#...I trust that God would not bring us this far just to abandon us now. But I genuinely do not see how He is going to do this.

[thegreenleavesofspring]

A genuinely horrible thought just occurred to me. Would everyone please pray that the court does not order me to put my children in public school so that I can go get 'a real job'?

[puck-luck]

Quinn, Diamonds, Prompt #9 (option to include #1 - both are so good!!) 🫶🏻

warnings: using a camera during sexual acts, dirty talk WC: 575

“Aw, baby, this is just what you needed, huh?” Quinn asks, smirking devilishly through his grainy reflection. “You’ve been so stressed. That’s all over with now, right?”

You nod mindlessly, grinding back on his cock. You’d been preparing for this interview all week, over-preparing to the point that you’d be able to answer any hypothetical question that your (hopefully) future employer could throw at you. 

Quinn had helped you, of course. He’s a doting boyfriend who wants what’s best for you and he’ll help you in any way we can. Part of helping you was the promise of stress relief, or a reward for doing so well after you complete your interview. You had chosen the big reward, wanting to focus on prepping for your interview rather than getting distracted by sex, and Quinn had told you to trust him. 

After your interview ended, he closed your computer and replaced it with his own. He opened his camera and had you center yourself in frame, the way you had when you were talking with the hiring managers a few minutes before. Then, Quinn had done something surprising. He had stood behind you and kissed over your neck until you were melting into his touch. 

Then he’d unbuttoned your shirt, revealing your “pretty tits” and the bra that confines them. He’d cradled their weight in his hands, still kissing over the sensitive skin that covers your pulse point.

It hadn’t taken him long to get you standing. He’d pushed the chair away from you, then bent you over the edge of the desk with a gentle, guiding hand. Then, he had rid you of your pants and pulled your panties to the side, crooning into your ear as he entered you with a finger.

“My smart girl,” Quinn had said. “So capable. You killed it, baby.”

A second finger. “They’d be stupid not to hire you after that interview. Almost as stupid as you’re going to be when I’m done with you.”

It was a promise and he’s made good on it so far– he’s at the point where he’s long since abandoned using his fingers and is now fucking into you with sharp, precise thrusts. You’re clenching down on his cock like you’re trying to milk the cum out of him. Your moans are echoing throughout the bedroom, and occasionally Quinn will remind you to look at yourself on the screen.

“What would they think, baby, if they could see you now?” Quinn asks, bringing a hand to the back of your head and gripping your hair. “You think they’d like the show? Make you CEO right away just because you look so pretty when you’re squeezing my cock?”

“Oh my God,” you whimper, blushing at the mere idea of it. Quinn loves to humiliate you a little bit, especially after a hard week for you. It makes you looser, louder, more eager to come. He knows how to erase all of your thoughts with just a few words.

“Nah, you’d never let that happen,” Quinn muses. “Only I get to see you like this, isn’t that right?”

“Only you, Quinn,” you agree breathlessly, your head dropping forward again to rest on your forearms, entirely fucked out. 

“Ah-ah, baby,” Quinn corrects, pulling your head back up with a disapproving shake of his head. “Let the camera see your face when you come. I want to watch this back next time I go out of town.”

[portagas-chan]

Platonic Yandere Doflamingo and teen daughter reader

Overprotective Dad

Platonic Yandere Doflamingo x Daughter Reader

I tried my best. I hope you like it!

Doflamingo adored you and spoiled you rotten because you were his only child. His only daughter. To him, you were the most important person in his life and no one could prove him wrong. He will kill anyone who hurt you physically and mentally.

There was a time when you were a child and a maid accidentally spilled hot tea on you. You cried because the tea felt so hot on your skin and he quickly called a doctor and soothe you. After that incident, you noticed one thing. You never saw that maid again.

You were too young to understand back then but now you do. You turned 18 a few months ago. You were happy because you thought Doflamingo would finally let you leave the castle and explore the outside world. You thought you could finally travel the seas. That was your dream.

However, during your 18th birthday, you asked him if you could become a pirate like him and travel the seas but before you could even finish your sentence, he cut you off.

"No," just that simple one word was able to crush your dreams in an instant.

"Why?" You argued.

"The outside world is very dangerous, [Y/n]. How many times do I have to tell you that? There is no way you can become a pirate. This castle is the only safe place for you."

You furrowed your eyebrows, "But dad, I wanted to become a pirate like you. I just-"

He raised his voice, "[Y/n]! I don't want you to become a pirate like me. You know, I hate repeating myself. I don't want to hear about this topic again! Do you understand me?"

"Yes," You muttered.

"Now go to your room!"

That was the first time your dad had ever raised his voice at you. You left crying and feeling dejected.

But you were determined to leave. You loved your dad but sometimes he is just too much. You heard that he had to attend the Warlord meeting and will be back in a few days. You took this opportuinity to sneak out and it seems like luck was on your side because it was successful.

"Where is [Y/n]? Where did she go?!" Diamante panicked.

"I think she left. I checked every room in this castle and she is nowhere to be found," Baby 5 sighed.

"Fuck!" Diamante cursed.

"Doffy is going to be so mad," Trebol said.

"We have to tell him."

And they did. They told him about the terrible news through the den den mushi. He was flying in the sky heading towards Marineford but the news made him paused and he was thankful that he was still near dressrosa.

Doflamingo did not take it well. His frown deepened, his veins popped out on his forehead and he looked like he will kill anyone who gets in his way. Abandoning his meeting, he wasted no time and flew at the fastest speed back to Dressrosa.

