#— then they should be brave enough to be witnessed as they so deeply desire

[willowser]

gaining all those new followers from plagiarizing poc and running them off tumblr you're a terrible person and i hope you rot

so this is another really heavy accusation that i take very seriously.

who is it that i've run off, exactly ?? if you are said person or know them personally, i would love to have the ability to speak to you/them one-on-one, like grown adults, so that we can clear the air or discuss whatever issue there seems to be.

i doubt that you'll respond legitimately but this has always been my stance on your issue with me, that has kept you coming back to, not only my main account but also my nsfw account, daily. sometimes multiple times a day. you've also never once given me any kind of definition on what it is exactly that i've "plagiarized" — which, again, leads me me to believe you're just choosing to be hateful for no reason ?? the ONLY reference that's been made in the last few weeks that this has been going on, is the love island bakugou concept, and if that's what you're still sticking by, then — again — i urge you to understand what plagiarism actually is.

[vinitia]

∞. Dreamer

Today seemed to be lucky.

In fact, her mood was so good that she decided to stop by a lottery stand on her way home.

"If today's combination matches the letters of your name, you will win a wonderful prize!"

The glittering letters were a bit straining on the eyes. Or perhaps it was simply the usual eye strain from staring at the sun all day (in the form of a computer screen). She started filling in the tiny brackets while squinting slightly.

M-A-J-A.

This should be easy. In fact, it seemed too easy...… But what if that's the intention? After all, no one expects luck to come so easily!

...Or perhaps they all do. Maybe everyone fills it out with a simple name.

Should she add something else? Suddenly, everything became so complicated, as it always did.

Let's unravel it a bit. After all, if the narration becomes too tangled, the reader will likely lose interest. This mustn't happen – your story needs to be witnessed.

It must be acknowledged and concluded.

It was truly a mere coincidence (particularly in THIS girl’s case, a miracle even) that she saw something falling out of the machine on her left, into the previously empty slot. It made a small sound, and yet, still louder than a paper ticket.

When Maja looked to the left, everything unfolded very quickly. The thing jumped out of the slot, and transformed mid-air into a human form.. Watching that scene was reminiscent of the sensation you experience when you trip and feel momentarily out of your body as you fall.

The „thing” that emerged from the machine was, without a doubt, a girl, likely in her late teens.

She wore an exceptionally peculiar and formal yet dream-like outfit – something Maja would certainly wear outside, even if just once, if she felt brave enough. Not to the office though. Defnitely not.

Her initial thought was of an old, very expensive doll – one of those Victorian-style dolls. Very refined. She had seen such a doll in a museum, once. Its eyes looked kind of creepy… Mostly dull, but, at the same time, carrying a mysterious… no, even a mistifying aura. Like she was taken out of a famous painting.

Right, that thought inevitably led her to the girl’s face. The doll-girl was initially preoccupied with getting paper scraps out of her brown hair (which was kind of messy – looked like it would take a while!), and Maja could only see a portion of her face. She really was pale, like a porcelain doll.

Then, in an instant, Maja blinked, and the doll-girl was now seated in a rather nonchalant manner atop one of the tall ticket machines, the one directly in front of her. Their gazes locked, and the doll-girl began to speak.

- If you reveal your world to me, I can bestow upon you a wish.

- Huh?

Due to that almost non-existent pause, the question didn't sound entirely natural; it was more like a prerecorded message.. But not only that peculiarity struck Maja.

Her eyes, deep blood red. A mirror image of that doll’s. Yes, there also was such an intricate feeling to them.

A brief pause. The mysterious girl shifted slightly, possibly to find a more comfortable position, and perhaps also to allow Maja a moment to grasp the situation. Then, still peering deeply into Maja's eyes, she continued.

- Anything you desire, I can grant it to you, with my magic. I am a witch that can transcend every boundary, no matter if abstract beyond all comprehension, or concrete like the towering walls erected by humans.

Maja was bewildered, sure. However, this was not caused by the appearance of the witch in front of her. After all, she had seen weird things before. Like the Christ coming to tuck her in on one Good Friday night. Or stumbling upon a lucky gem which played an important part in a book she had just finished. She could still clearly recall its blue hue, and how chilly it felt on her fingers. And best of all, it could grant up to five wishes! That easily beat that witch, hands down. No suspicious strings attached. But then, before she even uttered the first wish, poof, it disappeared, out of the blue. Haha. Out of the blue. Her mother teased her, saying it was because she’s always so ditzy, and kept misplacing stuff. I wonder where it is now, though.

So the true reason for this bewilderment lie not in witnessing a magical being that materialized from thin air.

It was due to the truly simple realization that she did not know what to wish for.

There were plenty of things she desired, of course, as it is common for humans. But not a single thing was THE thing, the one that shone the most amongst all those jewels. What to do with such a goldmine? Should she start digging? But, if she starts digging, what if the right thing was actually just on top, and then it gets inevitably buried?

And the goldmine of shiny things was looming over her now, ironically, like a shadow.

Suddenly, everything turned out so difficult.

The witch, quite understandably, interpreted this loony behaviour as a sign of confusion.

- I can grant you a single wish, if you desire so. I possess all the arcane of this realm and others in my palms. It can be the most outrageous, the impossiblest desire that the bosom of your world has rejected.

As the witch lifted her palm upwards, suddenly it looked like her fingers cut through the fabric of air. Like a spiderweb, between those fingers spread out a tiny sea of stars, glittering and luring one’s eyes to get lost in it…

It was is Maja’s vision, no, even her being itself was sucked into the cosmos. Half-dazed by the spectacle, she found herself humming...

- Hmm, but I can’t choose a single special thing...

She recalled wading through the starry ocean of all the wishes a daydreaming human can conjure on a single business day, amidst the office hustle…

Then, the witch spoke up again,

- If you show me the depths of your world, those that only you can see… I promise to grant you a wish.

Maybe she thought it would help Maja, give her a little mental nudge, to shift the objective slightly.

And it seemed that theory was correct, as the girl’s previously dazed gaze snapped back to the moment almost like a lightning bolt.

- Then could you grant me shapeshifting power? So I can fit into any gap I find. Like the one in your hand.

The witch seemed quite pleased with that reply, as her lips curled into a tiny smile she had not shown during their conversation before.

- Like Alice in Wonderland?

- Yeah, something like that.

- An exchange will therefore be woven, between a human and a witch. Everything of this world for something of everything.

She was now so excited, she didn’t even notice she was up on her tiptoes. If this wish was granted, she would be able to see it all, without being overwhelmed by the heavy, heavy cloud of overthought.

She could turn into a butterfly to gaze from a shoulder which choice was the most popular on today’s tickets. That was the first thought, the easiest one, fated to be followed by countless other dreams, and there would be no need to select betwen them.

After all, dreams unravel only when they are selected. Yes, that choice truly did shine the brightest.

- Alright, that’s a deal!

As the witch cupped her hand, the spiderweb woven with Everything formed a sphere, swiftly enveloping those two in what looked to be a curtain of consellations.

Wrapping the wisher in a cocoon, it felt like a blanket of nostalgia, a place one had always belonged to. Like home.

And when she opened her eyes again, her wish had been granted.

- Ah.

Maja gazed at the blue-hued gem that emerged from the pinkish skin on her hand.

So that’s where it had been all along. A strange nostalgic sensation began brewing deep within her heart. It seemed to underscore that something remained unfinished, until its potential is fully unlocked.

Right.

She then turned her gaze back to the witch, with a confident grin.

- Okay, can you fly? Well, that’s a silly question… you probably can, right? I will fly you to my office first, and then we’ll see!

Today really was lucky.

And thus, the dreamer's world was fulfilled.

[ravencromwell]

How I discovered op's Elia fic is a mystery to me, so many years later. I know that even as my book-interest waned, I've always been _fascinated by the Martells, right up there with Mance Rayder and his wildlings. And one of the things drawing me most to the Martell family was Oberyn's descriptions of Elia or, more accurately, what was missing from those descriptions. Never in his fight with the mountain did he say something akin to: how dare you slay my sister in her fragile condition, even though we knew by then Elia Martell was certainly disabled. She was merely "my sister", which left room for the family to miss Elia, the fully complicated, nuanced woman rather than sanctifying her as merely an ill martyr and in a landscape so often barren of disability portrayals, that resonated deeply. But it was such a fleeting mention, with no follow-through and I craved more. I think I must've been willing to give op's Elia-centric Within The Hollow Crown series--which I would also ferociously recommend as a marvelously nuanced portrayal of a woman's wits pitted against her own body and the patronizing sexism and ableism of those around her, with the caveat it's very. very canon-compliant a try because I was so glad her Be All My Secrets Remembered lingered when I made my way into HP fandom a decade or more behind her. Through that fic's portrait of Dorcas Meadowes, I knew she could portray women in all their flawed, competent glory.

And then her Elia simultaneously occupied a wheelchair and seduced the Prince of Dragonstone and barely on the threshhold of adult me created a tumblr for the sole purpose of telling her how much it meant, feeling entirely convinced no one would ever see more than the chair--and how it meant even more that Elia's self-confidence also wobbled throughout her time in King's Landing. I know I was fully committed to following her ASOIAF fic to hell and back when she posted False Sorrow's Eye, the prequel to this fic.

And then she posted Brittle Glory, in which Elia Martell gets to grow so much older and wiser in all her disabled glory. I love Lyanna, of course, and the Elia/Lyanna relationship, because it's integral to how! Elia grows. But it is the centering of Elia and all her frought disability struggles that made this fic transcend fandom for me. There are no words for what this story has meant, save to say I have stayed simultaneously subscribed to it, its series, and the author in desperate desire to never miss a notification.

To see the author return, after so long, brings such an upswell of joy, particularly here at the beginning of Pride. It's not a fic I reread often--because it held such a reverent place in my trajectory of finding pride in my limitations, I wanted to go long stretches between binges in a doomed attempt to let its plot intricacies fade and preserve as much of the astonished joy of first reading as possible.

So I now intend to start with False Sorrows and leave the lavish, verbose comments prior decade Nick wasn't brave enough for. But first, I had to fulfill the vague promise I'd made myself that should this ever update, I would shout its praises to the rooftops: I don't care if you're in ASOIAF. I don't care if it's been years since you've cracked the books or you finished a reread last week. This portrayal of disability is one of the best I've seen, in fic or professional work. Go read it. If you don't know the source, I'll make you fucking character sheets and link you to all the relevant wikis. When something this thoughtful and compassionate comes along for disability representation, it should never be missed.

Chapters: 6/? Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms Rating: Mature Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Elia Martell/Lyanna Stark, Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Daenerys Targaryen/Margaery Tyrell, Renly Baratheon/Loras Tyrell, Rhaenys Targaryen/Willas Tyrell Characters: Elia Martell, Lyanna Stark, Daenerys Targaryen, Rhaenys Targaryen, Aegon VI Targaryen, Cersei Lannister, Margaery Tyrell, Olenna Tyrell, Willas Tyrell, Renly Baratheon, Jon Snow, Eddard Stark, Catelyn Stark, Arya Stark, Sansa Stark, Benjen Stark, Robert Baratheon, Jaime Lannister, Oberyn Martell, Ashara Dayne, Arthur Dayne Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It Fic That Isn’t, Baratheons behaving badly, Lady Knights, Royalty in Compromising Positions, Uncivil War, POV Character of Color, POV Multiple, Canonical Disabled Character, Racism, Microaggressions, Bechdel Test Pass, Women Being Awesome, lady friendships, The (Not So) Dead Ladies Club Series: Part 2 of The Not So Dead Ladies Club Summary:

Canon Divergence AU. Elia Martell and Lyanna Stark survive Robert’s Rebellion, but there are greater wars to come.

***

I’m not going to talk about the delay between chapters; suffice it to say there was life and quite a bit of it. But this fic still exists, and I found whatever mixture of spoons and inspiration I needed to get two chapters written. Will there be more after that? I hope so.

[sohin-ace]

Abbachio - Hangover

You walked inside the headquarters that you titled your home.

It was half past 3 A.M and you knew fair well everybody in the team was staying here for the night, and were most likely sleeping soundly like babies at this hour.

And so, with velvety steps and calculated slow movements, you entered the porch and quietly closed the door, moving in the dark as silently as possible.

You had just finished a tiring mission and the one thing you desired most at the moment was to crash into bed, maybe marry it since you were at it, barely thinking about the sticky blood, sweat and dried river water that stained you during your mission.

You huffed and kicked your shoes off, liberating your aching and swollen feet from them, directing yourself towards the kitchen to fetch some well-deserved water that your throat was oh-so desperately screaming for.

You were shocked to find the room lit at this hour. Your first thought was that Bruno was probably still awake and having a small break from his neverending pile of work.

Your expression completely fell, however, upon seeing that Bruno was not the one occupying the kitchen but someone else, greeting you with a heart breaking sight.

"... Leone?"

The male was slumped over the table, his head buried in his arms with one hand holding onto a spilling wine bottle, burgundy liquid running everywhere onto the wooden surface, the floor, and onto the male's clothes. Even some strands of his splayed out hair drank up the alcohol, dying them from silver to violet.

You gasped at the mess but was even more shocked by the implications behind said mess. He didn't even bother taking a glass, prefering downing the wine directly from the bottle. He wasn't planning on holding back tonight and it alarmed you.

You knew of Abbachio's tendency of alchoholism, but he was never so drunk as to black out this way and you weren't sure he would even be able to work tomorrow, or do anything else, for that matter.

"Leone..." You slowly approached his hunched over form and gently shook him. "Caro, wake up."

No response.

With you being all alone in the middle of the night, there weren't much you could do. But there were no way you'd ever leave him in this state.

Shaken with worry, you only did what your heart told you and moved the bottle away from his grip. It was almost empty at this point anyway.

You brushed his long hair to the side to let some fresh air cool his face down while you cleaned and mopped the tiled floor and table. Oh you'd make sure to lecture him about that later.

You thought about him, sitting next to you as you cleaned up. How tormented he was and how, just like the wine bottle, he spilled himself out in secrecy.

You bit back your tears. He was so alone. Tortured. It hurt you that your Leone, whom you loved so much, had to go through a trauma you could never heal for him. Or even soothed in the slightest. You were grateful that he even remotely accepted your affection, but still.

It wasn't enough, for you.

"I wish I could help you, Leone..." You murmured and caressed his soft hair, revealing more of his peaceful face, his smeared makeup not tainting any of his beauty.

Your heart clenched, he looked so calm, so sweet. How did he manage to make grief look so gentle, you would never know. You almost didn't want to move him and disturb him, but you had to.

Carefully holding his shoulders, you pulled him up, his weight much heavier than you'd have expected, even thought it should be no surprise. Abbachio was a burly man.

You craddled his head and placed him in a proper up-sitting position and he groaned.

"Uugh... Hhmmm..."

"Leone, wake up, love." You still held his face against your chest and patted his cheek to wake him, scared that he'd sway and tumble over if you let go of him. "You gotta go to bed. Come on."

"Hmmm.... Sssuuuree...." He mumbled, words slurred.

He was surprisingly compliant, you thought. When you were certain he could hold his own head up, you let go and grabbed his wrist, still drenched in wine.

You hooked his arm around your shoulders and wrapped your own around his torso. He made the effort to stay in balance while you hoisted him up to his feet, not without struggle and effort on your part.

You stumbled a bit, but managed to get him up, at least, holding onto him for dear life as you maneuvered his much heavier body around the kitchen.

He counted on you for support and was close to falling sleeping on you as he snored against your hair, the stench of alcohol reaching your nostrils. Man, why did he have to be the heaviest male of the group?

You brushed your exhaustion from the preceeding mission to the side and dedicated yourself to helping Leone. Rest could wait.

Thanks to the help of your Stand, you ended the course safely back to his room and opened the door, having more hands to do so.

You let him down to sit onto his bed as gently as you could and you felt he was about collapse again.

