#((is irreparable and there's nothing they can do about that; and accept that the best thing they can do))

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

As Doreen and Edward continued to talk with Philippe, the former in particular volleying ideas about how to keep this cover story going (such as lending her "cousin" some of her dresses and helping do her hair, makeup, and overall etiquette) should she have to socialize with the de Clair's again, Susannah remained quiet, pensively chewing on her cream puff, the sugary sweetness suddenly cloying, sickening as she dwelled on what the future held for her:

In some ways...this was sort of a good turn of fortune. It allowed her and Philippe to be together beyond the closed doors of the haberdashery or her house, and that would be refreshing...sure, they couldn't be out in her part of town very much, where people knew who she really was, but with Doreen's help, perhaps she could still enjoy his company beyond just the four walls of her home. Perhaps they could do as other couples did, going for walks in town, having dinner at a restaurant together, going dancing...

But at the same time, Susannah couldn't help but feel her stomach ache, suddenly reminded of her childhood, all the time she spent trying to get others to like her, trying to hide the uglier parts of herself, the parts no one wanted to see, trying to only show the parts others might find palatable at best...and it never working. It didn't matter what she changed about herself, they never liked her. They never cared.

It was never enough.

But she steeled her resolve nonetheless, drawing in a little breath before exhaling in an effort to calm herself: She wouldn't have to keep up this charade forever. Only for a little while-and only for the de Clair's! At heart, she knew, as she surveyed the three faces beside her, that she was loved and supported. This was just a stepping stone in her path, and she would gladly tread along that stone again and again if it meant she and the man she loved could be together.

[lunarw0rks]

Hiiii, saw that ur reqs r open and I'm (desperately) asking for a Soap oneshot <33 U can do whatever u want, just rlly asking for fluff with him pLEASE

Skinny Love // Drabble

Summary: Your best friend Soap confesses, reciprocating feelings you were convinced he didn't have for you. Warning(s): bsf!soap, friends to lovers, mutual pining, idiots in love, fluff, gn!reader, no use of y/n Word Count: 1k ꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ��꒦ SOAP MASTERLIST // have a request? ˖⁺‧₊˚ ask box / ao3 ver. ˚₊‧⁺˖

After nearly a year of friendship, things had changed.

You began to see him differently, like an object of your attraction you had to have.

It was almost unbelievable, considering the rocky start you two had in the beginning. He was a friend of a friend, completely plastered and obnoxious the night you met him. To add to it, he spilled his bear all over you, which was the final straw that evening.

In hindsight; it couldn’t have worked out any better. If it weren’t for that clumsy happening, you wouldn’t have reached out to him to apologize for snapping. Without that, you wouldn’t have conversed with him when he was sober, no longer a drunken prick. When you heard his pleas for forgiveness, how genuine they were, you quickly realized you two really had gotten off on the wrong foot.

Several months later, the unfortunate first impression was nothing more than a memory.

————— ୨୧ —————

Your laughter echoed through the summer air; warm and stuffy despite the setting sun. ❝She was totally flirting with you, Johnny!❞ You matched his speed, a brisk jog as he distanced himself from the ice cream shop.

The cashier was flirting with him, it was obvious, given the fact that she made little attempt to conceal it. In all fairness, you two were of similar age and out for ice cream together — you mirrored that of a couple. Though, Soap had gone quiet when pursued, eyes either on you or the menu, for whatever reason.

❝Aye, whatever you say, love.❞ He shovels some rocky road into his mouth to keep himself quiet, sitting beside you on the park bench. For the first time that night, he was looking at anything else but you. His hands had gone clammy, his face flushed and heated, all a foreign feeling to him. He was rarely nervous when making a move. But you weren’t someone eyeing him across from a pub, you were a dear friend — one he wanted to be more with.

Soap could let you think it was his own stubbornness preventing him from accepting advances or indulging in hookup culture, but it wasn’t. He only had eyes for you, literally and figuratively. Typically he read like a book, yet you were entirely clueless or pretending to be. You had no clue he was head over heels, you were too stuck in your own head. Confiding in you about his feelings wasn’t a question of him fearing rejection, it was more of a concern about causing you to distance yourself from him. That nearly a year of friendship would fizzle away until it was nothing.

You savored the taste of your own gelato — the one he ordered for you because he already knew your favorite. ❝You’re so lucky to have me, Johnny.❞ Your teases were chewing at him, piece by piece. It wouldn’t be long before he spilled his guts, not long at all.

Soap made his best attempt at playing it cool, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. ❝Would be lost without you, that’s for sure…❞ He murmured, which only made your stomach churn. Has your unintentional pining made him uncomfortable? He was uncharacteristically quiet right now and refused to look you in the eyes. On your end, it looked as if he loathed your existence, yet to him, it was merely nerves feasting on his confidence.

Playful flirting was inevitable with him, it was in his nature. There was a line that was never crossed, however. Tonight, it would be, though. Either that or his confession would do irreparable damage to a close friendship.

❝What is it? I was only kidding, Johnny, you know that.❞ You set the sundae down on the bench beside you, full attention on your suddenly distant best friend.

Soap’s head snapped back to you when he heard your concern, ❝I’m not mad at you.❞ It sounded like the lie of a century, but it wasn’t. This was his fault for being so nervous, for walking on eggshells around you.

You scoffed at his words, eyes lit up in a baffled manner. He had such distaste written on his face like he had seen a ghost. By now, your head was spinning with worst-case scenarios. ❝What is it, then? Is there something on my face? Or… are you trying to get rid of me? If you don’t want to be around me, you should just say it—❞

❝I’m in love with you.❞ His blunt statement overlapped with your expelling racing thoughts.

For a few seconds, your clueless rambling continued, until you froze when you finally processed his words. ❝What?❞ There was no chance you misheard him, not when he had interrupted you with such firmness. Him, in love with you? Meaning, he reciprocates the anguish of suppressing one's feelings for weeks? Now you were just frustrated. This whole time you had been dancing around the subject, purposefully attempting to set him up with dates, he had felt the same.

❝Johnny, you don’t mean that.❞ You wanted him to mean it, but you had already scrambled to sway his desires. Surely it was a rash statement made to shut you up, it had to be. But Soap was never a man with concealed motives.

In a sudden advance, his hands cupped your face, ❝when have I ever said somethin’ I didn’t mean, hm?❞ He asked with lips straightened into a line. He had a point, and he knew it. There weren’t any other excuses you could find to convince him to not cross that imaginary line in the sand.

You sighed heavily when you realized fighting your feelings wasn’t worth it. ❝You haven’t.❞

When his words were received with a slight crack in your worries, he eased up on his grip, though his hands remained on either side of your face. Soap leaned a bit closer, his heated sugary breath on your mouth.

His thumbs caressed your skin, both sets of eyes unblinking and yearning for the inevitable.

❝Now, are you goin’ to shut your mouth and let me kiss ye? Or do I have to do all the work?❞

[theladyismyshepard]

Stamp of Approval

(The party's most favored memory of your journey)

A little note on Wyll's piece: My original playthrough I invaded the Iron Throne Prison INSTEAD of attending the ceremony that Gorthash invites the party to, so if it doesn't make sense, I'm going off the logic of what I encountered with doing that

Shadowheart –

The growth in relationship between you and Shadowheart was a slow, methodical journey on your part. The curiosity would burn right below your skin, a need to reach out and seek for more. She wasn’t much of an open book, preferring to keep her secrets to heart, and you knew with just the wrong amount of prodding, it would push her further away, an irreparable rift severed between the two of you. It didn’t take much consideration to give her the space she wordlessly demanded, just a lot of willpower.

You ignored Lae’zel’s mocking comments comparing you to a “lovesick pup waiting hand and foot” when you made every effort to appease Shadowheart’s interests. It was always worth it to watch her face light up with inspiration when you took every measure to serve upon the Gods or learn of their works. Shadowheart absorbed the knowledge you ascertained and allowed it to fuel her guidance upon herself and the rest of the party. You try to reason with yourself that you would put in as much effort for everyone as you do for Shadowheart, but you also can’t deny that none of the others can cause a pool of heat to warm your very core with nothing but a polite smile.

She knew how to draw you in, she did so with no effort on her part when you encountered her bound form trapped inside a pod on the nautiloid. You weren’t exactly sure what she found so intriguing in you. You initially considered your unlikely title of “hero”, but you noticed she only had so much patience and approval with your habit of putting literally everyone ahead of yourself (and the cure) before deeming it too self-destructive.

However, it was glaringly obvious she would never disapprove of you taking on the responsibility of caring for the strays that crossed your path. Astarion and Lae’zel had a begrudging resignation for being slowly outnumbered by animal life, whereas Shadowheart and Karlach had an aura of child-like glee about themselves. You would never forget the first morning you had awoken in camp after you had first spotted Scratch circling the dead body of his former master and felt the overwhelming need to accept him as your own. He looked so jolly, as if there was nothing at all wrong in the world so long as you were by his side, and you couldn’t help but to unleash all of your love and affection onto him. Your attention was so absorbed, that you almost missed the small smile gracing Shadowheart’s lips along with the subtle crinkle around her eyes as she watched you. It was a look of raw approval which she smoothed out once she noticed your attention was on her.

As you scouted and looted throughout your travels, you came across a tattered stuffed bear one day. It was an impulsive decision to stop and store it away in your bag, a fleeting thought of Shadowheart was what prompted it. You weren’t aware of every bit of information that she could provide, but you did know that the huge gaps in her memory offered both a blessing and a curse. She wasn’t granted the best of childhoods, and you couldn’t help the thought of a young Shadowheart, alone and without the comfort of even a stuffed companion. The rush of adrenaline that came with the sudden need to give it to her, to watch the happiness brighten every corner of her face had you bouncing on each step back to camp.

You entailed the assistance of a couple members of the party: Karlach and Astarion. The vampire offered a delicate hand that was skilled in the craft of sewing to gently pull the stuffed bear back together. After you carefully handwashed the toy in the river that you camped near, Karlach took her duty very seriously. You couldn’t help the smile as her tongue poked out the side of her mouth in concentration as she balanced her heat accordingly to dry the toy of excess water without setting it ablaze.

That was some time ago, and as you gazed down at the well-used stuffed bear, you felt a bit foolish for the timing. The party’s mounting problems had a snowball effect, and once one situation ended, another began in its place. You stood outside of Shadowheart’s tent, where you had been for the past few minutes contemplating if you should grant her the space she required when processing things. You had just convinced her to let go of her parents, to end the struggle and curse binding the entire family to Shar. It was like poison coating your tongue, knowing how hard the road was getting to the House of Grief and everything that Shadowheart had given up for that exact moment, but it felt so wrong to go against the desperate pleas of her parents, begging you to end Shar’s torment for them all because they knew their daughter had not the strength for it.

