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joannechocolat · 9 months

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Dear Mr X...

It’s hard to give up a relationship, even when it has become toxic. Even when it brings you no joy, it’s hard to accept the fact that you’re better off without it. To look at the time you spent building it, to write off those years and start again can feel like jumping off a cliff into a bottomless precipice. You start to think of all the things you’ll lose if the relationship ends; the good times, the shared friends, the laughter and the memories. Your heart sinks at the thought of trying to rebuild all that from scratch. The time. The work. The energy. It feels like a bereavement.

I feel like that about Twitter now. A relationship that began fifteen years ago, when I was someone different, and the platform was new and hopeful and designed for communication, rather than spreading division. Sometimes I still find myself mourning that time; the friends I made; the stories I wrote, the thousands of incarnations of the Shed. Some of my friends have been left there for good, their Twitter accounts frozen in time; their words all that remains of them. Perhaps that’s why I’m reluctant to leave, even though the bluebirds have flown, and even the logo is changing to something that looks to me a lot like a modified swastika – an apt comparison, given the way in which certain voices and political views have been given unasked-for prominence, while others seem to have vanished altogether from my feed. Feed someone garbage for long enough, and they start to sicken and die. That’s what happening via this site. I have watched it happening ever since Elon Musk arrived - a man so cartoonishly self-obsessed that it’s hard to even believe he’s real, except that no writer of fiction or game designer would dream of creating such a crass and substandard character.

X. What a choice of symbol.

X marks the spot for pirates in search of buried treasure. X is the mark of a person who is unable to write their name. X is the identity of someone who needs to stay anonymous. It’s a voter’s mark; an erasure; a mystery; a chromosome.

And it’s also an occult symbol, a rune: the rune Gyfu according to the Old English Futhorc, and Gebo in the Elder Futhark; both of which translate as “gift”.

The Anglo-Saxon rune poem that accompanies it goes like this:

ᚷ Gẏfu gumena bẏþ gleng and herenẏs, ƿraþu and ƿẏrþscẏpe and ƿræcna gehƿam ar and ætƿist, ðe bẏþ oþra leas.

which translates as follows:

Generosity brings credit and honour, which support one's dignity; it furnishes help and subsistence to all broken men who are devoid of aught else.

At first glance, this seems the opposite of what Elon Musk has done for the world. A man who sees social media as his own personal platform; a man who sees the cosmos as his own personal joy-ride.

The mistake we made was believing that Twitter was our playground. Elon Musk has made it his, and is currently in the process of breaking the toys, chopping down the trees and nuking the site from orbit, just to prove that play is overrated, and that only money counts. I can’t help feeling sorry for the little boy he must have been, and to wonder what he might have been like if he’d actually had any friends. But it’s time: and the change of branding makes it even easier to step away.

So maybe this is a kind of gift to the ones of us leaving Twitter. Misinformation, misogyny, transphobia, conspiracy theories and other kinds of social media poison have already made it increasingly difficult to feel safe there. (And fun fact, the word Gift in German happens to mean “poison”.) Perhaps the ultimate gift of X is the freedom from the toxicity that has built up in this most volatile of media; the gift of better mental health; of greater connection to our world; an escape from a toxic fantasy back into the open air.

I won’t leave altogether – Threads still isn’t open to Europe, and the jury’s still out on Bluesky - but I don’t want to give any more of my content to a man who values power and money over human connection. I’m @joannechocolat across all my social media - that’s Threads, Bluesky, Tumblr and Instagram – and I’ll still be posting stories on my ko-fi account at: https://ko-fi.com/story. But if you want to know what I’m doing, then sign up to my free newsletter on my website at joanne-harris.co.uk. I’m coming to believe that social media as I once knew it may have run its course for me: I won’t leave it altogether, but from now on I plan to invest more of my time and energy elsewhere.

And as for Mr X - I doubt you’ll be around forever. But while you are, my gift to you is this final story: written live on Twitter, as was, for all the little bluebirds.

There once was a boy who had no friends. His father gave him everything money can buy: toy cars, model aeroplanes, even rockets that really flew, but friends were impossible to buy, and the boy was lonely, angry, and bored.

One day, when he was playing alone with one of his expensive toys, he saw a group of children playing in a nearby park. They sounded so merry and carefree that the boy was jealous.

“Why don’t I have friends?” he cried. “I shall buy the park, and then everyone will notice me.”

And so the boy asked his father to buy him the park for his very own; and he settled there with his expensive toys, and put a notice on the gate, saying: Entrance fee, 8 shillings.

The children of the neighbourhood looked enviously at the empty park. Some of the wealthier ones paid the entry fee, but many of the children did not; instead, they waited outside the gates, and looked into the place where once they had all played together.

But still the boy was not content. None of the new children played with him. Instead they played their own games, and climbed trees, or played hide and seek, or lay on the grass watching the clouds. None of this served the boy at all, and he was sulky and discontent.

“If I have all the trees cut down, then maybe the others will notice me,” he thought.

And so he ordered his servants to cut down all the trees in the park. But apart from a few toadies and flatterers, the children still did not play with him, but mocked him secretly from afar, and fell silent whenever he passed by.

“How ungrateful these children are,” said the boy, getting angry. “I bought this park for them, and still they refuse to play with me! Very well, I shall cease to pay the groundsmen and the gardeners. The park will be overrun with weeds. Wild animals will roam there.”

And so the boy did as he had promised, and the park became a wilderness. No-one wanted to pay for it, and even the toadies and flatterers and children of wealthy families went elsewhere to see their friends.

The boy was very angry at this, but there was no-one to be angry with. All the other children had gone. And so he took out his rage on the deer who had begun to roam in the park, shooting them with his toy crossbow, and became known throughout the land as a mighty hunter.

#twitter #stories

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 1 year

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The Silver Dragon (23/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 2760

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: The following morning, Aemond and Arianwyn tell the Queen of what happened. But they soon realize an important figure is missing.

Warnings: Adult content, minors DNI

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3 @trap-house-homiecide @50svibes @literishdegree99 @dc-marvel-girl96 @henriettadreaming @multiple-fandoms-girl @gyuxmilk @somemydayy @kittykylax

The Shears

Arianwyn woke before dawn, the sun but a sliver of pink light in the distance. Though every muscle in her body ached, she savored the feeling. Each twinge of pain was soothed by the memory of her husband's kiss on her lips, on her throat, her chest, and her core.

Now the mouth that had kissed her so fervently lay still beside her as Aemond slept. What remained of the moonlight was reflected brilliantly in his ever-open sapphire eye. Tilting her head against their shared pillow, careful not to disturb his arm around her waist, Arianwyn nudged closer to him.

She brushed the hair from his face to better examine the stone, a chance she had not gotten the night before as their desires quickly took hold. If she squinted her eyes just right, she could make out the Runes beautifully engraved on each facet.

As she read each one, she ran a finger across his chest, tracing their shapes. For it was not only the writing of the Runes that gave them power, but the intentions of the writer. Just in case the magic had not carried over to the gem from her embroidered instructions, she drew each shape again on the soft skin above his heart.

Two lines, crossing in parallel. Each end split, reaching for the others, but never quite touching.

"I know that one," Aemond grumbled, his voice deep and gravelly from sleep. He seized her wrist, guiding her hand as she finished the Rune. "Surely, after last night, you don't believe me lacking in endurance?"

Arianwyn could not stifle her giggle, but she could suppress it against his lips. When she pulled back from the kiss, she whispered against his ear, "Of course not. But I want my love branded to your heart, so you will never be without it."

He kissed her again, knotting his hand in her gloriously tangled hair. "Never."

Then, he pushed himself up on his side, gazing adoringly into her silver eyes as he traced the same shape on her breast. "There," he breathed, kissing the skin to seal the magic, "now we are both branded."

It was almost as though Arianwyn could feel the magic taking hold, surrounding her heart and filling her chest with such warmth it practically burned. She smiled so hard that her cheeks strained, and she had to look away from Aemond to keep herself from being overwhelmed by the sight of him.

How many fairy tales had she read that described true love? How many stories of valiant princes rescuing their princesses from evil men and monsters? How many times had she imagined herself in their place?

It all seemed so mundane now. No fairy tale, story, or poem could capture the enormity or intensity of what she felt for Aemond.

"I love you," she whispered, though the words were too small.

"Avy jorrāelan," he replied, pulling her in for another kiss.

Arianwyn yielded to him, wrapping one arm around his neck as she happily let him devour her. With the other, she traced her fingers down his chest, past where she had drawn her Runes, past the taut muscles of his abdomen, until she took hold of his half-hard member.

"Tell me how to make you feel the way I did last night."

Queen Alicent had hardly been able to sleep that night, her mind racing from all that had happened since Rhaenyra's arrival. The cruel accusations she and Daemon accusations made against her. Seeing Arianwyn again after so many years.

The competing emotions of the petition. From the elation of seeing Viserys on the throne again, walking nearly on his own, to the horror of seeing Vaemond Velaryon struck down in front of her. The inescapable heartbreak that came with the realization that her husband would pull himself from the Stranger's embrace to defend Rhaenyra and her bastards, but had never lifted so much as a finger for Alicent or the children they had together.

She had loved Viserys so very dearly. They were delightfully happy in the first years of their marriage, despite Rhaenyra's distance from them. He was ever so kind to her, and gentle. When he took her to his bed, he made sure she felt safe and loved, and tended to her needs as much as his own.

While she was pregnant with Aegon, he showered her with adoration – giving her endless gifts and commissioning paintings and music for her. When their son was finally born, healthy and strong, she thought he would deify her. Every moment of his every day was spent with them, love brimming over in his beautiful violet eyes.

Something changed after Aegon's second nameday. His warmth faded, though he remained cordial. When Helaena was born, he congratulated her warmly, but it was not the same. She did not wake to find him at the end of the bed, the babe in his arms. He did not bring his daughter with him everywhere he went, but left her with Alicent and the nursemaids, seemingly content to see her only when necessary.

He stopped calling Alicent to his bed each night. And when he did, he was distant. He did not kiss her nor help her find her own pleasure. After he had finished, he did not ask her to stay. It was a miracle Aemond and Daeron were ever born.

Alicent was almost grateful that Daeron had been born so weak. Growing up in Oldtown, under the care of her cousins and the Maesters, he did not suffer his father's indifference.

Aegon did, and it drove him to despair and depravity.

Helaena, bless her sweet soul, seemed happy enough in her own distant world.

Of them all, Aemond had felt it most keenly.

With Arianwyn, he had read all the stories of Old Valyria that remained, hoping he could one day discuss them with his father. That Viserys would see himself in his son. That despite his lack of a dragon, would see that Aemond was a true heir to the Targaryen name.

But the King never did.

He did not care to hear Orwyle's reports on the progress of Aemond's studies nor Ser Criston's praise of his martial prowess. He brushed aside each of Aemond's failed attempts to claim a dragon just as easily as he dismissed the cruelty of his eldest son and grandsons. Alicent begged him for years to intervene, but he steadfastly refused.

And then Aemond had lost his eye.

No. Not lost. It was taken from him.

Not only by the steel of the Velaryon bastards' knife, but by Rhaenyra's audacious insistence of her sons' legitimacy and the King's callous apathy.

Alicent had to steady herself against the red stone walls of the corridor, reminding herself that she was going to Aemond's rooms to scold him for his behavior at dinner the night before, not to sympathize with his lifelong plight.

She and Rhaenyra had brokered a peace after he had left, and the Queen had every hope that it would hold – if she could get her own children under control.

"Your Grace, are you well?" Alicent jumped at Orwyle's voice, breaking her from her ever-spiraling thoughts.

"Grand Maester," she greeted. "Whatever are you doing in the Holdfast so early? Is the King well?"

Orwyle's dark eyes flicked toward the end of the hall, a tentative smile on his face. "His Grace is well, my Queen, though he continues to rest after his exertions."

"That is wonderful to hear," Alicent sighed, relieved. "But you have not answered my question."

The Maester was practically sweating. "Yes, My Queen. I suppose it is fallen to me to tell you the happy news."

Arianwyn watched with delighted curiosity as she brought Aemond to his climax with only her hand. His eyes squeezed shut, and his mouth fell open as he gasped for breath, the line of his jaw impossibly sharp. He reached urgently for his wife, hips rutting wildly as he spilled his onto the sheets between them.

"Was that right?" she asked, a smug smile across her lips.

Aemond only moaned as he pulled her on top of him, too exhausted to even kiss her. But he needed to feel her weight on him, to anchor him, lest he float away on a cloud of bliss.

She laughed, the sound reverberating through Aemond's chest. "I'll take that as an enthusiastic 'yes.'”

He moved to pull her to his lips, but there came a knocking at the door.

“Aemond? Aria?”

Alicent.

His eye shot open at the voice. Why was she here? How had she known Arianwyn would be here as well?

Arianwyn was nearly thrown off the bed for how quickly he sat up, catching her with a hand on the small of her back. Her heart was pounding for fear that they had been discovered and the anticipation of embarrassment should the Queen enter while she was still naked. “What do we do?” she asked.

Carrying her off the bed, Aemond set her down by the door to his dressing room, but he froze when he realized the solution would not be so easy. “Gods, I have no dresses.”

At the blank, dumbfounded stare on his face, Arianwyn recalled a story Aegon had once told about a man who ‘had his brains fucked out.’ She had always thought it to be an exaggeration.

