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screechthemighty · 1 year

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OKAY new chapter of will you greet the daylight looming? is live! Tow-part warning for this one. One: Chunks of this are just a perspective flip of events from the balance of life is in the ripe and ruin, so yes, this is the same dialogue as last time. Two: Related to that, Sindri's current and Kratos's past suicidal ideation are both hinted at, though less explicitly than other fics. At least you guys can go in knowing for sure that one has a happy ending.

AO3 link will be in a reblog, full chapter below, full fic tagged on my blog also!

will you greet the daylight looming? part 3/6: summer

cws: suicidal ideation (hinted), fantasy racism (mentioned). ragnarok spoilers throughout.

“Interesting choice of training weapon.”

The voice still sent a jolt down Kratos’s spine, despite knowing it no longer belonged to an enemy. He fought the urge to summon his own spear as he turned around. Týr stood at the fence, watching his students run through their drills. “But it makes sense,” Týr continued conversationally. “That’s how you would’ve started, right?”

“Hmm.” Kratos still did not know how to react to the true Týr. On the one hand, he was nothing like Odin’s impersonation. There was a thoughtfulness to him that the tyrant had not been able to capture. Kratos could almost picture Týr debating with the philosophers of Greece in his free time. He seemed to have no interest in war or power, but was not so aggressive about it as Odin had depicted. He was simply a man who had fought enough for now, and wished to go home to his family and crops.

But Odin had captured his face and voice perfectly. The memory of that voice going cruel as Odin drove the knife into Brok still haunted Kratos. And then there was the memory of Týr’s treasure room. The bottle of Lemnian wine. The pot with Kratos’s likeness on it,

How much did the war god know?

“You visited Sparta?” Kratos asked carefully.

Týr shook his head. “I only ever knew of it by reputation,” he said. “And I was never sure how much of it was true.”

“If you heard it from an Athenian, it was a lie,” Kratos said immediately.

Týr chuckled. “RIght, and I’m sure you can be trusted to tell the truth about Athens,” he replied.

“They made a great many contributions to Greece. And they were annoying.” And the less said about Athena herself, the better. “I’m surprised I never heard of your visits.”

“Oh, I made a point of keeping to myself. Greece was a beautiful place, but…”

Týr hesitated. Kratos turned his attention to his students. Hopefully, it looked as though he were supervising them, not as though he were avoiding eye contact. “Say what is on your mind,” he said.

“...I never met him directly, but Zeus reminded me of Odin in some ways,” he said. “Not exactly the same, but I left Asgard to avoid thinking about my family.”

“Hmm.” Kratos could see some resemblance. The same obsession with prophecy and habit of stabbing their children, for starters. Same habit of damaging lives with their meddling. It seemed to be a requirement for being king of the gods.

“I’m glad you got out,” Týr added, “for what it’s worth.”

Kratos felt a surge of adrenaline, though he knew no physical attack was coming. It was accompanied by a deep feeling of dread, nausea, revulsion. “That is not how I would put it,” he said.

Týr hesitated again. “I don’t know how else to put it,” he said finally. “I heard of how things ended there, but you could have…stayed, mentally. Remained trapped in it all, spread that distrust and hatred. Instead, you’re doing this.” He nodded towards Kratos’s students. “Helping people. I’ve heard about what you and Freya have been up to. So…you got out, in the end.”

The clarification made sense, and soothed his heightened emotions somewhat. Not entirely, though; his scars still tingled. “I suppose. I only wish…”

Wish I could have done it sooner.

Týr smiled sadly, a look of understanding in his eyes. “Me, too.”

Kratos thought about Týr, held hostage in Niflheim for imagined crimes. He thought of Deimos, bound for sins he hadn’t committed yet, and would never get the chance to commit. He imagined how difficult it must have been to push against an unmoving object like Odin.

He was lucky to be alive at all.

“We are not our fathers’ pasts,” Kratos said quietly.

“Yeah,” Týr said. For the first time, Kratos did not see the threat of Odin in him. For the first time, he saw a possible ally. “I sure hope not.”

There was more to Skjöldr than Kratos had realized.

Kratos had seen glimpses of the boy’s work ethic before. Skjöldr had been one of the primary organizers as his people settled back in Midgard, and seemed to be treated as a leader among his peers. These traits became more pronounced as they progressed in their training. He was first to volunteer, obeyed orders while still asking the right questions, and had a talent for encouraging the others. He was, of course, still a mortal boy–growing into his body, voice cracking at odd times, still learning the ways of the world. Kratos did not want to ask too much of him too soon. But he was well on his way to doing something great with his life.

He also had a very encyclopedic knowledge of fish.

“They’re the same fish,” Skjöldr explained, “but the coloration is completely different in Asgard. I still kind of think it’s due to some magical influence.” He started gutting the fish with careful precision. “I’d love to go to Vanaheim and see if there’s a pattern. I’d ask Lady Freya, but…y’know.”

“She’s intimidating?” Kratos guessed.

“No…well, yeah, but it’s more that it’s…dumb? I don’t want to bug the Queen of the Valkyries by asking her about fish.”

Freya would probably welcome the question, Kratos thought. It would be a break from the monotony of questions about Draugr or the pockets or trouble-makers they still had to deal with. But he kept that thought to himself and continued skinning his own fish. “You learned all of this yourself?” he asked.

“No, my dad…” Skjöldr hesitated. “...is a fisherman. He taught me. I’ve had to pick up a lot of it since he just started walking again. His leg got pretty busted up during…y’know.”

Ragnarök. Some were still hesitant to invoke it by name. Kratos understood. “But it is healing?”

“He’ll probably have a limp, but yeah, it could have been worse.” Skjöldr straightened up suddenly at the sound of wings nearby. “Is that…?”

Kratos didn’t have to look up to confirm that it was. He knew that sound by now. The Valkyries were back, and Thrúd with them if the crackle of lightning in the otherwise clear air was any indication. Kratos could hear them talking among themselves. It seemed like they’d missed a few holes out of Helheim. That was irritating. He heard footsteps approaching; Skjöldr attempted to sit up straighter as they grew close. “Hey, Thrúd,” he said.

Ah. Kratos made a point of looking down at the fish he was cleaning. The boy was already nervous. There was no point in making it worse. “Hey, Skjöldr,” Thrúd said. She gave him a friendly punch to the shoulder. Her being a goddess, the “friendly” punch nearly knocked Skjöldr over. He didn’t seem to mind. “Keeping everyone fed?”

“Trying to. Uh, everything going okay with the, uh…Helheim stuff?”

“Oh, y’know. Helheim is Helheim.” Kratos felt knuckles nudge into his own shoulder in an attempt at a similar punch. It didn’t move him at all. “Kratos.”

Kratos grunted. He glanced up long enough to see if Freya was there. She stood nearby, examining her swords carefully. Frost marked the edges. Good hunting, if he had to guess. “Where were they entering Midgard?” he asked.

“Oh, right next to Jörmungandr’s head,” Thrúd said with a laugh. “He did half the work for us. Not sure they tasted any good.”

Skjöldr laughed, perhaps a little too quickly. Oh, poor boy. If it had been any other goddess, Kratos might have considered intervening as soon as possible. He still considered it, but not for any fault of Thrúd’s. The heartache of a mortal and an immortal was potent. He knew that from experience.

But he was not the boy’s father, and that was probably a mistake he’d have to make on his own. So Kratos kept his eyes on the fish.

Freya sat down next to him with a sigh. “They’ve got you doing manual labor?” she asked.

“I volunteered.” He liked the normalcy of it. If he feared one thing, it was becoming too used to being a proper god again. He may not be running from his true nature anymore, but he did not want to be some distant thing sitting on a throne. He wanted to keep the life he had created for himself–fish guts and all. “The river’s thawed entirely. Travel should be easier now.”

“Finally. I thought some of those chunks would never clear away.” Freya glanced at Skjöldr and Thrúd. She was talking about her Valkyrie duties while he listened attentively. “Oh, dear,” Freya said quietly.

Of course she’d noticed. Love was one of her domains; if it was obvious to Kratos, it was probably a full signal fire to her. “Best of luck to him,” Kratos said quietly.

She didn’t audibly laugh, to her credit, but he could see the amusement in her eyes. “Best of luck indeed.”

Kratos waited until there was a lull in the conversation before asking his next question: “Do you have fish like this in Vanaheim?”

Skjöldr’s eyes darted over to them, looking surprised, but he kept his mouth shut. Freya examined the fish. “Similar, but they’re more of a…sunset color, I guess you could say. Why?”

Kratos shrugged. He knew the lack of answer wouldn’t give much away; Freya was used to him not answering questions by now. It wasn’t as if she could find him any more odd than she already did.

The grateful look on Skjöldr’s face made it worthwhile, anyway.

He had only seen Angrboda in the Ironwood or the Wild Woods. She’d alluded to returning to Jötunheim proper a handful of times (“Just looking around”), but beyond when she helped them during Ragnarök, she seemed content to stay in her part of the world.

It caught Kratos just as off-guard as everyone else when she arrived in Midgard.

“Hey, is that Loki’s friend?”

It was. And Kratos immediately noticed the change in the air around them. He’d set up the training grounds close to the mortal’s growing town, close enough that there were always people walking by. Those people were staring. Visibly.

She hadn’t come with Fenrir. It was just Angrboda, her arms wrapped around herself tightly, her gaze more frightened and rabbit-like than he’d ever seen it. Kratos stepped closer to her, carefully scanning the staring faces, searching for any signs of threat-

“Angrboda, right?” Skjöldr said. He had put down his spear and was approaching her with a friendly smile. “Loki’s friend? I’m Skjöldr.” He held out his hand. “Are you here to train, too?”

“Oh, uhm…” Angrboda unfolded enough to shake Skjöldr’s hand. “No, I was just here to say ‘hi.’”

Some of the students were still staring. Skjöldr’s friendliness seemed to put them at ease, but they were still curious. They had never seen a giant before, Kratos realized. They had only heard stories of them, and likely stories filtered through the lies of Asgard. None of them seemed hostile, at least, but…

“Drills,” Kratos called sternly. “Your enemy is over there.” The students quickly went back to their straw dummies. “Skjöldr, you as well.”

“Yes, sir,” he said immediately. To Angrboda, he added, “We should talk sometime! I never got to thank you for helping.”

“It’s no problem,” she replied with a hesitant smile. “Glad you’re okay.”

Kratos waited until Skjöldr was out of earshot before moving closer to Angrboda. “Are you all right?”

Angrboda let out a shaky breath. “I’m okay. I just…I guess I wanted to see if it was really okay out here. You mentioned coming here a lot, so I thought it’d be safe.”

Of course. She wanted to see how one of the last giants in the realms would be treated for showing her face. If Atreus did return with more giants, that would be important to know. “I would have escorted you,” he said quietly.

“I didn’t really plan to come here today, but thank you.” She seemed more relaxed now that he was close. “I haven’t been to a town in a while. It looks nice.”

“They’ve done well for themselves. There’s been help from Vanaheim and the Aesir left…” He noted one of the students was struggling with her form. “I’ll be right back.”

Kratos was worried that some trouble would find Angrboda in the time it took him to help the student and return. But she was still standing at the fence when he was done, and no one accosted her during her visit.

It may have been naive of him, but Kratos hoped that was a good sign.

Skjöldr made a point of including Angrboda after that whenever he saw her. Kratos suspected it was out of loyalty to Atreus more than anything, but he was still grateful. Angrboda herself opened up quickly to the attention, losing the wariness she’d had that day very quickly. He might be the second person her age she’s ever spoken to, Kratos realized. Perhaps that was the other reason she’d risked showing herself.

She was lonely.

“So, these are…” Skjöldr looked up from the hinge he was fixing. “...what, past, present, future?”

“Sometimes. And it really depends on when you see it.” Angrboda kept her eyes on the shrine. They needed some attention after three years of snow. She’d insisted on repairing the art herself while Kratos and Skjöldr tended to the doors. “This used to be past, present, future. Now it’s more like…beginning, middle, end, I guess.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. Much as any of this makes sense.”

Kratos understood that sentiment. He tried not to think about the complexities of prophecies now that they were no longer a matter of life and death. He had struggled with the decision before, but Kratos was grateful now that Faye had never told him about it until she absolutely had to.

He wondered how she had stood living with it herself.

“Does Jörmungandr know this is in here?” Skjöldr wondered. “It must be weird for him if he does. Knowing your whole life story is out there somewhere…I don’t think I’d be able to live like that.” He hesitated. “I’m not on any of these, right?”

“Not that I know of,” Angrboda said. “Guess that means you can do whatever you want.”

Skjöldr looked relieved–then, almost immediately, nervous again. “Okay , that sounds really scary when you put it like that.”

Mimir barked with laughter. Even Kratos couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “Really no winning is there?” Mimir said. “The burden of choice.”

“Better than being a story with the end written,” Angrboda noted quietly.

Kratos hummed in agreement. He waited until Skjöldr moved away from the open door and nodded before releasing it. It settled back on its hinges, now fully repaired. The shrine may not have been good as new, but it looked much better than it had. “Do you think we can move them one day?” he asked.

“I think they’ll be okay where they are for now, but I’ve thought about it,” Angrboda admitted. “Maybe once things settle down a bit more.”

Maybe once more of the giants return and can make that decision, if he had to guess. But Angrboda was still careful not to discuss that in mixed company. She had been treated fairly so far, but Kratos understood her caution.

Eventually, Skjöldr had to go back into town, leaving Kratos and Mimir along with Angrboda. He was content to watch her paint at first, her hands carefully tracing the pre-existing lines. She was the first one to break the silence: “Thanks for the help with this.”

“You’re welcome.” Kratos examined the canvas before them. “I was hoping…to learn.”

“About the prophecies?”

“About the giants. I know Faye left long before she met me, but they are her people. I want to know.” It was the least he could do to respect her memory. The memory of the family she had only talked about once, but with so much pain in her eyes. “I want to understand her.”

Angrboda set her paintbrush down and looked at him, understanding in her eyes. “I’d love to tell you,” she said quietly. “Do you think you could tell me about her? I know she meant a lot to a lot of people, but I don’t think they knew…her. You know?”

Kratos nodded. “Of course. She would have liked you, I can say that.” His gaze swept over the shrine, the carefully restored paintings. “She was an artist herself.”

“Really?” Angrboda looked pleased. “So Atreus got it from her?”

“Yes.” His Spartan training had covered more than most people assumed. Neither drawing nor painting was on that list. “They were alike in many ways. I know it will serve him well.”

“So will what he got from you.”

The compliment hit him harder than he thought it would. “...thank you.”

He hoped she was right.

The invitation was unexpected. Kratos hadn’t had much chance to return to Niðavellir since Brok’s funeral. The dwarves had largely kept to themselves in the wake of Ragnarök, trying to rebuild their realm without outside interference.

But they remembered him, apparently, because Durlin arrived one mid-summer day with an invitation. “We’re tearing down the statues the Aesir left up. Want to help?”

Kratos found he did. And with the dwarf’s permission, he invited Freya and Angrboda as well. The former declined; the latter agreed wholeheartedly, though Kratos had a feeling the possibility of seeing a new realm influenced her decision. She was practically bursting with excitement when she arrived with Fenrir in tow.

“This place is amazing!” she said.

“It certainly smells nicer than it did,” Mimir noted.

Kratos grunted and kept an eye out for grims. They were going to a statue near a mining operation, not the one in town. It was probably for the best, considering Fenrir was there. The wolf was as excited as Angrboda, eagerly taking in all the new smells. Word of his size must have reached Niðavellir, because the few dwarves Durlin had assembled weren’t too alarmed at the sight of him. Still alarmed, but it could have been much worse. “What the fuck were you feeding that thing?” Durlin asked.

“I’ve seen bigger beasts,” Kratos said. The actual answer would take too long. “We thought he could help.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Durlin glanced Angrboda’s way. Like the citizens in Midgard, he seemed to figure out quickly that she was a giant. Unlike the citizens of Midgard, his reaction was much softer. “You want the first hit, little lady?”

Angrboda examined the statue critically. It was about as much an eyesore as the one in Niðavellir city proper. Then again, Kratos had a feeling it would be difficult to make Odin look good at all. “Actually,” she said, reaching into her bag, “there’s something I was thinking about doing first…”

She had small sacs filled with paint. The first slap of bright green struck the statue right in the eye patch, splattering across the face. It was strangely satisfying to watch; the cheers that accompanied it were even more so. Angrboda quickly started distributing the paint balls among the dwarves. Kratos was content to position Mimir so he could hurl insults and watch from a safe distance. Durlin joined him. “She seems like a sweet kid,” he noted. “Reminds me of someone we know.”

“Hmm.” Kratos glanced Durlin’s way. The dwarf’s eyes were fairly clear today. It was difficult to tell if he had stopped drinking entirely, or had decided he wanted all his faculties for the occasion. “You knew her well?”

“Not as well as I’d thought, apparently. Never would’ve picked her as the wife and mother type.” Durlin huffed a quiet laugh. “I’m happy for her, though. She deserved that peace.”

The dwarf’s voice softened as he spoke about her. Kratos was still getting used to hearing that tone when others spoke of her. She had been cared for by so many before him. It was comforting, to know that she had people around her even in her worse days. “You cared about her,” he noted.

Durlin’s next laugh was louder. “Not jealous of you, if that’s what you mean. But someone might be. Half of Niðavellir was in love with her by the end. You’re lucky you managed to get her before one of us did.” More encouraging shouts broke out in front of them. Fenrir had started digging at the statue’s base while the others egged him on. “Think they could use the extra muscle.”

In truth, Kratos could have brought the statue down single-handedly, but he knew the others needed the catharsis. He only expanded as much energy as needed to get the statue lowered down, allowing the others to bring it down entirely. The energy of the crowd was somewhere between a celebration and a battle. Fortunately, most of the insults being hurled were in Dwarvish. Kratos had a feeling they would be too strong for Angrboda.

Then again, he had no idea what her hurled insults were, either. She may have had a broader vocabulary than he realized.

Kratos was helping pry the statue’s head off when he heard it. The shout was distant at first, but quickly solidified into a familiar voice: “Kratos? Kratos?!”

It was Lúnda. When Kratos turned around, the dwarf was running towards them. Her face was as frantic as her tone. Kratos immediately ran to meet her. “It’s Sindri,” she gasped before Kratos could ask. “It’s…”

Kratos suddenly felt very cold. “Where?” he demanded.

“Back at the house…I don’t know, but something’s wrong. Please, I don’t know what to do.”

She was frightened. This woman had fought alongside Freyr against the Aesir, and this had her rattled. Kratos looked over his shoulder. Angrboda must have sensed something wrong; she’d followed him closer, but kept a safe distance away to avoid eavesdropping too much. “I have to…” Kratos started.

She nodded immediately. “Yeah, go. Fenrir can get me back home. I think I’ll be okay on my own.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll look after her,” Durlin said immediately. His face remained calm, but Kratos saw one hand anxiously fiddling with one of his vest buttons. “Make sure he’s all right.”

“Thank you.”

His last sight of the group was Fenrir chasing after Odin’s severed head. He wished the sight could bring him any joy. All he could think about was Sindri.

I should have gone to the house more. I should have spoken to him before this. The thought that he had been giving the dwarf too much distance had crossed his mind, but never for long. He had other things on his mind: helping Freya, training his students, looking after Angrboda. But now all he could think was that he’d been using those tasks to avoid making things right. That he could have cut into the time spent on his own, used that to repair this wrong.

Repair it now. There is no sense dwelling in what-ifs.

He was bracing himself for something terrible. What they found when they reached the house was not what he’d expected. Somehow, that only made things worse.

The house was completely abandoned. The only sign of life was the upturned bucket on the floor, and the brush beside it. The main room smelled strongly of soap and damp, molding wood. The worst damage was centered around a spot near the table.

The place where Brok had breathed his last.

“He’s not upstairs either.” Lúnda ran down the stairs, dislodging her goggles as she ran a hand through her hair. “He was here when I left, I swear.”

“What the blazes was he doing?” Mimir asked.

“I don’t know. He was…talking crazy, saying Brok was in the floor or something. I don’t know what was wrong.”

Kratos knew. He may not have experienced it in the same way Sindri was, but he knew its root cause far too well.

“He is grieving,” he said quietly. Of course Sindri wasn’t behaving rationally. Nothing about grief was rational. For a moment, Kratos was back in Greece, sharpening his knife to the point of damaging it. He knew it was too much, but he couldn’t make himself stop. It was the only thing that made sense in light of the unthinkable. His friend, the man he would name his son after one day, gone.

And that was the most rational thing grief had driven him to do.

“We’ve gotta find him,” Lúnda said. “He shouldn’t be alone when he’s like this. I just don’t know where he’d go.”

Kratos did, or at least he had an idea. It’s where he’d go, if he’d known what he knew now. “I will look,” he said. “You two should wait here, in case he comes back.” He could see the protest forming on Lúnda’s face, so he cut it off quickly: “He may not be receptive if all of us go. One is better than a crowd. And…I need to do this.”

I have to set this right.

Lúnda relented with a heavy sigh, taking Mimir without complaint. “Just bring him back, okay?” she said.

“Good luck, brother,” Mimir said, his eyes soft with understanding.

Kratos nodded to them both and left.

He managed to avoid breaking into a run until he was following the World Tree to Alfheim.

Atreus had spoken sometimes of speaking to his mother, asking her for guidance. Faye’s only prayers had been ancestral; according to Angrboda, this was a giant practice. The gods haven’t really done much for us. All we’ve got is each other. Kratos had never tried, being out of practice with prayer in general and unsure of what to ask her.

He spoke to her now.

Please. I know he’s your friend. I need to find him. Show me where he is, elskan. Help me find him.

Show me.

His time in Alfheim had been limited over the past months, but Kratos still remembered the way. Through the closest gate, to the Lake of Souls. With Lúnda’s help, they had been able to reopen a gate on the far shores, near the forge Sindri had used. That day had been difficult (trying to dodge the latest fight that had broken out had been tedious), but Kratos was grateful for the effort now. He half-expected to find Sindri there, hammering away at a weapon as he had that day in Midgard, but the forges were quiet and still. No sign of him.

Kratos stopped and forced himself to breathe.

He is likely here. He knows this is where Brok’s soul would have gone. But where is the best spot? Closer to the temple? It made the most sense. His hands shook as he shoved the boat into the water. Calm, he reminded himself. Panic will not serve you now.

Then, Faye, please.

He felt nothing but his aching dread until he reached the lake. He steered the boat towards the western shores–the beach near where Odin had kept one of the Valkyries. Good view of the light. Easy access to the water. And something else–a growing certainty that he wanted to trust. It may have been foolish, it may have been nothing…

There.

A pile of armor on the shore.

Pure instinct screamed at him to get out, get out now, get into the water, but he controlled it long enough to beach the boat. He’d risk losing it if he didn’t, and it would be faster to get Sindri home that way. A glance confirmed that the armor was his, which meant…

Kratos barely stopped to leave some of his own gear before plunging into the water.

The water was cool, and only grew colder the deeper he swam. Weeds and underwater plants swayed in the currents; a few times, he could have sworn they were not plants, but arms, hands, eyes watching him from the darkness.

Both eyes forward. Focus.

It was difficult to see, but the same impulse that had pulled him to the shore called him onwards. The deeper he swam, the more it took on a concrete form. A familiar voice–an even more familiar song. There was something different about it now, more urgent. Here, it whispered. He’s here. This way, my love, he’s here.

Kratos followed that feeling, even as his lungs started to burn. He followed it until a patch of darkness turned into something solid, into a small form drifting listlessly, dragged downwards by the plants.

There!

Kratos surged forward to grab the body. As he did, he could have sworn he felt something brush his cheek. Whatever it was, it gave him the energy to swim back to the surface, to the sunlight above, and from there to the shore. Sindri’s body was unmoving at first; when Kratos put him down, the dwarf’s lungs remembered to breathe. The first attempt brought convulsions, movement, Sindri turning over as he coughed up lake water onto the shore.

Kratos breathed a sigh of relief. Thank you. Thank you. The hardest part may have been yet to come, but at least he had the chance now. “Breathe,” Kratos said. “Slowly.”

Sindri’s coughing subsided. He wouldn’t look directly at Kratos. “Can you hear me?” Kratos tried. Sindri may have only been semi-conscious. Perhaps he needed more rest before-

“Why did you pull me out?” Sindri asked.

It was a question Kratos had not wanted to hear. It was also one that he understood.

Kratos sighed and sat in the sands, not too far away, but far enough to give Sindri space. He thought of Sindri’s face in the workshop that day, of his own deep pain in the deepest pits of Hades. Deimos and Brok, each twice-lost. “I had a brother,” he said. “The gods took him from me, too. It took a long time for me to…stop blaming myself for what happened. You should have that chance.”

Deimos. What would his brother think of him now? They’d barely had the chance to know each other. In truth, Kratos had envied Brok and Sindri sometimes. They had been separated for a time, but they still had many years shared between them. Kratos barely had six years when they were children, a handful of moments as adults. All the rest had been robbed from him because of some prophecy.

Some cycles couldn’t help repeating themselves, it seemed.

“You do not have to speak to me,” Kratos added. “I understand, you are angry. You have every right to be. But I am not leaving you here alone.” Not again, not this time. Not when the wounds were still so raw and open. Being alone is worse. He should have remembered that. Should have tried to convince Sindri of it sooner.

There was another stretch of silence. He glimpsed Sindri moving, not quite getting up, but hunching over less. When the dwarf spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.

“I killed him.”

Again, three words Kratos did not want to hear. And three words he understood.

“It’s my fault,” Sindri repeated, louder this time. His voice broke under the strain of his grief. “Oh, gods, I killed him.”

Sindri fell apart.

For a moment, Kratos felt he should not be there. This pain was too raw, too intimate; what right did he have to witness it? But he had sworn he would not leave. Now, more than ever, Sindri should not be alone.

He moved close enough to grip the dwarf’s shoulder. Sindri did not protest. Kratos still could not look directly at him, so instead he looked out over the water. Partially for threats. Mostly for answers.

How do I help him bear this?

How can anyone?

Sindri’s sobs quieted eventually. Once they had, Kratos stood and walked to the boat, and the pile of discarded items next to it. The Blades, Leviathan, a few of his own things. He made sure his weapons were out of the water’s reach and picked up a water skin before returning to Sindri. He grunted quietly and held it out in offering. “Do you have anything stronger?” Sindri asked, his voice ravaged by tears.

Maybe I should’ve brought something stronger. “Water first,” Kratos said. “You need it more.”

He sat back down in the sand, half-watching Sindri drink. The knuckles of the dwarf’s exposed hand looked red and raw, probably from the cleaning he’d been doing. He’d lost weight, too, his already thin face looking more haggard than before. He needs rest, Kratos though. Food. If he could be convinced to take it. “How did you know I was here?” Sindri asked as he handed back the water skin.