“Did you want something? If not, I’m perfectly happy to just gaze upon you a while.” The greeting caught you off-guard and as you looked upon her false bravado, down to the pain swirling just below the surface, you could feel yourself start to break in guilt. You threw your arms around her, the stuffed bear squashed between your bodies, and apologized thickly.

“It was the right thing to do… even if I can’t bring myself to believe it just yet– oh… what is this?”

“I wasn’t sure if you had anything of comfort when you really needed it back then, so I wanted to make sure you had something now… It was cute, so naturally it reminded me of you,”

There was a newfound softness to her eyes as they darted all across your face, taking in the embarrassed red flare on your cheeks to the subtle sheen of sweat collecting atop your brow. As you attempted to joke and smile off the sentiment, her hands cupped the back of your neck as easily as if she had done so all her life, and pulled you down into a passionate kiss marred only by her building grin.

“I love it… I love you,” You were filled to the brim with warmth every time you looked over during your many months of traveling when it was all said and done and would spot the stuffed bear tucked into her own travel bag, refusing to leave it behind anywhere.

Karlach –

Your romance with Karlach roared to life fairly quickly, but that was to be expected with someone like her. When you’re living on borrowed time, and death was always a step away to collect it back, everything burned brighter, as did the relationship between you two. You could hardly remember a time when you had been led to believe her to be this devil reigning chaos everywhere she went. For she was the most adorable woman you had ever met, and her bubbly personality had you instantly head over heels.

You found Karlach easily inspired as you traveled and explored new areas of Faerun. The look of awe on her face made the whole situation feel as though it were nothing more than an adventure, a quest to ensure Karlach had seen it all and done it all. There was always a bittersweet ache lodged in your chest when you were granted the sight of sparkles in her eyes. Even more so when she thanked you for it… as if you shouldn’t be on your knees thanking her for her very existence.

After Dammon had informed the two of you of the severity of Karlach’s condition, you didn’t even dare approach the topic of her returning to Avernus. It was unthinkable to push her back into her worst nightmare that she fought tooth and nail to crawl her way out of. You pull yourself together because no matter how much it broke your own heart, no one was more cheated here than Karlach herself, and you had to be strong enough to soothe her pain, not the other way around (even though you knew her to be so selfless that she would). You keep her close when you all travel, making sure some part of you is always touching some part of her at all times, and you know she greatly approves of the physical contact when she randomly grins down at you from time to time.

Weeks worth of whispered words and frantic touches had your personal goals shifting. When you had first awoken on the nautiloid, you cared for little else aside from curing yourself of the tadpole taking shelter behind your eye, but as you heard more of Karlach’s life, you grew scornful of Zariel and Gortash. The purest of souls was the grandest treasure to the devil indeed, but Karlach was a Goddess that rose above while you yourself were falling. She didn’t even need to ask if you would help avenge her– that was a given. Your journey had taken you this way and that, pitting you against foe of every kind… You could handle descending into the Hells and waging wars on devils.

Because you already did… summoning the portal in the House of Hope led you directly to Raphael’s home in the Hells, and it revealed so much to you– the Orphic Hammer that aided in your quest to free Orpheus, the poor, demented soul of Hope, who guided you the whole way, and the glaring fact that Karlach felt the most at ease that you’ve ever seen her to be. Her breathing was easier, her movements weren’t jerky or rigid with pain so she wasn’t bouncing around to loosen herself up as she constantly did in the mortal realm. You could almost get used to the sight… almost. You also tried to ignore the fluidity of her being, seeing as you knew it to be short-lived, but as you noticed Karlach’s immediate attachment to Hope, you couldn’t stop the onslaught of design.

You bit your tongue after Raphael fell and after Hope thanked you tremendously with the promise of bringing sanctuary to her former prison. Once the party returned to Baldurs Gate, Karlach’s grunt of pain was immediate as were the flames dancing along her flesh. There was a single bead of sweat dripping down her temple that your eyes followed along with until they snapped to her pained smile. She tried so hard to comfort you despite her own agony, and you were starting to think it was because she didn’t know how to accept comfort enough to let you try and do the same. As you lean forward and carefully kiss the ragged breath from her lungs, you continue to bite your tongue.

You could not bite your tongue when she (in Karlach fashion) offered to take on the Astral Tadpole to gain the full Mind Flayer potential. She reasoned it would be an edge on the battlefield that they couldn’t pass up and went even further as to say that her time was running out anyway… She had not a selfish bone in her body, and that was why you found a selfish backbone for her. Karlach was made up entirely of soul and willpower, and you refused to allow her to give up what absolute little she had left. You would sooner die than let that happen, and while you would agree with anyone claiming your soul was to be damned to the Hells, you happily pushed the weight of the Astral Tadpole in Orpheus’ direction. Karlach was quiet on and off the battlefield following your call, and it was gnawing at you, knowing that it was bothering her.

“Copper for your thoughts, darling?” She can’t help but smile at her own words played back to her, and didn’t protest when you sat down next to her outside her tent.

“I just… It doesn’t make sense to me. My life is pretty much moot at this point, it’s just a matter of when. I could’ve had one last hurrah, yeah? A fighter till the end,”

“At the cost of your soul, Karlach? It was my decision in the end, if anyone is to be plagued with guilt it should be me, but I think you should know that I don’t regret it,”

“But why!” exclaimed Karlach in exasperation, her eyes misting over in a mixture of irritation and sorrow, “I’m dying anyway, soldier, there was no other option than-”

“Than changing your whole being?” You challenge, moving to where you were practically in her lap. “We’ve already sacrificed and fought for so much, Karlach, it’s time you get to rest, baby, and call me selfish, but all I want to do is rid ourselves of this parasite, and find a way to live a happy life with you.”

You could see the calm look on her face and immediately knew she was about to dive into a spiel about her impending death with as little condescension as possible, and you beat her to it, deciding that you no longer would bite your tongue, “Let’s both go back to the House of Hope… return to the sanctuary that Hope was creating out of Raphael’s old mansion, and until a more permanent solution for your engine is found, we’ll be happy because we have each other… right?”

Karlach blinked as her mouth opened and closed a few times, a perfect imitation of a goldfish as she processed what you just proposed. Her brow furrowed before relaxing before furrowing again. She held her pointer finger at the ready for an announcement that died on her lips, her finger drooping. You took mercy on her before looping your arms around her neck and bringing your lips together in a kiss to seal it. Karlach was beginning to lose hope as the days dwindled, you had seen the weight of resignation set heavily upon her shoulders as they began to sag. Now… you felt a newfound strength in resolve building within the muscles twitching beneath your hands, and it excited you. You knew your words had inspired her to live more than the bluest of oceans, the greenest of grasses, the freshest of airs. She wanted a life, no matter where it was, so long as you were at her side.

Minthara –

Your initial response to Minthara was that she was incredibly deluded by the will of this “Absolute”. She seemed so dedicated to this cause, and ready to dominate and bend the will of those who didn’t, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t send a shiver down your spine. She regarded you carefully, eyes trailing up and down your body and you could see your resulting quiver was passed through the connection of the True Soul if the darkening of her eyes were anything to go by. You felt as though you were trekking on ice and you could never properly find your footing when you were around her.

Her eyes followed your movements anytime you wandered around camp, whether it be to make small talk with your other companions or to put your mind at ease. Minthara was bold with her calculations and made no move to hide her intrigue. Any time you would look over and meet her eyes, it was always you who looked away first, your body rigid underneath the weight of her lingering gaze and mind scattered as you attempted to find your place in conversation once more. Astarion merely arches a brow in response, and you didn’t like this… this spell she had cast on you. You liked to think that you were tactful with your solution– by insisting she stay in camp while you and a few of the others scouted the area, covering as much ground as it took for nightfall to cast a dark blanket that you hoped Minthara would be nestled in, falling fast asleep by the time the party arrived back. After a while, you aren’t really surprised anymore when you see her lounged comfortably by the campfire, wine goblet in hand as if awaiting your arrival.

“Ah, the mighty hero returns from yet another quest… I have been awaiting your arrival,” You held a deep-seeded exhaustion, one that seeped down into your very bones, and you found yourself in no mood to either entertain her devious scheming or withstand the glowering disapproval if you found yourselves at a disagreement. “Come, sit before me,” It wasn’t a request so much as it was a demand, and despite yourself, you approached Minthara, standing before her and arching your brow in question. She rolled her eyes so hard you were almost afraid they would fall free from her head before her hand reached out and pulled you down to your knees. Despite your squawking and huffing, she twisted your form until you were sitting facing the fire with her body dangerously close to your back. Your eyes repeatedly glanced down at her legs that were resting on either side of you, surrounding you, and you were so absorbed in your staring that you flinched when you felt her strong fingers begin working at the knots twisting the muscles of your shoulders.

“What’re-”

“Relax…” her voice was sultry in your ear before you felt her hot breath against the back of your neck, “You harbor a lot of weight here… Your back must be incredibly sore from carrying the fate of this world.”

Your eyes flutter closed on their own accord and you couldn’t help the sigh that escaped your lips, and when you felt her smirk hiding in your hair, you knew you were falling right into a trap of some sort. Her purposeful hands wandered lower as she massaged little circles into her back, forcing you to straighten up, and once you did, her arms surrounded you before pulling you flush against her front. Your head fell back against her shoulder, and your obscured vision robbed you the sight of Minthara’s wicked smile as her eyes hungrily grazed down your body. Her hands recommenced their movements on your hips, and she smiled genuinely when she felt your muscles quivering at her slight touch.

Her hands found purchase in both of your pockets and as your brow furrowed, her teeth were latching onto your shoulder, leaving indentations that were shallow enough to disappear within the next few hours, and she soothed it by flattening her tongue and licking over the bite mark. Her skillful hands worked at the muscles of your thighs through your trousers, and you were soon melting, becoming putty in her palms. Minthara occasionally pressed kisses into your hair and it wasn’t long before your breathing was shallowing out.

“Some of us care little for this display,” drawled Shadowheart from her tent, her face scrunched in a grimace before she returned to her prayer.

“And some of us are enjoying it,” countered Astarion, his eyes flashing wickedly before a glare from Minthara had him raising his hands in a conceding gesture.

“Shall we take this to my tent? Lay you out in a way you might be more comfortable?” The request was hushed, though you two left little to no doubt of your intentions when you scrambled (she strode gracefully) to reach her one bedroll.

Throughout the hours of the night leading to first daylight, the scene shifted from her on top of you to you on top of her and it continued until you found yourself falling fast asleep with her still inside of you. Minthara managed to lull you into a sleep so deep that you didn’t even wake to her digging through the pockets of your discarded trousers before clutching at the jar containing the collection of illithid tadpoles you had discovered along your journey. She considered accepting them all for herself without even a thought spared to you. The unimaginable power, an unrivaled throne atop a whole world ready to serve her.