An hour later, he arrived at his castle to see you tied up in your room. He glanced at Diamante, "Where did you find her?"

"Green bit. Thank god she didn't go too far. If we were a little late, she would have been gone for good."

He narrowed his eyes at Diamante's words, "Untie her."

Diamante nodded, obeying his orders.

"Fufufu~ You are very persistent, my daughter," He walked towards you with a grin. You could tell that even though he was grinning, he was very angry inside.

You were scared of what was going to happen next. You were born isolated from the world and now you sneaked out but got caught. There was no way he was going to continue let you live like you used to.

"I'm sorry, dad but I won't do it again! I promise!" You apologized hoping he would let it slide this time.

"Sure but can I trust you? I don't think I can. Last time, you asked me about this and I told you to never bring it up again. You said you won't but now look at what you did. You crossed the line, [Y/n]," He was no longer smiling. He looked upset, mad and most of all, disappointed in you.

You stayed silent because he was right. You lied to him but how could you not? You were getting tired of being restricted from leaving the castle.

When he saw that you have given up on going against him, his signature grin returned to his face.

"Starting from now on, you will be locked up in your room. And for extra precautions, I will have to put these bracelets on you" He took them out of his pocket.

"What?" You were confused. Bracelets for extra precautions?

Doflamingo took your hand and put on the bracelets on both of your wrists, "They will explode if you leave this castle."

You froze in place. Your eyes widened as you looked at your dad in fear and despair.

Doflamingo grinned and hugged you.

"Don't worry, [Y/n]. In this world, I will be the only one who loves you and care for you. I am the only one that will always be by your side. And that is why you can never leave your dad. Fufufu~"

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

Platonic Yandere DIO and daughter reader (who was abandoned at his house as a baby)

Hi thank you for the request, this is my first platonic request so I hope it's alright.

Familial Yandere Dio

At first Dio simply wanted to leave the child where they were but something compelled him to take the child. Maybe a small part of him thinks back on his childhood and takes pity. However he has no need for the weak so he uses a fragment of the stand arrow on the baby to prove their worthiness. The child doesn't die so he decides to keep them. They'd serve him well as a stand user in due time.

He has his servants raise her, luckily she had her name embroidered on the blanket she was wrapped in, (Y/n). However she still finds a way to get his attention. At first he simply passes her back off to the servants, agitated that this child will disrupt him. However over time he softened to her, she became less of a tool to him.

Soon he would allow (Y/n) into his bedroom and read to her whatever he was absorbed in at the time. He begrudgingly accepts the child calling him "dada". As soon as she develops proper talking skills he insists on being called father instead.

Around the age of 4 to 5 (Y/n) already quite independent. Already learning stuff more advanced then what her age range would. A model child by all accounts, however despite showing an ability to see stands hers hasn't quite manifested yet. She has been put through strenuous training yet still no results. She's also spoilt, she eats extravagantly, dresses in the nicest clothes a child could wear and is given almost anything she asks for.

As she grew up, she became aware of her lack of a stand. Trying to make up for her failure but Dio assures her it will come in due time and that she does not need to make up for such a thing.

But she also becomes aware of life outside the mansion. Asking at first to accompany servants during errands which he allows but when she asks to play with other children he tells her that she shouldn't bother with such a thing, those children are beneath her. Those children would bow before them when the time came.

Eventually her stand manifests. The moment it's know, a victim is choosen for her to test her stand on. When the victim isn't harmed Dio is let down, but his initial plans of using her as another servant are far gone.

That's when she goes to the piano, something she was still a novice in but now could play it like a professional.

She is able to figure out she has the power to absorb information and skills from others. Not a powerful stand but a useful one nevertheless. A stand dubbed Gates of Babylon, a physical manifestation of her desire of knowledge.

So it becomes a regular occurrence that Dio will let her use her stand on his victims before he drinks them dry. An odd form of father daughter bonding (of course away from (Y/n)).

Still (Y/n) never quite lost interest in the outside world. One day she manages to sneak out by herself. Of course when he discovers this he's mortified, but hides it the best he can from his servants as he tells them to find her.

Of course she's found and brought back. If she has injury, even just a scrape he'll use it as justification. She's only mortal compared to him. All manner of things could happen to her. The moment that it is just the two of them he scolds her. Even goes on about how vulnerable she is and what compelled her to leave with everything she has.

Everything is a lot more tightly run. Constantly monitored, constantly given more and more things to entertain her. He's also taking more time to spend with her directly.

Telling them always that he's the only one that she should trust 100%, that people will try to harm or take advantage of her. God forbid he brings up his childhood as an example, that he actually acknowledge his prior humanity to another soul.

[bleucommelhiver]

look alive, ulric

nyx ulric week 2024 | day 3: teamwork RATING: T for language because it's Nyx and Pelna c'mon now WORDS: 1126 SUMMARY: On the day of the signing, the only people Nyx and Pelna can trust are each other.

The feeling of unease that’s been gnawing at the edge of Nyx’s consciousness since yesterday morning hasn’t let up. Today’s the big day. After today, he’ll put in a request for some much needed leave. Bring Crowe’s body back to Galahd, with Libertus if he’ll give him the time of fucking day, give her a proper burial. Check out the old haunts. Pay his respects to his lil’ sis and to pa. Finally see ma. Maybe you’d come along too.

He just needs to fucking get through today.

At least that’s what he keeps telling himself.