Perhaps not.

She moved to the end of her bed to don her shift and dress from last night, though it was still stained with blood.

“No,” Aemond called, taking her hand and leading her away from the ruined, wrinkled silk on the floor. He knew they had no time for him to fumble with the interminable laces of the confounded thing. “I have a dressing gown… somewhere.”

“I will find it,” she answered, slipping into the dark room housing all his clothing. “And for you?”

“…Trousers!” he said after a prolonged silence, wherein he had nearly forgotten the word.

Arianwyn nearly snorted. Her husband was a clever man indeed.

It took her a moment to sort through the dressing room in the dim light of the morning, but she eventually found a pair of trousers and a black silk dressing gown. Even when she tied the robe, she had to hold it closed with her hands. Aemond was so much taller than her that her arms disappeared entirely in the massive sleeves, and the large pockets sat at her mid-thigh.

He smiled when she reentered the room, a new haze of desire coming over his face as he donned the trousers. Then, as though he had not just been pressed against her fully naked form, he licked his lips in hunger at the sliver of exposed skin on her chest.

“Aemond?” Alicent called again.

“A moment, mother!” he shouted back. After securing his eyepatch, he approached Arianwyn, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Are you ready?”

She brushed her hand against the leather patch, sad to see the sapphire hidden, but nodded and gave him a hesitant smile. “As I will ever be.”

With a swift kiss to her forehead, he led them out of his – their – bedchamber.

And straight into his mother’s waiting arms.

Alicent was a small woman, yet she somehow managed to wrap her arms around them both and squeezed so tight that they winced.

“Oh, my dears!” she exclaimed, pulling back to look at their blushing faces. “I could hardly believe it when Maester Orwyle told me the news, but here you both are!”

Aemond had thought he would never see his mother smile so brightly again. It was simply infectious. He clasped his hand against her arm. “I am sorry we did not wake you,” he said. “But we were quite hurried.”

“Orwyle mentioned something of the like,” the Queen sighed, releasing the couple and looking back to the Grand Maester, still standing awkwardly by the door to the apartments.

“With your permission,” he said, bowing his head, “I would like to confirm the consummation.”

Arianwyn gripped Aemond’s hand harder, unsure what such confirmation would entail. She had heard tale of what was done to women who had their virginity called into question, and she was not eager to experience the same.

The Maester spied the movement and held up a hand to calm her. “I require nothing of you, Princess Arianwyn. I wager I will find all the proof I need within the bedchamber. If you will excuse me?”

Slightly embarrassed, she nodded, allowing Aemond to lead her to the couch by the hearth while Orwyle passed through to the bedchamber.

The Queen took her seat in a stuffed armchair, picking at the skin around her nails while she inspected the dark bruises and cuts on Arianwyn’s jaw and neck. “Aria, will you tell me what happened?”

Suddenly finding herself shaking, Arianwyn hesitated to speak. But then Aemond pressed his leg against hers and took her trembling hands in his, and she felt nearly as strong as she had when she plunged the shears through Daemon’s hand.

She told the Queen everything. Every detail she knew about his rape of her mother. The threats he had made, both on Dragonstone and here in King’s Landing. How he had wrapped his hand around her throat so tight his nails drew blood and tried to strangle her, only to be stopped by the embroidery shears she had hidden in her skirts.

She could not explain how she got away, not when Daemon was so much faster than her. Nor could she recall precisely how she had ended up in the library, under a table with her tears staining an ancient tome.

But she remembered exactly how Aemond had looked when he appeared, the fear and relief in his eye when he saw she was alive and relatively well. She would never forget a single detail of the wedding ceremony itself, from the reverence in Aemond’s voice to the sight of the moonlight on the Weirwood’s red leaves.

The specifics of what came next, she left vague. That particular knowledge belonged only to her and Aemond. But she assured the Queen that the marriage was consummated, a fact soon confirmed by Maester Orwyle.

“I am relieved to hear it,” Alicent said, “It will leave Daemon with little cause to oppose the union.”

Though she had maintained her calm demeanor throughout Arianwyn’s tale, Aemond was simmering with rage. His wife had revealed details he had not known, things she had left out of her letters. He stared into the smoldering embers of the hearth, focusing only on calming his breathing and the fire in his blood that seared through his scar.

“Do you think he will?” Arianwyn asked, “Oppose our marriage?”

Aemond scoffed, the left side of his face beginning to twitch and burn as his emotions ran higher and higher. “Of course, he will.”

“But he will not succeed,” Alicent countered, her voice firm. “Your father is still abed, exhausted by the events of yesterday. The Hand and I shall sit the throne today, and we shall ensure that he fails.”

While Aemond seemed assured by his mother’s confidence, Arianwyn was not. That had been the plan for the petition yesterday, and the King had miraculously risen to defend Lucerys’ claim.

Besides, it was not only their marriage was not the only thing he would bring before the court.

“I stabbed him,” she murmured. “I stabbed the King’s brother, the consort to the Princess of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne. That is not something that can be so easily dismissed.”

For that, the Queen had no answer.

Aemond had only praise for his wife's actions, but his admiration would not change the fact that she had broken the law.

Orwyle cleared his throat. “To my knowledge, Prince Daemon has not sought the aid of any Maesters to treat his wound. Should he wish to prosecute the matter, surely he would have sounded an alarm.”

It was sound logic. Daemon was not one to keep the secrets of others. Not when he stood to gain from exposing the truth.

But the truth was not what the Rogue Prince was after, Aemond thought as a starling realization came over him.

Daemon only wanted to hurt his daughter.

“The shears,” he declared.

Alicent’s brow furrowed. “What about them?”

“We never found them. Only the blood.”

Arianwyn was shaking with fear when she rose from the couch and tore open the door to their chambers, startling her guards.

“Where is Brynna?”

Next Chapter

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takusan-no-ai · 6 months

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Can I Be With You Tonight?

PREVIOUS|CHAPTER THREE|NEXT (Not Finished)

PAIRING: Atreus x Female Reader (Romantic) (Slow-burn)

SUMMARY: The three travel far, meeting a blue dwarf, and coming upon the tracks of a wild beast.

(Y/N) and Atreus ran ahead of Kratos towards the dwarf kicking his feet.

“Can’t get this sloe-eyed cocklump to cross the bridge! Hrmph!” (Y/N) petted the creature while Atreus looked around.

“It’s because she’s scared of something in the trees over there. You can sense it too, right hrólfr?” Atreus asked, to which she shook her head. Atreus was shocked for a split second before moving over to Kratos.

“There’s what now?” Brok scrunched his face and looked into the distance.

“Father, throw your axe at those trees on the other side of the bridge—the ones with the white trunks.”

Kratos threw his axe and a loud growl was heard in the distance. He recalled the axe back as the animal stood up. “You were right,” Kratos said to Atreus, which made him smile.

“Hey…you must be smart or somthin’, boy. You are a boy aren’tcha? Not the hobo still squatting down right?” (Y/N) looked at the others with wide eyes.

“Hey! I’m not a hobo.”–she placed her hands on her hips–“I consider myself to be quite rich in happiness.” Brok stared her in the eyes for some seconds before hollering in laughter.

He slapped the animal on the behind, but she still didn’t move. “What’s her name?” Atreus asked Brok.

“I dunno. Rude bastard ain’t ever asked mine so I ain’t ever asked hers, HAAA!!” He answered while shoving the animal to move forward. But still she wouldn’t budge.

“What’s yours?”

“Brok.”

“Vera logn…,” Atreus whispered to the animal and just like that she walked the rest of the way across the bridge. The boy and girl walked with her alongside each other.

Brok looked at the axe on Kratos’ back. “Huh. Say…you’re not gonna believe me but uh…that axe you got, uh? It was me what made her–me and my brother. Was one of our best.”

“So don’t let nobody else go work on her except for us two. AAACH!” The animal ‘s tail whacked him on the head. He quickly recovered and continued on,”You gotta handle her special or she’ll wreck beyond fixin’. I can enhance her right now if it so pleases you son of a bitch.”

(Y/N) pulled a small book out of her back pocket and began sounding out words from it. “Still studying?” Atreus asked.

“Mhmm! Thanks for the lessons. I’ll be sure to make it up to you.”

“Just you being my friend is good enough for me.” They both smiled at each other and finished crossing the bridge.

“So what say you? HAA!” Brok slapped the animal and it went to go sit.

“You are right…I do not believe you.” Kratos spoke plainly. “Come, boy, girl.”

“There’s a rune in the shape of a fork–under the grip.” Brok quickly said. Kratos checked as Brok yelled in the background. Both Atreus and (Y/N) took a look themselves. “That was our brand, my brother and me, before we split. I got half of it right here–see?” Brok returned with half of the rune on a branding iron.

“Look, you want I should upgrade her or not?”

“Very well. I expect an improvement.” He walked with Brok to his workshop and placed the axe down.

“So where’s the other half of the brand?” Atreus and (Y/N) asked at the same time.

“Oh, my dumb brother’s got it. But I got all the talent. Look!” Brok upgraded the leviathan axe and made new armor for the three; each one making them stronger than they were before.

“Well, don’t look now but our friends who were hiding in the trees are back for more! Go on, give that axe a twirl!” Brok watched from the side as Kratos slashed through the draugr easily.

“Say, your pa can KILL. You kiddos gonna learn to do that too?”

“I’m not sure…,” Atreus replied. (Y/N) pinched his cheek with a small scowl.

“We’re definitely going to learn that.” She said while looking at him.

Kratos walks up to Brok after finishing off the last draugr. “This road…it leads to the mountain?” Brok smacks the two kids on their shoulders.

“Should put you in the right direction, sure.”

Kratos and the kids traveled further towards the mountain. “You both left me to fight alone.” He spoke plainly. Atreus and (Y/N) followed closely behind as he opened the gate, the latter sweating pinballs.

“I did.” Atreus immediately replied. (Y/N) fought back a face palm at his response.

“Does he have a death wish?” She thought.

“People are one thing. Everything else, you fight…until I say stop or we are dead. Understand? Pull your weight or we go home.” Kratos stared down at Atreus and (Y/N). Once Kratos turned around, the boy rolled his eyes and walked forward.

“I understand.” They said in unison.

“Good then.”

They traveled through the cave, Kratos leading the way, while Atreus and (Y/N) fought off enemies from the sidelines. They eventually made it up towards a cliff, reaching over the stave and whole forest.

Atreus ran ahead first, basking in the view. (Y/N) followed closely behind and looked over from a safer distance. “Wow…never been this close to the mountain before.”

Kratos walked up behind Atreus looking over alongside him and (Y/N). “Looks so big. I wish mom was here to see it.” Atreus said while looking at Kratos.

Kratos reached out towards him, but hesitated. (Y/N) watched with a dejected smile. “Come, boy.” Kratos walked forward, waiting for the two kids to follow him.

Atreus takes one last look before quickly turning around to follow his father. He ran past (Y/N) while ruffling her hair in a frenzy.

They ran through the mist and came across a puzzle, a giant door blocking the way through. “Look, there are runes written along the side.” Atreus said enthusiastically.

“What does it say?” Kratos asked. Atreus motioned for (Y/N) to come closer and pointed at each word.

“As we are, we two, we three / As I alone can never be.”

“A riddle?” He asked again. (Y/N) squeezed her head in her hands, face scrunched up immensely.

“I-no idea.”

“Hmmm…maybe there’s a clue around here.”

Kratos found a turning device and twisted it, making the door spin in three different directions, at three different speeds. He then proceeded to throw his axe at the cogs in the machine’s holes. Eventually, this spelt out the answer.

“That’s it! I see runes!” Atreus exclaimed excitedly.

“Boy. What do those runes say?”

“Ooooh, it says family. That’s not a clue. It’s the answer! What I alone can never be—right?” Atreus looked at (Y/N) and Kratos for confirmation.

Kratos nodded in agreement,”Use your knife and trace the ruins into the sand.”

“Really?” Atreus traced the rune into the sand and the door glowed brightly as it opened. “It worked!” he said. Atreus ran through the door first, followed by Kratos and (Y/N).

“I’m happy we met Brok…but…I’m happier we’re leaving this place…,” Atreus said.

“Yeah. Hopefully it’ll be smooth sailing through the rest of this. I really want to fulfill Faye’s wish.” (Y/N) responded. Atreus slowed down and walked at (Y/N)’s pace. He smiled at her and held her hand in his.

“I miss her.” He said. Atreus looked up at his father, eyes wide and tears threatening to fall.

“Me too.” Kratos said. It was short but even (Y/N) could tell his words carried a weight that would otherwise be a burden on her shoulders.

They traveled through the small cave and made it to the other side, coming across animal tracks in the mud. “Boy…”–Kratos called out–“these tracks….”

“Mm…a boar maybe? Not sure. But I’ll find it.” Atreus said confidently. (Y/N) cheered him on with a fist pump in the air. He walked ahead while the other two followed Atreus’ lead.

“This should be easy enough.” (Y/N) mumbled under her breath.

