#/ even the ignored former lover role

[pynkhues]

I'm that last anon and I'm all for the long answer :3 love to read your ramblings so don't feel afraid to go overboard. it's very welcomed 💖

Ah, great! I might get to it this afternoon, but we'll see how long I'm in the office for today.

[sipthegossip-if]

SIP THE GOSSIP! is rated 18+ for explicit language, skippable sexual themes, drugs, alcohol consumption, extra marital affairs and more. Best to be avoided if romance and drama are not your cup of tea.

✭ DEMO (TBA) ✭ FORUM (TBA)

You had everything in the palm your hand since birth. Success kissed your feet, the billboards sang of your symphony and the public chanted your name.

Until they didn't.

After years of a blockbuster after a blockbuster— ignoring the fact they were all your uncle's productions— you found yourself tangled up in serious allegations that left your reputation in shambles.

You lost thousands of followers across all your social media accounts and all your endorsement deals.

But you persisted. After things were resolved, you tried getting back on your feet. Starred in movies that had no connection to your dearest uncle.

But here's the thing : they all flopped. Badly, at that.

And you found yourself once again, at the rock bottom. After some time of having disappeared from the public eye you have decided to make a comeback and do what you were always good at— use your connections to gain a spot in the upcoming, very much hyped romantic series TO THE MOON AND BACK.

You will do anything to get your stardom back even if it means getting your pretty hands a little dirty.

✭ Play as male, female or non binary. Straight or queer. Customise your brand and appearance.

✭ Choose the article that destroyed the reputation you spent years building.

✭ Engage in a scandalous & fiery romance off and on set!

✭ Use whatever means you can to avoid being teared to shreds on the internet.

✭ It's been long since you have acted. You haven't forgotten how to bring those tear ducts to use, have you?

✭ Give interviews. Because isn't that what the blizz and bling all about baby?

✭ Engage with your fans. If they still haven't forgotten about you, that is.

✭ Escape or annoy the unrelenting paparazzi.

✭ Customise your public persona. Do things that transpire behind cameras differ from on camera?

✭ Choose the plot of T2MAB.

✭ THE BODYGUARD : Kai D'melio. [he/him or she/her]

Single and in early 30s. Stoic and all business. It's hard to get a read of them. They are a constant in your life.

Tropes : Bodyguard romance, slow burn, yearning, "crush" route.

✭ THE VETERAN ACTOR : Shiron "Shay" Hill. [he/him or she/her]

Married and in mid 40s, they continue to be a social media sensation to till this day. A friend of you and your uncle. They are the one who introduced you to the director and producer of To The Moon And Back and helped you score the lead role.

Tropes : Extra marital affair, steamy.

✭ THE DIRECTOR/PRODUCER : Victor/ia "Vic" Alvarez. [he/him or she/her]

Single, former actor and in mid 40s. An incredibly close friend of Shiron. They have been attached at the hip since the two first began working together in the industry. All their works have proved to be the public's favourites and you hope that is also the case with T2MAB.

Tropes : Work romance, steamy, commitment issues.

✭ THE M/F LEAD : Alexis "Alex" Sinclair. [he/him or she/her]

Co-actor and in late 20s. Charming and titled 'Industry's Budding Star' by People's Magazine. They seem to have a tendency to flirt with whatever that breathes. It would serve you best to not get involved with them, judging from their messy dating history.

Tropes : steamy, commitment issues.

✭ THE SECOND M/F LEAD : River Fox. [he/him or she/her]

Co-actor, singer and in late 20s. After having caught their now ex partner cheating on them, they seem to have a hard time trusting people. The fact that they dislike you for the means you used to get the role and the consequences it led to, doesn't help either.

Tropes : Slow burn, enemies-to-lovers, melting the ice king/queen, forced proximity, kind guy/gal who's mean to only you.

✭ THE CAMERA(WO)MAN : Arlo Kent. [he/him or she/her]

Single loyal to you and in their early 20s. They get all starry eyed and overly enthusiastic at the sight of you. More often than not, you have caught them not so discreetly keeping an eye you. You can only hope they are merely star struck and nothing more.

Tropes : Stalker/yandere fluffy romance.

[messiahzzz]

i have been thinking a lot about mystra’s relationship with gale, how reducing her to “his ex” really is an understatement. she was and still is so much more than that. moreover, using the term “ex-girlfriend” in relation to her plainly feels wrong and diminishes the influence she has over him, as well as the role she played in his life since his childhood (and it also trivializes the abuse he suffered through her).

there are several instances where gale gets defensive when his companions mention or ask him abt mystra. he claims that their relationship was no less real even though most of their interactions were incorporeal.

we have already established that gale is an unreliable narrator in this particular case, still not having fully come to terms with the fact that he was groomed, manipulated and abused. he ping-pongs between bouts of realization (even in his romance), gaining clarity that he was merely used and eventually discarded and that mystra never truly cared for him, back to making light of his situation, idealizing her once again. realizing the extent of his trauma, that he is indeed a victim in this scenario, unlearning what he has been made to believe from a young age is a slow and painful journey. he is in the process of healing, but it takes time. time he deserves just like anyone else.

which makes me wonder what their relationship really looked like, once the lines between teacher, muse, and lover began to blur. i also feel like one of the reasons why part of the fandom still struggles to identify mystra as his abuser, is because she is a white woman who initially presents herself in a soft-spoken, benevolent manner… and well, the fact that gale himself is ambitious to a fault and a lil insane about the promise of power. he also briefly mentions "crossing mystra’s boundaries” when he confides in tav and tells them about his folly. (“i am, after all, the villain in this story.”) which led to a looooot of misinterpretations.

leaving the overall lore and mystra’s treatment of her other chosen aside — what we can discern from her interactions with gale in-game, is that mystra is civil as long as she remains in control and gale follows her demands, but as soon as there’s even a slight mention of challenging her power or defying her rule, she rather quickly changes her tone.

there is also one particular exchange between them that just won’t leave my head:

“you were many things to me, but never a threat. and never a savior."

even if we choose to blatantly ignore the fact that mystra is a deity, his goddess - there is no possible way that their relationship ever could have been equal by any mortal standards. the power imbalance that comes with her being his teacher and a symbol of his admiration, plus the sheer control she holds over him and his powers are simply too great. don’t even let me get started on how it is a common tactic of abusers to isolate their victims from any outside influences so they can exert full control over them. and how up to meeting tav and their merry band of misfits, every single soul he was close to was inevitably tied to mystra in one way or another. he briefly mentions his colleagues and then there’s elminster, also mystra’s chosen and former lover, and tara, who is a fine wizard in her own right. he spend so many years in service of her, dedicating his life to her, that now there is no one left he can truly call a friend. most of his little anecdotes and stories he tells are restricted to his childhood and university days, everything else was mystra.

evidently, ordering gale to detonate the orb is the most efficient course of action in her eyes. he is just as expendable as any other mortal, after all. maybe once significantly more useful given his status and the extent of his powers, but she doesn’t feel sorrow nor remorse for ordering him to end his life. his death is simply the most convenient means to an end.

another thing i would also like to briefly touch upon is the trigger/detonator itself. a dagger to the heart. it could have been literally anything else, a simple incantation. it is well within mystra’s power to stabilize the orb and also to remove it from his body entirely. but no, what she requires of gale is to stab himself. one might argue that it was simply a cinematic choice meant for a more dramatic effect, but it really leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. especially considering the fact that she is commonly known and referred to as a jealous goddess. it almost makes it seem like yet another form of punishment or mere pettiness. after his long period of isolation, gale is now surrounded by fellow humans. people he cares about, even perhaps people he might eventually consider good friends — which is enough of a reason for him to not want to die, to keep going and try to find another way, rather than to blindly follow mystra’s bidding. now there’s a group of people who support him and are genuinely invested in him staying alive. hmmm...

[cottonlemonade]

The One That Got Away

word count: 1153 || avg. reading time: 5 mins.

pairing: post-time skip ex-boyfriend!Iwaizumi x chubby!Reader (feat. Seijoh 4)

genre: fluff, exes to lovers

warnings: spoilers, like one suggestive line

synopsis: Upon his return to Japan Hajime runs into his ex. Although the breakup was necessary and with no hard feelings, Hajime has never been able to get over you.

In an attempt to show off some more impressive, foreign cooking skills he had picked up in California, Hajime decided to make spaghetti, and so typed up a list before grocery shopping, double and triple checking to make sure he had everything. For a while there he had thought back and forth about the appropriateness of just inviting you over like that. When he met you at a café earlier this week he first thought he was hallucinating. But when you felt his stare as you were waiting in line for your drink you recognized him instantly and struck up a conversation - asking how he had been and what it was like to be a high profile trainer for the national team. Had you kept up with him like he had with you? During his time abroad, whenever he felt homesick he would check what his friends were up to and ultimately his social media scrolling always brought him back to you. Seeing you doing so well at your job and enjoying evenings out with your friends made him happy. And his heart always skipped a beat when you posted a short video and he could see you smile and hear you talk and laugh and he could pretend he was there with you. It was one of the hardest decisions of his life to break it off with you even though it had been ridiculously amicable. Every once in a while he had been tempted to text you, ask you how you were and if you missed him even just a fraction as much as he missed you. So without thinking, that Tuesday at the café he had asked if you’d like to come to dinner at his place to catch up. At that moment he thought it sounded too forward, just inviting you to his apartment rather than take you to a nice restaurant. Maybe even your favorite from back when you were dating. But you had beamed and agreed.

And tonight he would be alone with you at his place. The thought sent a strange tingle through his body. But he wasn't intending to do anything so there was nothing to be scandalized about. You were two adults having dinner and talking. He ignored Matsukawa’s text with a link to his Best Make Out Playlist, shaking his head at the mental image it planted and instead concentrated on finding the right wine.

After grocery shopping he went to pick up dessert at a bakery he remembered you loved and drove home to get ready.

Training that morning had been very chaotic. Not only did Matsukawa and Hanamaki accompany him and hadn‘t stopped wanting to role play different romantic scenarios as Hajime was stretching but even worse they ganged up on him and only too readily tried to give him advice on the art of seduction. The further along their gym session went, the more they began making unnecessary kissing noises whenever the lyrics of the songs playing over the speakers were getting suggestive.

"You might wanna…"

Hajime looked down on himself to where Oikawa was gesturing and zipped up his jeans. His friend was in Japan for a few weeks to visit his family.

Leaning in the door frame, his former captain had only made one “helpful” comment after the other since he was in a successful relationship that was already going almost 50 days (and thus deemed himself a love expert), while he - Hajime - hadn't been in a relationship in years.

"You want me to stay here? Break the ice? Talk you up?"

Hajime glared at him in the mirror.

"Alright alright, didn't say anything. Can you drop me off somewhere before she gets here?"

The younger one sighed and threw a sharp look at his friend.

"You know, somehow I don't believe a national player is that broke that he can‘t afford a taxi."

Oikawa quickly put on a hurt expression then switched topics.

“Who are you meeting anyway? Anyone I know?”

Hajime avoided his eyes and Oikawa grinned as the realization hit.

“Y/n-chan?”, he teased.

Hajime didn’t respond, just took off his shirt and tried on a different one.

“Well, I gotta hand it to you, Iwa-chan. You really are playing the long game.”

“Shut up.”

Oikawa did, in fact, not shut up.

“It’s been what? 10 years since High School and you’re still not over her?”

“I told you to shut up, Shittykawa.”

“But this is too much fun. Have you been pining for her this whole time? Did you keep in contact after graduation? - She was so chubby in High School, it was really cute. Is she still chubby? Gotta make things fun when you’re alone. You can really hold on there while -“

“Go back to your hotel.”

Oikawa gasped, theatrically.

“I’m only here for two more weeks, Iwa-chan. Don’t you wanna spend time with me?“

Hajime closed his bedroom door and heard a satisfying bonk when the wood hit his friend‘s face.

__________

You felt Hajime brush a kiss to your shoulder and his arm snake around your tummy. Letting out a sleepy, raspy-voiced Good Morning he buried his face in the crook of your neck and breathed you in.