But as he makes his way past the crowds and barricades to the roundabout at the foot of the Citadel, the quietude of the day has him on high alert. Something deep in his gut is waiting for the metaphorical pin to drop.

The comm from command buzzes in his ear: “Niflheim contingent has left the hotel. Less than three hours until the ceremony. Bolster the Citadel Guard.”

Great. Looks like the circus is about to begin. Time to look alive, Ulric.

His comm buzzes again, this time it’s Luche on a private frequency. “Nyx, is the Princess with you?”

What kind of asinine question was that? Luche knows full well the captain’s relegated him to every form of grunt work since the last mission. Chaperoning the princess on the historic day of the signing was, apparently, out of the scope of his duties.

Nyx answers anyways, curious where Luche’s going with this. “No, I’m on duty at the Citadel.”

“Well, the Nifs just left for the ceremony. And she wasn't with them.”

The fuck? He was relieved from princess duty last night by Sonitus. Why’s Luche radioing him about it? The sense of unease in the pit of his stomach deepens.

It’s none of his business. He’s part of the Citadel Guard today, and all he needs to do is to get through today. It’s none of his fucking business, but his captain’s words echo in his head anyways: “Your orders are to protect her. Not to look, not to listen, not to think.”

Fuck.

Gods-fucking-dammit.

Nyx abandons his post and makes a beeline for his apartment. Along the way, he taps his comm, ready to test a theory.

“Hey Pelna, Luche says the Princess is missing.”

“No shit?” His surprised response comes quickly. “Today of all days. Real convenient.”

“Yeah, seems like the Nifs got us running about like rats.”

There’s a brief pause before he replies, “No shit.”

As Nyx rounds the corner to his apartment, his phone begins to buzz. He mutes his comm piece before picking up.

“Trust no one, huh, Nyx?”

“Figured if there’s anyone left in the Glaive that Crowe’s warned, it’d be you.”

“So, what’s the plan, hero? Off to rescue the princess all by yourself?”

“I got you, don’t I? The Robin to my Batman. Or would you be Alfred in this case?”

“Fuck off, asshole,” Pelna laughs. “How can I help?”

Nyx throws open the door to his apartment and grabs the watch from where he left it on his desk. Its face is displaying a steady 35:2720 and -13:0318 instead of the dance of numbers from earlier this morning.

“I’m running on a hunch here, but I’m going to send you some coordinates from Crowe’s watch. Can you pinpoint the location?”

“Yeah, hold on.” Nyx can hear the rapid-fire click of keys as Pelna logs in his credentials. As he inputs the coordinates, Pelna asks, “You hear from your other princess?”

Nyx sucks in a breath. “No. Not since yesterday.”

“My texts haven’t been getting through to her, thought you might know something about it.”

Nyx pauses. He was beginning to think that all his undelivered texts were some short of glitch with his phone: first Crowe, now you. Fuck, he doesn’t have time to dwell on this. It’s got to be a coincidence. You should be in Altissia now, far away and safe from whatever shitshow is taking place today. Regardless, you’re more than capable and he knows you’re fine. You have to be.

“Don’t worry about her Pels, she’s safe.”

“Right…” Pelna doesn’t sound too convinced, but Nyx doesn’t blame him, he’s not privy to your whereabouts. “It’s twenty miles south of Insomnia — outside the Wall. What the hell was Crowe doing way out there?”

“No, no, they sent her to—” Nyx catches himself. “I need another favor Pels, pull those coordinates up on the radar. What do you see?”

“Shit. There’s a whole fleet of airships sitting at that spot.”

“Niflheim.”

“Yeah, and from the looks of it, not the celebratory committee.”

Nyx runs a hand over his face in frustration. He should’ve known the armistice was bullshit; should’ve known the Nifs couldn’t be trusted. What’s the play now? If he alerts King Regis and mobilizes the troops, there’s a good chance the Nifs would catch whiff, especially if their ranks have truly been infiltrated. With the malcontent that’s been brewing from the protests on the streets to the soldiers in the barracks, he’s not confident any attempt at clandestine movements wouldn’t be immediately exposed.

So what? Does he just stay in the Crown City, pretend there isn’t a war fleet knocking at their door, and just…monitor the situation? Forget about the missing princess?

‘You’re not to look, not to listen, not to think,’ Captain Drautos’ words echo in his head again. Yeah, well, guess the King can count his lucky stars that he’s always been kind of shit at following orders.

Speaking of…

“Where’s the captain?”

“Should be on escort detail at the Citadel.”

Nyx doesn’t remember spotting the captain earlier. He scans the frequencies on his comm again, but it seems like their captain’s still AWOL.

At his silence, Pelna asks, “You thinking…?”

“Can’t be sure. Can’t rule it out either, but I need you to ready the Glaive for action.”

“What? You planning to deploy without the captain’s orders?”

“No.” Nyx dons his armor on over his uniform, pulling its zipper up and buckling its fasteners to secure the leather pauldrons in place. As he checks his weapons, he explains, “There’s no point bringing everyone along for a wild goose chase. As long as the Wall remains standing, their fleet has no way of reaching us, but if Crowe’s right, we need to be on alert for something inside the Walls.”

“You going dark?”

“Yeah, I’ll recon and assess. Low chance I won’t need to engage, but keep this to yourself for now. Give me an updated SITREP when you can.”

“Affirmative. I got your six.”

“Yeah. You always do, Pels.”

With that, Nyx ends the call and sets off.

Looks like getting through the day just got a lot more complicated.