“Lúnda said you were distressed. Talking about Brok. I thought…”

If it had been me, I would have tried to bring her back, too.

“I heard her here,” Kratos said instead. “Both times. Your shop is not far. It seemed a logical place to start.”

“...Lúnda’s not here, is she?”

Kratos shook his head. “No, she stayed at your home. The head, too. I made sure they wouldn’t follow. You have time.”

He likely needed it. Kratos had asked them to stay for a reason. Just because Sindri shouldn’t be alone did not mean he needed a full audience for his grief. Kratos was sure his presence was bad enough. And yet despite that assumption…

“How do you do it?” Sindri asked quietly. “How do you…handle it all?”

Of all the people Sindri could have asked. Kratos almost wanted to laugh. “Not as well as you’d think,” he admitted. He cast aside his self-mockery and carefully considered his next words. “I simply lived with it, for a long time. If you can call it living. Faye, she…” He had to pause at the memory of that day in the woods. Of the first time she ever held his hand, soft and careful. “...she said once that we would always walk together. That she would always carry a part of me, and I of her. The culmination of love is grief, and yet…we still open our hearts to it. I did not understand what she meant until recently.” He only wished he could have understood sooner. “The pain…no longer feels like pain. Or it feels less so. Instead I feel her. What she taught me, what she gave me. It takes time to accept, but it is possible.”

Now more than ever, he was sure she was with them. That she had called them down to those waters. And even if he couldn’t feel it as clearly elsewhere, she was still with him.

She always had been.

“I mean,” Sindri, “Faye hasn’t been wrong yet.” Despite himself, Kratos chuckled. “She was right about something else. He who walks his own path walks alone.” Sindri met his eyes. They were still red from tears, tired and pained, but clear. “It wasn’t your fault, and…I’m sorry for what I said.”

Kratos had not realized how heavy the weight truly had been until it was lifted. This was not about him, he knew, but he was still…grateful. “You were grieving. I understand. It is behind us.” In the past where it belonged. Now, he could look to a future, one perhaps with Sindri in it. Except… “I do not know if you heard…”

“About Atreus or about Tyr?”

“Both.”

From the look on Sindri’s face, he had. Kratos was not entirely surprised. Atreus’s departure had been quieter, but not unnoticed; Týr’s reappearance, meanwhile, had certainly created a stir. Both would be hard for Sindri, Kratos knew, each in their own way. The only question was how hard, and how he would bear those weights as well.

“He’s going to be okay, right?” Sindri asked.

There was no anger in his voice, no blame. Instead, Kratos heard regret. He missed his son desperately then, and wished he could be there to mend things. But it could wait. Perhaps it was better if it did. “He will,” Kratos said. “I know he will.”

He accepted it as a certainty. His son would return. This could be mended. Both thoughts gave him some comfort.

He hoped they gave Sindri some comfort as well.

They sat in silence for a time. Kratos was grateful for the quiet, and equally unnerved that it was so quiet. Alfheim was never this quiet for him. Elskan, if this is you somehow, I am grateful…but why only this once? He could picture her laughing at the question, clearly as if she were there. I mean it.

“I don’t know if…if I can go back to the house,” Sindri said suddenly.

Kratos did not blame him. He wasn’t sure he wanted Sindri back in that place anyway. There was still too much pain there. Too many memories. “There is room in my home, if you wish,” Kratos said. There was never a doubt in his mind about that. “I cannot promise the wolves will leave you alone, but there is always a place for you.”

It was only right. Sindri was family, some of the first they’d found there. Kratos would have made the same offer to any of the others, but it felt especially important here. It’s what Faye would have wanted. That was reason enough.

Sindri considered it before nodding. “Okay. Okay. If you’re sure.”

“Hmm.” Kratos stood and offered Sindri a hand. “I’m sure.” Sindri hesitated, but took the help getting up. “Home, then.”

“Yeah. Home.”

They gathered their things and rowed back to the gate. Kratos only lingered a moment once the boat secure, pausing to close his eyes and let the sun warm his face.

He thought he felt that touch on his cheek again.

Thank you.

Kratos opened his eyes again, turned to the gate, and brought Sindri back home.

“You look tired.”

Sunset had turned Freya’s quarters golden. It was a space Kratos had only seen once, and briefly. It seemed more lived-in now, which was good. Freya hadn’t mentioned any resistance against her return to Vanaheim, but Kratos still worried. “I was going to say the same to you,” he retorted.

Freya rolled her eyes as she poured him a cup of mead. “It’s almost like being queen is exhausting,” she said. “Who would have thought?”

“Hmm.” Kratos took the cup with a grateful nod. “Anything I can help with?”

“Not really. We’ve just spent so much time under Asgard’s thumb. It’s…difficult, starting over.” She stared into her own cup, as if the answers were floating inside somewhere. “I think some people aren’t convinced Odin is gone.”

Kratos understood. There were times when he felt the same way about Olympus.

“What about you?” Freya added. “Those kids giving you trouble?”

“No. They listen well. They’re eager to learn.” They might have been the easiest thing he was handling lately, had it not been for one detail. “One of the parents…tried to give me an offering yesterday.”

“...oh?”

Kratos nodded. “I told her to keep it. Use it for her family. But they want to know what they should call me.” The admission made him feel ill. For a moment, he remembered the smell of burnt offerings, a statue in chains, the taste of blood and unsweetened wine. Nothing like the small bundle of food held in shaking hands, and yet everything like it at the same time.

“Are you really surprised?” Freya asked. “Most of their gods were just using them. You gut their fish and train their children to protect themselves with no expectation of repayment. If you didn’t want attention, you should have stayed in those woods.”

“I know, I know.” She was right, of course. Kratos took a long drag from his cup and sighed heavily. “It is not only that.”

“Your past?”

That as well, but not entirely. “My present. Sindri is still struggling. It is difficult to feel godlike when I can’t even help him.”

Sindri had more or less settled since that day in Alfheim, but grief still hounded him like a predator. Some days he would sweep the same patch of floor over and over, or move around the house carefully adjusting items so they were exactly in their place. He’d even insisted on tending to Kratos’s armor, as much as Kratos had tried to talk him out of it. I have to do something, he’d said. It’s like I’ve got this swarm of nightmares in my head, and doing stuff like this is the only thing that keeps them at bay. Do you know what I mean?

Kratos did, in a way. He was not sure he experienced it the same way Sindri did, but he understood the basic sentiment.

“You’re doing everything you can for him,” Freya said. “He’s not alone now. That’s what matters.”

Kratos wasn’t sure he felt that way, but he tried to believe it.

“I came here to see how you were doing,” Kratos noted suddenly. How had they gotten to talking about him?

“Well, in that case, please, let’s keep talking about your life,” Freya said dryly. Kratos laughed. “Have you been sleeping enough? Remembering to eat?”

“You can’t hide from your problems by fixing mine.”

“Oh, really?” Freya made a show of looking around her room. “Hold on, I think I have a mirror you can look at…”

“All right, all right. I yield.” Kratos sighed, for once in amusement and not in exasperation, and leaned back in his chair. “I propose an armistice. Neither of us discusses our problems. We are simply two friends having dinner.”

“That’s fine with me.” Freya took the opportunity to start drizzling honey over a thick slice of bread. “That said, there is…one thing you might be able to help with.”

He would, of course, without question, but… “Is it urgent?” he said.

“It will keep.”

He topped off his cup with more mead. “Then ask me when I’m done with this.” They could rest that long, he thought. Perhaps it would do them some good.

Freya smiled gently. “Okay.”

He drank slowly. They talked about the summer heat and returning plant life. Their problems kept for a little while longer.

They didn’t seem so insurmountable by the time he reached the bottom of his cup.

He returned to Midgard three days later thinking that he had spoken too soon. He did have some dragon scales for Lúnda to use and no one had died. That was about his only consolation.

And at least it’s not Aesir interference, he reminded himself. He had faced worse. And more annoying. But he was glad to be home.

Sindri hadn’t gone mad during Kratos’s absence. He supposed that was another victory. He was tense, but the dwarf was often tense, so Kratos assumed he would live through it. Neither spoke about how their days had gone. They only settled down around the fire pit to eat.

“I am this close to just replacing the fucking floors,” Sindri suddenly. “I don’t want to look at them anymore.”

Kratos nodded, more out of support than because he had truly registered the words. He had to run them over a few more times in his mind. He thought about the damp wood smell, that dark stain in the center of the floor. He hadn’t seen them since, but he doubted the time away had made things any better.

“We could do it,” Kratos replied.

“Do what?”

“Replace the floors.”

Sindri looked taken aback that Kratos had agreed with him.But after some consideration, he straightened up. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. We could. Uhm, I mean, if you’re okay with helping.”

“I am.” He didn’t like to think of the house in that state, and it might do Sindri some good.

It might do both of them some good.

#god of war #god of war kratos #fic: will you greet the daylight looming

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obsessivefinch · 3 years

Text

To everybody that doesn’t know: @homopsychology is a terf.

Yes, I had to unblock her to make this post, but I want everybody to know that, she is absolutely vile (I saw a post of hers, because I was using an old blog of mine to look at the owl house tag)

If anybody wants to send me hate. This post is more important than a damn transphobes feelings being hurt! She deservers it for being an open transphobe!

If she wanted it to be kept private, she could have not posted her opinions publicly. Like she’s SO open about it. I absolutely HATE her with my entire being. GOD, she’s the reason I started taken transphobia so much more seriously.

Not that I didn’t take it seriously before; she just made me realize that it’s actually a real thing people believe and is common... Yes, that was ignorant of me not to know, but at least I learned

Anyways...

Try to defend yourself, if you want @homopsychology, that why I tagged you, but with your pinned post being “I don’t owe strangers an explanation for my opinions” I doubt you will.

Point of the post?

Please just think about who you interact with. And block her. Terfs/transphobes should have no place in this fandom. At all.

Edit:

Since mostly terfs interacted after homopsychology reblogged, here’s a post on how to identify terfs:

https://mccoppinscrapyard.tumblr.com/post/647668074589339648/lacefuneral-i-was-doing-my-usual-jump-down-the

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milkiane · 3 years

Text

matters the most

pairings: rafe cameron x reader

warnings: profanities, mentions of alcoholic beverages, sexual comments

word count: 1996

request: give me rafe angst with prompt "god, i can't even look at you"

a/n: all the love to @s1ater as always, and thank you to @iwritesiriusly for being the best <3

love is such a concept that most people would often dream of, wanting the full experience of having butterflies in your stomach, fireworks erupting with every kiss, the messy and complicated rollercoaster ride. everything about love just sounds so beautiful.

love brings two people, from strangers, or enemies, or life-long friends, together and creates sheer happiness and adoration for each other, but love is never always about all that cliché domesticity. sometimes it’s all about the thrill and the danger that it brings along.

it was funny, really. how rafe, who wasn’t afraid to express his hatred for pogues, fell for one. love did work in mysterious ways, they said.

neither of you knew how you lasted for 8 months without getting caught, but both of you knew that the fun wouldn’t last for long before something would come in between.

he didn’t know that his dad and rose would be home earlier than they said. he thought he’d have the house to himself, that’s why he invited you to come. amidst a steamy make-out sesh did they walk in, followed by an argument between the two men. you awkwardly stood behind rafe, lips swollen and cheeks red as rose glared at you.

it didn’t end well, but when does it ever? forbidden love had its perks, but it also had its downfalls. ward demanded to break off whatever liaison his son had with you, whilst still raving about his disdain for the likes of you and how rafe turned out to be just like his disappointment of a sister. rafe decided that he’s had enough and stormed off with you.

that’s why rafe was in the cut at the dead of the night, standing in front of the chateau.

he shook his head, bringing out his phone to give you a call as he brought the large blanket closer to his chest.

incoming call: rafey <3

groaning, you reached out your hand and blindly patted around your bed for your ringing phone. the brightness of your phone glaring at you to the degree, making you hiss.

“rafe? it’s 2 in the morning, why the-” you grumbled, eyes fluttering close as sleep started to glaze over.

“come outside, babe. i’m on your front porch,” he said, taking in the sight of it before silently muttering, “if you could even call it a porch.”

“shut up, rafe,” you groaned, ending the call as you threw your blankets to the side and leaving your warm sanctuary to see your boyfriend. quietly making your way past john b’s room and jj, who was sleeping on the couch.

“what are you doing here?” you asked, wrapping your arms around his torso as he placed a kiss on your temple.

“wanted to come see you, we don’t know to what extent my dad’ll go to make us break up, so let’s make the most of our time,” he shrugged, reaching out for your hand, he intertwined your fingers together and dragged you towards an open space.

rafe unfolded the blanket and spread it out, laying down on it as he opened his arms to invite you in.

snuggling into his embrace, you smiled softly, “you know, i’m usually the one who sneaks out to see you,”

he chuckled, his chest vibrating as he did, “yeah, but we gotta have some change now, i guess,”

you sighed, nuzzling deeper into his arms, “imagine if the clash between the kooks and pogues never existed, if the odds were in our favor, we would have lived happily,”

“we’ll get married,” rafe started, then tilted his head to look down at you, “a beach wedding, d’you want a beach wedding?”

“yeah,” you grinned, playing with the rings on his fingers, “then we’ll have two kids and a dog, and a house in between figure 8 and the cut,”

silence surrounded the both of you, sad smiles on your faces as you looked up at the twinkling stars. the chirping of cicadas and the rustling of the trees serving as a piece of calming music.

after a while, rafe began to speak up again, “are you… are you sure that this is worth all the secrecy, y/n?”

you furrowed your eyebrows, removing yourself from his hold to you look at him, “what?”

he sighed, running a hand through his hair, “i just- we knew it would end one way or another, right?”

you paused, trying to let his words sink in before asking him, “what’re you trying to say, rafe?”

by now, he was already sitting up, “i’m just saying that we just got lucky that we lasted for nearly a year. i mean, it’s far-fetched, you’re a pogue, and i’m a kook. it would have been easier if you were like me,”

you scoffed pathetically, “oh, so it’s my fault now that i was born a pogue? well, i’m sorry that i couldn’t control how life works, that i have to work my ass off 24/7 to keep myself surviving,”

“you know that’s not what i meant, baby, it’s just that-“ rafe groaned, he didn’t know what else to say because that’s exactly what he meant.

“then what is it, rafe? you don’t know how hard it is to work multiple jobs just to keep yourself afloat, it’s unfair how we didn’t choose to live like this, yet you kooks torment us for trying to have food to serve on our tables,” you fumed, “so i’m sorry that we don’t have golden spoons sticking out of our mouths or that our daddies don’t give us whatever the hell we want,”

“i can’t believe you doubted us for even a second,” you sighed, rubbing your eyes to keep your tears from falling, “do you think this was all easy for me, rafe? because no, it wasn’t, but i still loved you with all that i am, with all that i have, because i knew that we’ll get through this.”

“y/n-”

“god, i can’t even look at you right now,” you stood up, grabbing your phone as you made your way back to the chateau, tears gathering in your eyes.

“y/n, wait, c’mon-”

rafe grabbed your arm, but you immediately removed it from his grasp as you whipped around, “you know, i may not have a lot to offer, but i knew that i made you happy and i loved you an awful lot, so i’m sorry if that wasn’t enough.”

you let the tears fall this time, looking at him one more time before going in and slamming the door shut, making jj jump up in surprise, “y/n?”

rafe stood there for a moment, trying to shake away the broken look on your face from his mind. he sauntered after you, knocking aggressively at the front door, “y/n, c’mon, i’m sorry, baby.”

john b rushed out of his room, jumbled and confused as he held the bat up, “wha-?”

you shoved him away and hurried back to your room. the two boys exchanged looks before opening the door. to say that they were shocked to see a disheveled rafe cameron on their doorstep was an understatement, “what the fuck are you doing in here, cameron?”

he ignored them and tried to push past them, “get outta the way, pogues,”

but they weren’t having it, they pushed him back with a glare. he scoffed, looking back once more before slowly backing off, grabbing the blanket before speeding away on his motorbike.

you wouldn’t choose to be here if you had a choice, but alas, if it means working at the midsummers and earning a decent salary with free champagne to drown your sorrows in, then you might just have to.

so, clad in a waitress’s apparel, too tight for your liking, and a tray of glasses of champagne in hand, you maneuvered your way towards the old uppity haughty kooks.

at a respectable distance, rafe was looking at you with a sad look on his face, wanting nothing more than to wrap you in his arms and tell you how sorry he is and how he loves you so much.

it was when topper’s voice snapped him out of his trance, “have you seen l/n’s ass in that uniform? i would’ve done her right then and there if she wasn’t a pogue,”

the sounds of his friends’ laughters fumed him, but instead of saying anything, he shot up out of his seat and approached you.

you momentarily glanced at him and swallowed, “champagne?”

he grabbed the glass that you shoved at his chest, fingers grazing over another, “y/n, please, i just want to talk,”

“i’m not here for you, cameron,” you caught a glimpse of his friends slowly approaching the both of you, sniggering from behind him, “i’m here to earn some money, so if you’ll excuse me,”

but before you could even make your way around them, topper and kelce harshly knocked on your shoulders, the tray of glasses breaking into pieces as it fell.

“watch it, pogue,”

gasps were heard across the room, as you staggered back from the force. you heard pope and jj run towards you, john b and kiara excusing themselves from the guests to follow.

you let out a shaky breath, crouching down to pick up the pieces as ward slowly walked over to scold you.

as they continued to laugh, they risked a glance to see a livid rafe glaring at them instead of laughing along with them, and with that, their laughter died down, a look of confusion replacing their amusement.

rafe looked around, catching the eye of his father who stopped in his tracks, a glint in his eye as if he was daring him to go help you, to ruin their family’s reputation.

without a single doubt, he took the broken shards from your hold and raised you up by your arms, earning another round of gasps from the crowd.

he looked at you, silently asking for permission. when a small smile tugged your lips, he leaned in slowly, closing in the proximity of your lips. your arms wrapped around his neck as his own wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer.

as you heard his father’s footsteps, rafe pulled away and grabbed your arm, sprinting into a run.

“rafe!”

the both of you burst into laughter as you dashed through the crowd, hands still intertwined as you looked for a quiet spot.

you stopped at their backyard, fairy lights hung from tree to tree, and the music from the platform softly echoing. trying to catch a breath, you let your head fall on his chest. rafe’s hand ran through your hair, “i’m sorry, y/n,”

“rafe-”

“no, no. i’m sorry, i didn’t mean what i said, okay? i love you too much,” he cupped your face in his hands, his thumb caressing the apple of your cheeks, “i’ll gladly give up the life i have right now if it means spending it with you. none of this luxury would compare to you, no amount of money would make me happy as you do.”

you pulled him into another kiss, running a hand through his hair. it was slow, sensual, something different from the type of intimacy you often did, as though if you rushed things, you’d open your eyes to see that everything was just a dream. rafe brought you closer than possible, a hand resting the other on the small of your back and on your hip, rubbing slow circles on the exposed skin.

pulling away slowly, you whispered a hoarse, “i love you, rafe cameron,”

he smiled softly, swaying slowly to the distant music. an aura of love and sovereignty enveloping the both of you in a bubble of your own. none of you cared about the rivalry anymore, or his father, or what other people would say. let them talk.

it wouldn’t bother you, because you had each other, and that’s what matters the most.

add yourself to my taglist!

general taglist: @tatesimper @bluvclouds @i-love-scott-mccall

obx taglist: @maybanksslut @spideyspixies @oldschoolkiddo @iwritesiriusly @iamninaannaisreading @nyxie75 @mendesyourmine

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron imagine #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #obx #outer banks #obx 2 #outer banks 2 #rafe cameron oneshot #rafe cameron blurb #useramourtentiaa #tuserliane

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minor-solemnity · 3 years

Note

hi i love your work and am excited for your series. i was wondering if you can do a one shot where the reader comforts tom and let’s him fall asleep on her while she plays with her hair 😩 soft tom 😈

Yesssss! Soft Tom - I cannot resist! This may have gotten away from me a bit so I hope you enjoy 2.6k of fluffy comfort!

Tag List: @jinxqsu @naps-and-lemons @riddles-wifey @mainlynonsense @cakesarecute @crumpets-are-better-with-jam

What Equates to Worship

The door to your bedroom is open and you roll your eyes when you peer inside and find the source of your broken wards slumped in the armchair next to your bed. Tom’s best robes are in a heap at the foot of the bed, his smartest brogues are kicked into the furthest corner of the room, his hair - usually so neat - is disarray. He looks like the world’s most harangued man. “Good evening, my love,” You murmur as you make your way over to his side, kneeling on the floor so that you can take hold of his hands which are resting loosely in his lap. “You broke my wards again.”

It’s late when you get home. There is a Very Important Case being tried in the Wizengamot and your boss, Gerald Montague, is running you ragged in an attempt to get the edge on the prosecution. It’s a nasty case, the defendant, Mr Vickers, is on trial for the kidnapping and murders of five women. His chances aren’t looking good - there is enough physical evidence to bury him and his alibi is flimsy at best. In private, both you and Montague are convinced of his guilt but that doesn’t matter when it’s your job to convince the Wizengamot and a jury of his innocence. Needless to say, it’s not been an easy couple of weeks.

Your shoes click against the uneven cobblestones as you make your way down the narrow road to your flat situated just off the main drag of Knockturn Alley. It’s not the best part of town, but the flat itself is double the size of what you would be able to afford if you lived somewhere more reputable. Besides, it’s not as though you’ve ever been scared by the less savoury parts of humanity and society - you’d be awful at your job if that were the case. You throw a couple of sickles to the hag that operates outside your building, and she promises you glory in the afterlife in thanks. “If you could promise me glory when I’m alive, I think I’d find that more useful,” You say as you fumble with your keys.

She laughs, “That will cost you more than a few sickles, love, try again tomorrow.” You chuckle and shrug a shoulder. It was worth try at least. The gas lamps that lead the way up the winding stairs to your attic flat are already lit, casting a dim, flicking light across the stairwell. You frown slightly as you make your way up the stairs; no one usually lights the lamps, leaving it up to you to light them when you return from the Ministry every day. Your curiosity is further piqued when you reach your front door and find it glowing a dim red, indicating that someone has broken through the wards. You have an idea of who it is, but you take your wand out just in case you’re mistaken. You have a few files from the Very Important Case hidden in the depths of your bedroom, which in the wrong hands, would be disastrous for you and Montague.

The inside of your flat is dark and cold and looks just as you’d left it this morning. With a sigh, you flick your wand at the fire and smile as flames begin to flicker and burn. Your flat is relatively spacious, but the fireplace is enchanted to spread the warmth further than a normal fire would and with any luck you’ll be toasty and warm within a few minutes. You shrug out of your travelling robes and kick off your heels, rubbing your aching feet with relish. Next on your list of things to do is figure out who has broken into your flat and if it's something you should be concerned about.

You pad through the flat, your stockinged feet making no noise against the polished wooden floorboards. The door to your bedroom is open and you roll your eyes when you peer inside and find the source of your broken wards slumped in the armchair next to your bed. Tom’s best robes are in a heap at the foot of the bed, his smartest brogues are kicked into the furthest corner of the room, his hair - usually so neat - is in disarray. He looks like the world’s most harangued man. “Good evening, my love,” You murmur as you make your way over to his side, kneeling on the floor so that you can take hold of his hands which are resting loosely in his lap. “You broke my wards again.”

He makes a small sound in the back of his throat which is honestly pitiful and you are struck by a burning desire to make whoever put him in such a state pay for their crimes. Tom should never look so downtrodden - it doesn’t suit him in the slightest. You rub soft circles against his palms, smoothing the tension out of his fingers with careful strokes as the quiet of your flat weaves a gentle spell of calm and soothing around the two of you. “Is it a good evening?” He mutters and when you look up at his face, you can see the hard lines of annoyance and defeat marring his forehead.

“Hmm, don’t frown, darling - you’ll ruin your pretty face.” This at least gets a small hum of amusement out of him which you count as a win. Heaven knows that when Tom gets in these moods it can take a lot more than gentle touches and murmured sweet-nothings to get him to smile. You rise from your position and move behind the armchair, resting your cheek on the crown on his head and your hands on his shoulders to kneed at his knotted muscles. “I assume that you didn’t get the job?”

You’ve been so busy with your own work that you’d forgotten that Tom’s interview with Dumbledore was today. If you had remembered you would have taken the day off because even the most optimistic person would have known there was a fool’s chance of Tom getting the Defence job. Despite everything though, Tom is an optimist. You would never have guessed it when you first got to know him, but underneath his taciturn facade is a terribly hopeful young man who still believes that things will turn out in his favour. His idealism is part of what you love about him if you’re being honest with yourself. It’s a good contrast to your cynical realism.

It’s ridiculous, of course. Tom, despite his young age, is the most qualified person you can think of for the position. He knows more about Defensive magic than anyone save for maybe Dumbledore himself, and beyond that, he has the right temperament for it. It comes as a surprise to most people who meet him that Tom would be a good teacher, but he really is. His love of Hogwarts, defensive magic, and his desire to impart that knowledge all adds up to someone who sees struggling students and wants them to succeed. If it had been anyone other than Dumbledore, he would have been a shoo-in for the role.

“You assume correctly.” His voice is still tight and muted with resigned anger, but he begins to loosen under your hands, his head lolling to the side and coming to rest against your forearm.

“Did he give you a reason why?”

Tom sighs and the sound is world-weary and destitute. At that moment, your hatred for Dumbledore intensifies. “He never intended on giving me a chance. He invited me in and lectured me about dark magic. He essentially said that as long as he was Headmaster I would not be welcome in the castle.” The worst thing is that Tom sounds so forlorn. Unlike you, who had decided after a year at Hogwarts that the only thing you wanted to do was leave, Tom’s fondness for the school is unparalleled. “Knowing him, that won’t be for another hundred years or so.”

“I’m so sorry, Tom,” You say, dropping a kiss into the dark curls of his hair. “He’s an old coot. Still so struck by the mythology of his own genius that he can’t see past his own prejudices.” He hums lowly in response and eventually, you feel him start to relax. It’s gratifying to know that it’s you over anyone else, that he comes to when he needs support. You know his friends and followers would do anything to gain his favour, but at the end of the day, he doesn’t seek them out. No, he doesn’t trust them to see him like this, to see him in his more human moments of vulnerability. He trusts you to understand him and comfort him. That in itself is a gift.

“Now, come on. We can worry about Dumbledore later, but right now, let me find us something to eat.” Food, in your opinion, can go a long way to right a lot of wrongs and you have a sneaking suspicion that Tom probably hasn’t eaten all day. He’s annoying like that, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to care about silly little things like eating and taking care of oneself. You can’t help but chuckle softly as he mumbles something under his breath and reaches for your hands to hold you in place. “Later, my love. I promise,” You say and disentangles yourself from his grasp.