You turned to face him, blanket rustling, and snuggled your barely dressed form against his. Interlacing his fingers with yours he brought your wrist to his lips.

He rolled you onto your back so he was now on top of you, taking in this much adored sight before him with a dreamy expression. Then he sank lower to press a handful of sweet kisses against your forehead, nose, cheeks and lips before settling down with his head resting on your chest, ready for another round of snoozing. He made a happy sort of grumble when you played with his hair.

For a while you laid there in content silence, brimming with happiness, then a series of dings came from the nightstand. They were only a few at first, far enough apart for Hajime to ignore them. But when they grew in frequency he asked you to hand him his phone.

“Something important? Do you have to go?”, you asked, really hoping the answer would be No.

“Ugh, it’s just the others. They wanna know how our dinner went.”

You giggled. “Well…”

Hajime chuckled too, hugging you tighter with his free arm, while the other quickly scanned the increasingly annoying texts of his friends.

He typed a few words, then dropped the phone next to you, propping himself up to kiss you again.

The message pings now blew up, barely leaving a few seconds in between.

“Oh my god!”, he groaned, his lips against your neck, “Tell them to leave me alone.”

He didn’t stop kissing you when you reached for his phone. You didn’t bother reading all the incoming messages. You just wrote “he’s busy” and turned it to silent.

a/n: He 100% used that playlist but will never admit it.

[girlwtdragontattoo]

Hiding Place

Halsin x Reader (FemTav) Fanfiction

Couple notes: I love the idea of music in fanfiction, so I kept the Reader/FemTav as a skilled bard. There are a couple mentions of my Tav's class and race (paladin, half-elf), but I think these are easy to skip over.

The songs within this fic are from Paris Paloma, please check them out!!!!

Word Count: 3.3k

___________________________________

After the initial realization that their paths would diverge, Halsin and Y/N gathered their things in the room and prepared their separate journeys. His mission to create a safe haven in Thaniel’s realm was at the very forefront of his mind, excited at the happiness and safety it will instill in the children and people following him. But he couldn’t ignore the sting in his throat. Y/N had always been so accepting of his goals and lifestyle and he knew it wasn’t a final goodbye. Still, the idea of being apart from her after so many months of the growing closeness between them: it was an ache he didn’t recognize.

So many lovers speckled his timeline. Some shone more than others, as they usually do. But this one. Y/N. She was a completely new experience for the archdruid. The kindness in her eyes, nothing compared to it. And now he would be without them for a long time, an absence he hadn’t prepared for.

Y/N committed to rebuilding her home, Baldur’s Gate. Accepting the role of “the hero” was uncomfortable for the paladin, and all she wanted to do was accompany her lover to the former Shadow-cursed lands. To live in peace, with the one she had grown so close to, was a dream come true. A dream that had to wait. For she knew that the city needed all the help it could get and she felt compelled to do so, just as Halsin was called to his new mission. There was a deep chasm growing in her, an emptiness she recognized too well. She never wanted to be the reason Halsin felt trapped. She knew how free his spirit needed to be and she would never beg him to stay, no matter how much she wanted to. Nevertheless, the overwhelming feeling of loss claimed her as she watched him gather the last supplies from their shared room.

All preparations had been made. The wagons of children were stuffed with supplies for the journey, toys were even given a separate section. There were helpers lugging the last few satchels and baskets onto the carts and the time for departure was getting closer. The druid checked with the horses and comrades, finally deciding that it was time. He wouldn’t leave, however, without saying goodbye to his heart one last time.

Leaving the travelers with a “I’ll be back shortly”, the druid walked slowly towards the inn he had stayed in with Y/N, knowing she was still using their abode for her continued stay. His stride was quiet and delayed, knowing that the moment he saw her his whole being would quake with the dire need to remain with her. To resist that urge would be a colossal challenge, knowing that when their hands finally parted, it would be a long while until they were intertwined again.

Crossing the street, he passed a large archway that led to the riverbank. It was right outside the inn and was a familiar spot for Halsin and his lover. A soft guitar echoed from that direction and stopped the druid in his path. He recognized the gentle strumming, something he eagerly listened to every night. A drop in his stomach. This would also be the last time he would hear her poetry for a long while.

Accompanying the tune was a tender voice, humming wistfully to their own melody. Halsin felt a burning sensation snake its way through his abdomen up towards his chest. He couldn’t bring himself to interrupt Y/N. Selfishly, he needed to hear her silvery voice one last time. The tall elf positioned himself behind a wall, where he could listen to her play without being seen.

Y/N plucked a melancholy tune, still humming to it softly as she began to trickle out her thoughts into song.

This morning I emerged onto wet earth, it had been raining

And while it had been raining, you and I, we had been lying

And while we had been lying in the warmth, we had been falling

Into slumber with the thunder overhead

In the cave, we laid down to the rain sounds on your window

Intermingled with the bloodrush of our love flush in our sinew

Sleep joined us in the lamplight as a fire in a campsite

But we set no one to watch with our guard down

There was a brief pause before she continued. She thrummed the instrument a bit shakily, her throat coated with swallowed tears.

What a lovely hiding place that you have made to delay our parting

What a world outside to keep each other safe from

That's all that I want, darling

Halsin let out a raspy sigh, listening to the words. She had written songs about them before, mostly cataloguing the many adventures and creatures they had encountered along the way. His favorite was one she had written about the owlbird cub that joined their camp. The songs were always epodic and full of wonder, now and again containing dark emotions that she was processing. 

Now, he was listening to her spill out her sorrow – and it was about him. Knowing that he was the cause of her sadness was staggering. Her words glid through the air and wrapped itself around him, encompassing suppressed sentiments neither of them dared say aloud to one another.

The druid couldn’t stop the tears from welling up in his seafoam eyes, but he contained his sobs to let his lover finish undisturbed, placing a hand on his mouth.

That’s all that I want, darling.

You hold me in thе burrow, your brow furrowed in your dreaming

And at the timе, the flood comes and our blood runs cold and bleeding

You'd lie womb-like and in your arms, I'd cease my breathing

With broken ribs and one last kiss, I would die here warm

What a lovely hiding place that you have made to delay our parting

What a world outside to keep each other safe from

That's all that I want, darling

That's all that I want, darling

Y/N plucked the last few tunes on repeat and let out an audible sniffle. Halsin’s body was trembling slightly, the stains of his tears marking his face. He heard her pick a few strings absentmindedly.

It took him a few more breaths, but eventually he stepped into the dusk light and approached the riverbank where she was seated. She didn’t turn to him, but recognized his stride. It seemed both didn’t want to look upon each other just yet.

The druid spoke first, his sadness etched in his voice: “I will miss you endlessly, my heart.”

She turned her head slowly. Her eyes were wet.

“I would come with you, if I could”, she breathed huskily. Halsin nodded disdainfully, he felt the water return to his eyes.

Y/N stood up steadily, leaving her white guitar to rest on the bank. They stood looking at each other for a bit, as if trying to imprint their faces to memory. She walked towards him with a loving smile that flickered trying to contain her tears further. The druid stepped forward quickly and pulled her into a firm embrace, as he buried his face into her neck while Y/N wrapped her arms around his. Their breaths pulsated with each other, neither one wanting to leave the familiar comfort of each other. Halsin lifted his head, placed his hand on her cheek and scanned her beautiful eyes wanting to soak up every facet of them. They glittered as silent tears escaped her.

“This isn’t goodbye, my heart,” the bear choked out, between a few quiet sniffs. He couldn’t contain his tears either. “I will long for you every single day, watching the horizon for your arrival.”

 Her smile widened, the creasing of her eyes allowing a few more tears to escape: “I won’t keep you waiting too long.”

They pressed their lips together and breathed in each other’s scents. Halsin’s large hands pressed her body deeper into his as her fingers gently dug into his hair. The caress sunk intensified, as their tongues hooked into each other. The druid sighed into her intensely, not wanting to separate from her. If he could, he would stay here with her and enjoy her soul and body until the end of time. But the helpless were depending on him. And this city was depending on her lead.

An age passed and their lips finally separated. Their foreheads touched, keeping their eyes closed and allowed the moment to wash over them. Halsin’s jaw clenched as he held her hand against his heart, knowing that every second a call from one of his comrades would ring through the streets. They stood near each other, breathing in sync, in silence.

“Halsin?!”, the predicted call was far in the distance and ripped both of them out of the moment.

Y/N swallowed hard, opening her eyes and smiled up at her love: “They’re waiting for you.”

Halsin nodded, but pressed her into his body more, not wanting to let go.

“I know,” he murmured defeatedly, as he placed his hand on the back of her head. “I know…” he exhaled.

The moment had come. Reluctantly, they separated from each other but still held hands. She let out a shaky breath and whispered barely audibly: “Be safe.”

He smiled dejectedly, but responded gently: “Come back to me soon.”

“That’s all I want, darling”

With those words, a last glance was shared as their fingers finally drifted apart. Her last words echoed within his mind and the druid walked away from her.

--

It had been many months, since Y/N watched her heart walk away into his new obligation. The rebuilding of Baldur’s Gate had kept her extremely preoccupied and it helped being close to people like Jaheira and Minsc, who understood her on a deep level. They would meet occasionally for a pint together or she would accompany Astarion on an evening stroll, where he complained about being stuck inside during the day.

The city was starting to return to its former glory. With collective effort, Y/N led a team to clear out debris and took time to bury the lost with a proper memorial service. Working with Duke Ravengard, she had gathered volunteers to assure new housing was built and that refugees would have decent places to live in.

It had taken a long time, but things were looking brighter. And it seemed that her services were no longer that direly needed.

She decided it was time to be selfish.

Twisting through the old Shadow-cursed roads, Y/N approached a bustling little hamlet and was met with a chorus of laughing children and people calling to one another to bring a specific tool. The half-elf had her purple hood up, because her distinct hair and facial tattoos made travelers stop her and interview her as “the hero of Baldur’s Gate”.

The houses had been quickly constructed, but the area was blooming with vast, healthy fauna that invited small bumblebees to swirl around happily. There were still some workers hammering away at some odd project, while some groups were washing sheets, carrying planks or hoeing the ground. The tiny village was bustling with life and, most evidently, sanctuary.

As she stepped further into the township, a group of giggling children ran across her way. They stopped and bumped into one another, clearly curious at the stranger standing before them.

Under her hood, Y/N smiled gently down at them all. The kids started whispering frantically, but were full of excitement. One small tiefling boy walked up to her and tilted his head exaggeratedly to get a better look under her cape.

“Are you a wizard?” he asked confused at her long, purple cape.

She chuckled slightly and went down into a squat to be on his eye level.

“No, no. I’m not a wizard,” the boy was staring at her face and his eyes drifted along the noticeable markings on her face, “is this Thaniel’s Haven?” she asked the group. Some of the kids nodded, but the whispering continued.

A few more children stepped closer to her and tilted their heads in various directions, clearly less hesitant at the sound of her kind voice.

One girl’s eyes widened as she seemed to remember something: “You’re…!!! You’re the lady from the stories!!! Aren’t you?” She pointed excitedly at Y/N’ forehead, where a beautiful red tree was tattooed.

The other kids all gasped in understanding.

“The hero lady!”

“Daddy Halsin said she would come one day!”

“Her face! He said it had those markings!”

“Her tattoos are so cool!”

“I thought you’d be bigger…”

“He said you’d come!”

Y/N started to laugh to herself as their exclamations grew in volume. She held her hands up to gesture them to calm down a bit. Some of the other people in the surrounding area were watching the commotion.

Slowly, their voices quieted as they waited for her to confirm.

“I guess I am…”

A choir of elated tiny gasps followed her statement.

The children were surrounding her, not giving her room to go anywhere else. They asked about a million questions, all about her adventures with the Absolute and how she came to know Halsin. They asked everything they could think of, the moment she stopped answering one, another babbled out of a young one’s mouth. A group of older villagers had joined the fray, who also excitedly greeted her and welcomed her to the area.