NOTES: Please accept this excerpt from ch. 9 of Wayward Children as tribute, since as per usual, I've somehow deluded myself into thinking I'd be able to work on multiple pieces at once :)

[thewriterg]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝

pairing(s); thor odinson x fem!reader, loki layfeyson x fem!reader

summary; it was over in needed to be it had to be before you lost it before you couldn’t replenish your grip on the weight or was it already gone? —angstober day;11—

word count; 600+

warning(s); angst, one mention of women infertility, heart break, poly themes, reader is Mother Nature coded, and language

palylist; your face by wisp

A/n:—GIFs; @spookycora & @lokihiddleston— something short to get us warmed up

Loki knows he's done it, he knows there's no coming back from it deep down… but as the God of mischief he wouldnt take that answer there was a way that he would succeed in his task as he chased after you down the stairwell into the library that was once his that you now shared calling out your name

“Leave me alone Loki!” The echo of your hurt voice now bouncing off the wall of your ‘shared’ library you should've known, you should've known better to trust the Deity dressed in emerald green and God did it hurt your chest filled with dread it was heavy and once again you would continue to stress it, it hurt.

“Darling just listen-”

“NO! Great grief Loki i trusted you, after every instinct told me not to i did anyway, i am a fool” You started off strong until your voice reduced into nothing but a mutter and the raven haired prince attempted to take your hands in his resisting when you tried to pull away from him and the firm yet non injuring hold on your wrist and it stung him like nothing he’d never experience

“Why is it ALWAYS HIM!? Hmm? Why him love? The god screamed before bringing his voice down to a mumble as you struggled in his hold attempting to get away as far as humanly possible

“Brother! Let her go” The carried thunder and Loki glared at the blonde before going approach him with a malicious looking intent on his your body burned with a passion as you approached the brothers with thundering steps the currents of the winds becoming harsh on the outside

“Stop!” Your voice carries through castle and probably through the kingdom as well both of them looking like a kicked puppy at the stern, scolding, and coldness of your voice the life of the world slipping from your grasp it all hurt,

“Loki, it's not always Thor. You, you self sabotage because you think people will hurt you or abandon you… but you hurt the kingdom and you hurt me… Loki I thought the world of you” The prince heart broke in two at the sound of your voice that was full of emotion yet void of life and it stung his chest at the sound of his real name falling from your lips

“And Thor you don't have a balance in your life you choose every battle over what you claim as my my importance but I feel as nothing but a servant… This, this wont work it never has'” The brother stepped to you in protest that made you subconsciously take another back, away from the both of them

“That's not true little dove, we have succeeded we will continue to succeed” Thor denied reassuring himself more than he was reassuring you his icy blue eyed desperate for you to agree, begging for you to stay

“We love you darling” Loki stated firmly as if it was set written in stone for the next millenia to understand and study

“I want to believe you, but I don't.” That was it the hold of the earth was lost you hadn't had a grip on it any longer you felt the flowers wilting, the tree slouching, the soil becoming infertile as well as the women, you'd lost it lost your hold on humanity

Lost your hold on everything

©2023 thewriterg spooktober do not copy, translate, or modify.

[i-eat-worlds]

Starcross Chapter 9

In which tense conversations ensue.

Content: Angst, past systemic violence, space imperialism

Free Space, AFS Starcross, 5/5/4763

Veya jabbed the button on the dining table’s holodisplay, bringing up a rotating trade lane alert. The rest of her crew was gathered around, in varying stages of awakeness. Jesse was chomping on a VidaFruit energy bar, while Mari and Ziar were both nursing cups of tea. Elzar looked like they could’ve fallen asleep right then and there. Nothing like a surprise Yeran ship to screw up everyone’s sleep schedules.

“I’ll keep this short, since I know about half of you want to get to bed,” she started, bringing up the details of the alert. “As you’re all aware, Starcross picked up another stray last night. A few minutes ago, Yera put out an alert for who I’m assuming is them.” They gestured to the rotating hologram.

The holo made them look better, with more fat on their cheeks and less bruises on their face. A high Yeran collar rose around their neck, the metal tipped collar points a dead giveaway. Below it, a thickly bolded angular font declared that their name was “Arta Lacos,” a civil service worker who had apparently abandoned their post in several different languages.

Ziar bristled at the image, eyes narrowing. “Civil service worker my ass,” she mumbled under her breath.

“This crew is a family, and I’d never want to put any of you at risk,” Veya continued, tone serious. “Yera will come and try to get them back. Us helping them is not without signicant risk. If that’s a problem for you, speak up now.”

Mari’s eyes flickered up, nervously darting around. “Doesn’t “civil service worker” on a Yeran report normally mean “soldier who deserted?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but Ziar got there first. “There's no way that they’re a soldier. Not from what I saw, Mari.”

“I don’t want to even chance a fucking Yeran soldier on Starcross,” he said, voice forceful.

Oka placed a hand on their partner's forearm. “Azei, I’ve seen them. They’re not like that,” they spoke in Sanatesse.

“Mari, they begged me to hurt them.” Ziar put a foot forward. “You and I both know that Yera’s bastards don’t beg.” Mari dropped his head, but still didn’t say anything, not quite convinced. “They have god knows how many needles stuck into their spine. They aren’t even Yerani,” she swiped a hand through the hologram for emphasis, making it icker. “They’re human. Yera would rather implode than let a human serve.”

Yera would rather implode than let a human live. Before it had been Adaxia, before it had been Veya’s planet and home and family, it had been Earth, and all the other lonely planets on the far reaches of the galaxy that Yera had invaded.