Tom follows you out of the bedroom and watches you with a look of exasperated amusement as you search your kitchen. Your cupboards are sinfully bare when you go to inspect them, the rush of the last two weeks has meant that you’ve neglected a lot of your more basic chores. “And you accuse me of neglecting my needs. You hardly set a good example, my dear.” He murmurs from where he’s lounging against the stove. You roll your eyes as you shove your feet back into your heels and head for the door.

“Veeraswamy?” You ask and have to hide your smile when Tom’s eyes light up. It’s not often that the two of you treat yourselves to restaurant-quality food as neither of your jobs’ salaries really allow the indulgence, however, tonight, you think an exception is called for. “Feel free to look over the files I brought home - maybe you’ll notice something I missed.” You don’t even finish your sentence before Tom is digging through your work bag and pulling out the offending files. Typical, you think fondly. Tom is as curious as a cat and one of the easiest ways of making him feel better about anything is to introduce him to a puzzle.

Fifteen minutes later you apparate home with a brown paper bag of Veeraswamy’s finest selection of curries and sweet treats. As a rule, they’re dine-in only, as many of the restaurants in muggle London are, however, you’re not above a confundus charm to get what you want and you always make sure to tip splendidly to offset any guilt you feel for taking advantage. When you get in, Tom has the case files splayed out on the small kitchen table and you spare yourself a moment to admire the elegant curve of his neck and the way his curls fall in graceful arcs across his brow. Without looking up, he makes a space for you to drop the bag of goodies on the table and you collect plates and the bottle of wine that is the only thing you already had in your flat.

You discuss the Very Important Case over dinner and he indulges in your complaints about Montague’s refusal to even consider your line of defence. “Vickers says that he went to a Seer and was told that these women would die by his hand. I want to make the case that he can’t be fully held accountable for the murders if it’s already foretold.” Never mind that that isn’t how prophecies or fortune work, no one in the Wizengamot understands the intricacies of Divination well enough to know that just because something is said, doesn’t mean it will come to pass. “Montague is convinced that we can prove his innocence without resorting to asking for lesser charges.”

“And he’ll lose the case because of it.” He hums, sets his fork down and reaches for your hand, his long fingers looping around your wrist. “Have you considered the fact that Vickers may have been compromised? The file says that when he was found, Vickers was abnormally placid and made no attempts to hide the evidence that would have been easily disposed of? Maybe hire a mind-healer and see if he’s been the victim of an imperius curse,” He says nonchalantly as though he hasn’t just dropped the biggest break in the case in your lap.

“Tom. Tom, you are a genius. How did you even begin to come to that conclusion?” He must hear the wonder in your voice because a small, self-satisfied smile curves his upper lip and he leans over the table to press a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips.

“These things are obvious if you know what you’re looking for.” The knowing in his voice hints at something darker and your eyes narrow slightly. Tom’s proclivity for the dark arts is no secret, neither is his cunning and ruthlessness. You don’t ask and he doesn’t tell, but you suppose it’s probably a good thing that you’re training to become a defence lawyer. Maybe one day he’ll need one.

Tonight is not the night for those kinds of thoughts though. You doubt any night will be - if ever there comes a day when you have to reckon with Tom’s less savoury pursuits, you already know where your allegiances lie. With a soft hum of acknowledgement, you stand and lead him to the bedroom. “Enough maudlin talk for tonight, I think,” You say as you settle against the headboard and motion for him to join you. “You must be tired after today.”

Even though he tries to hide it, you can see that the day has worn on him. Shadows form like ink stains underneath his eyes, and he holds himself with a kind of forlorn regret that fills you with a feeling of sympathetic sorrow. He crawls up the bed and raises an eyebrow when you don’t move to make room for him. Instead, you simply lift an arm and smile, sleepiness and tenderness mingling into something soft in your eyes. After a few second of internal debate where Tom looks from you to the spot you’ve made for him, he gingerly lowers himself against you, his head resting in the hollow where your shoulder meets your neck. He lies unnaturally still and tense in the way a feral kitten might react to the kindness of a stranger.

Honestly, it’s more than a little heartbreaking. Slowly - carefully - you rest one hand over his heart and begin to card your other through his hair. You’re not entirely sure how he manages it - you’ve never seen a haircare potion in his vicinity - but Tom has the softest hair of anyone you’ve met. It’s dreadfully unfair, really. You rub gentle circles against his scalp and smile softly in the dim light as you feel him relax against you, the long hard lines of his body soften as you continue your gentle ministrations. Gradually, you sense him ease into a contented state as he seeks clemency from the day in your touch.

That you can do this for him, that you can be this for him is not something you would have ever thought possible. You remember vividly the uptight rigidity with which he had held himself throughout your time at school. The fervent dedication he had channelled to reach the top of the pecking order, never allowing himself a moment of softness or reprieve. You’re certain that if he’s not careful he will burn himself out before he’s had a chance to truly shine, and you know just how brightly he could if given the chance.

You brush his hair from his eyes and lazily draw abstract patterns against his chest, feeling the way his breathing deepens as sleep overtakes him. In this moment of calm, sleepy repose, you feel your heart expand with all love and care you think you might ever feel, and you brush a soft kiss to the crown of his head, revelling in the almost breathy sigh that escapes him. “You’re far too good to me,” He mumbles, half asleep and entirely too sincere.

“Agree to disagree, my love. I am exactly as good to you as you deserve.” He chuckles at this, nestling deeper into your side and flinging an arm across your waist. “Now, sleep - we have so much time for everything else.”

AN: Also before anyone accuses me of anachronisms, Veeraswamy is London’s oldest Indian restaurant. It was opened in 1926 and I’ve been there once before - the food was so so so good and it was disgustingly expensive. I’m assuming that it wasn’t that pricey in the 40’s

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle imagines #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle fic #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle oneshot #minific #asks #request #prompt fill #prompt fic #harry potter #harry james potter

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kingandfireheart · 3 years

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The biggest Eris Vanserra moments from ACOTAR -ACOSF: What the fuck is happening in Autumn (Part 1)

I was originally very confused about how people seem to LOVE Eris all of a sudden, so I went back through the books to find out. SJM has definitely sprinkled the bread crumbs for some massive Eris revelations - will he have a redemption arc? does he even need to be redeemed? What are his secrets? Why did he leave Mor? Why did he protect Lucien? Why did he want to marry Nesta?

Cassian and Feyre voice doubts about Eris that really had me thinking about all of his scenes in the books:

" Beron studied his son with a scrutiny that made some small, small part of me wonder if Eris might have grown to be a good male if he’d had a different father. If one still lurked there, beneath centuries of poison. Because Eris … What had it been like for him, Under the Mountain? What games had he played— what had he endured? Trapped for forty-nine years. I doubted he would risk such a thing happening again. Even if it set him in opposition to his father—or perhaps because of that."

"You know what a monster your father is and want to usurp him; you act against him in the best interests of not only the Autumn Court but also of all of the faerie lands; you risk your life to ally with us … and yet you left her in the woods."

I went through all five books and pieced together the most telling Eris moments (they are all below the cut)

What I gained from this exercise was a few observations

Eris may have a moral compass - he curbs Beron's and his brother's bad behavior, and he stick his neck out to help in the war . He also seems to genuinely care for his soldiers. Eris pushes back against Beron, the oldest and most terrible High Lord, even when it results in punishment

Eris is playing a long game here, and it isn't limited to just him being high lord. We still don't have the full story on Mor and Lucien : what were the larger forces at play? Why did he buy Mor time? What did he show Rhys and Mor to convince them to trust him? Does he care for Lucien like a brother? Is he just a part of the schemes?

The Lady of the Autumn Court is definitely a big piece to the Autumn Court, Lucien, Helion, and Eris puzzles (Here is a list of her moments!)

See my other compilations of Character moments here: Lucien Sass, Nessian Mating Bond (Pre-ACOFAS), Cassian + Words of Affirmation (ACOSF), Lady of the Autumn Court

A Court of Thrones and Roses:

Tamlin tells Lucien's Story

"Lucien is the youngest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.”... “The youngest of seven brothers. The Autumn Court is … cutthroat. Beautiful, but his brothers see each other only as competition, since the strongest of them will inherit the title, not the eldest. It is the same throughout Prythian, at every court. Lucien never cared about it, never expected to be crowned High Lord, so he spent his youth doing everything a High Lord’s son probably shouldn’t: wandering the courts, making friends with the sons of other High Lords”—a faint gleam in Tamlin’s eyes at that —“and being with females who were a far cry from the nobility of the Autumn Court.” Tamlin paused for a moment, and I could almost feel the sorrow before he said, “Lucien fell in love with a faerie whom his father considered to be grossly inappropriate for someone of his bloodline. Lucien said he didn’t care that she wasn’t one of the High Fae, that he was certain the mating bond would snap into place soon and that he was going to marry her and leave his father’s court to his scheming brothers.”

A tight sigh. “His father had her put down. Executed, in front of Lucien, as his two eldest brothers held him and made him watch.” My stomach turned, and I pushed a hand against my chest. I couldn’t imagine, couldn’t comprehend that sort of loss. “Lucien left. He cursed his father, abandoned his title and the Autumn Court, and walked out. And without his title protecting him, his brothers thought to eliminate one more contender to the High Lord’s crown. Three of them went out to kill him; one came back.”

---

“As emissary,” I began, “has he ever had dealings with his father? Or his brothers?”

“Yes. His father has never apologized, and his brothers are too frightened of me to risk harming him.” No arrogance in those words, just icy truth. “But he has never forgotten what they did to her, or what his brothers tried to do to him. Even if he pretends that he has.”

Under the Mountain

When Amarantha tortures Lucien for Feyre's name:

Behind them, pressing to the front of the crowd, came four tall, red-haired High Fae. Toned and muscled, some of them looking like warriors about to set foot on a battlefield, some like pretty courtiers, they all stared at Lucien—and grinned. The four remaining sons of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.

---

Lucien’s brothers lurked on the edges of the crowd—no remorse, no fear on their handsome faces.

---

“Her name?” she asked Tamlin, who didn’t reply. His eyes were fixed on Lucien’s brothers, as if marking who was smiling the broadest.

Amarantha ran a nail down the arm of her throne. “I don’t suppose your handsome brothers know, Lucien,” she purred.

“If we did, Lady, we would be the first to tell you,” said the tallest. He was lean, well dressed, every inch of him a court-trained bastard. Probably the eldest, given the way even the ones who looked like born warriors stared at him with deference and calculation—and fear.

---

Lucien sagged on the ground, trembling. His brothers frowned—the eldest going so far as to bare his teeth at me in a silent snarl.

---

A ripple of laughter spread across those assembled behind us, the loudest from Lucien’s brothers.

When Rhysand takes Feyre to the parties at night:

Faeries and High Fae gawked as we passed through the entrance. Some bowed to Rhysand, while others gaped. I spied several of Lucien’s older brothers gathered just inside the doors. The smiles they gave me were nothing short of vulpine.

---

We reached the throne room, and I braced myself to be drugged and disgraced again. But it was Rhysand the crowd looked at—Rhysand whom Lucien’s brothers monitored. Amarantha’s clear voice rang out over the music, summoning him. He paused, glancing at Lucien’s brothers stalking toward us, their attention pinned on me. Eager, hungry—wicked. I opened my mouth, not too proud to ask Rhysand not to leave me alone with them while he dealt with Amarantha, but he put a hand on my back and nudged me along

During the second trial:

In the crowd, red hair gleamed—four heads of red hair—and I stiffened my spine. I knew his brothers would be smiling at Lucien’s predicament—but where was his mother? His father? Surely the High Lord of the Autumn Court would be present. I scanned the crowd. No sign of them

---

“Answer it!” Lucien shouted, his voice hitched. My eyes stung. The world was just a blur of letters, mocking me with their turns and shapes.

The metal groaned as it scraped against the smooth stone of the chamber, and the faeries’ whispers grew more frenzied. Through the holes in the grate, I thought I saw Lucien’s eldest brother chuckle. Hot—so unbearably hot.

---

“Just pick one!” Lucien shouted, and some of those in the crowd laughed—his brothers no doubt the loudest.

When Tamlin and Feyre make out in the closet:

“You’re both fools,” he murmured, his breathing uneven. “How did you not think that someone would notice you were gone? You should thank the Cauldron Lucien’s delightful brothers weren’t watching you.

After Feyre breaks the curse:

The Attor and the nastier faeries had disappeared instantly, along with Lucien’s brothers, which was a clever move, as Lucien wasn’t the only faerie with a score to settle

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

A Court of Mist and Fury:

Lucien telling Feyre about Jesminda:

“Even if I what?”

His face paled, and he stroked a hand down the mare’s cobweb-colored mane. “I was forced to watch as my father butchered the female I loved. My brothers forced me to watch.”

Rhys tells Mor's story:

His throat bobbed. I could tell it was rage, and pain, that kept him from telling me outright—not mistrust. After a moment, he said, “I was there, in the Hewn City, the day her father declared she was to be sold in marriage to Eris, eldest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.” Lucien’s brother. “Eris had a reputation for cruelty, and Mor … begged me not to let it happen. For all her power, all her wildness, she had no voice, no rights with those people. And my father didn’t particularly care if his cousins used their offspring as breeding stock.”

“What happened?” I breathed.

“I brought Mor to the Illyrian camp for a few days. And she saw Cassian, and decided she’d do the one thing that would ruin her value to these people. I didn’t know until after, and … it was a mess. With Cassian, with her, with our families. And it’s another long story, but the short of it is that Eris refused to marry her. Said she’d been sullied by a bastard-born lesser faerie, and he’d now sooner fuck a sow. Her family … they … ” I’d never seen him at such a loss for words. Rhys cleared his throat. “When they were done, they dumped her on the Autumn Court border, with a note nailed to her body that said she was Eris’s problem.”

Nailed—nailed to her.

Rhys said with soft wrath, “Eris left her for dead in the middle of their woods. Azriel found her a day later. It was all I could do to keep him from going to either court and slaughtering them all.” I thought of that merry face, the flippant laughter, the female that did not care who approved. Perhaps because she had seen the ugliest her kind had to offer. And had survived.

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

A Court of Wings and Ruin:

Lucien tells his story:

“I’d say that sounds more High-Lord-like than the life of an idle, unwanted son.”

A long, steely look. “Did you think it was mere hatred that prompted my brothers to do their best to break and kill me?”

Despite myself, a shudder rippled down my spine. I finished off the apple and uncoiled to my feet, plucking another off a low-hanging branch. “Would you want it—your father’s crown?”

“No one’s ever asked me that,” Lucien mused as we moved on, dodging fallen, rotting apples. The air was sticky-sweet. “The bloodshed that would be required to earn that crown wouldn’t be worth it. Neither would its festering court. I’d gain a crown—only to rule over a crafty, two-faced people.”

Lucien+Feyre vs. Autumn Court Brothers:

“Father,” the one now holding a knife to my throat said to Lucien, “is rather put out that you didn’t stop by to say hello.”

“We’re on an errand and can’t be delayed,” Lucien answered smoothly, mastering himself.

That knife pressed a fraction harder into my skin as he let out a humorless laugh. “Right. Rumor has it you two have run off together, cuckolding Tamlin.” His grin widened. “I didn’t think you had it in you, little brother.”

“He had it in her, it seems,” one of the others sniggered.

I slid my gaze to the male above me. “You will release us.”

“Our esteemed father wishes to see you,” he said with a snake’s smile. The knife didn’t waver. “So you will come with us to his home.” “Eris,” Lucien warned. The name clanged through me. Above me, mere inches away … Mor’s former betrothed. The male who had abandoned her when he found her brutalized body on the border. The High Lord’s heir.

---

“This can end with you going under, begging me to get you out once that ice instantly refreezes,” Eris drawled. Behind him, cut off by his brothers, Lucien had drawn his own knife and now sized up the other two. “Or this can end with you agreeing to take my hand. But either way, you will be coming with me.”

---

Glaring—then considering. Watching the three of us as I said to Eris, to his other two brothers, to the sentries on the shore, “You all deserve to die for this. And for much, much more. But I am going to spare your miserable lives.”

Even with a wound through his gut, Eris’s lip curled.

Cassian snarled his warning.

I only removed the glamour I’d kept on myself these weeks. With the sleeve of my jacket and shirt gone, there was nothing but smooth skin where that wound had been. Smooth skin that now became adorned with swirls and whorls of ink. The markings of my new title—and my mating bond.

Lucien’s face drained of color as he strode for us, stopping a healthy distance from Azriel’s side. “I am High Lady of the Night Court,” I said quietly to them all.

Even Eris stopped sneering. His amber eyes widened, something like fear now creeping into them.

Lucien advises the Inner Circle:

Lucien studied me again, and it was an effort not to squirm. “My father would likely join with Hybern if he thought he stood a chance of getting his power back that way—by killing you.”

A snarl from Rhys.

“Your brothers saw me, though,” I said, setting down my fork. “Perhaps they could mistake the flame as yours, but the ice …”

Lucien jerked his chin to Azriel. “That’s the information you need to gather. What my father knows —if my brothers realized what she was doing. You need to start from there, and build your plan for this meeting accordingly.”

Mor said, “Eris might keep that information to himself and convince the others to as well, if he thinks it’ll be more useful that way.” I wondered if Mor looked at that red hair, the golden-brown skin that was a few shades darker than his brothers’, and still saw Eris.

Lucien said evenly, “Perhaps. But we need to find that out. If Beron or Eris has that information, they’ll use it to their advantage in that meeting—to control it. Or control you. Or they might not show up at all, and instead go right to Hybern.”

Eris in the Hewn City:

If the Ouroboros could not be retrieved, at least without such terrible risk … I shut out the thought, sealing it away for later, as Keir left. Leaving us alone with Eris.

The heir of Autumn just sipped his wine.

And I had the terrible sense that Mor had gone somewhere far, far away as Eris set down his goblet and said, “You look well, Mor.”

“You don’t speak to her,” Azriel said softly.

Eris gave a bitter smile. “I see you’re still holding a grudge.”

“This arrangement, Eris,” Rhys said, “relies solely upon you keeping your mouth shut.”

Eris huffed a laugh. “And haven’t I done an excellent job? Not even my father suspected when I left tonight.”

I glanced between my mate and Eris. “How did this come about?”

Eris looked me over. The crown and dress. “You didn’t think that I knew your shadowsinger would come sniffing around to see if I’d told my father about your … powers? Especially after my brothers so mysteriously forgot about them, too. I knew it was a matter of time before one of you arrived to take care of my memory as well.” Eris tapped the side of his head with a long finger. “Too bad for you, I learned a thing or two about daemati. Too bad for my brothers that I never bothered to teach them.”

---

“Of course I didn’t tell my father,” Eris went on, drinking from his wine again. “Why waste that sort of information on the bastard? His answer would be to hunt you down and kill you—not realizing how much shit we’re in with Hybern and that you might be the key to stopping it.”

“So he plans to join us, then,” Rhys said.

“Not if he learns about your little secret.” Eris smirked. Mor blinked—as if realizing that Rhys’s contact with Eris, his invitation here … The glance she gave me, clear and settled, told me enough. Hurt and anger still swirled, but understanding, too.

“So what’s the asking price, Eris?” Mor demanded, leaning her bare arms on the dark glass. “Another little bride for you to torture?”

Something flickered in Eris’s eyes. “I don’t know who fed you those lies to begin with, Morrigan,” he said with vicious calm. “Likely the bastards you surround yourself with.” A sneer at Azriel.

Mor snarled, rattling the glasses. “You never gave any evidence to the contrary. Certainly not when you left me in those woods.”

“There were forces at work that you have never considered,” Eris said coldly. “And I am not going to waste my breath explaining them to you. Believe what you want about me.”

“You hunted me down like an animal,” I cut in. “I think we’ll choose to believe the worst.”

Eris’s pale face flushed. “I was given an order. And sent to do it with two of my … brothers.”

“And what of the brother you hunted down alongside me? The one whose lover you helped to execute before his eyes?”

Eris laid a hand flat on the table. “You know nothing about what happened that day. Nothing.”

Silence.

“Indulge me,” was all I said.

Eris stared me down. I stared right back.

“How do you think he made it to the Spring border,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t there—when they did it. Ask him. I refused. It was the first and only time I have denied my father anything. He punished me. And by the time I got free … They were going to kill him, too. I made sure they didn’t. Made sure Tamlin got word—anonymously—to get the hell over to his own border.”

Where two of Eris’s brothers had been killed. By Lucien and Tamlin.

Eris picked at a stray thread on his jacket. “Not all of us were so lucky in our friends and family as you, Rhysand.”

Rhys’s face was a mask of boredom. “It would seem so.”

And none of this entirely erased what he’d done, but … “What is the asking price,” I repeated.

“The same thing I told Azriel when I found him snooping through my father’s woods yesterday.”

Hurt flared in Mor’s eyes as she whipped her head toward the shadowsinger. But Azriel didn’t so much as acknowledge her as he announced, “When the time comes … we are to support Eris’s bid to take the throne.”

Even as Azriel spoke, that frozen rage dulled his face. And Eris was wise enough to finally pale at the sight. Perhaps that was why Eris had kept knowledge of my powers to himself. Not just for this sort of bargaining, but to avoid the wrath of the shadowsinger. The blade at his side.

“The request still stands, Rhysand,” Eris said, mastering himself, “to just kill my father and be done with it. I can pledge troops right now.”

Mother above. He didn’t even try to hide it—to look at all remorseful. It was an effort to keep my jaw from dropping to the table at his intent, the casualness with which he spoke it.

“Tempting, but too messy,” Rhys replied. “Beron sided with us in the War. Hopefully he’ll sway that way again.” A pointed stare at Eris.

“He will,” Eris promised, running a finger over one of the claw marks gouged into the table. “And will remain blissfully unaware of Feyre’s … gifts.” A throne—in exchange for his silence. And sway.

“Promise Keir nothing you care about,” Rhys said, waving a hand in dismissal.

Eris just rose to his feet. “We’ll see.” A frown at Mor as he drained his wine and set down the goblet. “I’m surprised you still can’t control yourself around him. You had every emotion written right on that pretty face of yours.”

“Watch it,” Azriel warned.

Eris looked between them, smiling faintly. Secretly. As if he knew something that Azriel didn’t. “I wouldn’t have touched you,” he said to Mor, who blanched again. “But when you fucked that other bastard—” A snarl ripped from Rhys’s throat at that. And my own. “I knew why you did it.” Again that secret smile that had Mor shrinking. Shrinking. “So I gave you your freedom, ending the betrothal in no uncertain terms.”

“And what happened next,” Azriel growled.

A shadow crossed Eris’s face. “There are few things I regret. That is one of them. But … perhaps one day, now that we are allies, I shall tell you why. What it cost me.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Mor said quietly. She pointed to the door. “Get out.”

Eris gave a mocking bow to her. To all of us. “See you at the meeting in twelve days.”

Inner Circle Reacts to Eris Alliance:

Mor whirled on Azriel. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Azriel held her gaze unflinchingly. Didn’t so much as rustle his wings. “Because you would have tried to stop it. And we can’t afford to lose Keir’s alliance—and face the threat of Eris.”

“You’re working with that prick,” Cassian cut in, whatever catching-up now over, apparently. He moved to Mor’s side, a hand on her back. He shook his head at Azriel and Rhys, disgust curling his lip. “You should have spiked Eris’s fucking head to the front gates.”

Azriel only watched them with that icy indifference. But Lucien crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch. “I have to agree with Cassian. Eris is a snake.”

Perhaps Rhys had not filled him in on everything, then. On what Eris had claimed about saving his youngest brother in whatever way he could. Of his defiance.

“Your whole family is despicable,” Amren said to Lucien from where she and Nesta lingered in the archway. “But Eris may prove a better alternative. If he can find a way to kill Beron off and make sure the power shifts to himself.”

“I’m sure he will,” Lucien said.

High Lord's Meeting

(the highlights - there's a lot of Beron, Eris, and Helion to piece together here)

Beron—slender-faced and brown-haired—didn’t bother to look anywhere but at the High Lords assembled. But his remaining sons sneered at us. Sneered enough that the Peregryns ruffled their feathers. Even Varian flashed his teeth in warning at the leer Cresseida earned from one of them. Their father didn’t bother to check them.

But Eris did.

A step behind his father, Eris murmured, “Enough,” and his younger brothers fell into line. All three of them.

Whether Beron noticed or cared, he did not let on. No, he merely stopped halfway across the room, hands folded before him, and scowled—as if we were a pack of mongrels.

Beron, the oldest among us. The most awful.

Rhys smoothly greeted him, though his power was a dark mountain shuddering beneath us, “It’s no surprise that you’re tardy, given that your own sons were too slow to catch my mate. I suppose it runs in the family.”

Beron’s lips curled slightly as he looked to me, my crown. “Mate—and High Lady.”

I leveled a flat, bored stare at him. Turned it on his hateful sons. On—Eris.

Eris only smiled at me, amused and aloof. Would he wear that mask when he ended his father’s life and stole his throne?

---

Tamlin only angled his head at Rhys. “When you fuck her, have you ever noticed that little noise she makes right before she climaxes?”

Heat stained my cheeks. This wasn’t outright battle, but a steady, careful shredding of my dignity, my credibility. Beron beamed, delighted—while Eris carefully monitored.

---

Rhys went on, “I … convinced her that it would serve little purpose.” “Who knew,” Beron mused, “that a cock could be so persuasive?”

“Father.” Eris’s voice was low with warning.

For Cassian, Azriel, Mor, and I had fixed our gazes upon Beron. And none of us were smiling. Perhaps Eris would be High Lord sooner than he planned.

---

“If you want proof that we are not scheming with Hybern,” Rhysand said blandly to them all, “consider the fact that it would be far less time-consuming to slice into your minds and make you do my bidding.”

Only Beron was stupid enough to scoff. Eris was just angling his body in his chair—blocking the path to his mother.

But Beron said, “You may be inclined to believe him, Rhysand, but as someone who shares a border with his court, I am not so easily swayed.” A wry look. “Perhaps my errant son can clarify. Pray, where is he?”

Even Tamlin looked toward us—toward me.

“Helping to guard our city,” was all I said. Not a lie, not entirely.

Eris snorted and surveyed Nesta, who stared back at him with steel in her face. “Pity you didn’t bring the other sister. I hear our little brother’s mate is quite the beauty.”

If they knew Elain was Lucien’s mate … It was now another avenue, I realized with no small amount of horror. Another way to strike at the youngest brother they hated so fiercely, so unreasonably. Eris’s bargain with us had not included protection of Lucien. My mouth went dry.

But Mor replied smoothly, “You still certainly like to hear yourself talk, Eris. Good to know some things don’t change over the centuries.”

Eris’s mouth curled into a smile at the words, the careful game of pretending that they had not seen each other in years. “Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut.

---

Only Eris knew how far that alliance went—information that could damn this meeting if either side revealed it. Information that could get him wiped off the earth by his father.