One robust woman had her arms on her hips and smiled brightly: “We’ve heard so much about you from Halsin, Miss Y/N, please excuse their excitement.”

A young elf girl had stars in her eyes while talking to Y/N: “He said you have an owlbear as a pet!!!”

The tiefling boy tugged gently at her robe by her side. She looked down to him.

 “Daddy Halsin said you sing songs. Can you sing for us?”

Halsin was lugging some lumbar he had gathered with a group of people at the far end of the village, completely unaware of the commotion at the entrance.

“Erani, put these small pieces into the shed. And Quel, make sure the animals have enough water in their troughs,” He gave the instructions kindly, while he wrapped the larger individual pieces of wood together with rope. An assured “Yes, sir” came out of the mouths of his companions, as he wiped the sweat off his brow.

The day had been long and he couldn’t wait to go see the children to tuck them into their beds. That was his favorite part of the day. The way they were all so eager to learn. It was truly remarkable to see how much they’ve opened up.

His brows furrowed briefly, realizing something. Where are the children?

Normally they stormed up to him after he had been gone for the day, yelling questions about his activity or telling him about what happened at playtime. It was very unusual for his return to go unnoticed.

In that moment, he thought his ears were playing tricks on him.

He could hear a faint guitar playing and a voice he had only heard in his dreams the past few months. Halsin whirled around, taken aback and looked towards the hill that led to the entrance of the village.

What was it that stayed my hand then?

With dagger held unsheathed, blade pointing at its side

Was that-

I’d been set upon by a predator

It was just looking for a meal, I saw ribs and fearful eyes

Had she truly come?

The druid dropped the collection of wood and bolted up the hill, leaving a slight cloud of dust where the logs had hit the ground. His two comrades looked at each other, confused.

What is it that stays my hand now?

The familiar thrum of the chords. The beautiful tone of voice. The words of his favorite song. It had to be her. His pace quickened.

With so much misery that I could mercifully put end to

For that animal I let slink off into the undergrowth, unscathed

Do I not fear death, but just pretend to?

Why was this hill so gods damn long?

For it was starving

It was hungry

But had eyes too close to let me

The slope was getting flatter, he could almost see above it. Panting heavily, he reached the top and was met with a large group of villagers surrounding a single person, sitting atop a barrel and playing a very recognizable white guitar.

If you were easy to kill, I would have done it already

Halsin and Y/N’s eyes met and she smiled serenely as she continued to strum the melody, the kids all huddled around her and clapping arrhythmically.

You are at my feet

We’re by the fire

You’re a gentle beast

And I’m alive

Halsin let out a sighing laugh, his heart engulfed with pure ecstasy. Seeing her there, surrounding by the sweetest beings he had ever had the fortune of meeting, it gave him so much joy.

Y/N finished her song and the children all stood up and cheered. The other onlookers clapped contently, all looking at the druid who couldn’t seem to contain his excitement, either.

“SO OWLBEARS ARE REALLY SWEET THEN?!” one child called out.

“YES SHE SAID IT’S GENTLE!” another replied.

“WE CAN PET THEM! WE CAN PET THEM!” some said in unison.

The half elf held up her hands again to calm them.

“No no no! Don’t go petting an owlbear! The one I met was very sweet, but it was a baby! Please don’t be careless-” she babbled helplessly.

A deep familiar voice ruptured through the chatter.

“Now now, what are you teaching the little ones?”, Halsin called, grinning from ear to ear.

The kids’s heads all turned swiftly to him and ran up with a colossal speed to the druid, all jabbering over another to tell him that Y/N had arrived.

Y/N smiled.

After getting through the small crowd, Halsin stood before the half-elf with a face full of glee, very similar to the small faces scurrying after him.

“You came!” he exclaimed. Without thinking, he pulled her into an intense hug, burying his face into her hair. She swung her arms around him as much as she could and they stayed like this for a while, taking in each other’s scent. The sensation of belonging encompassed Y/N’s body, finally back in the arms of the one she loved most.

They faced each other, gazing longingly into each other’s eyes and almost gave into the highly awaited kiss. Both realized, however, that there were many pairs of glittering, tiny eyes staring up at them.

They separated from each other, grinning, and Halsin turned towards the kids.

“This is Y/N, little ones. She’s the hero of Baldur’s Gate, the one I’ve been telling you about.” He was met with many “We know”’s and “Yes yes!”’s.

The tiefling boy from before stepped up again, his voice booming: “Are you staying here forever??? Can you sing us a bedtime song???” His questions were met with shrill screeches of agreement.

Y/N snickered serenely, leaning down to the boy: “If Daddy Halsin is alright with that.” She and the rest of the kids turned to the druid.

He blushed at her using the word “daddy”.

“Nothing would make me happier,” he grinned, his eyes shining in the sunset.

The children all cheered and Y/N beamed down at them. Some grabbed her arms and others grabbed Halsin’s to pull them towards their cottage. Halsin leaned towards Y/N and whispered: “I’m sorry, my heart. We won’t have any privacy until they’ve gone to sleep.”

She nodded and winked at him: “We have all night.”

Their fingers met and laced within each other, as they were guided by the laughing children towards a new chapter, together.

[lyssasdrafts]

“ WE CAN’T BE FRIENDS ” — lucien x reader

includes: angst, lovers to enemies, unrequited love, jealousy

you’re standing in the hallway, eyes widened and your mouth hanging open, though no words come out. you don’t dare to move as your former lover glances at you from across the room. lucien looks at you, unbothered, turning his head immediately at the sight of you. he’s far too occupied, he has people to speak to and deals to make.

and he’s far too occupied with his mate.

your throat feels dry. you let out a deep breath and push your shock away. making your way down the hallway, you link arms with the first, and only, person you recognize and force a smile to your lips.

“y/n,” morrigan greets you. “welcome to the night court.”

you accept her offer to a formal introduction, realizing how many faces in this room are unfamiliar. throughout the years of traveling across prythian and visiting different courts, you’d only stopped by the night court a handful of times.

you began working for the spring court as an emissary years ago, mostly being sent away as a representative that was entrusted to make any necessary negotiations with other high lords. you remembered spending months away from home at a time, finding yourself becoming comfortable in a new location before you inevitably had to leave.

it was exhausting sometimes, but perhaps by now you had learnt not to become attached to anyone. you never truly felt content in the spring court, always expecting the next time you would be sent away. a small part of you was grateful for what happened, that maybe the downfall of the spring court could finally allow you to build a stable life. you didn’t have to work as it’s emissary anymore because there was nothing to work for. the court was empty, depleted of the life and culture it once had, a shell of what it used to be. you had just been one of it’s many citizens to leave and move to another court. even if it was different this time, leaving the spring court was nothing you weren’t used to, even if you knew there was no returning.

you were glad to have met morrigan during your first brief visit to the night court, instantly becoming friends. after you had reached out seeking to leave the spring court, she offered a spot in velaris for you, a shiny new place you’d never been to before. in some way, your past still manages to haunt you. you hadn’t expected lucien to be here tonight.

you met lucien after being introduced to the spring court and found out he had a similar role as an emissary. later into your relationship, you remember lucien admitting that he’d instantly fallen for you the day that you met. you confessed that you had felt the same, you took one look at lucien’s playful smile and luscious hair and autumn court stories, and decided you wanted him to be yours.

it began with simple conversations that turned into banter. then the nights you spent together grew longer and the stories he told became more tender. you’d realized that you’d fallen completely in love so quickly, and that there was a pretty high chance he’d fallen too.

the spring court was never your place of comfort, not when lucien existed instead. home was not the smell of fresh flowers and wet grass, it was lucien vanserra. it was his arms holding you in the middle of the night and his voice when he read to you. it was leaning your head on his shoulder, sitting by the lakes and listening to another fae play the music he’d requested for you. it was holding his arm and grabbing onto it when you felt scared, with him promising it would be alright. lucien became your home, your place in this world after traveling around so much.

you ignored the feeling when you thought about your next assignment, the idea of having to leave lucien for months, how long this cycle would continue indefinitely for you. it was the feeling of longing, longing for his arms to keep holding you and for him to keep you warmer for just another moment. it wasn’t soon until you would be separated, you would be sent away and lucien receiving news that he was being called back to the autumn court.

for the first time in your life, you were scared to leave. for the first time, you were willing to stay around. it made you realize how vulnerable that made you if your feelings were getting in the way of your role as emissary. perhaps you needed to distance yourself from lucien, as you began to notice his stares at you whenever you brought up your next journey.

“i want to see you one last time before i return to the autumn court,” he’d asked you. you’d met him the night before he was called to leave.

“come with me,” he’d whispered to you after pulling you in. “i want you to stay with me, y/n. don’t let me have the misery of not being able to see you. i can be your home, i can build a place in this world for us both.”

you’re left in awe standing in front of him. you stare at him in silence for a few moments, nothing but the sound of your own heavy breath as you collect your thoughts. lucien reached his hand out for you, waiting for you to take it and accept his offer. could you really find it within yourself to leave? forever? to give up your life and position for lucien? to leave everything behind for a dumb love?

“no,” the word leaves your lips. “i’m sorry- i can’t.” you don’t take his hand, instead turning around to run away from him. you don’t look back. you don’t want to see the look of shock and hurt on his face you know you caused him.

you know for sure he’s moved on from that though, judging by his current state.

and now your roles had reversed. you were the one seeking help after returning from your next journey to see your court completely devoid of life. the only place you had ever known to come back to was unrecognizable.

lucien was perfectly fine, as he deserved to be. he’s grown his hair longer and has it done nicely for this occasion, likely not expecting you to have shown up there. he’s dressed in his usual pleasing autumn-style fashion, but something about him looks different. somehow, he’s changed. he’s laughing with the high lady, arm around his new mate, her sister.

lucien doesn’t even spare you a glance throughout the night after your introduction. you stand there awkwardly in comparison. he’s grown indifferent to you, and all you can do is pretend it doesn’t hurt you.

you were the one who left him. you were the one who didn’t deserve him. you’re the one who deserves every single bit of regret and misery that you feel right now. you try your best to resent lucien, to find it within yourself to despise him the way he probably despises you, but you simply can’t. you’re too guilt-ridden and lovelorn for that.

you wanted him to see past you, to understand that you were pretending to not care about him. you wanted him to see that how you’d left him that night was an act of denial, a reflection of your life full of uncertainty, where you didn’t know what to trust and where you were too afraid to risk it. it hadn’t been a reflection of your feelings for him. after all that time you’d spent getting to know each other, you’d hoped he would’ve picked up on that by now.

but instead, you’re forced to bite your cheek as you watch him spin around his partner. you’re bitterly standing the furtherest you can from them, feeling the jealousy creep over you. mor taps you on the shoulder, checking if you’re alright, while you try to nod along and hide your embarrassment. it provoked something in you to watch them, although you had nothing against elain archeron.

a part of you wants to scream at him. a part of you wants to swallow your pride and ask him to forgive you. a part of you wants to beg and cry for him. although he has a mate, you wanted him to choose you instead. you knew that you were being selfish and unjustified and that you should just let him go. if you couldn’t move on, at least he deserved to.

you try to push away that pulsing heartache whenever you walk by him, blinking away your tears and ignoring your feelings of regret. you don’t even allow yourself to wonder what could’ve happened if it weren’t for your lack of sensitivity towards him. perhaps you would’ve stayed with him forever. perhaps you would’ve found somewhere you belonged at last. the idea of everything with lucien made you want to crawl away. you wanted to hide these thoughts somewhere you would never find them.

like time, your love was fleeting and unchecked. you hadn’t expected how your feelings of him would linger, how hard it really was for you to move on. like a curse, you couldn’t rid yourself of your thoughts of him even when you denied them, even if it caused you pain to think about what you could’ve had with him. and like spring, your former home, your love bloomed for just a moment before it died out. lucien felt like the one promise you could’ve had throughout your life of uncertainty. it was a love that could never be rekindled now. and every single part of you knew it had been your fault.