You instantly wrapped your arms around his shoulders and let him slump over your chest.

"Woa- Don't lay down just yet! I need to get your clothes off."

He only purred some low nonsense, as if to show his annoyance to you. Well, maybe he desperately wanted to sleep, but so did you.

"Don't 'brrr' at me, boy. You're the one who spilled wine all over your pants and top!" You scolded to deaf, or rather drunk ears. Not like he was listening to you, but still.

Huffing a bit, you took hold of the lace on his top and untied it, letting you slide the rest off his broad shoulders and back. It was much easier to slip the sleeves off afterwards, and you were almost proud of yourself.

"I'm gonna be such a good mom." You joked to yourself as you caringly held onto Leone's warm back and head to gently place him down on his bed before taking his shoes and pants off.

Once this was done and not without a pause to catch your breath, you went to the bathroom to grab a towel, dampening it in warm water before you came back to him and sat by his side. He had already fallen fast asleep, and was looking awfully adorable, if you were honest.

" 'Clumsy brat'," You chuckled with a whisper as you wiped the wine off his skin and the sweat and tears off his neck and chest. "That's what you always called me. Ironic."

You looked fondly over at him as you finished your self-assigned task, closing off by wiping his left hand. You thought over your options.

Maybe it was the fatigue blurring your moral code. Or maybe you were just blinded by this crazy thing called love. Perhaps he was just an enticing wizard who cast a spell on you with his lips. Whatever it was, you foolishly decided you would kiss him after you removed his make up, and so you did.

You gently removed what remained of his make up that wasn't washed out by the crying and the drinking. You sighed at your good job and leaned over, running your fingers delicately over his skin.

"This is probably wrong." You hesitated, questioning your choices, yet feeling brave. "But I think I can at least have that, right...? Pardon me for this, Leone."

You closed the distance between you both to press your lips ever-so-sweetly on his own, wanting to linger, but not quite feeling deserving enough either. It was short-lived but precious and tingly. You felt your heart flutter and you swore you also felt his hand twitch slightly next to you.

You sighed. You yearned for more. You wished you could just collapse and fall asleep by him. Your responsibilities thankfully got the best of you.

"I love you. Please love yourself too, we all want to see you better. I know I do. Depend on me sometimes too, okay?" You breathed out to him, secretely hoping he heard you in his dreams and maybe accepted your selfish and heartfelt request.

You were tired. You needed to sleep and you were afraid you'd act more and more foolishly if you stayed with him any longer.

You reluctantly leaned away from him and got up, making sure to tuck him in thoroughly inside the blankets before you left.

You'd leave a note to Bruno to not wake him up in the morning.

When Abbachio woke up in the morning, much later than he usually did, he was disappointed, yet not surprised to be struck with a splitting headache.

"Fuck..." He groaned, holding his heavy head in his hands, "Not again..."

He inhaled deeply only to realise he was strangely met by a sweet familiar scent mixed with the stinging wine he drowned himself in.

Out of doubt, he looked over the bedside table and found a water bottle and some aspirin as well as a small note.

He grabbed the note and squinted at it, trying to read it with his still hazy eyes.

'Water helps with hangover headaches. Tablets too, obviously :P . Take it easy, Bruno gave you the day off.'

Was that you? That was most definitely you, he thought. And that fruity scent on his face and hands must be you too. There were no doubt now.

It didn't take him long to put two and two together. He would have been much quicker-witted if he wasn't so hungover. He remembered you had a mission last night, you probably went home by then and helped him to bed out of sheer empathy, sweet as you were.

Abbachio sighed and rubbed his face. He was both ashamed and extremely grateful towards you. It must have been so draining to come take care of him after you risked your life out there.

God he felt like shit. Again, he was being a burden on the people he loved, all because of his selfish choices. But knowing you, you'd probably hate him thinking that of himself, and tell him you were fine with it and happy to help. You had such a kind heart.

"... How did she even get me upstairs...? This tiny dwarf."

He groaned and sat up, smoothing his fingers over his lips. He blushed at his own thoughts. He swore he dreamt of you kissing him as he was asleep, and the feeling was still pretty vivid.

But he couldn't be sure. Drunken dreams were weird sometimes.

Thinking of making it up to you, he took the medicine and downed it with water, his mind filled with thoughts of you only.

He deserved at least that.

[seokoloqy]

INFERNO | jjk (m)

➳ PAIRING: phoenix!jungkook x reader

➳ GENRE: smut, pwp

➳ WORD COUNT: 2.7k

➳ WARNINGS: SEXUAL TENSION BABEY, sort of religious reader, koo has his dick out the whole time, the only thing bigger than his dick is his massive ego, the gloves stay ON during sex, semi voyerism, hand job, fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex

➳ SUMMARY: after praying to the gods for help, they whisper for you to visit the Royal Court of Embers to find their king, but all you find is a egotistical phoenix who wonders why you aren’t down on your knees worshiping him instead

➳ A/N: I wanted to practice sexual tension so I wrote this bad boy. I should mention it is also part of the Nevermore universe!

—

The golden sun. That’s what you would describe the phoenix in front of you as. A blinding, but glorious light you’d almost mistake as one of the gods.

Visiting the Royal Court of Embers with a request, as nothing but a weak human with nothing to offer, probably won’t end well, but you’ve become desperate. The people in your town have begun to vanish without a trace, not even a body left behind. The hunters can’t figure out the cause no matter how hard they search. It’s becoming a hopeless endeavor and there are many who have given up finding an answer, wondering why the gods have abandoned their loved ones.

But not you. You still believe the gods have an answer out there. After visiting the temples and praying, asking the gods for help, a gentle breeze whispered the answer into your ear.

Visit the Royal Court of Embers. Find the king.

So you did.

Entering the domain shared by dragons and phoenixes as a human is a brave feat. Not much is known about them other than their immense power being enough to scare even the strongest demons into submission. If anything—god or beast—can solve your mysterious problem, it’s them.

When you arrived however, they refused to let you speak to their king, claiming you had no right to even be on their land. But your persistence was enough to convince them to let you speak to the king’s right hand, Jungkook, a phoenix.

His many lovers leave hungry, lust filled marks across his body, staining his skin with blossoming purple and red marks. They drown him, draped over him, rutting against anything he has to offer, moaning out all their heavenly pleasure.

You hear their cries, the wanton way his name easily falls from their hungry lips.

“Jungkook,” they plead from plush, red lips.

And despite this, despite Jungkook’s constorts clinging to his skin and begging for his attention, his eyes flutter to yours across the room for a moment. A single glance from those blazing, golden eyes, as if the eternal sun were captured in his irises, sets your beating heart ablaze and you just can’t bring yourself to tear your eyes away from his magnificence.

While his eyes, heavy with lust, roam over your meek form slowly, his interest has piqued.

What is a human doing trembling in the presence of a phoenix? No, more importantly, how were you granted access into his chambers?

What a nuisance.

A single gloved finger curls, beckoning you over to his sofa. He disperses his lovers with a sharp look, without a word. They know better than to ignore his burning eyes and scamper off, completely bare, and out the door you just entered.

He examines you with curiosity.

“Closer.”

You step forward, averting your eyes from his uncovered erection to the setting sun over a green valley. It’s such a perfect sight. He must see this everyday and bask in the golden glow.

You suddenly feel a twinge of sadness in your chest knowing that this will be the last time you’ll ever get to witness such a magnificent sunset. Back home, the dull skies are constantly gloomy with grey clouds hiding the sun.

You want to marvel at the sky longer and wait to see the sun disappear over the horizon but the phoenix clears his throat and your eyes are drawn back to him—a being as glorious as the sun itself.

“Kneel, human,” He drawls, tugging on the edge of his glove tighter. If his hands were to even graze your skin for a second, you’d be consumed by his unforgiving flames, and he’d rather not have the stench of your burnt corpse lingering in his chambers.

You do as told, prefering to be on good terms with Jungkook if you’re going to have to ask for his help. Your knees collide with the floor, going so far as to lowering your forehead to meet the marble. The floors are cold, unlike the temperature of the room currently. Ever since you stepped into Jungkook’s room, the temperature feels like a warm summer day spent outside doing yard work with beads of sweat slowly dripping down your temples. So the cool tiles are a sweet relief to the heat.

“I’ve come to ask for your help.”

Jungkook tsks, amused, “come closer.”

You slowly rise, moving toward him once again until you’re in front of his lounging figure. His legs are spread wide, a loose black robe hangs over his shoulders, doing nothing to cover his thick erection.

You almost begin to salivate, thoughts wandering off to inappropriate imaginations. It’s hard to recall why you’re standing in front of him when all you can think of is how it would feel to be choking on his cock, having it hit the back of your throat as he fucks your mouth however he pleases.

Jungkook wears a smirk, almost like he knows exactly what dirty thoughts are plaguing your mind and he’s thinking the same.

“Have your gods forsaken you again, little human?” The phoenix purrs, running his gloved finger slowly on the underside of your jaw. The thin material, the only thing keeping you from burning at his touch, is soft. “Have your prayers not reached their deaf ears? Or have you finally accepted that the only gods you truly have are right here in front of you?”

His golden eyes burn brightly, swallowing you into their inferno.

You swallow, wetting your lips. Jungkook’s golden eyes quickly follow your tongue glide across your lower lip, curious for a taste. “Maybe the gods have led me to you.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue. “Come.”

He pats his bare thigh, inviting you to sit. His silk robe has opened and now exposes his cock resting hard against his chiseled stomach.

You can’t help your wandering eyes. His gloved hands grab tightly onto your waist as if telling you not to run. He guides you down onto his toned thigh, never letting go. You do your best to avoid letting your leg brush against his erection, afraid you might let out a moan once you feel how hard he actually is.

Jungkook’s chest brushes against your shoulder, his grip around your waist tightens, as he leans in to press his lips against the shell of your ear. He whispers in a low and seductive tone, the vibration of his words causes you to shudder, “let me ask you something.”

You hold your breath, struggling to keep it steady when one of his hands snakes up your back to cup the back of your neck.

Jungkook presses a featherlight kiss to the underside of your jaw. You might not have felt it if you weren’t so hyper aware of his every movement, his every breath on your burning skin.

“Humans have prayed to their gods for centuries, but none of them ever answer. So, why?”

Another soft kiss, this time against the shell of your ear.

“Why what?” You manage to say almost breathlessly. You turn your head away in an attempt to cool down your burning cheeks, but being so close to a phoenix it feels like your whole body is on fire.

“Why do you humans continue to worship absent gods?”

You wring your hands together.

“I have faith.” It was faith that guided you to the Court of Embers and led you straight into Jungkook’s lap with the hopes that he’d help your town. So far, the gods haven’t led you wrong. In fact, you’re currently thanking them silently for bringing you on to the lap of this breathtaking phoenix.

“Faith,” he repeats. You can feel the hot breath of his scoff on your neck. “Don’t you want to believe in something real? Humans should be worshiping us instead.”

His hand pries apart your tightly bound ones, guiding it down a path along his chest. Your eyes follow, your body lets him drag your hand down lower and lower.

“We’re real. See how easily you can come to me?” Now your hand is right above his weeping cock. You squirm in his lap, legs clenching together. “Touch me?”

Gone, are his steady breaths and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Now, he lets out a shuddered breath, staring deeply into your eyes.

“We could grant your every wish, your every desire, if you’d just get on your knees and pray to us instead, my sweet human. You’d have it all.”

Finally, he presses his lips to yours. They’re as warm as you’d expect a phoenix’s lips would be. The kiss sparks a light in your belly, desire pooling even more than before. The hand on the back of your neck draws you in closer until your chest is flush with his and you move your hands up to curl around the silk fabric of his robe.

He pulls back, almost breathless, his pink swollen lips barely grazing yours. “Let me be your only god tonight. I can show you all I have to offer.”

You’re eager for another kiss, for his hands to wander lower on your body, but you can’t forget why you’re here in the first place.

“Only if you agree to help my town.” You pant, sliding your hands down his bare chest. The tip of your finger brushes the head of his cock lightly. He tenses his grip around you, letting out a soft groan into your ear. “I wouldn’t mind getting on my knees to pray then.”

Jungkook smirks, splaying his fingers across your inner thigh, stroking the skin. He spreads your legs wider.

“You humans love playing with fire,” he murmurs, kissing down your neck, sucking and biting at sensitive skin. His gloved hands, outline your waist. The soft material glides closer and closer to your core. “But I accept.”

Briefly, his finger connects with your clit through the material of your pants and you jolt against him, whining when he pulls back.

“Are you ready to forsake your gods for me tonight?”

You nod, moving your hips closer to his fingers, eager to take your pants off and grind against whatever he has to offer.

He chuckles, unbuttoning your pants, “hm, my human, I’m afraid once you have a taste of me you’ll become addicted. Are you really ready for me?”

You’d like to wipe the teasing smirk off his face so your hand wraps around the base of his cock, stroking slowly. You enjoy the breathy whimper he makes when caught off guard. Seeing if you can make him do it again, your thumb runs over the head of his cock, spreading the pearl of precum forming at the tip.

“Ah, f-fuck,” he hisses. The high and mighty confidence he wears slowly slipping.

“I want you, Jungkook,” you tease, releasing his cock and sucking the precum off your thumb, “but maybe it’s you who’s not ready for me?”

You flick your wrists, pumping his cock and watching his face crumble in pleasure.

“Damn, you human,” he curses, clenching his jaw.

“Try calling me ___ instead of human and maybe I’ll show you how good I am on my knees.”

His golden eyes shine, practically glow, as he rakes them over you. “No,” he says stubbornly, the confident voice he had before is seeping back. “You’re going to strip and get on my bed instead.”

Those eyes are not meant to be disobeyed. You feel the heat between your thighs pool even more at his commanding voice.

You rise off his lap, pulling off your shirt. As you make your way towards his bed, you unclasp your bra, dropping it to the ground behind you. Although you can’t see his face, you’re certain he’s watching your every move. Once you shimmy off your pants and underwear, you sway your hips, enticing the phoenix.

“Such a wicked temptress,” He tsks, following after you. “Are you sure you’re not a succubus?”

Jungkook comes up behind you, wrapping his muscular arms around your waist. His gloved hand dips down to tease your dripping entrance, rolling your clit between two pinched fingers. You roll your hips against his finger, eagerly waiting to be filled.

“Just human,” you breathe, leaning your back against his chest, carding your fingers through his soft chestnut hair.

His breath tickles your skin again as he runs his nose down your neck, pressing rough kisses along the way. His lips latch onto your shoulder sucking a new mark for you to wear. He pulls back to admire your new bruise and as he does so, he uses two fingers and slides them into you without warning. His gloves are soaked from your juices, letting his fingers move easily in and out of your wet heat.

You moan against his neck, rocking your hips as his fingers curl inside you, “Mm, more.”

He moves slowly, drawing more moans out of you and occasionally brushes your clit so you’ll whine for more. He lightly scrapes his teeth over your ear, whispering, “Good girl, keep moaning for me like that.”

His other hand rubs your breasts, rolling your pebbled nipples between his fingers, alternating between each. The sting of his touch makes you whimper.

You grind your ass against his cock teasingly, feeling his fingers tense and still inside of your pussy. It’s a mistake because he pulls his slick coated fingers out of you, leaving you begging for him to put them back.

“I don’t take orders from humans easily. If you want to cum you’re going to have to earn it.”

—

Your thighs are aching. If it weren’t for his strong arm holding your waist up, you’d be limp on the bed as he fucked you. Your voice is wasted from screaming his name over and over.

His strong thrust reminds you that he’s one of the most powerful creatures to ever exist. Each time he penetrates your tightly clenched walls from behind, you’re filled with even more heat and desire.

You curl your fingers around his sheets, crying out at his brutal pace. The wet slaps of your bodies meeting resonate throughout the room.

“Please, please,” you plead, the voice that comes out is so unfamiliar, “let me cum.”