Mor was staring and staring at Azriel, who refused to look at her, who refused to do anything but give Eris that death-gaze.

Eris, wisely, averted his eyes. And said, “Apologies, Morrigan.”

His father actually gawked at the words. But something like approval shone on the Lady of Autumn’s face as her eldest son settled himself once more.

---

Beron’s face darkened. “Watch your tone, girl.”

“She doesn’t have to watch anything,” I cut in. “Not when you fling that sort of horseshit at her.” I looked to the alchemist. “I will take your antidote.”

Beron rolled his eyes.

But Eris said, “Father.”

Beron lifted a brow. “You have something to add?”

Eris didn’t flinch, but he seemed to choose his words very, very carefully. “I have seen the effects of faebane.” He nodded toward me. “It truly renders us unable to tap our power. If it’s wielded against us in war or beyond it—”

“If it is, we shall face it. I will not risk my people or family in testing out a theory.”

“It is no theory,” Nuan said, that mechanical hand clicking and whirring as it curled into a fist. “I would not stand here unless it had been proved without a doubt.”

A female of pride and hard work.

Eris said, “I will take it.”

It was the most … decent I’d ever heard him sound. Even Mor blinked at it.

Beron studied his son with a scrutiny that made some small, small part of me wonder if Eris might have grown to be a good male if he’d had a different father. If one still lurked there, beneath centuries of poison.

Because Eris … What had it been like for him, Under the Mountain? What games had he played— what had he endured? Trapped for forty-nine years. I doubted he would risk such a thing happening again. Even if it set him in opposition to his father—or perhaps because of that.

Beron only said, “No, you will not. Though I’m sure your brothers will be sorry to hear it.” Indeed, the others seemed rather put-out that their first barrier to the throne wasn’t about to risk his life in testing Nuan’s solution.

---

Rhys lifted a brow. “Your staggering generosity aside, will you be joining our forces?”

“I have not yet decided.”

Eris went so far as to give his father a look bordering on reproach. From genuine alarm or for what that refusal might mean for our own covert alliance, I couldn’t tell.

---

This argument was pointless. And I didn’t care who they were or who I was as I said to Beron, “Get out if you’re not going to be helpful.”

At his side, Eris had the wits to actually look worried.

But Beron continued to ignore his son’s pointed stare and hissed at me, “Did you know that while your mate was warming Amarantha’s bed, most of our people were locked beneath that mountain?”

I didn’t deign responding.

“Did you know that while he had his head between her legs, most of us were fighting to keep our families from becoming the nightly entertainment?”

---

Beron shot to his feet, not bothering to brush off the dust, and declared to no one in particular, “This meeting is over. I hope Hybern butchers you all.”

But Nesta rose from her chair. “This meeting is not over.”

Even Beron paused at her tone. Eris sized up the space between my sister and his father.

She stood tall, a pillar of steel. “You are all there is,” she said to Beron, to all of us. “You are all that there is between Hybern and the end of everything that is good and decent.” She settled her stare on Beron, unflinching and fierce.

“You fought against Hybern in the last war. Why do you refuse to do so now?” Beron did not deign to answer. But he did not leave. Eris subtly motioned his brothers to sit. Nesta marked the gesture—hesitated. As if realizing she indeed held their complete attention. That every word mattered.

---

She looked to Beron and his family as she finished. Only the Lady and Eris seemed to be considering—impressed, even, by the strange, simmering woman before them.

I didn’t have the words in me—to convey what was in my heart. Cassian seemed the same.

Beron only said, “I shall consider it.”

A look at his family, and they vanished. Eris was the last to winnow, something conflicted dancing over his face, as if this was not the outcome he’d planned for.

Expected.

The Lucien Paternity Revelation:

Helion began asking why we wanted to know, what Hybern was doing with the Cauldron … and Rhys fed him answers, easily and smoothly.

While we spoke, I said down the bond, Helion is Lucien’s father. Rhys was silent. Then— Holy burning hell. His shock was a shooting star between us.

I let my gaze dart through the room, half paying attention to Helion’s musing on the wall and how to repair it, then dared study the High Lord for a heartbeat. Look at him. The nose is the same, the smile. The voice. Even Lucien’s skin is darker than his brothers’. A golden brown compared to their pale coloring.

It would explain why his father and brothers detest him so much—why they have tormented him his entire life.

My heart squeezed at that. And why Eris didn’t want him dead. He wasn’t a threat to Eris’s power—his throne. I swallowed. Helion has no idea, does he?

It would seem not.

The Lady of Autumn’s favorite son—not only from Lucien’s goodness. But because he was the child she’d dreamed of having … with the male she undoubtedly loved.

The War:

Out of a rip in the world, Eris appeared atop our knoll, clad head to toe in silver armor, a red cape spilling from his shoulders. Rhys snarled a warning, too far gone in his power to bother controlling himself.

Eris just rested a hand on the pommel of his fine sword and said, “We thought you might need some help.”

---

But Beron. Beron had come. Eris registered our shock at that, too, and said, “Tamlin made him. Dragged my father out by his neck.” A half smile. “It was delightful.

---

Rhys’s voice was rough—low. “And what of your father?”

“We’re taking care of a problem,” was all Eris said, and pointed toward his father’s army. For those were his brothers approaching the front line, winnowing in bursts through the host. Right past the front lines and to the enemy wagons scattered throughout Hybern’s ranks.

The Final Meeting:

Eris was bruised and cut up enough to indicate he must have been in terrible shape after the fighting ceased yesterday, sporting a brutal slice down his cheek and neck—barely healed. Mor let out a satisfied grunt at the sight of it—or perhaps a sound of disappointment that the wound had not been fatal.

Eris continued by as if he hadn’t heard it, but didn’t sneer at least. Rather—he just nodded at Rhys. It was silent promise enough: soon. Soon, perhaps, Eris would finally take what he desired—and call in our debt.

We did not bother to nod back. None of us.

Especially not Lucien, who continued dutifully ignoring his eldest brother. But as Eris strode by … I could have sworn there was something like sadness—like regret, as he glanced to Lucien.

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

A Court of Frost and Starlight:

Mor's Flashback (TW: physical abuse, violence)

But the Autumn Court male standing beside Keir … Mor made herself look at Eris. Into his amber eyes.

Colder than any hall of Kallias’s court. They had been that way from the moment she’d met him, five centuries ago.

Eris laid a pale hand on the breast of his pewter-colored jacket, the portrait of Autumn Court gallantry. “I thought I’d extend some Solstice greetings of my own.”

That voice. That silky, arrogant voice. It had not altered, not in tone or timbre, in the passing centuries, either. Had not changed since that day.

Warm, buttery sunlight through the leaves, setting them glowing like rubies and citrines. The damp, earthen scent of rotting things beneath the leaves and roots she lay upon. Had been thrown and left upon.

Everything hurt. Everything. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but watch the sun drift through the rich canopy far overhead, listen to the wind between the silvery trunks.

And the center of that pain, radiating outward like living fire with each uneven, rasping breath …

Light, steady steps crunched on the leaves. Six sets. A border guard, a patrol.

Help. Someone to help—

A male voice, foreign and deep, swore. Then went silent.

Went silent as a single pair of steps approached. She couldn’t turn her head, couldn’t bear the agony. Could do nothing but inhale each wet, shuddering breath.

“Don’t touch her.”

Those steps stopped.

It was not a warning to protect her. Defend her.

She knew the voice that spoke. Had dreaded hearing it. She felt him approach now. Felt each reverberation in the leaves, the moss, the roots. As if the very land shuddered before him.

“No one touches her,” he said. Eris. “The moment we do, she’s our responsibility.”

Cold, unfeeling words.

“But—but they nailed a—”

“No one touches her.”

...

She began shaking, hating it as much as she’d hated the begging. Her body bellowed in agony, those nails in her abdomen relentless.

A pale, beautiful face appeared above her, blocking out the jewel-like leaves above. Unmoved. Impassive. “I take it you do not wish to live here, Morrigan.”

She would rather die here, bleed out here. She would rather die and return— return as something wicked and cruel, and shred them all apart.

He must have read it in her eyes. A small smile curved his lips. “I thought so.”

Eris straightened, turning. Her fingers curled in the leaves and loamy soil.

She wished she could grow claws—grow claws as Rhys could—and rip out that pale throat. But that was not her gift. Her gift … her gift had left her here. Broken and bleeding.

Eris took a step away.

Someone behind him blurted, “We can’t just leave her to—”

“We can, and we will,” Eris said simply, his pace unfaltering as he strode away. “She chose to sully herself; her family chose to deal with her like garbage. I have already told them my decision in this matter.” A long pause, crueler than the rest. “And I am not in the habit of fucking Illyrian leftovers.”

She couldn’t stop it, then. The tears that slid out, hot and burning. Alone. They would leave her alone here. Her friends did not know where she had gone. She barely knew where she was.

“But—” That dissenting voice cut in again.

“Move out.”

There was no dissension after that.

And when their steps faded away, then vanished, the silence returned.

The sun and the wind and the leaves.

The blood and the iron and the soil beneath her nails.

The pain.

Eris in the Hewn City:

“I would suggest reminding Beron that territory expansion is not on the table. For any court.”

Eris wasn’t fazed. Nothing had ever disturbed him, ruffled him. Mor had hated it from the moment she’d met him—that distance, that coldness. That lack of interest or feeling for the world. “Then I would suggest to you, High Lord, that you speak to your dear friend Tamlin about it.”

“Why.” Feyre’s question was sharp as a blade.

Eris’s mouth curved in an adder’s smile. “Because Tamlin’s territory is the only one that borders the human lands. I’d think that anyone looking to expand would have to go through the Spring Court first. Or at least obtain his permission.

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

A Court of Silver Flames:

Mor meets with Cassian:

“Eris bought me time.” Her words were laced with acid.

Cassian had tried not to believe it, but he knew Eris had done it as a gesture of good faith. He’d invited Rhysand into his mind to see exactly why he’d convinced Keir to indefinitely delay his visit to Velaris. Only Eris had that sort of sway with the power-hungry Keir, and whatever Eris had offered Keir in exchange for not coming here was still a mystery. At least to Cassian. Rhys probably knew. From Mor’s pale face, he wondered if she knew, too. Eris must have sacrificed something big to spare Mor from her father’s visit, which would have likely been timed for a moment that would maximize tormenting her.

Cassian meets with the Band of Exiles + Eris:

Lucien’s gold eye clicked, reading Cassian’s rage while warning flashed in his remaining russet eye.

The male had grown up alongside Eris. Had dealt with Eris’s and Beron’s cruelty. Had his lover slaughtered by his own father. But Lucien had learned to keep his cool.

---

Eris was their ally. Rhys had bargained with him, worked with him. Eris had held up his end at every turn. Rhys trusted him. Mor, despite all that had happened, trusted him. Sort of. So Cassian supposed he should do so as well.

---

Eris snorted again at Cassian’s fumbling, and, unable to help himself, Cassian at last turned toward him. “What are you doing here?”

Eris didn’t so much as shift in his seat. “Several dozen of my soldiers were out on patrol in my lands several days ago and have not reported back. We found no sign of battle. Even my hounds couldn’t track them beyond their last known location.”

Cassian’s brows lowered. He knew he shouldn’t let anything show, but … Those hounds were the best in Prythian. Canines blessed with magic of their own. Gray and sleek like smoke, they could race fast as the wind, sniff out any prey. They were so highly prized that the Autumn Court forbade them from being given or sold beyond its borders, and so expensive that only its nobility owned them. And they were bred rarely enough that even one was extremely difficult to come by. Eris, Cassian knew, had twelve.

“None of them could winnow?” Cassian asked.

“No. While the unit is one of my most skilled in combat, none of its soldiers are remarkable in magic or breeding.”

Breeding was tossed at Cassian with a smirk. Asshole.

But Eris shrugged a shoulder. “I think plenty of parties are interested in triggering another war, and this would be the start of it. Though perhaps your court did it. I wouldn’t put it past Rhysand to winnow my soldiers away and plant some mysterious scents to throw us off.”

---

Eris’s long red hair ruffled in the wind. “Whatever it is you’re doing, whatever it is you’re looking into, I want in.”

“Why? And no.”

“Because I need the edge Briallyn has, what Koschei has told her or shown her.”

“To overthrow your father.”

“Because my father has already pledged his forces to Briallyn and the war she wishes to incite.”

Cassian started. “What?”

“Explain what the fuck you mean by Beron pledging his forces to Briallyn.”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like. He caught wind of her ambitions, and went to her palace a month ago to meet with her. I stayed here, but I sent my best soldiers with him.” Cassian refrained from sniping about Eris opting out, especially as the last words settled.

“Those wouldn’t happen to be the same soldiers who went missing, would they?”

Eris nodded gravely. “They returned with my father, but they were … off. Aloof and strange. They vanished soon after—and my hounds confirmed that the scents at the scene are the same as those on gifts Briallyn sent to curry my father’s favor.”

---

“What does Beron say?”

“He is unaware of it. You know where I stand with my father. And this unholy alliance he’s struck with Briallyn will only hurt us. All of us. It will turn into a Fae war for control. So I want to find answers on my own—rather than what my father tries to feed me.”

Cassian surveyed the male, his grim face. “So we take out your father.”

Eris snorted, and Cassian bristled. “I am the only person my father has told of his new allegiance. If the Night Court moves, it will expose me.”

“So your worry about Briallyn’s alliance with Beron is about what it means for you, rather than the rest of us.”

“I only wish to defend the Autumn Court against its worst enemies.”

“Why would I work with you on this?”

“Because we are indeed allies.” Eris’s smile became lupine. “And because I do not believe your High Lord would wish me to go to other territories and ask them to help with Briallyn and Koschei. To help them remember that all it might take to secure Briallyn’s alliance would be to hand over a certain Archeron sister. Don’t be stupid enough to believe my father hasn’t thought of that, too.”

The Inner Circle Assigning Cassian to Eris:

And then Cassian had been slapped with a new order: keep an eye on Eris. Beyond the fact that he approached you, Rhys had said, you are my general. Eris commands Beron’s forces. Be in communication with him. Cassian had started to object, but Rhys had directed a pointed look at Azriel, and Cassian had caved. Az had too much on his plate already. Cassian could deal with that piece of shit Eris on his own.

Eris wants to avoid a war that would expose him, Feyre had guessed. If Beron sides with Briallyn, Eris would be forced to choose between his father and Prythian. The careful balance he’s struck by playing both sides would crumble. He wants to act when it’s convenient for his plans. This threatens that.

Eris meets with Rhys and Cassian:

“You’ve turned into quite the little traitor,” Rhys said, stars winking out in his eyes.

“I told you years ago what I wanted, High Lord,” Eris said.

To seize his father’s throne. “Why?” Cassian asked.

Eris grasped what he meant, apparently, because flame sizzled in his eyes. “For the same reason I left Morrigan untouched at the border.”

“You left her there to suffer and die,” Cassian spat. His Siphons flickered, and all he could see was the male’s pretty face, all he could feel was his own fist, aching to make contact.

Eris sneered. “Did I? Perhaps you should ask Morrigan whether that is true. I think she finally knows the answer.” Cassian’s head spun, and the relentless itching resumed, like fingers trailing along his spine, his legs, his scalp. Eris added before winnowing away, “Tell me when the shadowsinger returns.”

Eris meets with Cassian and Nesta:

“The Dread Trove,” Eris mused, surveying the heavy gray sky that threatened snow. “I’ve never heard of such items. Though it does not surprise me.”

“Does your father know of them?” The Steppes weren’t neutral ground, but they were empty enough that Eris had finally deigned to accept Cassian’s request to meet here. After taking days to reply to his message.

“No, thank the Mother,” Eris said, crossing his arms. “He would have told me if he did. But if the Trove has a sentience like you suggested, if it wants to be found … I fear that it might also be reaching out to others as well. Not just Briallyn and Koschei.”

Beron in possession of the Trove would be a disaster. He’d join the ranks of the King of Hybern. Could become something terrible and deathless like Lanthys. “So Briallyn failed to inform Beron about her quest for the Trove when he visited her?”

“Apparently, she doesn’t trust him, either,” Eris said, face full of contemplation. “I’ll need to think on that.”

“Don’t tell him about it,” Cassian warned.

Eris shook his head. “You misunderstand me. I’m not going to tell him a damned thing. But the fact that Briallyn is actively hiding her larger plans from him …” He nodded, more to himself. “Is this why Morrigan is back in Vallahan? To learn if they know about the Trove?”

---

Cassian grimaced. “Technically, Azriel and I did. Your soldiers were enchanted by Queen Briallyn and Koschei to be mindless killers. They attacked us in the Bog of Oorid, and we were left with no choice but to kill them.”

“And yet two survived. How convenient. I assume they received Azriel’s particular brand of interrogation?” Eris’s voice dripped disdain.

“We could only manage to contain two,” Cassian said tightly. “Under Briallyn’s influence, they were practically rabid.”

“Let’s not lie to ourselves. You only bothered to contain two, by the time your brute bloodlust ebbed away.”

Eris snorted. “There were certainly more than that, and you could have easily spared more than two. But I don’t know why I’d expect someone like you to have done any better.”

---

“Did you even try to spare the others, or did you just launch right into a massacre?” Eris seethed.

---

Nesta took one step closer to Eris. “Your soldiers shot an ash arrow through one of Azriel’s wings.”

Eris’s teeth flashed. “And did you join in this massacre, too?”

“No,” she said frankly. “But I wonder: Did Briallyn arm the soldiers with those ash arrows, or did they come from your private armory?”

Eris blinked, the only confirmation required. “Such weapons are banned, aren’t they?” she asked Cassian, whose features remained taut. The conflagration within her burned hotter, higher. She returned her attention to Eris. If he could toy with Cassian, then she’d return the favor. “Who were you storing those arrows for?” she mused. “Enemies abroad?” She smiled slightly. “Or an enemy at home?”

Eris held her stare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nesta’s smile didn’t waver. “Would an ash arrow through the heart kill a High Lord?”

Eris’s face paled. “You’re wasting my time.”

Eris and Nesta dance:

"Don’t believe the lies they tell you about me.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “Oh?”

Eris nodded to where Mor watched them from beside Feyre and Rhys, her face neutral and aloof. “She knows the truth but has never revealed it.”

“Why?”

“Because she is afraid of it.”

“You don’t win yourself any favors with your behavior.”

“Don’t I? Do I not ally myself with this court under constant threat of being discovered and killed by my father? Do I not offer aid whenever Rhysand wishes?” He spun her again. “They believe a version of events that is easier to swallow. I always thought Rhysand wiser than that, but he tends to be blind where those he loves are concerned.”

---

Cassian could only stare at Eris’s throat, pondering whether to strangle him or slit the skin wide open. Let him bleed out on the floor.

“That’s not my decision,” Rhys said calmly to Eris. “And it seems foolish for you to offer me anything I want in exchange for her, anyway.”

His jaw tightened. “I have my reasons.”

From the shadows in his eyes, Cassian knew something more lay beneath the rash offer. Something that even Az’s spies hadn’t picked up on at the Autumn Court. All it would take was one push of Rhys’s power into his mind and they’d know, but … it went against everything they stood for, at least amongst their allies. Rhys demanded their trust; he had to give it in return. Cassian couldn’t fault his brother for that.

Eris added, “It is a bonus, of course, that in doing so, I would be repaying Cassian for ruining my betrothal to Morrigan.”

---

Again, Rhys’s lips twitched. So bloodthirsty, Cassian heard his High Lord croon to his mate. But Rhys said, “Anything I want, whether it be armies from the Autumn Court or your firstborn, you would grant me in exchange for Nesta Archeron as your wife?”

Cassian growled low in his throat. His brother was letting this carry on too far.

Eris glared. “Not as far as the firstborn, but yes, Rhysand. You want armies against Briallyn and my father, you’ll have them.” His lips curved upward. “I couldn’t very well let my wife’s sister go into battle unaided, could I?”

Eris, Cassian, and Nesta meet (the last time before the Rite)

Cassian only gave her an amused wink before continuing, “Your letter seemed to imply that your father was making a move. Out with it.”

“My father went to the continent again last week. He came back seeming normal, without the glassy-eyed aloofness my soldiers displayed. He did not invite me to accompany him, or explain what he discussed with Briallyn. I can only assume the fallout is approaching, though, and wanted to warn you. It was not something I could risk putting in writing. But for now … for now, it seems as if the world is holding its breath.”

---

“That’s absurd,” Nesta snapped. “What do we have to gain?”

Red flame sizzled in Eris’s eyes. “What did the King of Hybern have to gain by attaining the Cauldron and invading our lands?”

“We have no interest in conquest, Eris,” Cassian said, crossing his arms. “You know that. And we’re not going to use the Trove.”

Eris barked a laugh. Nesta could see that he didn’t believe them—that he was so used to the twisted politics and scheming of his court that even when the simple, easy truth was offered, he could not see it. “I find myself not entirely comfortable with your court possessing two items in the Trove.” His gaze shifted to Nesta. “Especially when you have so many other weapons in your arsenal.”

---

Eris picked at a piece of lint on his jacket. At his side hung the dagger Rhys and Feyre had gifted him, simple and plain compared to the finery on him. Her dagger. “You’d be truly stupid to go after Briallyn directly.”

“Leave the heroics to the brutes, Eris,” Cassian said. “Wouldn’t want to risk cutting up those pretty hands.”

Eris’s fingers curled slightly on his biceps. Nesta reined in her smile. Cassian’s words had found their mark.

---

Eris only said, “If you fail in retrieving the Crown, you risk Briallyn using it upon you. She could turn you on each other. Make you do unspeakable things. Even reveal to her where the other two objects are. And you’d have no choice but to tell her everything.” He worried about them revealing their alliance—for his own sake. “You threaten to expose us. Do not pursue the Crown.”

---

Eris glowered. “Has this been the plan the whole time? To string me along, make me an enemy of my father, then use the Trove against all of us?”

“You made yourself an enemy of your father,” Cassian said, smiling faintly. “When he finds out, I wonder if he’ll let your hounds rip you to shreds, or if he’ll do it himself.”

Eris paled slightly. “Don’t you mean if he finds out?”

Cassian said nothing. Kept his face neutral. Nesta stifled her smugness and did the same.

Eris observed them. For the first time since Nesta had known the male, uncertainty banked the fire in his gaze.

And then he turned toward the other subject in his letter, facing Nesta before he asked, “And my offer for you?” Not one ounce of affection or longing laced his words.

Nesta lifted her chin, smirking at last. “I suppose once we have the Crown in our hands, the Night Court won’t need you after all. Neither will I.”

She could have sworn Cassian was repressing a laugh, but she kept her gaze on Eris, who went rigid, rippling with rage. “I do not appreciate being toyed with, Nesta Archeron. My offer was sincere. Stay with the Night Court and you risk your ruin.”

Cassian cut in smoothly, “Try to fuck us over, Eris, and you risk yours.”

Eris’s upper lip curled. “Do whatever you want.” He straightened, as if shaking off any emotion, face going cold and cruel again. “It’s your lives you gamble with, not mine.” He chuckled, nodding to Cassian. “So what if the world loses another brute to war? Good riddance.”

Eris getting kidnapped and ensnared by the Crown:

Azriel said tightly, “My spies got word that Eris has been captured by Briallyn. She sent his remaining soldiers after him while he was out hunting with his hounds. They grabbed him and somehow, they were all winnowed back to her palace. I’m guessing using Koschei’s power.”

---

I had to use that brash princeling Eris to draw him in.” A soft laugh. “Eris tried to help his soldiers when they surrounded him during his hunt. Help those wretches. He rode right up to them, rather than gallop away as any wise person would. They grabbed him with minimal fuss. Even those infernal hounds of his could do nothing as Koschei winnowed him away.”

Eris might be a good male?

Eris went on, “Always mix truth and lies, General. Didn’t those warrior-brutes teach you about how to withstand an enemy’s torture?”

Cassian knew. He’d been tortured and interrogated and never once broken. “Beron tortured you?”

Eris rose, tucking his book under an arm. “Who cares what my father does to me? He believed my story about the shadowsinger’s spies informing him that a valuable asset had been kidnapped by Briallyn, and that you lot were disgusted to arrive and find it was me, rather than someone from the Summer or Winter Courts or whoever stoops to associate with you.”

Cassian unpacked each word. Beron had tortured his own son for information, rather than thanking the Mother for returning him. But Eris had held out. Fed Beron another lie.

And then there was the way Eris had spoken about the other courts. Something had been off in his words, his tight expression. Was the male jealous?

Cassian opened his mouth, more than ready to launch that question at him and bestow a stinging blow.

Yet he hesitated. Looked into Eris’s eyes.

The male had been raised with every luxury and privilege—on paper. But who knew what terrors Beron had inflicted upon him? Cassian knew Beron had murdered Lucien’s lover. If the High Lord of Autumn had been willing to do that, what wouldn’t he do?

“Get that pitying look off your face,” Eris snarled softly. “I know what sort of creature my father is. I don’t need your sympathy.”

Cassian again studied him. “Why did you leave Mor in the woods that day?” It was the question that would always remain. “Was it just to impress your father?”

Eris barked a laugh, harsh and empty. “Why does it still matter to all of you so much?”

“Because she’s my sister, and I love her.”

“I didn’t realize Illyrians were in the habit of fucking their sisters.”

Cassian growled. “It still matters,” he ground out, “because it doesn’t add up. You know what a monster your father is and want to usurp him; you act against him in the best interests of not only the Autumn Court but also of all of the faerie lands; you risk your life to ally with us … and yet you left her in the woods. Is it guilt that motivates all of this? Because you left her to suffer and die?”

Golden flame simmered in Eris’s gaze. “I didn’t realize I’d be facing another interrogation so soon.”

“Give me a damn answer.”

Eris crossed his arms, then winced. As if whatever injuries lay beneath his immaculate clothes ached. “You’re not the person I want to explain myself to.”

“I doubt Mor will want to listen.”

“Maybe not.” Eris shifted on his feet, and grimaced again. “But you and yours have more important things to think about than ancient history. My father is furious that his ally is dead, but he’s not deterred. Koschei remains in play, and Beron might very well be stupid enough to establish an alliance with him, too. I hope that whatever Morrigan is doing in Vallahan will counteract the damage my father will unleash.”

----

Eris was still their ally. Was willing to be tortured to keep their secrets. And Cassian didn’t need to be a courtier to know his next words would slice deep, but it would be a necessary wound. Perhaps it would be enough to push things in the right direction.

---

“You know, Eris,” he said, a hand wrapping around the doorknob. “I think you might be a decent male, deep down, trapped in a terrible situation.” He looked over his shoulder and found Eris’s gaze blazing again. But only pity stirred in his chest, pity for a male who had been born into riches, but had been destitute in every way that truly mattered. In every way that Cassian had been blessed—blessings that were now overflowing.