- Fin

#female reader #god of war x reader #atreus x reader #atreus #fic

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hogwartseighthyear · 2 years

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your girl

(part 1) | part 2 | part 3

pairing: neville longbottom x fem!reader word count: 4.2k tags: rated M, house-neutral reader, established relationship, sexually suggestive but nothing outright explicit, lots of fluff and mushy lovey-dovey feelings, Y/N used summary: neville’s roommates find you in his bed after your first time together. note: wow my first time posting fanfic on tumblr! i’ve been sitting on this one for a while and finally decided to say fuck it and release it into the wild. enjoy and thanks for reading! (EDIT: per request, there are multiple parts to this series now, but they’re not chronological or continuous. just extra moments with you and neville in this particular universe). (crossposted here to AO3)

“Dean and Seamus said they’ll be pulling an all-nighter down in Hufflepuff with Ernie to finish their Charms essay.”

You hummed absently in response. However, most of your attention was trained on the bookshelf in front of you. You’d been struggling with your latest translation assignment from Professor Babbling, and for as vast and well stocked as the Hogwarts library was, you couldn’t seem to find a proper book on the proto-Germanic phonology of Elder Futhark for the life of you. All the head tilting and squinting at small text was starting to grate on your nerves, and not for the first time you were questioning your own sanity for ever thinking that pursuing a N.E.W.T. in Ancient Runes was a good idea.

“And Harry’s still in London meeting with the Minister.”

You paused at the non-sequitur, your hand poised over the spine of a rather serious-looking tome titled Runic Inscriptions of the First Century, and glanced over at your boyfriend.

Neville hovered next to you, as he had been since the two of you had entered the library together, but only now did you notice the nervous way he shifted on his feet and twiddled with the strap of your bag, which he’d offered to carry.

“…And Ron always stays with Hermione on the weekends,” he added after a few beats of silence.

You raised an eyebrow. “Okay…?”

Neville only chewed on his bottom lip, failing to elaborate any further. You could tell there was something else he wanted to say, but clearly he’d need some prodding to spit it out.

You dropped your hand and turned towards him, forgetting entirely about Ancient Runes, if just for a moment.

“Nev,” you began gently, “I don’t want to sound rude, but why exactly are you telling me this?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Huffed and cast a furtive glance around. The library was sparsely populated, considering that it was a Saturday evening, and there was no one else nearby.

Neville leaned in closer, a pink flush on his cheeks, his voice low. “My dorm’s empty. You could, y’know. Spend the night. If— if you want to, that is.”

“Oh,” you breathed out, eyes widening.

It wasn’t a mystery what Neville actually meant. The two of you had been dating for six months now—him having finally worked up the courage to ask you out after the Battle had ended—and you were quite possibly the happiest you’d ever been: back in Hogwarts with your peers, finishing your education, ridiculously in love with one of your long-time best friends.

Eighth year, as it had been jokingly coined, was a chance to just be normal students. No more looming threats of mortal danger. Instead, these days your interests tended to skew towards more conventional things, like N.E.W.T. level coursework, and Hogsmeade weekends, and snogging your boyfriend senseless in empty classrooms. Or broom closets. Or greenhouses.

You and Neville hadn’t gone any further than that. But you’d— talked about it. Awkwardly, through a lot of blushing and nervous stammering. Neville’s confidence had improved drastically over the past year, of course, but romance was brand new territory, and he was still easily flustered by it.

You’d assured him that you wanted him, though. And he wanted you. And you were both ready to take that next step, whenever the time came.

Apparently, the time would be tonight.

Even though you could feel your heart thrumming against your chest, you couldn’t hold back the smile that broke out across your face, much to Neville’s relief. “I think I’d like that,” you said.

“Really?” he asked.

You nodded, huffing a laugh. “Yes, really.”

“Right, yeah. Brilliant,” he breathed, grinning back at you.

The rest of the evening passed far too slow for your liking. A shared sense of nervous anticipation hung over you and Neville, which grew each time you met each other’s eyes, knowing exactly what was on the other’s mind. Unsurprisingly, you failed to make any headway on your Ancient Runes assignment.

Curfew came and went, and not long after, most of the students in the Gryffindor Tower were winding down and slinking off to bed. You followed Neville to the boys’ dormitory, trying your very best to act natural as you passed through the common room. You couldn’t help but feel like your intentions were written plainly across your forehead: “We’re about to shag!” in bold lettering. But thankfully, the few stragglers that lingered downstairs didn’t pay either of you any mind. You’d been friends with Neville for years, after all, and had spent a good deal of time hanging out in his dorm. Seeing you climb the boys’ stairs was nothing new.

The fact that you and Neville had become more than friends, however, was something you’d kept to yourselves. Being hounded by the press all summer had been difficult for Neville, introverted as he was, and he hadn’t wanted to subject your relationship to their scrutiny as well. Or to anyone’s scrutiny, for that matter.

For the time being, it was nice to have something that only belonged to the two of you.

There was no shortage of awkward fumbling once you and Neville were alone in his dorm. It was different than the snogging and the occasional wandering hand that you’d become accustomed to—much more intense, intimate, bared to each other in the low light and laid out across a real bed. Needless to say, you’d never seen your boyfriend so anxious before. Neville, who had led a student rebellion inside the castle walls, who had been tortured repeatedly by the Carrows, who had stood up to Voldemort and chopped off his snake’s head with the bloody sword of Gryffindor.

Apparently that was all a walk in the park compared to sleeping with you for the first time. The thought amused you just as much as it made you melt with adoration.

After enough time and careful exploration, though, you and Neville managed to lose yourselves in one another. The movement of your hands, mouths, and bodies relaxed into something natural and instinctive, and your collective nerves gave way to much more pleasing sensations: his hot breath against your neck, your legs wrapped around his hips, sweat-slick skin and quiet moans.

You clung to Neville on the narrow mattress afterwards, hazy and content. And when you fell asleep, you did so gently, slowly, without even realizing.

However many hours later, you woke to the ringing of an alarm clock. The volume had been spelled low, so it wasn’t quite as jarring, but you still made an unhappy noise as the body beneath you shifted. The ringing stopped after a few moments.

In your groggy state of half-consciousness, you registered the feeling of Neville’s fingers brushing the hair off your face, stroking the curve of your cheek. The gentle touches had you nuzzling deeper into his chest. You could hear his heartbeat pressed this close, steady and relaxed.

“Good morning,” Neville said, his voice still rough from sleep. The sound hummed pleasantly against your ear.

“Morning,” you responded—or tried to, at least. The word barely slurred out of your mouth, muffled against Neville’s chest. Closer to an incomprehensible grunt than actual English.

He laughed quietly. “I need to get up, darling.”

“Mm. Whatimes’it?”

“Seven-thirty.”

“Too early,” you declared, tightening your hold around Neville. It was warm and comfortable under the covers with him, sharing body heat. You were quite certain in that moment that you could lie there happily for the rest of your life. Not even Voldemort himself waltzing into the boys’ dormitory could pull you from Neville’s bed. Little busy here, Tom, you’d say before rolling over and going back to sleep.

Neville placed a kiss on the top of your head, then another on your temple, making you melt further into his embrace. He knew just how to wear you down.

“I told Professor Sprout I’d help her defang the geraniums this morning,” he said, lips still brushing against your face.

“Isn’t it Sunday?”

“Yes?”

“So responsible,” you murmured, turning to press a kiss to Neville’s chest, the sparse hair there tickling your face. You let your mouth trail upwards and began to kiss at the tender skin of his throat. You were careful not to leave any marks, tempting as it was, but delighted in the way he inhaled sharply and squirmed beneath you.

“Are you absolutely sure you need to get up?” you asked.

Neville groaned. “Yes. But you’re making it hard.”

You raised your head, unable to resist the stupid grin that spread across your face. “Oh, am I?”

He groaned again, this time for a very different reason, and flung an arm over his eyes. “That was terrible,” he said, despite the way his mouth curled up in an answering grin.

You laughed and tugged at Neville’s arm. “Come on, don’t hide from me now! It’s not like you have much left to hide after last night, anyway—”

Neville cut you off, lunging forward and catching your lips in a demanding kiss. He was insistent, pushing until you were the one being pressed down into the mattress, switching your positions. His face was warm and flushed against yours, and neither of you stopped smiling, even after he pulled away.

For a long moment you simply laid there as Neville hovered above you, staring into each other’s eyes. You reached up and cupped his cheek with one hand, running your thumb over the pink scar that cut along his cheekbone. He’d collected a number of them the year prior. Several of which were inflicted by dark magic and would never fade. Even still, they didn’t seem to bother Neville. He wore them proudly, unselfconsciously.

At times like this it was hard to believe that, despite everything, you’d ended up here. Alive and well with the man you loved. That after so much pain and destruction, you’d managed to find this indescribable happiness.

Neville leaned into your touch, his expression soft and affectionate. “Go back to sleep,” he said gently. “I shouldn’t be gone more than two hours. I’ll even swing by the Great Hall and bring back breakfast when I’m finished.”

“Okay,” you finally agreed, keeping your voice quiet, unwilling to disrupt the moment. “I love you.”

“I love you too, petal.”

You burrowed deeper under the covers, trying to soak up your boyfriend’s residual heat, and allowed your eyes to close, half listening to Neville shuffle around the room as he dressed. By the time he came over to press one last kiss to your temple, you were already drifting off.

It wasn’t a deep sleep. Not like the way you’d slept the night before, safe and sated in your lover’s arms, essentially dead to the world. Rather, you could feel yourself suspended somewhere just beneath the surface of consciousness. The transition when you woke for the second time that morning was easier and far more pleasant.

The sun streaming in through the windows was brighter now, making you squint as your eyes adjusted. Craning your neck towards the nightstand, you saw the alarm clock read just a bit past nine. Neville would likely return in the next half hour with breakfast in tow. The prospect brought a smile to your face. Merlin, you were lucky.

You sat up in bed, letting the blankets pool around your hips, and heaved a big yawn. Scrubbing a hand over your face, you wondered if you’d have time to pop in the shower before Neville came back. You could certainly use one. Or maybe if you waited, you could ask him to join you.

That idea made your heart rate pick up. Surely, now that you and Neville had crossed that threshold, there would be a whole world of experiences you would explore together. New things that you would learn about one another. Even just the thought of pressing your body against his in the shower had butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

You were startled from your daydreams by the door opening.

It wasn’t Neville.

“We still have until class tomorrow to finish— BLOODY HELL!” Dean cried out when his eyes landed on you, coming to an abrupt stop. Seamus and Ron, who were trailing in behind Dean, bumped into his back.

Much to your horror, you realized that you were still naked.

You shrieked and dove under the covers, tugging them over your head for good measure. The three boys shouted in alarm, and you could hear their panicked clamoring outside Neville’s bed.

“Fuck, Y/N, we’re so sorry—!” Dean was saying.

“Y/N? Is that really—?” Seamus.

“Merlin’s beard! With Neville—?” Ron.

“I bloody told you so, Weasley! You owe me five galleons!” Seamus.

“Can you two not—?” Dean.

“FUCK OFF!” you bellowed.

More scrambling. Two sets of footsteps fled the dormitory and thundered back down the stairs, but one remained, hurriedly shuffling about. Heart hammering in your chest, you uncovered your head and peered out over the edge of the blanket.

Ron had his back to you, thankfully, as he rushed to dig through his trunk across the room. Even from behind you could see that the tips of his ears were nearly as red as his hair.

“Sorry, I just— It’s just that ‘Mione lost her jumper and, uh, I told her I’d, um— I’d look for it here,” he said, rapidly pulling apart the contents of his trunk and discarding them on the floor. When that search turned up empty, he haphazardly shoved everything back inside and scuttled over to rifle through his wardrobe.

You took a few deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. It felt as though your face would burst into flames at any moment.

“Ron.”

He paused, still refusing to look your way. “…Yes?”

“You’re a wizard,” you said evenly. “Can’t you just summon it?”

“Oh! Well, yeah, I suppose I could try.” Ron fished his wand out of his pocket and cleared his throat. “Accio Hermione’s jumper!”

The jumper shot out from underneath Ron’s bed and flew straight into his hand. “Brilliant!” He turned to you with a wide grin, which immediately faltered when he saw you still shielding yourself beneath the blankets. He scratched at the back of his neck, his eyes darting between you and anywhere else in the room.

“So. You and Neville, huh?” he asked with an awkward gesture towards Neville’s bed.

You just stared at Ron, wishing that the floor would open up and eat him whole.

“…Right,” he said after a prolonged silence. “Well. Cheers, Y/N.” And with that, he left the dorm, closing the door behind him.

You took a moment to simply lie there, gazing up blankly at the canopy above you. Perhaps if you escaped out the window—a cushioning charm or a summoned broom would do the trick—and ran away to live the rest of your life in the Forbidden Forest, you wouldn’t have to face any of Neville’s roommates ever again.

Eventually, after enough mortified brooding, you redressed in the clothes you’d left strewn about the floor the night prior. You weren’t particularly keen on anyone else walking in and seeing you in your birthday suit.

By the time you were slipping your feet into your shoes, Neville returned. He had his wand held up, levitating two plates of breakfast fresh from the Great Hall in front of him. You instantly relaxed at the sight of him, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as he sat himself next to you on the edge of the bed, handing you a plate. His face was scrunched into a confused pout.

“Everyone was looking at me weird in the common room,” he said. “I don’t have any dirt on my face, do I? I checked before I left the greenhouse.”