“Tell me,” he grunts, sneaking a hand around to lightly press a finger to your sensitive clit, causing you to let out a sob. “Aren’t I better than your gods?”

You’re shaking with need and on the verge of tears. Living as an immortal phoenix, Jungkook really knows how to use his cock to turn anyone into a mess. You’re not even fully aware of everything you’re saying. You know enough to know whatever you’re saying is getting you closer to the release you’re after.

“Yes!,” you cry, “fuck, I-I only need you, Jungkook.”

His gloved finger rubs roughly against your clit, sending more tremors through your aching body. “You’ll never be fucked this good again, huh? Not by any mortal or beast.”

“No, never!”

“That’s right,” he hisses as you clench around him. “You’ve been good for me, human. Cum.”

It’s all you need for him to say as your whole body tenses and you’re in a state of pure euphoria. You cry out his name one more time.

Jungkook’s thrusts become more erratic as he chases his own release. His cum fills you up, ropes and ropes of it costing your walls. When he pulls out, a mix of both your juices leak from your abused hole. He releases your waist and you have no choice but to give into your weakened muscles and fall limp against the bed.

You groan at the soreness of your thighs and bury your face into his sheets.

Behind you, you can hear him shuffling around, but you’re too tired to care what he’s doing. Drifting off into a peaceful sleep is all you want now.

—

“Wake up, human. We have a deal, remember?”

You’re roused out of your peaceful slumber by an irritated voice.

“I can’t have anyone else in the palace knowing I made a deal with a human. They’d laugh about it for the next century. So we’re sneaking out before dawn.”

You lazily open one eye to find Jungkook, still in a loose fitting robe that exposes his chest, but at least it’s covering his lower half.

“I’m surprised you cared enough to remember.”

You thought he’d kick you out once he’d finished with you, but he’s proved you wrong.

Jungkook huffs, crossing his arms, “I have to prove that humans are better off worshipping us, don’t I?”

[moved-to-void-kissed]

Too Late to be Saved

Document link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1GF_jZevunsCA5QKPWXfaVO_OO61ZaAtxkzPdoJNJHUM/edit?usp=sharing

When Aqua and Aria reach the Dark Margin at the edge of the realm of darkness, they meet Ansem the Wise, who is quickly sought by Ansem, Seeker of Darkness. Aria angrily confronts the fellow Heartless, but finds herself unable to get back to the End of Sea before Riku and King Mickey arrive. (2351 words) Replaces the KH3 cutscene “An Unexpected Encounter” and changes some story events so that “Too Late” and “Braving the Darkness” no longer occur.

My first new piece of selfship writing on this blog, and oh boy is it a big one! I had a lot of fun writing this, so hopefully it makes for a good read, haha ^-^

Tag list: @softskiesahead | @dragonsmooch | @thatslikesometaldude | @lilacslovers | @insomniaships | @candyforthebrain | @goldenworldsabound | @setzale

A transcript of the document is under the readmore! Reblogs of this post would be greatly appreciated, since I was really happy with how this turned out, but they’re not required by any means~

“What is this place..?”

The blue-haired woman slowly walked forwards, marvelling at the sight before her. The endless dark caverns that she had wandered for so long had opened out to a clouded grey beach, lit by what appeared to be a glowing white moon above the horizon. The hard stone underfoot was giving way to soft sand of the same ash-like colour, as waves of murky water gently grazed the shore. It was an eerily tranquil place by the standards of all she had witnessed before, something her companion was quick to notice.

“There are no Heartless here.” she said. “I almost feel as though I shouldn’t be here, either. Aqua.. I think this might be the edge of the realm.”

“So, we’ve made it to the end?” replied Aqua, now making her way towards the shoreline.

“Yes, it would appear so. Whatever lies beyond this shore.. It seems less like part of the darkness, and more like something between dark and light. Something that doesn’t belong to either force..”

As her partner spoke, Aqua became aware that her voice was growing fainter. When she turned around, she saw that she had made far less progress towards the water, standing awkwardly some distance away with her wings curled around her body. She looked nervous, and unsure what to expect, yet the catlike ears poking straight up through her messy blonde hair showed that she was still as alert as ever, constantly listening for danger even in the silence of the new place they had stumbled across.

“Aria, it’s okay! We can keep going, if you’d prefer that. You look tense, and I don’t want you to be unsettled.”  A worried expression flitted across Aqua’s face as she reached out to hold Aria’s hand - the sudden movement made her flinch in surprise, but she quickly and visibly relaxed as Aqua drew closer. When the two were standing together again, Aqua gently closed both of her hands over Aria’s, unfazed by the patches of open darkness that ran along them, and smiled as she looked down at her partner.

“Thank you..” she mumbled quietly. “I’m alright, I just- don’t know what to expect here.”

It was then that, behind the Keyblade Master, Aria spotted a hooded figure sitting some distance away, hidden by a black coat but appearing to gaze out over the barely-moving water. Though she still let Aqua hold her right hand, she slowly shifted to free her left and moved to stand at Aqua’s side in one fluid movement. Then she extended her left arm and a mass of dark energy enveloped the space beside her, dissipating quickly to reveal a jagged dark red Keyblade.

“Identify yourself!”

Her shout echoed across the shore, leading the figure to turn its head and slowly stand up. As it started to walk across the sand, it removed its hood to reveal an older-looking man with piercing orange eyes and wispy light blond hair. He looked tired, and his face bore the wrinkled lines of worry as he observed the two Keyblade wielders.

“Please, stay your weapon. I mean you no harm.”

Aria wasn’t overly convinced, but she could see that the man did not have the strength to be a threat, so she lowered her Keyblade. Aqua was curious to find out more, taking a step forward.

“Who are you? How did you end up in this place?”

The man sighed wistfully, folding his hands behind his back. “My name was.. stolen by another, and I can feel this place taking its toll on my memory. I’m sorry. I know that I have only been here for a fairly short time, and that I was sent here by the destruction of the machine I created to encode Kingdom Hearts in data.”

“Before that..” He turned to look out over the water again, unwilling to meet Aqua’s gaze. “I caused a great deal of misery to many individuals, through both my recent actions and my previous research. It is clear to me now that I was deeply in the wrong about some of my original beliefs.. Now, I can only hope for a chance to atone for my deeds.”

“It’s alright.” Aria’s Keyblade had disappeared from her hand. “I can see now that your heart holds a true desire for.. repentance, or something of that nature. I’m not sure what the right word is, but.. The point is that you won’t be harmed, by either of us.”

“Yes, of course!” Aqua added. “I think you’ll be safe here, at least, since the Heartless don’t seem to come here. And, I can’t claim to know what you’ve done, but.. What’s important is that you recognise your mistakes, and that you want to make up for them.”

The man seemed relieved, and turned back to face the pair with a shadow of a smile on his face. “Thank you, both of you. I admit that I was not expecting to meet anyone else in this infernal prison. If I may ask, what are your names?”

“Oh, there’s no time for that now.”

A dark portal had opened up, and from it stepped an imposing and well-built man in a similar black coat. He had slicked-back long silver hair and similarly piercing eyes to the old man, though his were a cold golden colour. Aria’s eyes narrowed at his approach, as it was clear that he was a powerful user of darkness, though the true nuance was only visible to her.

“What- What’s going on?” Aqua asked, turning to face the man with suspicion. He ignored her for the moment, focusing only on the older man, who in turn was glaring fiercely at the intruder as he approached.

“You..”

“Master.. I must have a word with you.”

“Master?” he echoed. “So now you mock me..” The disapproval dripped from his voice like bitter venom. The interloper opened his mouth to respond, but-

“Leave.”

Aria had broken away from Aqua’s grasp and now stood defiantly before the intruder, Keyblade still in hand.

“Excuse me?” The man raised an eyebrow and sneered down at her, surprised by her actions.

“I know what you are, Ansem.” she snarled back. “I have known your power since before you even existed. A villainous Heartless with a natural human form - the one that took the title of “seeker of darkness” and is shadowed by a twisted dark figure. You think you’re so strong, but you are not the one who holds power here.”

This last statement had clearly struck a nerve, and Ansem’s expression of contempt soured into anger. “You’re certainly an astute one.. But what makes you think you could possibly face me?”

“Have your eyes gone blind as well as gold? If I can tell what you are, you can tell what I am. I have seen more than you will ever achieve, especially now that you’re afflicted with some other presence. That-” - she pointed up at his eyes - “-is Xehanort’s power, isn’t it? If you’re with him, that makes you our enemy.”

At this point, Aqua’s worried expression had returned. “Aria, be careful..”

“Aqua, get that man somewhere out of the way. I’m going to stop this before it becomes a problem.”

“You are a fool to challenge me, girl!” 

An eruption of darkness burst forth from the Heartless, and the powerful frame of the Dark Figure rose up from his shadow. Aria quickly leapt up into the air, spreading her wings to soar over Ansem’s head as he lashed out. To deflect the residual impact of his outburst, Aqua summoned a Barrier spell, then started to help the old man escape once he had turned around.

The force of that initial burst - not even a targeted attack, merely an effect driven by the might of his anger - instantly made Aria aware of the strength Ansem possessed, and she knew she would have to be careful. Her advantage was agility, as the darkness she could draw from her surroundings to aid her flight was limitless. She darted out of his reach and flew up and away from the Dark Figure’s grasp, firing shockwaves of unearthly blue energy at both it and Ansem. The monster seemed unfazed, but Ansem himself was slowed down in his pursuit of her, only to then retaliate with a barrage of violet orbs, which Aria was able to flit between. At every twist and turn, she flew further away from him, enraging him even more as he was forced to give chase.

“What is this insolence?!” Ansem yelled. “You should be obeying me!”

“Does it look like that matters?” she replied, deftly evading another blast of dark energy. “I already told you - you’re not the one who holds power here. Even if you did, Ves’ presence is enough to protect me. I don’t care what you think you deserve!”

Another flash of darkness, this time from Aria herself - she had switched her Keyblade from its dark mode to its diamond mode, now shimmering with cold blue light, and enveloped herself in a shadowy aura to strengthen herself. Still soaring on her wings, their black feathers gleaming with energy drawn from the realm, she sent a rain of insightful flames down from above, then her Keyblade became electrified and she hurled it spinning towards him.

“Maybe you meant something, once. But now you’ve let yourself be taken over by someone who’s not even strong enough to control you completely. Take it from someone who knows - all that does is weaken you!”

“Enough of this!”

Suddenly, the Dark Figure wrested itself from Ansem’s shadow and lunged forwards into the air, followed swiftly by Ansem himself, roaring and surrounding himself with a wall of intense darkness. As Aria dropped through the air to avoid his charge, a blast of ice struck him from behind. It was Aqua, channeling magic even without her Keyblade to act as a conduit. The impact threw Ansem off-course, but the Dark Figure swept around and managed to grab hold of Aria.

“Agh!”

“Let go of her!” Aqua cried, trying to fire more magic without hitting Aria. Ansem’s attention remained focused on the Keyblade Master, while the Dark Figure tightened its powerful grip as if to crush Aria entirely. She desperately writhed and struggled, holding onto the figure with her right hand and trying to slash at it with the Keyblade in her left. After a few moments, it became shrouded in a dark mist, as if dissipating, and she was able to slip from its hold when another direct hit from Aqua made Ansem stumble.

Anger still pulsed through him like a poison as he shouted at the both of them. “I will not lose to an obstinate recusant and a lost guardian with no Keyblade to protect herself!”

Clearing the space around him by emitting a shockwave of energy, Ansem started to summon a massive crest of darkness above him, reaching all the way up to the ceiling. The Dark Figure was still clawing at Aria, as if enraged at how she had stolen some of its power to escape it, but she felt confident she would be able to evade the incoming blow. She could tell that he was not at his full strength anymore, and the intricate crest was already starting to lose its shape, contorting into a misshapen orb of raw darkness.

Then she saw where Ansem was aiming.

“Don’t you dare!-”

In the instant before the orb struck her, all Aqua saw was a flurry of feathers, and then came the dark impetus. Something fell from her sash as she was knocked to the ground, and she was only aware of something- someone- Aria being launched through the air above her, sent flying further back into the dark. 

Just then, a shower of stars came soaring in from the direction of the otherworldly beach. Their light seemed to pierce through the darkness like a blade through fog, and Aqua couldn’t help but feel a surge of hope as she saw them strike the Heartless.

“Oh no you don’t!”

A familiar and determined cry from none other than King Mickey himself - the little mouse had leapt to the fray and brandished his Star Cluster Keyblade to help Aqua out. From behind him, another Keyblade wielder in plaid clothing was running towards them, carrying a sword of grey metal with ease.

Aqua recognised him immediately, even though he had grown considerably. “Riku! Mickey! Is it really you?”

“Gah..” Ansem staggered back to his feet, clearly injured from Mickey’s attack, and glared at them all in turn. “You have not won this.. You will not prevail!”

Another dark corridor opened up, then it was gone, and he was gone.

“I don’t feel good about letting him get away like that..” said Mickey. “Should we try and go after him?”

“There’s no time!” Riku exclaimed, his green eyes clouded with concern. “We need to get you out of here, Aqua, and bring Ansem the Wise with us, too. I don’t know how long the corridor I made will stay open for.”

“Wait, but-”

Mickey nodded at Riku’s words with a determined expression. “You’re right. I’m not leaving without you again, Aqua!”

All the while, Aria was desperately flying.

The light of all their hearts, and of the corridor, was blinding, especially for one so accustomed to the dark - but she kept racing forwards, using them as a guiding beacon. Sharp spikes of rock loomed down from the ceiling, as if the jaws of a monster were trying to consume her, to keep her trapped in the realm that had already held her for so long. No. She wouldn’t lose her. This would be her only chance to escape.

The lights flickered, once, twice, three times - and then it was all extinguished. Fatigue from her injuries mixed with overwhelming emotions brought Aria to the ground with a sob. She crashed to the floor just metres away from where her love had been so cruelly rescued, clinging onto what Aqua had so sadly left behind.

All she had left was a blue glass Wayfinder.

[ceterisparibus116]

I sometimes struggle to sympathize with Ray Nadeem. All of the elements are there to show he was supposed to be a sympathetic character... the relative with cancer (which has financially impacted him heavily), the difficulties at work, his family being terrified of the latest developments, and the whole fact that Fisk is manipulating him. But the way they're presented, Nadeem comes off sort of shallow and bland, rendering these just a collection of cliches that have less impact than they would if he seemed a deeper or more thoughtful person; so when he makes arguments to get Fisk things he wants, or goes around hassling Karen and Foggy because Fisk fingered Matt, he comes off as more of a jerk and a pest than a principled FBI agent doing his best in trying circumstances.

Hi, thank you for the ask! This is a really interesting take! The thing is, I’m...not quite sure why you sent it to me. Are you simply sharing a meta because sharing Daredevil metas is super fun? Or...are you asking if I agree?

Because I really don’t. Which is fine - we are allowed to have our own interpretations! But, since you bravely entered my ask box, I’m gonna expound why I, personally, interpret Ray differently.

First, though, I’ll acknowledge what I agree with: namely, that Ray’s collection of sympathetic experiences are not enough, by themselves, to make him sympathetic (to me). A tragic backstory and a susceptibility to manipulation by Fisk aren’t enough to make someone sympathetic. At least, not to you, and not to me - although we should acknowledge that those elements might actually be enough to make him sympathetic to others, and let’s try not to disparage other people’s opinions!

However, to me, Ray is more than just his tragic circumstances, because we saw him turn around at the end and own his mistakes fully, even going so far as to tell Matt to stop advocating for him and let him go to jail - because he knows that’s what he deserves. That, to me, is probably the biggest reason why he’s sympathetic.