[charles-eclair16]

Reviving Reputations

Pairing: charles leclerc x actress!reader

Trope: fake dating, friends to lovers

series masterlist

_______________•••________________

Charles Leclerc, a hero, a rising star in the world of Formula 1 racing. But now, his reputation lay in ruins.

It all started with rumours, news, whispers which he ignored thinking it would die down but how wrong he was. His ex-girlfriend Amelia Harper had been a terrible mistake one which ended in flames and his reputation down the drains.

Charles had tried to move on, to focus on his racing career, but the damage had been done. No matter how many races he won, the whispers and judgment followed him everywhere. He had become the fallen hero, the driver with a tarnished reputation.

Desperate to revive his image and regain his former glory, Charles knew he needed a plan. He couldn't let one mistake define him for the rest of his life. But where would he even begin?

Yn? Never heard of her.

All you need to know about the upcoming star of Hollywood. Y/N has recently become a very common name, after her successful debut in Marvel's 'Avengers End Game' and although it was for a very small role, she had managed to impress the audience with her acting skills and natural charm.

The 24 year old model turned actor had always dreamed of making it big in Hollywood. After years of auditions, small roles, and countless rejections, her hard work was finally paying off. With her breakthrough cameo role in Marvel's Avengers End Game, Yn's star was on the rise.

The success of Avengers End Game opened doors for Yn, leading to small roles in popular TV series like 'The Memories.' Although her appearances were limited, Yn's talent and charisma caught the attention of industry insiders. Rumors began to circulate that she was in talks to be cast as the lead role in 'The Illusions,' a highly anticipated film alongside the charismatic and talented Tom Holland. Even though it's not confirmed, people are sure that it's her who's gonna get the role.

What happens when she's asked to create a buzz around herself- to create curiosity in the public's eye without it being a scandal to secure the lead role. But where would she even begin?

The solution for both of them- a contract to fake date.

________________•••_______________

A/N: it's going to be a series of written and social media au's.

[theonevoice]

Rumination n. 6 - It was all Jim's fault

Well, not all his fault. He walked right into a 6000yo situation of unspoken "do I... would you... could we...", but I think, since he fills the role of comic relief, we are not fully taking into account his impact on the whole ineffable miscommunication mess.

Because he is not just a plot device, he is a character that pushes Aziraphale and Crowley to act in unplanned ways and - most of all - brings some of their worldview biases and traumas out of their dark corners. And I am increasingly convinced that his presence plays a major role in the final breakup, acting as a catalyst for their millennia-long misalignment of hopes and fears.

Sure, he is there to make us smile and Jon Hamm is a joy to watch (I cannot get to his line in ep 1, when Aziraphale tells him that he can see that he's naked, and he goes "Oh! Well, what do you know? Ahahah!" without burst out laughing, even after countless rewatches), but that humor is mainly for us viewers to detect. From Aziraphale's and Crowley's point of view, he doesn't appear as funny as he does to us. For them, he is a source of worry and danger, and I would argue that he is also an incarnation of different desires. And that's the point.

Let's consider for a moment Aziraphale's perspective. He sees his former boss, "most holy archangel" Gabriel, pop up one day at the bookshop, reduced to the mental capacity of a smart dog, vaguely aware that someone was planning to do "something terrible" to him. It is a terrifying spectacle to behold. It's not just the mere danger of having one of the most powerful entities in the universe, possibly still in posess of all his powers, acting like a child. It's the terror of witnessing what Heaven can do to your identity and your mind: imagine Aziraphale - book-lover, diary-writer, Antichrist-locator Aziraphale with the capacity, as per the book, to solve math problems that only people with Nobel prizes could master - trying to process the idea that his former boss doesn't know the alphabet anymore. The idea that he could be reduced to that degree of utter ignorance and unawareness if Heaven decided that their truce is over.

At the same time, what Aziraphale sees is that, once stripped of all the layers of Heaven's legalism, Gabriel is legitimately a great guy. 

We all love Muriel to death, of course, but the more I watch s2 the more I believe that Jim is the most similar "angel" to Aziraphale out of all the ones we see. He is jovial (think at whatever that cheeck squishing thing is that he does during the ball), he is enthusiastic (think at his reaction at his first sip of hot chocolate, and also his genuine "hurray! Let the bookselling commence!"). He is affectionate and open about it ("You're funny, I love you"). He is caring (sure he was struggling to read the room during the demon attack, but still in that moment of danger he has the altruism of thinking to ask if anyone wants hot chocolate, and hot chocolate is the symbol of comfort for him, it's the first thing Aziraphale offers to him to make him feel at ease in the bookshop and the thing that Crowley brings him to soothe his angst after the memory conversation). He is helpful or at least he wants to be (rearranging the books in an order that, if you think about it, follows the criterion of medieval manuscripts illuminators, who usually embellished only the first letter of the first sentence on a page, which makes sense as a frame of reference for an angel whose only experience of books probably goes back to some old Bibles). He is generous and brave (giving himself up without a second thought when he realises that Shax is threatening Aziraphale and all the others because of him). 

As Jim, memory-wiped Gabriel is both Aziraphale's worst fear and his deepest hope: that after all Heaven is the side of good, that all the cruelty and the callousness and the total blindness to the value of life on Earth is just a mishap, that if you scrape off the absurd obsession with World Ending Great Plans you will find underneath a form of good that is pure and gentle. I think Jim, way more than the Metatron and his shitty offer-threat, is the main thing that brings Aziraphale back on the mission of fixing Heaven, "making a difference," not for the greater cosmic good, but to create a safe place for him and Crowley. So they can be safe together.

But something similar happens from Crowley's point of view. He also sees Gabriel as the concrete manifestation of both his worst fear and his deepest desire. The former Supreme Archangel renews the momentarily forgotten awareness of what Heaven and Hell can do to you if you cross them: destroy you either by throwing you into hellfire or holy water, or now by hanging the threat of the Book of Life above your head. Force you to live in a constant state of danger, pressing you against the possibility of your non-existence, making you feel like you have a loaded gun constantly placed against your skull and no magic trick to avoid the bullet.

At the same time, just as Aziraphale, what Crowley sees is that, if you are determined and lucky or maybe just inconsiderate, you can get away from Heaven and live your happy thoughtless life on Earth. Think of how bitter he is when he confronts Jim in ep5, calling him Gabriel and "Oh, yeah yeah, no no no. You're Jim now. Got everything just the way you want it?" I think here Crowley is projecting his desire to be "on the lam having a wonderful time and never be seen again." Sure, everyone is after him and they had to perform a joined miracle to hide him, but let's not forget that Crowley was not doing it to save Gabriel, he was doing it to keep Aziraphale safe. From his point of view, Gabriel did it: he run off, cut ties with Heaven, settled in his little neat new identity, cared and protected, not a thought in his head. And yes, Crowley is painfully aware of how awful it is to have your memory erased - I don't think he would consider it an acceptable price to pay for freedom. But still, Gabriel did what he would like to do. And it does not help that memory-wiped Gabriel presents specifically to Crowley some aspects of his personality in which he can recognize himself. He is curious and asks questions (think of the gravity conversation), and even more important he is ready to dispute the answers that are given to him ("but they don't stay where I put them"). He hears the plan about Nina and Maggie that Aziraphale didn't listen to, and afterwards asks Crowley how it went. He is insightful in his own instinctive way (when he tells Crowley "you're really nice" he's not just saying "you are nice a lot" but also "in reality you are nice", he's seeing through Crowley's rough mannerism even if just seconds before he was angrily shouting at him). He has lost his memory, which by now I think most of us agree it's what also happened to Crowley, at least partially ("I know, looking at where the furniture isn't"). And then, the final nail on the mirror-coffin: Gabriel run away from Heaven for his love. They run off together.

Having Jim right there, in front of his very eyes, I think it's the thing that pushes Crowley back to his old plan of running off together with Aziraphale: he is the living prove that it can be done, further confirmed by his final departure with Beelzebub. Of course, for a brief moment both sides of the metaphisical universe where hunting him down, which is not desirable. But Gabriel was the Supreme Archangel after all, it's only fair that they're looking for him. They are but a former bullied angel and a former already-replaced demon, maybe Heaven and Hell would not mobilised their hosts for them. They could be finally safe together.

So, when you put everything together, I think that what happened at the end of ep6 has more to do with Gabriel and how his presence affected them during the season, than it has to do with the Metatron, or even with the Nina-Maggie foil. It is Jim that pushed a wedge into the thin crack that had always been there, separating what each of them sees as the best way to be safe together.

[badbatchposts]

Quiet Corners of the Galaxy, Ch. 14

Fic Teaser: While on a routine mission for Cid, the Bad Batch encounter a woman fleeing from the Empire. Crosshair suspects her seemingly free-spirited, nomadic existence is actually a cover for something else, but struggles to keep his attraction toward her in check as their personalities and ideals clash.

Relevant tags/content warnings: Crosshair/Original Female Character, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Periodic Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use

Chapters posted 1-2x weekly!

Read the full fic so far on AO3

Read all chapters on Tumblr: Ch. 1 l Ch. 2 l Ch. 3 l Ch. 4 l Ch. 5 l Ch. 6 l Ch. 7 l Ch. 8 l Ch. 9 l Ch. 10 l Ch. 11 l Ch. 12 l Ch. 13 l Ch. 14

Chapter 14 summary: The squad makes their way through the villa. Everything goes according to plan, until it doesn't.

Tech was pleased with how things were going. Inside the villa, all was quiet: their surveillance had revealed that security was posted exclusively at the mansion’s entryways, in addition to one patrol circulating the perimeter at regular intervals, and the interior was monitored only by cameras and automated systems. With those disabled, they were able to enter easily through a darkened window and proceed entirely unmolested through the shadowy hallways, footfalls sinking quietly into the plush carpets. By the time the Batch had rendezvoused with Dara in the villa’s control room, the stunned workers were already expertly bound and propped securely in an out-of-the-way corner.

In fact, Tech allowed himself the brief luxury of privately celebrating how well this first phase of the plan had gone, even as he mentally catalogued the skill with which Dara had fulfilled her role, adding it to his mounting list of clues that, he believed, would ultimately aid him in deciphering the mystery behind the woman’s origins.

He was well-aware that, despite his expertise in many areas, others often believed him to be unable to read social cues, always distracted by his datapad and perhaps even ignorant of his surroundings. However, because these skills had so frequently been a challenge for him growing up, he had actually dedicated an extraordinary amount of effort to improving them. Crosshair and Hunter were both especially observant in their own ways, aided by their enhanced senses, but Tech, for all he might lack, equaled them by being attentive, thorough, and analytical. Even when others thought he wasn’t altogether present, he paid attention. He collected evidence. He formed hypotheses. He tried to understand.

At present, Dara remained largely beyond his understanding. He was not bothered by this. She had been an asset to the team thus far. He would continue to collect evidence.

Of course, he had one hypothesis that, by this point, he considered more or less proven: Crosshair was entirely taken with her.

If Crosshair’s reaction to their teasing, his obvious jealousy towards Hunter, and the bruise he had left on Dara’s neck had not been enough evidence for Tech, he would have been convinced entirely by the way Crosshair looked at her when he didn’t realize anyone was paying attention. Similar to most soldiers, none of the Batch were strangers to desire, and Crosshair, like all of them, had taken plenty of advantage of rest days between missions and their infrequent bouts of shore leave to find a happily willing partner for the night. Tech had therefore seen Crosshair look at pretty individuals of innumerable genders and species with lust, hunger, even charm—and sure, he had directed at least the former two toward Dara often enough. But more than that, Tech had noticed that, when watching their new traveling companion, his brother’s gaze frequently held a rapt fascination. So often solitary, Crosshair had even taken to hovering in their common areas more, keeping to the edges of conversation and pretending to focus on some task or other, but—especially when Dara appeared to be ignoring him—often eyeing her, as though he could find her secrets written somewhere on her face.

Tech knew that his brother was a difficult man. Whatever was brewing between Crosshair and Dara, Tech was certain that the sniper would be the last to acknowledge it.

