had to be blue. Blue has many meanings; inspiration, imagination, trust, and wisdom. But also sadness. Feeling blue was called that for a reason. Blue hardly brought anything without sadness. But at the same time, it was all too fitting that the thread that he shared with his soul match was blue. Of course, Idia would bring nothing but sadness to his match.

Would I change them for the worse? I can’t drag them into this… I can’t do this. “I’m sorry, but I can’t be in your life,” he whispered, grabbing a pair of scissors. He drew the thread taut and brought the blades in, before snipping. But the tread didn’t break, instead, it cut through the scissors, changing from faded blue to a blazing gold, before fading back to blue.

Yeah, there was no chance of Idia removing the molten scissors from the floor of his room. His face paled, and he stared at the thread.

Others had tried to cut the thread off before him, but the scissors just bounced off. They didn’t cut through and melt metal. That wasn’t normal. None of this was normal. Idia wasn’t normal.

“Who are you?” But the thread didn’t answer, still glowing faintly, shifting from cyan to navy. The cyan shifted to navy, indicating they were feeling much the same. Idia brought his knees to his chest and hid his head into the space between them. Who are you, and what’s going to happen?

…

…

Saying that you weren’t happy would be a gross understatement. You were the furthest thing from happy. You were here, wherever here was, you nearly got burned alive by some cat creature that had adopted you as his hench-human, and some weird birdman had “graciously” let you stay in a dilapidated house infested with ghosts. So yeah, you were not having a good night.

“Why,” you seethed, looking through the cracked windows at the darkening sky. “Why me?” But all you got for an answer was creaking wood and the whistling of wind coming in through the many cracks in the walls and ceiling. You plopped down on one of the ancient sofas and fell straight through to the ground. Yeah, sure, why not?!

Today was a mess, a disastrous mess. But at least now, everything was quiet… for the most part, but whatever was to come could wait until tomorrow when you were somewhat well rested. In all of the ruckus and noise though, there was a silent change. Curiously, on each hand, on your pinky, were coloured strings.

On your right, a purple string, glowing with lilac and deep violet. With that string, you saw where it ended, which was on Grim’s right paw. But on your left hand, you couldn’t see the ending for the blue thread, glowing a faint navy. It led outside of the door and kept on going before disappearing off into campus. You didn’t know what strings meant here, but back at home, red strings were a popular trope in soulmate fanfiction. Here though? No clue. What does it mean to have two? Why were they different colours? Why did they just appear now?

The glowing strings didn’t answer, of course, and continued glowing. Fading between different shades of their respective colours, but the blue string remained a dark navy. To be fair though, nothing really made sense here. So, sure, why not?

There’s no bed… well, a proper bed. So the floor it is I guess. It wasn’t the most ideal of situations, but it was a bit better than sleeping outside. Looking up to the ceiling, you started counting the cracks to take your mind off of things. Fifty-six, fifty-seven… How many cracks could a ceiling have until it didn’t count as a ceiling? Sighing, you tugged at the blue string, seeing if you would get some kind of answer back. But nope. Nada. Zero. You got zilch as an answer. But the string was less of the dark, deep, navy, and there was a hint of a true blue in the mix.

You rubbed your eyes and kept on tugging at the string every time you counted another crack. One hundred and … I lost count FU- you groaned in defeat. You gave one last pull at the string before deciding to try and get some shut-eye. If today was just beginning, then, boy howdy, more chaos and shenanigans were sure to come your way. And what chaos and shenanigans they were.

…

…

…

Idia was antsy today, more antsy than usual. Every night, at around the same time, he would feel the thread on his left pinky tug. It was insistent, but it was the same number every time. He hadn’t made any sort of move with his string since he tried to cut it. And honestly, he was scared to even touch it. Fearing that should he interact with the string, that it would bring his other soul match into his life. Finally, he felt the last tug, which was always the strongest, and sighed with relief.

At first, Idia thought it was just his match trying to get his attention, and that was still a possibility, but it was the same amount of tugs every night. They didn’t pull the string at any other time, only at night. So perhaps trying to get his attention wasn’t the point. Maybe it was Morse code? But the tugging was the same quick motion. Unless his match was just saying E two hundred and thirteen times with a T at the end, they weren’t trying to get a message across. Then what did they want? What were they doing? Why were they doing it? 

“Why am I thinking about them,” he hissed under his breath, placing his forehead on his desk. I don’t want to think about them… they’ll change everything.

And while many people in his family had good relationships with their match on their left string, there was always the chance that it could end horribly. They would hate me anyways… the only one that likes me is Ortho. All I need is Ortho.

“They can’t hate you if you don’t give them the chance to know you!” Ortho had seamlessly snuck into the room, and apparently Idia had said his thoughts out loud too. Ortho looked at Idia’s left hand, he couldn’t actually see the thread, but he knew it was there, and he knew it had appeared the day of the ceremony. Knew that Idia was quietly obsessing on not meeting his soul match. “You can’t avoid them forever, nii-san!”

I can’t avoid them forever. Ortho was right in that, since the threads would tighten and force the reluctant one — aka Idia — to them. And he cringed at the thought of his thread practically dragging him to his soul match. If they already thought he was some loser, then surely that introduction wouldn’t bolster any confidence. “They don’t need me… they don’t want me.”

Ortho frowned, and their connected thread turned a dark ochre, reflecting Ortho’s frustration at his older brother’s resistance. “How do you know that, though?”

“I just do,” Idia huffed. 

He loved his younger brother, loved him so much that he couldn’t live without him, but sometimes Idia wished that he would drop the subject of soul matches. Stop trying to make him change his mind. Right is for those who love you regardless of everything. But Idia knew Ortho only did it to try and make him happy. Left is who changes you. 

Ortho yanked on their thread, forcing Idia out of his own head. “No, no you don’t. And maybe they won’t change you, but you just might change for them.” Change is a part of life. Enjoy life, Idia. Ortho didn’t say that though, hoping that Idia would get out of his comfort zone, take a chance, go on a quest, and find the other person at the end of the string. Wherever they may be.

…

…

…

Something was wrong. The thread on your finger had turned black, and led to nowhere, fading into the air. It had happened right as you had entered the air zone of the Island of Woe. 

Go back! Turn back! Now is a BAD time! But was there ever a good time? Would there ever be a good time? And despite the alarm bells practically screaming in your head, you advanced. Originally you came here to rescue your friends — even if a few were more reluctant to call you that — but there was something more. It was as if you were here for a reason. 

The right string, your string that led to Grim, was glowing a faint, dark violet. He’s scared. And like hell were you going to abandon your demanding fur-child. Yes, he gave you constant migraines and set the kitchen on fire too many times to really count — forty-seven though according to Deuce — but you loved the little asshole. Loved him enough to face down Idia… Idia who was surrounded by blot. But that wasn’t all, no. Both of you were in a maze, a labyrinth, made of ink. And Idia wasn’t all there, and you knew that a part of him was outside of the maze, as was a part of you. But the parts that mattered were here, stuck in the dripping labyrinth, together.

  And then Idia was gone, either being teleported to somewhere else in the maze, or back outside. In your mind you could see the events unfolding, but you weren’t really there. In the darkness there were two sources of light. The thread on your left pinky was now glowing a blinding gold, and weaving between the inky walls. Going forward. But there was also the string on your right hand, glowing a faint purple and led up. In order to get out of this maze it looked like you would have to follow the blue thread now turned gold which blazed forward like the Sun across the horizon. 

In your mind you could see everyone fighting Idia, could see yourself fighting Idia, but you were following the gold thread through the silent maze.

“Where are you bringing me?” But all you got for an answer was a slight change in brightness. None of this made sense. I really should have researched this when I had the chance. That’s a problem for future me though. 

The thread eventually stopped though, stopping in front of a figure sitting on the ground with his knees to his chest, hugging them. A figure made of blue, gold, and yellow flame. 

…

Idia felt his chest and eyes burning. Why am I crying? He looked through his tear-warped vision, but he was in some sort of labyrinth. Why am I here? The thread was glowing gold, much as it had when he had attempted to cut it. But instead of being unbearably hot, it was warm, like his favourite hoodie. Comforting. But the thread on his right hand had snapped again, and was white. Ortho was gone again. It’s all my fault. Everything is always my fault.

Left changes us. Left is the unknown. Left is possibility.

But it’s also pain, uncertainty, fear, rejection—

“But how do you know that though?” That’s what Ortho said. And Idia didn’t know those things, not for certain.

He curled into himself, trying to ground himself. A curt laugh escaping from his lips. “A labyrinth of all places,” he said quietly into the dripping gloom. Fitting, since Ariadne was hurt most by the person she met there. Are you trying to tell me they’ll come in here, waltzing in like some hot shot hero, only then to ditch me for someone else?

But the thread only continued to glow, leading out into the maze. The only way out is forward. But Idia couldn’t move, he felt frozen, stuck. So he just sat there, letting out the built up grief of years and years come out. The tears gently rolled down his face before falling into the ink. 

“Are you okay?”

A voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and Idia looked up. Standing at the entrance(?), exit(?) of the labyrinth was a figure, their voice distorted, and their body made up of blue, gold, and lilac flames. And he and they were connected together through the gold cord.

Idia moved in further on himself. “No,” he hissed. Obviously he was not okay. “G-go away! I don’t need you!”

But the figure only got closer, and came down to sit next to him, quietly waiting for him. “I may or may not know you, cuz honestly I can’t tell with the weird voice filter and flame suit, but I think you do need me… I know nothing about what this means,” you picked up the gold thread connecting the two of you together, “but I do know it means we’re connected in some way. Also that we can only get out with each other, regardless of if we like it or not.”

Regardless of if we like it or not. Idia hated this entire situation. He was stuck in here, in this maze with his soul match’s inner flame, but he was also outside. Left changes us. “I don’t want you.” I didn’t ask for any of this. I don’t want any of this.

It stung a bit, but you knew there was no bite to their bark. “You may not want me, and I may not want you, but I think we need each other. Cuz whatever these strings are, seem to have a mind of their own.” You got off the ground and offered your hand to your gloomy companion. “Now, are you going to sit here in the dark, or do you want to get out of this place?”

Idia looked up at them. You may not want me, and I may not want you, but I think we need each other. They were right. He wouldn’t be able to leave this maze without them. And right now, they were glowing as bright as the Sun, warm, comforting, and bright. Left is to change. Left is the unknown. So, Idia took their hand.

…

…

The two of you walked in silence throughout the maze, the only sound being the drip drip drip of ink hitting the ground. The further you went from where your fellow flame person was moping, the more light there was, and the ink was slowly fading out. But there was still a long ways to go. But the silence was suffocating, especially since you had some questions that needed answering.

“So,” you cleared your throat, breaking the quiet. “What do these strings mean?”

The flame figure, who was in actuality Idia, beside you tripped. They don’t know? How could they not know? “... they’re soul match threads…”

Soul match? “And what does that mean?” It’s not my fault that I don’t know anything about this. I didn’t really receive a “Welcome to Twisted Wonderland!” brochure.

Idia sighed. He was still nervous around you, but the anonymity of the voice filters and the fact that you were made of fire helped calm his nerves enough. “The one on the right is for the person who loves you for you, regardless of flaws.” And his had broke again, Ortho was gone again. “The left thread is for the person who will change you… it also means the unknown.”

“I don’t want you!” So that’s why they were so defensive. “Well, change can be scary. It can be good or bad,” you hummed. “But life is filled with change… Life is change. You can’t truly live without changing, without taking a chance on the unknown.”

“You’re pretty wise,” it slipped out of his mouth before Idia knew, and he was glad that the fire didn’t change colour like his hair did, or else he would have been bright pink. “Sorry, forget I s-said that!”

But you just chuckled, “Meh, just have learned a lot in the past couple of months… blue does mean wisdom though.”

“It also means sadness.” Idia stopped walking. “I don’t want to bring sadness into your life… it seems to be the only thing I bring.”

“Blue can mean a hundred different things, you just have to decide what it means for you. For me? It means a bright clear sky. It’s water. It’s the bright blue of … my friend’s fire. It can mean anything. You just have to give it meaning.” You didn’t really know why you were saying all of this, but you felt like you could be honest with the stranger beside you.

Left changes you. Left is the unknown… the left can be something you choose for yourself? Idia had always thought that his soul match would be different from him. Try to forcibly change him. But they weren’t. They were helping him, giving him… advice? Helping him out of the maze. Which at first was filled with dark ink, but now instead of stepping on the dark surface, they were in a maze made of white marble, and a blue sky dotted with white clouds overhead.

You didn’t look back at Idia when he stopped walking, and instead waited patiently. You don’t know why, but you had a feeling that if you looked back, they would disappear, heading back to the darkness of the centre of the labyrinth. “Come on, we’re almost out.” You offered your hand again, waiting. “Let’s get out of here.”

This time Idia took your hand without a second thought. A blinding light forced the both of you to close your eyes and you found yourselves out of the maze. To the aftermath of the overblot.