I’ll also point out that Ray questioning Foggy and Karen does not make him less sympathetic (to me). After all, we know that Foggy and Karen are good guys, but Ray doesn’t. The fact that the firm put Fisk away is not a good enough reason for the FBI to ignore a credible warning that Matt, at least, worked for Fisk. (And Fisk’s warnings, legally, are credible; legally, even a witness who is a criminal can be deemed credible if they have a history of giving accurate tips, which is exactly what Fisk has done by this point, as we saw with the Albanians and other criminals.)

Wouldn’t you agree, then, that Ray, as a character, would think that questioning Karen and Foggy was a necessary part of his job? Moreover, wouldn’t you agree that there is a lot suspicious about Matt’s life, once someone bothers to look closer? And so wouldn’t you agree that Ray’s suspicions of Matt (and, by extension, Matt’s friends) are doubly well-founded? Therefore, I, personally, don’t see it as “hassling,” as you characterized it, at all.

Your point about Ray’s questioning of Foggy and Karen is also fascinating to me because, when I watched Season 3 with my family, one of my brothers piped up at the end of an episode about how, if we didn’t know more about Ray, we’d hate him for how he’s treating Foggy and Karen. But my brother said that we do know enough about Ray to understand why he’s doing this, to understand that he can’t afford to give anyone the benefit of the doubt, to understand that he’s not actually being a jerk at all but is, in fact, being a “principled FBI agent doing his best in trying circumstances.” In other words, my brother came away with the literal opposite interpretation from yours!

Which is not to say that one of you is right and the other is wrong. Again, I just find the subjective nature of art truly fascinating.

And that, really, is what your message shows me: art is so subjective. When I watched Season 3 with my family, all five (5) of us absolutely loved Ray and found him deeply sympathetic. (My mom teared up at the end, in fact.) To be fair, Ray’s character has a lot in common with one of my brothers, and for my mom (and me, I think), that made him resonate with us even more.

Anyway, my family also connected with Ray because we saw a man who got in over his head, clearly felt conflicted (just watch his face; man, Jay Ali can act), and yet didn’t have enough space to breathe to figure out when or how to safely extricate himself (and his family) from the situation. (After SAC Hattley’s warnings about how she used to have another kid, it’s not like Ray could reasonably expect to try to escape Fisk without risking losing his wife and/or son.)

Another reason Ray resonates with me, personally, is because I think Season 3 was all about analyzing fear and relationships from different perspectives. We have Matt, whose fear of harm coming to the people he loves causes him to make terrible decisions. We have Karen, whose relative lack of close relationships arguably causes her to be reckless. We have Foggy, who so far has seemed so ignorant of the dangers that come with being friends with people who challenge evil, but now suddenly has to face the fact that his family was targeted - because of his choices. (And I desperately wish we’d seen Foggy acknowledge that to Matt, acknowledge that Matt’s fears really are valid.) And, of course, we see Fisk kill Julie to manipulate Dex, and we see Matt use Fisk’s connection to Vanessa to manipulate her. So to me, Ray being manipulated out of his desire to provide for and protect his family is just another way to explore that theme. Which goes a long way towards making him sympathetic to me.

(And another twist: yes, Ray arguably prioritizes the safety of his family over the safety of other people - like Father Lantom and everyone at the church. However, in addition to the fact that he owns this and apologizes for it without making excuses for himself, we should also acknowledge that Foggy does the same thing. All the time. Every time Foggy lectures Matt and Karen about not putting themselves at risk, every time Foggy hesitates to take a risk with the firm (anything from hesitating over defending Karen to hesitating over defending Frank), it’s Foggy choosing to prioritize the things he cares about over other people who need help. So if prioritizing one’s family over other people makes a character unsympathetic, then Foggy should, in my view, also be considered unsympathetic. However, my personal opinion is that this value that Foggy and Ray share doesn’t make them unsympathetic - I think it makes them human, and creates a wonderful contrast with Matt and Karen.)

Anyway. I’m not saying this to prove you wrong. In fact, I don’t think I can prove you wrong, if you’re talking about your subjective interpretation: if you’re saying that you, personally, don’t sympathize with Ray, then that’s your interpretation. (If, however, you’re saying that Ray was objectively poorly written...well, then I’d have to argue with you.) All I’m doing here, though, is discussing this character from another angle, another approach, and another interpretation. Which, imo, is one of the beauties of fandom.

Thank you again for the ask, and the excuse to analyze one of my favorite characters!

[soiruntotheriver]

On the subject of Silver

It’s come to my attention that there’s a lot of theories about John Silver’s motivations floating around out there. I’m a relatively new member of the fandom so forgive if any/all of this has been said, but here’s my two cents on the subject. 

When we first meet Silver he seems to have one main motivation: Survival. As subsets to that category one could say he also would like to Get Rich Enough To Never Worry About Going Hungry and Not Feel Feelings Too Much, Thanks. He endeavors to achieve these things through whatever means necessary, abandoning pride, lawfulness, and any sense of guilt to do so. That is not to say that he doesn’t care about anything/anyone else, but his own survival supersedes pretty much everything. He can justify this, in part, because he sees the world in shades of gray. He would consider himself a realist, but is actually a bit of a pessimist. Life has revealed itself to be chaotic and cruel, so much so that John cannot imagine that there is any meaning behind it. And even if there is some grand purpose, my god it must be horrible, so yeah no thanks. Silver would rather have faith in nothing except himself because it’s the surest way to not get hurt and/or die horribly. This outlook sounds dour but it probably felt very freeing once he’d gotten the hang of it. I’m sure John convinced himself that he was dancing through life, though really he was only kinda sneaking through it. 

Now I think our boy would have carried on his merry way, manipulating and thieving until he got a share of the treasure, before disappearing off the face of the earth. IF. IF. He hadn’t met Flint. And, subsequently the crew members he befriended, Madi, etc. But it started with Flint. That magnificent, crazy bastard. 

At first, Flint was just the most likely means of securing the treasure. Silver saw a dauntless, conniving, ambitious, intelligent, commanding, dangerous, ginger sexpot, honed in on dauntless and dangerous, and decided that Flint had the makings of a powerful, but very much temporary, ally. That was the plan. 

Unfortunately for Silver, somewhere along the way, he started to get sucked into Flint’s orbit. He wasn’t a believer, not yet, but he did start to enjoy the push and pull of engaging with his equal in both intellect and will. And maybe he began to be seduced a little, despite himself, by the feeling of belonging as a member of a crew, by being one half of a partnership, by being able to stand alongside such a strong and intriguing character as Captain Flint. He begins to feel valued and, horror of horrors, connected to something. But then Flint’s priorities shift. And he not only lies to Silver about it, he also attempts to manipulate Silver’s loyalties by reminding him that, outside of the crew, he doesn’t matter/no one gives two shits about him. Yikes.

And so we’re back to every Silver for himself, just the way it should be. The only goal is the gold. Fuck everything else, Captain Flint especially. Except, oops, it looks like there was some collateral caring left over because when faced with the choice between avoiding danger or betraying the crew, Silver surprises everyone (including himself) by choosing the crew. He looses his leg in the process, along with his independence and a good chunk of his self-esteem.

This is the point where it starts to become clear that the Silver we met at the outset of this story is being unmade in a number of significant ways. He is obliged to depend on others, he no longer has access to the freedoms he once enjoyed, he must find the strength to weather the grueling pain of his injury, he has to reconcile with the fact that he’s opened himself up to others (i.e. Muldoon) and thus to a whole slew of complications (ew feelings). This is also where he begins to align himself more definitively with Flint. 

So we see Silver becoming resilient in ways he hadn’t had to be before, redefining his identity, setting goals that benefit others besides himself, taking on more responsibilities, and falling a little in love with his Captain. Even if you’re tracking this as a platonic relationship, you’ve got to admit that shit got heavy and weirdly intimate. Just saying. 

Eventually, somewhere between postulating that Flint might be a god who controls the sea and earning Madi’s regard, we witness the full metamorphosis. Silver has been brought to a place where he can imagine that Flint’s determination, ingenuity, and righteous fury, combined with Madi’s vision, resolve, and uprightness, might be sufficient to rally the numbers and amass the resources needed to achieve the impossible. Hell, for a second, he even believes in himself.

Yes, for one brief shining moment in time John Silver’s whole world-view teetered as he considered how beautiful life could be if only wars like theirs could be won. If only lending his support to the two most important people in his life didn’t mean clawing down a road paved with nothing but endless exhaustion and fear and bloodshed. If only he was capable of truly loving and being loved in return.

But, alas, a rock met a hard place, dissenters rallied against the cause, parties worked to divide steadfast partners, one of Silver’s loves was presumed dead, each side double-crossed the other, trust degraded. For Silver, it was reality reasserting itself, and he was left wondering what in the hell he was going to do with his two very stubborn idealists. One so angry, so committed to vengeance against the society that had killed his beloved and named him a monster, that his only recourse was to burn it all down. And the other, fiercely brave, principled, and responsible for the liberty and well-being of a whole people. Flint and Madi would never stop. They would fight and die for what they believed in. For Silver, who had never been given any reason to believe in anything so lofty as freedom from tyranny, it must have seemed like an incredible waste. It must have also been terrifying to be hurtling towards a future where two such bright, beautiful souls would undoubtedly be extinguished. What was John’s life, without them? What kind of world would it be if they were not in it?

So our desperate, lovesick, cynical idiot did what he felt he had to do - he took their choices from them, betrayed their trust, and forfeited his right to remain in their good graces (while also realizing one of Flint’s greatest desires i.e. the destruction of ‘Flint’, which is to say nothing of the reunion with Thomas if you believe that’s how it really went down). Silver did all this even though it surely meant that he’d earn the disdain of one or both of the people he cared deeply about, and he explicitly states that he did it anyway because at least they’d be alive to hate him. 

Did Silver make perfect choices? No. Was his love unquestionably pure? Absolutely not. Was he potentially short-sighted, too controlling, and a little bit of a coward? Yeah, maybe. But he was also a traumatized, complicated man who was experiencing perhaps the closest thing to love he’d ever felt in his life. His final acts were ones of helplessness and hopelessness. To say that he didn’t care, that he wasn’t invested, is absurd to me. I think Silver deserves empathy and I think he deserves forgiveness every bit as much as Flint does. 

[andotherbiases]

Titans at the dawn of the world

Fandom: It’s Okay to Not Be Okay Pairing: Ko Moon-Young/Moon Kang-tae Rating: Teen? (The whole thing takes place in a bed) Warnings: N/A Summary: Kang-tae and Moon-young the morning after the events of episode 6 (minor spoilers if you haven’t seen it yet).  Notes: I haven’t written anything in years and this hasn’t even been beta’d, oops. More of a character/relationship analysis than plot-y.

It comes to him all at once. 

The whisper of a breeze upon his cheek. The scent of damp trees long forgotten. Clear melodies of early bird songs, and, somewhere in the distance, waves lap at the shore with the rising promise of a spring day. 

He greets the morning with a sigh. Limbs stretching as his eyes open and blink once, twice, and land on the balcony, its doors thrown open to the world beyond.

To the world anew. 

It is early yet, and he has beaten the sun to these hazy skies of soft blues and dusty pinks and smokey purples. And there, in the inky shadows he sees her face, at once angelic and soft, but her eyes are clear and daring as she stares at him and gives away nothing else.

Except for her hands, of course.

He can feel them still, her palms pressed against his chest as her fingers grabbed and gripped at him throughout the night, never loosening or lessening even as her sobs subsided and her breath grew deep and long. 

Even now, with her eyes upon him, waiting, expectant of something that he doesn’t know, can’t begin to understand, her fingers are still twisted in his shirt. And that is when he registers her cold toes against his calves, his arm around her shoulder. Her small her body tucked into his side as they lay in her bed. 

Her body feels like a contradiction, really. When he sees her outside of this place, she’s all sharp edges and words, full of bluster and impulse and the sheer confidence of an imposing, unfathomable figure. She takes up space unapologetically and moves about the world like it belongs to her, like it owes her something, and she takes from it with the assuredness of someone who knows that this is true. 

It makes her seem like a titan, colossal in all the ways that matter and unbound by laws, by convention, by expectation. 

And yet, here in his arms, she feels small and fragile and delicate. In her bed, her body is all soft curves and warmth. 

He hadn’t intended to stay the night. Had tried to tuck Moon-young back into bed, but every time Kang-tae tried to extract himself from her grip, she would frown and tighten her hold. In truth, he hated seeing the distressed look upon her face, the deep line that formed between her brows that he knew she had not meant to let him see. 

Perhaps it was that secret expression that made him stay. Maybe it was his own fatigue, or perhaps even his own desire to care and comfort her that eventually had him settling them down in her sheets, his arm secured around her. 

Moon-young doesn’t need him to save her, he knows this well. But, undeniably, there is something about her that draws him in. When he was younger it was easy to dismiss his attraction as gratitude, as the flush of a first love. Now, however, it is harder to put into words what exists between them. History? Trauma? Regardless, he always comes back to her, is always returning to her, even when he knows he should walk away. 

But now, feeling the weight of her gaze upon him, he wonders if it wasn’t a mistake to stay. If he had chosen wrong. He knew that the night had cost her something. Kang-tae witnessing her nightmare and sleep paralysis was deeply intimate and private. Worse, it wasn’t something freely given. 

He wonders if he should apologize. If his presence is unwelcome, an intrusion, even. Is she mortified to find him there? Does she even remember the events of the previous night? While he has grown accustomed to the feeling of her eyes on him, for the first time, he is unable to hold her gaze. Kang-tae moves to disentangle himself, an apology forming on his lips when he notices, rather, feels, the slight shiver run down her back. The words shift and re-form in his mouth, concern for her well-being once again coming before all else. It is a feeling he understands and one he latches onto. 

“How are you feeling? Are you alright?” He couldn’t hide his worry even if he tried. 

He didn’t try.

Beyond her shoulder, dawn is breaking on the horizon, casting golden hues upon her face as she blinks up at him. 

Kang-tae has never once doubted the fact that Moon-young was beautiful. Even when he didn’t want to admit his past connection to her, when he could barely acknowledge her presence in his current life, he always knew she was pretty. But like this, bathed in the light of a new sun, honest and vulnerable--like this, Moon-young is breathtaking.

“You’re still here,” she says with that voice of hers, deeper still at this early hour. “You didn’t run away.” 

There’s a question there. Hidden and difficult to tease out given their history and their present and all the things they don’t say or only say in half truths. Even still, Kang-tae understands.

“No,” he replies. It is a single word, but it feels heavy on his tongue. It hangs thick in the air between them. 

But then Moon-young nods, accepting what he’s said and what he means, and finally releases the white-knuckle grip she has on him. She busies herself smoothing down the wrinkles in his shirt. She doesn’t move out of his arms and he doesn’t pull away.

“My mother appears in my dreams,” she states, peering up at him as if a little unsure. Kang-tae understands that too. This is new territory for both of them. He holds his breath, and listens when she continues.

What Kang-tae doesn’t know yet are the words for what has him staying there with her, or even what it is in him that feels so alive when he’s with her, but in the soft light of dawn, he thinks that he wants to be brave enough to find out. 

[the-mandalorian-clone-lover]

Aces in Spaces Chapter 26 pt. 1

Ok! I’ve actually decided to break the finale into three parts because its nearly 10 pages long on its own (I know I know) but I promise I’ll drop all three today!!

Warnings for excessive fluffiness, more fluff, and tooth rotting fluff

Tags: @rentskenobi @sunshinepascal @maybege @obaby-wan @princessxkenobi​ @agent-450​ 

Masterlist

They’re walking in a park, Butcher is a few steps behind, and its fall and it’s a little chilly and its everything about the season that Erica loves. She’s wearing that pair of black jeans she has that are just the right stretch; that she bought at some store four years ago that are just too comfy to let go of, a cream cable knit sweater that her mother gave her in high school and a camo print jacket that is reminiscent of a military blouse. Her combat boots from her marathon days are the finishing touch and she relishes in the utilitarian look she’s managed to cultivate. She’s added a beanie even though it isn’t quite that cold yet, but she’d wrap herself in the season if she could and Roman knows that by now so there’s no sense being ashamed. She’d managed to talk him out of his suit and he’s looking every bit a dreamboat in his dark wash jeans, a grey button down (that had been their compromise) and a black leather jacket that’s lined with wool (she’s certain Butch bought it, there’s no other way she hasn’t seen him wear it before).