In any event, Tech mused, perhaps he should speak with Hunter and suggest that he back off on the flirting, for the sake of Crosshair’s inevitably repressed feelings, and preventing a fistfight. Even now, as Tech was tapping away at the control room’s array to better evaluate the security measures protecting Prium’s private laboratory, Hunter and Dara were engaging in a playful banter that Crosshair was certainly listening to over the open comm channel and, Tech imagined, likely seething over.

“Ah,” Tech interrupted them. “It appears that security for the laboratory—and, we may presume, the archive vault—is maintained via a separate network than this control room.”

Echo sighed. “Are you saying that there’s another control room—somewhere not on the floorplan—that we need to find?”

Tech tapped his finger thoughtfully against the edge of his datapad. “Yes, I do believe that would be the wisest course of action. There may be more workers monitoring the laboratory from there. Additionally, in the event that a security measure is triggered, I would need access to the network to shut it down.”

“Make it quick,” Crosshair urged over comms. “Before the other guard comes looking for Dara.”

Hunter glanced around the room, assessing their options. “Tech, stay here. Look through the camera feeds and floor plans to see if you can identify where the secondary control room might be. In the meantime, the rest of us will conduct a physical search. I’ll take top floor, Wrecker, take this floor, Dara and Echo, check the basement,” he ordered.

The team set off to their tasks, leaving Tech alone. As he looked closely through the building schematics, trying to identify any areas that seemed architecturally inconsistent, where a space large enough for a concealed room might be located, he wondered exactly why Prium had such a deep distrust of droids. Echo would have been able to make much shorter work than himself of scanning through the camera feeds for clues, but the array here didn’t even have a scomp port. As such, he doubted that Echo would be able to help them access the lab or counter any further security measures. Hopefully the keycard that Dara had stolen would be enough to gain them access.

Fully capable of multitasking, Tech switched to a private comm channel with Crosshair to check in while he continued his work.

“What?” his brother drawled in answer.

Like usual, Tech chose to ignore Crosshair’s rudeness. “How are things outside?”

“Boring.”

“I am serious,” Tech chastised. “I am beginning to think that this may require more time than we have allotted ourselves.”

Crosshair sighed over the line. Tech could imagine him rolling his eyes.

“Guard is a bit antsy. He keeps testing to see if comms are operational again. Perimeter patrol just checked in with him. They seem relaxed.”

“And you?” Tech pressed.

“Just peachy.”

It was no surprise that Crosshair was being as taciturn as always. No matter—Tech had no trouble getting to the point.

“Are you concerned about Dara?” he asked.

Silence on the line. Then, “I don’t see how she could get away with betraying us here. Or what the point would be.”

“Ah,” Tech replied. “That is not what I meant. Are you concerned for her safety on this mission?”

More silence, silence that went on so long that Tech briefly thought that Crosshair may have gotten annoyed and disconnected. Finally, Crosshair asked, every word dripping with disdain, “Why would I care about that?”

The corners of Tech’s mouth twitched. “Well, I had presumed that perhaps your opinion of her had changed as a result of whatever events led to your giving her that hickey.”

Another pause. “That didn’t mean anything. Besides, she’s with Echo—there’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“Mmm,” Tech mused. “Yes, Echo will ensure that nothing happens to her. And I presume that you are tracking their progress through your infrared scope.”

Crosshair muttered something unintelligible that Tech, with a sense of smug satisfaction, could rightfully assume was a rude comment about him, before raising his voice again. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing something important right now?”

“I am, and I have successfully achieved it while simultaneously carrying on this conversation.” Tech switched to the open comm channel to inform the rest of the team. “I have pinpointed the location of the secondary control room. It is in the basement, two corridors away from the entrance to the laboratory.”

“Great work, Tech,” Hunter acknowledged. “We’ll meet up there.”

***

Echo and Dara’s search had begun at the lab, where they were able to confirm their assumption that the absence of a scomp port meant the cyborg would be unable to unlock the door himself. The basement was significantly more utilitarian than the rest of the villa. Gone were the lavish trappings of wealth; white tiles and gray durasteel replaced velvety red carpets and elaborate wall hangings, while functional, stark lighting panels stood in for warm wall sconces and crystal chandeliers.

As they combed the rooms and corridors, Echo examined Dara closely. It was the first time he’d seen her with her weapon drawn. She had a DH-16 blaster pistol—her small hold-out blaster, a CS14, remained safely hidden under her poncho—and was holding it correctly, with a secure, two-handed grip and good trigger discipline. That was a good sign that her skill in taking down the troopers the first day she had encountered the Batch was more than a fluke, which was something of a relief for Echo. While they rarely planned on getting caught in a shoot-out, every job the Batch took on for Cid did seem to have odds that leaned that way. He knew he’d be able to protect Dara if it came down to it, but he preferred her being able to defend herself.

Dara opened a door, letting Echo take point to clear the room. It was an industrial kitchen with gleaming appliances, completely empty. He motioned to her to enter so that they could check out another door leading off of the main area—likely a pantry and not the control room they were looking for, but Echo was always thorough.

“So,” he began, nodding toward Dara’s outstretched weapon as they carried on with their task. “You have some training on how to use that?”

The woman was aghast. “Of course. How irresponsible would it be to carry a blaster and not know anything about it?”

The cyborg chuckled. “You’d be surprised what you see with civilians. Where’d you learn?”

Dara relaxed, giving him a wry smile. “My fieldwork took me to some pretty hostile planets. The people I worked with were always agreeable. The fauna, less so. I took a training course.”

Echo nodded, satisfied with the explanation. He didn’t have Hunter’s ability to hear someone’s pulse jump when they were lying, but her story had a ring of truth to it. He was relieved; he had put himself on the line advocating for Dara to stick around, and so far it was paying off. Once they’d gained her trust enough, he was sure that she would come clean about the parts of her backstory that she was keeping quiet. And maybe then she would even be willing to help out with a few missions for Rex’s clone network. The clones couldn’t help having the most recognizable face in the galaxy, and they were all terrible liars as a general rule. They could use someone who could go where they couldn’t, blend in where they stuck out.

“Glad to hear it,” he replied. “Makes me feel better to know you won’t accidentally blast me.”

She laughed. “No. If I shoot you, it’ll be on purpose.”

“Well, that’s a comfort.” They exchanged grins as they exited the kitchen and moved on to the corridor. Echo decided to test out a more difficult subject. “Luckily for me, I don’t think I’m at the top of your list of people to shoot right now,” he continued.

Dara rolled her eyes. “Yeah. I don’t know if you’ve realized this, but your brother’s a bit of an asshole.”

The cyborg raised an eyebrow. “Which one of those assholes do you mean?” When Dara smirked at the joke, he gave a knowing shrug. “Listen, I can’t exactly say Crosshair means well. He can be pretty harsh, and he doesn’t let many people in. But for those he does, you won’t find a more protective or loyal clone anywhere. And that’s saying a lot—loyalty is what clones are all about.”

The woman looked like she was considering his words. She sighed and opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the comm from Tech, announcing that he’d found what they were looking for. They were only a corridor away, and so Echo led them down the hall to wait silently for the others outside the secondary control room.

Only minutes later, they were joined by Hunter, Wrecker, and Tech. Hunter signaled to the squad, who lined up on either side of the door as he took point. When it opened, a solitary, bored-looking worker with his back to them was staring, chin in his hand, at a datapad, ignoring the camera monitors on the wall in front of him completely. The Sergeant stunned him.

“Come on. That was too easy,” Wrecker lamented as he gently lifted the worker from his chair and tied him up in a corner.

“You just had to say that, didn’t you, Wrecker,” Hunter complained while Tech took the man’s place at the controls and set to work.

“This will take a few moments,” Tech informed them. “The rest of you should go and prepare to enter the laboratory. I will join you shortly.”

While Echo remained in the control room to watch Tech’s back, the others approached the door to the lab in the next corridor. Dara fished Raab’s keycard out of her pocket and waited. A few minutes later, the comm crackled to life with Tech’s voice.

“Security for the laboratory has been disabled. You may proceed.”

Dara swiped the card. The sensor blinked once, twice. For a long, tense moment, nothing happened. Then, suddenly, a blast door closed, hiding the entrance to the laboratory behind a thick wall of durasteel.

“Tech, what is happening,” Hunter growled over the comms.

The genius’s voice wasn’t exactly panicked, but it had lost its calm assuredness. “It appears that Raab does not have the type of access that he led Dara to believe. An alert has been triggered.”

Tech was no longer pleased with how things were going.

Next chapter

Tag List: @stardusthuntress @skellymom @megmegalodondon

[bigassmoth]

Drider (boyfriend?) OC:

As a drow he was involved with many court ladies. Initially he was the lover of one or two but his skill in bed and voracious sexual appetite gained the attention of many elite drow. He worked too well, Loth became upset with the number of orgies happening when her drow should have been focused on oppression and murder. She turned him into a drider as punishment- knowing that he would be spared by the court but likely die by the claws of another drider while trying to satisfy his sexual needs.

He was desperate, pent-up for months because he refused to court another drider just to get his head bitten off. His lifestyle was refined but isolated, he found himself upon a steep cliff with a connection of caves above a cursed forest (he being one of the things that made the woods so cursed, of course). His former patrons had taken enough pity on him, turning a blind eye to his sneaking in to his old abode to swipe his treasures and finery. He decorated his new home with his expensive furnishings and webbing. Along with stolen or found valuables that dotted the treacherous forest floor.

As a drow he was more timid, able to take on a submissive role because so many were eager to bed with him. This has changed as a drider, he knows he will not be sought out and is resolute in making the first advance. Loths touch warped some aspects of his personality. He has lost his sociable nature, feeling no loneliness where he used to flit among crowds like a butterfly. There is still a need for appearances but the source has changed. As a drow he cared about his looks and manners as to appeal to others- always presenting himself in to be tempting. As a drider he is prideful about his looks and daily life- seeing himself as better than other driders for his good table manners and furnished home.

In bed he....

Frequently uses bondage, the spider part of him is still instinctually afraid of death after intercourse. So having helpless bedmates makes him feel more secure.

Delicate and experienced in bed. His touches are soft but practiced. There is no hesitation when he undresses his company or slips his fingers into their hole(s).

With his experience he is turned on by sexual training. He will guide his lover into the proper way to pleasure him.

Not ashamed of his drider body once he got a look at his dick, so any isgust/fear of his bedmate is ignored or brushed off as an overreaction. Will use his spider limbs to correct and guide his lover while his hands are busy elsewhere.

Fangs contain poison in a regular dose, but only numb in small doses. He would rather his partner feel him fully but if they are too tense then he gives them a gentle nip near their tailbone or pubic region.

Big on dirty talk. Praising his partner for their warmth, their sweetness, their softness. He means every word too. When not whispering absolute filth he is very loud about his enjoyment, often louder than his partner

If his partner is a more permanent fixture in his life (staying with him or nearby) then he will find a way to tie them up for a day so he can have 'public access'

^encasing them in a wall of webbing with their ass facing out. Fucking them before he leaves to grab supplies and plugging them up until his return. Coming back to fuck them again. Doing chores and cleaning them up. Making dinner and making a mess of them again. His captive is fed and taken care of over the day. What he likes the most is the boredom inflicted on them. Making it so when his unseen touch comes, they are shivering in desperation. He is a sex fiend, having someone who he can enter whenever he wants gets him drooling. It also couples with his sexual training kink, how many holes can he stuff? How long could they handle a ring/cage?

Drider instincts lean away from aftercare (more of a fuck and get away before you die kinda life) but he prides himself on not doing that. Aftercare is important but it becomes an extension of the sexual experience. Even as he is cleaning and massaging his lover, he will be nudging the head of his cock against their mouth (to also be cleaned ofc!) And rubbing their nipples/sex into hardness. There wont be any post-sex cuddling with him. He isnt cold and will provide some headpats and chaste kisses before leaving to do something else.

Frankly I can see him enjoying a harem. But it would be kept small because of his aversion for social gatherings. His harem pets would probably have little time for conversations with each other, alternating in silk prisons for his use and being exhausted in bed. The first time a new member meets the others would be during an orgy.