You mumbled something in your sleep, your eyes never opening yet your arms were out searching and you captured Minthara around her waist before pulling her in and curling around her unbalanced form. One arm was propping her up and the other grasped at your hand around her. She stared unblinkingly at your face for an entire minute as something shifted within her. You had the opportunity to expunge her existence from this plane just as you did with Priestess Gut and Dror Ragzlin, but you spared her. A foolish notion that Minthara herself would never have made if roles were reversed, but as she stared down at your peaceful face, the opportunity to strike glaringly obvious, she found that she wasn’t looking forward to the impending loneliness that was sure to follow your death.

Her goal of power and blood was still at the forefront, but she was picturing enough room that included you as well. And if you had any qualms about taking the Netherbrain’s influence for you two’s personal gain? Well… she had ways of persuading you.

Wyll –

Wyll was a knight in shining armor from your very first impression of him outside of the Grove, ready to lay down his life to defend the innocents trapped within. It didn’t take you long to deduce that he would die happily so long as he played the part of the folk hero. You acted hypocritical anytime you found yourself questioning his heroics and if it all was really worth it. You had your own role in saving the world that was forced upon you, and you understood the call to help when the lost and the damned begged you so brokenly.

Consider yourself surprised when you learned of this angelic man’s pact with a devil named Mizora. There was shame shrouding him after he broke his word to track down Karlach and drive a battle ax straight through the fire she called a heart once he learned that Karlach was a victim herself. His horns were forever a reminder of his dealings with a devil, and while he appeared to hate no one but himself, you felt no traces of regret through your connection. It was a choice he would make every time for Baldurs Gate and his father’s people. Even if that caused the very rift between him and his father.

Wyll was so considerate of a man that he understood the disapproval completely and accepted the banishment with no argument. He took on the persona of the Blade of the Frontiers in hopes of righting his hellish deed tenfold. If he were to die honorably in battle protecting those who couldn’t fight for themselves, then so be it. It wasn’t likely to save his soul in the end, not when it was tethered to a pact in the Hells. Wyll would tell you this to be his biggest fear after you had accepted his beautiful request to dance and you two spun all night long. It was a hollow fact to him, and you swore to yourself in the heat of that night that you would do whatever it took to free Wyll of his pact with Mizora.

As your relationship blossomed, you couldn’t help but to wonder if he dabbled in the ways of the Bard. His words held a melodic tune that sometimes left you entranced by the vibration of it rather than the actual words he was speaking. You would always remember the bashful look he wore one night when he approached you with a piece of parchment trembling the slightest in his hand, his eyes both seeking yours and then averting when he found them. Wyll cleared his throat and after rambling a bit until your fond laughter had him shaking his head, he began to recite poetry that you weren’t familiar with. Your smile softened as he pressed on, but then it slipped away as your mouth parted slightly with a heavy exhale once you realized it was about you.

His words spoke of your devotion, of your wits, of your beauty, and you found yourself melting at the fact that no one had ever written you a poem before, and yet this warlock, who used to be more eloquent when he was crafting spells than he was when he was flirting had found inspiration from you. You inspired a man who inspired so many people with his endless supply of positivity, and you wondered what exactly made you so lucky as to find yourself in an epic romance with Wyll Ravenguard, the man who could hardly be shaken, even while looking into the face of evil and terror.

You felt his jittery need to rush the underwater prison that Gortash had set to blow in search of his imprisoned and infected father. You nodded to Karlach and she was soon dropping from the opening rather than using the grimy ladder. With her warhammer cocked over her shoulder and at the ready, she went to work on clearing out the sahuagin that stood guard. Once she was out of sight, leaving behind a bloody trail, you handed Lae’zel every Arrow of Transposition you purchased and hoped her Misty Step would carry her the rest of the way after ordering her down the east corridor in search of prisoners. Wyll was nearly seething by the time you turned to him and before the command could even leave your mouth, he was already charging, the Dimension Door spell already crackling to life at his fingertips.

Time was ticking and for each enemy that was cut down, about five more appeared from the murky depths. You could hear the slapping of shoes against wet stone as everyone who was released made a frantic dash towards the exit. You couldn’t bring yourself to look back when you heard a woman who was intercepted by one of the monsters. Try as you might, the following ripping sound and resulting gurgle would haunt your dreams to come. It was an incredible gamble to invade the Iron Throne Prison, and once Gortash gave the final call, you knew that it was damn near impossible to save everyone. The sinking reality set in as you passed body after body while retracing your steps back to the exit hatch. Wyll frowned so deeply that it was bringing lines to his forehead. It was going against everything the Blade of the Frontiers stood for, this act of selfish grandeur to ensure his father’s life over all else.

The rotten taste of unfairness bit like acid on the back of Wyll’s tongue, and at this point, he shouldn’t be as shocked as he was to find out that his father wasn’t being held in the prison like he was led to believe by Mizora… Whatever possessed you to take her for her word was beyond you, and you had just about enough with that devil and her trickery. As the submarine filled with what Gondian survivors were remaining departed from the explosion, you couldn’t help but to ponder the comparisons between Mizora and Raphael to determine if you could handle a battle against her.

It seemed fitting that you found the Duke at Gortash’s side in Wyrm’s Rock Fortress during the final showdown with Bane’s Chosen. It was a ruthless fight, and while you tried several tactics to break the influence controlling the Duke, his curse proved unshakable and his strength was consuming you. It was only a matter of time before his sword was destined to cut you down, and as you craned your neck to give Wyll one last exhausted, resigned smile as you made the decision to put the Duke’s life before your own, Wyll found himself charging with a roar that sounded an awful lot like “NO!”

His own blade pierced the final blow that brought the Duke to his knees, blinking away the influence that muddled his mind. He sputtered as he looked from the hilt protruding from his chest to his son, who stood over him with a look of horrific realization. As he began swaying dangerously close to the point of toppling over, Wyll dropped to his side to cradle his father close, mindful of the blade. He sobbed and hiccuped past his rushed apologies, but his father blinked past the pain to acknowledge his son.

“There is more to this world than just gods and devils, my boy, and you are neither. I’m…”

The gargled whisper would remain unfinished forever, and it broke Wyll to pieces as he clutched at his father’s lifeless body. He sobbed even as Karlach delivered the final smiting blow to Gortash’s feeble body, and wasn’t even paying attention when she chopped off his hand for the tribunal to Bhaal. You awkwardly hovered above Wyll, unsure if he would even accept your presence after he killed his own father to save you, but you had a secret trick up your sleeve, one that you had been saving for just the right time, and one that you could only call upon once in your lifetime. Wyll was willing to make a great sacrifice for your life, it was only fair you did the same for his happiness.

“My love,” You whisper gently and only continue when his tear-streaked face looked up at you, “If you’d allow me, I would like to call upon Selune’s Opulent Revival and save your father.”

Wyll’s eyes widened as he felt a surge of hope warm his veins. He glanced between both of your eyes, searching for something that you weren’t entirely sure of before he was rearranging his father’s body. He couldn’t help his whimpered gag as he tore the blade free from his father’s chest to prevent complications. With the Duke lying flat against the ground, you got to your own knees, ready to summon your prayer that would call upon Selune’s power to revive and restore health. Wyll grabbed ahold of your hand before you could rest it against the Duke’s chest. He raised your wrist and pressed the most reverent of kisses to your palm before dropping another to the inside of your wrist. When you caught his eyes again, there was no hiding the adoration he had for you in this very moment.

Once the moment passed, you placed your hand over the still heart within the Duke’s chest, and dared not remove it until your lips paused at the end of your prayer, and there was a fluttering against the same palm that could still feel the press of Wyll’s lips.

[megs-mostly-past-random-fandoms]

Don't Over-Do It

Based on this request: Could you write a fluffy imagine for the Volturi with the reader being Marcus descendant, Aros mate and Janes best friend? The reader tends to overwork both in her job and by working out. The Volturis are far to protective to let her continue like that.

Here you are, lovely! *Familiar Characters are NEVER mine.*

Fandom: Twilight

Warnings: mentions of passing out and forgetting to eat. Some light fluff.

Pairings/Characters: Marcus Volturi x fem!descendant reader (familial), Aro Volturi x fem!reader (romantic), Jane Volturi x fem!reader x Caius Volturi (platonic, soul-siblings)

Marcus had never thought he'd have any  descendants. He never knew if any of his human family had continued on the family line. But then he met you and immediately saw the bond between you and him. And not just him. You had several other bonds within the Volturi including the silver bond of soul-siblings with Jane and even Caius, and the golden bond of true mates with Aro. To say Marcus was happy to have a connection to his former life would be an understatement. There was just one problem.

       You were a perfectionist and somewhat of a workaholic. You would work and work until everything was just right. It didn't matter what it was, work, hobbies, or even exercise. You were determined to do it right and you weren't going to stop until it was perfect. Aro, Marcus, and Jane hated that. It wasn't that they didn't want you to succeed, but they hated seeing you overwork yourself. 

They all tried to get you to slow down, especially Aro. He hated seeing his mate exhausted all the time. Though, his approach to this was to turn you sooner rather than later. You fought him on that. Aro wasn’t afraid of much, but he was terrified of losing you and even more afraid of your temper. It made Caius laugh to see Aro nearly cower under your intense glare every time he mentioned turning before you were ready. But all amusement faded from the four vampires when you finally over-did it.

You were taking out your frustrations on a punching bag one evening after working on a work task for hours. The ever-watchful Jane and Demetri stood in the corner keeping an eye on you when it happened. Mid-jab, you suddenly stopped and collapsed in a heap on the floor. Jane was at your side in an instant while Demetri raced to get kings. 

You were vaguely aware of arguing voices when you woke a few hours later. “Aro, you risk irreparably damaging your bond if you turn her without her permission. You know this,” came Marcus’ low voice. “I agree with Master Aro,” Jane grumbled, almost too softly for you to hear. You could feel the tension in the room, so you decided to try and speak up.

“And if either of you does that, I will personally rip your arms off and put them back on backwards when I wake as a newborn.” Aro was sitting next to you a split second later. “Cara Mia, you worried us,” he crooned as if you would forget you just threatened him and Jane. “I realized that. I’m sorry.”

“As loath as I am to agree with Aro about, well, anything outside of trials,” Caius stated, “I believe he and Jane may be correct in this case, Y/N. You cannot continue on like this.” You glanced between their faces. They all looked more worried than you’d ever seen them. A soft sigh escaped you. It wasn’t the first time this had happened to you, but the first they had experienced it. The whole situation was frightening since you were so fragile compared to them.

“I’m sorry I worried you all,” you relented, “I-It was always drilled into me that I had to be perfect. Nothing was ever good enough and I guess that’s carried over into adulthood. I’m not ready to turn yet, but I will try to take it easier. I’ll set break alarms or let Jane drag me away from my work more. I-Is that okay?”

“I don’t like it, but if I never have to experience this fear again, I suppose I can accept this for now,” Aro relented after a few moments of silence. Marcus stayed silent since he was simply there to ensure your bonds stayed intact. He was concerned, of course, but your bonds with the others were far more fragile for now. 