So Cassian said, “I grew up surrounded by monsters. I’ve spent my existence fighting them. And I see you, Eris. You’re not one of them. Not even close. I think you might even be a good male.” Cassian opened the door, turning from Eris’s curled lip. “You’re just too much of a coward to act like one.”

#eris vanserra #autumn court #morrigan #a court of silver flames #long post #kp analysis #lucien vanserra #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #lady of the autumn court #helion spell cleaver #acotar series #mtp

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m-y-fandoms · 3 years

Text

COMMISSION: Joker/Akira/Ren x Reader Part 1

Thank you to the client for commissioning me! This is gonna be a long one! I love Joker and Persona 5 is my second favorite fandom after Danganronpa! Exctied to be working on this.

Around 2.6k words, SFW, SLOW BURN romance friends to lovers, gender neutral reader, anyone can enjoy it and place themselves as the reader! - Admin Myah

Shujin Academy could be silent as the grave in the earliest hours of the morning, and yet seem so deafening. It was almost guaranteed that at least thirty new rumors were spreading throughout the student body at any given time, and the overwhelmingly hostile environment that created made the air heavy. With all the teenage angst, hormones, hatred, circles of venomous malice, it was no wonder so many loners could be spotted on academy grounds. That’s just how it was at Shujin: you either had a clique, or you had no one. It was no surprise, then, that you simply kept your head down, minded your business, and got to know no one. Miraculously, though, gossip abound about you still, at least two or three preposterous examples of hearsay and stories. But hey, what could you do? That was in all actuality, pretty low for a single Shujin student. God help the students who actually did make their opinions known, express themselves through clothing and cosmetics, and dared to swim against the current.

You shuffled through the first floor, the absolute blandness of that April morning perpetuating your usual routine: arrive at Shujin, check your locker, scribble down any notes and ideas that came to you in your dreams last night to put into your next short story, and of course check for new posts in the group chat, where your only friends resided. You wouldn’t be caught dead associating with anyone here at the school, it would simply be mental and social suicide, and quite frankly, you didn’t have the constitution for that.

Peeking up for a split second to avoid any collisions, you quickly slid to the left and ducked into a nearby alcove, successfully escaping the gaze of the oncoming wall of muscle and testosterone that was Coach Kamoshida, the plague of Shujin Academy. It was the best case scenario that Kamoshida remained ignorant to one’s very existence, for even those on his good side suffered the consequences. He strode by, shoulders wide and chest puffed out, scanning the halls for girls to harass or boys to intimidate, and once the coast was clear and he was a safe distance away, his back facing you, you dipped back out of the rather dusty corridor and back into the light, immediately slipping back into an almost mechanical daily ritual. It took mere seconds: phone screen unlocked, group chat opened, notebook slipped snuggly back under armpit.

“C’mon, man!” An obnoxiously loud voice rang out above the typical tinnitus-like buzz of the hallway, and suddenly your shoulder was thrust forward, body flying to the ground with a forceful shove on the shoulder.

“Aaagh!” Your voice cracked as your knees buckled and you collided roughly with the wooden panels below, your smartphone soaring out of your grip and clinking against the floor. Thank goodness your notebook was safe, at the very least. People gasped and turned to look at the spectacle, including Kamoshida himself, who’d just reached the end of the hall.

“Sakamoto! I see you running in the halls again, I’ll write you up!” He just always had to say something, let the general student body know he was in charge. He cared far more about sounding rough and tough than making sure the student who was just steam-rolled was uninjured. He pointed directly at you and the student that had just dashed by, effectively pummeling you to the ground with a shoulder check. You looked up and just ahead of you, Ryuji Sakamoto was pivoting on one foot, ignoring Kamoshida’s threat entirely to catch his breath and look down at his victim, splayed across the floor.

Ryuji Sakamoto, now that was one of those students mentioned earlier, the kind that dyed his hair, customized his uniform, and didn’t take shit from anyone. He was a pariah, pretty much the opposite of the teacher’s pet… teacher’s pest more like. Sakamoto was the subject of many falsehoods and conjectures, and he was sure to be trouble for anyone associated…

You looked him up and down, halting your unflattering and socially-altered thoughts in their tracks. Didn’t wanna become the very thing you hated. There was no reason to judge Ryuji without first-hand proof.

“Woah! My bad, sorry dude!” He held up one hand submissively, but unfortunately, just as with Kamoshida, it seemed that you were not his main concern either. Huffing and puffing from the sprint, he looked past you to another male student who was hot on his trail, but this one looked… different.

You’d gone to Shujin Academy for all of your high-school career. It was your third and final year before graduation, and you knew of Sakamoto well enough, but this kid was a mystery… was he new here? He must’ve been. You knew at least the face of every student here in some way or another just through Shujin’s own little eternal game of telephone, and not by any choice of your own. You actively removed yourself from the local goings-on. Was it his first day here, you wondered. Why hadn’t you heard gossip about him yet, especially looking the way he did?

Beauty was a curse - much like any other feature that stood out - at Shujin Academy. If you were too pretty or handsome, you must be sexually promiscuous. On the other hand, if you were too ugly, too nerdy, too quiet, you probably picked your nose and read hentai on the train. There was no winning in this soul-crushing wasteland. Unfortunately for this new-comer, he was outrageously gorgeous.

“Gah, sorry about that…” he sighed, slowing his pace as he passed you by, plucking your phone up from the ground and offering you his hand. You took it and stood with his help. A quick tug and you were to your feet, dusting off your uniform and thanking him for his assistance. “Yeah, no problem… Ryuji’s just… a bit eager I suppose” he chuckled. “Luckily, no cracks!” He turned your phone around in his hand before placing it back into yours.

“Isn’t that the transfer student??? I heard he nearly killed a man!” One random NPC-esque shithead whispered from behind.

“Oh God, figures that freak would gravitate to the new freak…” another responded.

Ah… and there it was. Why did fate hate you so much that it chose you as Sakamoto’s door mat on this day? You truly must have been fortune’s fool.

“Yeah, good thing…” You eyed the boy before you, taking in what you could of the new student before the short exchange was over, from his face to the delicate yet thick veins protruding from his lithe hands.

He was tall and thin, and would even be considered lanky if not for the lean muscle that lined his frame. He seemed to be better off than the average teen, sporting almost no blemishes or imperfections on his smooth skin. A black, messy mop of hair that looked soft to the touch sat upon his head, falling into his eyes and over the dark frames of his distinct spectacles. These spectacles did nothing to hide the true elegance that gleamed in the eyes behind them. They were a muted, soft grey that was beautifully simple and clean. His uniform was neat and tidy - as opposed to his blonde and brash acquaintance’s - with his pristine white turtleneck gently blanketing a quite prominent Adam’s apple and his school jacket buttoned and ironed perfectly. Lower down, his plaid slacks concealed thighs that strained against the fabric and long legs that ran down into some very - yet again - flawless dress shoes. Yep, that was a brand new uniform, sure enough.

And a brand new student… he just might make a good subject, a new inspiration for your writing, an aura unmarred by the stain this place put on one’s soul. Your opinion of him was fresh, it was new, unaltered, unbiased, and he really was quite beautiful… your mind played with the thought.

“Ah… sorry about this,” he spoke, taking in the whispers all around you, “I probably just ruined your reputation, what with being seen with me an’ all,” he sighed and laughed breathily, a hint of exhaustion in his voice. He must’ve been keen to the ways of Shujin already, which was super sad in its own right. “I’m Akira by the way,” he held out a hand, and you shook it hesitantly.

“Eh, doesn’t really bother me. It’s (Y/N), nice to meet you. Sorry you’re feeling the Shujin warm welcome.” That first part was only partly true, but the last half was genuine.

“Anyway…” his voice shook you back out of your contemplative reverie, and you came back to reality to find him also looking you over. Oh right… you were new to him as well… “I gotta go, Ryuji is kind of impatient, I’ve found.”

“Hey! Am not!” Ryuji retorted, brows furrowing before he ran off. Akira’s eyes rolled playfully, before he smiled, waved, and sped off.

You nodded, and quickly pulled out your phone, rushing to the glass doors leading to the courtyard. Anything to get out of the spotlight and harsh crowd of stares, plus, you had a sparkling new idea filling up your cranium, and artistic inspiration could not be wasted. Finding one of the benches placed for student recreation, you set down your school bag and impatiently scrambled for your favorite pen, throwing open your notebook.

“Oh, shoot!” You’d gotten ahead of yourself in all the excitement. Placing the moleskin down, you picked up your phone, hands trembling just a bit, and messaged you friends before anything else. They just had to hear about this.

＊

(Y/N) 9:55 am: Guys guys guys!!!

Itsuki 9:56 am: What do you want?

Rin 9:56 am: ???

Megumi 9:57 am: Shouldn’t you be in class?

(Y/N) 9:57 am: Shut up I have a free period just listen

You know how I’ve been having writer’s block?

Rin 9:58 am: Ya

(Y/N) 9:58 am: Well I just met this new kid, and ideas just started FLOWING.

Itsuki 9:59 am: Yeah

Megumi 9:59 am: Yeah we remember nerd

Oh that’s great!

Wait what do you mean?

New kid?

Only we can have you 😭 Don’ go switching up on us. Shujin is

toxic anyway.

(Y/N) 10:01 am: No no no It’s not like we’re friends, I just met him is all

You know you’re my one and only bby 😘

Itsuki 10:01 am: New kid???

Megumi 10:01 am: 😎

Itsuki 10:02 am: Gross

Also what about me!!!!

Rin 10:02 am: Me too 😡😡😡

(Y/N) 10:03 am: You two know you’re included in that???? 🤔🙄

Anyway just listen

I think he may be good inspo for my main character!!!

I was stuck looking for a unique look or face claim or something

But he seems nice enough and he’s good looking!

Itsuki 10:05 am: You got a crush? Awww I’m telling 😏😏😏😏

(Y/N) 10:05 am: I swear it’s like we haven’t been friends for years…

You know me, PLEASE don’t be gross

Writing purposes ONLY

Megumi 10:06 am: I thought you were stuck on the CONTENT, not characters and shit

(Y/N) 10:06 am: Both!!!! But he’s perfect for the look of my protag

Itsuki 10:06 am: 😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏

Megumi 10:07 am: Well I’m happy for you

STOP

Itsuki 10:07 am: 😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏

Rin 10:07 am: 😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏

(Y/N) 10:08 am: I can see this conversation isn’t going to be productive

LMAO you’re assholes

＊

You tucked your phone into your pocket and once again picked up your notebook. Scrawling down some of the details you knew about Akria: his looks, the sound of his voice, the way he carried himself, you quickly became aware that you knew far too little… or rather

You wanted to know more.

Standing, you packed your things and set out to find him again…

Not in the creepy way! You thought to yourself, trying to justify this uncharacteristic choice of yours to actually reach out to someone in real life, to maybe… try to make… friends? You stood there, brows furrowed and a small frown on your face, pondering your options.

“Oh well, all artists must suffer for their work!” You resolved a little too promptly to try to force another encounter with the new kid. He seemed to be special, unique. He seemed to be well aware of the social hierarchy of Shujin, and have a distaste of it at least. Maybe he wouldn’t be… so bad?

Making up your mind, you spent your free period not writing of romance and rebellious characters, but searching for that fluffy-headed newfound hero to your story, however ghoulish and greasy that made you appear. You truly were becoming that “reads-hentai-on-the-train” and stalks cute boys freak your peers thought people like you were, weren’t you?

To your surprise (though maybe it shouldn’t have been surprising with the volume of Sakamoto’s voice) you soon found the gaggle of second-years, model-status beauty Ann Takamaki now added to their number, standing next to the stairs on the third floor, looking quite conspicuous to boot. Noting the suspicious air around the three, you pulled back, hiding behind the corner leading down the next hall. They seemed on edge... maybe now wasn’t the best time to make friends…?

You felt something thump in your chest. Your shoulders sank subconsciously. It felt a little disappointing, disheartening in a way you couldn’t explain. It was a bit intimidating: Ryuji the loudmouth with a temper, the hottest girl in the school, and the cute new kid. You sighed, this was why you never tried to make friends in the first place. Why had you even gotten your hopes up?

These irrational feelings of self-doubt clouded your heart, your head knowing better of course. It was hard to fight thoughts like these, especially for someone like you. On the precipice of making up your mind, deciding to give up and scrap the new novel idea altogether, you were jolted to attention by the sound of shoes scuffling and scrambling up the stairs.

Students aren’t really allowed on the rooftop during school hours unless accompanied by a teacher or given express permission, your thoughts swarmed. Maybe they didn’t know? No, there’s no way. There’s a possibility Akira didn’t know, but Ann and Ryuji had been here for two years... What were they up to?

Your nosiness was regrettably getting the better of you, and you slithered over, careful to pad your steps and tread softly. You didn’t even know what you’d do once you’d cornered the trio on the roof, didn’t know what you’d say. What was there to say? You were never too good with words, that is those not written on paper. Your heart beating out of your chest, you climbed the narrow stairwell and threw open the doors to the roof.

“Huh?” You looked around, dumbfounded. “Hello?” The rooftop area was not that large, all parts of it visible from the door.

There was no one to be found.

“What the hell?” You step forward, thinking you must have been the subject of some prank, but no, upon looking around, all three students were gone without a trace. No school bags, no lunch boxes, no uniform pieces, nothing. Akira, Ryuji, and Ann, all vanished into thin air. There were no hiding spots, none big enough for three people at least. It was dead silent, and only the door you currently guarded provided an exit off of the roof. Your mind wanted to wander to darker places, but if they’d have jumped, there surely would’ve been a commotion either during or shortly after. Frantically, you looked around, feeling like you were going crazy.

“What the fuck?” You pressed the palm of one hand to your forehead, sitting on the ground and crossing your legs.

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scarletarosa · 3 years

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Eris

Greek goddess of discord, enmity, and strife

Eris (Roman: Discordia) is one of the most malignant goddesses and represents all that brings hatred, distrust, and suffering into existence. From my workings with this goddess’ mother and my own encounters with Eris, I have documented a more in-depth account of the treacherous nature of this goddess. The origin of Eris is as a daughter of Nyx (goddess of night) and Erebus (god of darkness). While neither Nyx or Erebus are malicious deities, Eris by her own nature became full of animosity and violence towards others. Other children of Nyx were born, but it is her daughter, Philotes, who is the counterbalance to Eris. Since Philotes is the goddess of unity and represents all that causes love, compassion, and harmony in existence, she seeks to mend and fight against the harm caused by her half-sister, Eris.

Although Eris loves no-one, she has still had brief lovers and has birthed several children as a result. Her children are sometimes Kakodaimones (tar spirits) which are malevolent entities of tar that plague mankind and seek to destroy lives. Other children of Eris are monstrous-looking beings of cruelty that represent the aftermaths of discord. Some of these have been Ponos (Toil), Lethe (Forgetfulness), Limos (Starvation), the Algea (Pains), the Hysminai (Fightings), the Makhai (Battles), the Phonoi (Murders), the Androktasiai (Man-slaughters), the Neikea (Quarrels), the Pseudo-Logoi (Lies), the Amphilogiai (Disputes), Dysnomia (Lawlessness), and Ate (Ruin).

Mythology: The main mythology Eris is mentioned in is the story of the golden apple. While this myth is embellished of course (as the majority of myths are), it is still based upon a true event that Eris had caused. The story goes that because of Eris’ reputation, she was the only goddess to not be invited to the wedding of Peleus and Thetis. The goddess spitefully showed up anyway but was refused admittance, so she went into a fit of rage and created a golden apple- upon it was inscribed “To the fairest”. This apple was imbued with Eris’ energy of discord and as soon as she threw it, it immediately struck competition and jealousy into the hearts of the other goddesses. The three who laid claim upon the golden apple were Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite- each fought over who was most deserving of this prize. In the end, Aphrodite was awarded the apple after offering Paris to have Helene as a bride, an offer he could not refuse. Yet even this action ended up causing even more strife since it sparked the Trojan War.

Although despite what the Greeks had assumed, Eris is neither a sister or friend of Ares, but they are actually enemies. According to Ares, this is not just because Eris only uses people for her own gain, but also because she is the one who told Hephaestus of his affair with Aphrodite, causing them to be caught and humiliated. The only deity Eris has ever made a sort of “partnership” with has been Loki, since they both may seldom work together to bring rivalry and betrayals among humans. The two of them also act very similar to one another and employ many of the same tactics.

Appearance: Eris appears a seductive woman with amber eyes, long black hair, and pale skin. She wears black dresses when alone, but when among others, she likes to wear colourful clothing that best suits how she wishes to have others view her.

Personality: Eris is completely dangerous and cannot be made as an ally. She is selfish, cold, cruel, vindictive, deceitful, sadistic, and is a master of manipulation. She is also willing to employ any means available to have her way, including temptation, seduction, manipulation, deception, betrayal, emotional abuse, physical attacks, killing, etc. Eris can even create beautiful objects in order to bribe people into doing harmful things or cause other chaos (as shown with the golden apple). Because of all her corrupt deeds, the gods had long ago banished Eris from staying upon the Earth, forcing her out into the vastness of space where she made her home in an isolated spirit-dimension. Although Eris will sometimes return and glide through the Earth’s atmosphere, causing humans and deities alike to become suddenly prone to arguments and wars. She greatly delights in the suffering of others and hates seeing anything that is pleasant; if she has the chance, she seeks to destroy such enjoyable things in whatever way she can. Be it a bloodied battlefield, a gruesome murder, or a destroyed relationship, Eris will be laughing.

For those who try to communicate or work with Eris, their lives are eventually ruined in some way or they end up losing something that was precious to them. Be wary that this goddess does not represent the totality of chaos, only the unnecessary aspects of it and the maliciousness of egocentrism. She loves to have people work with her or adore her only so she can stab them in the back and gloat over their heartbreak; but plenty of times she causes strife to people who don’t work with her at all. But by working with this goddess, it only assures that her attention will be fixated on you rather than possibly being targeted for temporary fun (which might only cause one fight to break out). Some common things that Eris likes to cause are making partners cheat on each other or have frequent fights, destroying careers, having malicious rumours spread, family infighting, tearing apart friendships, causing battles, and belittling people. If she cannot manipulate a person, Eris herself often likes to say malicious words in order to make people feel horrible about themselves, even to the point of depression.

So overall, this goddess only desires a world where everyone and everything is in ruins, to the point where everyone hates each other and there is no compassion or pleasure for anything. Only rivalries and egotistical actions would remain. It is therefore best to remain cautious and to not put trust into this deity who embodies such things, she is not worth the risk. If you need help in maintaining harmony within your life, Philotes can always be worked with since she is a force of unity.

*artwork by Irenhorrors

#eris #discordia #greek gods #hellenism #hellenic polytheism #deities

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sachigram · 3 years

Text

“With Teeth” Chapter One

((click here to read on ao3!!!!))

Izaya is in the middle of this third all-nighter in a row, buried in his files and flicking back and forth between tabs to confirm and add to his information. He's going to send this to Shiki as soon as it's done, and then he's finally going to get some well-deserved rest. In all fairness, no one is making him work so tirelessly, aside from himself. He leans back in his chair, lifting his arms above his head, a soft noise of satisfaction leaving him when his joints pop. A low growl comes from the direction of the couch, but Izaya doesn't turn his gaze away from his screen.

“You're in my home. Feel free to leave if you're so bothered by me,” Izaya calls to the looming figure. Another growl is sent his way, this one louder than the last. Izaya finally lifts his head and smirks up at the monster occupying his space.

No one else would be able to recognize Heiwajima Shizuo like this, but it's becoming a regular sight for Izaya, who never hides his disgust or enjoyment at seeing Shizuo in his true form. Hollywood has really romanticized werewolves in the past few years, painting them as large, overgrown puppies, but Shizuo is anything but romantic right now, his body stretched and twisted, his skin dark and leathery, covered by wisps of wiry fur in places. Shizuo has so many sharp, jagged teeth they can't fit entirely in his mouth, and he's leaving drool in his wake, but Izaya will only have Namie clean it in the morning. She'll complain, but she doesn't often ask too many questions.

“What is it? You look angry,” Izaya drawls, making a show of giving Shizuo his full attention. Shizuo snarls at him, more drool escaping his mouth. “Could it be the bloodlust is worse than normal tonight? How tragic for you.”

It's been this way for about half a year now, ever since Shizuo was bitten. Shizuo came to Izaya, defeated, overwhelmed with the desire to kill, to maim, his violence only growing more and more as the full moon approached. Izaya took pity on him, helped the monster when he really didn't have to, but Shizuo refuses to look at it as anything resembling benevolence. Izaya's potion helps keep Shizuo in his own mind, and it stops him from acting on his desires, but it can't do much to stop the desire to bite.

Izaya is only a witch, after all, not a miracle worker.

“You could always go out, you know? Bite some poor bystander. You'd bring me more business, anyway.” He laughs delightedly when Shizuo lunges at him, and he moves swiftly out of the beast's way, lifting a hand up and clenching his fingers. Shizuo's body straightens immediately, his arms snapping flat as his sides, powerless against Izaya's magic. His expression doesn't change, however, and Izaya loves knowing how much Shizuo wants to kill him right now, how Shizuo wants nothing more than to tear out Izaya's throat with his jagged teeth. “Relax, would you? The night is young, and you've gone through this too many times to lose yourself now.”

Shizuo relaxes a little at the reminder that if he kills anyone, even Izaya, it's only proving what a monster he's become. There's a haunted look in his eyes, a certain dark shadow that says he's gone through every stage of grief already and settled on helpless, begrudging acceptance. Shizuo needs Izaya now, and Izaya is completely in love with it.

“Good boy, Shizu-chan. We'll civilize you, yet,” Izaya purrs, releasing Shizuo from his grip. Shizuo huffs before going back to pacing a hole in the floor, and Izaya returns to his desk, moving the mouse so the screensaver disappears.

Business as usual.

***

Six months ago, Izaya was completely fed up.

His enjoyment with his work was stagnating, and he was more bored than he'd ever been. Worse than that, Shizuo was becoming closer and closer with that woman, and he was paying less and less attention to Izaya, not rising to the bait Izaya would set out. It got to the point that Shizuo walked past Izaya on the street one day, not even bothering to look at him, and that was the final straw for Izaya, who refused to be ignored. He made some calls, opened old wounds, arranged a meeting.

It took less than half a day to ruin the rest of Shizuo's life. How laughable.

After the initial bite, given by some higher end Yakuza who held a personal grudge against Shizuo, or at least against his reputation, Izaya decided to sit back and wait. He knew Shizuo would come to him eventually, as all monsters inevitably did. Shizuo lasted longer than Izaya thought he would, to his credit, but he grew weaker, more haggard-looking as the days progressed. Rumors were flying around the city, most of them speculating whether or not Shizuo had some sort of terminal illness, and days went by where the monster wasn't seen at all, and Tom and Vorona were handling work without him.

Finally, a few days before the next full moon, there was a soft knock at Izaya's door, far too gentle to be Shizuo, but Izaya knew it was Shizuo even before he answered. Shizuo's eyes were dark rimmed, like he hadn't slept in days, and there was something about him that made him seem almost helpless, an adjective Izaya never once thought to apply to Heiwajima Shizuo.

“What did you do to me?” Shizuo asked before Izaya could say anything.

“What are you talking about?” Izaya replied, his voice smaller than he would've liked. It was a little unsettling, seeing Shizuo so weak, so sickly. Shizuo was always able to surprise Izaya, but this was something different entirely.

“You fucking know what!” Shizuo shoved Izaya then, and his usual strength was there, the force of it knocking Izaya clear across the room. He caught himself before he could hit the floor, and he reminded himself no matter what Shizuo looked like in the moment, he was still a formidable predator, more of a monster than ever before. A knife was in Izaya's hand before he was even aware of drawing it. Shizuo's dark eyes moved from Izaya's face to the knife, then back up.

“You know what,” Shizuo said again, and his face crumpled in pain and fear. Izaya lowered the knife, fighting back a smile as he observed his mortal enemy.

This was more like it.

“I haven't even seen you. I haven't been to your city. Why are you here?” Izaya asked, and Shizuo growled before marching forward, his teeth bared.

“What the fuck was that guy? What did he turn me into? I know you sent those assholes after me.” Shizuo looked down at his hands, clearly fighting with himself on whether he should admit any of this to Izaya. “The dreams, the blood— fuck. Izaya, what did you do to me?”

Izaya put his knife back in his pocket then, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face. Shizuo noticed it, snarled openly, but otherwise did nothing.

“You came to me,” Izaya said as he moved towards Shizuo. “Why would I ever help you?”

Shizuo's expression hardened, but his eyes remained just as helpless. He seemed to be struggling to answer, but Izaya knew already. All monsters made their way to him eventually. It was instinctual, just something they knew to do.

“Congratulations, Shizu-chan,” Izaya said, and his smile grew into a leer. “You're less human now than you've ever been.”

***

Izaya groans as he stretches again, rolling his shoulders. They're stiff from being in the same hunched position so long, but he's finally done with work, and he's looking forward to sleeping the rest of the day. He might even call Namie and tell her not to bother coming in. He closes everything and turns off his computer, his attention caught by the brightening sky, hues of pink and gold beginning to fill his apartment. He looks over at Shizuo, who is back in his human form, just sitting in a heap of limbs on the hard floor, panting heavily.

“Oh, good, you're back to normal,” Izaya says. “Now get out.”

“Give me a fucking minute!” Shizuo snaps, his voice strained. The transformation is incredibly painful, Izaya knows. Shizuo isn't his only werewolf client, after all, but he's the only one who insists on making Izaya babysit throughout every full moon. Shizuo is rightfully terrified of what he is and what he could do. Izaya just enjoys seeing him suffer.

“Fine, but you could at least gather yourself quietly. Listening to you pant and whine is giving me a headache,” Izaya says, leaning back in his chair and grinning when Shizuo glares over at him.

“Just make yourself a healing potion then, witch.”

It's said like a slur, wielded in a way meant to offend. Izaya is used to this by now, as he's been aware of what he is for most of his life. Creatures come to him, needing help, but fearing him. Witches are rare, even more so in the human realm, and the others who exist here aren't as powerful as Izaya is, aren't able to provide the same services. Most of Izaya's clients hate him and would like to see him dead.

Par for the course, really. At least most of them are upfront about it.

“I might just do that! As soon as this rotten, smelly monster is out of my space, I might just do a lot of things.” Izaya stands, moving towards Shizuo and kicking his pile of clothes towards him. “Get dressed, and get out, before I send you flying out the window.”

The hatred is palpable between them, just as it's always been, and Shizuo isn't looking at anything but Izaya as he slowly begins pulling his clothes back on. They're in a truce of sorts, Shizuo needing Izaya too much to kill him, and Izaya taking pleasure in Shizuo's misery. They'll still fight in public if they cross paths, but here, behind closed doors, Izaya knows Shizuo is in the palm of his hand.

They both know it.