Wants his lover to get wet just by the sound of his legs tapping closer to them. For him this is a sign that they have overcome a natural response and his sexual training is successful.

[cilil]

Crossroads of the Fallen King: The Sundelions of Arien

❁ Verse: Silmarillion x Legend of Zelda Totk/BotW ❁ Pairing: Mairon x Arien ❁ Synopsis: Mairon has a favour to ask of his former lover. ❁ Warnings: / ❁ Oneshot (~1.4k) | SWG

AN: Here's my contribution to the Crossroads of the Fallen King challenge! This oneshot takes place in my TotK/BotW AU and deals with the Sundelions, Arien as their caretaker and the key role they play in healing wounds dealt by Void creatures like Ungoliant and her spiders. For a more detailed explanation, see the end notes down below.

"Arien."

The sound of Mairon's voice is pleasant as always, and she listens before she knows it, ignoring the dread and anger welling up within her chest. Many times has Arien imagined what it will be like when he finally  decides to show his face again, how she will confront him for his betrayal, how she will be wiser and not let him fool her ever again. 

She doesn't have to look at him. She knows he's standing there, smiling as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't broken her heart. 

And she knows that these days he only comes to see her if he wants something. 

Arien has no patience for it. 

"What do you want?" she asks as coldly as she can and refuses to face him. Stubbornly, she keeps her gaze on the black and golden flowers she's tending to for her lady, the miraculous Sundelions that can produce the only known cure to the Void's Gloom; and suddenly she has an idea why her former lover chose to appear in a domain where he's not welcome. 

The fact that Mairon was able to reach her without being seen or detected worries her, though less for her sake and more for the Maiar of Vána and Yavanna who cannot match his fell fire. 

He has taken a step closer, and Arien feels an uncomfortable heat surging through her veins. Is it his gaze on her that she feels, she wonders, or is he already looking at his prize. 

She caresses the Sundelions' fragile petals as if in reassurance, and she knows his eyes follow her movements. 

"Look at me." 

Mairon's request, uttered softly and without the edge of command that so often accompanies his speech, startles Arien so much that she does. She sees the same face she knew many years ago, yet marred by a blackened wound across his left cheek, as if struck by a poisoned blade. Similar wounds are on his neck, chest, arms and hands, and pity overcomes her before she knows it. 

"What happened to you?" she gasps and rushes to his side. "Did the Dark One...?" 

For a moment Arien hopes that he will answer yes. If it was Melkor who hurt him, maybe he would finally see the error of his ways and come back to her. But as quickly as that thought has crossed her mind, she begins to abhor it. She knows well how dangerous the Dark Vala can be and doesn't want her fiery kin, fallen as they all may be, to face the wrath of his freezing storm. 

"No. I was hurt while fighting monsters from the Void; with his help, if I may add," Mairon says, holding up his hands and looking at his damaged palms. 

Arien takes his hands into hers. He remains eerily calm and composed, and the lack of any wincing or flinching makes her hope he isn't in too much pain. 

"Are you sure this is what happened?" she asks gently. "Are you sure you are not blaming something else to cover for him?" 

"He hasn't hurt me and would never do so. It is as I said." 

There is no anger in Mairon's voice, but his tone is firm. Arien isn't sure if she should admire his conviction or think him a fool for trusting and defending Melkor. 

And even if he didn't hurt him himself, he let him get hurt, she thinks, nodding to herself as if to reassure her conscience that the Dark Vala is indeed to blame for this mishap as well. 

Gingerly, she examines his wounds and finds that Mairon hasn't lied to her. Injuries from Void creatures have unfortunately become more common in recent times, prompting her lady Estë to instruct her Maiar accordingly and request a steady supply of Sundelions. The pervasive decay infesting their once thought unbreakable weapons must cause him as much ire and stress as his former lord Aulë, she muses. 

"You want me to heal you," she says. It's not a question; she is certain that she knows the reason for his visit now. At least he was wise enough to come alone and not bring his miserable master with him. 

"Ah, you don't have to." Mairon looks up at her, an amicable smile on his lips. "A few of these lovely flowers would already suffice. I can handle the rest myself; after all it would be rude of me to ask for too much from you." 

His words seem fair, his voice is smooth. It's all so perfectly easy and reasonable that Arien pauses, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. Why would he not take the freely given help of a Maia serving both Vána and Estë, he who has never been a healer. 

Unless... There is a reason why he wants to take the flowers himself. 

"Is your lord hurt as well?" Arien asks sharply. 

There is a flash of something unreadable in Mairon's eyes, gone before she can see it for what it is. 

"Of course not, why do you ask?" He laughs lightly. Too calm, too serene. It doesn't ease Arien's worries in the slightest. "You would not feel very inclined to help him if it were the case, no?"

"Are you lying to me because it is in fact the case and you want to use my compassion for you to take my flowers so you can help him?" 

At last mild annoyance clouds Mairon's fair features, and the ancient familiarity of seeing him thus makes it strangely comforting. Endearing even. Yet Arien keeps her guard up while trying to glimpse past his. 

"You have seen for yourself that I am wounded as I told you," he says. The corners of his mouth quirk upwards again as if to regain his smile, but it's more akin to a haughty smirk this time. 

Arien finds a strange sort of pleasure in breaking through Mairon's barriers and ripping off his carefully crafted masks, even if what she finds is less fair than the faces she remembers. 

"It is not like I fail to understand the thought," he continues, "deny me in order to deny Melkor, just in case. That is certainly something he would think to do to spite former lovers as well." 

Her own control slips, her hands sizzling against his as her fána heats up. To imply that she would stoop to Melkor's level — and yet, even though Arien knows full well the intent behind such a well-placed comment, she cannot deny that Mairon has a point. 

"We wouldn't have that problem if you just agreed to let me heal you instead," she snaps. 

"Perhaps, though I did tell you why I didn't feel it was appropriate of me to ask for that." Mairon has regained his calm, controlled composure with infuriating professionalism. 

It's not the first time that Arien has wondered if speaking to her is some sort of task or game for him that he completes with the same excellence as his other work. 

"You are going to come with me," she orders, still fuming. "We will go to my house and I will heal you properly and you will stay as long as it takes."

"If that is your wish, I shall." 

Mairon's smile is as bright as Arien's fury. She lets go of his hands and links their arms; he knows the way to her house, yet she feels the need to hold on to him lest he slip away too soon. At least his wounds will make him stay with her for a while, even if his powers and strange new magic seems to be mostly unscathed and only his fána is damaged. 

There is a strange sort of triumph in taking her wayward former lover home. She even begins to enjoy herself once she takes a few Sundelions to brew a healing potion, applying it to every inch of blackened skin and adding a few spoons to a bowl of hot soup that she feeds him. 

Thus absorbed in this brief moment of reconciliation with the Maia she once wished to spend eternity with, Arien remains blissfully unaware of the shadow that comes over her meadows at night, cruelly rips out a handful of her beloved flowers and disappears with his prey. 

End notes: In Zelda TotK, Sundelions are a plant ingredient used to cook healing items that can restore damaged caused by Gloom, an evil and harmful substance that essentially drains the life of its victims. It causes decay in weapons and permanently reduces Link's health, making him unable to heal himself fully until he can get rid of the Gloom damage. I felt like Void and Void creatures like Ungoliant would be an excellent fit for Gloom and Gloom-affected monsters, as well as Arien as a servant of Vána and Estë growing and maintaining Sundelions.

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @angbangbaby @asianbutnotjapanese @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @bluezenzennie @destinyeternity1 @edensrose @elanna-elrondiel @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @just-little-human @melkors-defense-attorney @numenhore @sauron-kraut @urwendii @wandererindreams

[fayevalcntine]

The idea of "fixing the plot" of Count of Monte Cristo by making Albert and Haydée a romantic couple in order to 'mirror' Mercédès and Edmond's lost love (or even to create a sort of Romeo and Juliet type of subplot) is kind of laughable to me for several reasons. Namely:

1) Haydée isn't really Edmond's child the same way Albert is Mercédès's, she already had a father and mother prior to meeting the Count and makes it very clear to him that she doesn't even love him as she once loved her father. Yes, he essentially did take her in and free her from slavery when she was 13, but he didn't exactly raise her as a parent, he simply tries to consider her as a child of his but even then goes back and forth on it. For all of the Count's "my child"-ing younger characters, he's not exactly the best would-be parental figure, either, because his behavior mirrors his actual immaturity towards parenthood since he never became a parent when he was supposed to. He spent nearly half of his life in prison, with the only companion he could have being a former priest. Him and Mercédès are also not a Heathcliff and Cathy situation where their love transcends generations. They're a tragic love for a reason: their life together was stripped away from them and they will never be able to get it back. This is something they both have to make peace with, not for the story to find some 'alternative' in a younger generation.

2) Fernand and Ali Pasha were never some sort of enemies or familial rivals in order to create some forbidden lovers AU with Albert and Haydée. You can't even say that the Count and Fernand are "warring families" either, because the Count wants revenge for being set up by Fernand. The other main issue is that by the time that Albert and Haydée meet, Fernand had already betrayed her father and sold her and her mother into slavery.

Obviously Albert shuns his father for his crimes once they come to light, but Haydée shows no interest in him before or even after this, so I don't understand why you would want to limit such a character that even in her 'diminutive' role, still has more agency in what she wants, just for the sake of 'fixing' a story. I also think it's pretty glaring to ignore the fact that Albert and Haydée's main connection isn't actually their fathers's connection or even Edmond and Mercédès, but the Count himself.

[ereana]

Alhaitham X Cyno - How am I supposed to spoil you when you won’t accept my gifts?

Alhaitham has a problem.

It’s one that has been building up over the past few months until it’s finally reached a point where he can no longer ignore it. Research has unfortunately yielded few answers and his own personal knowledge on the subject assures him that unless the issue is addressed nothing will change.

What is the problem that has confounded the Grand Scribe and former Acting Grand Sage of the Akademiya? Why none other than the General Mahamatra himself.

To clarify Cyno himself is not a problem, or rather if he is one then he is a lovely problem. The kind that leaves Alhaitham reeling as his thoughts are scattered to the four winds. The kind of problem that requires strong commitment to untangle, a lifetime of study would only barely be enough to fully comprehend it.

No, the true problem is that Cyno refuses to accept any of Alhaitham’s gifts. After an extremely lengthy courting process that mainly consisted of what Dehya called ‘mutually intolerable pining without either of you dumbasses doing a damn thing about it’ they had finally entered a romantic relationship. Frankly he didn’t believe the words properly conveyed the depth of his feelings for Cyno but he had more pressing matters to worry about than a way to describe the exhilarating mix of devotion, longing and soul-crushing joy that had carved a messy hole in his chest.

It was hard to believe that Cyno felt the same way but he knew better than to doubt his general’s word. Not unless he wanted to find himself emotionally flayed open, bleeding love through claw marks as Cyno worshiped him in the darkness of their room.

No, that was a course of action best saved for a special day.

The root of the matter was Cyno’s sense of duty to his role. The General Mahamatra had to be neutral, unbiased to any particular group or scholar and in line with this anything that could be constituted as a bribe was swiftly returned to the sender. Alhaitham knows that his own stint as Acting Grand Sage had not helped matters as the last thing Cyno needed was to be perceived as under the influence of the Grand Sage. It was one of the reasons they hadn’t gotten together until Alhaitham had finally been able to step down. Even then there had been a heated argument over whether it was appropriate for the General and the Grand Scribe to involve themselves in a romantic entanglement. 

Alhaitham had never fought so fiercely for anything before in his life and had earned his victory with every scrap of intellect he possessed.

So any gifts he gave to Cyno were politely returned or refused.

Wealth? Alhaitham never bothered to send money because Cyno was richer than him and it was the most obvious gift that could be construed as a bribe.

Flowers? A traditional gift suggested by Nilou. He had imported a rare breed of lily from Fontaine which had subsequently ended up as part of Tighnari’s next research project.