“I still agree with Master Aro,” Jane stated, concern still painting her angelic, childlike features. Caius rolled his eyes at the two of them, but you could see he was feeling the same way they were. “Very well, but if this happens again, I don’t think even Marcus would disagree with turning you.” Marcus merely nodded in agreement when your eyes met his.

“Sleep now,” he suggested only for your stomach to let out the loudest growl he’d ever heard. You felt your face heat up at the noise that betrayed the fact that you hadn't eaten very much that day. Marcus laughed, “Perhaps food is in order first.” You nodded slightly, prompting Jane to rush out. Caius and Marcus followed, but when Aro tried to get up, you gripped tightly to him. 

“Stay?” you asked in a soft voice. “Of course, Tesoro.” He settled back and let you cuddle into him. “I really am sorry,” you whispered. You felt Aro place a kiss to the top of your head. “I worry for you, Y/N. I cannot lose you.” You nodded against his chest, feeling your eyes start to drift closed against your will. Aro chuckled. The last thing you heard before you let sleep pull you under was,  “Sleep, my love. I will be here when you wake.”

(I hope you like it!)

Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard @supernatural4life2022 @asgards-princess-of-mischief

Twilight Tags: @awesomebooklover17

[cowboysandpilots]

About four years before Bradley gets accepted into the Navy for real, no meddling from Mav, he gets into a bad car accident. One of those car accidents where the car flips eight times before it finally settles upside down, and the damage is irreparable.

Bradley wakes up days later in the hospital with permanent scars on his face, with Ice by his bedside and Mav hovering near the door like he knows that this isn't going to alleviate any of Bradley's anger toward him— they don't talk.

Whatever medication they have him on is doing its job; Bradley can barely stay awake to hear what the doctors have to say; he's fazing in and out, and when he does talk, all his words come out like slurred gibberish. It doesn't matter— the doctor talks to Ice instead of him. He picks up a few words here and there about a long recovery, possible brain damage and relearning things, but the worst part turns out to be hearing that his best friend and the driver of that car didn't make it. Unfortunately, that seems to be the only thing he remembers from waking up the first time. He remembers the tears stinging his eyes as he croaked out, "Charlie?" and watched as Ice shook his head slowly. The older man holds him while he collapses in tears until the drugs kick in again.

Just as the doctor predicted, Bradley's recovery is long. He's stuck in a halo for months, barely allowed to move while also being expected to manage his pain and relearn how to walk— relearn how to do everything, including living without one of his best friends, not to mention having a permanently scarred face and neck. It's hard, and his lingering resentment toward Maverick made things harder, but how could he let it go? If Maverick hadn't pulled his papers, none of this would've happened.

As soon as Bradley can actually focus on what people are saying, Iceman continually gives him a soft lecture about how much better he would feel if he just forgave Maverick, but he can't. He's nothing if not stubborn, and even then, he's more stubborn than most.

"Not forgiving him hurts you worse than it hurts him," Ice reminds gently as he cards his fingers through Bradley's tangled curls.

Bradley lets out a bitter chuckle even though the pain radiates through his body. "How much more hurt could I be?"

——

Please consider donating to my food/medicine fund through my coffee link HERE. :) Also, I'm sorry, but if you just like and don't reblog, I'm going to have to block you.

[lilimalia]

IRREPARABLE LIES // alhaitham

SYNOPSIS... how does one live, knowing the man you so loved, no longer lays by your side, be it noon, evening, or dawn.

CHARACTERS... alhaitham (al-haitham?), kaveh,

DISCLAIMERS... angst, kaveh x reader, rebound (?), toxic relationship, fem reader, angst/no comfort, cheating , implies alcoholism, unhealthy coping (alcohol)

BARISTA'S INTEL... the banner art is so pretty omg, hanfu alhaitham when?!

TAG LIST... @nightrayseishina , @hiqhkey

CAFE TUNE... Let Me Down Slowly // Alex Benjamin !

How are you supposed to feel? Knowing how the Grand Scribe spends his nights.

Nights spent out at Lambad's Tavern, drunk and surrounded by his friends. His table full of cocktails, voice raised above the rest, smirk lacing his reddened complexion.

Sometimes you wonder, what brought you to the conclusion he was the man of your dreams?

Countless of nights you lay in bed, listening to the scribe- your husband- walk slowly into the shared house you so laid in... He never lays be your side anymore does he.

His footsteps always fall flat, just in front of door...

Perhaps it isn't as bad. At least, your husband lays asleep and drifts to bed easily... Much different from the architect that shares your home.

Kaveh, the Kshahrewar man, the architect that represented his Darshan. Was as different from your husband, as opposites can get. Loud and boisterous, expressive and rowdy, and certainly... Intriguing.

Perhaps you are not at fault... For the occasional glance towards that man. And his silky hair, pulled back messily by red crimson pins. And maybe, just maybe, it isn't your fault the two of you go out at night, sometimes, and talk by the trees of Sumeru.

Maybe it isn't your fault the two of you sneak out every once and a while, to run away into the comfort of the canopies, whispering away about the life you two live...

Just maybe... It isn't your fault the architect you live with... Is so stunning in your eyes.

Alhaitham knows nothing about it. He’s sure.

And who is he to tell him? Tell that pitiful man that he, Kaveh, has fallen deep into the living wings of your warmth.

Who is he, the man that you seek comfort in, to tell that distasteful scribe, that his wife no longer knows where her loyalties lie.

Maybe it’s because he’s fallen so deep into this… this charade of emotions. How is it that he’s fallen so deep in love with a women he knows is bound to a man who shows her nothing of her worth.

Kaveh knows, he knows. Alhaitham could never appreciate you the way he does. The way he knows where to place his warm hands against your cheek. Knows where to trail them so you shiver under his touch. Kaveh knows, what he’s doing, is vile. In no manner nor world, should it be accepted.

But your worth every piece of karma

He wants to ask for you too love him. Love him like no other. He wants to wake up, wake up to you by his side. Hearing your voice whispering up to his ear like a symphony.

Instead of having to listen to the cries of a broken heart.

He loves you. He thinks.

Or rather-

He knows.

And he’s okay with that. He’s okay with betraying the bastard of his roommate.

Because no man, nor debt. Could ever replace the life you’ve given to his body.

So as he sits next to you. Hidden under velvet night sky of Sumeru, tucked away under the lush canopies of the trees. He’s saying in his heads chanting it over and over,

“I love you. I love you more then anyone could ever.”

“Alhaitham?”

He hears you call his name.

He grunts in reply.

“We… should divorce. It’s, for the best…”

And suddenly his whole world is shattered.

“Wh-What?”

“Divorce… We should divorce.”

His heart feels heavy. His head is pounding. From the alcohol? Or from your words? He can’t tell.

Right now, he’s murmuring under his breath, hoping, praying you’ve just made a mistake. Praying that those disgusting words, evaporating from you like steam, are a facade. A lie.

His fists are clenched. He realizes.

“A- And why so?”

He manages to stammer.

Because right now, he’s to focused on glaring at you, your complexion staring right back at him. And he’s watching as you bite your bottom lip, uncomfortably shifting behind the counter.

“I don’t… I don’t love you anymore…”

Suddenly, he’s jumped from his chair, rushing towards you.

But.

You’ve flinched.

His hands and just inches away from clasping your cheeks.

And you’ve flinched.

“What have I done wrong? Please my lov- [Y/n] we can talk about this…”

“You’ve let yourself lose Alhaitham. That is all there is to talk about.”

He catches it. The shake in your voice as you back away from his arms, extended outwards. And touch just close enough to touch your cheeks.

“Please… please don’t do this. It was the Tavern visits wasn’t it my dear? I’ll be a better man… I promise!”

He’s trying to tell himself.

“Please… please don’t call me that. It sounds wrong.”

“Wrong? Wrong?… How? How so? I’m right here please [Y/n]. We can talk it out…”

His voice is cracking as well, his complexion cracking.

He sees it. He sees his usual stone cold face cracking. The cracks rigid and unusually noticeable against his face.

His mirror is breaking.

“I’m sorry. I really am. But I just…”

“Please [Y/n]. Please. I'll give you anything!... What is it you want? What would I need to give for you to stay??”

“Nothing Alhaitham.”

“You can’t give me anything.”

And suddenly.

He realizes. Your eyes no longer show shine in front of him. How you no longer love him.

SPECIAL BREWS...

Kshahrewar // one of the six darshans of the Akademiya, primarily the Darshan for technology

BARISTAS INQUIREMENT... part II?? This might have been half effort... But surprise! I'm back!

word count. 883

Tag List Form !

©-FUTURIST... Please do not plagiarize, themes are edited by me, reblogs allowed, do not repost on any other platform!!

banner credits: @iron

[seiya-starsniper]

Uh, if you do want *another* prompt to get you to 200k (I know I already sent one) number 28 from the Smutty fic list is just sooo Hobrinthian. Just saying. ;)

28. A puts a blade by B's throat, be it seriously or as a joke/teasing. B's reaction is…enthusiastic || AO3 Link Here

SPOFSDOKFS the best part about this is that I am always writing some variation of this prompt for this ship. And I love that get to do it again for my birthday celebration 💖💖 hope you enjoy friend!!!

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

“I am searching for some wayward creations of mine,” Dream tells Hob late in the evening of their reunion meeting. “They departed for your world when I was captured, and I worry they are causing irreparable damage.”

Hob nods solemnly, taking another sip from his near empty pint of beer. He waves a server down to refill their drinks, and Dream accepts his refilled glass of wine graciously. It is the first time Hob has ever seen him actually consume whatever was put in front of him. His friend must be under a lot of stress indeed.

“Anything I can do to help?” he asks. “Not sure I know how to identify a dream or a nightmare, but I’ve been around a while. Just tell me what to look for, yeah?”

Dream considers the offer, then begins to tell Hob about his missing Arcana.

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

After a few phone calls, a twelve hour flight, and nearly three weeks of following a trail of bodies, Hob finds himself face to face with the last of Dream’s missing creations. 

Well, technically they’re face to face. If one ignored the fact that Hob’s mouth was currently pressed up against the Corinthian’s. 

Hob had tracked the Nightmare to a gay nightclub in the Southern region of the United States, figuring out relatively quickly that the Nightmare had a type. He had, at first, thought the Corinthian had held some sort of prejudice, but when he stepped in to stop the Nightmare mid-murder, Hob realized very quickly that the blond just liked to play with his food.

Hob, of course, had gotten stabbed first in the abdomen, and then in the thigh for all his troubles, and somewhere in the scuffle he’d knocked the Nightmare’s glasses off his face and smashed them under his foot. When the Corinthian realized that Hob wasn’t surprised by the look of him, and that he wouldn’t die from something as simple as a stab wound, the blond had taken a decidedly different interest in him.  

It's not quite a kiss between them, it's more teeth (and there are so many teeth) than tongue, and there is nothing gentle about the way Hob slams the blond into the brick wall behind him. He can feel the cool steel of a second knife at his throat, which only makes Hob's blood run hotter. The first one is still buried in his thigh, the pain long forgotten in favor of Hob’s rapidly hardening cock.