Mari nodded at Ziar’s argument, posture relaxing a little. “Still, Yera will come for them. We’ve worked too hard to build this to let it fall apart now.”

“So we're just going to do what? Push them out of the airlock?” Ziar snapped, stepping closer.

Mari was just about to open his mouth to continue when Veya cut in. “Take a breath, you two.” They both scooted back. “We could try and find a safer place for them to go, maybe in the midri?” She suggested.

“I could see if I know anyone or anyone who knows anyone who’d be willing to help,” Oka said, looking unsure. “But I don’t know how well they’d fare with that.”

Ziar nodded. “I think they should stay with us.”

“Almost every single one of us has been, or is currently, wanted by Yera.” Oka was projectling like they were talking to everyone, but they were turned towards Mari. “Starcross, and Veya, have kept us safe. She’ll keep doing that.”

Finally, Mari sighed. “Okay. But we should still keep an eye on them until we know that we can trust them.”

“Of course.” Veya looked to Elzar and Jesse. “Do you two have any input?”

Elzar shrugged. “I haven’t really met them yet. But I trust Oka’s judgment. They can stay.”

“Same here,” Jesse crumpled up the VidaFruit bar’s wrapper. “I don’t have a problem with it.”

After a final look around the room to make sure everyone seemed comfortable, Veya cleared her throat. “It’s settled then. Kim stays.” A round of nods followed. “I want everyone to rest up. We’re going to land on Zarian in just about six hours. Ziar’s got a doctor coming to visit, so maybe clean it up a little. See you soon.”

Jesse grumbled a little at the cleaning as they all split off in their separate directions, heading towards either their stations or their berths. Before they walked away, Ziar sighed a respectful thank you in Nor’daxi.

Whatever feelings they had about Kim, Veya hoped they were right.

*** Jesse brought Starcross into Zarian’s atmosphere, feeling the hypergravity fluid pull back on her seat belt as the planet’s gravity grew stronger, pulling them closer. Starcross was an older ship, but Jesse had come to love the way her controls felt during reentry. The subtle tug as she evened out the fluid, seamlessly guiding them downward.

While Zarian was probably most famous for the warm volcanic islands that sprouted up in the tropical seas around its equator, that was not their final destination today. Starcross was headed for its icy northern polar tundra instead, far away from any vacation spots, to deliver several loads of fishing equipment related cargo. She wasn’t quite sure what it was, and she didn’t really care.

Despite the knowledge that the weather was sure to be less than ideal, Jesse was still excited to get planetside. They’d be able to stock up on real, non-mining ration food, something with a decent amount of protein and a flavor that wasn't just salt.

She switched to a local frequency, asking for permission to enter its airspace. Zarian’s controllers were used to high traffic volumes, were all multilingual, and were all relatively competent, unlike certain asteroids she could mention. They were quick to return her an authorization code and a landing area.

As she dropped lower, her view became covered by thick clouds. Nothing like descending from space into that fine polar weather. She watched the scanner, locators pinging in her ears as she moved them lower.

Finally, Zarian’s landscape opened up below her, snow capped mountains giving away barren, red grass covered landscape. The city of Iegal spread out along a coast, hugging an ice filled sea. Small boats bobbed up and down, traps sparkling in the water. It was, believe it or not, summer.

Jesse set down on a platform by one of the industrial districts, flipping the switch to power down the main engines.

Starcross had landed.

Taglist: @whumpscholar @seth-whumps @itsoundslikeafury @blackberry-bloody @snakebites-and-ink

@whumpacabra @cepheusgalaxy @softvampirewhump @my-little-versaille @pigeonwhumps

@whumped-by-glitter @snaillamp @rainydaywhump @platysaurus @whumpy-daydreams

@whiskygoldwings @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @rainbowsandwhumperflies @risk606 @starfields08000

@loonybun @paingoes @yassifiedinformation

[the-dixon-effect]

Evergreen

A/N: this is actually my first ever fic from a request lol. you can find the request here, thanks so much anon :)

A/N: this might just be my favourite yet 😍

era: season 3-4, prison era

summary: out on a run, the pair is attacked by a herd of walkers and gets injured fighting them off. holed up in a bunker in the woods, feelings are confessed under less-than-peaceful circumstances.

words: 2.9k

pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader

warnings: a little gore (it's a twd fic, come on), language

As you wrapped your arms tightly around Daryl's waist and rested your head on the length of his shoulders, he took this as an impression to speed up and the bike quickly disappeared from the sight of the watchtower. Instead of the usual back-by-nightfall runs you were accustomed to, Rick had decided to send the two of you off on a recon mission searching around the outskirts of a nearby town. The plan was to spend the night in an old apartment building, clearly indicated on the map you were provided with. If the aim was to bring back a stock of useful supplies, you would have taken a truck instead, and probably another pair of hands. But today, it was just the two of you enjoying the hot Georgian summer, and you had other things on your mind.

One night alone with Daryl far away from the rest of the group? This was the perfect opportunity to spend some one-on-one time with the archer you'd been pining over for months, and, depending on how it goes, you might just confess your feelings for him. You had to contain your excitement when Rick briefed the both of you about the plan.

You trusted Daryl, and even trusted his instincts enough to close your eyes as you rested your head on his shoulder. Just as you were getting carried away in your usual daydreams about the archer, this time with him in a little closer proximity, you looked up and diverted your attention to the situation in front of you.