TCG cards? The one time he’d tried that with his own card, the only one Cyno could not get before Alhaitham himself, Cyno had insisted on winning it off him in a fair game and refused to just accept it. Though Alhaitham didn’t consider that a loss because Cyno had been so distracted by the sight of his own card in Alhaitham’s deck that it had take him three games to win it, allowing Alhaitham to enjoy the sight of his lover’s blushing face as ruby red eyes kept drifting to the purple and gold card.

Books? Cyno had suggested he donate them to Aaru Village to help with their new library, despite knowing full well Alhaitham was working with Candace to fill the modestly sized building as soon as possible. 

Alcohol? This was always taken but then shared at the next gathering of friends which diminished the uniqueness of a gift for Cyno. Especially when Kaveh seemed to drink most of the expensive wine.

Practical gifts were difficult to procure because Cyno was a very practical man and already had most of the things he needed. He kept them in good repair with his usual diligence which meant Alhaitham couldn’t even buy him a replacement.

After a month of pondering over this problem and failing to find a solution Alhaitham settles on asking Cyno directly. While some, Kaveh, would decry this as unromantic Alhaitham disagrees. Communication is a vital component in all relationships; words, actions, gestures, expressions and he is determined to do this right. He refuses to even entertain the possibility of making a mistake because he wasn’t clear in his intentions.

“How am I supposed to spoil you when you won’t accept my gifts?” He asks bluntly the next time he meets Cyno.

This happens to be during their shared lunch break in which Cyno coaxes him up the branches of the Divine Tree, with only minor grumbling, to the very top so they can look out over the forest together.

Cyno pauses in reaching for his drink and turns to face him. He eyes Alhaitham curiously, that brilliant mind working to piece together the reason behind the sudden question.

“Is this because of the Lakelight Lilies?”

“Not just them. It’s come to my attention that you seem to dislike receiving gifts from me, I can’t tell if this is a phenomenon linked only to myself or to a wider range of people but I fail to see the reason why. You are my partner—

“—boyfriend.” Cyno cuts in with a smile.

“You know how I feel about that word — and I wish to show you proof of my affection. You’re making that very hard to do by either refusing or giving away everything I offer, I’m starting to feel a little rejected.” Alhaitham finishes with a teasing smile of his own to take the sting out of his words.

Cyno huffs and shakes his head, looking at Alhaitham with unmistakable fondness.

“I don’t need those types of gifts Haitham.”

“You may not need them but if you want something then I want to give it to you.” Alhaitham murmurs, taking Cyno’s hand in his own and pressing a kiss to the back of his palm.

“Foolish man, you already spoil me enough.” Cyno rolls his eyes but doesn’t pull his hand back, and Alhaitham eagerly drinks in the red flush blooming across dark cheeks. “Your time, your affections.”

Cyno puts his free hand on Alhaitham’s chest.

“Your heart.” He says firmly. “You have placed all of these things at my feet and yet believe you haven’t spoiled me. How can that possibly be when you have given me everything I have ever dreamed about already?”

Part of Alhaitham’s mind starts to form a counterargument to Cyno’s eloquently put point. He considers himself a smart man, which is why the rest of him can focus on the delightful task of kissing Cyno breathless with all of Sumeru stretched out below them as he gifts himself to his beloved one more time. 

[lya-dustin]

Shock and Delight

Chapter 11

Cw: mentions of childbirth, parental neglect, murder, westrosi culture is its own warning

“Rhaena has a headache, I hope you do not mind me for today, mother.” The girl poured their cups with watered down wine just as Rhaenyra did for her father before being made Princess of Dragonstone.

After Rhaenyra one of Alicent’s Hightower cousins had filled the role until Aegon was old enough to pour the cups, only Aegon took that for granted and eventually Helaena did it until she married.

Aemond had yet to master living with only one eye and by then Vicky had become her cupbearer.

Bethany had replaced her and now Aemma only had to appear to make the painfully shy girl melt into the shadows.

It wasn’t her fault, Alicent knew the girl never did it on purpose.

Much like the sun, it was merely her nature to outshine anyone beside her, even when she was born eight and ten years ago.

There had been a tourney to send Rhaenyra into her confinement and as Criston seemed to be winning his last tilt the twinging the princess had been hiding turned into a worse pain.

Criston had become distracted by the sight of his former lover clutching her large belly in pain and been knocked off his horse by his opponent, Ser Harwin Strong.

But the tourney went on so the people could celebrate the birth of the heir or all be gathered there should it end as it did five years ago.

Rhaenyra had cried for her mother and in her delirium mistook Rhaenys for Aemma, she had also cried for Alicent, but Alicent refused to go to her and claimed her children needed her.

It was a quick thing, a girl born with a bloody caul on her little head like a crown as the crowd cheered for Ser Harwin who proclaimed to crown Rhaenyra his queen of love and beauty.

The baby girl had scarcely been named Aemma when her brother was born with his plain looks. The Andal blood of the Arryn and Baratheon lines had shown through Jacaerys with only the dark Velaryon eyes to confirm his paternity.

And much like Viserys with her children, he promptly ignored the boy and held up the infant girl as the dragons roared.

The word for prince and princess is the same, he had said later as he rambled on and on about the babe he envisioned and butchered the first Aemma for.

I was wrong, it was never a prince I had seen, it was a princess, he had laughed as if Alicent hadn’t been forced to bear him child after child because Alicent just had to tell her father about the strange dream Viserys had had the day he killed Queen Aemma.

At first the queen believed he kept Rhaenyra as his heir out of guilt and shame for his actions ---murdering her mother and marrying his daughter’s best friend to satisfy her father--- but then she learned he truly believed in dreams and in the words he whispered as he looked at the plain Valyrian dagger.

Alicent had come to know that her suffering was not divine in nature no matter how much she tried to make herself believe it was.

It was then that she began to let her resentment truly take root, and if the gods would not make her suffering be for something, she would.

And now she had to make a deal with Daemon of all people to make sure her son doesn’t burn himself and them as he courts the girl filling her cup.

“Prince Daemon has requested we see if there is any way he could have the funds to support his campaign at the Step Stones. Seeing it will give us a temporary truce with Dorne and keep them from encroaching on our borders and keep the islands under our rule, the King wishes we approve of his petition.” The queen wants to get this over with and knowing her father will be against it, she had approached Beesbury beforehand and Tyland as well.

Her father believes her to be working for his goal, but they are not. As the end of Viserys’ reign comes fast, Alicent has decided they are doing things her way to achieve her goals and if Aegon wishes to keep her father as his Hand, she will make sure her father knows he is not the one with the power.

Not anymore.

There are few private yet public places in this keep, as far as people know Aemond and Aemma are merely promenading in the Godswood and not planning their false courtship to end before he goes to the step stones with Daemon.

Mother will say no, but eventually she will relent just to keep them away from each other thus giving Aemma the chance to find a perfectly suitable husband while he becomes the first of his brothers to become a true warrior.

Really if he must endure Maris Baratheon saying Baela is twice the man he is because she has fought in battle any longer, he will have to kill her.

“You haven’t sent me flowers.” The princess points out as she steers them towards a group of eligible young men.

“Didn’t you get enough this morning, there was queue outside your family’s wing of the Holdfast.” Aemond knew it was expected of him to woo a lady, but he had hoped he wouldn’t need to woo Aemma.

They knew each other already and it wasn’t a real courtship anyways.

He’d never even gotten Jena flowers and they have been involved since they met three years ago.

“If you wish for us to sell the ruse you have to look as if you are really courting me, as horrid as it might be for you.” She answered as if she was an expert on the subject.

And between the two of them, she likely was.

“Any flowers of you would like?” Aemond asks knowing she will ask for anything that symbolizes love or desire or anything like that.

“Surprise me, I’m sure all your book-reading has to help you out there.” Aemma answered with a teasing lilt.

“I could end up giving you yellow carnations, Aemee.”

[blade-liger-4ever]

The Problem with Mara Jade, and Why She Doesn't Work

A Mara Jade dissection? From me?

More likely than you think!

Now make no mistake, I know exactly what kind of fanatic waters I'm treading. After all, it's no secret that the Star Wars fandom simply adores anything that Mara does, and people have been clamoring for her "long awaited" return to the Star Wars Canon since she was cast off along with the rest of the crew when the Mouse took over Lucasfilm. However, I have had many thoughts in direct opposition to Mara's worshiping fans, and now that I've finally had enough of both Mara's escape from her actions and attitude, as well as having snapped after suffering the ignorance of those who praise her to the heavens, I'm at long last going to tear down this character and explain in detail not only why she makes no sense in universe, but why she should have never been introduced the way Zahn introduced her in his trilogy featuring Thrawn.

Buckle up, 'cause I am not holding back on the fandom's darling girl.

Problem One: She never suffers in her upbringing

It's explained by everyone in Legends and the fandom that Mara Jade was taken in from a young age to be the infamous "Emperor's Hand" and raised to kill his enemies without remorse and blindly follow his orders. They all say the training is rigorous, and that she was spared no shortage of training in combat, espionage, and whatnot, and I will admit, her skills prove it. But you know what the flaw with this logic is?

Mara is not once shown to have any trauma, pain, or even physical scars from the training.

Don't believe me? Just look at her trading cards which, for added benefit, had a professional "head-turning beauty" model pose for her. She's a shiny, pristine woman in those pictures with no sign of the abuse she logically would have suffered during her training.

"Blade, why are you harping on logic? This is Star Wars, where there are space wizards and jetpacks and intergalatic travel. Logic doesn't have a place here."

I keep "harping" on logic because for the suspension of disbelief to properly work, there needs to be logic for things to work in a story. Take Galen Marek, a fellow Legends character, for example. He was raised by Darth Vader to be a relentless, unstoppable assassin - and his body is covered with scars, and most importantly, it takes Galen two thirds of the game to break free of his loyalty to Vader and see that he's been nothing but a means to an end to his master. By contrast, Mara doesn't suffer nearly as much, nor does she even, truly, break out of Palpatine's hold, even in the globally praised Thrawn Trilogy.

Which brings me to Mara's next problem.

Problem two: She never truly rejects the Dark Side, or her role as the Emperor's Hand

Now before you jump on me, let me say this: I recall her killing Luke's clone and "freeing" herself of the final command Palpatine lodged into her brain. However, if given the option, I still believe Mara would have killed Luke simply because she had no real reason to not kill him.

Oh yes, she kept finding "convenient excuses" to keep him alive, but those are points of plot armor. Anyone else in her place - like fellow Emperor's Hand Shira Brie - wouldn't have hesitated to shoot Luke's head off, or stabbed him through the heart with a lightsaber. The only reasons she didn't were because Zahn wanted Luke to have an enemies-to-lovers dynamic, and the writing world has never recovered since he glamorized that trope. Furthermore, despite the fact that Mara has a conniption over being lied to and manipulated into thinking she was the only Emperor's Hand by Palpatine, she does not do so with a realization that she was doing the wrong things for the Emperor. No, she only sees that she was used as a means to an end, and her fury is not all that different from Maul's rage when we see the former Sith Apprentice again in The Clone Wars - which, logically, points to the fact that Mara had a thirst for power, something that Legends actually confirms.

Don't believe me? Pull up her Wookieepedia file. It explicitly states in her bio that in her early career, she pratically dreamed of killing Vader and taking his place as Palpatine's apprentice. It's even said she revels in the Dark Side and her mission as Palpatine's Hand. Furthermore, she does not even express remorse for her actions, or even attempts to make amends by sharing her knowledge of Imperial Intelligence with Republic Intelligence. Compare her to Black Widow: when Natasha Romanov switched her allegiances, not only did she reject her past and even her nationality, she joined SHIELD to atone for her actions.

What does Mara do? Get Anakin's lightsaber handed to her by his own son after she tried to kill him repeatedly, and simply departs to "find her own path."

No honey, you don't get a consolation prize for choosing practicality in that moment with Luke's clone, and you certainly don't get to traipse around the galaxy free of consequences of your actions without at least giving vital information to the Republic.

"Oh, but she'll suffer from the memory of what she's done, Blade!"

Really? There is no reason for that woman to have a conscience, and the fact that everyone tries to hammer that into me points me to the next issue.