…

…

…

It was a week before the physical string on your and Idia’s hand came back. But this time it was different; instead of being purely blue it was a mix of blue and gold, taking on a marbled appearance. Idia’s right thread to Ortho was back too, and he was overjoyed to have his brother back.

“You met them, didn’t you? In the labyrinth?” Ortho asked, noticing that his brother was different, not a bad different either. “That’s how you escaped the blot.”

Idia nodded. Without his soul match, he would still be stuck in the blot, stuck in the dark maze… stuck in obsessing and blaming himself for what happened in the past. Left is the unknown. Left is the future. “They… they were kind.”

Ortho looked at Idia, and there was a smile in his eyes. “Go to them then, nii-san!!!” He harshly pulled on his thread to push his message home. “What are you waiting for, Idia?!”

What am I waiting for? They had already reached out to him, saved him, so it was only fair to find them in return… to show that he changed. So, he gently plucked at the thread, holding his breath as he waited for an answer. And he felt a pull back as an answer.

Just think of it as a side adventure in a game. This isn’t some boss battle. This isn’t a bad ending in an otome game… This isn’t a game though. 

…

You were smothering Grim in hugs and kisses. “I LOVE YOU, YOU FLUFFY JERK!” You muffled into his fur as he tried to escape your affection.

“Nyeh! You’re choking me! Let me go, hench-human!” Grim squirmed out of your grasp, but hugged your leg. “... I missed you too.”

After everything with Idia’s overblot, you had been giving Grim extra love. Yes, he could be an ass at times, but he’s still your friend, and you loved him regardless. Right is for those who love you regardless of anything else. You loved Grim, regardless of everything that he’s done. And he loved you. You two were family. A vibrating sensation on your left hand pulled you from the sweet moment.

The thread connected to your hand was slowly vibrating. So, they’re reaching out? … maybe I did change them? And you lightly pulled on the string. You wanted to find them, if for nothing else than to make sure that they were okay.

“Grim, don’t start any house fires when I’m gone,” you placed a kiss on his forehead before going out the door. Ramshackle was still a disaster zone, but it was still home to you. You could always fix it later. It could wait. But the other person at the end of your blue and gold marbled thread could not.

You didn’t know who they were, you didn’t know who to expect, but you were open to the possibilities. You were open to change, open to the unknown. Open to the future, whatever that may look like with them.

Eventually your string stopped, and looking up from the thread you saw Idia, shaking slightly and looking at the string connecting you two. Focusing so strongly that you had came that he hadn’t even looked up to see who his soul match was.

“I know what you may think of me, but…” he took in a shaky breath, trying to get the vulnerability of his voice under control. “I’m trying to change, accepting that what happened, happened. But it’s going to take me a while to level up-” He cringed at the gaming slang he used.

You placed your hand on his. “How do you know what I think about you if you never really asked me?”

Idia’s head snapped up and he looked at you with wide eyes, hair flashing a flustered pink. “It’s you?!” He practically squeaked. The strong, responsible, and kind Prefect?! “NOT THAT THAT’S A BAD THING THOUGH!”

“Do you think change is so scary, now that we know it’s each other?”

Idia looked into your eyes, and he knew his answer. “As long as we have each other, no. It’s not.”

Fin!

Author's Note; Did I use a popular soulmate trope with the string of fate? Yes. Do I care? No~. I did tie in the mythology of Ariadne, but also of Orpheus & Eurydice. Also some colour language because I can. I hope you enjoy Idia's story! If you like my work, or want to read the other Soul Match AU stories I have, do check out my masterlist!

Tags!

@inkybloom-luv @eynnwwyjth @xxoomiii

#twst #twst x reader #twst x gn reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x gn reader #twst soulmate au #soul match au #idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud x gn reader #twst idia #idia x reader #idia x gn reader #ortho shroud #twst grim #twst hurt/comfort #twst fic #i'm blue da ba dee da ba di #idia shroud; so much of a wet cat that he's entirely made up of water #should i just put the entirety of “I'm Blue” in the tags? ...... no #I'M BLUE- #bit different from the rest but that's okay; i like how it turned out #up next is lilia but i need a nap before taking on another 5.5K #also i lowkey want to draw(?) paint (?) their flame figures in the dark with the gold thread connecting them #but i haven't painted in a hot minute #like i'm imagining van gogh style and idk how to do that #tags are for easter eggs and for me to ramble when all of the important ones are done #might not write anything new for a little bit and instead slowly re-write an old wip until i get the energy to write something new #majority of this was written in the span of three days

[evenmorefatallyobsessed]

Non-RWBY/ MLP models I wanna do and how I'd explain them in Remnant.

01. Felix Argyle (Ferris)

Would Probably use a similar story to how he met his princess but set and altered to fit Remnant.

Felix was simply born with two physical Faunus traits. While I say simply this would be more on pair with a condition/ mutation like Polymelia a genetic anomaly that results in people having extra limbs.

The difference being that in Felix's case he's simply born with a extra trait. However the effects it has on him are more detrimental For instance racist see him as even more of a animal then most faunus.

While some faunus see him with contempt for seemingly being to them what Faunus are yo racist. His parents ashamed and afraid of redicue lock him up I their house

Things would play out similar to how they did in their book but instead of Crusch Jaune and the Arcs noticing the families odd behavior find and rescue the boy.

2. Toga (My Hero Academia)

Her circumstances can be similar to her series. Given that Neo can form illusions and Xanthe can quite literally transmutation seemingly anything to gold I don't see why Toga can't take on the apperance/ voice and even eventually semblance of those whose blood she ingest.

Though I would alter the reasoning to that of that she needs the others aura to mimic them. Blood is just the easiest way to injest it as while the blood cells are still there is no reason they shouldn't theoretically still retain their aura.

03. Najimi Osana (Komi Can't Communicate)

This one's fairly easy too, Najimi simply grew up with Jaune (Or one of his sisters) as a classmate. He befriended everyone like in his own manga/ anime.

And simply got a crush on Jaune convincing himself he'd confess at graduation... Only Jaune wasn't there and had left for Beacon.

04. Rebecca (Cyberpunk 2077)

Rebecca's is a bit harder but off the top of my head, I can see her and the gang she rolled with in Mantle. Not as techy as they had been in Cyberpunk though, or maybe they were. Not really too important for the relevance her, point is Rebecca nearly dies. And only survives because Pietro can't help but try and save her on principle.

Using his technology... And even his semblance he does manage to save the girl, though the result leaves her more mechanical then human. Rebecca as we know is loyal, arguably to a fault.

So once she hears the old man quite literally tore his soul apart to save her she grows attached to him and his... daughter Penny who insist on calling her sister.

05. Midna (Legend of Zelda, Twilights Princess)

Honestly, I got nothing for this one, doesn't mean I wanna make it any less. Maybe Jaune falls into the Twilight Realm instead of the Everafter... Or Midna is sent to Remnant instead of Zelda's world. Or Jaune and the Arc's as a whole could be Link's Ancestors who could be guarding the Mirror of Twilight to this day.

06. Amy Rose, Rouge the Bat & Blaze the Cat (Sonic Franchise)

Jaune fell into Mobius instead of the Everafter

07 Hideri Kanzaki (Blend S)

Him and Jaune come from the same village were his parents are farmers. Hideri unlike Jaune adored getting dressed up and praised and dreamed of the big city and becoming a cute idol.

Jaune supported his dream, encouraging his friend who in turn encouraged him to be a Huntsman as well. He left for Vale with Jaune who fought off several Grimm on their way there. He aimed to start his career as a idol while Jaune tried for Beacon...

Several months later he's crossdressing at a cafe and Jaune steps in to see how his friends doing.

08. Fujiwara Sisters, Maki & Nagatoro's Crew

These are actually super easy, their civilians, lets say Mistral, since both shows are based in japan and Mistral seems to be the asia of Remnant.

I can see two simple ways of doing it, Senpai and Shirogine can be related to, or friends of Jaune's parents. Hence why when visiting Mistral Jaune decides to see how his old friend/ Cousin are.

Also maybe I should give a brief summary of three others I've already maid.

Louise de La Vallière (Familiar of Zero)

this one as a commission already has a setting... Basically the Valliere family fought with the Arcs in the Great War where her grandfather fought besides Jaeger Arc.

The two grew close as brothers and agreed to marry their children, unfortunately Julius fell in love with Juniper and caused friction by cancelling his engagement to the two elder daughters.

Thankfully Jaeger did have a younger son, Jaune, who would become Beacon's Prof. Arc.

This is a reference to Louise fiancée Jean-Jacques Wardes

who looks about the same ages a my Prof. Arc model, the irony being that Jaune supported, trained and helped his fiancée however he could unlike his traitorous counterpart.

He never intended to actually make the young girl follow through with their wedding either. Perfectly willing to break his word and dishonor himself so she could be free to love whoever she chooses.

Because of Jaune's influence and the fact that she's not considered a failure magician in Remnant and in turn ostracized Louise isn't as violent as she is initially.

And while Jaune doesn't notices it, Louise doesn't see their engagement in a negative light.

Manami Aiba/ La Brava (My Hero Academia)

Born with dwarfism Manami always felt different, self conscious and misunderstood. She yearned for connection and affection from a young age and could always feel others look at her differently...

She was quite sharp and capable, but there was another facet to her... She Loved HARD. When she got a crush it wasn't a simple crush, but instead utter affection.

Her pure little heart was so filled with affection on her first ever that the immense emotion awoke her aura and semblance... Love. The ability to multiple the targeted individual dependent on her feeling towards them.

Given her semblance she saw it as proof that she needed to pursue him, cherish and learn about him. Unfortunately it resulted in her freaking said boy out, viewing her as a stalking, and rumor spread over the tiny lil' weirdo stalker.

She ended up leaving school, shutting herself off from others, and surviving in private using her impressive computer skills to make money. Whether that be a regular computer job, hacking systems for less savory people or selling information she managed to dig up to Hei Xiong.

But nothing healed her heart, made her reach out, there was no Gentle Criminal who filled her world with light in Remnant... No instead one day, where she'd been forced to leave her home on a rare occasion she was stopped by several thugs... And then saved, by a random, kind... Cute, tall... Knight.

Ilulu (Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid)

I'm thinking of doing something similar to the series but instead of Toru being injured and found by Kobayashi it's Ilulu who is found and healed by Jaune.

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

The Phoenix and the Crow

part thirteen

pairing: kaz brekker x reader

genre: angst/neutral

el's thoughts: this... is the "official" final part of the series! thank you so so much for all the love and support y'all have given me! i left the ending in a place where i can always come back and pick it up if i wanted to. so with that being said, please enjoy this part! i hope you like it as much as i loved writing it! please remember to reblog and comment :)

masterlist

Nikolai leaned heavily on Toyla while Tamar walked on his other side, both siblings leading him to a place to sit. The crows followed silently behind the group of three, watching the other soldiers carry their dead.

“Long may the night carry our souls until the dawn renews us.” Toyla said as he helped the young king sit on a wooden crate. 

“Rabinov. Canto Seventeen.” Kaz spoke, leaning forward on his cane. 

Toyla smiled, “Seems we both share an appreciation for life’s beauty.”

Nikolai let out a soft groan when he put some of his weight on his wounded shoulder. Tamar placed her hand on his back, “Are you okay?”

“A moment of sun before we deal with our losses.”  The blonde stared blankly in front of him. “Dominik…” He cut himself off as he felt emotions rising in his throat at the thought of the loss of his best friend. 

“He did exactly what any of us would have done for each other. For you.” Tamar’s voice held nothing but conviction as she spoke. 

The group's attention was taken away from each other when they noticed five people walking into their camp. Alina lead the group while Mal followed behind everyone. Nina stopped at the line of dead soldiers and stood in her place with a distant look in her eyes. Y/N froze in her steps a few paces before the heartrender, lost in her own mind as she observed the people around her. Kaz stared at her with a flash of concern in his piercing eyes. Nikolai watched the small, nearly unnoticeable interaction with slight interest before he saw Inej hand the blade to Alina. 

Alina ran off to find Mal and before Inej walked over to the other crows she turned to Y/N. She held her hand out to call her over causing the inferni to smile softly to herself. She followed the suli girl a few paces behind her finally looking over the rest of their crew. Kaz watched her intently, waiting for her to make eye contact finally and when she did neither was brave enough to break it. A strong sense of longing filled Y/N’s chest but she held her ground, only nodding at the man before going over to Nikolai and the twins. 

“And Kirigan?” Nikolai asked. 

“Dead.” Y/N’s voice was cold and emotionless as she avoided looking into their eyes. “Zoya is protecting the body. Alina wants it burned.”

A wave of unspoken relief washed over the trio seated before her.

The young king rose to his feet and faced the crows. “Thank you. My country might have been sunk if you hadn’t arrived.” His lips formed a faint smirk, “Again.” 

“We’ll settle those thanks in gold.” 

Y/N’s eyes only lifted from the ground in front of her at the sound of Kaz’s gravelly voice.

Tamar and Toyla helped Nikolai limp away with Nadia and her brother following the trio. 