They’re holding hands and every now and then Roman swings them with a little more vigor and it only takes about three random swings before Erica’s giggles turn into open laughter and his smile is getting bigger with every step. They’re practically newlyweds, she reminds herself. The service, though it was more of a random act of the stars aligning that got them married, (well that and Butch having the foresight to become an ordained minister) was only a month or so ago now, and for all everyone talked to her about coming out of the honeymoon phase, nothing has changed. His voice, and she can hear his smile in it, slips into the calm around them.

“I was thinking, we could take your jeans to the lovely woman who makes my suits. Knowing all she does, she could probably make you an identical pair with little fuss.”

Erica’s blushing again, she knows she is, and she’s about to answer before he speaks again.

“I don’t think you’d want her to break them in for you—but acquiring them is quite easy.”

The woman in question, well, she’s at least a foot shorter than Erica and probably a bit heavier, so the image he presents is quite humorous. Erica hides a giggle behind her free hand before looking to his face again.

“You needn’t love, I can attach myself to a new pair, I just haven’t worked myself up to it yet.”

“Exactly why you should let me, you already love these, and I love you in them.” His eyes leave the tree line, a painting of oranges, yellows, and brilliant reds, to find hers with a wink and smile as he finishes. She knows what he means, he’s always had a soft spot for her long legs and since they’re also her favorite part of herself she always indulges him.

“Very well, star shine, I’ll tag along on your next trip”

His eyebrows raise a little at this despite the fact her eyes have returned to the scenery, “that’s a new one.”

“Well, I’ve called you ‘husband’ so much lately I thought you might want me to mix it up.”

He stops walking and tugs her hand until she presses against him and threads her other hand with his as well, staring deeply into his eyes.

“If you never call me anything else, I’ll still never manage to grow tired of hearing it.” He sounds incredibly fond, a little lovestruck even but he doesn’t care, he loves her, always has, always will. No title will change it, but it does make his heart flutter a bit when she says it all the same.

She’s smiling now, dimples forming and eyes crinkling before she says “Marry me. Marry me again. Over and over and over again!” Each sentence is broken up by a giant grin and by the time she starts saying ‘over and over’ Roman’s thrown his arms around her waist and buried his face in her neck to pick her up and spin her around while she laughs. He sets her down with a sigh, not loosening his grip in the slightest. They’re still holding each other close, Roman waiting for the slight dizziness to pass, when she starts raking her fingers through his hair. Butcher clearing his throat is what eventually breaks the moment. Sending it scattering away like the leaves that lay around them.

“While I’m flattered I did so well the first time, Hannah really will be upset to be left out a second time. Regardless of circumstances.” He manages to sound genuinely annoyed with them but when they turn to him, he’s already smiling, shoulders shaking from the effort not to laugh aloud. A beat passes before he gives up.

They’re all three laughing now, Erica taking the time to watch Roman as he does, his mouth open, loud laugh seeming to resonate through the air, wrapping her in warmth that she wouldn’t trade for the world. She pauses to think before voicing her thoughts:

“Roman, why not?”

He’s panting a bit from how hard he’s been laughing and re-tangles their fingers as he looks at her brightly “Why not what lover?”.

“Why not get married again? We could do it here, this afternoon?” Her eyes are on the far tree line and the field that’s before it “I’d always wanted a fall wedding, a long sleeved dress, Hannah could be my bridesmaid—” her brow furrows as she looks back to Roman “Would we need two witnesses this time? If it’s a renewal?”

Roman’s enraptured now, looking at her in wonder as a small “you did?” slips past his lips. “We never, we never talked about the details, just the action.” The whole sentence is barely above a whisper, but he knows she hears it. He’s the one who needs to hear her answer, desperate for confirmation, leaning into her space, hopeful gaze still locked with hers.

She’s bashful now, eyes falling to the ground to study his shoes. “Well, not till the last year or so, and certainly not before I met you.”

Roman reaches out to gently hold onto her elbows then, gradually moving up to her biceps, bringing himself closer, his eyes searching for hers. “But you thought about it?” he says it desperately. Knowing Butchers definitely close enough to hear their conversation but too absorbed in it to care.

Her eyes have found his chest, not quite brave enough for eye contact yet. “I did. It was always scary before, but,” then her eyes find his and they’re radiating confidence “not with you, you made it sound wonderful. Like I was being set free instead of chaining myself to someone to be used.” She finishes with a slight frown and he wants nothing more than to kiss the lines off her forehead, kiss the bad memories right out of her mind.

He knows how she felt about marriage before, she’d told him, how she feared if she married a man then she’d have no escape if he didn’t respect her asexuality, no way out. She’d thought of it as a death sentence more than a joining of two people. She’d confided in him after a while that were it a small ceremony (preferably a justice of the peace, over in a moment) she might be able to come around to the idea, but that a large wedding still made her skittish and probably always would. To know he’d taken all that away, shown her kindness to the extent that she believed in love again, even to the point that she’d go through with an actual ceremony not for him but because she wanted to; he might faint.

He’s gripping her arms firmly now, eyes glassing over, “You, you want to do that with- with me?” it’s said in a tone of disbelief and her lips are parting in shock.

“You thought I wouldn’t?” Her frown is deeper now, and he pauses to press a lingering kiss to her forehead, closing his eyes to savor it because he knows he’s a romantic and she makes him want to embrace it.

She lowers her chin a fraction to allow it and smiles to herself, waiting for Roman to collect his thoughts.

He breaks away, looking her full in the face. “I never wanted to pressure you, we’d talked about a ceremony before and, I wanted it to be whatever you were comfortable doing. I would have married you in a dumpster if it came to it!” He finishes desperately, hoping she can feel his sincerity. It is the truth; and he expects she knows it by the way her face is turning into a grin again and she’s finally pulling him closer by his open jacket. What he does not expect is for her to kiss him full on the mouth and to move her hands from his jacket to his hair and take advantage of his gasp to slip her tongue in his mouth. He’s quite sure that he can count their public kisses on one hand despite the years they’ve been together but he can’t be bothered to relive all that now, she’s kissing him, lips soft but persistent and not even Butcher’s presence is going to stop him from enjoying that. His hands are winding around her waist, his eyes slipping shut, and he’s kissing her back with a fervor to match the one she started with, angling his head and putting all the feelings he can into it. All the yearning for her that he’s done, all the desire to hold her forever, all the gratitude that she gave him a chance all those years ago, happiness at the moment they’re currently sharing, care for her, pining after her, love for her.

She tries pulling away twice and he chases her each time, his hand between her shoulder blades brings her back the first time, a hand in her hair the second, before she finally manages it, pushing against his forehead with her own and laughing breathlessly.

“You have to let me go if I’m going to get ready to marry you again”. Her grin is splitting her face and he moves to kiss her eyelids, watching her eyes flutter closed at the last second. He places the first kiss, softly as ever, “What if” he moves to kiss the second one “I don’t want to?”

She smiles softly again, “Well, then you can answer to Hannah about why we didn’t have her in our wedding.” It’s the ace, she knows it, and if her slowly growing grin isn’t obvious enough, the twinkling in her eyes says she’s caught onto the pun too and is eagerly anticipating his pointing it out. He does her the honor, and they laugh together, noses brushing, before he turns toward Butcher, still keeping her close enough to slip his hands into her back pockets. The man in question is typing on his phone but manages to look up after a few seconds, dryly asking

“Oh, are y’all done now?” He says it with such apathy any passer-by would assume they spent nearly every moment lip-locked but Roman shakes his head and continues smiling anyway.

Butcher’s eyes return to the phone, “I got in touch with my Sunshine”. He says it so casually, as if Hannah didn’t have another name, as if they weren’t about to have their three year wedding anniversary soon, as if they hadn’t been trying for a baby all that time, “She’s going to meet Erica at the store, Green’s on his way with the car. My Sunshine��s had all this planned for a while, Ms. Erica, you two can sort the details, I’ll take care of the boss.”

Roman has sincere doubt that Butcher’s darling is the only one who’s had this ‘all planned out’ (if their original ceremony is anything to go by, he’s certain he’s right). Nonetheless, he turns to Erica, giving her one last brush of their noses before pulling his hands out of her pockets and leaning away. “Well, wife“ the word is punctuated by an eyebrow pop, “I suppose I won’t be allowed to see you till this afternoon, any last words for your darling husband who may very well perish from the depravation?”

She’s laughing out loud now, hiding her face in her hands and he can’t stop himself from pulling her in for a hug by the shoulders, certain that the joy between them could power a city. She lingers in the embrace for a few moments longer before they both hear the car pull up in the quiet. When she pulls away her hands come between his arms and cradle his face, “I’ll count the seconds till I’m back with you.”

Its said quietly. Sincerely. With so much gravity that Roman almost regrets the teasing tone he had taken beforehand. She’s sliding away, walking backwards to the car—

“So far I’m up to three!!” It said with so much joviality, such a complete turnaround from three seconds ago that Roman can’t help the huff of air that he blows through his nose, looking away and biting his bottom lip, dragging his hands up to his hips, before looking back to her and raising a hand in farewell. She blows him a kiss and winks and his heart almost stops for the second (or was it third?) time that morning.

“Alright Butch” It’s a tone that reeks of resignation but if he’s honest he can’t wait to see what the man has planned, turning toward him, he opens his arms wide in a gesture of acceptance. “Take me away. Make me look pretty. Make me the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen.” He’s teasing now, maybe if he tries hard enough Butch will leave him here and he can get a cab and follow Erica, spend the whole day with her. Tell her she’s absolutely gorgeous in every dress she has on, that he really would marry her anywhere, that he can’t wait to get old with her, that--- He becomes aware of Butch snapping his fingers in his face.

“Ok I give up, just don’t drool in the car.”

************************************************************************

[baoshan-sanren]

Part 9

to the fucking NieLan arranged marriage AU I can’t stop thinking about, that should really have a title by now

pt.1 here | pt.2 here | pt.3 here | pt.4 here | pt.5 here | pt.6 here | pt.7 here | pt.8 here

Exactly two months from his wedding day, XiChen wakes up at his customary time, to the empty bed, and a silk handkerchief folded on the pillow. 

It has been less than a month since he had woken to find a book of poetry in the same place, and hardly a morning has gone by since then, without some gift or another, waiting to be picked up.

Face heating, he sits up in bed, taking care not to wrinkle his night robes. Those had been a gift too, just one among dozens. Books and rare scrolls, pendants and ornaments, belts and sashes, intricately carved combs, every item beautiful, each more personal and dear to XiChen than all the chests of jade and silver that had gone to Cloud Recesses during his betrothal.    

They are tokens of appreciation for everything he has done. XiChen knows this well; none of them are lover’s gifts, not in a way they would be if their marriage was based on passion and affection. But his heart beats faster nonetheless, and he cannot help but smile, hands trembling slightly as he reaches for the handkerchief, watching it slither open in his hands.

They had spoken of magnolia trees the day before. A-Sang had brought up the bleakness of the visitor’s courtyard, and how the upcoming spring was a perfect opportunity to transform it into a real garden. Before long, they were discussing the necessary climate for the gardens at Cloud Recesses, and how likely it was that white chrysanthemum and magnolia would take to the soil in the Unclean Realm. Nie MingJue had joined them, only for a few moments, but he must have remembered their short conversation, because the handkerchief is delicately embroidered with a magnolia tree in full bloom.

For a few breaths, XiChen feels overwhelmed. More than the combs, and the books, and the ornaments, a handkerchief is a true lover’s gift, something to be carried by one’s heart. And although he knows MingJue means no such thing by it, XiChen has already determined to keep the handkerchief close by his skin, as it is meant to be carried.

A few times each week, he wakes to emotion he cannot quite shake, a combination of incomprehensible yearning and uncertainty, that ignored, refuses to ease even as the day progresses. On those mornings, he takes himself to the main courtyard while the sky is still dark, and moves through the forms with ShuoYue until harmony envelops him, and he can calmly go on with his duties.  

The quickly approaching spring is obvious that morning, the air no longer sharp with chill, and he breathes deeply, for the first time aware that the scents of earth and trees he had found so unfamiliar in the beginning, now carry a certain amount of comfort. He moves through the forms, thinking back to his wedding day and all the anxiety he had carried, all the fears and trepidations, and the bone deep certainty that he would fail.

He has not failed. It is a vulgar practice, to feel too proud of oneself, but XiChen allows himself a slight amount of gratification, thinking it is well-earned. It is no insignificant thing, to be truly appreciated by one’s husband, in a marriage where no pre-existing desire or affection can cushion the inevitable failures. XiChen did not know how to make himself desirable, and this failure, to love as a man should love his husband, and be loved the same way in turn, will always weigh on him. But he knew how to offer comfort and support, how to manage a household, how to ease his husband’s burdens, and in this, he had done well enough to feel a small amount of pride.    

Sometimes, he cannot help but wonder how different a marriage could be when two people loved and desired one another. There are moments when he finds himself admiring Nie MingJue’s physical appearance, the width of his shoulders, the strength of his arms, the careless ease with which he fights, each move deadly and beautiful. At those times, it is impossible not to think of the bed they share each night, and the space between them; how easily that space can be bridged, and why Nie MingJue has never made an effort to do so. There have been nights, especially in the last month, as the gifts began to appear on the pillow with increasing frequency, where XiChen has found himself almost brave enough to speak of it, to whisper in the darkness, and to ask why.

He knows MingJue’s nature fairly well now. The blunt honesty and the quickness of temper, the sharp wit and the rigid moral compass. His kindness and consideration, his affection for his little brother, and his devotion to his Sect. There is much to be admired in Nie MingJue. And yet, XiChen spends his nights in silence, on the far side of the bed, never brave enough to ask.

“Senior Lan!”

The voice startles him in the middle of a form, and he realizes that the sky has grown light already, the hour long past the time when he should have left the courtyard to the disciples, and their early morning drills. They are all gathered at the entrance, and he thinks they must have been watching him for some time before deciding to speak up. He feels his face heat, and sheathes ShuoYue.

“It seems I have lost the track of time,” he says sheepishly.

“That was incredible,” Nie SuShen exclaims.

They gather around XiChen like children, asking if he would practice with them, if he could teach them this move or that one, all speaking over one another in excitement. XiChen cannot get a word in edgewise, and starts to worry that he has thrown off their entire day routine, when training has always been the one area where Nie MingJue allows no flexibility or room for change.

“What is this?”

Nie MingJue’s voice cuts through the din, and XiChen finds himself freezing like the other disciples, now certain that this is to be his punishment for the gratification he had allowed himself to feel earlier, a not-so-subtle reminder that pride always comes before a fall.

“I am at fault,” he says quickly, before any of the other disciples can speak, “I was running through the forms, and lost track of time.”    

“Senior Lan is amazing,” Nie SuShen exclaims, because he is still a child, and has no sense of self-preservation.

Couple of others raise their voices in agreement, as if expecting Nie MingJue to disagree with them.

Nie MingJue glowers at them, and they all fall silent again.

“Lan XiChen is the greatest cultivator of his generation,” Nie MingJue says easily, “He has never been defeated, not in a single duel, not in any of the sect competitions.”

XiChen’s face is so hot now, he thinks it must be glowing like the sun.

“Why do we never see you fight, Senior Lan?” Nie SuShen asks.

“You should spar with us, Senior Lan,” Nie YongZhi exclaims, “we practice and practice, but we rarely ever have a chance to fight someone from a different sect.”

“None of you are skilled enough,” Nie MingJue says, stepping down into the courtyard, “but if my husband is willing, we may spar, so the children can see how it is done.”