You paused, feeling your insides immediately drop. “Everyone?” you squeaked. You might not have been necessarily close with Neville’s friends, but you were friendly with all of them. They were good people. There was no way they would have ran off and told all the other Gryffindors—

“Well, no, just the guys and Hermione,” Neville said, much to your relief. He stared hard at the toast on his plate, contemplating, before glancing over at you. “Did something happen with them while I was gone?” he asked.

You tried and failed not to cringe at the memory. “Um— Just that three of your roommates barged in here and saw my tits. That’s all.”

Neville made a startled noise and fumbled his plate. His toast slid off the edge and landed on the floor. “What?”

“Yeah. It was quite horrific for everyone involved.” You sighed and took your first bite of breakfast.

“I— They— Fucking hell,” Neville stammered, his eyes wide. He wasn’t one to swear very often, so you could tell he was worked up.

You nodded along. “I think Seamus and Ron had a bet going as to whether or not you and I were together, too.”

“Merlin, Y/N. Are you alright?” he asked, setting his breakfast aside to wrap an arm around you. “Did they say anything rude? I’ll— I’ll kill them, I swear!”

His face was fierce and determined, and despite the situation at hand, you couldn’t help but adore how your boyfriend was jumping at the bit to defend you. It was just so cute. Everything about him was.

“You’d risk life in Azkaban for me?” you asked, gently teasing.

“In a heartbeat.”

You huffed a laugh and leaned in closer to Neville’s side. “Maybe we should hold off on the murder for now. I’d miss you too much if you were locked away forever.”

He gave your shoulder a squeeze. “I could tell them off for you. Or I could jinx them for a week straight. Whatever you say.”

“I’m fine,” you assured him. “No one was rude to me. It was all just really, really embarrassing. Though I do appreciate the offer.” You held up your own piece of toast for Neville to take a bite. His was still sitting on the floor next to his trainers.

Once you had both finished eating, having set aside your empty plates to be taken care of by the house elves, you spoke up again.

“Nev?” you asked, hesitant. “You’re not… upset that people know about us now, are you?”

You were aware that it was a stupid concern driven by your own insecurity. You didn’t doubt that Neville loved you and would never be ashamed of you. But the thought still niggled at the back of your mind. What if he didn’t want to go public yet? What if the press caught on? How much trouble would this create for the two of you?

Predictably, Neville’s face softened at your question. “Of course not. Why would I be upset?”

“I mean, I know that we were keeping things just between us and I feel really bad that—”

“Love,” he interrupted, “I don’t mind. It was nice having you all to myself for a while, but honestly? I’ve kind of been looking forward to, y’know. Showing you off.” He glanced away, bashful.

“Really?” you asked, your heart swelling.

Neville nodded. “‘Course. I want people to know that you’re my girl. I mean, as long as you’re okay with that,” he rushed to add. “I could still tell my dorm mates to keep their mouths shut, if you want—”

“Neville!” you cut him off, laughing. “Yes, I’m okay with that. More than.” You leaned over to peck his cheek. “I love being your girl.”

The two of you didn’t linger much longer. Neville objected to your idea of escaping through the window, and there was no other way out of the boys’ dormitory, so your only option was to steel your nerves and prepare to face his friends. His friends that had seen you naked and had definitely gathered what you were doing the night before. God. The sheer embarrassment was nearly life-ending, but you were helped along by Neville’s hand in yours, leading you down the spiral staircase and into the common room.

He didn’t let go. Not even when your joint arrival caught the attention of the five Gryffindors—now including Ginny—seated by the fire, who all abruptly stopped talking and turned to stare at you and and your boyfriend.

There was a long, painful silence. A silence that was, unfortunately, broken by Seamus.

“Neville, Y/N, er— congrats,” he said with an awkward smile.

The others all immediately groaned. Hermione—wearing her jumper, you noticed—buried her face in her hands. You raised your eyebrows at Seamus.

“What? What? Oh, come on!” he cried out indignantly, sitting up in the armchair he’d been lounging in. “I wasn’t congratulating them on the sex, I was congratulating them on the— you know!” He flapped his hand towards you and Neville. “The relationship! I mean, you two are dating now, aren’t you?”

You closed your eyes briefly, trying to gather the willpower to not take out your wand and hex Neville’s roommate. “Yes, Seamus, we’re dating,” you said with great restraint.

“Nice going, Finnigan,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, thanks for that, Seamus,” Neville sighed.

“Anyways,” Hermione said, shooting an unimpressed look at Seamus before turning back to you, “I think you two make a lovely couple.”

“Same here,” Dean said kindly, though his face was still a bit sheepish. “I reckon most of us were wondering when it was gonna happen.”

“Most of us,” Seamus snickered and gave his own pocket a pat. It jingled.

“Hey, I’m not blind,” Ron huffed, crossing his arms. “Everyone knows Neville’s been making googly eyes at Y/N for years. I just didn’t think he’d worked up the nerve to ask her out yet. Sorry, mate,” he added, nodding at Neville.

You looked to your boyfriend, whose cheeks had gone rather pink. Which was really quite funny, that he could still act so shy about his crush on you, despite six months of dating. Despite the frequent “I love you’s.” Despite the unholy things he did to you just the night before.

“Years?” you asked, a wondrous little smile curling at your mouth.

“At least since the Triwizard Tournament,” Ginny piped up with a wicked grin. “I swore he was ‘bout to pitch himself off the Astronomy Tower when you agreed to go to the Yule Ball with that Durmstrang boy.”

“No, no, it was definitely before that,” Dean said, turning to his friends. “Don’t you guys remember that time in third year when I sent Y/N a chocolate frog on Valentine’s Day and Neville didn’t speak to me for a week?”

“Well I always thought that when we all met in first year on the train—” Hermione began, but was abruptly cut off.

“OKAY!” Neville shouted. By that point most of the other Gryffindors in the common room were looking over at the lot of you, and the flush on Neville’s face had darkened considerably. “If you’re all quite done, me and Y/N will be off.”

At that moment, the entrance to the common room swung open and Harry stepped in through the portrait hole. Everyone who was gathered in front of the fire stopped and turned to look at him. Harry drew up short, raising his eyebrows.

“Hello,” he greeted you all cautiously. “…Did I miss something?”

“Neville and Y/N are shagging,” Ron announced. Harry’s eyebrows climbed even higher on his forehead.

“Ronald!” Hermione reached over to smack his arm.

“What?” he asked incredulously.

“Seriously? Do you not have any tact?”

“They were the ones screwing in our dorm room!”

Dean scoffed. “Oh, as if we don’t all know what you and Hermione get up to when—”

“Eugh! Stop, stop, that’s my brother, I don’t want to hear it!” Ginny said, covering her own ears.

Ron was sputtering. Hermione’s mouth hung open, mortified. Harry looked supremely uncomfortable. And Seamus was trying and failing miserably to hold in his laughter.

“Oh my god,” Neville muttered. “Come on, we’re leaving.” He tightened his grip on your hand and swiftly ushered you out of the Gryffindor common room, the sound of his friends descending further into chaos fading as the Fat Lady’s portrait swung shut behind you.

You weren’t sure where Neville was leading you, or if he even had a destination in mind other than away, but the two of you eventually came to a stop in the middle of an empty corridor. As soon as your eyes met, you and Neville both broke out into a fit of laughter, only somewhat hysterical.

“Merlin!” you exclaimed. “I suppose that’s one way to break the news to your friends.”

“They’re a bunch of bigmouthed trolls, is what they are,” Neville said, though not without a fair amount of exasperated fondness.

You stepped forward to rest your forehead against his shoulder, clutching at the front of his sweater. He immediately brought a hand up to rub circles on your back. “The whole school is going to know by dinnertime with how loud they were,” you said.

Neville hummed. He didn’t sound displeased.

You raised your head, peering at your boyfriend curiously. “You really don’t mind, do you?” you said, more of an observation than a question.

“Well, you heard them.” Neville, wearing a serene—if not slightly embarrassed—smile, moved to cup your face in his hands. “I’ve been crazy about you for years.”

#neville longbottom x reader #neville longbottom x you #neville x reader #neville x you #neville longbottom #neville longbottom fic #my writing #still not too happy about this one but i really can't be fucked to edit it any more #so here i am dumping it unceremoniously into the tags. bone apple teeth

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heimdallsram · 1 year

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━━━━ masterlist. soundtrack. archive of our own. taglist.

title: perennial

pairing: heimdall x female! goddess! reader

"You were a goddess of oaths and vows. It was only fitting that Odin would bind you to his service in only the most ironic way that he knew how: marriage."

this fanfiction contains the following: domestic violence, blood, gore, choking, violent sexual content, bad BDSM etiquette, non-consensual somnophilia, blood drinking, unhealthy relationships, and much more content that may be sensitive to some readers. reader discretion is advised.

*for inquiries about the taglist, please dm me and i will add you to it.

The collar felt like a brand against your neck as you stared at yourself in the reflection of the window. The spells that had been cast upon it were finally inactive, satisfied that you were no longer harming yourself or beating down the walls with your fists. There were holes the size of your hand littering the floor and the entirety of the room, save the door, that you had managed to punch through without managing to see any of it through your tears. The angrier you grew, the stronger the spells became, and consequently, the more you would cry and ruin the charcoal you had painstakingly smudged over your eyes. The design was as perfect as if the servant had done it herself, but it was no skill of yours; the magic in the collar had replicated it flawlessly. It utilized your magic and powers better than you could on your own, funneling it through the various runes and following the orders that Odin had spoken into the individual grooves of the metal. You weren’t sure how it worked, or how he had figured out that the collar had been in Vanaheim at all—that it even existed.

You had sold it long before you ever met Brok and Sindri. For, and now you hated yourself for it, a measly three hundred hacksilver. It bought you clothing and a warm meal but that had been all; you had sold the instrument of your control to a merchant and never looked back. You had been a child then, making ends meet where you could, smarter than your years and growing more quickly than any normal girl should have. Your eyes were bigger than your stomach during those years, and it was no wonder you had handed the collar over so freely, so easily; you were a growing girl with a growing stomach. It had been twisted, mangled, rusted, and worthless then, so it was a surprise you had even gotten what you had out of it.

“The fur,” you waved your tiny hand toward the stack of furs the merchant had laid in the back of his caravan. They were not good furs, and had been cured improperly and killed violently, so they were more leather than fur, but you would have to make do. “How much?”

At the time, you had only a vague understanding of how hacksilver worked. But the merchant was willing to make a penny where he could, and so he had accepted the ruined relic as long as you spent half of that money on his stock. A foolish deal, but the insects and plants were biting at your skin and your feet were rubbed raw, and you had suffered long enough in your mind. So you had done as he asked and bought the furs, clothing, and some of his food: stewed meat and stale bread.

“Thank you, mister,” you had said as you left, your belly full and a twinkle in your eye. The merchant waved you off, tucking the hacksilver into his pocket. When you would return the next day, hoping to sell some of your spoils to him, he would be long gone, traveling faster than your tiny legs could carry you.

You still owned the remaining hacksilver you had gotten from that ill-gotten bargain to this day. It sat in your waist pouch unused, tarnished with age, and even now, you could not bring yourself to spend it. Your shame was palpable, and now your childhood foolishness had brought the collar back to you, except this time, it was around your neck, binding you to the man who would rather see you dead if you were of no use to him. It was terribly ironic how full circle it had come.

Brok and Sindri would be disappointed in you. If they had ever known the collar existed, they would have bought it and hidden it away. You had never told them, though, too happy to have a home with the two dwarves for however long that would be before Odin would sweep you away. And as you had aged, the thought of it had slipped your mind, too concerned with other things to worry about an old relic that had been rusting and falling apart the last you had laid eyes on it.

It was obvious you should have worried. The proof of it was around your neck, after all.

“It is time,” Sif announced quietly at the door. She had been standing there while you had taken out your anger on the room, Thor’s lumbering form and Odin at his side alerting her that something had happened without her notice. Her apology note had been written before the two had ever arrived, apologizing not for the collar but for your nuptials. “The ceremony is to begin in a few moments.”

When you opened the door, her eyes strayed to your raw hands and the collar around your neck. She did not comment on the redness of your eyes and instead gently pushed a bundle of flowers into your grasp, arranging the silk ribbons around your knuckles just-so to hide the marks. She arranged the wheat and flowers in your hair to look more properly put in place and used her magic to heal the bruises and bloodied welts around your neck completely.

“Now we go,” Sif whispered. You did not reply. She tucked your arm into hers and walked you to through the building, letting you school your features into neutrality.

She did not utter a word when you snatched up a bottle of wine and guzzled it, nor did she stop you when you also picked up tankards of ale along the way, pulling them roughly out of unsuspecting Midgardians’ hands and drinking them in four or five large gulps. Some were full of ale and others had a strangely bitter substance within them that was making your head spin, but that was well within your goals before you had to look at Odin and Heimdall’s faces while your vows were spoken for you. You would be thoroughly drunk while you attended your own wedding or you would strangle Odin where he stood.