“He’s right, you know. We do have our adventures. We should hire a writer to jot down our story.” As Jesper spoke, Wylan moved to stand next to Kaz while Y/N stayed seated on the wooden crates.

“What will we call it?” The zemini continued. “The four charming rouges of Ketterdam. Yes.” He smiled to himself with pride. 

“There’s six of us.” Kaz said quietly as he glanced between Nina and Y/N.”

Jesper snapped his fingers, “Right. Six of cro-”

~

Y/N stood with Nina and the horse’s stroking their manes while leaning her head against one of their necks. She heard the muffled sound of Kaz’s cane coming towards them and she swiftly moved behind the horses so she wouldn’t have to see him directly.

“You might be a Saint now.” Kaz said to Nina. “Bringing someone back from the dead.”

“I wish I could take credit. Wasn’t me. She’s the real Saint.” They both turned to look at Alina talking with Nikolai.

“Once the world stops looking at her with gratitude, they’ll start to wonder if she's outstayed her welcome. That’ll be dangerous.” Kaz’s words caused Y/N's mind to run wild with uncontrollable thoughts. How were the people to react once they saw her for what she truly was? Where was she supposed to stay if she had to ture home? Her whole existence’s purpose was to protect grisha, at least that’s what Kirigan told her. She was to be a shield for those too weak to make their own. She was trained to willingly sacrifice herself over and over again. She didn’t know a life without that mentality.

“She may be the first person I’ve met who is both of the two most dangerous types in this world.” Nina’s voice shook her from her thoughts. 

“And which two are those?” Kaz asked. 

“Those defending their happily ever after. And those who don’t know how to find their way to one.” The heartrender spoke while watching him expectantly.

“Sounds like someone else I know.” He diverted. 

“I can't make peace with this place. I’m not giving up on my happily ever after.” Nina shook her head, “I’ll claw my way to one. If he’ll let me.”

Kaz’s eyes moved past Nina to the pair of boots standing behind one of the horses before looking back at the girl in front of him. “Let me help you.”

Y/N smiled softly to herself at the sound of determination in his voice. Proud of the small bit of care for his friends breaking through his walls. 

~

The heat was scorching as they all stood around Kirigan’s body that laid on a bed of firewood. Y/N extended her hand from where she stood and lit the two torches where they laid in their basket. She stood next to Zoya with Genya and Alina next to them. The crows stood behind the girls while Nikolai and his soldiers stood on the stone steps in front of everyone. 

Kaz stood directly behind the inferni, everything in his being screamed to place a hand of comfort on her shoulder but he knew he couldn’t. Instead he was left to watch in affliction as her shoulders visibly tensed beneath her uniform, her hands clenched and unclenched at the sight of the Darkling’s body before her. The man who caused her mental and emotional pain for years before she was able to escape. Before Kaz was able to do everything in his power to keep her safe and out of harm's way the best he could. 

“You go.” Alina spoke to Zoya and Genya. “You both have every right.”

Zoya lit the bed of firewood first, her eyes never leaving the Darkling’s pale face as she tossed the torch next to his feet. Genya then walked forward and lit the wood next to his head, making sure the fire caught before turning and handing the torch to Alina. 

“No grave. Nothing left.” Alina spoke as she stood before the body. “Goodbye, Aleksander.” She threw the torch onto him and walked back to stand beside Genya. 

Y/N moved her hands subtly twirled her fingers to spread the fire over the bed of wood while Nikolai walked down the steps.

“Today is a new beginning.” The young king started his speech. “For all of Ravka. Hell, for our whole world. It’s a bit daunting, isn't it? Knowing where to go from here.” He looked at the four girls at the front of the group, Alina and Genya holding hands while Y/N and Zoya stood beside each other like soldiers. “We’ve had a singular focus for so long. So much blood has been shed. After hundreds of years separated by the Fold, we can celebrate a unified Ravka. Our neighbors to the North will see us united and will aim to strike. But often it’s not the battle that takes the most from us. It’s the aftermath. The chance to put the pieces of our lives back together.” He focused his attention on Y/N, the girl holding eye contact with him. “When a Phoenix rises for the ashes, it is not the same. But in that rebirth, is potential. Potential for a new purpose.” 

Y/N turned her head down to stare at her sandy boots. Hyperawear of Kaz’s lingering eyes on the back of her head.

“Thanks for what Alina has done for us,” Nikolai continued. “We all have a chance to better the world now that the Fold is gone. Above all, you must trust. Trust in each other. In yourselves. Trust in the fact that this is the start of better days to come. And it won’t be easy, of course. Nothing is.” He looked around the group of soldiers and thieves. “I had hoped to end that on a more uplifting note, but here we are.”

The crows all walked away, glancing back at Y/N every-so-often as she stood with her eyes glazed over while she stared at the charred body of General Kirigan.

Alina wrapped her arm around Genya and looked to the other two girls silently asking them to come closer. Zoya stepped first and reached her hand out to Y/N, drawing her into her side. Nikolai watched the four girls with an ache in his chest but a slight smile on his lips before he too followed the rest of the group. Leaving them there to have their final moments alone. 

~

Y/N sat with her hand’s clasped in front of her on her knees. Her eyes were closed as her lips moved in a silent prayer. She prayed for her country and the road ahead of them they’d have to pave. She prayed for her old friends and new found friends. For them to find peace and happiness in every step forward from now on. 

The last of her prayers fell from her lips when she heard soft footsteps down the hall followed by the unmistakeable clicking of her favorite cane. She closed her eyes and bit back her smile when she felt him walk into the small chapel room.

“Lantsov paid up.” Kaz said. “Everyone will get their cut.”

“I didn’t do this for the money, Brekker.” Y/N replied, her eyes still focused on the stained glass portrait of Alina. She sighed when he didn’t say anything. “And Nina?”

“She’ll receive a pardon for deserting and another for her Fjerdan.” The inferni looked back at him, his eyes not meeting her as he updated her. “As long as he stays out of trouble, the charges will be dropped.”

She nodded and faced forward once again, opening her mouth to say something then quickly decided against it and bit her tongue.

“I also…” Kaz cleared his throat. “Wanted to say goodbye.”

Y/N felt her eyes glaze over as she turned to look at him, “I didn’t think you were the sentimental type.” Her smile faded when he didn’t say anything, his eyes avoiding her at all costs. “Who said I wasn’t going back to Ketterdam? I have to say… That city has grown on me.”

“Ravka is your home. You and I both know that you need to stay. Your country still needs you, Y/L/N. They’ll need someone to help lead, not a king, not a sun Saint. They’ll need a strong soldier.”

Y/N turned away from him quickly, blinking back her tears. That was the last thing she hoped to hear. How she still had to keep fighting for her country, for the people who hadn't done much for her in return. She couldn’t go back with the people who had shown her true kindness. Not yet anyway.

She swallowed hard before speaking, “I know this won’t mean much to you… but I pray for him. For the person who you once were. And you.”

“I don’t want your prayers.”

“What do you want then?” 

Kaz stared at her as she looked down at her hand and twisted her fingers together. And all at once, that familiar sense of longing settled in his stomach. What did he want? For her to let go of her morals and values just to come back to Ketterdam with him? For her to be one of his crows or something more? To be able to see her everyday in the normalcy of the Barrel. To have everyday conversations with her. To get to know her better than anyone has ever tried. For her to trust him just as he felt he could trust her. What did he want? Her.

“To die, buried under the weight of my own gold.” His mind screamed at him for lying. For lying to her of all people.

Y/N chuckled humorlessly, “More money. More scores to settle.” With a deep breath she rose to her feet and walked closer to him. Her actions startled him for a split second. “Was there never another dream?” His lack of response caused her to nod and start walking past him. 

The sudden urge to reach out for her washed over Kaz so strongly he finally gave in. His gloved hand clasped around her wrist. “Stay.”

She froze at the feeling of the leather on her skin, the air leaving her lungs in a gasp. 

“Stay in Ketterdam.” He choked out the words. “Stay with…” He couldn’t finish  his thought as she turned around to face him. 

She smiled softly as she looked at their hands “What would be the point?” She moved her hands to hold his one in both of hers. “We both don’t know what we’re getting ourselves into yet, and that’s okay. You’re not ready and… I might not be either.” She let out a sigh. “You have a kingdom of your own back in Ketterdam to run and I have a country to help run. We… We have jobs to do, you said so yourself. But-” She finally brought her eyes up to his and licked her lips in thought as her mind ran over her next words. “But if you’re also willing and the Saints above see it fit… I’ll wait. For you. I’ll be here waiting for you whenever you’re ready. I will have you, Kaz Brekker, when you’re ready. That’s my promise to you.” She smiled one last time up at him before letting go of his hand and walking out of the chapel room.

Kaz continued to stare where she once stood and gave in to the slight quirk of his lips. When he’s ready. That was something he could live with.

~*~*~

taglist:@rachelcarroll1819 @xcharlottemikaelsonx @khaleesihavilliard @simrah1012 @foulkryptonitepeanut @astridyoo15 @queenofshinigamis @peakyispunk @jahayla-parker @maliciousbrekker @brekkershadowsinger @winstonthecow22 @lee-says-things @bunneex @writingmysanity @sleepynightchild @madnessinwrighting @romanticvampire @dark-academia-slut

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x y/n #six of crows #six of crows x reader #six of crows imagines #shadow and bone #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone imagines #ellora.writes #fic: the phoenix and the crow

[johannestevans]

Catholic priest given passage on an English vessel sailing for Rome, well-used to exchanging barbs with the ship's own Anglican pastor

One of the young men visibly distracted and fascinated by him, by everything about him

"Aren't priests meant to take vows of poverty?"

"We do."

"It's a very fine travelling case."

"A kind gift from the Monsignor."

"There's gold thread on a lot of your robes."

"A reflection of the beauty in worshiping the Lord."

"You're handsome."

"I can't give that up."

He's amused by it, by this sailor's complaints and his obvious youthful exuberance and his desire, the blatantness of it - he stops finding it so cute when this 20 something turns to him and asks if he should like the sailor's service with his mouth

He tends to the ship's priest - why not this one?

So plain speaking. So astoundingly blunt and unabashed. Near well stammers out, "Vows of poverty and chastity too, young man."

"Oh," he says, disappointed, then shrugs his shoulders. "Alright."

"It's sinful, you know," he says faintly. "For man to lie with man - to engage in such a vile act as sodomy."

"So?"

"… So?"

"So what?"

"Well, have you no care for your immortal soul?"

"No, sir, not really. I don't know that I believe in all that. Cock, I believe in."

Priest left alone by the young man, cheerfully returning to his duties, feeling a burn in his cheeks and near dizzied by the young man, incapable of thinking of anything but him the whole journey

#musings #original fiction

[felice-jaganshi]

His Pet

Chapter 14

Alastor x OC

Content warning: mention of potential SA and minor acephobia.

He sat on her bed, rocking her back and forth until she had calmed down. He was extremely troubled by today's events.

“Darling… I'm certain you're very tired from all of today's activities, but I need you to answer something for me before I let you rest.”

She nodded, staying silent as she clung to him.

“Darling, I'll never judge or blame you for things that happened against your will, but I must know… what did Valentino do to you?” He needed to know how badly he had failed her. How bad the damage done was.

 

She shook her head, “He only hurt me. He didn't… he tried but I fought back and I tried to rip his throat out, but he moved, so I missed and got his wing. He thought if I bled enough I'd be easier to handle. But… my blood is gold so… he freaked out. I was able to run, and hide. Took a chunk of wing with me.”

 

“Do you remember scratching me?” He held out his hand to her. She looked confused and took it.

“I did this? I… hurt you?” She kissed the marks gently. “I don't remember that, I'm sorry.” He smiled and pet her head.

“I forgive you. It was my own fault for approaching you in such a state. You bit my shoulder too, should I be glad you didn't rip my throat out?” He was teasing her now.

 

“No, I was more in control then. That one was on purpose. Just an affection bite. Something I used to do with my old partner. You're a lot like them. Please don't abandon me like they did… I know I'm useless and weird and broken, but please… I can't handle being on my own.” She started sobbing, the action taking over her whole body, her ears laying flat to her skull.

 

“Useless and broken… is that how your partner made you feel? And you dare compare me to them?” He sounded irritated. “You have been nothing but useful to me. Maybe a bit of a hassle at times, but certainly not boring at least! And broken? What about you could possibly be considered broken?” He asked, and began petting her head and hair in long slow strokes.

 

“I'm… because I couldn't… something that happened when I was… because I can't- because I'm Ace!” She was struggling to say the words. This was something that had bothered her her whole life. And even in death, her past trauma was still fucking with her! He frowned, remembering what she had said that term meant, and given the context she was struggling to give, he was able to paint a few potential pictures of what she was trying to say.

 

“My dearest… that does not make you any more broken than it does me. I don't have any interest in those activities either. So you are not broken in the slightest. And anyone who has made you feel as such is a filthy pervert undeserving of your attentions or affections. Is that also how your ex partner made you feel?”