Problem three: Mara Jade is given a conscience with no substantial basis for it

Allow me to bring to light the history of a former assassin I love dearly for what she suffered to explain Mara's struggle here: X23/Laura Kinney of Marvel fame.

Literally born into a branch of the Weapon X project, Laura's life revolved around nothing but training, emotional distance, cold-blooded torture, and killing on orders from the highest bidder - and she made her first targeted kill at age nine. Because of that, she emotionally shut herself down.

Why do I have no issue with Laura's response to her first kill? Because she had two people who went against the Facility's status quo and fed her scraps of kindness, warmth, and love.

And for that, Laura was mind-controlled into killing them both as "poetic justice".

The first one she had killed via a "trigger scent" that was engineered to send her into a blind rage was used on her teacher, Tanaka. When she awoke from it, she was horrified to find her "sensei" lying dead in a pool of blood, her own claws coated in his blood. After this, she was given Kimura as a trainer/handler, and the woman took every opportunity to abuse and torture her - all in the name of "making her strong". This, coupled with her mother having to back off on showing her love, made Laura suppress her emotions, and deal with them by cutting herself with her own claws. Her mother, Sarah Kinney, didn't realize until later that the scars (I cannot recall if they healed or not) were Laura's own doing and not Kimura's.

Laura was used by many to kill hundreds, and Sarah eventually gave up hope that there was a little girl left in the assassin.

That changed, however, when Laura found a young boy listed as a target on her assignment. She knew that if she left him alive, she'd be faced with more punishments, torture, and abuse. She knew that, and she must have been terrified for her life.

But Laura, having been shown compassion and love at different points, was able to see a bit of that same fear in the boy.

And despite knowing full well what was in store for her, Laura let. Him. Live.

Sarah orchestrated her and Laura's escape after this, and had Laura undertake one last mission to kill the personnel at the Facility and the new clones of Laura that were being grown. However, Laura's main abuser had a last laugh by getting some of the trigger scent on Sarah, and even though they were both free, Sarah paid with her life at Laura's hands.

To this day in the comics, Laura waking to see her dying mother and her claws sticky with her blood, is one of her most traumatic and devastating memories.

I bring this up, patient readers, to point out the severe flaw in Mara's creation. She was taken in at three years old to be raised in the heart of evil, and yet she's somehow the only Emperor's Hand to have a conscience. Three years old is not the proper age to have a total recall of what morality is, especially when you're being trained to kill with abandon and to not care about taking a life. More to the point, Laura had two people who gave her morals and humanity. Mara, by contrast, had no one: no nanny or diaper-changing droid was mentioned in order to credit where she got her moral compass from, which flies directly against Galen's turn from the Dark Side. Because even Galen had PROXY to thank for being remotely approachable at the beginning of The Force Unleashed. If you don't believe me, check out his Wookieepedia file; the droid is expressly stated to be the reason he has any compassion at all.

Mara has no reason for having a moral compass, and anyone who tells me otherwise should go dunk their head in a frigid cold lake.

Problem four: Mara has too much autonomy for a born and bred assassin

Remember what I was going on about with Laura? Beyond the surface of what I scratched, she never got a break or any rewards for a job well done. That is because no one viewed her as anything more than a tool to get things done. Among the underworld, she was a favorite weapon, but because of that favoritism, Laura was worked to the bone by people around her. When you're a tool, favorite or otherwise, you don't get breaks.

But according to the almighty Timothy Zahn and countless others in Star Wars, Mara got to take vacations because the Emperor favored her so much. And furthermore, she had such an advanced favoritism with him, and was such a spectacularly good agent, she could choose who to kill and who to hide from the Emperor without him being the wiser. Mara even had the nerve to think of and enjoy herself as a "law unto herself" while still being under Palpatine's thumb.

Bullcrap.

Fellow assassin Galen never had breaks, child assassin Laura Kinney never had breaks, international spy Natasha Romanov never had breaks. They never had breaks because they were TOOLS. Tools, in the eyes of their masters, are nothing but instruments to be used or thrown away as seen fit, regardless if said "tool" is a handheld object or an entire company of soldiers. Assassins have this even worse because they are people exclusively used for your personal gain. Giving Mara Jade breaks from her work is inane and breaks the logic of having an assassin turn over a new leaf. And the reason for that is because all the other examples I named worked their fannies off in order to make amends and actively choose to become better. Even though we got little with Galen atoning for his actions, he still tried his best.

Mara doesn't do anything to atone, apologize, or even make up for the things she did. She lived and died in Legends continuity as a selfish brat who got away with literal murder and never had anyone question why they had her there on their side when there was never a guarantee beyond Luke's out-of-character defense of her by saying she "no longer serves the Dark Side/the Emperor".

Luke, my guy, my childhood hero second only to Optimus Prime. You know better than this. Yes, you see the good in everyone, but there was never anything she did right for purely right reasons to have garnered that level of loyalty and devotion from you. She tried to kill you, wanted to take your father's place in Palpatine's grand scheme, and was frightfully close to killing you in the third movie of the Original Trilogy while laughing as you fell into the sarlacc pit. The fact that this all goes on, and no one in or out of universe makes her pay for her actions tells me she was just everyone's darling OC insert girlfriend for Luke, who they could do anything with, and people would and did accept it because they wanted Luke to have a "hot bad girl wife".

Luke is the pinnacle of goodness in Star Wars. A pinnacle of goodness deserves someone who is just as good for almost the exact same reasons as the pinnacle, but able to back him up in his saving endeavors while being a shoulder for him when there was one lost soul he couldn't save.

Mara Jade has none of that, and she never showed anyone that level of care and attention. And if she did, it did not make sense with all the crap she got away with.

Conclusion

Well, there's not much I suppose to conclude this. I expressed why Mara doesn't work in excruciating detail, and why she didn't work in the end. I will go out on a limb and say that my distaste for her is clear, as well as my opinion that she should not have won Luke's hand when he had many other love interests (look it up. Trust me, he had many girls eyeing him, and had many dates in Legends.)

I will, however, say this much: In my Star Wars Canon, Luke marries Alex Winger, the only girl in Star Wars who I feel matches his personality and needs well. Ben Skywalker will not exist in it, unless I make him the oldest or youngest of Luke and Alex's kids, which is entirely possible now that I consider that option. And it may surprise you, but I do intend to bring Mara into my stories - as a true villain, though she may get a redemption before dying in my own take.

Regarding any hate I receive for both my tear down of Mara and my changed plans for my own Star Wars Canon, I will tell you this: I am one person with these thoughts and feelings, so far as I can see, whereas the much adored Mara Jade has hundreds of appearances in old Star Wars media and various fanfictions. If you can't tolerate my dislike for Mara, then go suck your thumb while reading Legends books involving her. It's not worth either of our time to fight over that blasted female, and I've got too much on my table to bother wasting my free time arguing over her.

Good day, and may the Force be with you.

[freetobeeyouandme]

Chapter 1: The Cleric Zone-of-Truth's Me

It's time!! The first chapter of my Byler Isekai AU is now up on Ao3.

I'm finally ready to start posting this and y'all have no idea how excited I am! All fanfic is self-indulgent, but this one has been more so than others, which feels very appropriate, considering it is 100% the kind of thing Mike would daydream about in class (Cin's words). I also have to credit @iryfic and @fizzseed for the concept. They were discussing a different fanfic idea, had a misunderstanding and came up with this…and since we all wanted to see it, I sat down and wrote it :D

Tags: M, Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Fantasy AU, Canon Typical Violence, Canon Typical Horror, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn

Summary:

Mike Wheeler hates High School, so when he almost dies and falls through a portal to another world, he’s not going to complain. Especially not when that world does not only have swords and magic but seems to work exactly according to the rules of his favorite tabletop role-playing game. But his euphoria might be short lived because the party of adventurers he falls in with turns out to be the target of an evil god and the fate of the world might rest on their shoulders. So, exactly like his games of D&D. Except the wanna-be Paladin soon realizes that being a hero is much harder in real life than it is in-game. - Or, Mike gets isekai’d into a world where D&D is real.

An excerpt and taglist below the cut:

Excerpt:

High School has, thus far, been the worst period of Mike Wheeler’s life, so it’s not really a surprise for him when spring break starts the way it does. In many ways he should have seen it coming, and in many ways he could have prevented it. If he’d just biked home right after school, accepting that his one week’s vacation would be nothing but hiding out in his basement some more, playing Atari on his own and working on school assignments, none of this would have happened. But Mike has had a bad year, and it being the anniversary of the week his life went from ‘kinda bad’ to ‘absolute hell’ only makes him stubbornly cling to a moment of reprieve all the more. So what happens is this: He takes the long way home, and he drowns.

The way from school to the Wheeler’s house is a straightforward one, cutting through downtown and then the suburban neighborhood he calls his home. It’s a safe path. But when school lets out, Mike doesn’t feel safe, and he sure as shit doesn’t feel straightforward. He has a weird sense of foreboding, as if tomorrow he’ll wake up to find the police at his doorstep with questions about the disappearance of Eddie Munson – except Eddie has been gone for a year now. Mike would know where the former leader of Hellfire Club was these days if he bothered to ask Eddie’s uncle, Wayne, but Mike hasn’t. He knows Gareth and Jeff were in contact with Eddie through Wayne, but Eddie only sent postcards to his uncle, choosing to ignore his friends, and, well, two could play that game. Eddie was fine, that much Mike knew, but Hellfire had fallen apart in his absence – and worse become the source of ridicule and persecution for its remaining members. So, Mike couldn’t care less what Eddie was doing. Eddie didn’t care about them either, after all.

With Eddie gone, Mike only had his basement, the safety of his own four walls, the only place in the world where the bullies could not get to him. And even at home safety was a strong word considering how concerned his parents still were about him falling prey to satanism and the evil doctrine that they, like the rest of Hawkins, couldn’t quite not believe Hellfire had propagated. They had hidden it better than most, but Mike knew their feelings on his hobbies didn’t differ much from the rest of town. Their opinions rarely did.

And so Mike, contrary to what he had promised his mother, contrary to common sense and every reprimand he can bring in retrospective, doesn’t head straight home. He swings onto his bike and veers sharply in the opposite direction, speeding past houses and streets and those wonderfully concerned citizens who all judge him silently as he runs past them – must judge him, for he is known. His face had been plastered all across town on those posters that had been circulating for months even after Eddie had been found at the end of spring break, alive and hale with his runaway girlfriend, who had been everyone’s real reason of concern, let’s be honest.

He doesn’t slow down until he hits the line of trees outside of town, then jumps out of the saddle to push his bike along their shade.

The woods had been another place of safety, back when he had still been a child. If the rain and the years hadn’t washed it away, the wooden castle that they had played in must still be standing, hidden away in between the trees, safe from the town and their judgment. Sometimes he misses that boy who had been so long gone now that Mike doesn’t even remember his name anymore. His best friend, once, and then overnight nobody as his mother packed him and his brother up and hid from her ex-husband on the other side of the country.

They had only sent a single Christmas card, no return address. Reassurance that they were fine – still alive, happier, even – but also the goodbye they never got to say in person as they disappeared just the same way Eddie had. For a while Mike had kept it in a frame on his desk, as if by clinging to the picture he could keep their friendship alive. He’s not sure where the card had ended up afterwards. Probably the trash.

Mike considers walking into the woods, considers looking for the castle, but he knows he’ll be better of with the memory instead of the real thing. The memory is bittersweet, reality can only disappoint.

Maybe if he had gone down the path of nostalgia, things would have turned out differently. Instead, he continues along the edge of the trees and, eventually, inevitably, into the arms of Troy and James.

He doesn’t see them at first, but they see him.

-

Unofficial Tag List (aka you interacted with my snippet posts, please tell me if you want me to not tag you in the future (or want to be added)): @smalltownwheeler @wheelerpilled @wrong-energy @willthelies @foodiewithdahoodie @doggo9 @gardenfairie @beelikesbyler @beverlysclown @yickarus @sourdough-el @hessolivagant @hesquietoday