“You’re not like the others,” the Corinthian growls into his mouth. His teeth bite down hard on Hob’s bottom lip, drawing blood, and Hob hisses before he slams the blond’s back harder into the wall. “You’re something older, something that can’t die.”

“Bingo, darling,” Hob pants, before he bites down on the Nightmare’s neck and runs his tongue along the same strip of skin. “Your creator’s been looking for you. You’ve been a bad boy over here in the States.”

“You can tell Dream to fuck right off,” the Corinthian snarls, pushing back against Hob’s body, but not quite pushing the immortal off. Hob knows the blond could propel him across to the other side of the alleyway if he really wanted, he’s only human after all, and the beautiful beast in his arms is so much more than that. Hob laughs as he feels the blade against his neck draw blood. He’s surprised he isn’t dizzy from the blood loss yet. 

“Can’t do that pet,” Hob purrs as he moves a hand down to the Corinthian’s trousers, still unbuttoned from his previous encounter before Hob arrived. The blond is just as hard as he is, and Hob wants to kneel at the Nightmare’s feet and get his mouth on his cock. Probably not the greatest idea given the circumstances. “You need to go back to where you came from. Would it help if I said please?”  

“I'm. Not. Ahhhh,” the Corinthian moans as Hob’s hand wraps around his cock. It’s a good size, thick and heavy in his palm. “Going back,” the nightmare finishes. His hips are thrusting into Hob’s hand now, and Hob chuckles at the eagerness.

“You sure I can't convince you?” Hob whispers into his ear, squeezing just hard enough to wring out another breathless moan. Hob ruts his own still covered cock against the Nightmare’s thigh. “I’m sure I could ask for leniency if you’re a good boy for me.”

“No fucking shot,” the Corinthian says, grinning ferally from all three of his mouths. Hob grins back with all of his teeth.

“Didn’t think so,” he replies, before he does something bold and kisses one of the Corinthian’s eye mouths. The Nightmare gasps and goes rigid beneath him. Hob worries for a brief second that he’s gravely misstepped, but then the tiny mouth opens up to him and purrs. 

Hob comes in his pants. It doesn’t take long before he’s able to finish stroking the Corinthian to completion, and then they’re quiet for a few moments, breathing heavily, the air thick with the stench of blood and sweat and sex.  

Then a thumb is pressed into Hob's eye-socket, and he screams as the Corinthian slashes his throat too fast for Hob to react. The Nightmare then yanks his other knife out of Hob’s thigh and stabs him again and again and again. Hob’s vision goes dark as his body finally gives into the blood loss and exhaustion.

Hob wakes up some unknown amount of time later in the alleyway of the nightclub, bloodied and with one eye missing. He curses at himself for his carelessness. The Corinthian could be anywhere by now. Hob really hopes Dream isn’t tracking his progress through dreams because it was going to be bloody difficult to explain to his friend that he decided to fuck instead of catch his most problematic creation. 

Then again, Dream hadn’t warned Hob about how attractive the Corinthian was going to be, so really it’s the Endless’s fault that Hob thought with his cock first.  

Hob gets a call from a blocked phone number two days later and knows immediately who it is. He hasn’t given the phone number of this burner phone to anyone. 

“I know who you are, Hob Gadling,” the Corinthian’s American accent purrs into his phone. 

Hob laughs. “Did you enjoy your meal then, darling?” he asks knowing exactly what’s happened to his missing eyeball. His body has already grown back its replacement, and it hurt like a goddamn bitch the entire time.  

He hears the Corinthian chuckle on the other line and Hob tries to imagine where the blond is right now, if he’s lazily lying in bed, or calling him from a payphone as he drives off to God knows where.  

“I'm going to hunt you down and take the other eye,” the Corinthian promises him. “How long does it take for one of those to grow back for you?” 

“Meet me in London and find out?” Hob asks, already knowing the answer. 

“I have a better idea,” the Corinthian replies. There's a convention in a few days and wouldn’t you know, I’ve been invited to be the guest of honor.”

“Have you now?” Hob asks, already pulling out a pen and paper. “And what’s this, some sort of serial killer convention?”

“Something like that,” the Corinthian replies, chuckling darkly. “You should come. It'll be a bloody good time.”

[crossdressingdeath]

A thing has been living in my head since I listened to the first episode of Vows and Vengeance (uh, potential spoilers for that by the way), so have some vague thoughts as I try to make sense of it.

It's like... okay, we've all been enjoying the jokes about Solas's ritual-based woes (because they are very funny, to be clear), but the fact that he keeps doing rituals even though they never end well and he never likes the result is fascinating to me, both in terms of his character and in terms of potential DAV plot hooks. I mean, he knows he's fucked up every time! He's never happy about it! But he never stops either, even though he never gets what he wants. That refusal to accept that he needs to step back, listen to others and look at other possibilities instead of steamrolling his way towards the conclusion he's decided is an unfortunate necessity is such a fascinating part of his character. Also yes, I know that Solas has that thing where if Quiz says they want to change his mind he seems to want them to but the issue with that is that he's still refusing to stop for five fucking seconds and actually let them try before he goes about his merry world-ending way. Solas has this thing where even when he knows he's fucked up his response seems to be trying to undo the one specific thing he knows he fucked up rather than... learning from the mistakes he made and trying to move forward with that knowledge instead of constantly trying to go back. This is most noticeable with his main plan ("fucking with the line between the waking world and the Fade destroyed my people and brought me nothing but misery so clearly the solution is to fuck with that line again, in the opposite way this time, with the knowledge/assumption that doing so will once again kill a shitload of people and make me miserable and guilty" sure is... a plan) but honestly just in general the fact that he keeps doing rituals that never work out for him is like. my guy at some point you have to realize that this isn't going to do what you want, please try a tactic that is not a magic ritual.

But that leads me into how this could lead to some interesting plot possibilities, because Rook has also royally fucked up after the first part of DAV. Their attempt to intercede in a ritual has fucked up the world and based on what we've heard seems to have changed them permanently. It'd be very fun if one factor in their relationship with Solas involved the question of whether they do what Solas does and just try to undo what they did, or accept what happened as a now-unchangeable fact and make the best of it they can. Especially if you agree with the theory I've seen floated that the Veilguard are going to on some level correspond to the Evanuris with Rook themself corresponding to Solas; the concept of them being in a similar position to him (having fucked up their world by accident during a ritual gone wrong, although in this case the ritual itself wasn't their doing and the fuckup wasn't nearly as fatal) and having the choice of either following in his footsteps and just trying to undo it somehow or learning from his mistakes and accepting that there's no real way back and they have to go forward. Now I don't know how exactly that would work, it's not like Rook has access to time travel or anything like that, but it could be something like... rather than trying to somehow magically undo the Evanuris getting out (since they're going to have to do that the old-fashioned way) maybe they could try to fix (or "fix", since we don't actually know if them being bound to the Fade is harmful at this stage) what happened to them personally? Again these are just vague thoughts that I'm having, I have no idea how viable this would be, but it could be interesting if Rook was given the same choice of either moving forward with the knowledge that their actions did likely irreparable damage (to themself if not the world) or trying to undo it and could either follow in Solas's footsteps or say "No, I've seen where people trying to undo their mistakes leads, I will do everything in my power to mitigate the damage but I will accept that it's done and can't be fixed just like that".

[gay-dorito-dust]

Freddy freemanx reader friends to lovers with a cute confession

Probably not the cutest of confessions but still I hope it’s worth the read at the very least. 🦦

It was a relaxing evening in Philadelphia and you made sure to make the most of it by hanging out in the shared room of your friend Freddy and his brother Billy.

‘Have you heard about that theory that the reason they stopped fighting was because their mothers shared the same name…’ you dropped your phone onto Freddy’s bed, ‘how shitty would that be if this turns out to be true? That’s like if you and Billy were to stop fighting because you’ve remembered that you’re both orphans.’ You looked over at him to see that the boy’s face was a spitting image of the disbelief that must’ve been painted across your face. ‘Bull-fucking-shit, who’d ever upvote that theory?’ Freddy said as he leaned over your shoulder to pick up your phone to skim through the Reddit page called ‘R/Heroic Hot Takes.’ Or HHT for short.

‘Dunno.’ You shrugged. ‘I would take it with a grain of salt though because the same dude has said stupid shit like this before by claiming that Aquaman fucks fish and that Wonder Woman was sleeping with the likes of both Superman and Batman simultaneously behind the others back.’ You watched as Freddy’s eyes scanned the screen of posts, with each one that he read the more discouraged he became in delving further as he soon put your phone back down onto the bed and sat back in his place against the headboard, running his hands down his face; groaning. ‘If those posts are worth an ounce of their salt, then I’d rather die from a sodium overdose.’

You chuckled at your friends distress and reached a hand to firmly pat his knee, all the while offering him a faux look of sympathy. ‘Aww don’t do that!’ You began as Freddy dropped his hands to his lap as he casted his eyes your way, brows raised to his hairline, as he waited with a unfamiliar look upon his face that immediately vanished with your next words, ‘who would I bother after you die? Billy? I love him but I wouldn’t dare to even try and make a joke with him. Besides, I’d rather annoy my best mate for the rest of my life then not at all.’ It didn’t take you long for realise that Freddy was expecting you to say something else from the slump in his shoulders and the humourlessly laugh that left his lips. Naturally it made you worry.

The smile slipped off your face, ‘what’s wrong Freddy?’

‘Nothing.’ He said shorty, mentally punching himself for letting his fantasies mingle with his reality. You weren’t going to say those words he’s dreamt you saying to him anytime soon and he’d just be better off in accepting the fact that he’ll be nothing other then mate to you. Always the bridesmaid but never the bride or however that quote goes. You furrowed your brows in concern as you shuffled yourself so that you were sat next to him against the headboard, your hand moving from his knee to hold his hand, intertwining your fingers and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

‘C’mon Freddy,’ you uttered softly, ‘you can tell me anything. I’m your friend.’

‘That’s the problem.’ Freddy muttered under his breath, thinking you didn’t hear but you very much did unfortunately. You tore your hand from his, the loss of your warmth jolted you friend into looking over at you with a look of concern himself. ‘What do you mean by that,’ you asked, ‘what do you mean by ‘that’s the problem?’ Do you not want to be my friend anymore? Have you grown bored of me?’ Seeing how you were slowly pulling yourself away from him out of fear, Freddy knew he had to think quickly before irreparable damage was done to your friendship.

‘That’s not what I meant! That was taken completely out of context! He cried as he grasped your hand, dragging you back next to him as you looked at him wearily. ‘Then enlighten me Freddy, what did you mean when you said that since it was ‘taken out of context.’ You used quotation marks for the last part, still feeling a little hurt at the thought that Freddy didn’t want you in his life anymore despite everything you’ve been through together. It didn’t feel like something your Freddy would say, or ever say but being faced with the reality that those words did in fact leave his lips; you were uncertain of where to go should this go where you assumed it was going.