“N-no… they were also ace… but they were always frustrated with my inability to care for myself in other ways. I always had to be told what to do and how to do it. Always living life in a daze half in my head… I just wanted to write my stories… but I acted too much like a child for an adult woman… so… they wanted their independence back.” 

 

She looked up at him.

“Well, I can certainly understand a desire for independence.” She stiffened in his arms. “Shh, shh.. but I would never abandon a soul in my care. You are mine, and I will never leave you. I…” He took a breath, was he a man or was he not? Why were these words so hard for him?! “I. Love you too. I mean it.” There! It was true enough, it might not be in the same way she felt for him, but how else could he describe this bond if not ‘love’? “Just don't expect me to say it often.”

“Al… can I kiss you?” He froze, he felt hot and cold at the same time.

“I… don't think that's a good idea.”

“Just on the forehead?” She asked next, trying to find his boundaries, it seemed.

“I… suppose that would be acceptable.” He didn't sound terribly certain though.

She put her hands on his shoulders and sat up in his lap, she gently kissed his forehead, lingering for a few seconds before pulling away and sitting in his lap with a smile. Well, that wasn't so bad… It was actually somewhat pleasant. 

“Thank you. For everything. You are my special person. I hope one day I can be considered your partner.” He thought for a moment before kissing her on the forehead back. That.. also didn't feel terrible.  

“That actually doesn't sound so bad… you could read your stories on my broadcasts, and we'll call you the Radio Angel. That would certainly scare enough sinners into leaving you alone at least. But for the next while, until you're strong enough to be an overlord yourself, I don't want you heading out without my personal escort. If I can't even count on Nifty to protect you, how can I count on anyone else?” He pulled her tight to his chest. “I will not lose my most important treasure. Not now that I've finally found it.” She purred in his arms, closing her eyes and falling asleep, feeling safe and loved.

Angel knocked on the door, “Hey, they said only I was allowed in. Mind if I do?” 

“You may join us. She just fell asleep.” Alastor called out. Angel entered the room.

“Damn… so she really is an angel. No wonder she's sweet as sugar.” He frowned and looked at her in Al's lap. “What did Big V do to her?” He seemed scared of the answer, and Alastor respected him for his concern. 

“Just a few cuts and bruises. At least that's what she told me. I'm hoping you can confirm. Being a brother figure to her, she might feel more comfortable telling you if he touched her in other ways. I want to believe her, but better safe than sorry.” 

Angel nodded, “Yeah, once she's up, I can have a talk with her. I'll help run her a nice bubble bath too. That usually helps me feel better after… Well, we don't have to talk about lil’ ol’ me. Mind if I take a seat and wait for her to wake up?”

Alastor nodded, “Her chair is at the desk. I'll keep holding her, she's likely to protest if I try to leave her like this.”

“Heh, look at that. The radio demon does have a heart. Good.” He got comfortable in the chair, pulling it close to the bed. “I won't tell anyone, promise.”

#hazbin hotel #alastor's pet #alastor x oc #ace alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #aroace alastor #platonic alastor x reader

[bestworstcase]

okay

let's talk about alchemical readings and rwby.

as the resident crank it would be remiss of me not to begin this little jaunt with a very important disclaimer: like all esoteric lenses, alchemical philosophy is an analytical framework that relies quite heavily on symbolism, and because of that it is really important to be mindful of how you're engaging with the text. symbolism services narrative, not the other way around, and you should always let the narrative guide your understanding of its symbolism. if that doesn't make sense to you, don't worry, because there will be lots of examples to illustrate what i mean.

before getting into the weeds, we're going to lay out some basic alchemical concepts.

in simple terms, the core philosophical idea of alchemy is a gradual process of transformation from base material into the sublime; conceptually the transmutation of lead into gold is also the perfection of human body and soul. alchemy is about change, refinement, rebirth, wholeness.

the prima materia—first matter—is the perfect and formless primordial matter of which all forms of matter are derived. if you're familiar with certain other alchemical readings of rwby you'll have seen it defined as the "raw material" that is transformed into the philosopher's stone through the alchemical process; that is not inaccurate but it must be stressed that the idea here is that ordinary matter comes from the prima materia and the philosopher's stone IS the prima materia, made perfect and whole again through the great work.

<- rwby directly invokes this idea in 'all things must die' ("all bonds dissolve/infinite matter/will always evolve").

yliaster is another name (coined by paracelsus) for the prima materia, which he described as "completely healed human being who has burned away all the dross of his lower being and is free to fly as the phoenix."

the great work is the actual process of alchemy. it is classically broken down into four (or three) stages, each represented by a color:

nigredo, black, involves putrefaction and charring—symbolically, death. decay. rot.

albedo, white, involves purification and separation. the undifferentiated mass of the nigredo stage is clarified and divided into two opposing principles.

citrinitas, yellow, is the "dawn" or reawakening.

rubedo, red, involves coagulation and recombination after the separation undergone in albedo.

citrinitas is not always treated as a discrete stage, instead sometimes being combined into a single stage with rubedo or understood as the transition between albedo and rubedo. hence "four (or three)." there are also a great variety of other stages, mostly given in sets of seven or twelve and listed in myriad sequences, but for our purpose this four-or three-stage model is the most useful.

now!

ordinarily with an alchemical reading, we would begin by finding a narrative pattern of symbolic death and rebirth, but for rwby we first need to interrogate the goliath in the room, namely:

YES, IT'S ABOUT SALEM.

there is a tendency in alchemical readings of rwby to interpret salem's immortality as a lifeless unchanging stasis, and thus to read her as an embodiment of the anti-theme, and surprising absolutely no one i find this to be… well, just not right at all.

rwby initially sets up the pattern through the mantra pyrrha recites when she awakens jaune's aura: "for it is in passing that we achieve immortality. through this we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all, infinite in distance and unbound by death. i release your soul, and by my shoulder protect thee." 'rising' explicitly calls back to this ("we are paragons of virtue and glory/death can't bind our endless story/infinite and unbound") and 'indomitable' reiterates the idea ("when we strive, we transcend/even death cannot end our climb"); this is important to note because the repetition correlates with revelations about salem's story.

the key thing to understand here is that 'the lost fable' is narratively structured around salem's deaths:

first, the god of light bites her and she's drowned in the fountain of life (notice her last breath leaving her mouth; she chokes for air and her eyes rolls back as she loses consciousness, sinking into the depths)…

…and then the god of darkness brings the moon down on her head and she wanders in a haze until finding her way back to the pool of grimm, where she seeks her own destruction and is created anew.

the brothers cast salem into the fountain of life, which pools under the roots of a tree and appears to be infinitely deep. she drowns as she sinks into its darkness—then abruptly reawakens hitting the water again, now only a reflecting pool, and the water-light of aura shimmers over her hands as she rises.

"for it is in passing that we achieve immortality…" the reprisal of "infinite and unbound" in 'rising' draws a line from pyrrha's mantra to the lost fable for a reason; it's to help us understand the truth behind the story jinn is telling. it is not even subtext—it is text. especially after volume nine, which clarifies the symbolic meaning of the tree growing above the waters.

through death, salem became immortal—infinite—and the infinite waters of life and creation became finite.

that water was the prima materia of the brothers' world; it combined with salem—the prima materia changes itself and combined with all imperfect bodies that it touches—and thus she herself became yliaster, "the perfectly healed human being who has burned away all the dross of his lower being and is free to fly as the phoenix."

the dross in her case being the brothers and their divine order, she rebels against them, and they destroy their world. she is all that remains. they leave salem behind in the end of all things and, phoenix-like, she rises out of the ashes of her destruction. yliaster is the prima materia; it contains everything, is everything, and everything is released when it is broken apart.

"this force of pure destruction could not destroy a being of infinite life, so it created a being of infinite life with a desire for pure destruction." destruction exists within creation exists within destruction: salem embraces death, throwing herself into the "blackened pools of annihilation" in the land of darkness. nigredo.

she's torn apart and reborn, and remnant is born with her, a pure-white being clambering into a revitalized new world she cannot touch; after a long separation, her partner returns to her and she experiences love, connection, freedom for the first time in years, until she learns that he seeks the destruction of this world and a return to the old and they burn each other alive in a violent parting. albedo.

salem's arrival in atlas literally at dawn incites the struggle between herself and cinder, which culminates in salem beginning to relinquish control and as her true feelings come to the surface. citrinitas.

thus, what remains of her story is rubedo: reconciliation with cinder, reunion with ozma, peace between humans and grimm (<- unity of opposites), and finally symbolic transcendence over death by convincing the god of light to ascend, with "death" being specifically the threat of annihilation represented by the divine mandate.

ozma's arc, of course, mirrors hers very closely: the god of light breaks him apart, the god of darkness burns him (nigredo)—his reincarnation divides him very literally into two, and symbolically divides him between duty and desire (albedo)—he awakens with the dawn, reconciles with oscar, and begins to face the truth in atlas (citrinitas).

as alchemical readings go, this one is not difficult or arcane or remotely ambiguous. it isn't even symbolic; the deaths and resurrection are explicitly literal and occur onscreen with the accompaniment of helpful explanatory notes. the goliath in the room is making aggressive eye contact.

but we are not done here yet, because i never do anything by halves and we have symbolism to talk about.

THE GREAT WORK.

salem, you will recall, is yliaster, the prima materia of remnant. you will also recall that the prima materia is the formless primordial matter from which all other matter is formed, and thus it is both the raw material of the great work and the philosopher's stone. yes? good. rwby interrogates this contradiction through the idea of balance, which the god of light conceives of as an inviolate order that must be designed and enforced. but, as the blacksmith explains, his understanding is a limited falsehood:

"balance is not two forces locked in never-ending battle. balance is an ecosystem, an organism, a living, breathing thing; thus balance cannot be restored by force or calculation. it only requires love and the patience to see things through to the end."

here is where i think a lot of the fandom—not people doing alchemical readings necessarily, but in general—miss the mark by interpreting this to mean that opposition and balance are antithetical to each other, that a system with two opposing forces is inherently out of balance. rwby's metaphysics are grounded in hellenistic philosophy, plato in particular (<- neoplatonism had a significant influence on the western european alchemical tradition), and the philosophical ideas undergirding the ever after follows herclitus.

(i recommend perusing the category pages for λόγος, justice and strife, the harmony of opposites, φύσις, ψυχή, cosmology, fire, water/the river, life/death, and waking/sleeping—i know that sounds like a lot of reading, but it isn't, as what we have of heraclitus is only fragments and the summaries provided are brief and accessible.)

the two key ideas we're interested in here are flux and strife. the world exists at rest in a continual state of change; a river is always the same river, but its flowing waters change from moment to moment. this conception of the world—"changing, it rests"—is flux. strife incites change through the tension between opposing forces. strife is not discordant but rather harmonious: "men do not know how what is at variance agrees with itself. it is an attunement of opposite tensions, like that of the bow and the lyre." (B51) just as a bow could not fire and a lyre could not sing without tension on the strings, so the world could not be without strife.

this is what the blacksmith means by balance. true balance is not war; it is strife. not two forces locked in never-ending conflict, but opposite tensions in harmony with each other. destruction and creation are opposing forces, but each exists within the other and they are both interdependent and inseparable.

salem embodies this theme. through death, she became life, and by destruction she was created. human and grimm, light and darkness, creation and destruction. she seeks to tear down the huntsmen academies and incite revolution in pursuit of a new world. she is balance—and the god of light inflicted his punishment upon her not because she failed to understand the importance of life and death, but because her dedication to change challenged his false and hollow conception of what balance means.

this guides the alchemical reading of the wider narrative in significant ways. salem is the prima materia of remnant—yliaster, broken apart to release everything contained within—and thus both the subject and the aspiration of the great work. when we examine other characters through this lens, it is in relation to her.

we'll begin by discussing the narrative's big symbols: the rose, the broken moon, the tree, grimm, silver eyes, and fire.

traditionally, the rose symbolizes rubedo. in most alchemical readings of rwby, ruby rose is accordingly presumed to represent this stage for obvious reasons—however, if we pay attention to how the narrative itself symbolically identifies the rose:

ruby's emblem, which she inherited from her mother, is a burning rose.

our first sighting of it is on summer rose's grave, above an epitaph—"thus kindly i scatter"—taken from a poem which uses the death of a rose as a metaphor for the speaker's loneliness and despair.

"red like roses fills my dreams and brings me to the place you rest," and "red like roses fills my head with dreams and finds me always closer to the emptiness and sadness that has come to take the place of you"

adam's emblem is a withered rose.