"Oh, shit," you heard him say. The sound of his voice was almost completely drowned out by the familiar growling noises you knew all too well.

"Oh my God, I thought- I thought Rick and the group cleared this road!" you said, heart pounding at the sight of fifty-or-so walkers heading straight towards you.

"Yah, thought so too. C'mon, let's turn around-" Looking over your shoulder, you noticed five or six lamebrains that must have wandered into the road at the sound of the motorcycle engine. Soon enough, the entire road was blocked on either side and Daryl had no choice but to brace himself for a sharp turn into the woods.

"Hol' on, I'm gonna go slow through the trees." At this point, you had completely abandoned your train of thought, and focused on holding on tight in fear of getting hurt.

As Daryl weaved the bike in and out of the trees, you started to speculate what he thought was the best next step. Now surrounded by woodland and sufficiently in the clear regarding the herd, he slowed down for a second, keeping the roaring engine switched on.

"Daryl, what the hell do we do now?" you said with the slightest chuckle. The adrenaline still hadn't worn off, but at least you weren't surrounded by a hundred or more rotters who were hungry for your flesh.

"I think I know where we are," he drawled, stepping off the bike that was still running. "There's a bunker round 'ere somewhere. We'll have to sit tight down there for a little whi-" he was cut off by a walker that seemed to come straight out of nowhere. You leapt off your position on the bike and immediately plunged your buck knife into the skull of the walker that knocked Daryl to the ground. Dragging the corpse off of him that, upon closer inspection, appeared to be that of a former factory worker judging from the uniform, you lay on all fours over him for a moment, catching your breath. Luckily, the two of you seemed relatively unharmed. You rolled over and stared up at the sky.

Suddenly, the bike that you forgot to set upright by flipping the kickstand came toppling over and landed right on top of Daryl. You heard a yelp of pain before leaping up once again to heave the vehicle off of him. To your dismay, the bike was much heavier than you had imagined. If only the roles were reversed, Daryl would've probably been able to lift the bike off of you with ease. After struggling immensely for a few moments, you managed to lift up the motorcycle and this time, you leant it up against the nearest tree, albeit a little frustratedly.

"Damn bike..." you said, earning a snigger from the man laying on the ground. You turned to him and knelt next to him, noticing the bleeding from his upper chest. "Shit, Daryl! Are you alright?" you said, attempting to peel off the layers of fabric that concealed the wound. If you knew a little more about bikes, you might have been able to determine the specific part of the vehicle that was sharp enough to hurt Daryl in this way, how deep the wound might be and what you could do to help.

"I'm fine," he said, a little weakly.

"You're not, Daryl. Let me help you," you pleaded. He stood up on his own, brushing away your helping hand. The usual stoic presence of the man was a little diminished, and he wobbled as he stood. You also noticed his odd stance and remembered how the heavy wheel of the bike dug into his right leg. "I'm so sorry, Daryl."

"Told ya', I'm jus' fine. Bunker's that way," he hesitantly pointed in the direction the bike would've been heading. "C'mon, leave the bike here an' we'll walk," he drawled.

"Are you sure? You think you can walk that far?" you questioned his strength, considering he already appeared to be limping and he hadn't even started walking yet. You reached for his arm and draped it over your shoulder, in your best effort to help him walk. The bloody patch on his shirt was growing and thought it best to hurry to this bunker so you could patch him up.

A thought entered your head. Fuck. This was not how your day was supposed to go, you mused. You'd reach the destination, make conversation with him about this and that, occasionally giving him your best doe-eyes. Once nighttime arrived, perhaps there would conveniently only be one double bed in whatever cabin you chose to hunker down in, and your plan would be set in motion. You figured that that would all be happening right now if you hadn't dropped his own fucking bike on him!

After about 20 minutes of walking side-by-side in relative silence, you started to feel a little disheartened, though, despite the nature of this particular plan B, you still enjoyed his company and proximity. "Righ' here," Daryl gestured to a small brick structure just big enough for a single wooden door. Completely abandoned, there was moss growing on the walls and took a small shove to force it open. As it creaked inwards, you were met by a dark, damp staircase leading straight into the ground.

"After you," you spoke, somewhat hesitant to enter the dilapidated bunker.

The underground room was filthy, yet, at a glance, it seemed fit for a one-night stay, and in these circumstances, you didn't really have any other choice. It was small and cramped inside, almost completely filled with cheap furniture that was covered in a thick layer of dust. When Daryl put down his crossbow after thoroughly checking the space for any more walkers, you approached him and urged him to rest on the single bed in the corner.

"I'm fine, Y/N," he said, looking up at you as you searched for the medkit in your bag and set it down on the ground. "Take off your shirt." he obliged and you ran your fingers over the cut that stretched a little further than you had previously determined. "I'm so sorry, I did not mean for this to happen," you said softly, tracing your fingertips over his torso. "I think you'll need a couple stitches. Let me fix you up, since it's my fault in the first place."

"It's not your fault," he said, looking at you with those deep blue eyes that you adored so.

"Well, it is. It takes an idiot to get off a bike and not flip the kickstand," you said with a sweet smile shaping your lips as you prepared to stitch the wound.

He chuckled a little at this. "It's fine, done it myself countless times," he began. "At least when I did it the bike didn't crush me in the first place," he said sarcastically, and he was smiling now, too. You giggled at his response.

"Do you think your leg will be okay?"

"Dunno what yer talking 'bout."

"Don't be like that, Daryl. You were limping all the way over here."