As you passed through the halls, several familiar faces floated your way. They did not congratulate you or raise their cups like the Midgardians were doing. Ullr, the god of winter and hunting; Höðr, the black sheep of the family and the blind son of Freya and Odin that had been sequestered away by Odin’s shame and presumed dead by Freya; Lofn, the godess of arranged marriages, you noticed bitterly; Aegir, god of ocean, storm, alcohol and banquets; and young Sigyn, the youngest Aesir to exist among the gods, normally only present outside the walls of Asgard. These were gods you did not know, did not associate with, yet they held sorrow and pity for you—Odin’s crimes had, in many ways, touched all of them, twisted them from their original beliefs. But none more than Höðr, with his dark hair and milky white eyes, a spitting image of Queen Freya.

Though he could not see you, he smiled when you stopped drunkenly in front of him. Sif tried to urge you away, but you refused, too incensed at seeing the long forgotten god that your Queen had thought dead. Odin had been smart to take Höðr away, knowing Freya would never finish her spell if he was alive, and had lived to regret it when that same spell had not been given to him. He even kept feathers in his hair, though they were of an albatross’ wing and not of a falcon as Freya had kept hers.

“It may not seem so, small goddess, but every path has its end,” he said. He gently touched the sprig of wheat nestled into the braids upon your head. Then, it drifted to a flower, one symbolizing power. “May you rise above this as my mother did.”

Now you were being pulled away, the alcohol making you pliant enough for Sif to drag you towards the small gathering of gods where Odin stood, waiting. All of the confusion drained out of you to be replaced with repulsion and anger—your grip tightened on the flower stems in your grasp. His eyes lingered on the flowers in your hair only for a moment, and there was a twist of distaste to his mouth, but it was wiped away quickly when attention began skipping over him to you.

“He should not have said that,” Sif whispered urgently. “Now Váli will be following him like a bloodhound.”

You watched, in a daze, as the aforementioned half giant worked his way through the crowd. Whereas Höðr was the spitting image of Freya, Váli looked as if he could be a younger version of Odin. It was surprising to you that Váli, born before Odin married Freya, had not sought vengeance for Baldur and instead was ordered to keep an eye over the blind god. He had been good friends with the now deceased god for longer than you cared to recall; all of Odin’s half giant spawn were either dead or imprisoned now, killed by Thor or chained in a cell by their own father. It was a thought you had had, not frequently as of late, that Odin found the resistance to his manipulations to be completely fostered by the giants. His numerous children gave no evidence to that theory, especially that of Thor, who was pliant to his father’s whims. Those he could not control he did away with.

“He will be fine?” You mumbled, eyes searching endlessly for another cup of ale to steal. “’S not like he said anything bad.”

Sif frowned at you where Odin could not see. “To you, perhaps. But to Odin, it was the same as treason. He was the one who kept the mistletoe that killed Baldur. And stop drinking; I should not have let you drink the first one.”

As you opened your mouth to give her a drunken reply, Heimdall emerged from the crowd. His face was deceptively blank, but his eyes spoke for him—they shifted and blazed with anger, contempt, disgust. At everyone around him and at you, especially, for to him you were the cause of all of this. You closed your mouth with an audible clack of teeth.

Sif was quick to let go of you, melting seamlessly into the crowd to reemerge at Thor’s side to Odin’s general left. Heimdall took her place, one hand tight around your bicep and squeezing so hard that you thought you heard the bones groan in protest. Or perhaps that the sound of your mind trying to process anything at all was what you were hearing instead.

“How dare you humiliate me like this.” His gaze was focused entirely on Odin as he gestured for the crowd to gather tight around the both of you, his attention diverted for the moment. You tried to rip your arm from his grip, but he was holding on too tightly and he was, unfortunately, the only thing keeping you upright. “The marriage I would be forced to tolerate. But this? I should punish you for this.”

The buzzing in your blood was not so pleasant as anger replaced the thoughtless stupor you were in. You forced him to look at you, yanking stubbornly on his arm, and you leaned close. He scowled at the smell of wine and ale on your breath. “Anything you could think of doing to me, Odin has already done, you fucking sack of shit.”

He was trembling with rage as you turned your head to face Odin, who was looking down at the both of you from his elevated stance with a look of disapproval. You couldn’t bring yourself to care as your husband-to-be dug his fingers into your arm and resisted strangling you again, this time in front of a crowd of onlookers.

Odin, with a sigh, snapped his fingers and it had the delayed reaction of silencing the crowd and ridding you of your alcohol induced high. It drained from you as quickly as the blood did from your face, the spells rising to the forefront of your mind and removing any trace of the alcohol from your system, leaving you painfully, strikingly sober.

This was not how you intended to listen to your vows.

“Welcome, everyone!” The All-Father lifted both his arm in a fascimile of a hug, as if he was embracing all who stood there. “Today we will witness the union of the Lady Var, goddess of oaths and agreements, and Heimdall, watchman of the gods!” He paused to lift a tankard of ale, produced from only the fates knew where. He raised it high. “Let us drink to their future as a newly wed pair!”

You felt strangely sick as you watched countless people, strangers you didn’t even know, drink to dooming you to a future you didn’t want. Heimdall was still so, so angry beside you, but he was doing a better job of hiding it than you were, using your arm as an outlet and the hand on his sword tight around the hilt. Neither of you wanted this, for vastly different reasons, but you could not even have solidarity in that; this was your fault, and he would continue to blame you for it even if he was wrong.

Odin continued to speak, but his voice had long silenced into a dull roar. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. All you could imagine was waking up, one day, not in your own bed, but to Heimdall. To him strangling you as you slept. To him being near you, touching you, sliding between your legs and forcing you to endure him because that was to be your duty as his wife. Your grip on the flowers faltered. The crowd jeered at something he said, something foul and illicit and heavily suggestive, but you were not listening. You were lost to the images of a future you did not want, to the idea of raising a child with the man who despised you more than anything else in the Nine Realms, and unbidden, tears rose to your eyes. You did not want a child who sought its fathers approval like Heimdall, like Baldur and Thor. You did not want to be the mother that tried, and failed, to protect them, like Freya. You would not be able to. It would break you more than the collar, would ruin you.

“I do,” Heimdall’s voice echoed. You snapped out of your reverie, the spell forcing your tears back and out of sight, when Odin’s attention turned to you. Heimdall squeezed your arm threateningly.

You cleared your throat. “I do.”

The vows had already been said, and you did not even know the contents of them because you had been stuck in your own head. Cold snuck down the back of your dress and into your spine. Odin had decided your future and you were unaware of what he had stipulated into your marriage. You could only watch, your heart swooping into your stomach, as nearly a dozen vows and oaths sprung into place between yourself and Heimdall, not a gentle and soothing gold, but a violent, bloody red, as red as the flowers in your hair. Magic poured into those bonds, and for a moment, all was silent in your head. And then… faint, at first, you heard something else.

‘Fidelity? I would rather rot in the mud than be faithful to her.’

Slowly, your gaze turned to Heimdall. His eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes narrowed in anger, his foot tapping out a rhythm on the floor. The crowd roared, cheered, raised their cups and toasted you both, but you ignored it all.

What was this you were hearing? The vows shone. Odin allowed the crowd to push you along, Heimdall’s grip on you unceasing as you were pushed and pulled towards the dining table where a formidable feast had been laid out for your perusal. Meats, stews, jerky, honeyed bread, you would have once been eyeing it all, but your focus was reserved for the man tugging you along like you were a doll, pushing past the throng of people towards the table kept for the All-Father’s family.

‘Filthy Midgardians, can’t you see you’re in my way?! Move! Why the All-Father allowed you vermin into the walls, I do not know—“

Like the high tide, the realization crept upon you slowly. You ate, drank, put questionable pieces of organs into your mouth that you were not sure were anything but delicacies, but your attention was unmovable, your mind and gaze seated on the side of Heimdall’s face.

‘Why in the Hel is she staring at me like that?’

The collar did not feel so heavy as you passed the lengths through your fingertips, your other hand tight around the width of your cup. Sif and Thor were well into their paces before you had even considered eating, Odin was absent at the table, and anyone important was either too drunk to notice your lack of attention or had left as the night progressed.

‘I swear to the Norns, she is just asking to be hurt—‘

You were hearing Heimdall’s thoughts. But he, just like before, could not hear yours.

A wicked little smile crept across your lips. Oh, Odin, you have no idea what a mistake you have made, indeed.

| next.

taglist: @versiesleeps

#heimdall x reader #gow heimdall x reader #god of war x reader #god of war heimdall #god of war ragnarok #gow ragnarok #god of war #gow heimdall x female reader #.perennial

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redeemingvillains · 9 months

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the soul's brand (iv) - draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x half-blood fem!reader

summary: hogwarts throws a ball that brings a heightened awareness to the feelings draco has for you.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: screaming and kicking my feet in the air for this chapter!

chapter three series masterlist

The staff and professors did a marvelous job trying to keep Hogwarts a safe haven and a welcome distraction, doing it as much for the students as for themselves. As the last breaths of autumn swirled frosty air on the grounds, they had the idea of having a ball. They knew that winter break would be here before long and that students would be returning home to face the real world; it would be a gift to give them a night of carefree fun.

The afternoon that Flitwick broke the news to your house, the common room erupted and Luna and your friends quickly dissolved into eager chatter about dates and dresses. You chimed in amiably. You were excited to have something to look forward to before returning home, but it was met with some anxiety about who you would go with. In your Fourth Year you had all decided to go to the Yule Ball as a group of friends, it seemed better that way, but you could tell that a lot had changed since then and your friends were now eager to go with a proper date, which meant you needed one too.

The excitement was so palpable around the ball that it didn’t take long for couples to start pairing off, everyone eager to find a suitable match and not to be left alone. Sure enough, within a couple of days, Cormac McLaggen pulled you aside on the way out of Ancient Runes. You knew him well enough from all of the Gryffindors you hung out with and the fact that he played quidditch with Ron and Harry. You had the same general group of friends but he had never pulled you aside to speak one on one like this before. You tried to shoot Hermione a ‘Help Me!’ look as she walked by but she simply smiled and shot you a thumbs up before abandoning you.

“Y/N” Cormac started, getting your attention as you smiled at him. “I was hoping you might do me the honor of being my date to the ball?” Your mouth ran dry and your palms felt clammy. There was no reason to say no. He was perfectly lovely and honestly would probably make a great date, but part of you couldn’t bear to say yes. You were holding onto the tiniest thread, the smallest possibility that maybe a certain blonde Slytherin would ask you. His demeanor had certainly changed this term, and for once it didn’t seem out of the realm of possibility.

“Uhm, can I think about it?” you asked kindly.

“Certainly” he said, blushing slightly, whether out of embarrassment or something else you weren’t sure.

“I promise, I’ll let you know soon” you said, trying to lift his spirits.

“Thanks” he replied, smiling genuinely as he walked away.

Your friends begged you relentlessly to say yes. Cormac was a catch in their eyes and they were sure to remind you of his many attractive qualities over the next couple of days. Needing a break from it all, you snuck into the library, to your favorite quiet corner to read with sizable window seat and a view over the lake. You watched the snow fall gently, blanketing the world in white as you lay your head back, enjoying the solitude.

Draco had had the same idea, exhausted of Pansy pestering him about going together and his friends agonizing over every new couple. He sought solitude in the library when he saw you framed in the large window. The shimmer from the snow set your face in an angelic glow. You worried your bottom lip with your teeth, deep in thought and he couldn’t tear his gaze away from your lips, your long eyelashes that fluttered against your rosy cheeks, your hair, your everything. He realized too late his feet were moving towards you before his brain could register what he possibly had to say.

Movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention as Draco approached you, clearing his throat and holding up his book by way of excuse. “Looks like we had the same idea" he said. You smiled at that. Your shared love of reading used to be one of your favorite things about him. You tucked your feet under you to make room for him on the window seat and he sat facing you, but glancing out the window.

“This ball is driving me insane” he said after a moment’s silence. Your heart skipped a beat at his chosen topic of conversation.

“Mm, yeah” you said, laughing quietly. “Everyone’s lost their head… it feels so complicated.”

“Right?” he replied genuinely. “Like it should be so much easier to just pick a date and have a good time.”

You laughed at that again and he turned to face you, meeting your eyes. Your knees were inches from his, and this was probably the longest time you’d spent in such close contact with him, your body humming and tingling in response. Your heart was beating so fast and so hard you were sure he could see it through your sweater and you tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, nervous under his gaze.

“Y/N” he said then, leaning forward, placing a hand on your knee. You could feel his warmth through your leggings. Was this really happening?

“Just – try to have a good time. Don’t let it get to your head. Don’t let anyone ruin it for you. I’m sure there are loads of good blokes lined up to take you. Just, have as much fun as you can.”

He looked like he was trying to say something more between his words that you couldn’t pick up on. His eyes flitted imperceptibly to your lips before he quickly pulled away, righting his suit jacket and wandering back towards a darker corner of the library.

It was the best he could do. It was the most he could say without saying it all. Have as much fun as you can because next term, I am going to do something so unforgivable that neither you nor the rest of the world will look at me the same way again.

This was the beginning of the end, and you deserved so much better than the reality that was coming for you.

You felt like an idiot for thinking for even a second that Draco Malfoy would be seen with you, a half-blood, on his arm in any public function, anywhere. History be damned, nothing changed. Later that afternoon, you let Cormac know you would go with him and he hugged you genuinely, the joy clear on his face. By the time word of your coupling reached the Slytherin common room, Draco had resigned himself to going with Pansy, but that didn’t mean the news didn’t cut like a knife in his gut. Cormac was a good guy and a good quidditch player if not a little full of himself. Draco should be happy for you. But all he wanted to do was pout and scowl, which he did with practiced ease.