"the moon will sadly watch the roses die"

"maybe red's like roses? maybe it's the pool of blood the innocents will lay in when in the end you fail to save them"

"the rose will grow to be a seed, from every life another leads" (<- evokes an image of deterioration, rot; the rose going to seed)

"some roses will never bloom, some dreams will rot on the vine"

in rwby, the rose represents death. it burns, it withers, it dies, it is scattered, it never blooms; thus, it does not symbolize rubedo but rather the death and decomposition of nigredo. why then is ruby's primary color red? we'll get to that in a little while.

the moon traditionally symbolizes albedo, which is a process of separation, reflection, and illumination. the god of darkness shattered the moon as he departed after slaughtering humanity, and:

"the moon will sadly watch the roses die"

"the sky is turning black, light is fading fast, but we don't surrender; shattering the night, radiant and bright, armored in splendor, shining forever […] we're rising like the moon"

salem falls into and through the reflection of the broken moon when she casts herself into the pool of grimm

the broken moon symbolizes the death and resurrection of humankind, which—as noted—is the beginning of the albedo stage in salem's story.

so in rwby the broken moon does indeed represent albedo.

the tree, obviously, represents the whole circle of life-death-rebirth, with its symbolic meaning on remnant following its actual function in the ever after, where it is the cosmic tree, the river, and the ever-living fire. thus cinder and salem falling into pools of water at the base of a tree are symbolic (and in salem's case, also literal) rebirths.

grimm are "manifestations of anonymity," "the darkness," hates and feared as soulless monsters, destruction incarnate, thought to have no purpose other than to exist as "mankind's greatest foe." rwby is consistent in using the grimm to symbolize ostracism, persecution, fear of the other or the unknown, and salem's exile is justified (in ozma's mind) by her grimmness. which is to say, the grimm represent the separation undergone during albedo; they are the darkness to humanity's light. (hence, the narrative building toward coexistence between humans and grimm, exemplified by the faunus.)

silver eyes are described in opposition to the grimm and likewise represent the separation of albedo; the light to grimmkind's darkness. salem's experimentation with combining them into one being is a faunus for good reason, and i do not think it is coincidental that cinder has become less vulnerable to the glare as she finds balance with the grimm arm. and speaking of her:

the phoenix is another traditional symbol for rubedo, which naturally calls to mind associations with fire. citrinitas, similarly, is represented by the dawn or the "solar light," overtaking the moonlight of albedo, which again connotes fire. in rwby, fire is used to symbolize hope and wrath, which are thematically intertwined (hope ignites fire -> loss of hope incites wrath -> wrath ignites fire, and is thus a form of hope):

"even the smallest spark of hope is enough to ignite change […] nature's wrath in hand, man lit their way through the darkness"

"a simple spark can ignite hope, breathe fire into the hearts of the weary…" becoming "i can't wait to watch you burn"—salem seeks to smother ozma's hope, and thus rekindle her own.

"the light of hope is taken and discontent is the contagion; the blinding eyes that burn a yellow flame, the embers that remain will light the fuse of condemnation"

"we were destined to light the flame of revolution; consider this the spark" + "i think father may have just provided the spark that's going to set this kingdom on fire"

flame imagery used in relation to cinder and salem in the volume eight opening and jaune throughout volume nine.

cinder being… a spark…

as i noted, the paradigm shift between salem and cinder in atlas represents the transition from albedo to rubedo through the dawn. in rwby, the kindling spark symbolizes citrinitas and the changing flame that follows is rubedo. the role cinder will play in reigniting salem's hope is obvious, and the symbolic use of fire to reawaken first jaune and then neo in volume nine only underscores this meaning. in combination with the dust and ashes motif going on with salem and the grimm, the fire becomes specifically phoenix imagery.

now!

why, if the rose is nigredo, is ruby red?

in order to explain this, we first need to examine team STRQ, because the answer is that the great work is cyclical.

in team STRQ, we have:

summer rose, whose red-and-gold interior is masked by her white exterior

taiyang xiao long, who is all yellow

raven branwen, who is an amalgam of red and black

qrow branwen, who is mostly white except for his red cape

the branwen twins also transform into corvids, traditional symbols for the nigredo stage; qrow's scythe harbinger and raven's allusions to the morrígan underscore their symbolic association with death.

if we consider these color associations through an alchemical lens, the pattern that emerges is—by design—muddled and strange, but not actually that convoluted:

raven "tried to leave," but couldn't. she became the spring maiden by mercy-killing a girl whom she loved as her own family, and never having dealt with that grief or guilt, is trapped in nigredo whilst projecting a hollow image of rubedo—her pretense of strength. she runs away from her feelings, rather than challenging or examining them; what she needs instead is to separate and reflect honestly on herself.

summer did leave. her white outer shell—the phantom she left behind—suggests albedo, but her true colors are what she wears beneath the cloak: red trimmed with gold. she found salem, listened to her and awoke to the truth of this world, and then joined her. but in order to do that, she had to separate from her own family, joining salem exile; thus her individual rubedo brings her into alignment with the grimm in salem's albedo.

qrow, shattered by the dissolution of his team, is undergoing his own albedo. like his sister, he wears the trappings of rubedo—he is the one left standing, ozpin's most trusted agent—but this is a false projection which crumbles once it challenged by the revelations of ozma's deceit. his drinking and reluctance to be around people for fear of bringing them to harm make it impossible for him to move forward until he finds new hope and decides to try again. like his onetime mentor, he experiences citrinitas in atlas and the beginning of his transition into rubedo is marked by the introduction of maroon (desaturated red) and tan (desaturated yellow) into his atlas fit.

tai, lastly, is interesting because in one sense, he is citrinitas in isolation, a dawn with nothing to illuminate because his team left him behind, but in another sense, tai mediates the generational transition between team STRQ (albedo) and team RWBY (rubedo). he is yang and ruby's father and—crucially—he raises both in idealized casts of their mothers. ruby feels compelled to live up to the fairytale idea of summer rose; tai tells yang that he sees all of raven's good qualities in her and warns her to be wary of being too much like her mother, in almost the same breath.

ruby's red and yang's yellow represent the culmination of what tai wishes could have been; the summer rose who returned whole and alive, the raven branwen who chose reflection and reawakening instead of running away. but both colors are only things projected onto them—false images.

in truth, ruby represents nigredo. her scythe and the burning rose both connect her to death; her semblance disassembles her into a swirling formless mass of rose petals; her own identity is lost beneath the idea of summer rose and the first nine volumes of the story are devoted to the long, slow journey to her symbolic death at the roots of the tree.

only with her ascension has she begun to undergo albedo (notice the greater emphasis on her silver eyes and the flaring white light as she comes out of the tree; also, "otherside, did you mean to leave me half or whole? will i ever be complete? when will i become all of me?" and "what is left? i know it's you and i when i look inside"—she is beginning to separate herself from the imaginary paragon.

weiss represents albedo—her story is fundamentally about separation from her family, leading to self-reflection and growth, and in the process she has become an emotionally intelligent, insightful person who consistently helps others draw out and clarify their hidden emotions. her mirror motif and her knight summon further represent this: the self and the reflection.

blake represents citrinitas—her golden eyes, her association with the black king, her identity as a faunus, all support this reading. her time with the white fang was her albedo (she lost herself, gradually began to see herself in a new light, and finally separated herself from everything adam represented) and her personal moment of citrinitas is the removal of the bow and meeting with sun after she reveals herself as a faunus, after which she begins her journey of rediscovering herself and reintegrating with her faunus heritage.

finally, yang represents rubedo—her fire, her red eyes, "scathing eyes ask that we be symmetrical, one-sided and easily processed, yet every misshapen spark's unseen beauty is greater than its would-be judgment," "feel like i'm finally unbroken, feel like i'm back from the dead," the whole thematic conceit of bumbleby being the catalyst and the flame, the dawn and the sun, and so forth, two-in-one, "we're protecting each other."

the team collectively represents rubedo in relation to salem, in that they will be the ones primarily negotiating with her and this will obviously not begin to happen until ruby has her personal moment of citrinitas, which is to say not until ruby meets the real summer rose.

as a final point of interest, the four qualities (and relics) of destruction, creation, knowledge, choice map neatly onto the four-or-three alchemical stages—destruction as nigredo, creation as albedo, knowledge-then-choice as citrinitas-then-rubedo—and given the parallelism between yang and cinder, blake and raven, and weiss and penny+winter, it is probably a safe bet that the summer maiden is a) not summer rose, and b) a character foil to ruby, which i think adds some weight to the gillian theory.

anyways.

the philosopher's stone is ozlem.

#to be clear i think the alchemy thing is more convergent evolution from plato than deliberate use of alchemical structure #but neoplatonism did significantly influence western european alchemical philosophy so there is a lot to work with #and putting it in alchemical terms can be a clarifying analytical shorthand #as long as you don't. ignore everything the narrative spells out wrt salem #ANYWAY. HERE. TAKE IT.

[12pt-times-new-roman]

lore! lore! lore!

This thing bears way too many resemblances to both Obann, the Punished and Cognouza for it to be a coincidence. The mini even looks the same. And both of those are directly related to Tharizdun.

For anyone wondering, because I had to look this up -- Imogen has resistance to psychic damage from a 6th level aberrant mind sorcerer ability. It also gives her advantage on saving throws against charm and fear effects.

"I'm gonna cast....... blight." the entire top table immediately looked up at that. they know.

"It's trying to find a form, but can't." Semblances of the party's faces can be seen beneath the skin, like a head under fabric.

ARBY'S: WE READ THE MEATS

A close second to "Arby's: What's in the meats?"

Them not putting out this fire when Matt has given so many hints that they should is legit hurting my rogue-playing soul a little bit

The illusory wall follows the same rules as the doors in Aeor: it requires a certain level (and possibly school) of magic to open. A 3rd level enchantment opened it. Behind it is a little cubby with a leather satchel, and it isn't trapped.

Deanna has a staff of healing!

Holy shit, that wolf king mini is fucking amazing and terrifying and I love him

As Ludinus' tower burns, the Bells Hells flee into the city, then into the forest. They find a large abandoned nest, where they build a fire to camp for the night.

They open the satchel. Inside, it's "empty" -- but it's a bag of holding. Upon asking for "Ludinus' notes," FCG brings out a cluster of vellum and parchment, some sections of half-bound journals.

"Toy transfers out of Rexxentrum"?? Chetney??? Got a bag of holding from a "credible source" within the city?

And he turns the bag inside out. There are coins, gems, a staff, more papers, and half a piece of armor.

All the papers are blank. Using the same technique as before, plus an Investigation check of 22, Chetney can see that these papers have something written on them, but can't make anything out, let alone discern what language it is.

It seems like this satchel was either a rainy-day fund, or "something left behind when the owner left in a rush." The coins and gems together amount to a little less than 3000gp.

There's also a tiny piece of dark burgundy wood. "It's a dildo!" "NO!"

The armor looks like a harness of some kind, like a torso harness. (Matt walked right into that one.) It's mostly dark-stained leather, and it's almost a vest, but it has a brass-gold inlay on it and it looks like where some of that metal is, it continues into an "emerging, arisen portion, almost like a... it rises like a metallic volcano, like an open funnel, but there's an empty space there." They're not sure if it's the front or the back, but it seems like there's space for something to fit in -- a gem (though none of the gems in the bag fit it), a vial, a beacon.

With detect magic, the armor is faint, the burgundy wood is faint, the staff is very strong. The staff is a "staff of dark oddessey," which has 8 charges that can be used to cast a whole bunch of spells. It requires attunement by a spellcaster. It has teleport, which can be cast using 6 charges. It regains 1d4 charges each day at dawn, and when it's used, it deals 1d4 to the user for each charge expended.

All the papers have a script that Deanna can see and read. LORE TIME! LET'S GO!

"The first bath of notes seem to be revolving around experiments on divine magic. Attempts to distill the base nature of divinity as an energy that can be replicated or destroyed... you also see notes that have designs, sketches, almost engineered blueprints for that strange harness that you saw. This is not in elven -- the text here is specifically arcane glyphs, like it's instructions for an enchantment. There are some notes in elven that follow those initial blueprints that speak of a physical regiment of magical infusion. As you continue on, they note on a synthetic recreation of the powerful natural magics that sustain the venerable wardens of the wilds. Beyond that, there are addition notes on dryads and fey, different fey entities that have locations throughout Wildemount, with eight crossed off... notes about 'feeding the root.'"

A nat20 investigation check to follow Ludinus' shorthand logic. "These notes are definitely batched with this harness. They are the next stage past its design. These are the resources needed for it to function. The dryad and fey entities, the locations that have been crossed out, are probably powerful dryad or fey entities that have, in the past, been discovered and utilized to power whatever this harness was supposed to be... the way it's designed, everything seems to funnel inward, so you imagine whatever resources presented into that portion of the device is funneled into that portion of the device. The last bit of notes speak of expanding his 'restoration sources' into the fey realm." So Ludinus was feeding this harness with fey and dryad magic. Travis clarifies that the elven word for "root" here refers specifically to the root of a plant, not the root of a phenomenon. Keep in mind that this was all written over 300 years ago.

"Oh my god, this Gildamesh motherfucker is grabbin' Smurfs!"

One of the marks delineating a fey-ish fane is "deep in the northeastern part of the Flotket Alps, one is in the lake deep in the Rimeplains, three are in the Savalirwood (though it's referred to here as the Veluthil), one within the Ashkeeper Peaks, and one that exists on an island to the northwest, past the waters." oh I will be COMING BACK TO THIS, JUST YOU WAIT

Best that they can tell, the portion of this chestplate that extends outward has an almost diamond-shaped gap. This probably rules out a Luxon beacon, because each of its sides is a pentagram.