Shizuo finishes getting dressed and limps towards the door, his mind a whirlwind of angered static that he seems to be projecting. He barely manages to cross through the threshold before Izaya slams the door behind him. Izaya listens to Shizuo's steps fading, and he can't help the laughter that spills from his lips, growing louder and louder until it has Izaya falling to the floor, holding his sides as he cackles with delight.

For the first time in his life, Izaya loves what he is.

***

It started early, too early for Izaya to truly remember the finer details. He had dreams, and then he saw things. It was chalked up to an overactive imagination, especially since he was always reading, very advanced for his age. He'd say things, and his parents would compliment him, would tell him how smart he was. For a while, he believed them, and he loved the attention he got, would strive to do even better and learn even more, but it only lasted so long. His parents started spending less and less time at home, and Izaya went from staying with his grandparents to occasionally having them look in on him. He spent the majority of his time alone, and that's when the dreams turned into reality.

Spirits would visit him, wanting help, and they'd terrify him, would clatter about the house and lurk around corners, waiting to be acknowledged and saved, and Izaya didn't know what the hell he was supposed to do for them. For a while, he tried to hide from them, would tune them out by blasting the TV as loudly as it would go. The neighbors started complaining about the noise, and after a stern phone call from his parents, Izaya was forced to sit on his own and listen to the voices of the dead.

After the twins were born, and his parents were around more, Izaya started to relax a little. It was better having other people around, though the spirits remained. Gradually, his parents started spending more time away from the house again, and soon enough, Izaya was left to care for his baby sisters. He was thankful they couldn't seem to see the spirits that lingered around the house.

The first time someone referred to Izaya as a witch, it was spat in a derogatory way, definitely meant to harm. It was an older spirit, a man frustrated with Izaya and his inability to help. The man couldn't accept he was dead, and he couldn't seem to figure out how to pass on. He took all of his rage out on the house, slamming cabinets, breaking things, and the twins were crying in fear, toddlers by that point. They couldn't see the ghost, but they could see their belongings being tossed around and smashed. Izaya tried to calm them down, which only upset the man even more.

“LISTEN to me, you fucking witch!”

Until then, Izaya had never really had a term to describe himself. He knew he was different, but he never knew why. He put the twins in their room, telling them to play with their toys, and he moved to the man's side, his jaw set in irritation.

“What did you call me?”

“A witch! All of you are scum, but I'm stuck with a little brat on top of it.” The man looked at Izaya with such disgust, such judgment. Izaya was so very tired of being looked at that way. He found himself lifting his hand, and a moment later, the man was writhing on the floor in complete agony, tears streaming down his transparent face. Izaya watched him for a long time, a small, satisfied smile on his face as the man pleaded with him to stop, please, stop.

“Let's try this again,” Izaya said, kneeling down. “Ask me for my help, and I'll see what I can do.”

Something changed that day. Izaya was fed up being stuck trying to care for everyone. He poured himself into research, learned to use his abilities, and while the humans in his life seemed to understand him less and less, the other world delighted in him. Word of his power spread, and soon enough it wasn't just the dead coming to see him, but the undead as well.

“I just think it's so cool!” Shinra said one day. The sun was setting outside, lighting the empty classroom in an orange tint. Shinra's glasses reflected the sunset, hiding his true expression. “I don't see why you wouldn't want everyone to know.”

“Well, you spend all your time spouting nonsense about Celty, and everyone just thinks you're insane. I'd rather not be lumped in with you,” Izaya said, holding a dead plant in his hand. With a thought, he brought it back to life. “Stop letting these die, would you? It's messing with our data.”

“Sorry, I get distracted!” Shinra scribbled something down on his notepad and then looked up at Izaya once more. “I'm glad you told me, Izaya-kun.”

Izaya shrugged. “You live with a fairy. You already know about the other world. It's not like we're bound together in secrecy.”

“But who did you get it from? It's genetic, isn't it? Your parents—“

“Have no idea, and I'd like to keep it that way. My sisters don't know, either. I seem to be the only one who has these abilities.”

“Your grandparents?” Shinra asked.

Izaya shrugged again. “As I said, it seems to be only me.”

“Hmm.” Shinra put his finger to his chin in thought. “It's possible it skips generations. If magical abilities passed down continuously, it wouldn't be as rare as it is.”

“Lucky me,” Izaya murmured, setting the flower pot down with the others.

“Yes, lucky you,” Shinra said wistfully. “I'd give anything to be involved in the same world as my Celty.”

“She's hardly herself at all without her head,” Izaya reminded him. “If she was complete, she wouldn't be sticking around with humans.”

“Oh, I know. If I have my way, she'll never have her head.”

Izaya snorted, a smile appearing on his face. Shinra was the only person he knew that could say such selfish things as if they were normal.

“You want her to be incomplete for the rest of her existence, and you're calling it love. You're twisted, Shinra.”

“Being incomplete with someone else is better than being complete alone!”

“It's not, and you're an idiot.”

“Well, either way,” Shinra said, and he put an arm around Izaya, who shrugged him off. “Celty wants to meet you! She can't believe I know one of the few remaining witches!”

“Ugh.”

“And I want you to meet my other friend! He's not magic or anything, but he's insanely strong. To think I'd ever have such extraordinary people in my life!”

Izaya tuned him out, thinking to himself that Shinra was enough for him. The less people he had to explain himself to, the better.

***

Izaya wakes much later, face-down in his pillow. He groans, rolling over, his entire body sore. He looks at his clock and finds he's been asleep most of the day.

“Welcome back,” says an irritatingly familiar voice in the corner. Izaya groans again and covers his face with his pillow.

“Why're you here?” he slurs, his voice thick with sleep. “The sun's up.”

“Yes, but this corner is dark enough. Your blackout curtains hide the worst of the sun. I'm here for my usual potions.”

“It's been a month already? I've lost track of time,” Izaya says, finally looking over at Tsukumoya. The vampire looks amused, as always. And far too smug.

“You'd think it would be easier to keep track of, seeing as I always come the day after your dog stays the night,” Tsukumoya lilts. “Am I correct in assuming you stayed up all night with him again?”

“You make it sound like we were having fun.” Izaya grumbles and rolls out of bed, padding towards the corner where he keeps his finished potions. He lifts a box and hands it to Tsukumoya.

“But it is fun for you, isn't it? Your dream come true, Heiwajima Shizuo at your mercy.”

“I'm really not in the mood to deal with you today. My patience is already thin because of Shizu-chan,” Izaya warns, and Tsukumoya laughs at him. The vampire has always been good at getting under Izaya's skin, seems to think of Izaya as a toy of sorts.

“Fine, fine. I'll leave you be until next month. Of course, if you'd like to chat sooner, you can always reach me.”

Izaya waves him away, and Tsukumoya disappears, probably to go back to his usual lurking. Yawning, Izaya considers going back to sleep, but he's already wasted too much time. His stomach rumbles, reminding him of its existence, and he frowns to himself, considering that Namie isn't here to cook for him, and he has no desire to cook for himself.

“Takeout it is!” he says aloud, dressing hurriedly. He's reading over food options near him on his phone when his it rings, obscuring his search. He rolls his eyes as he accepts the call, making his way out of his apartment as he does so. “Yes?”

“Izaya-kun! How was Shizuo-kun's transformation last night?”

“Same as it always is,” Izaya says, pulling his hood up as he steps outside. It's a gloomy day, rainy and chilly. He zips up his coat. “Why don't you talk to him about it yourself, Shinra?”

“Believe me, I'd love to, but he still doesn't want anyone to know. He hasn't even talked to Celty about it!” Shinra sighs loudly, and there's rustling on his end, like he's working as he talks. “I can't believe he's actually confiding in you about it. I'm his friend!”

“I'd hardly call it confiding. He doesn't care what I think, and that's all. Besides, he knows I can help him.”

“I'm sure you're making it especially hard on him. Please, pretend to be a kind person, for once, and take care of him. Celty is worried about him. She's known what happened since he was bitten, but she doesn't want to invade his privacy.”

“Oh, invade his privacy all you want. Take it from me, it's lots of fun.” Izaya splashes into a puddle, his mood brightened by Shizuo's misery. Of course the monster would isolate himself from his little friends. Shizuo has always had a habit of making himself be alone, even when he had plenty of options.

“I'm still suspicious that you had something to do with this. It's going a little too well for you, isn't it?”

“Shinra, you give me far too much credit. As much as I wish I could be the mastermind you think of me as, I'm not involved in everything. Shizu-chan has enemies who aren't me, and some of them are incredibly powerful. It was only a matter of time before he pissed off the wrong person.”

“Right, right. You're just the worst person I know, so it makes sense to blame you. Anyway, call me if anything changes! I'll tell Celty you were as secretive and unhelpful as always.” Shinra hangs up then, and Izaya puts his phone back in his pocket, his mood still too good to be sullied.

He decides to go to a local Taiwanese place for takeout. As much as he would love to pop into Ikebukuro, he still has work to do, and he slept most of the day away. Takeout bag in hand, he skips through the streets, waving happily at those who stop to stare at him. He splashes through a few more puddles on the way, thinking to himself that he can't remember the last time he felt this good.

As he exits the elevator to his floor, he scoffs at the sight before him, reaching into his pocket to finger the handle of the knife hidden there.

“Why are you here again, Shizu-chan?” he asks.

“'S getting worse,” Shizuo grumbles, lifting his head to glare up at Izaya. He's sitting in front of Izaya's door, his knees pulled up to his chest, his expression defeated.

“It isn't getting worse, you idiot. You're half a year in.” Izaya releases his knife, realizing Shizuo isn't here to fight him. He pulls his keys from his pocket, unlocking the door and leaving it open behind him as he waltzes inside.

“It's fucking worse!” Shizuo barks, following after Izaya, as always. “I almost killed a man today!”

“You say that like it's surprising. You're always almost killing someone.”

“Flea!” Shizuo shouts, gripping the counter as he leans over it and snarls at Izaya, who gives him an extremely unimpressed look. “I wanted to tear a man's throat out with my teeth, and you're telling me it's normal!”

Izaya rolls his eyes. “I didn't say that. I said your condition isn't worse. I can't rid you of the bloodlust entirely. You know that already.”

“It's never been this bad before!”

“It has.” Izaya sighs and pulls his soup dumplings out of the takeout bag. “Shizu-chan, you can't be this stupid. You're a werewolf. You're always going to want to bite people. It's part of the experience.”

Shizuo growls at him, his grip splintering Izaya's counter.

“Besides, I don't know what you expect me to do. Even if it was getting worse, which it's not, there wouldn't be anything I could do,” Izaya continues. “I give you the tools you need every month to control yourself. If you can't do it, it's your problem.”

Shizuo roars in rage, so loudly the windows tremble. Izaya merely keeps pulling his containers out of the takeout bag, practically ravenous by this point. He forgot to eat dinner the night before, and he slept through breakfast and lunch. He pauses as a sudden thought occurs to him.

“Have you eaten today?” he asks.

Shizuo is breathing hard, clearly trying to reel himself in. He still bares his teeth at Izaya when he replies with a strangled, “no.”

“You're an idiot. I keep telling you, but it appears your skull is too thick to listen to me. You're not getting worse, you fucking neanderthal. You're just hungry.”

Shizuo opens his mouth to argue, and Izaya sends a dumpling soaring across the space between them so that it lands on Shizuo's tongue. The beast blinks in surprise, seems to consider spitting it out, and then chews thoughtfully, seemingly placated for now.

“I hope it burns your tongue off,” Izaya lilts. “Now get out.”

Grumbling loudly, Shizuo turns around and stalks towards the open door.

“By the way,” Izaya calls, “try not to bother me every time your stomach growls. I hate you, you know?”

“As if I like talking to you!” Shizuo snaps back.

“Yes, but you have to, don't you?” Izaya purrs. “You need me.”

Shizuo slams the door behind him, so hard it cracks the frame, but it hardly matters. Shizuo didn't have a retort, because there's really nothing left to say.

Izaya has finally won.

#with teeth fic #shizaya #witchy izaya #werewolf shizuo

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mostlymobilegames · 3 years

Text

I will win.

warnings: younger!Fencio, mentions of pain?? I think that's about it

summary: Unclaimed!Rebecca being herself

author's note: i get nostalgic about Rebecca every time I enter the app, this is just some ??backstory?? idk, i just missed her and I forced myself to not let this idea marinate in my notes for 29 years

•

My legs burn as I land on the ground violently again. Dust and rocks fly in every direction as I try to calm down.

Everything hurts. My back aches while my wings feel too heavy for it, my eyes are watery, my throat is unbelievably dry, my legs feel like they won’t keep me up for much longer and if I wasn’t so tired I might be bothered by the sweat making my clothes stick to my body. Almost there.

As I prepare to take off once again, something moves in my line of sight, but the wall of dust makes it impossible to see. Not that I need to, I feel him before I even hear his footsteps approaching. I take off immediately, every part of my body hurting in protest, my wings flapping with powerful moves despite the pain as I soar up and for a second I almost enjoy the brief sense of peace. I plunge back to the ground at full speed, my legs nearly giving out as I land once again. Fencio moves his hand leisurely, a strand of long, white hair along with it on accident, and the dust in the air vanishes as I try to compose myself. So much pain.

“Rebecca” he says in greeting, his voice distant but not hostile or arrogant.

“Throne Fencio.”

My voice comes out sharply as I struggle to control my breathing. My legs feel wobbly and I know I look completely unpleasant. I worry about embarrassing myself but Fencio doesn’t seem even a little put off by my current demeanor, although that’s not surprising. After knowing him for a short time, I figured he is not easy to read at all, which I find annoying, given that he usually has such a good read on me. He is either a good actor or there’s nothing worth his reactions. Or maybe I’m not good enough at picking him apart.

“Tomorrow is an important day for you.” So this is why he came.

After that… incident with my first assignment, Fencio kept true to his word. He followed my progress attentively, helped me with my studies and my training, teaching me how to manage without him or anyone and interfering only when necessary. His help never came with the condescension I often got from other immortals, even the low ranked ones, my fellow students, and I always felt the need to prove myself to him because of that. And then to prove myself to anyone who challenges me, but I am not there yet.

“I know.” I say confidently as I can feel my body healing itself slowly. It’s not much but I would be nothing without it, and I know that by tomorrow I’ll be fully recovered.

Fencio says nothing for a moment and I feel uneasy. Something sparkles in his eyes and his lips twitch, which is something he does rarely, but I always notice, and I never know what it means. It’s all gone in an instant and he’s back to his neutral expression, as usual.

“I have no doubt that you’ll kill the Serpent and that it will improve your reputation greatly” he pauses and I feel something inside me stir. Does he actually think I’ll fail and he’s just being nice?

The thought of Fencio seeing me as a disappointment makes me angry, but I know that can’t be true. He noticed my potential, my drive from the beginning and took me under his wing. I worked and I work hard for everything, but I know I would have never gotten this far, this quick without him. Some days I feel like he sees me like his part-time project, someone to mold into a better immortal because he decided it’s his responsibility. Other days I can consider him my confidant, since calling him a friend seems out of line, but Fencio has done nothing to betray my trust. Most days however, he is, without a doubt, my mentor, and now I feel ashamed for questioning his intentions, even if his attitude is making me wary.

“I won’t be able to attend the competition due to some personal matters, but I’ll seek you out afterwards as soon as I can.” he says and I feel immediate relief. I was worrying for nothing.

“Of course.” I respond and he shifts as if to signify he wants to leave.

“I’ll let you finish your workout. Don’t stay up too late. Rest well and… good luck.”

I nod and scoff internally, he says nothing more but makes no move to leave.

Suit yourself then. I turn around and walk a few steps away from him so I can properly spread my wings, and take off, glad that the pain still lingers but is much more bearable. I swear I can feel his eyes on me as I ascend, but when I turn around to drop down he isn't there, and I can’t contain my grin any longer.

Good luck? I don’t need luck.

…

I open the window wide as the cold breeze of the night sweeps into my room.

After I finished training and took a well-deserved shower, I went to bed. Even though I wanted to sleep until the morning, my body apparently had other plans and I woke up a few hours later, feeling refreshed and infinitely grateful for my immortal powers and my fast recovering body.

I realize immediately I’m alone in my dorm room. It’s pretty late and dark outside, which means my roommate is out doing something I’d rather not know about, since I doubt she’s training this late. She better not bring back any issues with her, I have enough on my plate.

I take a deep breath of fresh air and let it soothe my worries and clear my head. Everything is fine. Cliffs and bits of land levitate in the horizon, poorly illuminated by the moon and the glowing insects of different sizes hanging around them. A giggle is heard somewhere below me but it stops almost instantly, returning the night to its comforting silence. Something moves in the distance, seemingly coming up from behind a tree. I can’t make out who it is, but I am sure the figure is facing me and I recognize the blood red colored wings in a second. They flap lazily in that inviting gesture I’m way too familiar with. There are no demands made, no expectations or formalities to deal with, just the chance to spend some time with him, and I know I have no obligation to accept or respond.

Still, I wait, unmoving. It’s late and the chances of us getting caught together are small, there is no one out there. But what if someone follows me? There are too many immortals that don’t like me and it’s not exactly like I try to make friends. A part of me doesn’t think any of them would go to the extent of actively trying to ruin me, but it’s better to never underestimate the hatred one can build up for someone else. For someone better.

I don’t get to think more about it since he takes my lack of reaction as a refusal and flies back behind the same tree. I should take his leave as a blessing and go to bed, or do something else, but I don’t. I think about what would happen if I got caught, all of my efforts going to waste for the most stupid reason. I think about how everyone who ever doubted me would be right and I’d never get to prove them wrong, and how I could lose everything in the blink of an eye like back on Earth.

I climb the out the window with newfound strength, as I concentrate on my surroundings. There’s no one after me. I spread my wings and jump, hoping no one is staying by the window to witness an Unclaimed breaking curfew. Thankfully, I get there quickly and quietly, and I’m surprised to see Winchesto sitting down, his back against a thick tree trunk. I was sure he left and I would’ve had to find him.

He turns his head towards me and grins, his face full of happiness. Seeing him so glad to see me hurts.

“I didn’t think you’d come.” he says but there isn’t a hint of anything negative in his tone, as if he wouldn’t have blamed me for not following him. I know he wouldn’t have.

I say nothing as I slide down next to him, so close that our sides touch. The contact is small and delicate, barely there, but it feels like a battle is starting inside me. I turn to look at him as he does the same, our faces so close I can’t tell if my breathing is so loud or his. Winchesto’s eyes are gentle and there’s something so peaceful behind them, something that makes it so easy to relax. This could end us both. I tense up as my thoughts go in the wrong direction again. He notices and, as if reading my mind, he backs away a little and I feel awful, even though I know it’s for the best. For both of us.

“I’ll cheer for you tomorrow.” he breaks the silence, like I didn’t just reject him indirectly moments ago.

I laugh, but it sounds forced even to my own ears.

“That would raise some eyebrows.” I say half jokingly, half concerned and Winchesto shrugs, as if nothing could ever get him in trouble.

“Angels and demons get excited for this too, even if they don’t participate. If you think about it, they probably enjoy it more than their usual competitions, because they get the entertainment without the repercussions of losing. Many of them pick their favorites among the Unclaimed so they can place bets on them or just make a big deal out of whoever wins and gloat.”

“Did you bet on me?” I ask genuinely curious but Winchesto ignores my question.

“My point is: no one will care if I cheer for you, they’ll all be busy cheering too... or booing.”

I laugh honestly as he smiles sweetly, the tension from before long forgotten. We sit in silence after that, looking every now and then at each other, and neither of us seems to mind it. Neither of us feels like the silence is painful and that it needs to be disrupted and I realize, in that moment, that Winchesto is so dear to me, that I trust him so much, that I want to be around him and share everything with him, knowing he’d never use anything against me. I want to tell him about my worries, about my goals, about my pain and my life from before, about how I’ll achieve everything I’ve ever wanted and how I’ll be at the top. For a second, I even want to tell him about how I scouted the path to the Serpent and memorized every detail, or how I’ve hidden weapons along the way into the secluded spots I found in case I run out of energy.

But I don’t. I don’t tell him anything, and the part of me that’s been trying to keep me at bay, the part that I’ve cultivated so carefully knows I am doing what’s right. For both of us. It’s safe for Winchesto to not know what could hurt him, even if he’d like to know as much as I’d like to tell.

It’s late.

I stand up abruptly, dusting myself off while he continues to sit, looking at me calmly. I start walking away, knowing how it looks and hoping he doesn’t feel the hurt as much as me. I don’t want to leave like this, but I feel lost and I don’t know how to deal with it.

“Good night, Rebecca.” he whispers loud enough for me to hear it.

I let out a breath I haven’t realized I’ve been holding on and turn my head to look at him. He’s still sitting comfortably, looking unfazed and I’m glad. I’m glad it’s not that bad for him, or maybe he just takes it better than me.

“You should bet on me tomorrow. I will win.” is the only thing I say to him before taking off, leaving him there and not looking back.

#also sorry for any mistakes #i finished this on like 4 hours of sleep😴#romance club #heaven's secret #fanfic #my writing

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animeyanderelover · 3 years

Note

Mind doing prompt 41 for the same concept(the Queen’s granddaughter )from before with Charles Grey? Only if you feel like it! I hope life has been treating you well!

I love that idea❤️! Life has recently been a bit hard for me because I wrote and I’m still about to write some exams and have absolutely no motivation for them. I would recommend to read this so you can understand the backstory. By the way, I had way too much fun with this and it turned out incredibly long...

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, manipulation, sabotage, pregnancy slight NSFW

Prompt 41: “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll look cute with a swollen stomach carrying our child.”

You stared with hatred and disgust in your eyes on your hand, to be specific on your ring finger where a little object was placed that had ruined your life. A small ring, made out of silver and implanted with small blue diamonds. It was almost absurd how such a small ring could ruin someone’s entire life. You just wanted to throw it out the window and somehow get rid of it, but you knew that he would just order a new one. You also knew that you would get in troubles with your parents and grandmother if you would lose the wedding ring for the third time so you decided to not do it. It wouldn’t be from any use. Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a voice you had learned to despise more than anything else. “(y/n)! I’m home!” You clenched your fists tightly. How dare he to act like nothing had happened after all he had done?!?! He was a devil, a liar, a traitor, trash!!! He had ruined your entire life!!! The person you were talking about was no other than Charles Grey. Your husband and a long time ago your best friend. Where did it all go wrong?

Flashback:

“No!! There must be a misunderstanding! Ciel would never do something like this!!”, you cried out to your grandmother, the queen of England. She looked with pity in her eyes down at you and tried to tell you as gently as possible:”I know that it’s hard to believe child. But the evidences are too heavy and we have a couple of witnesses as well. There’s no denying it anymore.” “Then they’re all liars and the evidences are all fake. Ciel would never sink that low! He’s a cultivated, smart and loyal man and-“ “(y/n)! That’s enough, don’t scream at your grandmother like this!”, your father told you in a strict voice. “But-“, the warning glare of your mother made you shut up once again. Recently accusations had appeared that Ciel had been faking reports over the orders the queen had given him. Important facts had been left out of the reports and rumors had started spreading around that Ciel had been involved in some dark business and had used questionable ways of solving the tasks of your grandmother, using threats and violence against innocent people.

“(y/n)?”, your mother suddenly started speaking to you. You looked in her direction, already having a feeling about what she wanted to talk about. “Mother, father, please.”, you begged, feeling tears starting to swell up in your eyes. “No daughter. Don’t even try it. We were already pretty shocked when we found out that you tried to break off the engagement between Ciel and Elizabeth Midford. Do you even know how disgraceful that is? The Midford’s are good friends of us and you knew that. There’s some tension between them and us now because of your unprofessional acting. You have as the granddaughter of the queen a reputation to hold and still decided to trail behind this man like a lovesick puppy? I’m deeply ashamed of you.” You looked at your feet, feeling a pang in your heart because of your mother’s harsh words. Your grandmother didn’t say anything what told you that she silently agreed to what her daughter-in-law had just said. “(y/n)! You’re forbidden to see that boy ever again. Your behavior is unacceptable and we also don’t want other people to hear that you spend your time with a criminal.” You snapped your head in your father’s direction. “No! Please don’t do this! I love him, father! I love him! You can’t forbid me to see Ciel!” Your father gave you a cold look. “I can and I will. I already told the guards to not let you anywhere near the jail where he’s kept.” You turned to your grandmother, tears flowing down your eyes. “Grandma...” The desperation in your voice was clearly audible and a look of guilt crossed the queen’s face, but she shook her head. “That’s unfair!!” That was the last thing you yelled at them before you stormed out the throne room, crying rivers out of your eyes. “Ciel...”

A knock was heard on your door, but you ignored it. Most likely your parents or the queen again. Well then, you wouldn’t let them in. Not after they took the one man you loved the most away from you. It had been nearly two weeks since Ciel had gone to jail and you had tried everything you could think of to see him, but the guards were definitely good ones. They hadn’t given in when you had offered them money and they had also caught you when you had tried to break in. At least they hadn’t told your parents yet, but had threatened to tell them the next time you would try to. So you had decided to focus on something else, proving Ciel’s innocence. As the queen’s granddaughter it had been rather easy for you to get copies of all the files you needed and as soon as you read the first file you knew that it was bullshit. It was very good faked, but you knew Ciel better than anyone else. He would never do something like this. Why had the witnesses lied? Were they threatened or bribed? Whilst you were deep in your thoughts another knock was heard, this time accompanied by a familiar voice. “(y/n)? Are you in there? Please let me in.” You were surprised when you heard Charles voice, but felt also glad that he was here. It felt like Charles was the only person you could talk to.

You hurried to the door, unlocked it and opened it. You were met with his silver eyes which had a worried look in them. “You look terrible.”, was the first thing he said to you. You couldn’t help, but laugh a bit. “Is that the way to talk to the granddaughter of the queen?” Charles faked a shocked expression and answered with a teasing voice:”My deepest apologies, miss. I thought you wouldn’t mind if the guy you knew since your youngest ages.” He bowed to you and you laughed out loudly. “It’s alright. I can’t really blame you. I do look not good.” You hadn’t slept very much the past few weeks. How could you sleep whilst Ciel was rotting in the jail?! Charles noticed the chaos on your desk, mountains of papers and files were spread randomly on it. “How are you even able to work in this mess?” You shrugged with your shoulders and asked him:”I appreciate your visit, but I thought you were busy with other things?” Charles sighed and answered with a serious look on his face:”The queen sent me because she thought if you wouldn’t listen to her or your parents then you would probably listen to me. I’m here to knock some sense in you.” “Oh.”, was all you replied. “(y/n), why are you even helping this guy? I mean, don’t you see all the evidences and witnesses? There’s no way he’s-“ Charles was interrupted by you. “I know he’s innocent! Ciel is a loyal and good man! He would never do something like this! He’s too smart, brave, cultivated, cool, handsome...” Whilst you kept rambling with a dreamy look in your eyes about Ciel you missed the dark look that crossed Charles look for a short moment. “During my questioning he didn’t seem like a very polite man.”, he commented with a slight bitterness in his voice.