‘What I meant by that was,’ Freddy took a deep breath to settle his nerves, ‘was that I don’t want us to be friends anymore,’ he then mustered the courage to look into your heartbroken eyes, which made the tightness in his throat even worse to swallow, ‘I want us to be so much more then that. I want us to be ya know…together romantically.’ Freddy’s voice cracked towards the end, causing him to mentally cringe but once he heard the sound of your laughter, the embarrassment slipped away, replacing it with a sense of hope. A feeling of which that only grew when you held his face in your hands, thumbs brushing across his cheeks as his reached to hold you there.

‘Wanna elaborate on that sweetheart?’ You asked, voice barely above a whisper, a smitten smile spread across your lips, bringing forth a warmth to Freddy chest as a goofy smile alights his face. ‘I wouldn’t know where to start but then again even if I could find a solid starting point, it wouldn’t come close to fully conveying how happy you’ve made this sad little boy… so very happy.’ He stated, stopping briefly to admire your features that were beaming with happiness so brightly that he wouldn’t mind it being the last thing he saw before loosing sight permanently. ‘You’ve stood by me when I thought myself hopeless, broken and a burden to everyone. Yet you,’ he stops again to chuckle, bringing his tongue o it to wet his suddenly dry lips.

‘You didn’t see any of that, you didn’t see me as a someone who was completely incapable of doing anything on his own. You saw me, Freddy freeman, as me and that would’ve been enough to have me hook, line and sinker but no, you continued to prove that I was far removed from the broken toy I believed myself to be and instead someone who had all the power in his finger tips to do anything he sets his mind to…but the one thing I ever wanted…was you.’ Freddy gushed your reaction, ‘and I do have you, just not in the way I’d like but I’d respect your wishes if that’s not what you want-‘ Freddy was about to finish his speech but was cut off when you drug him by his cheeks and pressed a kiss to his lips; effectively shutting him up.

The kiss was hardly perfect but it’s not like either of you minded, all that mattered to you at that point was that both you and Freddy finally got what you both had been pinning for after suffering so long in fear of rejection and uncertainty. It was the most perfectly imperfect kiss you’ll ever had but that’s what gave it the most character as you both laid upon his bed, lost within one another as a few more sweet but short kisses were shared before pulling away to press your for heads against one another; goofy smiles spread across your lips as the cosy, warm feeling had yet to exit your bodies.

[2n2n]

(Hey do you know if hanako kun seal come off, the entire world will fall in disrray..... * that was close-!!* *heart thumping*)

If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your opinion on this?

It's primarily just a joke because Aida-sensei messed up and didn't include the seal on a random drawing suddenly... but I do think it's worth looking at the joke itself. Rather than imagining a Hanako saying "I'M FREE!!" or "nyahahaha", AidaIro-sensei imagine him desperate to secure it back onto his face... we can think of that as something! The gag drawing could be Kou trying to force it back on or idk, Hanako doing something silly without limits, but it's Hanako scared it came off. We can just take the silly drawing as a statement of: Hanako's desperate to keep that thang on. What does it mean to be a dog desperate to stay chained?

I do think Hanako's seal is important to him, and something he seems to want to keep. I often say it but-- I imagine Nene-chan could probably just peel it using her powers, right? But he never asks her to, and he never alludes to his seal as some sort of pain, or problem, or annoyance. There is no underhanded goal to get it off. He doesn't joke about it; he acts as if it is entirely not there and not a concern for anyone, despite it being so plain and obvious. Nene-chan seemingly hasn't worried about it ever since Kou's vague explanation, and Hanako isn't interested in doing any correcting or expositing. He isn't defensive about it, or self-pitying.

I think the seal represents repression, "holding back". Nothing could be more important to Hanako than repression, amirite? I think it's an important memory, whatever occurred, that he doesn't want to lose as a reference point. Because the Minamoto family were aware of the Red House, and their grandma forbade them from ever nearing it, and at some point, also sealed Hanako, we can assume the sealing of Hanako may have touched upon a lot of sensitivities.

Hanako is a person who deflects everything. He is cryptic, obtuse, he jokes and handwaves things, he lies. He's always compromising, or trying to run away. He'll only tell Nene-chan his wish when he believes he will never see her again. He seems afraid of leaning into his own feelings. He won't say anything out loud, not until pushed to the limit, and even then, he doesn't cede much. He is a person who surely feels it would be bad if he did all he wanted, or told the truth. Perhaps the truth is ugly, or what he wants is terrifying.

As Yako talks about "going berserk", Hanako touches his seal. He seems uncomfortable with the notion "you're still you; you don't become somebody else".

Perhaps for Hanako, it would be convenient to believe you become somebody else, or are fundamentally altered. Perhaps he would like to not have to owe all of his actions to only himself, his nature. It would be more convenient to be infected with something external that makes you behave badly, than simply have your heart speak out in its natural tongue.

(by the way, this is why I don't personally like drawing a distinction between 'Amane' and 'Hanako', and I think it is drinking the kool-aid to argue their difference. I do not think the manga's message would be "well, you're different!" versus the FAR more potent message of "you're still you, no matter what", especially when we're arguing about the personhood or authenticity of people like Tsukasa and Mitsuba. We shouldn't be calling anybody 'fake' or 'gone', and we shouldn't really be calling damaged people 'irreparably altered and lost'. Surely, we should accept and love all of somebody, and see them as themselves, at their best, or at their worst. Lost, confused, fractured-- Hanako and Amane have the same heart, and it is miserably in love.)

As humans, it's relatable. We'd often like to imagine it's not our own fault, or not our nature when we react to something. We like to think of some people as "bringing out something bad" in us, or influencing us, changing us, to become bad-- due to THEIR nature, not OURS. We don't like to take ownership of who we are. It's a complicated notion for Hanako, who both wants to be held accountable and given credit for the choices Amane made.....

.... and struggles with full ownership of his selves, his past, his present, his future. Or perhaps he struggles with the continuity of his existence? Those fragmented, lost, altered parts?

... all things his seal makes me think about.

Could Amane really become this? What Hanako is? Could Amane do all Hanako has done. I mean yes, but.... things he has to think about.

The boy behind that seal-- what did he do? What was he like? If we remove Hanako's seal, will some part of him come back-- a part he doesn't want to interface with? Is he reluctant to have access to certain power? Just how much is really behind it? It is a warping abstraction, is it an irrational sense of self-apprehension, or could it be that dramatic?

I enjoy AidaIro joking "the entire world will fall in disarray", it's like his catastrophizing is fodder for THEM to mock (I love how they bully Amane.... the normal Amane is normally useless...)

Well, whatever the case... he must be attached to the self that is sealed, the way he behaves now. He seems to prefer this for himself, but Hanako hates himself.

meanwhile sympathy for Aida-sensei who has to flipflop between sealed and unsealed boys as she draws the living and the dead boy for any random chapter or event. I cannot imagine. it's literally sf hard when drawing the boys to mind the seals.

[rushingheadlong]

I’d be super interested to read your thoughts on Brian’s relationship with his father!

(always appreciate your insightful commentary, even if I am mostly a lurker in the fandom over here lol)

Mmm, so okay there’s gonna be a huge disclaimer on this post because I need to be very clear that nothing I write here should be taken as indisputable “fact” about Brian’s relationship with his father. I have a lot of thoughts and opinions about things, just from spending the past few years consuming any interview with Brian that I can find, but at the end of the day this is all just speculation and it’s important that we all remember that. 

With that out of the way, a lot of my thoughts about Brian and Harold’s relationship revolve around the tension that exists between Harold’s role as a father and the friend-figure that he often was when Brian was a child.

To summarize what I said in my other comment earlier, Harold not only actively encouraged all of Brian’s major hobbies as a kid but participated in them with him. He was the one who got Brian into photography, music, and astronomy. He bought him his first telescope, showed him how to develop photos, and built the Red Special with him. The impression I’ve always gotten is that Brian intentionally chose to spend a lot of his free time in the evenings with his father, rather than being forced to do so, because Brian speaks incredibly fondly of those times. And we also know that Harold was an incredibly intelligent man in his own right and he pushed Brian to excel academically, which of course he did. 

So we start to get a picture of Brian’s childhood where his home life and a large portion of his out-of-school socialization is dominated by his father and their interactions, and on the whole Brian seems to think positively about this time… possibly because it’s a time where Brian is receiving praise and validation for pursuing interests that Harold already has and achieving all of the academic goals that Harold wants him to reach. Basically, you can make the argument that he’s living the life that his father wants him to live and so their relationship is good. 

And then Brian goes to university, and everything sort of goes to shit. 

Because once he’s at uni, he stops doing exclusively what Harold wants him to do. And suddenly Harold isn’t his quasi-friend, he’s Brian’s father trying to put his foot down - and Brian tells him no. 

Brian has said several times that the falling-out they had over Queen was exacerbated by their stubbornness, and that he was too much like his father to back down and reconcile if Harold wasn’t going to apologize too. They went nearly two years without speaking to each other and, genuinely, I think that did irreparable damage to their relationship on several levels even after they made up again. 

The first is obviously that Harold’s feelings about Queen… didn’t entirely change. In fact I would argue that Harold never accepted Brian as a musician, he only accepted that Brian’s choices were making him money. In the George Tremlett book from 1976, when asked about Brian’s future, Harold talks as if the band won’t continue and explicitly says that Brian should finish his thesis and maybe build a private research laboratory if he has the money. And Brian has talked in Queen in 3D about wowing his parents with the car he was able to buy, and impressing them with the Concorde flight to NYC with room service at the hotel and the whole nine yards even though he didn’t have the money to do that because he wanted them to think that he really had “made it” as a rockstar. 

That isn’t to say that Harold hated Queen or anything like that, but I don’t think he ever thought “Yes this is the best thing for my son to do with his life” and rather came around to a position of, “The music isn’t bad and as long as he’s earning a living off it then I’ll leave it be”. He clearly supported Brian enough to go to shows and track their tour itineraries on maps but he never gave up hope that Brian would leave music and return to his studies.

The second is that part of their rift wasn’t only over Queen, but over Brian’s relationship with Chrissie. They were living together at the time, and had been for several years, but weren’t married yet. Brian has explicitly said that Harold found that to be “immoral” and was extremely against it, and he's also made less-explicit comments about feeling extremely pressured to propose to Chrissie during this time.

Personally - and I have no direct evidence to support this - I suspect that Brian’s and Harold’s reconciliation process was a bit of a negotiation. Not in any sort of formal way at all, obviously, but I can very easily see Brian thinking, “If he can accept the band, the least I can do is finally make an honest woman out of Chrissie so he’s not upset about us living together.” and proposing from there despite the fact that his cheating would seem to suggest that he wasn’t entirely ready to commit to her.