The next cluster of notes is "about Ruidus, the red moon. Studying its curious superstition and religious scripture imploring its curse over Exandrian fanes and magical currents... he makes a lot of assumptions that the great temples fear this moon, and he wishes to know why. He theorizes that the gods continue to push to not even question or look in its direction, and you can see where this study is an obsession... for all the great shadows and villains that have been written about through the scriptures of history, there have been deep understandings to inform the populace of faith that what exists in evil should be understood so it can be avoided. But this is the one thing that exists int he skies of Exandira that the gods just say, 'look away.' That has been something on his mind since Moalesmyr. He notes the odd flares, odd notes mentioning the historical Ruidisborn. He quietly curses that he was not born under, wishing for the gods' fate. He hopes to employ a communion ritual timed under a flare to understand and decipher it. He talks about forgotten gods, about divine unravelling, of an ancient primordial that wasn't sundered after the Founding, all these theories of the red moon trying to ascertain its nature. Another entry complains of the Emerald Cross priests undermining his research, but he still managed to contact something, like reaching into an alien dream. He can't quite reach it yet -- it exists on the peripheries, and needs something stronger to break through."

The third and final batch of notes is "on the slowly expanding chaotic nature of the arcane crystals that form the power well beneath Molaesmyr. It notes of Aramond, who theorized that the well was a gift from the Archeart that was lost in the Calamity and rediscovered in the founding of Molaesmyr. Others believed it to be of Arcanum descent, fallen from one of the floating cities... harnessing this long-buried power source interests Ludinus' endeavor. In his final notes, he theorizes that if this crystal well is focused through his design without them knowing, while Ruidus is above during the solstice, he hopes a channel of consciousness could be opened, and that which is calling his attention to the red moon could be contacted."

Laura connected the dots! Maybe this "well" was a collection of Luxon beacons, or a singular one that was somehow elevated -- whether by unleashing or by malfunction -- beyond the power we've seen so far, or one that was infused with the divine magic of the Archeart, or any number of other things.

End of lore dump

Chetney on Rexxentrum: "there's a king, but we know who's really in charge."

The party contemplates who they should take this information to. The king and queen of Uthodurn, the king of the Dwendalian Empire, the Vellum Steeple, Vasselheim, Ivodel...

And Imogen suggests the Cobalt Soul. (please. i am begging. also, Fearne and Imogen being absolutely enamored and turned on by Beau's abs and ass is absolutely peak)

Goddamn, I thought I would never see the day-- SAM being the voice of reason, and TRAVIS being the lying voice of chaos?? I mean, at least Fjord had some kind of logic to his voice of "fuck it we ball," but Chetney's straight-up lying!

Hey, there we go! Religion check on "emerald cross priests." FCG recognizes that some of the symbology of the Archeart leans on cross designs and verdant colors, so the "Emerald Cross Priests" may have been a faction of their worship. This tracks, since Molaesmyr itself was built on the belief that its location was protected and preserved from the 100-year fire by Corellon themself.

They decide to sleep in the abandon nest instead of teleporting, and Imogen and FCG are set to dive into Frida's mind using a dual detect thoughts.

oh my god Christian had matching sweaters made. he gets one in FCG's colors and gives Sam one in Frida's colors. my heart can't take this. gift giving as a love language is so special to me.

Into Frida's thoughts! (Deanna cries in Chetney's arms.)

First, it's a familiar space for FCG, but for Imogen, it feels like a waiting room. It's different, organized, segmented, separate -- unlike organic minds. Even FCG's mind leans more into the chaotic space of organic brains, while Frida's has a clarity.

The three of them come to rest in a room, and FCG and Imogen see Frida as a mist, standing before a doorway waiting to be opened. Through it, it's like being pulled down a lazy river. It's dreamscape, comfortable -- "a trek through a consciousness where you pick up memories. A waking moment, a hooded figure with a metallic mask rousing them from a dark, closed space. (Imogen recognizes them as D.) Struggle, survival in a harsh wilderness, wandering through unfamiliar streets and fear in the eyes of people as the consciousness of Frida steps, seeking connection but being fled from. You see children, playing, and that protective energy swelling, and that fear fades. You see the laughter and smile on Deanna's face over a cooking fire, the polishing of armor. A smattering of memories, but much like FCG's -- a fresh existence. It's like peering into the memory of a child, though there is a more extended, sourceless confidence and maturity."

Frida focuses on the names that he heard in the tower -- Laerryn, Vatora, Vishtaron, the child that FCG saw -- and (with a straight d20 roll of 5) Frida gets lost in the current. Memories begin to bleed into images of the child from before. "You have images that completely envelop the horizon for just a moment, of warfare. Of weapons, of people being cut down, then back to the river. [Frida] has had these dreams, rarely -- but it couldn't have been you, right?"

When Frida looks down, they see the river of energy that pulls them through the memories, and it obscures the lower part of their body. But they see their spiritual self, a bipedal entity of energy.

FCG and Imogen try to push deeper into Frida's memories.

NAT 20 FROM LAURA, and Matt makes a roll with a glance at Frida. They feel a pain in their mind, like a headache even though they've never had one -- the pain builds, and the others see the image of Frida fold and emit white light.

"That flash of warfare seems to emerge once again. It's less a battlefield -- stone hallways, bodies on the ground. Somebody rushes out of a room, and you watch as they fall to the ground. Standing before them is the spiritual form of Frida. A warrior, cutting through enemies in some sort of a structure. A very beautiful, unrecognizable structure... [Frida pushes forward, not knowing who's a friend, who's an enemy.] Some have brown and gold robes with gentle leather chestplates or armor. Some are preparing to cast spells before a blade catches their throat. A soldier runs up with a spear and shield toward Frida, who takes a hit before grabbing the spear and breaking the soldier's neck before pushing forward... [for Frida], it's an odd experience, like you're riding another person's experience. [Frida feels this is right. They know an objective when they see one. They keep going. They roll a d20, for a 10.] The details are fuzzy, but the people around you -- you begin to realize, it's not you pushing into a stronghold, you're defending. But the people you're fighting at the sides of and the people you're fighting against aren't dressed all that differently, and you feel a sadness at what must be done. You are not fighting an enemy from outside -- you are fighting an enemy from within."

Behind Frida, they see what they're defending: a beautiful structure, long halls, tall arched sealings with pipes or metallic tubes. The floors and walls are metallic, polished. Very much like the description of the A2 crash site, with the metal walls and "plastic" tubes. Frida is defending whatever's behind them, and they turn back toward it. Others go past them -- "what are you doing? Where are you going?" The hallway goes on, and on, and on as individuals walk past. The hall widens, and they see a central, massive chamber where "there is a contraption of such immensity, you've never considered or seen something on this scale. All manner of glowing crystalline devices and whirring mechanical devices, funnels and tubes and glass domes, sparks and dozens upon dozens of architects and engineers and magical practitioners all focused in this space. A voice shouts in Aeorian, 'protect the factorum!'"

The room carries a buzz, a hum that grows to a growl. "An engine of such immensity within this space that the chamber itself, the ground beneath you, vibrates and shakes. Stones and fallen instruments just move and cascade across the ground by the immensity of what is growing. The crystals are alighting. The space itself is preparing for something incredible. Then, it's just white." Everyone takes 8 points of psychic damage (no save, no roll to hit, no nothing) as they are shunted out of the vision.

Chetney puts the dots together, between the malleus factorum and the malleus keys. In Aeor, Frida was defending it from assault. Frida remembers one thing: "when you were discovered by D, you were ruined... he didn't just resuscitate you, he repaired you, brought you back from the brink of annihilation and set you free."

Frida was drawn to Aeor, and Deanna implies that that's why they went to Eiselcross.

Imogen recognizes some similarities between the energy signature, the structure, the vibrations between the malleus factorum and the malleus key -- but the key in Marquet was far smaller, far less powerful, far less immense.

Chetney recognizes that the crystals in the malleus factorum are distinctly different than the arcane batteries on the malleus key.

Facets of the clothing was semi-recognizable to FCG, but nothing about the location or the project rings a bell. Travis and Aabria suggest that FCG was in Avalir, not Aeor, hence why they recognize the clothing but not the location.

"Xhorhassian"? Deanna, where the fuck did that come from??

Deanna and Frida were in Eiselcross because Frida felt drawn to Aeor's central ruins, like Imogen felt drawn to Ruidus.

Frida feels a twinge of memory at the back of their head at the names Laerryn, Vishtaron, and Vatora, but they don't know why. But they know they were protecting the creator hammer -- whether it was because they believed in the anti-god sentiment, believed wholeheartedly in Aeor itself, or were going along with their orders.

(Meta note: Aabria says she "saw a room full of people doing what one person did" in relation to Laerryn.)

Chetney gives Frida a little wooden robot! It moves and everything. "A pillar of protection and I feel a connection to you, because you protect children and I bring joy to children with these [toys]." Fearne tries to comfort them too -- "you were being commanded then, but now, you're free to do what you want." The cast makes the connection between "Frida" and "free to."

I'm honestly loving the suggestion that Morri and Ludinus are exes, and that's part of why the Nightmare King hates him so much.

"But wherever we go... what about you two?" FCG.... honey.......

Deanna feels like Frida is moving on, and she's afraid of being left behind again. They have FCG now, and all of them have a mission, and maybe she should go back to Uthodurn -- no. Chetney's with her. They would've been swiss cheese, would've been ground meat without her. "I just don't want anything to happen to you." "I... made something for you, too." It's a little cup, like the ones they used to drink out of on the Menagerie Coast.

"Just-- a real quick question-- is the werewolf thing only for fighting?" "Y'know... there's... only one way to find out." "(full of sarcasm and irony) Help. Chetney has gone feral. Oh no. Anyone. Preferably Fearne, if you're into that. Help. The safe word is parmesan." And Chetney, Deanna, and Fearne run off into the woods.

Oh, how far Travis has come. This is character development. and it's canon now, fuckers!!

Now, they need to find out where to teleport. Uthodurn, Rexxentrum, Jrusar, Whitestone, Bassuras, Zephrah -- they could go anywhere. But they need to find out where the other group would think of to meet up.

FCG casts commune. And Matt does make an interesting point -- "should we go here" is different than "should we go here to accomplish this task."

As they cast the spell, they feel their consciousness rise "to a space within all horizons, at a crossroads, paths spreading out from you in all directions that converge here. There's a sign post, and it's blank. On the sides your vision, you see strands of hair, and you turn, and you see once more a feminine form upon the same horizon. She looks two inches tall, two miles tall, you can't tell -- it's strange. But she's present. [Hi. First of all, thank you, for all your guidance and for sending me Frida. We're trying to find our other friends, and we're wondering if we go to Jrusar, if we would have a chance to find them there at some point.] While previously, there was an inference of an answer, this time you hear a voice on the wind. 'Yes.' [Are they alive, Changebringer? Are they okay?] 'Yes.' [Even if I never know about my past, even if I never find out who made me or why I'm here, will I know Frida for a long time?] The wind picks up, and blows past.. the answer challenging to write, when the future has not been... In an immediate rush, this towering woman appears before you, her dark skin, her light brown hair that entangles around you. Her presence is bold, terirfying in proximity, her eyes these golden, open spaces, an intensity about her presentation as she looks upon you. 'A terrible fate looms for all of Exandria. An alien malice menaces the skies of the Marquesian sands. If you indeed wish to show your faith, to walk my endless paths beyond, then rise to our call. The winds of change blow cold against us all, yet hope remains unmoving in you. Our grace guides those who carry our banner. Hold it high, and traverse the path that I alight with purpose and fated destination. Do not turn from this road, for only shadow and solitude awaits beyond.' The light on the horizon grows cold, she grows more immense, you feel even more insignificant. 'The red end stirs in its slumber. Do not let it wake.' And she looks over her shoulder, and you see the distant gleam of the red moon, before--"

At the same time, the rest of the party watches as a sudden, almost sleepiness comes over Deanna. "Deanna, you sit for a second, before suddenly, this bright light fills your consciousness, the immensity of a star burning before you, something you've not experience at this proximity in some time, and comes with it a strength and a frustration long-felt. You try your best to avert your gaze, but the source of this light burns your retinas, and there you see before you the Dawnfather, encompassing the sky, nothing but his light. 'Mortal arrogance makes union with a forbidden scourge. The ruddy moon beckons over the skies of Marquet. Child, reborn of my grace and my will, I command you: strike out against those who would snuff our light. The gifts I grant you are the sword and shield against the darkness. Forsake these gifts, ignore our charge, and be abandoned... faith needs not logic, nor truth, but unerring conviction... the red end stirs in its slumber. Do not let it wake.'"