Nie MingJue has so rarely issued him an invitation for anything, that XiChen agrees without a thought.

It seems odd, as they start carefully circling each other, that they have never done this before. It should feel unfamiliar, but it does not. Although MingJue knows that XiChen has won often, he has rarely seen him fight. XiChen, on the other hand, has been watching MingJue spar for a couple of months now, and has him at a disadvantage.

Their styles are utterly different. Nie MingJue is significantly stronger, BaXia’s full weight unforgiving when it meets ShuoYue. But XiChen is slightly faster, and more than familiar with the Nie Sect sword forms by now. They are only testing each other in the beginning, both slightly hesitant, neither willing to push too far, too fast. But as neither of them show signs of faltering, their movements become faster, more instinctual, more likely to draw blood. It is utterly exhilarating, to fight with someone who is his equal, and XiChen finds himself smiling, his heart beating harder each time the saber comes close to his skin, each time MingJue twists out of the way in the last moment. He feels better than he has in months, his blood singing, his muscles burning, ShuoYue light in his hand. Oh, they should do this every day. As many times as possible.

BaXia catches the edge of his sleeve, and slices it to his elbow. XiChen reacts without thinking, shifting mid-swing, bringing up ShuoYue’s hilt instead of the blade. It is meant to block MingJue’s wrist, but in the last moment, XiChen realizes that he had miscalculated. MingJue does not step where XiChen had expected him to; he does not move at all, his gaze locked on the torn sleeve, and before XiChen can stop himself, ShuoYue’s hilt catches him in the face.

There is a faint crunch, and XiChen watches, absolutely horrified, as MingJue’s nose begins to gush blood.

For a few moments, everyone is shocked still, the courtyard as silent as death. Then MingJue begins to laugh.

He laughs so hard, that he is soon bent over, blood dripping on the dirt, his shoulder shaking. XiChen drops ShuoYue to the ground and makes himself move, horror still lodged in his throat, incapable of understanding what could be so funny about a broken nose. He grasps MingJue’s arm, pulling him upright. At that moment, he does not think of the handkerchief tucked in his pocket, but he knows the blood must be staunched by something. He gathers up the length of his sleeve, and steadying MingJue’s head with one hand, presses the cloth to his nose.

MingJue hisses, still laughing, and shifts XiChen’s hand better, so the sleeve is not covering his mouth too. His gaze lands on XiChen, and there is something in it that XiChen has never seen before, something that makes his face heat, that makes him very much aware of his other hand cupping the back of MingJue’s head, and the feel of his hair against his palm.

“That was very well done,” MingJue says, “Did I cut your arm?”

“Did-- no. How is it well done? I-- you are bleeding.”

“This is not the first time my nose was broken,” MingJue says, his voice still filled with good humor, “But it was by far, the most pleasurable one.”

XiChen thinks the heat from his face now must be covering his entire body, and he focuses on stopping the blood flow, no longer capable of meeting MingJue’s eyes.  

The disciples gather around them, not as loud and boisterous as they were before, but none of them look nearly as worried as XiChen feels. MingJue pulls a handkerchief of his own from the inside pocket of his robes, and gently lowers XiChen’s hand, so he can press the handkerchief to his nose.

“What lesson have you learned?” MingJue asks them.

“The Lan Sect cheats!” Nie SuShen exclaims, and Nie MingJue chokes out another laugh, this one poorly covered up by a cough.

XiChen wishes the earth would open up and swallow him.

“Close,” MingJue says, “But no. The lesson is, never lose focus. An instant of hesitation can cost you your life. Now, line up. You are an hour behind with your drills. I expect to see you all here for an extra hour, no exceptions.”

A series of groans follows his words, but they move away quickly, probably afraid that any hesitation will extend their practice even longer.

“You should see a healer,” XiChen says, although the blood flow already seems to be slowing down.

“For a broken nose? He will laugh at me.”

XiChen cannot quite look at him yet; too much has happened in too short of a time, and the earlier rush of joy has left him so rapidly, that he feels shaky and unanchored.

MingJue lightly takes a hold of his wrist, the torn sleeve baring the arm to the elbow.

“I was so sure that I had cut you by mistake,” he says softly, “I am glad I did not. If you wish, I will go see a healer, but you should change your robes. The blood may not come out of that sleeve, if it is left in any longer.”

XiChen nods, and gathers up his sword. They part ways at the courtyard entrance, but XiChen feels the imprint if MingJue’s fingers on his wrist for hours afterwards, and finds his hand closing around it often, as if looking for a grip that is no longer there.

[ertrunkenerwassergeist]

The Man Who Followed The Wind

I just realized I never properly posted this one here? It’s one of the stories the Galahkari tell themselves. It’s about how the Ostiums and Ulrics first met and why they are so closely connected.

It was first written as part of A Ghost Story. Which in itself is the story of how Nyx and Libertus first met Crowe.

.

.

Come, come closer to the fire and let me tell you a story. Listen well for this is a story told to me by my mother and father, who were told by their mother and father back until the Clans were at variance and the sea untamed.

Once there lived a man named Aiolos Ostium, the Restless, he-who-followed-the-wind and Lover of Freedom. He, who called the whole world home. Aiolos Ostium wandered the land that had been named Galahd barely a generation past, and discovered many of its wonders.

But that is not the story I'm about to tell you. Instead I will tell you the story of how he was the first to forge an alliance that went deeper than the ties of blood. It is a brotherhood forged in trust and sacrifice. Life and death. As steadfast as the light that has been gifted to us.

Aiolos Ostium wandered Galahd, guided people to streams he discovered, to fields and herds of animals. Aiolos Ostium wandered, because the restlessness in his soul couldn't be quenched. The Restless people started to call him, for he never stayed anywhere for longer than he had to. Always wandering, always with his eyes turned towards the horizon with a longing people couldn't understand.

Hadn't they wandered enough, those who still remembered the Great Wandering wondered amidst themselves. Hadn't they just found a place they could call home? Where they could rest and grow?

Nothing could tie Aiolos' soul down and his restlessness grew.

Until one day he asked Daidalos Bellum to build him a ship he could steer on his own and would carry him over the sea. At first Daidalos declined, for he had been a child when our people had first come upon the islands that had welcomed us, and could still remember the hardships that had been endured before. The hunting and killing of our people. The hunger and the sickness. Even in his old age he could not understand how a person would ever want to leave again.

It was inconceivable.

But Aiolos persisted. Everyday he came and asked for a ship and everyday he received the same answer.

'No.'

But still he came and when one day he didn't, Daidalos was glad. However, when he didn't come the next day or the day after that, Daidalos Bellum grew worried. In a strange way that restless young man had grown on him.

'One more day', he swore to himself. 'I will wait one more day and should he not come, I will search for him.'

Morning came and Aiolos again wasn't on his doorstep as the first light climbed over the horizon. So he set out in search of the stubborn young man who loved freedom more than anything. To his surprise he found him not far away on a cliff staring longingly towards the horizon where the sky met the sea in a haze of blue.

The sight moved Daidalos so deeply that he agreed to build a ship that would carry Aiolos wherever he desired.

And so it was done.

Aiolos Ostium, the Restless and Lover of Freedom, set out on a calm summer morning to follow the wind that had been singing to him of all the wonders he had yet to see.

For three days and nights he was at sea. He spoke to the sea serpents who named him Companion of the Wind, and marvelled at their scales as they glowed in the night.

On the fourth day he saw land, and with joy in his heart he bid his new friends farewell and went ashore. He danced over the pale sands with the wind as his partner until he lay between tall stalks of grass, breathless and happier than he could ever remember being.

For days and days he wandered, marvelling at each new bird, new animal and new plant he saw. Each night he would draw the glyphs of protection and warding to keep the daemons away and each night he would sleep unmolested.

It was on his thirteenth day in Cleigne, on the continent that would be called Lucis not long from now, that he came upon the first settlement. Aiolos had been wandering steadily closer to the Rock of Ravathog. It spewed fire and smoke in a fury that had yet to diminish. It's extensions glowed in an unholy light.

The settlement was of a people who clung to their worship of the Burner, the Fickle and Gift-Giver. They clung to his fires with the desperation of a drowning man. They prayed to him, burned for him, threw themselves at the feet of his smouldering grave and still he ignored them.

But they were not willing to give up so easily, for they had found new victims to sacrifice in the name of their God. A God who had taken everything from them when he had drowned Solheim in his flames and fury. Goaded as though he may have been by the one whose name I will not speak here.

These people, desperate and selfish, had found a family wandering, fleeing from pursuers they would not name. A family with braids and beads in their hair, for you see, not all of us had dared to journey across the wild waters. Not all of us had dared to leave the lands that had once been our homes.

And so this family had stayed, had refused the call, and continued their wandering. Until they had come upon a settlement at the foot of Rock Ravathog. A father, a mother and three children they were. Two girls and a boy, all beneath the age of twelve.

Aiolos Ostium saw what was to befall the children, a pyre stacked high at the centre of the town. Now he knew why the wind had called to him and he thanked it as he grimly waited until midday in his hiding place. Remember, midday was the time when we used to stay inside, not daring to sully the sun with our presence. But such things are long past and so Aiolos snuck into the town and towards the cage the children were kept in.

It was the boy who saw him first, for he had the sharpest eyes of all of the children. He saw the braids and beads in the hair of the man who killed their jailer and kept quiet. He watched as he fell towards the floor, dead, and bid his sisters to be silent.

They were silent as their cage was opened, they were silent as they snuck out of the settlement full of desperate and manic souls and they were silent as they walked until night fell.

It was only then that Aiolos Ostium asked for their names and gave his in return. It was only then, when a fire burned and the wards were drawn, that he asked what had happened as they shared what food and water the Restless and Companion of the Wind still had.

It was the oldest, one of the girls, who spoke, for of the three, it was her words came the easiest to: 'Thank you, Great Wanderer, for our rescue. My name is Euros, my brother is named Notos and my sister Zephyra. We are what is left of Clan Ulric in this land.'

And she told him of the hardships they had had to endure. Of how their parents had decided to try and brave the sea regardless of the fear their own parents had instilled in them. How they had come upon a settlement that had offered help only for them to slit their parents' throats.

Aiolos listened in grave silence and, after Euros had finished her tale, spoke a prayer for the souls that would never see the wild splendour of Galahd. Then he told them of the sea and how he had met the sea serpents. He told them of the vast jungles and deep canyons, of wild rivers and steep cliffs. He told them of the words the wind had whispered to him and how they had brought him to the siblings.

It was with the fire as his witness that he named all three his children. His to nourish and his to protect.

Throughout the whole journey back towards Galahd he told them about their new home and they listened in rapt attention, for they were Ulrics and the wildness is in their blood.

And that is the story of how the Ostium and the Ulric were bound together by the spirits, how a man followed the wind and finally found piece within himself.

[ymiwritesstuff]

Nyello! How about a Revali x reader scenario, where Revali offers to take reader on a flight with her on his back, but he doesn’t know that she is SUPER scared of heights. But reader let’s him take her anyway because she doesn’t wanna admit her fear...

This was such an interesting idea! Thanks so much for the request and I hope you enjoy!

Terror of Flight

The Legend of Zelda: Breath of The Wild

Revali x Acrophobic!Reader

Summary: The admiration you held for the bird-like race was almost as great as the amount of fear you held towards the very place the Rito spent most of their days. And one day, that fear is challenged.

Rito Village was without a doubt your favorite place in all of Hyrule. Not only because your beloved conveniently lived there but you also adored the feel and look of the village. You knew almost every inhabitant as you often spent time there even before the Champion entered your life. The Rito themselves were a race you respected a lot as they had welcomed you into their village with open arms. The children were filled with life and happiness, the mighty warriors that so bravely protected the village if needed and of course, Revali was there always happy to spend time with you. You had done just about anything that one could whilst in the village. You had tried the various dishes they prepared, watched warriors train, spent many nights in the inn, gone to the flight range to witness Revali polish his already great skills and more.

However something you would never try was exploring the sky above you. No matter how much you adored the Rito and their mastery of the sky, your feet would never leave the ground as the sheer thought of being high up in the sky was enough to make you dizzy. Despite the words of glory directed towards the action you could never relate to those who wished to experience it. Visiting Medoh was downright impossible as the short yet terrifying journey to the beast itself was something you couldn’t do.

Needless to say, when Revali offered to let you fly on his back, you were terrified and your instinct was telling you to refuse immediately. However he didn’t know about your fear as you thought it wasn’t necessary for you to tell him about it. You figured he had better things to worry about and also since you thought of your fear as a weakness, being too embarrassed to tell anyone, let alone Revali. And besides a situation where you would be able to experience flying had never presented itself to you. Well, until now.

“What? Y-you want to take me on a flight?” You ask him, already feeling the anxiety building up inside. Revali looks at you with an amused face, thinking you’re just surprised to hear his proposal when in reality you’re absolutely horrified. “Correct,” He simply says and looks up to the sky. “It’s a fine day, I’m sure you don’t mind a small trip around the village, hm?” His gaze then returned to you. You were shaking, tiny bits of cold sweat on your forehead that he couldn’t see but you could feel and your stomach was painfully twisting in anxiety. But you had to keep calm. You couldn’t let him know. He’d never stop teasing you about it.

“O-oh uh.. Well..” Your words get stuck on your throat as you try to think of an excuse to get out of this uncomfortable situation. Revali raises his brow at you, crossing his wings in front of his chest. He clearly notices your strange behavior which only increases your discomfort. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid-”

“N-no!” You quickly interrupt him, being louder than you intended. A heavy sigh leaves your mouth. There was no escape from this. This was going to be awful. “I.. I accept.” Revali’s beak turns upwards in a satisfied smile. “Wonderful,” He says and turns his back to you, kneeling down and allowing you to climb on his back. “Hop on, dear,” The Rito says, looking at you with a smug grin. You wish you were as excited about this as he was. You take careful and painfully slow steps towards him, your heart racing. Placing your shaking hands on his shoulders, the fear rampaging inside you only worsens. Oh how much you just wanted to escape this situation and never have Revali ask this of you again.

You somehow manage to position yourself on his back, holding onto him as tightly as possible despite the fact that he hadn’t taken off yet. Revali notes just how much your hands are shaking but chooses not to question it. Perhaps you were just nervous. He couldn’t blame you though. But he was completely oblivious to the terror you were feeling. “Ready?” You look at him with eyes that scream bloody murder and shake your head in a final attempt to escape. Revali rolls his eyes at you and readies himself for takeoff.

Just then you feel a strong wind below you, which you assume is there due to his signature ability. There was no going back now. You cling onto Revali and close your eyes, preparing yourself. However no matter how prepared you thought you were, a scream of pure terror escapes your lips as soon as you’re flung into the air with the help of Revali’s Gale. Your arms desperately wrap around his neck, your face buried in his back as you regret your awful decision. Why couldn’t you just tell him that you were afraid? His teasing and insults would’ve at least been better than this.

“(Name) please, look around you. You don’t want to miss this stunning scenery now do you?” Revali says, his voice loud enough so you can hear them over the strong wind. Dear Hylia doesn’t the torture ever stop? It was bad enough to be in the sky and now you’re supposed to look around you and possibly pass out from the fear? This was too much. “N-no!” You didn’t care anymore. You wanted to feel the solid ground beneath your feet again. “Revali put me down! Please! I-I can’t stand this anymore!” Revali eyes you and frowns in confusion at your state.

“What’s gotten into you? We have barely even flown! Why do you want to-”

“I’m afraid! Please Revali! I’m going to fall!” You’re still too frightened to look at anything as your face is still deeply buried in the Rito’s back. Revali quickly realizes that your current state isn’t just simple nervousness and begins to head towards his landing. Seeing you like this obviously made him feel bad, but he couldn’t help but to wonder why you had accepted his offer in the first place.