As the ball approached, the deep, overwhelming sadness and embarrassment you had felt at your dashed hopes of a date with Draco simmered. It simmered and it grew from pain into white-hot anger.

Draco didn’t want to go with you? He didn’t want to be seen with a “mudblood”? Fine. You would go with Cormac and you would make Draco regret every waking moment of it. Your newfound anger and bitterness felt good, felt like you were in control and could wield the power for once instead of being helpless, always on the receiving end of disappointment. Fragile. The victim. Hermione picked up on your change in demeanor, happy at first that you seemed excited to go with Cormac, to shop for a dress and new shoes, but realizing perhaps a little too late what it was all about.

You picked out the perfect dress, a deep emerald, Draco’s favorite. It was floor-length with an open back and a steep thigh-high slit up the side that gave a tantalizing view of your long legs. You paired it with three-inch heels, thanking Merlin that Cormac would be tall enough to accompany you in them. You teased your hair so it fell in luscious waves over your shoulder and spent more than twice as long as you ever had putting the finishing touches on your makeup. The end result was stunning. You were going to bring this boy to his knees.

Your friends gushed over your outfit, your hair, your makeup, chiming in on what a lucky guy Cormac would be, thinking that all the extra effort was for him. Hermione simply gave you a knowing look, not judging, just noticing as she pressed a friendly kiss to your cheek as you met up in the hallway. “Absolutely stunning” she said.

When you met up with Cormac outside of the Great Hall, he immediately flushed red from his cheeks to the tips of his ears and you worried for a moment that you may have pushed it a little too far. For someone always so sure of himself, he stumbled clumsily over his words. “Y-you l-look lovely, Y/N, stunning, really. I-Wow. We make a good pair” he said, recovering nicely. And he wasn’t the only one who thought so as a sea of whispers and murmurs followed your entrance into the hall.

Draco heard you before he saw you. That is, he heard the murmurs in the crowd and Blaise say beside him “Merlin’s Beard would you look at McLaggen and Y/N, she is on fire tonight boys.”

Draco turned to take you in and nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

‘On fire’ didn’t even scratch the surface.

Your thick lashes were set against eye makeup that made your eyes pop, your cheeks were pink with excitement and your lips were shiny and glossed. Your hair was pillowed in soft waves and you were in a tight-fitting dress with a ridiculous slit down the front revealing your bare legs. My color he thought to himself absently as he reveled in the way the emerald green sat on your skin like pure perfection. He simultaneously wanted to cover you with his jacket and pull you back to his dormitory. He watched you like a man bewitched, unaware that he was open-mouthed staring until Pansy slapped his arm and tugged him onto the dance floor, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing herself into him.

You were making the best of the situation at hand, trying to focus on Cormac and getting through the night. He was a perfectly acceptable date, but from the moment you entered the Great Hall you could feel a pair of grey eyes on you like a hex on the back of your neck. You hoped your plan was working. Draco looked so handsome in his new all-black suit that you felt a physical ache in your body, like it was rejecting the distance between you.

After several dances, you managed to steal a glance between the moving bodies and felt a burning in your throat and behind your eyes as you saw Draco’s attention was monopolized by the woman in his arms. Pansy was pressing herself against him, in an emerald dress of her own, leaving almost no space between them, nearly nose to nose. And that is when you finally realized, finally accepted that this was a lost cause. That no amount of makeup, curled hair, high heels or green dresses was going to change a thing. You willed yourself not to cry even as you felt the tears in your eyes. How could you be so stupid?

He tried to focus, to avoid being utterly rude to his date but the picture of you was seared in his mind like the bright flash of a camera that left black spots in his vision.

You, in emerald green.

Did she do that on purpose? he thought. He stole glances between moving bodies as McLaggen led you onto the dance floor, he watched as your eyes traced his face, as his hands glided down your back over your bare skin.

Pansy pulled herself closer to him and he suddenly felt hot and stuffy, his suit and perfectly knotted tie like a straightjacket and a chokehold. He tugged at his collar, his mind racing. McLaggen. What right did he have? What made him such a good date? Did he know that your favorite color was blue? That you were afraid of thunder and lightning? That the first time you tried to ride a bike, you fell and skinned your knee? Of course not. He didn’t know any of that. But Draco did. He was the one that learned the charm to turn the white daisies in the field blue for you, he was the one that hugged you the morning after a thunder storm, reassuring you that it would be okay, he was the one that conjured bubbles that sang when they popped after you fell off your bike to make you laugh. He did. She should be with me he thought suddenly.

You realized too late that you wouldn’t be able to control your emotions. Hoping to save your dignity, you whispered curtly “I’m so sorry, Cormac, would you excuse me?” and holding yourself up by the very last thread of strength you had, you walked quickly and purposefully off the dance floor, towards the doorway, fighting every urge to run.

She should be with me, Draco thought, but as he lifted his head to find you, you were gone. Cormac stood alone on the dance floor looking dumfounded and Draco followed his line of sight to the door just as you pushed past several people to make it through the entrance. Draco quickly stepped away amidst frustrated cries from Pansy and let his feet follow you without hesitation, dipping in and out of the crowd unseen. He burst into the hallway, caught the slightest glimpse of you taking off around a corner and hurried after you.

You let your feet carry you without thinking, seeking solitude and a place to think. So many people littered the castle in the throes of the party that you resigned yourself to a hallway open to the outdoors that aligned one of the courtyards, the biting wind and snow flurries enough to scare people away and wake you up. You let out a shaky breath that puffed in front of you, frantically wiping the tears that poured unwillingly from your eyes, desperate to save your makeup, your strength, this night.

You were exasperated when you heard the door open and close behind you, wondering who would be crazy enough to be outside too and you turned just as a head of bright blonde hair came around the corner. No. You thought to yourself. Please, anyone but him. Not now. You sucked in a deep breath, straightening up.

“Draco?” you called, arms crossed against your body in frustration and cold. “What are you doing out here?”

“Looking for you” he said simply, as surprised to hear the truth coming from his own lips as you looked to hear it. “I saw McLaggen… saw you leave…I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Your cheeks flushed at the idea that anyone had seen that play out, least of all Draco.

“Well, I’m fine. Just wanted some fresh air is all. You can go back to the ball, back to Pansy” you said, trying not to sound bitter and jealous and failing miserably.

He was quiet for a moment. “You’re doing me a favor, really. I think I’m better off out here. I haven’t been the best date.”

You looked up at him, doubt etched on your face, still angry but admittedly curious. “I have a very hard time believing that, Draco” you replied, gesturing at his overall put-togetheredness, his suit, his perfect hair, his everything.

“I don’t think my company was the problem as much as the fact that she could tell hers wasn’t what I wanted.” He walked closer to you and saw your chin quivering, which he thought was from the cold until he saw a few tears escape down the side of your face. You wiped furiously at them as they dripped unrelenting, a dam of pressure building up behind your eyes that was threatening to break. He reached out slowly and brushed the pad of his thumb against your cheek, no longer thinking about what he was doing or the consequences, just wanting to touch you, to make you feel better, like he used to.

“You look breathtakingly beautiful” he said quietly. “I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you. That dress… that color… it suits you.”

“Draco” you whispered, a plea, a prayer, a question with a thousand more behind it.

He tried to come up with the words to say, an explanation to make it all make sense, to verbalize how he felt, how he had felt for years, what was going through his mind, how you had begun to eclipse his every thought and he could only come up with one way to answer you. He ran his fingers down your jaw, his presence now overbearingly close, his cologne overtaking you. He tilted your chin up gently to face him and his lips ghosted over yours, touching them only slightly, barely. Your breathing was erratic, causing your chest to visibly rise and fall, straining against him. He wasn’t teasing you so much as he was letting the moment last as long as he could bear it, relishing in it, never wanting it to end but so desperately seeking the release on the other side. In the end, it was you that relented, pressing forward slightly to close the distance.

At first, he kissed you like you would break, so tender, so gently, so soft. It was such a stark contrast to his entire aura, his entire being, his tough exterior, that your brain could hardly comprehend it. His hand cupped the side of your face, pulling you toward him and every inch of your body met his, your arms finally unfurling to wrap around his neck. The feeling of you pressed against him broke the last ounce control he was struggling to hold onto as his tongue traced your bottom lip, opening you up to him. He tasted like champagne and your head was dizzy as he walked you backwards, lips never leaving yours, pressing you gently into the stone wall behind you; the cool brick contrasting with his warm body caging you in. Your tongues tangled as your fingers wrapped into the hair at the base of his neck, eliciting a groan deep in his chest that curled your toes as you pulled him into you, impossibly closer.

It could have been minutes, it could have been hours that you lost yourselves in each other when the sounds of footsteps and shouts down a nearby hall snapped you both back to reality. As you pulled back reluctantly, you took in the look in his eyes, desire etched in them in the way they were eclipsed by his dark pupils. He had an uncanny blush on his porcelain skin and he ran a thumb over his lips, now swollen with your kisses. He glanced briefly down the corridor, then back at you, smirking mischievously before you both broke into a fit of comfortable laughter that reminded you of the way things used to be.

He rested his forehead against yours, his fingers reaching to tangle in your own. He tried to hold onto the moment, but it was like floo powder slipping through his fingers. He was being unimaginably selfish. He couldn’t do this with you.

Always so attuned to him, you noticed the change in his demeanor almost immediately. “Draco” you whispered, trying to call him back to you. Don’t do this you thought desperately. Don’t you pull away from me. He looked at you, the grey smoke back in his eyes that screamed of frustration, of pain and of guilt. “I-I can’t do this” he said finally, pulling back, letting your hand fall to your side.

“What do you mean?” you said, wanting to kick yourself for how desperate you sounded. That same tone in your voice nearly brought Draco to his knees. He was hurting you all over again, just like he did on the train platform in your first year when he didn’t hug you back.

“I’m sorry” he said, turning to walk away.

Only this time, you weren’t going to let him.

“No” you said sternly, stepping after him, grasping his wrist in your hand and pulling him back to face you and frantically pressing your lips to his again. You knew he felt something and you were desperate to make him confront it. His resolve weakened as he took you in his arms again. He could turn away from a hug when he was eleven, he couldn’t turn away from this as he grasped your face, kissing you back earnestly. You pulled away. “You don’t get to do that to me anymore. Please. Talk to me, Draco. Don’t pull away from me again. Whatever it is, whatever this is, we can figure it out. I’m here for you, I’m always here for you.”

“That’s the problem” he said, stepping back slightly, his voice rising.

You looked at him, baffled, as he continued, “You’re here for me, but I can’t be there for you. I’m not good for you, Y/N. This isn’t safe. I’m… dangerous. To everyone, but especially to you.”

“I’m the one who gets to decide that for myself” you said strongly. "I’m tired of this world feeding us a narrative of fear, of living in constant anxiety about what’s around every corner, about who we can and cannot trust. I’m done fighting it. I’ve known you for more than five years, Draco, and even when every other person tells me that I should be afraid of you, even when you tell me I should be afraid of you, I know in my heart I have nothing to fear. You would never hurt me.”

“But other people will. People… I’m associated with…” his voice dropped to barely a whisper as pain wracked his face. “…My parents…” he said finally.

“You are not your parents, Draco. You never have been.” His face scrunched in anguish at that, his head falling at words he had never allowed himself to believe. You had managed to see right through him, to the very center of his guilt and shame.

“I’ve changed” he tried to argue further, “I’m not the little boy you used to know.”

“Good” you said resolutely, and he lifted his head at that. “He never wanted to share his pumpkin pasties with me anyway.” He let out a quiet, unexpected laugh and wiped at the tears brimming his eyes with his sleeve. You tugged him forward and looped your arms around his neck, and he return the hug, the tension leaving his body in your embrace as you nuzzled into his neck. It was the first time in months he felt calm as you rubbed circles in his back, your perfume covering him like a blanket.

“You can’t be seen with me” he said quietly. “I don’t want to walk away from you but I don’t know how to keep you safe, and you unequivocally cannot be seen with me.”

“We’ll figure something out” you whispered, your breath hot against his neck. “Just, no more pulling away from me. We find a way to see each other, every day, in the middle of the night if we have to, and we tell each other everything” you felt him tense at that as he pulled away to look at you.

“There’s so much you don’t know…” he started, his forearm writhing like it knew he was talking about the mark on his arm.

“And we have plenty of time to catch up” you said resolutely.

No, we don’t, he thought, until you strained on your tiptoes to press your lips against his gently.

After some time, you adjusted your lipstick, your hair and your dress, as Draco shot you a wink loving just how disheveled you looked from his lips and his wandering hands before pressing a kiss to your cheek and heading back to the ball. You followed a few minutes later and found Cormac, apologizing profusely to him, and letting him know straight out that you were only interested in a platonic relationship. He was clearly disappointed and slightly confused but took it in stride and you spent the rest of the night with your friends. Hermione shot you daggers across the table, perhaps the only person to have registered your swift exit and the boy that ran after you.