There is a warmth to the coin in FCG's hand, and it looks shinier. They identify it as a "coin of the Changebringer," and it... does a lot of things, according to Sam. (I bet it's an improved amulet of the devout +1, which by default gives them an extra use of channel divinity per day.)

Deanna gives Chetney her ring of temporal salvation. This is a ring that, when the wearer would die, instead they're healed for 3d6 hit points.

She also identifies the little piece of wood as a tuning fork for the planeshift spell, which is tuned to the fey realm.

Chetney took orders directly from the Cerberus Assembly. He made enchanted furniture. Allegedly. (This is a reference to C2E48/49, if anyone doesn't know.) Also, "RTA" may or may not stand for "Rexxentrum Toy Authority." Most of them were fine -- Ludinus was an ass, and Traversky was his best customer. This means that Chetney likely knows Delilah Briarwood by name, and knows her...... toy preferences.

Using the rod, they all teleport to Xhadana's house.

#critical role #note watches c3 #critical role spoilers #critical role campaign 3 #critical role c3 #critical role liveblog #holy shit this is so much longer than I expected it to be #I swear I tried to just summarize the lore but I got carried away!! #long post

[thatcheeseycandle]

//GUESS WHAT I DID SOMETHING RANDOM-

So basically a few days ago I had this idea of Merlin, in YIAU (by @tornadoyoungiron), returning but in a less happy way. The theory that formed this idea will be explained at the end of the short story so dw, for now enjoy the story!!

——

YIAU, Twist of Fate: New Folk and Smoke

The last thing he remembered was being in that void, the image of Sir Gresley disappearing in the flutter of Gold Dust kept replaying in his mind as he walked on the long train track, his memories tugging on his heart as he started to remember.

Remembering it all? All the horrific things he's done, all because one man had ordered to basically tear out his own soul?

It haunted him.

Though was oddly used to it, like he had already witnessed it all. I mean, those are his memories.

Or what felt like his own memories, but they didn't really feel like his memories, it felt like watching himself in third-person.

He'd let out a shaky breath as he tried to brush off those thoughts, his balance unsteady due to his blurred vision and exploding pain in his head.

He guessed it would've been a headache from the amount of pressure his head had gone through.

But it felt overwhelming. Like it came from a flower, similar to a scent. Maybe it was that “gold dust” that had been talked about so much, he guessed.

As he took a glance around the foggy area, his train of thought would be cut off by a sudden thud noise.

He looked behind and infront of him, but no one was there.

Maybe it was a rock? It didn't exactly sound like a rock, sounded more of the stomp from something, someone?

The thought would somewhat put Mallard on edge with anxiety sinking back into him.

What if- Did Scotsman really recover that fast?!

He thought alarmed as he held the blood-stained metal bar in his hand firm, starting to pick up his pace and run as fast as he could from the then stomp came from on the track.

The fog would form a path as he ran through it, he didn't exactly know where he was heading but he truly hoped it was somewhere safe.

At least somewhere he could rest for the meantime until he gets back to his little pond area with his ducks, well until he gets Gadwall back technically.

But considering recent events, that chance was low. With the memories he's started to see of ‘himself’ he knew that Gadwall wouldn't be too willing to join him back.

Though he'd start to hear the stomps fade into footsteps, that were alarmingly getting closer to him as he tried running away from it.

His anxiety peaked as he started to get a glimpse at this figure, starting to slow down his pace to then a stop. Just frozen on the tracks with a face mixed with baffledness and anxiety as he stared at the figure longer and longer. 

The figure seemed to have had a rough stop to his walk as well considering his body-language and posture had given it away.

It somewhat unnerved Mallard as he observed this strange figure, their shadow being the only thing to make the silhouette of them in this thick fog.

Mallard would hold up the metal pipe he had a firm grip on into a defensive stance, trying to hold back the trembles that ran through his legs to keep a proper balance as his mind whirled into a tornado of thoughts.

He didn’t know what to do. If he ran back he might run into an upset Gadwall or a disappointed Quicksilver, if he ran forward he'll risk himself being knocked out or being brought to somewhere he didn't know all over again.

He didn't know if he should even run back or forward. 

Everywhere wasn't safe.

He's gonna die, oh he really is gonna die.. He's doomed, he's gonna be killed by this figure! How is he gonna get out of this, oh dear god-

“Ah, hello there.” the figure suddenly spoke out of the blue as it stood on the rusted tracks eerily, it felt awkward considering how much had happened beforehand.

Though soon enough, Mallard would gain up the courage to speak out to this figure.

“Wait, who exactly are you?.” Mallard asked hesitantly with a shaky breath, tightening his grip on the blood-stained metal pipe he held.

The figure would walk towards Mallard, getting closer and closer.

Mallard would move back a little considering this could be Truro or Scot, or dare I say Sir Gresley himself! He thought anxiously to himself.

As the figure finally was cleared of the fog enough, the figure would start to be more visible to Mallard as he observed them.

They seemed to have a suit, similar to North's but in a simpler way. The suit coat was practically covered in soot, most likely from coal, and the left sleeve was half torn at the elbow.

While underneath the suit coat, the vest would still be connected but just with some splotches of soot, the tie was still well-kept to mention. The pants were the most covered in soot, but at least the dress shoes were clear. 

His hair somewhat in a mess, but generally well-kept enough to be presentable.

But as for his face, or any clear sign of his skin, wasn't as clear before he would step one more time forward to get a better view of Mallard. 

As the figure lended out a hand, his other holding onto his suit coat, the shadow on the figure's face would disappear enough to reveal a warm smile. 

“You may simply call me, Merlin.” Merlin finally answered back, despite his physical condition, in a relaxed tone. 

That name. It felt like something clicked in his right when he heard it. But something inside him, felt upset hearing that name, it was a feeling of despair

Thought Mallard was slightly unnerved at how casual this ‘Merlin’ guy was, he’d lower the metal pipe he held as a sign of piece, not letting go of it just in case.

He'd hesitate to accept the handshake, but looked the figure in the eyes as the shadow on his face disappeared. He noticed some details that would catch his attention.

Merlin's eyes were, sunken in thoughts. His eye color, felt familiar. It was steel blue, but was more gray than usual. But he guessed it was a layer of fog that was between the two that made his eyes look gray.

He must be disassociating a little from either the fog or his headache to notice this, but he could've sworn he saw cracks right underneath Merlin's left eye, maybe it was simply a shadow from one of the loose strands of hair.

“Mallard, I'm Mallard.” He finally replied back, mixed between the feelings of being confused and the cold air creeping up his spine slowly.

“And I see you aren't one for handshakes, Mallard.” Merlin remarked with a soft smile as he lowered his arm, he would turn around to where he seemed to be previously looking.

Though Mallard did notice a look mixed with dread and anxiety flash on Merlin's face, but didn't question it considering the head trauma he's had that could result to hallucinations. 

“Walk along with me Mallard, I think it'll help you. Seeing you look quite lost here.”

“What?”

“I heard you running earlier, so I thought you'd need some direction.” He explained as he gestured for Mallard to catch up.

Mallard would soon follow along beside Merlin, walking on the track with silence, a somewhat comforting silence that gave a sense of nostalgia to Mallard. A strange nostalgia.

The fog started to clear from the cold winds that came in, and with how the sun started to set the atmosphere started to feel more similar to that around Autumn.

The warm fire-orange color scheme, the smell of warm oak, and the cool winds all combined. It was nice. But considering Mallard's current situation, it was a reminder of the mark he left on Gadwall, the side of himself that he didn't even know about until now.

It felt like a thousand cuts from the cutter's torch, is that how he felt when his soul got apparently “ripped” out? Is that how he was to those who saw this corrupted side to him, cold?

He's heard that word before, cold, and he remembered how much that word had to it beside from being the feeling of Winter. It was the feeling of loss.

Of loneliness.

Of War.

Of acceptance.

Or mostly known to him as, Cold Iron Sleep. Something Sir Gresley had mentioned before as the two were talking about Gold Dust on their daily trips on that branch line down to the pond, it unnerved Mallard with how he had described it to him.

A look of fear flashed on Mallard's face for a minute, remembering all that information. Is that how he felt when he apparently had black smoke? Just cold as ice? It- It didn’t make sense, it didn't connect up on how he even bared Black Smoke.

He would've succumbed to immediate death without even a full minute of being infected with it, considering how Sir Gresley had described it to him every time Black Smoke had been brought up it basically terrified him.

But to think about it, from what he guessed, over time he oddly feared it less. Maybe because of the fact he was apparently kept alive by it for years.

“You don't talk much, do you?” Merlin said bluntly, sympathy only appearing in his eyes as he glanced at Mallard.

Mallard would return a glance, trying to pull away from the thoughts.

“No no. Well- I don't exactly have the longest conversations with,  anyone technically.”

“Ah, I see.” He said with a surprised look on his face, he would place a comforting hand on Mallard's shoulder as he’d let out her thoughtful hum.

“So, let me help you. How did you get here in the first place?”

“Well, it'll be a long story that's for sure.” Mallard warned Merlin as he took a glance in front of him.

“I'll be glad to hear this story then, Mallard.”

——

So right, the theory goes this way:

Basically what if Merlin reformed, but absorbed some of Mallard's blacksmoke while reforming, and that would've lead to him being more weaker than usual.

And when Mallard got rid of the black smoke from North, it just reformed and infected Merlin (aka just forming together with the black smoke that had already been in him) which lead to him basically getting the "possessed character, except they're still conscious just witnessing everything that their possessor is doing" trope

Doing this work, I tried out a different writing style (seeing as my writing has had many variations over the months) to just try to get a grab on a solid style.

(I do apologize if this is out of line from the recent events as my memory might've not been the best while writing this, and if any of the characters are OOC)

#cheesyversial rants #cheesey writes #ttte young iron au (??)

[pin-acolada]

CHAPTER ONE (TQOHH) II A.T

Aemond Targaryen X Targaryen OC

Summary: Her warmth and love caress his soul making him hum with bliss. Having her presence near makes all of the dark thoughts perish, as she was the flowers that grew in the darkest part of him. She is the keeper of his soul. Holder of his heart. Without her, he is nothing.

Word Count: 2776

Note: I finished earlier than expected, also I thought through it and decided that if you would like to be apart of TOHH taglist let me know. Disclaimer: every chapter I post you will be tagged in and if you don’t want to be tagged for a next chapter, let me know beforehand and I will remove you from the list. Thank you for the support for the series, your messages drive me to do my best for you all to experience the life of Eudora and Aemond, xo

The Queen of His Heart Series

Over the course of five years, Eudora Targaryen had fully captured the Kingdoms heart. She was given the name: The Jewel of The Realm not because of her eccentric beauty, but for the reason that she is altruistic. It is said that she is a conspicuous one of the House of Targaryen, if she was not in the royal library where septa Moris educates the princesses of etiquette and activities such as sewing, she occupies her time in the kitchen where she speaks with the servants as if they were ordinary people.

This became an ongoing matter since she was eight years old, and at first the servants were speculated with how kind they were being treated by the princess, especially how respectful she was which was even more jarring. Eudora knew each of the servants names, and will always call or ask for them by their names only. Her presence brings such comfortability that those who were assign to do their daily chores for the princess always felt alleviated, while those were in dismay and only hope that they are chosen the next time.

The royal family knew the whereabouts of the sweet princess caregiving towards the staff, Rhaenyra always wore a smile on her tea rose lips whenever she would hear the fondness the maids say regarding her daughter, and she would reflect how proud of a mother she is to have a daughter that has a heart of gold. Rhaenyra made sure that her sons: Jacaerys, Lucerys, and now Joffery learn from Eudora. "She is shows a perfect example on how a royal should treat the working staff: acknowledgement."

As for the Targaryen-Hightower sons, they found it odd especially Aegon. Aegon who drinks his emotions away till he's plastered, does not care for the servants nor the maids. To him, they are objects that can be use for pleasure and can be thrown away as dolls. Aegon knew the high status that is imprinted to his name, he knew that they could nothing but obey their prince and that is what he finds empowering.

Aemond does not give a care, nor does he acknowledges them. He is demanding which is typical for an inherit royal, but Eudora always make sure to educate her dear cousin of the importance of being philanthropic. If it was anyone else who dared teach the prince how to be nice, it would be her and could only be her – nobody else since Aemond found everyone to be irrelevant.

No one can beat Eudora from Aemond since the boy is literally wrapped around her finger. The royal family acknowledged how close the relationship between the two cousins; they are practically inseparable. If you can't find one, you can be assured that you'll find them with the other. For the family, it was quite a mystery for them how the relationship even happened because the two are the complete opposite.

Eudora the light, Aemond the dark – the irony of it is amusing.

But that is just it, Eudora who display such light brings Aemond from the dark. It is she who brings out the good in him, which Aemond found it to be ambivalent. Aemond didn't think he had any good in him at all, but who can blame the ole child when he'd experience nothing but ache and embarrassment.

When Aemond sees the love Eudora receives from Rhaenyra and his King-father, the boy can't help but get jealous at the sight. Before, he always wanted to know the feeling to be loved from his parents, and when he tried in order to gain that experience, he receive nothing in return and for that he gave up. Moving forth Aemond got used to just being there for himself. He believed no one had the heart of empathy, not even his own sister as she didn't like to display such emotion.