Once you confirm that you are back on the ground again, you finally open your eyes and fall to your knees, relieved that the nightmare was finally over. You would never leave the safety of the ground ever again. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Revali’s somewhat upset yet worried voice catches your attention and causes you to look at him. He waits for your answer, wings once again crossed. “Because I thought..” You bite your lip nervously, unsure if you should continue. However you knew you had to, you owed him that much. “I thought you’d make fun of me.” Saying it out loud actually makes you realize just how stupid it really sounded. Revali merely sighs at you response.

“Do you really think I would do such a thing? My Goodness (Name), that’s utterly ridiculous.” You finally stand up, still keeping your gaze on the ground. “I know.. I’m sorry, Revali.” You can’t help but to feel bad. Your assumptions about him had been unnecessary and deep down you knew he would never make fun of one’s fears but you had let the fear and terror alter your thoughts. Revali sighs and before you know it, you feel the warmth of his wings around you in the form of a comforting embrace. “No need to apologize, dear. I understand. And if you so desire, I won’t take you above the clouds again.” Admittedly Revali feels bad saying this as his entire life revolves around the gift of flight, but he understands your fears and is more than willing to respect them.

You hug him back and nuzzle your face against his chest. “Thank you, Vali.” Even if you couldn’t fully support his passion for flying, you were happy that you had your beloved champion by your side whenever he was on the ground.

[inquistior-a]

@ofrevas asked:   𝚃𝙰𝙻𝙺 𝚃𝙾 𝙼𝙴 𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝙷𝙰𝙻'𝚂 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙵𝙾𝚁𝚃 𝙻𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙻 (𝙾𝚁 𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝙾𝙵) 𝚁𝙴𝙶𝙰𝚁𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙿𝚄𝙱𝙻𝙸𝙲 𝙰𝙵𝙵𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽

𝙸𝚃'𝚂 𝙰𝙽 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚂𝙿𝙻𝙸𝚃 𝙸𝙽 𝙷𝙸𝙼—because hal is a hugely affectionate person, his warmth is rather large and can be heavy at times. he also /wants/ to give affection and make others feel cared for, has a gift for it, and a natural inclination towards it, to provide in that way, but he was also raised in an environment where it was not allowed. i’ve mentioned before how hal felt it was his responsibility in his childhood to shield his siblings from their parents emotional lack by providing affection to them, and this is where that natural intensity of warmth comes from. it is where he learned to deliver so much attention and affection with a single look or a small smile from across the room, where he learned to give the impression of touch without touching, to comfort with his eyes or a few quiet words. it’s why people often feel vulnerable around him in the same way that they feel safe around him—since feeling safe is usually an inherently vulnerable experience.

his gestures of public affection are often subtle, but i wouldn’t call them less than tactile, or any less impacting for that subtlety. he does have that intensity, and that intensity can deliver large impact from small actions. he has no hesitance at all in giving long and obvious attention through looks, words, and touches to the arm or the back or even the face. if you’re suffering and he thinks you need it, he won’t hesitate to take you in his arms, or rake your hand, or whatever measure of intimacy he thinks will comfort you without being invasive to you. it’s a desire that he has to give these things, and it pleases him to do it.

romantic affection is more difficult. in private, hal’s unlikely to ever keep his hands entirely off of the object of his affection, unless it’s a game of longing, and he almost always has that look of wanting to grab you up and kiss you—and in public that longing is fairly palpable. because of his sexuality, hal spent his later adolescent years repressing and controlling the obviousness of his adorations. it was after his first young love that he resolved not to live that way, not to shutter himself, and he’s spent fifteen years living rather freely with his sexuality. he hasn’t had a ridiculous number of lovers, but because of his remote and isolated lifestyle he has been free to live openly in these short affairs;  open, but in private all the same. returning to the public eye is a strange tension for him, because he feels more pressed to act with honest affection and has become accustomed to doing so, but is suddenly thrust back into the circumstances of his youth where he feels unsure, inconvenient, as though his affections are a risk and a burden, both to the object of those affections and, in some social and political ways, to the inquisition itself. he feels under scrutiny again, and is aware of the danger of that scrutiny for more than just himself.

homophobia is real in thedas, and the it isn’t a small thing for the inquisitor to be openly gay. it’s a risk. hal does not conceal his sexuality but he also doesn’t go out of his way to proclaim it—and i think it is deeply unsettling for him to regress that way, back into having to live like he did when he was a young man. he’s conflicted, reticent and uncomfortable in it, and that’s a large part of the reason that his relationship with dorian takes so long to develop. dorian knows that he’s gay, and hal is not subtle in what he wants, but he holds back—both because of dorian’s mirroring restraint and because of the discomfort and almost pain that he feels in being back in that place again where he feels he has to withhold himself from other people.

he gave up his siblings, who he has always protected, to be able to live the way that he wanted, to be able to live as himself, and suddenly the shame of what had felt like his abandonment of them tries to seep back in—the same sort of shame that comes with the implication that it is his responsibility to the political and social efficacy of the inquisition to just pretend that he isn’t gay, as though he owes it to the cause to be alone. i think there is a part of him that lies awake at night, staring at the ceiling in his chambers, and feels like that frightened boy again, the young man that feels two ways:  that he’ll always be alone because it would be too hard to be with him, and that he doesn’t deserve what he wants anyways because he isn’t brave or reckless or strong enough to risk everything to get it.

he’d risk himself, of course—but he had been trained to believe that his actions were always balancing his family’s future when he was a child, and now he is aware that his actions will define the forward momentum of the inquisition.

in short, there’s baggage. a lot of bad baggage. and the flirtatious, affectionate, adoring man that hal is is at odds with that sense of responsibility not to burden others with his desires, with his feelings. when he’s allowed, and when he allows himself, he’s about as embarrassingly affectionate as a person can be, in public or not, be it with only a pointed look or a lingering touch. but there’s something very powerful about how his hesitance begins to dissolve towards the last few plot points in the game. it’s impossible for him to be with dorian in actuality, together and established, and not be open in that. he doesn’t /want/ to conceal his affections, and he finally refuses to.

even josephine can’t argue when he kisses dorian in front of all the assembled soldiers, and the empress of orlais, and every other gathered person of importance at the war camp in the dales before going into battle at the temple of mythal. she doesn’t point out that he is always taking dorian’s hand, now, and kissing his fingers, making a show of what is likely to be very inappropriate murmuring. the way he kisses him in the hall in the morning, peels his apples at the table, pours his wine, the way they come out his chambers together before hal takes the inquisition throne to preform his duties. he’ll go as far as he’s allowed so long as his lover is receptive and enjoying his attentions.

he’s prepared to give his life for these people who are witnessing him, after all—and he’s resolved that they should see that life for what it is, and see the example of joy, and shake off whatever their own shame might be. hal was raised by the chantry and he was raised with shame, and stepping out into the metaphorical sun and refusing to allow that shame endure in his example as the head of an organization intrinsically tied to the chantry is genuinely just a flex, just an act of authentic leadership, of defiance that comes through the celebration of life, and it’s part of his legacy as inquisitor. it’s also in part what makes him such a good inquisitor, and part of the way that being inquisitor is good for him.

[dreamflightt]

FIRESTAR’S BITTERNESS.

warrior cat au fanfiction.

word count:

2,060

content warnings:

n/a

characters:

tigerclaw, bluestar, spottedleaf

description: 

When young Rusty joins Thunderclan, he isn't met with the sense of community he had hoped for. Instead, he's met with cruelty at the paws of the entire clan... The entire clan, except one.

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22742947/chapters/54344167

wattpad link:  https://www.wattpad.com/839226984-firestar%27s-bitterness-prologue

next page: coming soon.

                                                  PROLOGUE.

Defeat weighed heavily on Tigerclaw's shoulders as he stalked through camp, the moon glowing and bathing the territory in its heinous light. He glanced upwards, lips curled back in a growl. He hated the brightness, it was what was keeping him poignantly awake and alert... so much so that he felt he could not sleep now even if he wanted to. He shook his massive head, the scar on his nose still fresh and burning as if it'd only happened a few seconds ago. He pictured the smarmy little Riverclan warrior that had done it and rage filled his lungs yet again. Tigerclaw's fur bristled, ears lay flattened against his head. They could have won! If Redtail wasn't such a coward, they could have easily turned it around. But of course, his pretentious attitude had cost them territory. It almost made Tigerclaw more infuriated than the fish-breathing group that had defeated them in the first place. And to think- Redtail had the nerve to try and console him after they'd lost because of him. He scoffed, prowling through the camp in the shadows. He didn't want to be talked to, so he tried to keep his hefty form hidden in the blackness of the camp as much as possible. Unsure of where he wanted to go, he merely walked past dens, peering in every once in a while to get a look at the rest of his clanmates sleeping ever peacefully. How could they? Didn't the loss of territory mean a hair to any of them?! It was pathetic. Tigerclaw lived in a clan of fragile kittypets, he was sure of it. He craned his head, eyes seeping into the apprentice's den, where he could pinpoint the light sleeping form of his apprentice. Ravenpaw's eyes were closed, tail twitching nervously in his sleep. Was he a fool even in his dreams? Tigerclaw's eyes narrowed at the black lump of fur. Few things frustrated him more than his own apprentice's incompetence. The whole clan coddled the fluffy behavior he continued to display. It wasn't fair- why should he be looked at like a bully when he was just trying to make sure Ravenpaw wasn't slaughtered the moment he received his warrior name? Maybe it was cute to be a blubbering mess when you're a kit, but sometime everyone has to grow up! He flicked his tail in irritation, moving past the apprentice den before he stirred any of them awake and had to hear the whining voice of Ravenpaw while he was already on edge.

Padding past the warrior's den, he noted Darkstripe and Longtail sleeping fairly close to each other. At least he had those two- as stupid as they could both be sometimes. They understood strength more than any of the squabbling mousehearts he could pick out sleeping around them. Tigerclaw was constantly analyzing his clanmates, sensing how useful or useless they'd be. Lionheart was strong but far too gentle. Whitestorm, once a reliable friend turned bee-brained and bumbling. Mousefur, feisty and ambitious but without the skill to back it up. And of course, how could Tigerclaw leave out their loyal deputy? The brave cat that gives away their pieces of territory! The Riverclan lover! The soft and ever-giving-in Redtail! He could feel his claws sliding into the earth underneath his paws as he watched the red-furred tom sleeping peacefully as if he hadn't practically handed over sunningrocks just a while ago. It was hard for Tigerclaw to stop himself from padding right on into the den and cuffing Redtail over his ears right now. He wanted to rip every tuft of fur from his body, but before he could keep delving into his dangerous impulses he turned from the warrior's den to peer instead at the injured warriors in the Medicine Den.

"Tigerclaw-" The voice of Spottedleaf made Tigerclaw jolt back slightly, his enraged expression shifting quickly into surprise. "What are you doing awake? Going for a night walk?" Spottedleaf was pleasant sounding enough, but Tigerclaw had his fill of softness already tonight.

"I can't sleep." He admitted gruffly, sitting down and wrapping his lashing tail around his paws. "And I don't understand how any of us can. Not after the loss tonight." Spottedleaf walked over, glancing back at the sleeping figures of her patients. She gestured with her tail for him to follow her. He figured she didn't want to disturb the injured cats. Tigerclaw didn't care for a conversation, but he was already here and he was far too exhausted to argue. He rose to his paws and followed her outside of the medicine cat den. Spottedleaf's eyes glanced past him for a moment before she refocused onto him.

"I know sunningrocks is a pretty significant blow..." She finally replied, the kindness evident in the way she spoke to him. "But Redtail made the right decision. Many of you were injured pretty badly- including yourself." She ran her tail over his muzzle, much to his dismay. He halted briefly, wrinkling his nose at the feeling of her fur tickling it. Tigerclaw felt a surge of upset hit the bottom of his stomach. Of course, Spottedleaf would think this was the right decision. She was merely a medicine cat. She hated fighting- she probably would have rathered they didn't fight at all! And what did she know of sunningrocks and why it was so important?

"Sunningrocks is nothing but a place to laze about for Riverclan!" Tigerclaw snapped, continuing forward again. He noticed Spottedleaf's gaze drifting from him again, but he continued anyway. "We use it for hunting. It's as if they want Thunderclan to starve just so they can nap in the sun- all the way over on OUR side of the river, mind you." He scoffed. "They could spy on us- on our territory! It's ludicrous."

"You're right," Spottedleaf said in response, meeting his amber eyes yet again. "But is sunningrocks worth the lives of your clanmates? If the fight had continued..."

"If the fight had continued, as it should have, we would have turned it around. Riverclan has no advantages on land- they swim like otters and expect to be able to carry their own when they meet us where it's dry. It would have been an easy win! But now..." He blinked, watching as she yet again continued to peer past him. "What are you looking at?"

"Oh, sorry!" She exclaimed, nervously stopping for a moment. "I'm meeting with Bluestar soon. I was just seeing if she had left her den yet. I'm paying attention, I promise." Tigerclaw couldn't stand her supportive attitude. It made him feel like she was trying to coddle him.

"If you're busy, I'll leave." He replied with a short tone. He didn't want to talk to her, anyway. Spottedleaf parted her jaws to respond, but Tigerclaw was already moving away from her and heading the other direction.

"Make sure you get some rest..." She called after him. He didn't think it warranted much of a response. His paws brought him back to the entrance of the warrior's den. Tigerclaw stared into the den again at the peaceful figures. The sounds of them breathing brought him only a bit of calmness. He wondered what Spottedleaf and Bluestar would discuss. Probably the defeat... Rather suddenly, Tigerclaw desired to know what his leader thought of Redtail's bad decision. After all, Bluestar could be just as soft as the rest of them, but he thought there was hope for her wits to come in handy yet. He knew Bluestar well, and there was a chance she'd be angered by the decision. Maybe, if he could get some insight into her opinion he could even sway her to consider a different decision for deputy of her clan. He turned back around yet again, feeling as if he'd bounced all over the territory a hundred times this night. Tigerclaw glanced back and forth, not wanting anyone to catch him spying on their leader and medicine cat.

The shadows did a good job hiding him despite his abnormal size, lucky for his dark-colored pelt. He watched as he spotted Bluestar leave her den, only to peer upwards from the high stone at the stars. Her face was lonesome and pensive, it made Tigerclaw wonder what she was thinking. She seemed particularly miserable as she did often with matters of Riverclan. He always wondered why she seemed to connect herself so much with them. Sometimes, it made him suspicious. His furious slitted eyes watched as Spottedleaf approached her, and he leaned, crouched against the ground to hear the conversation.

"How is Mousefur?" Bluestar meowed. Tigerclaw twitched his tail. He should be the one getting credit for the small she-cat's life.

"Her wounds are deep, Bluestar," Spottedleaf replied, shifting nervously against the cool grass. "But she is young and strong," Questionable. "She will heal quickly." Tigerclaw could sense Bluestar's relief even from his hiding spot. There was a brief hesitation, and he wondered if he had eavesdropped for no reason after all.

"And the others-?" Bluestar's cool voice broke the silence.

"They will all recover, too." The response prompted a sigh from the gray she-cat.

"We are lucky not to have lost any of our warriors this time. You are a gifted medicine cat, Spottedleaf." She said quietly against the silent nighttime. Tigerclaw wondered why she was getting praise for simply doing her job. It wasn't as if she'd helped fight. He watched Bluestar lift her muzzle to the stars. "I am deeply troubled by tonight’s defeat. ThunderClan has not been beaten in its own territory since I became leader." So she WAS bothered, after all. "These are difficult times for our clan. The season of newleaf is late, and there have been fewer kits. Thunderclan needs more warriors if it is to survive." What? Did she think this was an issue of numbers? That wasn't true! This was an issue of backing down and out far too quickly. He couldn't believe nobody could see the real issue here! For a moment, the two she-cats went back and forth about the topic, and Tigerclaw didn't care to listen to it. Consoling and dreck weren't his thing. He almost left his spot in the darkness, before he caught something interesting enough to stick around.