The reason I suspect this is because Brian has talked before about feeling pressured to live up to Harold’s expectations of what a father and husband “should be”. Harold was an incredibly traditional patriarch and tried to distill those same values in Brian, without much success. Brian has talked about feeling like he was expressing himself, his masculinity, and his heterosexuality all “wrong” because he felt pressured to perform those things in a way that did not come naturally to him, and how he struggled with readjusting to family life after tours because he couldn’t be the head of household like Harold was. 

The final reason I think their falling-out did lasting damage to their relationship is because Harold didn’t give Brian any explanations at first for why he had been so eager to build the guitar but so angry about Brian actually using it. It was only much later on that he finally admitted to Brian that he had wanted to be in a band himself after he got out of the RAF but Ruth was already pregnant so he had to set aside the musician dreams in order to support his new family. To quote Brian directly here from this interview, “I realised then that he’d found it hard to accept my choice because it was a dream he’d been forced to reject.”

So now we have several layers of Harold living, or trying to live, vicariously through his son. And while I don’t want to accuse Harold of being a bad man or a bad father… it’s really not great that his reaction to Brian getting to live the dream that he couldn’t was to not speak to him for nearly two years. That’s such a huge and abrupt change in personality and opinion that it probably fundamentally changed how Brian viewed the support he had gotten from his father up to that point. (Like, if Brian didn’t realize then that Harold only supported him when he was doing what Harold wanted I would be shocked.)

Also in terms of changes in opinion, I want to add in another quote from Brian from that same interview about talking to his mum after his father died: “Mum told me they’d had a difficult relationship. But as a kid I had no idea, it just felt like a secure and loving home. She felt she’d just submerged herself in Dad, as wives did in those days. She made up for it much later, getting a job in a chemist’s and turning into this great, social person.”

Ruth wasn’t allowed a license or a job while Harold was alive, and Brian’s phrasing of her “turning into this great, social person” here is… concerning to me, tbh. I really do not want to accuse Harold of being abusive because we have exactly zero evidence that he was - but he was absolutely a product of his time and held very deep-seated opinions about gender and familial roles. And once Brian became aware of more of the ways in which those opinions manifested, I think he struggled to reconcile that against his foundational image of his father which is probably rooted more in their shared hobbies than his conservative views. 

I think Harold May was probably a man who, thanks to the time period he grew up in, viewed Brian and Ruth as being “his” and expected them to do what he wanted them to do. I think that as a child Brian was largely unaware of this dynamic, due in part to the fact that his own interests aligned heavily with his father’s, and so I think Brian grew up very much loving his father and wanting to do anything to make him proud. 

I also think they never had that sort of relationship again after their falling-out. I think once Brian saw first-hand how stubborn, possibly even controlling, his father could be that it fundamentally changed their relationship even after they reconciled - but like with a lot of people, I think a large part of Brian kept trying to make his father proud of him anyway. And I think Brian did that by trying to demonstrate his financial security and by trying to be the husband/father that Harold expected him to be, even to the detriment of his own marriage and mental well-being. 

And I think that as Brian has aged himself his understanding of his father has changed in ways that are often messy and difficult for him to articulate. I think Harold left him with a lot more questions than answers, especially as Brian has made several comments over the years about wishing that Harold was still around to ask him about things. I think in some ways Brian struggles to balance an understanding that Harold was a product of his time with just wishing that Harold had been in some ways a different, or better, man. 

I think Brian has spent a large portion of his life chasing his father’s approval, with varying degrees of success, and I think he regrets a lot of that when he looks back on things now. 

But underneath everything else is still the seven-year-old being taught chords on his first acoustic guitar and the twelve-year-old helping to develop photos and the sixteen-year-old hand-carving an old fireplace mantel into what will be the Red Special… And I think that largely Brian considers the friend who was there for all of that to be a different person to the father he fell out with, and that Brian has spent the roughly 47 years since their reconciliation trying to fit together a coherent mental image of Harold again.

[daitranscripts]

Vivienne Cutscene: Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts

Considering the Divine

Vivienne Masterpost Related Quest: Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts

(Occurs after both HLTA and WEWH)

The PC joins Vivienne on the balcony.

Vivienne: My dear, I know you must have a great deal on your mind right now, but I need to speak with you. You know as well as I how far the Inquisition’s influence has spread… and how desperate the grand clerics have become. Our opinion will be instrumental in their election of the new Divine.

Dialogue options:

General: I suspected as much. [1]

General: It will? That’s unlikely. [2]

General: Any advice on the subject? [3]

General: One of our own may be Divine. [4]

1 - General: I suspected as much. PC: I thought that might be coming after the Grand Ball. [5]

2 - General: It will? That’s unlikely. PC: You think the grand clerics will care what the Inquisition wants? Vivienne: They pray for the Maker’s guidance, and see you standing as a beacon. [5]

3 - General: Any advice on the subject? PC: What do you suggest? [5]

4 - General: One of our own may be Divine. PC: They want Leliana and Cassandra as candidates. [5]

5 - Scene continues.

Vivienne: The Inquisition may not be invited to their vote, but our actions will certainly influence the grand clerics. To sit on the Sunburst Throne, a candidate should have grace, charm, and a will of solid steel. Cassandra may lack the first two, but unless you can think of someone better, she is the strongest choice.

6 - Dialogue options:

Investigate: What platform do you support? [7]

Investigate: Where else can we look? [8]

General: I agree. [9] + Vivienne approves Divine: Cassandra +1

General: What about Leliana? [10] - Vivienne disapproves Divine: Leliana +1

General: You’d make a good Divine. [11] + Vivienne greatly approves. Divine: Vivienne +1

General: This needs some thought. [12]

7 - Investigate: What platform do you support? PC: What would your ideal Divine do with her power? Vivienne: The most important thing, of course, is the restoration of the Circles and the Templar Order. The institutions that have protected Thedas for ages must be rebuilt and the malcontents utterly crushed. We cannot allow anarchists to threaten the lives of the innocent. After we have restored sanity to the world, there will be time to address voices of dissent. [back to 6]

8 - Investigate: Where else can we look? PC: Where can we find candidates outside of the Chantry? There must be someone other than Leliana or Cassandra. Vivienne: The Chantry is already desperate. They would not look to unordained women if they had any choice. You may have better luck searching the halls of the Imperial Court. There are many women serving the empire who have the necessary presence and acumen. [back to 6]

9 - General: I agree. PC: I think Cassandra would be best for the job. Vivienne: Cassandra is our only hope for restoring order after all this chaos. I knew you would see it as I do. We will have to be very mindful of everything we do and say, for the Conclave certainly is doing the same. If they look to the Inquisition to provide a sign of the Maker’s will, we will have to give them the right one. Scene ends.

10 - General: What about Leliana? PC: Leliana might be a better choice than Cassandra, don’t you think? Vivienne: Leliana is a well-meaning fool. She will do irreparable harm to countless people in the name of “freedom.” She proposes to abolish the Circles with nothing but a solemn promise from mages not to murder children. When an angry mage lashes out inside a tower, villages aren’t destroyed! The Circle protects us all! Mages will die and take ordinary men with them in a war that cannot be won. Consider carefully, Inquisitor. Everything we do is a sign from the Maker to those who seek one. Scene ends.

11 - General: You’d make a good Divine. PC: Actually, I think you fit the criteria perfectly, Vivienne. Vivienne: Me? My dear Inquisitor, Thedas will never accept a mage as Divine.

Dialogue options:

Politics: I’ll make sure they do. [13] +Vivienne approves

General: You can win them over. [14]

General: Think about the possibilities. [15]

General: They will with my support. [16]

13 - Politics: I’ll make sure they do. PC: A few words to the right people, and we can ensure no one objects to you taking the Sunburst Throne. Vivienne: You do have a point, and a modicum of talent for the Game… If the clerics could be persuaded to consider me—and it’s not impossible–I could hardly refuse, now could I? [17] 14 - General: You can win them over. PC: If you can charm the Imperial Court, you can win over the common folk. Vivienne: You do have a point, and I suppose there is no better way to restore order than to do it myself. If the clerics could be persuaded to consider me–and it’s not impossible—I could hardly refuse, now could I? [17] 15 - General: Think about the possibilities. PC: Picture it! Your political skill and charisma, with the support of Andraste’s Herald backing you. Vivienne: You do have a point, and I suppose there is no better way to restore order than to do it myself. If the clerics could be persuaded to consider me–and it’s not impossible—I could hardly refuse, now could I? [17] 16 - General: They will with my support. PC: With Andraste’s Herald supporting you, what can they do? Vivienne: You do have a point, and I suppose there is no better way to restore order than to do it myself. If the clerics could be persuaded to consider me–and it’s not impossible—I could hardly refuse, now could I? [17] 17 - Scene continues. Vivienne: We will have to be very mindful of everything we do and say, for the Conclave certainly is doing the same. If they look to the Inquisition to provide a sign of the Maker’s will, we will have to give them the right one. Scene ends.

12 - General: This needs some thought. PC: I’ll have to think carefully about this. Vivienne (high approval): Don’t worry, my dear. I have complete confidence that you will guide the clerics in the right direction. Vivienne (low/neutral approval): Well, don’t fret my dear. With guidance, you’ll steer the clerics in the proper direction. Vivienne: We will have to be very mindful of everything we do and say, for the Conclave certainly is doing the same. If they look to the Inquisition to provide a sign of the Maker’s will, we will have to give them the right one. Scene ends.

If the PC speaks to Vivienne after WEWH before HLTA:

Vivienne (Gaspard rules alone): You did well enough at the Winter Palace, my dear. It’s not every day an emperor owes you his life.

Vivienne (Briala rules with Gaspard): You were very skilled in arranging matters at the Winter Palace, my dear. We will hope Briala can keep what’s been given to her.

Vivienne (Celene rules, Briala reunited): It took a great deal of skill to win that title for the elves, but you surely know it will end in a bloodbath.

Vivienne (Celene rules): You acquitted yourself well enough in the Game, my dear, and now you have the gratitude of an empire. Well done.