You stopped talking for a moment and looked at him with wide eyes. “Wait! You’re the one questioning him?!” Charles nodded and in the next moment you were already clinging to his arm. “Then you can help me to get in there! I need to see Ciel and talk to him! I need to hear his side of the story so I can help him to get out faster!” Charles had an unsure expression on his face. “Aren’t you forbidden to get anywhere near him?” You made huge puppy eyes. “Please Charles! You’re my best friend!”, you whined. For a short moment you could have sworn that Charles eyebrow twitched when you called him your best friend, but it was so quickly gone that you weren’t sure if you had even seen it. “I guess I can try, but...” You felt excitement pumping through your veins when he said this. “But?!”, you asked eagerly. “...But you need to promise me that you’ll rest enough. I’m worried for your health when you keep skipping sleep like this.” “I will!” You gave him a big hug. “Thank you! You’re the best!” Charles cheeks heated up slightly and he scratched sheepishly his head. But then once again a serious expression crossed his face. “There’s something else.” You nodded, willing to do everything to see Ciel. “Promise me to not get hurt.” You blinked confused. “What do you mean?” Charles bit his bottom lip. “Ciel...is not who you think he is.” With these words he left the room, leaving a confused you there. “What did he mean with this?”

“You have only twenty minutes, understood? That’s the longest I can keep the guards away.”, Charles told you and you nodded excited. You knew you could count on him! It had taken him some time, but he had managed to lure the guards away for some time, giving you time to speak to Ciel. Only the thought of him made your heart beat five times as fast. “I’ll give you a sign when they’re about to come back.” With these words he opened the door to Ciel’s prison and you quickly sprinted in. The light in there was pretty dim and your eyes needed a moment to adjust, but then you saw him. He was sitting in a small chair in front of a small desk. You couldn’t help, but notice his handsome features. “Ciel.”, you said, feeling thrilled to see him again. He looked up and his beautiful blue eyes met yours. For a short moment you got lost in them, having the feeling that you could just drown in these eyes before you quickly pulled yourself together. There was no time for this! “I’m so sorry that you’re in here! Just know that I always knew that you were innocent and I’ll help you out here! I promise! But I need you to answer me a few questions! There are some things involving this case that don’t make sense and I wanted you to-“ “Can you shut up?” You stopped talking and gave Ciel a surprised look. “Excuse me?” Ciel let an annoyed sigh out and repeated:”Can you shut up? You’re annoying me.” He glared coldly at you and you felt like someone had just hit you in your face. “I understand that all of this is probably getting on your nerves, but I need you to answer me this questions so that I can get you out of here. After that we can do all the things we used to do again. Walking through the garden, having nice teatimes, going on balls and dance together-“ Ciel scoffed. “You don’t get it, do you?” You became once again quiet. “Wh-what do you mean?” Your voice was slightly shaking. Ciel turned towards you with the most degrading look someone could have in his eyes. “You really are stupid for not noticing it. You probably think that I like you and hold this pretty illusion in your head that we’ll get later on married and live happily together for the rest of our lifes, don’t you? Well then, time to grow up and realize that I don’t like you even the slightest bit. I only was nice and polite with you because you’re the queen’s granddaughter and I hoped I would make a good impression on her like this. But in reality you’re just annoying, stupid and clingy. And the most pathetic part is that you were ready to break of the engagement between me and Elizabeth just so I could be your fiancé. But why would I want to be betrothed to a lovesick girl like you? You’re even worse than Lizzy. In my opinion you’re just a silly, lovesick fool.”

‘Crack!’ Your heart crumbled into million pieces because of the brutality of his rejection. For a moment you just stood there shocked and numbed before tears started to escape your eyes. Your breath started to speed up and it felt like the longer you were in the presence of Ciel the harder it got to breath. You needed to get away from him! You turned quickly around and slammed the door open, nearly slaying Charles with it. You just sprinted right back to the palace, to your room where you could cry without needing to hold back. You ignored Charles worried calls after you. “I was a fool! Blinded by the ideal picture I had in my mind that I wasn’t able to see the monster he really is! My parents were right!” Now you also understood what Charles had meant back then. He had just wanted to warn you because he had already seen how Ciel was really like. You were such an idiot...

How long had it been since the day in the jail? Probably less than a week, but in this week the whole world had seemed to turn against you. Only one day after Ciel’s rejection your parents had informed you that they had set up an arranged marriage for you with a guy you had never met in your life before. That had ended in a huge argument where all of you had ended up screaming at each other. But it had been from no use for you. The celebration was in a week and then you would meet this guy for the first time. And you hated it! You hated everything! Currently you were crying in one of your pillows, having never felt so mournful in your life. A knock was heard on your door. “(y/n), my child?” You recognized the voice of your grandmother immediately, but didn’t want to open the door. Instead you chocked a, “Come in.”, out. The door opened and the queen walked slowly to you, sitting down right next to you. “(y/n).”, she spoke softly and embraced you in her arms. “G-grandma.”, you cried and hugged her back, feeling like her arms were the only stability you had left in your life. “It’s-it’s so unfair. I don’t want to ma-marry a g-guy I never met-met before in my li-life.” You sobbed hardly and the queen tried to comfort you by rubbing soothingly circles in your back. “I know. That’s why I came here. I think that’s too much too and I might have an idea how to prevent this from happening.” You looked at her with hopeful eyes. “R-really? B-but my parents told me that they want me to have a fiancé. That means I’ll get engaged to someone in one or another way.” “I know, but at least we can take care of that your fiancé will be at least someone you know.” You raised your eyebrow confused before you realized who she meant. “You mean Charles, don’t you?” Your grandmother nodded. “I understand that it’s probably awkward for you to think about since you’ve known him since you were three and you thought of him so far only as a good friend, but that’s exactly the reason why Charles will be the best choice for you. He knows how you think and work and understands you better than anyone else. Also...” “Also?”, you repeated curiously. The queen gave you a small smile. “No. I think he should tell you that himself.” She stood up. “Think about it. I won’t force you.” Then she left you there, deep in thoughts. But only a few moments later you made a decision.

You stared embarrassed at the ground, waiting for Charles rejection. You had after your talk with your grandmother immediately stormed to Charles and had told him about the idea and Charles had listened without interrupting. “Yes.” “I understand that you feel awkward about this and I apolo-“ You stopped abruptly when you realized what he had just said. “Wait?! What?!” “I said yes.”, Charles repeated himself. “Charles, you don’t have to do this just because I’m the queen’s granddaughter. If you don’t want to I would understand you.” Charles stepped closer to you with a strange look in his eyes. What was that? He slowly grabbed both of your hands and told you:”I want to. You know why? Because I really love you.” Your eyes widened. “S-since when?”, you mumbled shocked. “Since quite some time, to be specific since the first moment I saw you after all those years again. You’ve grown into such a beautiful young woman, but I never got the chance to tell you this because I didn’t know how to.” He looked really sincere whilst confessing to you and you couldn’t help, but feel your heart flutter in your chest. You felt bed for never realizing his feelings for you. “I’m really stupid, aren’t I? I was so busily looking at Ciel that I never noticed your feelings and you were still willing to help me. I guess Ciel was right, I am a silly and lovesick fool.” The bitterness in your voice was clearly audible. “Hey. Look at me.”, Charles told you softly and you lifted your head to look at him. He was staring with pure love in his eyes at you. “Don’t listen to what Ciel told you. This guy is scum for not realizing how lucky he was that you loved him. He’s the only fool for not seeing how pretty and great you really are. But I can see it. I know it’s a bit hard for you to feel the same since you only see me as a dear friend. But I hope you can give me a chance to prove my love for you. Will you give me this chance?” How were you supposed to say no to this? “Yes.”, you answered him, deeply touched by all of this. Charles smiled and moved his face closer to you, looking you shortly in the eyes as if asking if he could do this. When you didn’t move away he captured your lips in a soft kiss, moving his lips against yours and slowly pulling you closer to him. And you decided to kiss him back, feeling your heart beating faster in your chest.

Only a few months later everyone knew about your engagement with Charles. Luckily your parents had quickly agreed to break of the previous engagement, feeling thrilled that you had chosen Charles instead and your mother had told you that she had always liked him and thought he was the perfect match for you. You had moved in with Charles, your parents wanting you to spend your time with your new fiancé. Charles had treated you so far only with love and gentleness, wanting you to feel as comfortable as possible with him. But you had also noticed how he sometimes showed you signs that he wanted to take your relationship to the next step, but you felt a bit unsure about this and were glad that Charles understood that and had every time backed off, willing to wait until you were ready. And this day happened to be this one...

You shot up from your shared bed with Charles, panting heavily. Your whole body burned and you felt a tingling sensation inside your core. That’s when you noticed the way your thighs were tightly pressed together. Confused you moved your hand down and you were shocked when you felt how wet it was down there. “What happened?”, you asked yourself before pictures of your dream started to hit you. Your face started burning and you instantly grabbed your pillow to hide your face in it. You had dreamed about Charles and you doing it! Embarrassing! But destiny seemed to want to torture you a bit more because in that moment the door swung open and Charles walked in. “Honey, I’m-“, he stopped when he saw you curled up in a ball. “Are you alright?”, he asked you worried and came closer to you. “No! Stay right there!”, you yelled scared, didn’t want him to notice in which state you were currently in. He flinched when you screamed at him, looking for a second hurt before he noticed your red face, the way you were panting heavily and the way you rubbed your thighs against each other. His face started flushing pink. “Oh.” You whined, feeling more than just ashamed that he had found out before you felt him laying a hand on your shoulder. You flinched and whimpered in his touch, glancing carefully at his face. You didn’t miss the haze of lust that was visible on his face and one short glance down told you that you had successfully aroused him. Just great. “Let me have you.” You blushed even more when you heard him saying this. “I-I’m not too sure.”, you stuttered, clearly embarrassed. “I know that it must be uncomfortable since you still aren’t too sure about how you should feel about me and this will be your first time. But I promise that I’ll be careful and gentle with you. Please give me the chance to show you how deep my love really goes for you.” His voice sounded desperate for obvious reasons and his breath had by now quickened as well. You were arguing with yourself whether to accept or not. You knew he would back of if you told him to, but did you want him to leave you? You knew you needed some relief and you were not too sure if your own hands would satisfy you enough. You didn’t answer him, but the pleading look you gave him was all he needed. He was quick to tower over you and started to attack your face and neck with kisses, making you whimper and squirm under him. He hastily started undressing himself, showing you that he was really desperate for this. It was rather simple for him to undress you since you were only in a nightgown and underpants. You couldn’t help, but blush when you saw him completely naked like this. Charles on the other hand took a moment to let his eyes roam over your exposed body before bending down to your face. You gasped when you felt him pressing his length against your entrance, whining for him to stop teasing. “I love you...so much.” That were the last words you could remember because after that you weren’t able to think about anything different than the immense pleasure and Charles groans.

“What do you mean by he’ll be let out again?!”, you yelled shocked and angrily at your parents. Your father sighed and tried to reason:”The Midford’s pleaded us to let him out again since their daughter seems to be completely broken. It also looks like that some of the evidences and statements from the witnesses don’t seem to fit together so the queen decided to let him out. But only under supervision.” You were speechless. Only a few months ago you had been the one defending Ciel, but now the tables had turned and you were the one wanting to see him rot in jail. “Darling, we’re glad that you’re over him, but please don’t try to do anything stupid. Even your fiancé stood up for him and told your grandmother that there is something wrong about the situation.” This made you freeze in your movements. “Charles believes that Ciel is innocent?”, you asked surprised. “Yes.”, your father told you. “Where is he?”, you asked him. “I believe he’s currently with the young Phantomhive. The queen gave him the job to let Ciel out again and explain how everything will work for him now.” You instantly turned around, storming towards the prison. Your head was screaming at you that something was suspicious. It didn’t make sense! Charles was from the very beginning the one who had liked Ciel the less and had always told you that he was a bad person. Why did he suddenly change his mind?

When you arrived at the jails you were surprised when you didn’t find any guards what only strengthened the bad feeling you had. You slowly sneaked inside, careful to not run into anybody on your way. When you had almost reached the cell where Ciel was kept you suddenly heard voices, recognizing them as Charles and Ciel’s. You quickly hid behind the corner and silently listened to what they were talking about. “I almost thought you would break your promise to me.”, you heard Ciel speaking. Promise? Which promise? “I’m sorry for letting you wait that long, but it did took me a while to make the evidences and statements look fake after spending so much effort to create them.”, Charles answered. You tended up. What did he mean with this? You slowly peeked around the corner to see what was going on in there. You saw Charles, Ciel and Ciel’s butler standing there. “I need to give you that, you did great with creating all this to false evidences and statements to make me look like a criminal, just to get the love of this damn girl.” Your brain almost stopped working. Did he mean...? “Don’t call her that! And don’t even dare to come near her ever again!”, Charles yelled angrily at Ciel before taking a deep breath to calm down and continuing in a calmer voice:”But at least I don’t have to worry about her still loving you. You did quite the number to her back then. She cried for days straight and I was almost planning to kill you for that.” Ciel scoffed and replied:”You told me to go harsh on her. I got kind of lost in my words as well since this was a chance to tell her how I really felt.” You stood there trembling, your brain just having understood what they were talking about. What had you done?! You had walked straight into the devil’s trap! You needed to tell your parents and the queen about this! But in that moment you crossed eyes with the red eyes butler who gave you a mischievous smirk before telling the two men:”It’s seems like the little princess was eavesdropping on our little conversation.” Charles snapped his head quickly around, his eyes almost instantly meeting your wide ones. “(y/n)?!” He sounded clearly shocked, not having expected you to hear all of this. You stepped slowly back before quickly turning around and storming back to the palace. You heard Charles cursing and yelling at Ciel and his butler that they could leave now and when you took a short glance behind you you saw that he was chasing after you.

You gasped desperately for air when you reached the throne room, feeling glad to see your parents and your grandmother in there. “Child? Is everything alright? You look very pale.”, your grandmother told you with a worried expression on her face. Nothing was right! You had just found out that Charles had planned all of this from the very beginning, but you needed to admit that physically you didn’t feel all that great either. You felt dizzy and I’ll for some reason, probably from all the running. In the next second Charles reached the throne room as well, immediately grabbing you by the shoulders and panting from the little run. You were quick to slap his hand away. “Mum! Dad! Grandma! Charles, he...” You couldn’t finish your sentence, everything suddenly started spinning around. “(y/n)?”, you heard Charles asking you worried. You stumbled against him, grabbing his shoulder for some support. “Daughter! What is wrong?!”, your father asked panicked. “I-I” Before you could finish that sentence you suddenly collapsed and Charles quickly catched you. “(y/n)!!”, you heard many voices calling your name before everything turned suddenly dark.

When you opened your eyes the first thing you noticed was that you were laying in your old room in the palace in your bed and that your whole family was in there. Charles was sitting next to you, holding your hand tightly in his. He was the first one who noticed that you were awake. “(y/n)! You’re awake!” At first you wanted to scream at him, but you stopped when you noticed the pure look of happiness on his face. And not only on his face, but on the faces of your parents and the queen as well. “How can time pass by so fast? It feels just like yesterday when I held her for the first time in my arms.”, your mother spoke with tears in her eyes. You blinked confused, not really understanding what was going on. “Can someone explain to me what is going on here?” “Darling, you’re pregnant.”, your father told you in a touched tone. It was the second time that day that your brain stopped working, not able to process what he had just said. “I never thought I would live long enough to witness the day where I would become a great-grandmother.”, the queen spoke with a soft smile on her face. “Since when?” You didn’t even know how you managed to ask this question. “Since one month.”, Charles told excitedly. “The marriage should be hold in the next few weeks before she starts showing.”, your father suddenly spoke up and your mother nodded. “I think so too. You both need to get married before she starts showing since it will be a bit more complicated with the dress then.” You just stared somewhere in the space, not really realizing what was going on around you. “Let’s talk about this outside. I think we should give those two a bit time alone.”, the queen told your parents. They nodded in agreement and left the both of you alone.

“We’re going to be parents! Isn’t that just wonderful?” Charles sounded ecstatic. A thousands thoughts were racing through your head right now, thinking about how to get out of this situation only to be met with the ugly and horrible truth. There was no way out! You knew that you would bring great shame over your whole family if you would refuse to marry the man who got you pregnant and with whom you were engaged. So you did the only thing you could think of in that moment. You raised your hand and smacked Charles with all strength you could bring on in that moment, putting all your anger, disappointment and frustration in this hit. Charles blinked confused and looked surprised at you whilst a red handprint started to become visible on his face. “How could you do this to me?!”, you yelled angrily at him. Charles started chuckling a bit, rubbing his cheek. “I guess I deserved that a bit.”, he mumbled. But then he answered you:”You want to know why I did it? I did it for us. I knew that we were perfect for each other and I knew that I could give you the love that no one else could give you. But you were blinded by this Phantomhive boy, wanting to marry him. And I couldn’t let that happen! This boy was preventing you from seeing who your true love was, who you were meant to be with. ME! I’m perfect for you! I did all of this to help you realize that.” Shock wasn’t even the word to describe your feelings now. Was he crazy?! “You did all of that because you believed that the only one who was perfect for me was you?!” You stared with an unbelieving look in your eyes at him. But his gaze told you that he was really believing that. You could have screamed at him, hit him, cursed him even though you doubted that you would find a fitting word to use for him because even the worst word you could think about seemed too nice for him. But you did none of this. Instead the realization how hopeless your situation was hit you once more, but this time much more harder. You started sobbing, hiding your face in your hands. Charles was quick to embrace you in a hug, stroking your hair softly. “I promise you that I’ll take great care of you and the child.”

End of Flashback

It had been four weeks since your marriage and you were currently in your tenth week. Your stomach was still flat, but you knew that this would change the next few weeks. Originally you had wanted to hate that child just because it was Charles, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do that. It wasn’t the fault of the little one. In the next moment the door to the bedroom was opened and Charles walked in. “Hello darling. How are you feeling?”, he asked you gently and sat down next to you on the bed, giving you a long kiss and pulling you closer to him. You didn’t answer him and turned away from him. You heard him sigh. “Are you still mad at me?” Your eyebrow twitched. Was that even a question?! “How is the baby doing?”, he tried to change the topic and slowly started caressing your belly. “Fine.”, you answered him shortly, but you couldn’t completely hide the nervousness in your voice. Recently your mother had visited you and had told you from her experience during the time she had been pregnant with you and how your birth had been for her. It had scared you a bit when she had told you about how much she had struggled during her pregnancy and birth. How the hell were you supposed to endure all of this?! Charles noticed the look on your expression. “You’re worried, aren’t you?” You still refused to answer him and look at him, but this time he gently grabbed your chin and turned your head in his direction, forcing you to look at him. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll look cute with a swollen stomach carrying our child.”

#yandere black butler #yandere kuroshitsuji #yandere charles grey #yandere charles

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candythemew · 4 years

Note

OkLach headcanons?

Now you’re speaking my language! (Oh! And if anyone wants to ask me about headcanons about them with their skekling please send your asks my way! This is just gonna be main canon HC’s)

𝔚𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔢𝔩𝔰𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔢𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤?

✰ ︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧- - - - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵✰︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧- - - - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ✰

First off, when the Skeksis were young still finding the specific role, niche, and place that they fit into as they asserted their authority over Thra, SkekOk and SkekLach absolutely HATED each other. SkekLach saw SkekOk as a pathetic weakling who used his silver tongue and quick wit to charm the gelfling and other skeksis to do his bidding, and to buy into his way of thinking. Convincing people to do things they wouldn’t do normally through flattery and shallow promises. She didn’t like his pompous attitude and held more respect for the beings of Thra who put their thoughts into action like her. Ones who thought tactically, but weren’t afraid to take risks. She didn’t see what anyone saw in him. All she saw was just another one of the Emperor’s lapdogs. Spitting lies and weaving tall tales to uplift himself above the rest.

SkekOk however saw her as a brutish barbarian! Her avarice knowing no bounds as she raged and pillaged all those who stood in her way. Nothing befitting of a Lord of the Crystal. The gelfling worshiped her like a goddess, no doubt like they did the rest of his peers. But he saw the fear in their eyes. If the skeksis were going to rule properly, they must first create a level of relationship and trust between their subjects. Not fear. Although he himself was prone to flights of fancy, he found her ambitions foolish at best, and dangerously compromising to the empire at worst. Be it her insistence on the thrill of a good raid, or trying her hand at taming one of the most fearsome of beasts of Thra; The Arduff. He couldn’t stand it. Her amazonian demeanor made The Scroll-Keeper see her as nothing more than a ruthless brute. But at the same time, there was a tad bit of jealousy there. As many of his peers saw her as incredibly desirable and beautiful. As well as incredibly wealthy… Some had even attempted at winning her hand; only to be quickly shot down and berated by her. If he was being completely honest, he craved the attention that she received. She was always center of attention. At the time, she was the Emperor’s favorite. This jealousy led him to talk poorly of her behind her back. He stayed far from her as he spread rumors about The Collector in hopes to ruin her reputation. Although ironically over time, as they were forced to work with each other and face various trials with one another they developed a mutual trust after proving themselves to one another. And even saving each other’s lives a few times! If either of them were to be told at this point that they were going to eventually fall for each other, they would have laughed straight in your face! What a foolish thought? Why would I love them?! ✰ ︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧- - - - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵✰︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧- - - - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ✰

Their relationship went in an order similar to this:

Hatred ➺ Reluctant Respect ➺ Acquaintances ➺ Friends ➺ Mutual feelings ➺ Lovers ➺ Mates. ✰ ︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧- - - - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵✰︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧- - - - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ✰

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰:

SkekOk tries to give SkekLach little reasons to keep her chin up. He reminds her to take care of herself and gives her little bits of advice to improve her life. Sometimes he’ll ask for her help for small tasks so she has something to do since she dosn’t have the same motivation she used to before her illness took over most aspects of her life.

SkekLach is the reason why SkekOk isn’t a dog person. One word. ARDUFF! SkekLach will intentionally follow SkekOk around his library and mess with his things if she feels like he hasn’t given her enough attention.

SkekOk suffers from narcolepsy, So SkekLach is there for him to make sure he arrives to meetings on time, or carry him to another room if she finds him asleep somewhere.

Insulting each other is a regular occurrence between them. Although neither of them have any ill intent towards each other when they do it. It’s like a game to them! Light hearted banter that calls back to their youth before they fell in love. Hence why SkekLach isn’t hurt when SkekOk says she was “NEVER BEAUTIFUL!” and then affirms is with a “Nevaaah~” if you pay attention to the scene, SkekLach can be seen laughing alongside him, even though she’s the butt of the joke. They’re both genuinely having fun bickering. I also personally like to HC that most Skeksis find simple gestures of affection peculiar and strange. Like everything in a skeksis’s life, gestures of affection are showy and grandiose. But OkLach’s more subtle and slow approach confuses their peers. They can make each other laugh very easily. They know how the other ticks. One of the things that made skekOk fall in love with hre was SkekLach’s ability to make him genuinely laugh his lungs out! His teasing can also cause a similar reaction. SkekOk’s laughs arranging from childish giggling, to incoherent teary eyed laughter! Although not as strong as she used to be, the other skeksis are still wary of SkekLach due to her past reputation. Also because she’s not afraid to give you a disease if you REALLY tick her off. She acts as sort of a bodygaurd or wall for SkekOk when he shoots his mouth off or gets in trouble. Nobody’s going to get him except through her! ✰ ︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧- - - - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵✰︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧- - - - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ✰

𝔓𝔥𝔶𝔰𝔦𝔠𝔞𝔩 𝓐𝔣𝔣𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫:

Intertwining tails is a very very intimate thing in Skeksis culture. It shows that you genuinely care for your friend/partner and that you enjoy their presence. For a human it would be kind of like a really good hug. But sadly, SkekLach lost a part of her tail long ago. So doing this is near impossible for them to do unless they’re sitting right next to each other or laying down beside one another in bed. Instead, they have adapted to holding hands like the Gelfling do. Be it for comfort, taking a walk together, or just to feel close. Heck! They do it so frequently that sometimes they don’t even realize they’re doing it! It’s become somewhat of an involuntary habit for them. When they sleep together, they like to cuddle. SkekLach is the big spoon. Sleeping is hard for her, (I personally HC that she has insomnia) but she sleeps better if she has something to hold on to. Thankfully SkekOk likes being held so this arrangement is perfect. It’s just comforting for both of them.

They don’t “Kiss” often. I think you can imagine why. Pustules leak and it’s NASTY

The Scroll-Keeper sometimes has the habit of resting his head on top of The Collector’s when he’s tired. Neither of them have much hair to preen anymore, but sometimes when they’re alone, in their more intimate moments; skekLach will take off her cowl for skekOk to preen her mane. Her hair has a coarse texture. It’s color mostly grey with small streaks of a faded black. Salt and pepper if you will. It’s a small bit of beauty she still retains even in her disgusting, decrepit state. However, it’s only for his eyes as she’s very self-conscious. ✰ ︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧- - - - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵✰︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧- - - - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ✰

𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕸𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖎𝖆𝖌𝖊~♪ ♫ ♩

SkekOk and SkekLach are mates. And they have been a mated pair now for the past 400 years. If the Skeksis care to have any sort of marriage/mating ritual, they have done it. You bet your bottom dollar that it was extravagant! A true fairy tale... They can only see each other as life partners and want to make sure that everyone else knows it. Especially SkekLach. Who is known to be dreadfully greedy of her most valuable possessions...

Much like how many birds mate for life, Skeksis do too. Although being a rather (for lack of a better word) promiscuous race, this is rare. If two develop a strong enough bond, they’ll stick together in an attempt to feel whole. Only sticking with said mate for the rest of their lifetime. However long that may be. Their much more steadfast and patient Mystic counterparts also share this trait. (By “their” I just mean the race as a whole. Nobody specific.) Ok and Lach have their own chambers made for themselves. But they also have a shared bedroom that they occasionally sleep in together from time to time.