That night you told her everything in silent whispers outside of your common room. She was undeniably shocked, gasping and covering her mouth when you revealed that Draco had kissed you… multiple times. But she remained ever the steadfast friend, hugging you warmly, expressing her excitement for you but not without a look of cautious pity that said Merlin please make sure this girl doesn’t do anything more extremely stupid than she’s already done...

chapter five series masterlist

taglist: @moiravim

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy fluff #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy x you #draco lucius malfoy #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter

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dark-elf-writes · 1 year

Note

So how would Hisashi feel about Izuku’s pronouns? Does he insist that Izuku is his son? Does he not care?

Maybe he thinks it means Izuku knows their not a person, just a weapon for him to wield. Like calling someone it (not my opinion about they/them pronouns at all but he’s an ass so I thought it might fit).

AND Izuku having protection runes tattooed, cut, carved, or branded into him. I read this one fic where a character had them carved into his bones and filled with metal, so maybe that if we’re being extra gruesome today that could be done too. There’s probably some shady people with the rights quirks their dad could have contacted to make it happen.

Doctor: Snipe, we found some weird things on your kids X-Ray. Do you know wha-

Izuku: Oh, those are my runes! My dad had a man carve them into my bones and a woman fill them with blessed metal while I was awake so that a demon could never affect me :)

Snipe: I have never regretted keeping my restraint and not killing someone more in my life.

Doctor: I know I’ve taken medical oaths but… if you send me an address I could do something about the problem.

Short answer: not great. Hisashi is a whole bitch and is clinging to this idea of a family that died with his wife which included a little boy. He only refers to a Izuku as his son.

I could definitely see it. Izuku’s quirk is an active danger to demons and any of the other monsters in Japan to the point that pretty much everyone would want them dead. But that also sets up an issue like

Izuku: they put metal in my bones :D

Doctor: we were about to give you an mri

Izuku: Um? Okay? Why is that an issue??

Snipe: Big fucking magnet

Izuku: Oh… yeah okay I guess that makes sense.

#the elf talks #mha #bnha #spn #hunter au #Izuku who once fixed their own broken bones with duct tape and a broken branch #has never been to a doctor since the age of like five #no idea how bad any of it is

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witchywomanrunningupthathill · 2 years

Text

Borgin & Burkes

Pairing: Regulus x reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Description: A summer job at Borgin & Burkes takes a turn when Regulus Black bustles through the door soaking wet and searching for horcruxes.

Warnings: none

A/N: Brand-spanking new tag list at the bottom! Let me know if you'd like to be added to it!

It was an unusually hot summer day in the U.K. The forty-degree weather had sequestered most people inside their homes by the nearest fan or to the closest body of water. But (un)luckily for you, the heat was no matter as you stood behind the front counter of Borgin & Burkes sorting through a chest of random artefacts that were either haunted, cursed, or both. By now, it’s half three, and like most hellishly hot days, a thunderstorm was quickly making its way over London. Although you couldn’t see the darkening sky, the telltale rumbles of thunder grew louder by the minute. Heavy rain begins to fall, drops pelting the roof of the old building.

You pull out an iron spike from the chest, followed by a small velvet box with a ruby necklace inside that couldn’t be any less than ninety-six carats. At the bottom is a small phonograph, although you decide not to try and play it because upon touching it, rage bubbles up inside you. The last item is a brown alligator skin diary that has seen better days. The center of the book is almost destroyed and shows signs of having been singed. Someone’s curse probably rebounded; you think.

Often, you found yourself questioning why exactly you had chosen to work in this dusty, old shop with your dodgy bosses and cursed magical artefacts. Perhaps it was worth the two galleons an hour, though. Plus, your flat was close, granted it was also on Knockturn Alley, right above a pub. But the older witch who owned the building was nice enough to you, and the one-bedroom was spacious enough for you to spread out on the living room floor every evening and read to your heart’s content.

As you take inventory of the items, filling in a long grid drawn on a piece of parchment, the bell at the front door rings. You look up to see a tall, raven-haired boy rush through the entrance, escaping the barrage of rain outside. He’s soaking wet and nearly out of breath. The door slams shut behind him as he attempts to comb his hair back with his fingers and wipe a few stray water droplets from his rain cloak that’s been rendered useless.

“Um, hello…”

“Hi, how can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a…erm…magical artefact,” Regulus says, eyes traveling down to the items inside one of the glass displays.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” you deadpan.

Regulus gathers the resolve to meet your gaze again. “It’s a locket I’m trying to find…”

You’ve seen him before. Those Black family features were recognizable anywhere—obsidian locks, razor-sharp bone structure, and the grey-green eyes that beckon you to see what’s behind them but at the same time seem to whisper “stay away.”

“Do I know you?”

“I don’t know, do you?”

You let out a huffed laugh while studying him for a moment longer.“ You were the git that corrected me during that OWL revision in Ancient Runes! Always sat in the back with Crouch…”

Regulus’ eyebrows draw up. “Oh, wait I remember you. You’re Ehwaz Girl!”

You roll your eyes. “Oh Merlin, be quiet! They’re so similar – Ehwaz, Eihwaz – whatever! Do you know how much time I spent memorizing those blasted runes?” Regulus laughs as you continue your rant.

“Professor Babbling almost laughed in my face after you corrected me!”

“To be fair, there is a huge difference between partnership and yew tree. I’d expect any Ravenclaw at the top other class to know that,” Regulus challenges.

“I’m not afraid to hex you so hard that you won’t be able to cast another rune again! We’re on Knockturn, not Diagon Alley, Black” you retort.

Regulus cocks an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh, is that right? You want to have a go? You’ve seen me duel—I’ve got fantastic stamina!” he goads.

You stand, shaking your head at the haughty wizard’s audacity. “Maybe after we find this locket,” you say.

“Whatever you want, Eihwaz,” Regulus replies with a smirk.

You walk to the end of the counter, opening the mini-door and locking it back with a flick of your hand then heading for the spiral staircase. You stop and turn back around when you don’t hear the boy’s footsteps. His eyes travel from artefact to artefact as he tries to hide a frown.

“You coming, Black?” He looks up, his frown relaxing into neutrality. “Oh, um…you might want to have your wand out, just personal experience…” Regulus quickly follows, pulling his wand from the inside of his cloak.

Entering the back room of Borgin & Burkes is a lot like any young witch or wizard encountering their first boggart. You might have a few ideas as to what may pop out at you, and you most definitely will be paralyzed for a moment from the sheet shock of whatever it is you see. Borgin & Burkes isn’t what one would call a “controlled” environment like that of Hogwarts or Ilvermorny. However, you might actually encounter harm in this case. Like getting attacked by a baby Manticore. Or smothered and eaten by a Lethifold. It depends on the day, really.

“We don’t usually let customers back here…but I suppose I’ll make an exception for you.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re used to special treatment, aren’t you?”

Regulus briefly remembers the previous night at Malfoy, surrounded by the rest of his fellow Death Eaters. He remembers how the Dark Lord had said that he’d chosen someone to lead his next attack – a kidnapping of the Head Unspeakable of the Department of Mysteries who’d taken kindly to many of the muggle-born wizards and witches working in the Ministry. He remembers how his heartrate sped up, how his chest puffed out slightly and how his chin rose just that much higher in anticipation as the Dark Lord called out the name of his best friend, Evan Rosier, not his own. He remembers how he tried to hide his embarrassment as he sat next to the Rosier wizard, nodding and shouting out yeas of approval along with everyone else. He remembers how he almost quite literally leaped at the opportunity to volunteer Kreacher as soon as the Dark Lord said he was in need of a house elf. He’d heard whispers about a locket that had belonged to Salazar Slytherin, but he had no idea of what use it would be to the Dark Lord.

“Not exactly…”

“So, what does this locket in question look like?”

“It’s…erm” Regulus pauses to clear his throat. “It’s pure gold. And it’s engraved with a serpentine “S’. The pendant is yellow…golden…pretty sure it’s citrine. I do suppose it could also be yellow diamond, though, considering its original owner…the ‘S’ engraving’s got gems on it too. Emeralds.”

“Alright…” you reply, looking along the walls of shelves packed with miscellaneous items. You opt for a series of shelves near one of the room’s back corners, carefully scanning shelf by shelf. “The jewelry and stuff is over here usually,” you explain.

“To my understanding, Burke bought the locket from Merope Guant. I’m honestly not sure if it’s here or not because I couldn’t find anything else on its whereabouts, if any, after Burke purchased it.”

You stand in silence, wand in hand, contemplating casting a spell and looking stupid, or settling for her non-magical eyesight and the one thousand-page Items Ledger logging each item stocked and sold.

“Accio locket,” you cast. Nothing happens. You shrug.

“I’d think even you would know better than to accio anything in this place…” Regulus remarks snidely.

“Do you want my help or not? Because the door is right back that way,” you say pointing back down the staircase you’d traveled up minutes ago.

Regulus reaches to one of the higher shelves, gliding his hand from left to right in midair, sorting through necklaces, bracelets, and rings. He continues like this for a while. You continue your search across the room.

Twenty minutes later, you both come up empty-handed. You sigh, knowing that the next best option is looking through the Items Ledger. It’s sitting at the opposite corner of the storage room and is about as thick as all of your Hogwarts textbooks stacked on top of each other.

“Let’s go to plan B,” you say as you walk over to the closed ledger.

It’s dusty, yet it’s impossible to know how because neither Borgin nor Burke let any item be brought into the shop without it being logged. You blow the dust from it, causing Regulus to back away, squinting his eyes and waving away particles of dust from his face. You open the front cover to a tan-paged ledger that seems to go on forever. Turning page after page, nothing seems to pop out about a locket.

Hand of Glory, Raven cane…

By page 98, realization strikes.

“Agh wait, I forgot. This book – it’s a Librovoz, it recognizes your voice so you can use it to manipulate it.” Regulus nods, looking at you expectantly. “It—erm…she…the book, her name is Janet. She likes when you refer to her properly…”

“Didn’t believe a book could be so high maintenance.” As Regulus says this, the book flips itself shut.

“Shhh! She can hear you, Black!”

Regulus raises his hands in surrender. “Sorry! Sorry…erm…Janet.”

You shake your head at the wizard then direct your attention back to the sentient ledger. “Search for locket,” you say to the book. “Please?”

The book opens, flips iits pages for a moment until it stops on page 354. Both of them scan the pages but find nothing but a “Deadly Mandrake Root Lock,” nothing about a “locket.” Your eyebrows furrow as you contemplate where to go next.

“Maybe it’s under a name?” Regulus offers. He tucks a loose piece of hair behind his ear.

“Search Slytherin,” you say. The book doesn’t budge.

“Search Guant.”

The book flips for a moment longer, stopping on page 888. Right on the second row of the ledger reads “No. (unlisted) Guant Pendant.” You and Regulus look up at one another.

“Cryptic…I guess I should’ve expected that from Burke,” you announce.

Regulus hums in agreement reading the rest of the entry. “It says it’s on Aisle 33, Shelf M,” he reads. Regulus doesn’t see any other entries with items categorized to Shelf M either. M for Marvolo, perhaps, he wonders.

As you walk to Aisle 33, the book slams shut, so as to say “you’re welcome” to the duo.

Shelf M is empty.

“Maybe Burke took it back? Kept it as his own and forgot to remove it from the book?”

Regulus shrugs, but distress flashes on his face briefly.

“It’s possible.” He lets out a huff. “Salazar, I just don’t know where else it might be if not here. I mean, it could quite literally be anywhere if you haven’t got it stocked here…” He runs a hand through his hair and looks up at the other shelves in silence. “Has anyone else worked here besides Borgin and Burke?”

“Well…me.”

“Obviously you,” he scoffs. “I mean before you, Eihwaz.”

You glare at him. “I don’t know! Um…I mean…” Then it strikes you. Merlin, how could I have forgotten that!

Borgin & Burkes prided itself on buying and selling ancient artefacts, most of which could never have any benevolent energy attributed to them. They were opportunists, procuring magical items by any means necessary and regardless of the power they possessed or danger they posed. So, it makes sense why Tom Marvolo Riddle would exploit their opportunistic proclivities by taking a job there. The place is shrouded in dark magic. Of course, the bloody Dark Lord had swept through here. Even if he hadn’t yet been the malevolent dark wizard into which he had transformed himself.

“Tom Riddle,” you say.

Regulus raises his eyebrows at your answer. He should’ve expected this. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Regulus was a clever boy, prided himself on it. How had he failed to put that together?

“What do you know about Horcruxes?”

You frown, shaking your head in confusion as you run your hand along Shelf M. “Um…nothing. Should I?”

“For your purposes, yes.”

“Our purposes? Didn’t know I was a part of your…well…what exactly are you doing?” you say as your pinky finger brushes against something small and solid. “Hold on, what’s this?” You pick up the object from the shelf, bringing it between yourself and Regulus. A smooth, tiny emerald. “You said the locket has emeralds, right?”

“Yes! It’s just…what can we do with this? It’s only one tiny piece.”

You grin mischievously. “Lucky for you, poncy rich boy, I can do psychometry. If I can sense this stone’s energy and get something from it—”

“Bloody hell, how do you work in a place like this then?”

“Anti-sensitivity charm,” you say, wiggling your fingers in the air and winking. “It’s worn off though…”

“Well, are you getting anything?”

You hear the sound of waves crashing. Darkness fills your mind’s eye for a moment until an image flashes before you.