[genderqueerdykes]

Hello! (Sorry for my English, I'm using a translator to write this XP) I really love your posts and they really helped me sort out my feelings in a lot of ways (including as a trans man), but I still have a lot of doubts. I like to think and talk about myself as a man, but at the same time I do not have severe gender dysphoria, and when I think about starting my transition, I am tormented by huge doubts, as if I am afraid to regret my decision, but at the same time I like to imagine myself as a man and I very often regret that I was not born a man (like I would like to have a penis and get rid of this annoying breast). I seem to have a special idea of ​​what kind of man I should be, and if I don’t be exactly that, then my life will be destroyed. I have read a lot about how male hormones affect the body of trans guys and I am afraid to face the negative consequences of the transition (for example, baldness, I am very attached to my long hair and I am afraid of losing it), I am afraid that I will become ugly and only cripple my body . I'm scared that I'll never be a full-fledged man. Can you please tell more about how you felt when you first started to accept yourself as a trans man, it would help me a lot :)

hello!

dysphoria is not required to be any type of trans person.

it is normal to have doubts at first when questioning one's gender, i think it's good that you've figured out that you definitely perceive yourself as male and enjoy doing so, that is honestly the most important part of the experience. fear and anxiety creep in and make us second guess ourselves but the truth is honestly more simple than we feel

fortunately testosterone doesn't make anyone "ugly" or "crippled" and many of the effects of testosterone in the body "revert" back to how it was before if the person is not taking testosterone for a substantial amount of time (1.5 years+). please be careful when sending other people asks like this, this belief is radfem/terf rhetoric, and it's best to undo that thinking and understand that testosterone is a hormone that exists in all of our endocrine systems regardless of agab- every person has both estrogen and testosterone in their bodies at all times, and not one hormone or the other makes someone ugly or bad- there is nothing inherently bad about testosterone, or high testosterone bodies.

please remember when sending me asks like this that i was born in a high testosterone body and HRT helped and affected my body secondarily, not primarily- it is taken to augment my body's naturally high T levels. this line of thinking makes me feel super alienated from the transmasculine community and awkward, which is partially why i primarily identify as a trans woman and struggle to identify as a trans man anymore.

it's normal to fear balding, every transmasc and trans man i've ever met has feared baldness, myself included, but baldness isn't a guarantee, it's just 1 possible side effect amongst many. you are not guaranteed to go bald and you are able to do testing to see if you are genetically more likely to. also, if you do begin to bald, it is not the end of the world, as there are lots of medications that treat balding and your endocrinologist will be aware of these risks when starting you on testosterone HRT, so you will have advanced access to this type of care

if you don't want to go on T, you don't have to, that is not a requirement for being a trans man or transmasculine person. it is up to you to decide if that's appropriate for you. if you don't go on hormones and decide to socially transition and decide you don't like being seen as a man after all, then you didn't do any harm to anyone or anything, you didn't irreparably change anything, or anything like that. there's no harm in doing a trial run of an identity without hormones if you want to test the waters and see how it feels

if you like the positives of T and are only really concerned about baldness, i would say that it sounds like testosterone could be a good choice for you. i think it's best to weigh the pros and cons and if balding is the only real con you are concerned about, it may be worthwhile to talk to a doctor in your area

it's very normal to have these types of fears and to question yourself, it's healthy to do so, and most people go through a very long questioning period before trying out the identity they feel they are. it works best for some to go by that identity online for some time, then come out to irl friends, then progress from there, dressing how you want to in public, etc. it's up to you to decide, but overall, you sound like you have a very normal trans man experience. it's okay to not want to go on T and to not have dysphoria. that is one of the most common expressions of trans manhood i come across, actually

i hope this helps, take care, good luck in your journey, hope you are able to figure things out and do what's right for you. you deserve the time to figure yourself out above all else

[matchbookarmy]

🔁 & 💯!

Thanks for the ask. I answered the reread question here.

7. a fic that made you think #writer goals

Okay....soooooo... sometime back I talked about rereading a fic that I couldn't in good conscience recommend as a Stony fic. But I am going to go ahead and rec it here, because it really is that good. So, be forewarned, this is not a happy Stony fic, and it does not have a happy ending. But it is really really really good, if you are a Tony fan, and want some top notch character exploration. As long as you don't mind hurting because this one's gonna hurt.

Black Right Hand by Diomedes

Rating: Mature

Summary: Destiny never marks him false. It’s Tony who learns all the wrong lessons. Soulmark AU: People are born with soulmarks: bloodline marks and soulmates. Very rarely do more appear or do they fade. Tony's do. This messes with his perception of love irreparably.

Why I'm Reccing: So, as I was going through my bookmarks looking for something that I hadn't already recced, I got like one sentence into this one and I was like....oh....this is that one. Because this fic lives in my head rent free. This fic absolutely set the standard for me in terms of a darker, self-destructive Tony characterization, and I haven't been the same since. (This fic also set the standard for me on Tony's relationship with Jarvis, and I will accept nothing less. We stan Jarvis on this blog.)

Look, I know a lot of people want to read happy fic, and I get that, so this fic will not be for everyone, but when I say that this fic is stunning, I do not say that lightly. This fic is poetry. It is art, it is music, it paints a beautiful and heart wrenching painting from the very first line, and it honestly takes my breath away.

This is a story of a Tony who is hurt by love pretty much from the moment he is born. This is the story of the many loves of Tony's life, the good, the bad, and the (very) ugly. This is the story of being hurt by love, over and over and over again. That's it, that's the fic. There's no upside here, just pain. Pain that you feel deep in your soul, but it's okay, because it's beautiful.

Tony loves as best he can with his defective heart but it isn’t enough for Destiny to hear him. He never considers that his mother’s mark faded because he’s nothing like her at all. See, Tony is nothing like Maria who loved so much she bent the will of Destiny. Instead Tony is marked with the names of those who love him. 

Then he gets to watch, one by one, as they stop.

It hurts. It hurts a lot. But it's worth it.

Trigger warning for depictions of abusive relationships (both child and domestic) but none involving Steve. (Though again, this is not a happy Stony fic.) Also this is MCU canon complaint, up to and including Endgame.

[benevolentvampire]

The point of living in this world is the hope that maybe, just maybe, something wonderful might happen tomorrow, or maybe you'll meet your new best friend tomorrow, or see a beautiful/uncommon sight, or the chance to hear your favorite show is being continued, or a million other possibilities. Yes things feel like shit right now but if you're asking what's the point of going on? The answer will always be the possibility of experiencing something great soon. It might not happen super soon but giving up will only ensure that nothing else good can happen for you. And I hope that you get to experience so many wonderful things.

I know. Thank you for the sentiment, but, things really don't feel that way right now. Not when my best friend, and the love of my life, just committed suicide.

And his last request was that I promise not to follow him, and I made that promise, so. I refuse to ever break it. I refuse to disappoint him like that. Because he asked me to, I'm gonna keep going, and I'm gonna keep his memory alive and flourishing for as long as I live. I'm going to dive into everything he ever loved and try to see them the way he did, I'm going to try and be more like him in the way he loved everything so wholeheartedly. That was one of the things i loved most about him - no matter what or who it was, if he loved something, he gave it his whole soul.

He wore his heart on his sleeve constantly and that's something I've always admired. He was so, so brave to get as far as he did. The world was truly cruel to him for his entire life. He deserved better. He deserved better from everyone around him, from the world itself, and from me - i know i hurt him irreparably a few months ago and he did tell me that the way he's been feeling is in large part due to my actions. That guilt will stay with me forever. But that one promise I broke was far more than enough and I refuse to break any more. Despite everything he still loved me enough to let me prove I was trustworthy again, and we were close again, almost as close as we were before it happened. I know he'd forgiven me, but that doesn't mean my actions stopped having an effect on him, stopped hurting him. And that hurt is a big part of why he did this.

I can never fix that, and I can never fix this. He's gone now. I'm starting to accept that and starting to realise they're not coming back. And it hurts so much. And it hurts knowing I was one of his reasons, too. I hold nothing against him for telling me I am, though. If by some miracle it turns out his attenpt failed and he does actually turn out to be okay and he reaches out, I will feel absolutely nothing but pure relief and joy.

I'll carry his memory with me for the rest of my life. I'm going to treasure him for as long as I live. I'm going to do my best to love the way he did, and to explore everything he loved and everything that made him who he was. I already plan on having his favourite flower tattooed someday soon. He meant the world to me, he truly did. I'm going to honour him in every way I can think of because there's no way I can let the most beautiful soul I've ever known fade from this world. And because he deserves to be remembered forever, by everyone, as one of the most brilliant people to ever live.

One day when my time's up I'll see him again. But I promised him I wouldn't make that any sooner than it has to be. But venting my true feelings here - the world has, know it or not, just lost one of the most amazing people. One of the kindest, funniest, most beautifully creative people. He made every second I spent with him so much happier without even trying. Any time I so much as saw a notification from him, I brightened up immediately. I loved him, I still love him, more than anything. More than life itself.

I promised him I wouldn't end my own life and I refuse to break that promise. But a part of me can't help but feel there's no point to anything anymore now that he's not here. Like there's no point to continuing life if I don't get to share it with him. And a part of me too wants to just immediately go to where he is, no matter where it is, no matter what I have to do to see him again. I miss him so, so much. And it's only been 34 hours since his last message. I've missed him for months and we had so many plans together, so many things we'd talked about doing together. And I would've been ecstatic just to see him again. But now I'm going to miss him like this for the rest of my life. And that hurts beyond anything I can ever put into words. Almost every hope I've had for the future for more than a year, ever since we started dating and through our whole breakup and the whole healing process following it, has involved him, and now he's gone. I've lost my soulmate. There's nothing that will make that easier. I just hope that wherever he is now is a kinder, happier place for him. He deserves happiness, he always has. I wish he could still be here to get it in life.

I will write him a proper goodbye, someday soon. Whenever the hope that he'll just respond to one of my messages, or that he'll post something on here, and turn out to be okay, fades away. But I can't let go of that hope yet, so I'm just. taking things as they come. Trying to live. And I'm expressing my feelings on here while I do.

Thank you for the message anon, but you truly don't have to worry about me. I'm not going anywhere, not after I promised him I'd stay. If you want to help, spare some thought for him, some hope that he's happier now. That's all I'll ask.

[brandwhorestarscream]

I want a part 2! This reveal deserves a sequel!

The autobots find Skyfire borderline cataonic, still sprawled out in the mud, tho now with his neck turned so his cheek is to the ground, not his face. He's so numb, shocked, and only moves when another autobot finds him.

He just stares at them for a moment as they ask if he's ok, what happebed, and he firmly plants one servo down on the ground. Pushes himself up and asks in a hollow, broken voice, "You destroyed Vos?"

And the autobot just kinda snickers. Yeah, some of their best work. The seekers are nothing but trouble, and wiping out the majority before they could join the decepticons, while unethical, really did make a huge difference. If the cons had managed to persuade all of Vos to their side, the autobots wouldn't have stood a chance. After all, ruling the skies is a great tactical advantage. There's not much you can do when your enemy is miles above your helm and moves faster than the speed of sound. Had Vos been allowed to stand, the autobots likely would have been crushed by now

And Skyfire... he doesn't say anything. He's starting to shake, a white hot anger about to boil over and consume him. They destroyed his home. He may not have been a seeker but he was born a Vosian. To hear this mecha so nonchalantly speak of the genocide they committed, pushing two frametypes to the brink of exticntion almost over night... it stokes a rage in his spark that he's never experienced before. He hisses at the other to shut up, shut up, don't talk about his home that way.

Idk where he goes from here, but he probably doesn't return to the autobots. He can't. But he's unable to turn to the decepticons, to Starscream, either. His old partner would never accept him now, and he's done irreparable damage.

All he can do is leave 🤭