"I'll be fine, jus' give it a day," he drawled in response.

You sighed, in somewhat admiration of his stubbornness and forbearance. You trusted his instinct yet still wanted to do anything to help him. He winced silently as you began to stitch the wound after cleaning it with an alcohol pad.

Time passed quickly in his company, and, unusually, you didn't seem to mind not being able to see how much the sun had set. You set up a dim lantern in the centre of the room, and appreciated how the soft, warm light made his face glow. It felt so good, for once, to feel totally safe from any threats from the world above your head. Perhaps that feeling of safety came from simply being near Daryl, you figured. Any feelings of discouragement from earlier that day had dissipated.

For dinner, you scavenged for anything that you could find in the cupboards that was more appealing than what you'd brought with you. Daryl had struck the jackpot you supposed, after finding nothing yourself.

"Peanut butter and jelly, diet soda, and pig's feet. That's a white trash brunch right there," he spoke up, holding his findings up proudly.

"Perfect," you said, unable to contain your grin just from looking at Daryl, and how he slowly let his guard down in front of you and relaxed.

You sat across from each other at the makeshift dining table, stealing glances at each other as you tucked into your 'white trash brunch', as Daryl called it.

"This is nice," you said quietly.

"Hm, the food?" his innocent response made you laugh.

"Oh yeah, definitely. I mean, being here, completely safe for once instead of being in the prison, where it feels like the fences could fall any second. Just being with you." you said, thinking out loud.

He smirked up at you upon hearing this. "Oh yeah?"

You hummed in response. "I, uhh- I was real worried earlier. 'Bout the walkers, then the cut. And, you," you spoke.

He was surprised at your words, but it felt good to hear that coming from someone else, to hear that they care about him. "Dun' need ta be. I should be the one worryin' 'bout ya'," he declared.

The two of you finished up and decided it was time to get some rest. Despite your best effort to persuade him to take the single bed, he resigned to the couch in his stubbornness that you couldn't argue with. You both ended up talking for a while before you fell asleep, sharing views about members of the group, and swapping stories about your best walker kills, or anything you thought worthy.

"I mean, have you ever met anybody who introduces themself by their full name to everyone they meet?"

"Rick Grimes," he said mockingly.

"I mean, I love the guy. But there's just something a little more admirable, more real, in guys like... you."

Quickly after your little confession, you drifted off to sleep, but Daryl found that sleep did not embrace him as easily that night. His head was full of you, and the last thing you said to which he'd offered no response. In truth, he too was thrilled to be able to spend this time with you, and didn't care in the slightest about your little accident earlier. He thought it was sweet how you rushed to take care of him, though he hated being the one who needed taking care of in the first place. You always seemed to be busy at the prison, chatting away with Maggie or working down on the farm. He was hesitant to approach you, in fear of saying the wrong thing or scaring you off. He thought about your gentle fingertips brushing over his wound, and the other scars on his chest that you noticed. What did you mean when you said, '...guys like you'? Do you... like him that way too?

He slowed down his thoughts. No, no, he can't start thinking like this. Not when you were turning in your sleep just a couple metres away. Perhaps, another day, he'd work up the courage to tell you how he felt. For now, he couldn't risk ruining the time he had alone with you until you returned to the prison.

When you awoke in the morning (or, it felt like the morning, you couldn't tell though due to the lack of natural light underground), you contemplated how that might just have been the best sleep you'd had since the fall began. That was probably thanks to Daryl practically sleeping next to you, you figured.

You turned over, still wrapped in the dusty sheets, to appreciate the sight of Daryl Dixon in the morning. He stood in the corner of the room, bags packed, fiddling with what looked like an arrow. You rubbed your eyes and blicked, once, twice, in an effort to get a better look at whatever he was doing. Unlike Daryl, you didn't share his anxiety surrounding telling you how he felt. If you could make it clear to him in any way possible that you care about him, you would.

You stood up and grabbed your flannel shirt from the heap you left it on the floor. Your legs were exposed as you stood across from him, wearing a pair of skimpy pyjama shorts, a tank top and your red flannel jacket. It was safe to say that Daryl liked the view.

Over breakfast, you discussed the plan for the day which involved navigating back through the forest to find the bike, and then going ahead with the original plan, which was scouting around the outskirts of the nearby town. Daryl, distracted by his late-night thoughts, couldn't help but notice your hair, your morning expression, and your clothes, in a way that he hadn't done before.

"Yeah, yeah. This time, I'll try not to drop any heavy machinery on you," you smiled.

"Mm. Better not." If it meant that you would brush your fingertips over his chest again, he would happily let a hundred bikes fall on top of him.

As the two of you gathered the last of your belongings, you exchanged glances before climbing the concrete staircase and opening the door that led to the forest floor. What you were met with, however, was a crowd of walkers that all turned to face you as if on cue. It didn't even look like a herd, just a mess of stumbling corpses circling the bunker. They must have sensed you, somehow; but there was no time now for figuring out how this happened.

Suddenly every decaying face spun and came at you from every direction, and you simply looked at each other before deciding that there was only one thing to do: run.

So you ran, and ran. You ran until you noticed that Daryl was lagging a little and you remembered his leg injury from the day before. You grabbed him and pulled him into the hollowed-out trunk of a large oak tree. Your heavy, laboured breaths were silenced by his hand reaching over your mouth. He used his other hand to make a 'Shh' sign. Looking over your shoulder, you watched as the walkers passed you by, wincing at the occasional growl or smack as they snapped their decomposing jaws shut.