Eudora observed all of that, however. She saw Aemond and because of how sensitive her heart is, she thought it to be right to be there for him. Aemond, for once in his life found someone who saw so much of him, that he practically felt naked. Nevertheless, he was grateful to have her and everyday when she displays her smile and share her laughs with him, he thanks the old and new Gods who brought her here to him. She is his best friend.

On the contrary, he won't lie to himself nor would he admit it out loud that his feelings for his dear cousin began to shift as the years went on. He couldn't pinpoint what he was feeling, but what Aemond did know was that he grew protective of her, and did not like how much Aegon would linger around her. Nor did he like how she just let him, and before Aemond didn't pay much mind to it till now. When Aegon leaves and is just the two of them, he questions whether she knew his intentions whenever he surrounds himself around her.

"I may have a heart of gold sweet cousin, but that doesn't mean I am empty headed. Of course I know Aegon's repugnancy, and I don't dare let him cross the line. If we were to speak hypothetically, if it did come to that point not only will his honor be destroyed, but as well the precious anatomy that sticks between his legs." Aemond didn't pay attention to the way his heart began hammering inside his chest, as he watches that sly smirk that began to form on her rosy lips.

To test her further, Aemond began to ask her: "and how will you do that princess? By calling Ser Harwin Strong and you allowing him to throw my brother's cock for Jyrot to devour?"

The two halted their steps and Aemond watch his princess turn herself around where she gives him all of her attention. Aemond took two steps back as he no longer witness the gentleness of her face, instead she gave off a phlegmatic look. What made her more intimidating was how the fire in her eyes darken, and no longer did he see the familiar light that he so much admires.

"I don't need a man to do my deed. Just because I have a vagina and breast doesn't mean that I am incapable of welding a sword. In fact, I can manipulate men by just... being. Not saying I am a whore of course, but more like my body is literally a weapon in disguise. With one push where  my breast is pressed on a mans chest, I easily have him on his knees and that is an opening I won't hesitate to take." Women at this time are always perceived to be weak and fragile according to the eyes of men. It is because of men that made these standard that a woman should and will always be under control by a man. They are breeders, nothing else. They are not meant to hold purposeful ventures, as that is not their nature. Women being leaders is sight of a catastrophe; men theorize that their emotions is what will lead to war as they have no common sense.

That is what Eudora hated, she's livid of such patriarchy. Which is why every night, when everyone is in their chambers asleep the princess secretly sneak through the secret hallways that are within the castle. There she meets her knightly dragon and her uncle Daemon who await for their nightly training. For a girl so young with a mind so extensive, she continues to impress. It's been a year since and she hasn't been caught, but now that she semi told her secret to Aemond she didn't paid any mind to it. She knew Aemond won't tell on her, unless he wants to meet the consequences by breaking her trust and he of course did not want that.

Since that day which had happened four months ago, Aemond Targaryen saw Eudora Targaryen more than a cousin. His heart beats for her, his soul yearns for her and without her he realize he is nothing.

It's another morning in the royal library, both Eudora and Helaena are working on the art craft of sewing. Their new assignment was to create something that they would want to gift to someone they cared for. Helaena was sewing a spider atop a pink peony, she wanted to gift this to her eight leg friend who always listen her 'mad nonsense'. As for Eudora, she was making a satchel for Aemond. Though the second son has not claim a dragon yet, she thought that this will be perfect piece of accessory to attach to his saddle.

She knew that when he does claim a dragon, the two will fly together constantly and from there they will rest by the small island they found two years ago. It was wonderment to them how no one has ever come across the place, nor was it placed on the maps, nevertheless, it was now theirs and they made sure to keep it that way.

Eudora was so deep in her thoughts, that she didn't hear the slam doors that shook the bookshelves. Nor did she notice Helaena jumping from her seat, having her sewing to fall as she covered her ears. It was only until she head Queen Alicent voice from a distance did she woke up. Placing her incomplete satchel on the table in front of her, Eudora turn herself around to see an angry Aemond walking up to her.

"Aemond?"

"I need you," was all he said as he grabbed her hand pulling her up from where she sat.

"Aemond do not walk away from this matter, you must understand that they were just fooling around. Don't let your obsession for those beast–" Aemond snatched his mothers hand away causing the three women to gasp at his disrespectful behavior.

"Don't you understand mother? They gave me a pig! This is the third time Rhaenyra's sons torment me, and Aegon plays along! " Eudora shoulders slump as she is familiar of this rude occurrence. She empathize for Aemond, and is always disappointed at her nephews. Aegon, not so much since that describes who he is.

Her nephews, who are like brothers to her are the more wonderful children she knows. Similar as their mother, they take part half of characteristic but finding out how much they mistreat Aemond for not having a dragon is tiresome. It sometimes make her think whether if they would've done the same now if Jyrot never appeared in front of her.

With another tug from their intwine hands, Aemond pulls Eudora with him not before she takes her unmade satchel. As the two walk away from the Queen and her daughter who went back to sewing, Eudora gave a small smile and knowing look implying that she will take care of him, which the Queen Alicent return with grateful eyes.

The two Targaryens walk and Eudora just lets herself be pulled to wherever Aemond wants them to go. When she sees the familiar door which enters to the drawing room, did she knew that he needed to clear his mind with her presence being there. It was their place whenever the either needed to vent, and it's the only place they know where they can have privacy since their chambers isn't an option as it will grow suspicion without a chaperone in attendance.

When they enter inside, Aemond let go her hand making his way to his chair that sat next to the lit fire. Eudora made her way to her designated chair which was across to him where she sees his right profile. She place her unmade satchel on the small rounded the table that separates them. As they sat in silence, Eudora watches Aemond gaze at the fire giving him the time when it was right for him to speak.

"It's tiresome," he finally spoke out. "Aegon and those... bastards keep on making fun of me. It just makes me question myself if I'm really meant to even claim a dragon, or if I even have dragon blood running in my veins." When he said bastards, at the corner of eyes he saw the way his Eudora closed her eyes as way to ground herself. He knew that she hated whenever the Velaryon boys blood was questioned. He saw how she will always come to their defense, trying to convince they are the sons of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon, and to respect them as they are the grandchildren of the crown. But he also knew that she knew they were bastards, that they were not Laenor's children but Harwin Strong.

Eudora knew not to waste her energy on correcting him, nor was it the right time since them being here was for Aemond. Aemond was grateful that she set that aside, and was feeling a sense of comfort when she sat up from her chair where she made her way to him. She kneeled down in front of him, taking his hands to hers where he watches how well they interlock with each other. Aemond felt Eudora's hand on his cheek and he allowed her to move his attention to her where he meets her fiery eyes; those eyes that resemble the color of a dragons breath brought nothing, but warmth inside of him. His soul humming with bliss.

"My dear Aemond, the amount of times I apologize on behalf of my nephews behavior will be endless, but I will never get tired of telling you your worth. And I don't mind reminding you so." She told him.

"Why apologize on their behalf, when it is them themselves that must apologize," he snapped with irritation, but Eudora was not effected by Aemond snark. He was Aemond, and she grew to accept him as he was.

"Well you know me, can't help but to say I'm sorry. But I know it won't do you any better, so this time I won't even try. But what I will say is that to never question your blood Aemond. You are the son of Viserys Targaryen, the first of his name and the King of the Iron Throne. Your Targaryen blood overtrumps the Hightower's, hence you have dragon blood traveling in your veins. If you didn't then Jyrot's fire would've burn you, which it hasn't."

"Then if that concludes it, then how come my egg never hatched?" His violet eyes downcast at their hands, and he watched the way the pad of her thumb runs against his knuckle.

"It is normal for eggs to not hatch by the time a dragon rider is born. You are not the only person whose egg never hatched, mine never nor did Leanora's or my fathers. Now look at them, both had claimed Vhagar, the second biggest dragon in the world. As for I, I was fortunate to meet Jyrot in my path. When the time is right you will have your dragon, I guarantee it cousin. And you will know it too, it's natural really. Your heart will start pumping as if it will come out your chest, your blood will begin to warm up in result of having this tingle feeling signifying your dragon is near."

"Is that what you felt with Jyrot? You felt his spirit close to yours," he questioned.

"I mean I did explain that didn't I?" she said stating the obvious making the two cousins laugh at Aemond daftness.

Aemond looked back to meet her eyes, and saw the familiar gentleness to them. Those eyes, how he adored looking at them – he will never get tired of looking at them. His eyes then travel to her hair, her dark raven hair and the silver streak that peaks out. Beautiful, what he thought. Beautiful and precious. Aemond got up from his chair, helping Eudora to stand up from her feet, but their hands still interlaced. "Thank you my princess, like always you made me feel better again with your words." The prince said causing the princess to smile.

"No need to thank me my prince, as I will always be here to remind you of your worth because you are worth it Aemond. Maybe not to others, but to me you are." With a shaky breath coming from the boy, he didn't know any other way to express himself but by pulling her into a hug which Eudora was happy to wrap her arms around.

Her head lay against his chest and Aemonds press his cheek atop her head with eyes closed familiarizing again the fire that she spews inside of him, fire that he continues to crave.

NEXT: CHAPTER 2

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[officialyourdailyinspiration]

The Integrity of the Upright Guides Them

1 The Lord hates a false weight, but a true weight is His joy.

2 When pride comes, then comes shame, but wisdom is with those who have no pride.

3 The honor of good people will lead them, but those who hurt others will be destroyed by their own false ways.

4 Riches are of no use in the day of God’s anger, but being right with God saves from death.

5 Those right with God, who are without blame, make a straight way for themselves, but the sinful will fall by their own wrong-doing.

6 Being right with God will save the honest man, but those who hurt others will be trapped by their wrong desires.

7 When a sinful man dies, his hope dies with him, and all his power comes to nothing.

8 The one who is right with God is kept from trouble, but the sinful get into trouble instead.

9 The sinful man destroys his neighbor with his mouth, but those who are fair will be saved through knowing God.

10 The city is glad when everything goes well with those who are right with God, and there are shouts of joy when the sinful are destroyed.

11 A city is honored by the good things that come to the faithful, but it is torn down by the mouth of the sinful.

12 He who hates his neighbor does not think well, but a man of understanding keeps quiet.

13 He who is always telling stories makes secrets known, but he who can be trusted keeps a thing hidden.

14 A nation falls where there is no wise leading, but it is safe where there are many wise men who know what to do.

15 He who puts himself as trust for what a stranger owes to another will suffer for it, but he who hates to be trusted for what another owes is safe.

16 A kind woman gets honor, and bad men get riches.

17 The man who shows loving-kindness does himself good, but the man without pity hurts himself.

18 The sinful man earns false pay, but he who spreads what is right and good gets pay that is sure.

19 He who will not be moved from being right with God will live, but he who goes for what is bad will bring about his own death.

20 The Lord hates those who are sinful in heart, but those who walk without blame are His joy.

21 Know for sure that the sinful man will not go without being punished, but the children of those who are right with God will be saved.

22 A beautiful woman who does not think well is like a gold ring in the nose of a pig.

23 The desire of those who are right with God is only good, but the hope of the sinful is anger.

24 There is one who is free in giving, and yet he grows richer. And there is one who keeps what he should give, but he ends up needing more.

25 The man who gives much will have much, and he who helps others will be helped himself.

26 The people curse him who keeps grain for himself, but good comes to him who sells it.

27 He who looks for good finds favor, but he who looks for wrong-doing will have bad come to him.

28 He who trusts in his riches will fall, but those who are right with God will grow like a green leaf.

29 He who troubles his own house will be given the wind, and the foolish will serve those with a wise heart.

30 The fruit of those who are right with God is a tree of life, and he who wins souls is wise.

31 If those who are right with God will be paid on earth, how much more the sinful and the wrong-doer! — Proverbs 11 | New Life Version (NLV) New Life Version Holy Bible Copyright © 1969, 2003 by Barbour Publishing, Inc. Cross References: Genesis 7:1; Genesis 24:47; Genesis 42:6; Leviticus 19:35-36; Judges 20:41; 2 Samuel 17:28; 2 Kings 11:20; 1 Chronicles 29:17; Esther 7:10; Job 8:13-14; Psalm 7:15-16; Proverbs 2:22; Proverbs 6:1; Proverbs 6:32; Proverbs 12:13; Proverbs 14:19; Proverbs 15:22; Proverbs 16:18; Proverbs 16:29; Proverbs 28:2; Proverbs 31:28; Jeremiah 44:15; Matthew 5:7; Mark 10:25; John 4:36; Romans 2:8-9; Romans 6:23; 1 Corinthians 9:19; 2 Corinthians 9:6-7; 1 Timothy 5:13; 1 Peter 4:18

#integrity #upright #salvation #ruin #materialism #Proverbs 11 #Book of Proverbs #Old Testament #New Life Version Bible #NLV #Barbour Publishing Inc.