“I hear waves…and I see um…a mountain? No…or…a cave? It’s a cave. There’s people walking…children,” another image appears, “two children lying dead. It looks like it was done with magic…corpses…hundreds of them…Merlin!” Then you see it. Him. You shudder, dropping the emerald, which Regulus swoops down to catch.

“What is it? Was it him?” he practically begs.

You nod, spooked, and let out a sigh of relief from no longer holding the gem. Regulus rolls the emerald between his thumb and middle finger as you process in silence. You have no clue how much time has gone by.

“What’s all this to you, then, hm?” you ask.

Regulus hesitates for a moment before clearing his throat. “The locket…it’s no use to me, really. It’s a bit complicated, you see.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I…well I didn’t know what exactly I’d find coming in here. A month ago, I didn’t even know what I was searching for…”

“Black, you’re not making any sense!”

“I…He…I have to find a way to destroy it. I have to.”

“Why?”

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me. Or trust me.”

“The Wizengamot is still out on my trust in you. But, mate, I work in a shop full of dark magical artefacts. At this point, nothing would surprise me!”

“Alright, well…the locket. I believe it may contain a part of the Dark Lord’s soul." You stay silent, mouth slightly ajar, watching him hesitate. “I’m still trying to figure all of this out, and I don’t have much time to do so.”

“Merlin…”

“A copy…is it possible to make a copy of the locket here?”

“Erm…I imagine, yes. But we need the original.”

“Then help me.”

“What?”

“Help me figure this out. I’ve got loads of research on dark magic back at home—”

“Look, I get it, but I really need this job…”

Regulus reaches into the front of his cloak and throws a tiny burgundy sack your way. You pull the top open. Gold.

“You’re bribing me? That’s low…even for you, Black.”

“You need the money, right?”

“Did you have to go to your family vault for this?”

Regulus scoffs. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Fine.”

You walk back to the front of the shop, ripping a piece of paper from the Daily Prophet sitting on the counter and pulling a quill from nearby. You write your address and hand the torn piece of paper to Regulus.

“Meet me in an hour at this address. It’s a block down from here. And bring whatever research you’ve got, books, whatever.” Regulus smirks. “And you aren’t sparing any more details from me now, Black.”

“That’ll be up to me to decide…” he says before letting out a yawn. Two hours had passed since he entered the artefact emporium.

“Tired already? Thought you had, what was it, ‘fantastic stamina’?”

“One hour, Eihwaz.”

Tag List: @wysleria @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny

#regulus black x reader #regulus black x oc #regulus x reader #regulus x oc #regulus black angst #harry potter fanfiction #regulus black fanfiction #harry potter #hp #regulus black #fanfiction

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jcurneysend · 6 months

Text

Pinned Post: [ WIP ]

MUSE LIST

RULES

Open Starters

Permanent Starter Call

Sprite Icons

WIP ASPECTS:

[ Planning on: Easier Way to See The Muse List & Rules. ]

[ Planning On: Working on Muse Information ]

[ Planning on: Easier Directory Via Tags and whatnot ]

[ Planning On: Making a Proper Promo & Other things ]

Muse Information & Bios Directory: [ wip ]

Ancient Magnus Bride

Attack On Titan

Frieren Beyond Journeys End

Black Butler

Bleach

Blend S

Blue Exorcist

Brand New Animal

Castlevania The Anime

Chainsaw Man

Code Geass

Cyberpunk

Darling In The Franxx

Demon Slayer

Devilman Crybaby

DURARARA!

Fate Grand Order

Fullmetal Alchemist

Foodwars

Gangsta

Goblin Slayer

Hellsing

Highschool of The Dead

Inuyasha & Yasuhime

Jujitsu Kaisten

Kekegurui

Komi San Can't Communicate

Konosuba

My Hero Academia

Mirai Nikki

Miss Kobayashis Dragon Maid

My Life As A Villianess

Naruto

Ouran High School Host Club

Oshi No Ko

Overlord

Panty and Stocking With Garterbelt

Puella Magi Madoka Magica

Re:Zero

Rosario Vampire

Rise Of The Shield Hero

RWBY

Sailor Moon

Silent Voice

Soul Eater

Spy x Family

Studio Ghibli

The Promised Neverland

Toilet Bound Hanako San

Tokyo Ghoul

Toradora

Trigun

Wonder Egg Priority

Hazbin Hotel & Helluva Boss

The Owl House

Vox Machina The Animated Series

Lore Olympus

Ace Attorney

AI: The Somninum Files

Angels Of Death

Bad End Theatre

Baldurs Gate Three

Bayonetta

Bioshock Infinite

Bendy And The Ink Machine

Catherine [ Game ]

Danganronpa

Fanganronpa

Doki Doki Literature Club

Final Fantasy

Fire Emblem

Friday Night Funkin

Harvest Moon

Helltaker

Huniepop

Katawa Shojo

Kirby

Legend of Zelda

Mad Father

Metal Gear Solid

Misao

Monster Prom

Mystic Messenger

Needy Streamer Overload

Nier

Night In The Woods

Octopath Traveller

Okami

Omori

Persona

Rain Code

Resident Evil 8

River City Girls

Rune Factory

Stardew Valley

Stray Gods

Sucker for Love

Super Mario

The Last of Us

Tales of Beseria

The Walking Dead Game

The World Ends With You

Undertale & Deltarune

Witchs House

Your Turn To Die

Zero Time Dilemma & 9 hours 9 Persons 9 Doors & Virtues Last Reward

And OCs tba

#[ Asks ]#[ IC ]#[ OhKaeSays ]#[ Roleplay Promos ]#[ Self Promo ]#[ Roleplay Memes ]

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inquisimer · 2 years

Note

Feeling a bit soft for the Cullenmance. Cullen x Neria Surana Lavellan. Random Ship Dynamics: Consistently cold x A very cuddly person who just happens to be warm

this prompt was SO my brand, thank you Wren🥰🥰

some somft established relationship for @dadrunkwriting tonight

~~~

“Why do you wear this…thing?”

Neria padded around Cullen’s desk, the report she was meant to be reviewing forgotten on a side table. She plucked a stray thread and some fuzz off his mantle and threaded her fingers in the ridiculous fluff of the garment, sliding her arms around his neck and tucking her chin over one shoulder.

His attention hardly wavered. “Hmm?”

With a smooth snap of her wrists, Neria jerked the mantle from his shoulders, stepping back so she came well out of his reach with her prize. Faced with the sudden chill of his office across his shoulders, Cullen’s head finally snapped up. An annoyed grimace twisted his face.

“Why do you wear this monstrosity?” Neria repeated, swinging it around her own shoulders. It dwarfed her comically, like a child playing dress-up with their parents’ clothes. It fell to her thighs and practically doubled her girth with floof alone. Cullen’s frustration melted into soft amusement and he rubbed one hand across his tired, half-shaved expression.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’ve made our headquarters in the upper reaches of the Frostback Mountains.” His chair screeched against the stone as he joined her near the bookshelves.

“You don’t know if I’ve noticed?” Neria leaned back and jerked her chin up to where a beam of late-afternoon sun was sneaking down from his loft. “I’m not the one with a hole in my roof.”

“Well that’s why I need the fur,” Cullen plucked the mantle from her shoulders and returned it to his, tucking his chin deep in the fur so only his eyes peeked over the edge. “It saves Inquisition resources and keeps me warm.”

“And what of visitors to this decrepit office of yours?”

Cullen scoffed, settling back into his chair. “You’re like a furnace, love. If you weren’t so functional I’d be carting you off to the healers to treat your fever.”

“Think of your poor scouts,” Neria insisted, even as she slipped back to his side, sidling alongside the chair he hadn’t quite pulled in and tossing her legs across his lap so she could stretch like a cat up around his neck. Her face found purchase under his chin and she made a contented sound. “They can’t be expected to give proper reports if their teeth are chattering.”

“Believe me, the scouts are the last thing on my mind right now,” Cullen murmured. He tucked his chin slightly to press a kiss to the top of her head, then hooked his ankles around one leg of his desk and pulled them close enough that he could catch the half-read report in one hand. His other hand stroked down Neria’s braid almost absentmindedly, but soothing in a way that made her eyes drift shut and a sub-audible hum vibrate her throat.

Her own report stayed forgotten across the room, as she clung to the comfort of his consistent embrace and Cullen held her like the most precious heating rune that ever existed. Neria sighed.

The spat between noble houses in eastern Orlais would hold for a few hours. Someone would need the Inquisitor before long, but for now, she was content to drift, warm and loved, in this space between waking and sleeping.

#dadwc #my writing #dragon age fanfic #dragon age #dai #cullavellan #cullen x inquisitor #cullen x lavellan #oc: neria surana lavellan #neria x cullen #cullen rutherford

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sunder-the-gold · 2 years

Text

Superpowered Minorities are speculative fiction rather than proper allegory

Speculative fiction is great. People need the freedom to escape the real world’s problems and ask themselves, “Hey, wouldn’t it be really cool or fucked up if...?”

But any Aesop-ish moral lessons derived from stories about superpowered minorities are inapplicable to reality.

Bigotry depends on the notion that one demographic is inherently superior to another demographic in some way. Humanity in reality will never achieve peace and harmony without people judging other people solely by the content of their character rather than by their parentage.

Speciesism

Zootopia and Beastars explore bigotry in a world where herbivores dominate modern society through sheer numbers while oppressing the carnivores... whose ancestors used to eat them. In fact, modern carnivores will still sometimes eat other people. There’s a similar situation going on with humans and beastfolk in BNA (Brand New Animal), but with considerably less ‘cannibalism’.

There’s some slight allegorical application with regards to situations like modern Japan fearing revenge from modern China for the abuses ancient Japan heaped upon ancient China, but the Chinese and Japanese are still the same species and Japanese rulers decided to conquer more territory for profit rather than because they needed to eat the Chinese as everyday meals for survival.

Evolution

In X-Men and Starcraft, mutants and psychics are presented as the next and inevitable stage of human evolution. These superpowered individuals find themselves oppressed because they are something new and strange and stronger. Both regular people and the Powers That Be feel threatened by mutants and psychics.

The Powers That Be want to maintain their control over the unwashed masses, and split into various camps. Some of them refuse to believe in the inevitability of mutation and think they can completely stamp this change out of existence. Others seek to exploit and weaponize this mutation as a new tool of oppression and warfare, and attempt to either become mutants themselves or ensure their descendants will be. Either faction benefits from fearmongering regular people into rejecting mutants, so that the unwashed masses do nothing to protect mutants from governmental abduction and eugenics.

I think there are very compelling stories you can tell about that cross-section of intergenerational and class-based conflict, but again, it’s not 100% applicable to reality where no minority or generational demographic can shoot lasers from their eyes or suck the life out of someone else with a casual touch.

Divine Right of Kings Mages

This whole post started from me thinking about Sylas from League of Legends. Oppressed by the nation of Demacia for being born with magical powers, now leading a violent rebellion against the nation that imprisons, deprives, and kills countrymen like him, but Riot Games made the controversial decision that Sylas was not a good person, or even a complicated good person, or even a well-intentioned person mentally-wounded past the point of good judgment.

If Riot Games wants to tell a story of black-and-grey morality, fine. If they want Lux (a mage born into the safety and privilege of nobility) to be the hero instead of low-born, nothing-to-lose Sylas, that’s worth examining but it is not automatically bad.

But otherwise the choice regarding Sylas’ character leaves me asking Riot Games, “Are you trying to say that Demacia is right about magic?”

After all, Demacia’s fear of magic stems from how mages once ruled the world and then nearly destroyed the world in the Rune Wars. Anyone would want to prevent that from happening again.

So, is Demacia right to fear anyone born with magical ability? Are the other nations that embrace magic just setting themselves up for another Rune War?

The flipside of the coin is Avatar: The Last Airbender. Mages (benders) rule the world, but even Sozin’s Comet isn’t as powerful as a World Rune, so the closest thing they had to the Rune War didn’t really destroy the world, especially since the Good Guys won.

But afterwards the benders still rule the world, and an Equalist movement springs up in New Republic City, protesting unfair treatment for people who weren’t born with the magical ability to manipulate one of the four elements.

People’s mileage may vary on how well Legend of Korra sold the idea that non-benders were oppressed, but even without the threat of a Rune War this is still the sort of situation that Demacians could reasonably fear would happen to them if they didn’t pre-emptively oppress the mages born inside their nation.

This isn’t like X-Men or Starcraft. The magical powers of League and Avatar aren’t some new stage of human evolution that will inevitably encompass and uplift all of humanity into a world like My Hero Academia. The magical powers have been around since before recorded history and yet humanity is still divided into “haves” and “have-nots”.

But nothing like this is happening in the real world. No one on Earth is born with the ability to conjure fireballs and lightning bolts. This is not an exact moral issue that real people need to grapple with in the real world.

I’m not even sure that such stories offer anything close to realistic allegories for modern ideas of “natural-born talent” versus “hard work and clever work-arounds”, or about about disabilities and ableism.

It seems based more firmly in old ideas about “the Divine Right of Kings”, where the super-special magical abilities are passed down through special chosen bloodlines or otherwise granted to seemingly random Chosen Ones in the middle of nowhere.

#league of legends #legend of korra #starcraft #x-men #minorities #superpowers #avatar: the last airbender #avatar #zootopia #beastars #oppression #bigotry #bna #brand new animal #sylas #sunder says

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