SkekOk is a hopeless romantic, and SkekLach couldn’t care less when it comes to flowery poetry. But she admires his passion to his interests. Something she lost desire for in her own life. The Scroll-Keeper will occasionally write her poetry and love letters expressing his feelings to her. Sometimes, in return, she will write him something back. Although riddled with intentional grammar mistakes and poor spelling. Sending him into a flustered angry mess as he corrects her. Only to find something even worse written down as he continues. He’ll read these aloud for all to hear. SkekLach likes to see the reactions he’ll have to her writing. What can she say? He makes her laugh. ✰ ︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧- - - - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵✰︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧- - - - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ✰

𝓢𝔞𝔡 ℌ𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔲𝔱: ︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧- - - - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵✰︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧- - - - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

SkekLach’s death hit SkekOk harder than anyone will ever know. She was a part of him. She was his closest friend, and the love of his life. His mental health suffered immensely from her loss, and he was never truly able to grieve her properly and move on. Instead, over time he developed an unhealthy coping mechanism of talking to himself for hours on end. He pretended that she never left his side. “No gelfling trick could have ever gotten the best of me!” She would boast... Eventually he started to hear her voice in whispers... He could swear he could hear her voice from just beyond the hall... Down the corner in her chambers! Only to find an empty room devoid of anything but dusty old trinkets and bittersweet memories. Other times he would hear the distinct metal clang of her blades against her opponent’s weapons as he would wander the now garthim-filled training rooms. He could hear a younger, much more determined tone! Calculated and precise. Once again to wander in and find nothing but empty training grounds chock full of the dark arthropodan soldiers. But it was the nights that were the hardest. On cold starless nights, laying alone in his decadent yet lonely chambers, he would lie alone for hours on end, eyes closed as he tryed to let the soothing grasp of sleep claim him... In the uttermost difficult moments as he drifted off to sleep, He could swear that he could feel her arms wrapped around his scrawny frame. Tails intertwined as she softly whispered a tired “I love you.” Gently leaning her head on his shoulder, The Scroll-Keeper let out a sigh of relief as he fell sound asleep in the arms of his lover... Only to be greeted with an empty bed as he rose once again the next morning. Truly cementing the fact of how alone and incomplete he truly is. He only wishes for these delusions to stop and yet... He can’t bear to let her go... ✰ ︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧- - - - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵✰︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧- - - - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ✰ Sometimes these hallucinations can get so bad that he’ll fall into manic babbling fits where the voices of not only her, but all sorts of beings from his past will haunt him. After these spasms, he returns to his work or simply passes out due to exhaustion. He apologizes for his random outbursts should someone he cares about see him in this state. If he even remembers they were there at all. ✰ ︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧- - - - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵✰︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧- - - - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ✰

Remember when I said that skeksis mate for life? Well that grief an animal or human might face hits just as hard to a stone-hearted, cold blooded skeksis as it would to any man. That sorrow that SkekOk faced upon SkekLach’s sudden death caused him immeasurable psychological and emotional damage. As the Skeksis are naturally selfish beings. Besides the support he would receive from his lifelong friend SkekEkt the Ornamentalist, not many were there to comfort him. If The Scroll-Keeper were able to relive one last day with The Collector, even for just a moment. He would do it in a heartbeat. Savoring every second like it was his last day on Thra. ✰ ︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧- - - - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵✰︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧- - - - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ✰

Although she doesn’t admit it to anyone else, disguising her distaste of herself under a veil of irony and self deprecation, SkekLach has issues with loving herself. She constantly reminisces over “The glory days.” The skeksis are a dying race and she knows it. They can’t fool her. And on that topic, she’s the worst of them on that regard. Due to her hideous appearance and the immense emotional and physical pain she endures everyday, sometimes she wonders if SkekOk even loves her at all. Is he only staying with her because he has to? Out of obligation, or does he just pity her? Does he wish she were like the skeksis she was all those centuries ago? She struggles with this fear more than she’d like to admit.

SkekLach feels extremely insecure about the fact that she can’t intertwine her tail with SkekOk’s due to her traumatic injury that left her with only half of her tail remaining. SkekOk, having a much longer flexible tail will often try to wrap it around her waist if they’re sitting right next to each other. The feeling is bittersweet, but much appreciated. ✰ ︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧- - - - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵✰︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧- - - - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ✰ In the main timeline, SkekOk and SkekLach did attempt at having a baby. But since the skeksis are completely infertile in that universe, they yielded no results. They keep a small handmade doll in their shared bedchambers of what could’ve been the skekling that they had wanted so badly. Its not much, but it helped them cope and move on. ✰ ︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧- - - - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵✰︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧- - - - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ✰

𝔗𝔥𝔞𝔫𝓀 𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔣𝔬𝔯 ℜ𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤! - ℭ𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔶𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔐𝔢𝔴

#OkLach #SkekOk #SkekLach #the dark crystal: age of resistance #Dark Crystal Headcanon #SkekOk x SkekLach #skeksis #The Dark Crystal #skekok the scroll keeper #SkekLach the Collector

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land-of-classpects-and-analysis · 4 years

Text

Mage of Rage

Have you ever gone out shopping for new clothes? Perhaps the ones you already have don’t fit you anymore, your aesthetic taste has changed, or maybe you just want to expand your wardrobe. The idea may sound fun, but finding that proper size can be so frustrating, no? Sometimes something is too snug and it feels like plastic wrap has been coiled around you, or maybe it’s too small and you can’t fit your legs in the pants or your head through the hole. Maybe it’s too big as you feel that skirt, the one you could have sworn would fit just right, fall to the ground and lay at your ankles, or the rim of the shirt reaches past your knees and covers the entirety of your hands. It can be frustrating, embarrassing, and sometimes downright rage-inducing to repeat this same trial and error over and over again, experiencing more and more discomfort as the hours fly by and the pile of discarded clothes grows. People watch, and you hate it. You want to go home but you refuse to leave until you find the size that fits you best. Now you may be wondering, what does this have to do with being a Mage of Rage? A fair question, and one with an answer that is quite simple. Rather than the clothes being clothes, replace them with something such as false truths, promises, morals, rules, expectations; boxes that society attempts to push us into and keep us locked away in. Think of all the boxes you have shoved into and have broken.

Does it feel like an ugly Christmas sweater, one that brings embarrassment and is so heavy it threatens to bring you to your knees and drown you in your own sweat? What about a pair of jeans that promises to be the right - no. The perfect size, and yet no matter how much you struggle, you cannot get the jeans on. And everyone is watching, waiting, critiquing you and what you are doing. The clothes don’t fit you, though. They know, though. Who, exactly? Everyone. Society itself knows you do not fit into the uniform that is so clean, pure, and perfect. It knows, and it hates you for it - putting you under a constant gaze of scrutiny. It hates you, so you hate it in return for creating a uniform and a box that does not fit everyone. You don’t just hate society, but you hate everyone that so blindly chooses to follow it and oh-so perfectly fits into the clothes and boxes. You are a Mage of Rage, and rather than constantly fret and worry over the best ways to contort and distort and ruin yourself so that you may fit snugly in these clothes and within that box - that coffin - you instead choose to dedicate yourself to a life of finding other instances of this Rage and how you may hone it as a means of liberation, revolution, and above all else, pure anarchy. Today is a beautiful day, and you are a Mage of Rage.

From the day we are born to the day we die, there will always be a constant, looming threat of judgement from our fellow people. Very few people are so bold as to even dare step out of the factory line that usher us through life, checking off all the boxes of perfect expectations. The Mage of Rage is one of those few to not only think of pulling off such a risky move, but they’ll do it in a way that is unmistakably an act of spite and rebellion. However, the Mage of Rage would need that extra shove to bring them to such a conclusion that this is the way they wish to live - alienated, judged, and to the most dedicated and extreme, outright hated and despised. Whether this be a personal shove wherein they come to the realization that they will never, ever fit into such tightly woven and uncomfortably shaped boxes and clothes, or they witness some of their own people begin to whisper about a world outside of these factory lines and walls; a world where everyone is their own person and there is no hatred, no judgement, no fear. All the Mage of Rage needs is a good enough spark to ignite their own passion and fury against the system they have been placed within.

While their passive counterpart may start out ignorant and take a much longer time to come around to the truth, the Mage of Rage is made well aware of these injustices and society’s false promises from a much earlier age. They are willing to put more thought into the inequalities surrounding them, to question and sometimes even challenge authority, as well as, for the especially daring ones, bring about a little chaos of their own. There are a few ways as to how the Mage of Rage may first acquire the bitter taste of reality and that, in the eyes of authority and society, not everyone is created nor should be treated as equal, all of these most likely occurring when the Mage of Rage is quite young. Ranging from being bullied and having no adult care that they are victim, while someone who experienced the same bullying is coddled and cared for, being known as the “weird” classmate that no one ever understands or even the “good in class, but could do with participating/speaking more” student, to getting in trouble for no reason other than something they did looked “suspicious” despite it being the same thing another child did. Whether it be from their own pondering and observations or another person, most likely an adult that has had similar struggles to them, the Mage of Rage would receive the beginning of their journey at a rather crucial and defining point in their life and development.

The Mage of Rage is most likely someone who could fall into the fashion of living under the idea of “It’s every man for himself”, especially if they are so often ostracized by their peers and people in general. One of the biggest things that marks a Mage of Rage is how outward they are about their opinions and beliefs, as well, especially if it means getting to spit into the faces of those who believe to be better than them. They are not someone who quietly sits by and allows for false truths and harmful ideologies to be spread around, and if they witness such a thing in person, then there is barely anything that will stop them from bringing about justified chaos. Due to how they act, though, they often don’t try to spend much time looking to form any relationships with people, especially if they may have differing views to the Mage of Rage. However, for them to actively reach out and help another person is often a great sign of trust and respect from the Mage of Rage, but don’t expect a spontaneous love to spark from them because of this. Oftentimes they will try to keep up the mindset that they don’t need anyone, and that they can survive in the world on their own - even if that is not entirely true. To become so aware of the sickening blind obedience surrounding one’s self could become grating on even the most patient of souls, and while some Mages of Rage may have more patience than others of their Classpect, there is most definitely one thing certain: if the Mage of Rage has fallen silent, chances are that they have reached their limit and breaking point.

While this may sound like a Mage of Rage that has come quite far in their journey, one would be sorely mistaken to hear that this is most likely what a young (though not entirely in regards to age) Mage of Rage would act like. Rage-bound are bringers of chaos, after all, and as such strive to bring about as much doubt, confusion, and terror that they can in their wake, if only to those they deem to be ignorant and unworthy of peace. The biggest challenge for the Mage of Rage is to not only survive gaining the knowledge of Rage, or gaining knowledge through it, but to also not allow their Aspect to devour their morality. Which is to say that, while they can see and know all the joy that comes from destroying the base of a corrupt and immoral society, they must learn patience in order to avoid ruining their cause and credibility by lashing out at foes at the most inappropriate of moments. This is one of the biggest sources of struggle for the Mage of Rage, with the source of their suffering being quite obvious to anyone who has ever known a Mage of Rage. The journey for the Mage of Rage, no matter the branch of knowledge they walk upon, is one of loneliness, doubt, and hostility. Let’s finally observe how these branches grow and may splinter off from each other, all while remembering that they all grow from the same tree - the same idea.

There are the Mages of Rage who choose, or are drawn, to journey down the path of gaining knowledge of Rage. They are the ones who have experienced the nature of their Aspect firsthand, but only in a brief and passing moment. Within that moment, something clicked, sparked, or shifted in their minds that brought upon a feeling - a hunger - that they must seek out more examples and situations attached to their Aspect. These Mages of Rage are ones who have very little fear when it comes to adventure. If anything, they see it as a type of thrill-seeking joyous occasion, even if the hunt for Rage leads them to some not-so-friendly groups, individuals, or places. The Mage of Rage does not care, though, so long as they are careful not to become too entangled in whatever uprising or revolution is brewing around them. With the way the Mage of Rage works and travels, it would be dishonest to say that they would remain unrecognizable to the eyes of those around them. No, they most definitely would gain a reputation of sorts, though what that reputation is truly depends on who is being questioned about it.

Some may say the Mage of Rage is a no-good omen of destruction and anarchy - the broken and beaten husk of a town or organization left in their wake. Others may claim that the Mage of Rage is that of a sign, a blessing, perhaps even a gift, showing that freedom from the shackles of society is soon to come, and the feast upon those who have brought so many people oppression will arrive very shortly. Even if the Mage of Rage were to be made aware of these rumors and opinions about them, they would not care nor see the connection. Any good that comes of the Mage of Rage’s journey is all by coincidence because, as they would most likely say, “[they’re] just looking for opportunities, answers, chaotic fun, and knowledge”. Wherever the Mage of Rage finds themself to be, it is not because they are there to free people or stop an organization, but rather so they can simply gain a better understanding of how truly deep and far-out the roots of their tree are woven beneath the surface. It’s not that the Mage of Rage lacks empathy or sympathy, but rather they know deep down those feelings will only prevent them from making any progress in their journey. They crave immediate action and have the need to constantly be on the go - they rarely stay in one place for long. However, it is this impatience that so often brings them to make more enemies than friends, and as to be expected, the biggest growing obstacle for these Mages of Rage is that, if they are not careful, then they may fall victim to following the path of a Martyr before their journey is anywhere near finished. It is up to them to learn to take their time and be patient, get crafty, and perhaps find a few allies, even if their overall image is presented like that of a monster that stalks the lonely villages at night.

As for the Mages of Rage who so follow the path of gaining knowledge through Rage? Suffice to say, they are quite the chaotic bunch, and not exactly in the most pleasant way. While the former Mages of Rage simply seek out places filled to the brim with chaos, injustice, and in general in need of being liberated, these Mages of Rage are those who thought it would be quicker to gain knowledge and wisdom by allowing Rage to consume them. There is always a chance for redemption for many people, but there are so few Mages of Rage who choose this path that show any promise of climbing out from this hole. They are some of the most morally bankrupt of the Mages, seeing everything and everyone as a tank filled with knowledge that must be cracked open through whatever Rage-filled means possible. While some spread rumors that the former Mages of Rage are omens of chaos or saviors through destruction, most of the latter Mages of Rage are rotten down to their very core. In a way, these Mages of Rage are truly their Classpect at its most extreme and worst. If the Mage of Rage wishes to gain knowledge, then it would be wise to try and avoid them until their hunger has subsided if you want to avoid ending up in their crosshairs.

In the eyes of these Mages of Rage, the more chaos they bring into everyone’s and their own life, the better. They are someone who is not only ready and willing to set ablaze an entire forest in order to grow back something new and more pure, at least within their own vision and definition of such things, but if they find that some people are just as tainted as the forest, chances are that they will make sure those people go down with the rest of those woods. One of the most dangerous things about these Mages of Rage is that no one who knows them can say for certain when they will get these strong cravings for knowledge, which causes many people in the Mage’s life to be almost constantly on edge. However, no matter how cautious they believe themselves to be, very few people are ever capable of avoiding becoming a target for feeding, one way or another. Since Rage-bound are often stubborn in changing their opinions on things, these Mages are often the most stubborn of them all - believing their way to be the correct and purest one, and that anyone who dares challenge them is in for a world of pain, torment, and fear. When the Mage of Rage makes an enemy, it is never certain when they will strike. Perhaps they never will, and instead quietly relish in the fear and anxiety that comes off of their foe; anxiety and fear that gives only more knowledge to feed off of.

Whether the Mage of Rage presents themself to be a benevolent entity, simply appearing in places that need their help the most and acting upon such things, or they are a person deprived of morals and kindness, instead succumbing to their own anger, guilt, and hatred for the sake of knowledge, there is one thing for certain. The Mage of Rage may not seem like the most active threat, especially those who follow the path of gaining knowledge of their Aspect, but do not be fooled. They are still a Rage-bound at heart, and everyone knows how truly capricious they can be at times - especially if they want to play a little dirty. However, they can also be an important ally to have, if only for more inner-group and personal problems than anything else. They could easily be able to sniff out someone who poses a threat to the group, whether it be that person’s own rage, doubt, or fear. As such, they are the best person to put on the job for playing mediator, either between two friends who are having a disagreement or an entire dispute and rift happening within the group. It would be up to the Mage of Rage to discover the roots of these problems and address them appropriately, but that would be the biggest gamble of them all. Only the Mage of Rage knows for certain what plague of bitterness has infected their people, and who it has exactly infected. Considering the fluctuating moods of Mages in general, and then to add on the unpredictable and chaotic nature of Rage-bound, the Mage of Rage could become the best mediator within a group but also be the cause for its downfall - if they so choose to play such a nasty hand.

The Mage of Rage is one who is not afraid to play favorites, and if someone they particularly like turns out to be the cause of a problem or pose a threat to the group, then who is to say whether they will truly “snitch” on their friend for everyone else. After all, what has anyone else done for them? What are the benefits to tattling on someone who actually listens to them and believes the words that they are saying? To a particularly nasty Mage of Rage, there are none. After all, if they truly love to gain knowledge through Rage, they are someone who would rather leave everyone in states of paranoia and mistrust until it tears everyone apart. It would be unwise to not have at least one person keep an eye on the Mage of Rage at almost all times. However, not all Mages of Rage pose such large threats to a group’s integrity, tranquility, and honesty. For the Mages of Rage who have managed to acquire the skill of patience, they can prove themselves to be extremely valuable to the team. With their capability to gain knowledge of Rage, specifically of destruction, they could play an important part in creating large game plans for the team and securing victory with ease. They could pinpoint all of the easiest ways to attack an enemy and smite it. As their power of knowledge grows, so does their capability to take down their opponents swiftly and cleanly, unless they wish for it to be messy. The Mage of Rage is one who saw the truth of the world around them, and after breaking free of the shackles and tossing away the clothes forced upon them, they have found the robes and garbs that best fit them and show who they truly are. The Mage of Rage is someone who can either be someone’s savior, or their reaper. All that truly matters in that judgement is whether they deem you as a blind fool or a pitiful victim to the system. Remember, when the Mage of Rage is quiet, that is when peace has been eliminated from within their mind.

#Mage #Mage of Rage #Homestuck #Hiveswap #Mage of Rage Analysis #Rage Aspect #Oculus October #Rage

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yarasun · 4 years

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Illicit Desire; l.dh

Word Count: 2K

Summary: A secret friendship between the heirs of rival companies. But behind the label of friendship, feelings of affection lingered. Donghyuck who would give up everything to be with you, goes out of his way to show you how he feels. It’s a risky decision, but he’d do anything to make you his. Despite being an illicit desire.

Author’s Note: This was all based of my imaginations. Plot was reccomended to me by a friend. Credits to the KDrama The Inheritors, this is where I got a small bit of the Business School idea from. As mentioned, these were mere products of my imaginations, and does not define the idols mentioned.

Your father calls out to you as soon as you descended from the staircase. You smiled at him and raised your brows to encourage him to continue with what he wanted to say. "As you already know, your brother already took over your grandfather's business. Your sister has also started her own business in the field of fashion and cosmetics. I am expecting you to take over mine."

Here we go again. This is one of the things you despise in this household. The responsibilities and pressure that comes with this family business and the name of the family, it's reputation. Since your siblings and you were young, you were taught how to act, how to maintain your characters and at a young age, you were already taught about your businesses so that you may be prepared to take over it as soon as your parents or grandparents, say so.

"What are you hinting at?" You asked bluntly. He sighs and pats your back, "Do you have a boyfriend?" You frowned at his question and it hit you hard. He wants to arrange a marriage for you. Probably a unification with the son or heir to another company in order for them to expand the business.

You were always told that at some point, things like this would happen. But you never agreed or liked the idea of it. They say its crucial and beneficial. But you don't agree with it at all. Sure, it may have worked for your brother, he fell in love with his fiance, which was a win-win situation because he got love, and it benefit the business.

Yet again, it can't happen all the time. It might not be the case for you, thus, you never liked the idea of an arranged marriage. "No, I don't." Your father nodded apathetically. As if he had an idea in mind, one that surely, you would not be in favor with.

"Father, whatever you are thinking of, I would not agree to it. So, let me leave for school in peace." And with that, you exited the tensed house and got into the car, your chauffeur driving you to school.

Upon arrival, your good friend Hana greeted you. She is as beautiful as ever. As if torn from a page in the books of Greek mythology. Her perfectly tanned skin as if drizzled by both honey and caramel, glows even from afar. Her cherry lips, a beautiful hue of red. If Aphrodite had a modern look, Hana would be the perfect embodiment.

"Goodmorning." She smiles. You greeted her back and walked to your class. Going to a business management school, there are three tiers. The highest tier are those wherein their families are founders or the CEO of a company. Students like you. Second tier are those like Hana, who share percentages of shares in the stockholders. And the last tier, those who are from the scholarship program, given by higher positions of a business.

Most people make a big deal out of the tier rankings, especially those of the lowest tier. Majority of them would pick on the students saying they don't belong to the school, but nevertheless, you didn't really think of it that way. Those from lower tiers could still graduate with a good degree and even start their own business. No one should just a book by its cover.

As both of you were walking, the hallway suddenly became stuffy. As if all the air was sucked out of it, leaving you to grasp your chest and breathe heavily. Everyone started crowding together and you were suddenly dragged into the crowd of students by your friend.

"Donghyuck. It's Lee Donghyuck and his friends!" The girls started squealing and whispering loudly amongst their friends. Whenever this happens, you tend to stay as far away from Hana as possible, knowing her huge crush on Lee Jeno, she'd drag you into all this mess, which you absolutely hated.

Lee Donghyuck. He was gorgeous. His face, perfectly shaped, as if molded ever so well by the gods and brought upon the Earth to wreak havoc towards the mortals. His fair skin, it glows in a different way unlike how Hana's glows. It's a glow that entrances you until you lose your mind, oblivious to the pain that comes after it. He was perfection, the ones that when you touch it, it stains gold that burns, beautiful yet painful.

Despite his good looks, it was prohibited that you fall for him. Lee Donghyuck is the heir to your family's rival company. All this feud started way back before both of you were brought into this earth. Both families fought for the #1 spot of businesses related to medicines. It has always been a close call, but your family always manages to stay on top with a few points ahead.

However, you had no hatred towards Donghyuck at all. You never had a thing for grudges or feuds, so as much as it was required to dislike him, you could never do so. You had always treated him as a friend. The one that you could never really have a strong connection with. The one that has to be kept in the shadows. A forbidden friendship.

It's once in a blue moon for you and Donghyuck to have a casual conversation, as it has always been imprinted in both of yours minds that rumors spread as fast as lightning, thus when articles spread about your little friendship, the reputation of both companies will hang on burning wires. Moreover, neither of you had the heart to cause problems.

You tried desperately to get out of the crowd as it was suffocating and the never ending squeals made your head hurt. Unfortunately, you couldn't. everyone was pushing like a herd of zebras in a waterhole. Instead of getting out, you were pushed towards the front, until you lost your balance. Your palms making contact with the marbled tiles.

"Are you alright?" A hand extended out in front of you, gesturing out a polite way to get you back on your feet. Lifting your head from the ground, you met with Donghyuck's beautiful face, the sunlight hitting every feature he has, making him seem bewitching. It was as if he was grazed gracefully by the sun god Apollo himself. A ravishing view indeed.

You heard him whisper, his soft and beguile voice rung in your ears, "Darling, you're staring. It drives me demented." With that, you placed your hand over his, as he helped to pull you up. Dusting your skirt, you shot him an annoyed look.

"I would never look at you that way Donghyuck." Lies. He raised his eyebrows, clearly refusing to believe your bold claims. He stood in front of you with his arms crossed over his chest and a stupid smirk played on his lips. "Why are you looking at me like that?" You sassed.

He just shrugged and continued smirking. Stupid smirk. It was that look that made you question yourself. How sure were you that you would never see him as anymore than a friend? Were you certain that you wouldn't fall for him? Those were questions, you might never get answers to.

You puffed out a breath of annoyance and shoved pass the crowd of confused girls. Clearly dumbfounded at the scene that played out before their eyes. As mentioned, you and Donghyuck rarely converse.

Donghyuck is the epitome of a collision between heaven and hell. He is everything beautiful yet dangerous. His quintessential features. Those as if perfectly sculpted by professionals. His soft eyes which can set your heart ablaze. His lips, a perfect color of pink. Luscious and soft, ones that make you lick your own. His dirty blonde hair, you can see the soft streaks of his brown roots, it looks so silky and glossy, it shines exquisitely as the sunlight beams over him.

However, he had a careless and fiery attitude. He strongly resembled a dazzling phoenix that soars through the sky. Setting everything it touches into flames and ruining them. He is elegant yet with his divine beauty, comes a riding agony.

———

After class, you walked out of the classroom with Hana beside you, relentless about her unfed curiosity. She has been bugging you the whole day, to spill details about your little encounter with Lee Donghyuck. But of course, you being the stubborn friend, you refused to answer her numerous questions and just continued walking.

As the both of you were talking, whispers and squeals once again fill the hallway. You raised your head to see Lee Donghyuck and his friends walking from afar. What an unfortunate event. Your eyes frantically searched for an escape route. The hallway exit towards the gym. You quickened your pace and turned your heel, walking out to the gym before you could meet up with the vexatious group of friends.

Completely ignoring Hana's voice calling out to you, you continue walking until you reached the entrance of the cafeteria. Taking a deep breath, you inhaled the sweet aroma of the school's cafeteria. You were quite hungry so you opted to buy a snack as you waited for the chauffeur to pick you up.

"In the mood for some cookies and milkshakes, darling?" An arm snaked around your shoulders as a familiar voice tickled your neck. Lee Donghyuck, why was he here?

You whipped your head to meet up face to face with the one guy you dreaded to see. He had that infernal smirk on his lips, once again. "Donghyuck, why are you here?" You asked him curtly. He withdrew his arm from your shoulder and stuffed it into the pockets of his black pants.

"Why are you avoiding me darling?" He asked. With every mention of the little endearment, you feel the butterflies in your stomach, palpitate. Your heart slowly melting like that of an ice cream in a hot summer day.

"Stop calling me that." You couldn't fall for him. It is a verboten feeling.

"Do I make your heart race darling?" He questions teasingly. You rolled your eyes, trying desperately to avoid falling deeper into those deep, alluring orbs of his. He was jesting you, and you were giving into it.

You would be lying to yourself if you said you didn't like him. You did, very much. But it was forbidden. What would your families say when rumors of you falling in love with the heir of Lee Medical Co. circulate? The companies' reputation would shatter.

Is Lee Donghyuck worth all that chaos? Maybe.

"You're a friend Donghyuck. You know the history between our families." You answered him, trying to seemingly forget the thousands of butterflies in your body. He licks his lips and crosses his arms over his chest. The way his tongue ran over his pinkish lips, it made your knees go weak, your mind fuzzy, unable to form coherent thoughts.

He reaches out to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, and whispers, "I know darling. But what will you do about those looks of affection that you give me? You don't think I notice them?"

You pushed him away from you and raised your brow, "Notice what Lee Donghyuck?"

He smirks once more.

"The way you stare at me darling. As if you've never seen such a masterpiece. As if I was some deity that descended from the sky. How you lick your lips when you stare at mine and how eagerly you try to avoid making eye contact with me, apprehensive that you may fall deeper than the depths of tartaros, with no way of getting back up. I notice them all darling."

He was right, and there was no denying it. You were scared, agitated that these feelings you had for him, would put you at risk and end up bringing affliction to your cynical heart. He had such charms that lured you towards him. Those that make your sense of thinking, incomprehensive.

Lee Donghyuck was the type of love that never could be. He was the seemingly perfect love story that ended tragically. He was that love that was beautiful, a love so patient, so kind, so genuine, but impermissible. He was that love that the world conspired against.

He was an illicit desire.

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