"- Are you asking Starclan for answers?" Spottedleaf's question piqued his curiosity. He felt suddenly like he was in on secrets he shouldn't be. Every cat knew the Starclan conversations between medicine cat and leader were not to reach the ears of prying warriors. But maybe, if Tigerclaw knew what their ancestors thought of tonight's failure, he'd have a leg to stand on.

"It's at times like this we need the words of ancient warriors to help us. Has StarClan spoken to you?" Bluestar questioned, turning her head to Spottedleaf. Spottedleaf looked somber as she averted her gaze and instead looked up at the stars as well.

"Not for some moons, Bluestar-" Just as quickly as she had said it, something odd happened to Spottedleaf. Her eyes widened and filled with a glaze-over that was hard to describe. She looked distant, not apart of this forest or even this world. The fur along her spine bristled and her entire body became tense as if she were nothing more than a cat-shaped rock. Bluestar kept quiet, looking at her. Admittedly, even Tigerclaw felt somehow anxious in the presence of this process. It was almost frightening. Spottedleaf came out of her daze, head snapping forward and breathing heavy. Bluestar rested her tail on the she-cat's shoulders. "It was a message from Starclan," Spottedleaf said hurriedly as if trying not to lose it. "Fire alone will save the clans."

Tigerclaw recoiled slightly. Fire? What could fire do for them? His eyes narrowed, drifting upwards. What was Starclan trying to do? Were they meant to believe something this meaningless? Why was it so vague? He curled his lip as if threatening the stars themselves. Bluestar's bewildered response didn't fall onto Tigerclaw's ears. He'd had enough of this dreadful conversation. He turned from where he was hiding and started to make his way into the warrior's den. Fire... how foolish. If fire was meant to save them, then something had to change.

If this was his ancestor's idea of glory for Thunderclan, he decided that he had better ideas.

[klunkcat]

Okay, I admit that piercings are a mayor special interest of mine as well as an attraction point in themself, so of course I absolutely loved that Vet Crowley fic but I also want to encourage you to write more, because I would absolutely DIE for Crowley with more piercings. Maybe Aziraphale realizes during their date that this Anthony fellow also has his tongue pierced and he asks about that and it kind of goes from there? I don't know, but if you need a sign to do more with this au, this is it.

(Oh, you’ve done it now my friend, I’m now knee deep in this AU and sinking fast. I have named the snake there is no return.) 

Zira didn’t exactly know what to call it, this…companionship they’d developed. Something more than friendship, he’d hope- hewasn’t exactly well versed in socializing or current trends, but he was fairlycertain the level of heated stares and blushing that occurred between the twoof them was out of the norm for most friends.

It wasn’t enough of course that Crowley was attractive, wellbeyond attractive, in fact. Or that he was witty, quick on his feet, wilyfor all intents and purposes. It wasn’t enough that the mischievous glint inhis eyes when he slid his glasses off made Zira’s heart quicken, or that hissmirk felt a little like basking too close underneath the heat lamps he’d purchasedrecently. It wasn’t even enough that he’d found Crowley to be inescapably kind,too. Selfless in the sort of way that left one breathless; subtle little gestures,like remembering Aziraphale’s favorite food, the temperature he liked his tea bestat, his favorite fonts even (anything with swash characters and discretionaryligatures that were kept within reasonable balance, of course. The newer scriptaddition Bookmania had been a very exciting development in 2011, he’d eventhrown a small soiree for the occasion, which was only objectively correct,thank you).

All of these elements were poised for his demise, certainly,but the absolute kicker of it all had snuck up on him on their fourth outing.He’d already accepted the eventuality of his combustion via those daunting bitsof metal near Crowley’s lower lip, when he’d said something rather snarky andbeen treated to a genuine full-bodied laugh. That in itself was pure gold tothe veins, but Zira had also discovered in that moment, a flash of somethingmetal in Crowley’s open smile.

And oh, but that single flash cultivated the worst addictionhe’d yet to experience so far. At the time, he’d been utterly enraptured, intrigued.Gabriel had often cited Zira’s stubbornness as a negative trait for which he shouldwant for improving and ridding himself of; he was a bit like a dog with a bone,on occasion. Or a man with a growing fascination with mouth related piercings, it seemed.

“Dear boy,” he’d been utterly unable to stop himself,entirely not to blame for the invasiveness of his following inquiry. He’d beendriven to madness, completely outside himself. Scurvy, probably. Or… hysteria,like the old days. “Is that…. A tongue piercing?”

Crowley’s smile slid into something more contained, reserved. As though he’d been rebuked for it before and had developed a practiced and measured out response he knew to deliver in specific doses. Heaven’swe can’t have that, Zira thought nervously in the sort of way one realizes they have casually strolled into a veritable open wound and begun tap dancing with cleats on. 

“And if it is?” Crowley replied,all perfectly calm and relaxed in the sort of way that meant anything but.

Perhaps that would have been the right moment to change thesubject, to practice that social cues lesson Michael had tried to instill himwith, to compliment it nicely and return to their scrumptious brunch. Ofcourse, what Zira intended and what often fell from his lips around Crowley tendedto be two separate things.

“I adore it,” he said, in a rush, and immediately felt hisface flair bright red. He abruptly decided his meal was very and entirelyfascinating, actually. Strawberries, he thought, panicked anddisjointed, what lovely strawberries this crêpe has. Every crêpe should have strawberries, oh, unless there were allergies. Truly terrible, a crêpe only allergy. To imagine such a thing. 

“Oh,” Crowley said, in a very faint voice Zira had neverheard from him. “Um.” It was enough to give Zira the courage to glance upwards,and catch the completely stunned, frozen expression on Crowley’s face. The poordear looked a tad panicked, ears bright red like the first day they’d met, withsomething flickering in the slight part of his lips that touched a bit on theside of awed.

“It’s. Yeah, pierced. Got it done the day after I turnedtwenty seven, actually. Bit of a birthday gift to myself.” 

“Did it hurt?” Zira was entranced, thoroughly, fully. He was gaping, eyes wide, and he could do nothing about it. 

Crowley seemed to fall back into comfort at the question,strangely. “Nah, not even a little. Made of tougher stuff, I am. Went and got myconch done a month later just to prove it.”

Although Zira didn’t know what a conch was in this context, he certainly hadspent a good amount of time staring at the complex snake loop of a piercingstraight through the hollow bit of Crowley’s ear like the snake was twined protectively around it. It was beautiful, truly, anart exhibit in itself. Everything about Crowley was pure art, though. From the crawlingpeek of tattoo’s around the collar of his shirt and the rolled up sleeves he rarely let anyone see, to thearray of curling metal and dark wood surrounding his ears, and of course tothose two glittering bits near his mouth.

The tongue piercing though, that was a whole newfascination. He decided then and there, he’d do everything in his power to getCrowley to laugh that widely and happily more often. Just for a peek, just to scratch Zira’s fascination itch, as it were.

It proved, unfortunately or fortunately he supposed, to befrighteningly easy; making little snarky quips here and there, which of courseonly made the whole thing worse. He invited Crowley over to his tiny apartmentslash book store slash antique store slash book bindery for wine one night, thrilledbeyond measure that Crowley hadn’t so much as hesitated before accepting the invite,and positively and fully, as Anathema liked to say, screwed himself over whenhe’d discovered Crowley was practically a giggly drunk.

If he’d used that information entirely too much, easingsmiles and grins and full on guffaws out of his friend, that was for him toknow.

He told himself firmly it was for curiosity, of course. Notbecause he was completely obsessed with the way Crowley’s nose crinkled up whenhe laughed, or the way his joy just picked Zira up and swept him along with it,or because of the devastatingly handsome column of his neck when he threw hishead back, or—

Oh.

Zira sincerely and deeply hoped they were more than simplyfriends. Otherwise this whole ‘half in love with him’ situation would be dreadfullyawkward.

Maybe it would have been for the best if he’d taken a few stepsback, then. He knew it was what his family would have suggested, although theword family was less here than there and their general suggestions would likelyhave been all over unhelpful to every degree considering their stance on tattoosor piercings on the whole front. He also knew he had a tendency to fret, towait and wait and overthink until opportunities passed, that his nervous naturemeant a lot more no’s than ‘why not’s in the past.

He also knew, with the sort of swelling certainty that feltan awful lot like coming home after a long trip, that when it came to Crowley,it was terrifyingly easy to be decisive. To be brave.

A more stable individual would likely have required two tothree business days to sort out their position on the whole ‘love’ thing, weightheir feelings (intense, fluttery, like eating those fizzy candies that poppedinside ones mouth) and the time they’d known each other (five months and twoweeks, to be exact), and what they were looking from the whole thing (everything,everything). They likely would have formed an action plan of sorts, invitedCrowley out to a nice dinner, dressed up handsomely for the occasion. Maybethey’d have taken a long romantic stroll at twilight around a pond, retire toone of their abodes for a drink, and then expressed their feelings openly andhonestly.

Zira, of course, had lost all sense of stability the momentCrowley and his attractive face and attractive laugh and attractively charming,sweet, careful personality had sauntered into his life. And so, naturally, he’dnot done any of those things.

To be entirely fair, however, the circumstances and generalstate of affairs within the universe appeared to be stacked against any attemptsfor rationality.

“Really, my boy, what exactly do you desire out of all thismess?” Aziraphale sighed, the sound caught funny in his throat and squeaked outa tad more hysterical than he felt. Probably. “You’ll be cold shortly, I shouldthink! Oh, and the night is meant to be a brisk one. I do hope you haven’tdecided to head on an afternoon stroll.” He shifted another couch cushion to noavail, feeling a burst of frustrated panic lodging itself somewhere between histhird and fourth rib.

“Angel!” A voice called, a familiarly attractive voice, anattractive and absolutely heavenly relieving voice.

“Come in! Do shut the door behind you, the last thing weneed is for him to get into the books. There’ll be no chance of finding himthen.”

He heard the muffled sound of shuffling shoes, and the quickclick of a door, before Crowley’s red hair appeared in the doorway. “Oh, thankyou for popping in so quickly, my dear. I’m nearly at my wits end!”

Crowley shrugged off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, “Bestnot thank me, not till we find the bastard anyways.” He placed his hands on hiships. “Where’d you last see him?”

Zira pushed a hand through his hair, a disaster made onlymore disastrous by the movement. A small part of him that wasn’t frayed to theseams with stress bemoaned the whole thing, he probably looked quite the sight.He’d only pulled on a dress shirt before noticing the empty terrarium and ajar lid,and he was fairly certain a few buttons had sprung loose during his ransackingof the place.

“I’d been working on the books all morning and thought to havea quick bath before getting ready for our, um. Our outing. I saw him just beforehand,all stretched out like always. Even gave him a little ‘hello, how’re you’, sohis mood swing really is quite surprising. A-a firm talking to is on my list,most definitely.”

Crowley quirked a small smile at him, which did everything tosoothe his nerves. “Right, well. Couldn’t possibly be putting up a fuss aboutthe care, here. You spoil him. He’s got to be nearby, it’s too cold outsidebesides. Wouldn’t want to be anywhere like that.”

Aziraphale swallowed and nodded. “I sincerely hope not, poorOscar.”

Crowley stepped closer and rubbed his shoulder reassuringly,with a half-faltered motion Zira couldn’t decipher. “He’s here. Probablysleeping somewhere, the lazy—”

“Crowley,” Zira admonished with a tired giggle. “Youadore that serpent, don’t lie. It’s unbecoming.”

“Me? Lie? Never.” Crowley gave him a crooked smile inresponse, and Zira felt the warmth of it down to his toes. “Okay, I’ll start inthe study. If we don’t find him in half an hour, I brought over some dinner- we’lllure him out.”

They did not find him in half an hour, much to Zira’sdistress. Crowley teased lightly that he should go for the minimalistic stylein the future, so there were less places for Oscar to hide. Zira had to agreeit would be an effective method, not even a snake would find Crowley’s awfulflat couch comfortable. Unfortunately, in their searching, Zira also discovereda gap in one of the floor vents.

“Oh no, he must have gone through the gap! He’ll be stuck inthere, oh, I can’t stand the thought!”

“Hold on, Zira. Snakes are better at climbing than you’regiving our Oscar the credit for, mm? Probably just needs a little encouragement.I’ve got just the thing.”

If anyone had asked Zira how he thought the night their piecesfinally fell together nicely, he certainly would not have said there was anythingstrikingly romantic about placing dead mice near a floor vent in his crowded, unfortunatelydusty flat. In fact, crawling on his hands and knees alongside a Crowley whowas half underneath his terribly old sofa trying to sweet talk a serpent froman even dustier ventilation shaft, was probably not among the first hundredsuggestions he would have made.

However, the look of unbridled joy and pride on Crowley’s facewhen he finally emerged with an equally grey dusted Oscar tucked with absolutecare in his arms, was undoubtedly among Zira’s most treasured and perfect memories.

If he’d been half in love before, he’d gone and jumpedheadfirst off the diving board in the last hour or so.

“Holy hell,” Crowley wiped an arm across his forehead, andcarefully secured the lid on Oscar’s lid. “Glad that’s done with, then. Dinner?”

And it was all truly terrible. The soft golden lighting settingfire to Crowley’s disheveled hair, the dust flecking across his cheeks likestars, the crooked state of his glasses, the rumpled expensive dress shirt thatwould be hell and a half to iron out again. The absolute giddy happiness in Crowley’seyes, like he’d have done anything just to be the one to rescue Zira’s day,like he was so grateful to be given the chance and so proud of succeeding. Itwas far too much.

“If you don’t kiss me, right this instant, I fear I shall bequite cross with you,” Zira huffed.

Crowley stared at him like he’d just plucked stardust fromthe ether, his face was turning a lovely shade of pink. “Oh. Right. Um. Youwill?” Crowley said, voice sounding positively strangled.

“I will! I’ll. I’ll have no choice but to… to run off to thecountryside. Beside myself with longing. I can hardly bear it.” Crowley pressedforward, cautiously, giving Zira every opportunity and then some to back up, tosay no. Zira’s heart was truly going to burst at the careful way Crowleycrowded him against the wall.  

Crowley’s hand pressed against the side of his neck, slowlystill, like he wasn’t sure if Zira was real. Like he wasn’t sure if he couldhave this. This terrible, terrible man, Zira thought, leaning into the touch,meaning absolutely none of it.

His golden eyes were very wide, and Zira stepped impossiblycloser, pressing his own palms flat against Crowley’s chest. He could feel thethump-thump-skip-thumb practically against the pads of his fingertips, somethinglarge and impossible and overwhelming rose in his throat.

“Zira,” Crowley breathed. “You…” He swallowedroughly. “You detest the countryside. All the bugs and things. No sushi outthere. Wouldn’t last a day.”

Zira pouted; his fingers curled against Crowley’s lapels.Crowley’s hand slid carefully backwards, until he was cradling the nape of Zira’sneck. “We’d have to let Oscar out again then, pest control. On a leash, maybe.”

Crowley softened, something a little sad with a lot of overwhelmedhope painting his expression like hues in a sunset. “We?”

Zira couldn’t bear it then, absolutely refused to bear itany longer. This infuriating man with his sarcasm and his piercings and his hipsand his heartbreakingly small sense of just how much of Zira’s heart he’d heldfrom the moment they’d met.

He leaned forward, closing the small gap between them, andkissed Crowley with all the lighting filled adoration he possessed.

Crowley’s hand froze, slackened, and then twisted up intoZira’s hair at the same moment a quiet sigh poured through him. The returningferocity of Crowley’s kiss made his head spin in delicious ways; Zira had onlybeen kissed a handful of times, but not once had it been so enveloping, soready to pull him in and wrap him up and fill him up with relief and excitementand bliss all at once. Then Crowley tilted his head, parted his lips, and Zira feltthat electric touch of that damned tongue piercing and he was quite content notto think any farther.