You had to say something, now. Or else you'll wish you'd said something later. "Daryl," you whispered, meeting his eyes and still trying to be as quiet as possible. These may not have been the perfect circumstances for confessing your feelings for the man currently stood a couple inches away from your face, but they will have to do.

"Daryl, I- I need you to know something," he wished you would just stay quiet. If anything happened to you he would never forgive himself. "If we don't make it back, or- or if something happens, I need you to know that I love you. M-Maybe more than I should. I just- I can't help it and I had this plan of how the run would go and I didn't mean to injure you or-"

For God's sakes, Y/N, why were you still talking? There's a damn herd walking past and- Daryl knew that there was only one way to shut you up. He placed his hand on your neck and moved his lips to meet yours. He let himself get lost in the sweet kiss as soon you rested one hand in his hair and the other on his chest. He'd wanted this for so long, and he felt a pang of guilt for letting it happen in such dire circumstances, and not in some place safe, like back at the prison. You pulled away, suddenly remembering where you were.

"I, uh- Do you...?" you felt his warm breath on your neck.

"Yeah... I do," he began. "C'mon, the walkers are gone. Why don't we finish this up back home?" he smirked.

"That sounds like a great idea."

[di-42]

Good Omens is just I show I watch. No obsession here. Nope.

Edit: August 2024. I still love Good Omens, I do. I have come to think of the fandom as a virtual home. I cherish the other fans and I can't imagine my life now without the richness and the joy that fanart, fanfiction and fanwork bring to it.

But let me be clear: I believe the victims. I condemn, with no question whatsoever, the horrible actions of one of the co-author of the book and lead writer of the series.

My fictions:

And I Did. Currently a WIP. Rated E but plot driven. I'll try to update regularly, but life happens.

Summary:

This is a story about faith. This is a story about love. This is a story about loss. This is a story about being apart and about being reunited. This is a story about fighting. This is a story about choices.

Where do we choose to place our faith? Will a god we have faith in come and save us? Will a friend? A loved one?

When do we start doubting our faith? How long before we snap, before we raise our head? How far can we go before we crumble under the weight of our own misplaced faith? Under the weight of our choices?

What does it take to make us feel betrayed, abandoned, left behind? What does it take for us to turn our back on what in which we had faith?

Who are we loyal to, and who is loyal to us? Who do we trust, and who trusts us?

What are we ready to risk in the name of faith? What are we ready to lose in the name of loyalty?

When are we going to take our lives into our own hands? What are we going to fight for?

This is a story about unbreakable faith. This is, after all, a work of fiction.

OR:

Yet another Good Omens post season 2 fiction.

Second Chances And Second Choices

The second coming has failed and Aziraphale is hoping this is the beginning of his life with Crowley. But Crowley seems to be of a different opinion. That is, until old enemies turn up at Aziraphale's door.

Once the world is safe again, what happens next? Can Crowley and Aziraphale reconnect?

Rated teen and up.

I Prefer The Fluffy Ones Series:

In Vino Ludus

It's the year 2030. Crowley comes to the bookshop drunk, and Aziraphale can finally put all those years of eye-rolling practice to good use.

An as of yet canon divergent fluffy night in the life of an angel and a demon.

One shot, rated E.

Angel! Angel! They're At It Again!

It's the year 2030. The world never ended. Aziraphale and Crowley are living happily and safely together as a married couple. Everything would be well, if it wasn't that lately Aziraphale has been a bit busy. A bit distracted. Now, Crowley can't have that, can he? He seeks the advice of his girlfriends, who unwittingly give him an idea on how to liven up his marriage.

A fluffy and hopefully funny way to the South Downs cottage.

One shot, rated M.

An Angel And A Demon Go To A Halloween Party

And they are horny!

A silly, smutty little piece set in our favourite Ineffables' fluffy future.

One shot, rated E.

My poems:

Ineffable Chords

My recs:

February's Fabulous Fictions

March's Marvelous Fictions

April's Amazing Fictions

May's Magnificent Fictions

June's Joyful Fictions

August's Awesome Fictions

September's Scrumptious Fictions

October's Oh, wow! Fictions

My metas:

Justice for Aziraphale

On Season 3 and the Apology Dance

Aziraphale is in

Fluffery and Fuckery:

Aziraphale is the villain in Good Omens

You Said Trust Me

Sweet Crowley

Face Value

It's unthinkable

[livesonthebside]

A couple of months ago, my penpal asked me if I had any favourite poems/quotes that could be read over the graves of men from the FE. He didn’t find any this year, but in honour of Fitzjames, I thought I would post some of my selections:

Terror & Erebus by Gwendolyn McEwan:

This is the end of science.

We left it behind us,

A graph in the snow, a horrible cipher, a desperate code.

And the sun cannot read, and the snow cannot either

Franklin's Passage by David Solway:

We know differently.

Ice is meant to be grappled with,

broken through,

trudged over,

listened to,

died on.

We know this, too.

The Northwest Passage

is where it always was.

It is here right beneath our feet.

Northwest Passage by James Pollock

When you set out to find your Northwest Passage

and cross to an empty region of the map

with a headlong desire to know what lies beyond,

sailing the thundering ice-fields on the ocean,

feeling her power move you from below;

when all summer the sun’s hypnotic eye

won’t blink, and the season slowly passes, an endless

dream in which you’re forever diving into pools,

fame’s image forever rising up to meet you;

when the fall comes, at last, triumphantly,

and you enter Victoria’s narrow frozen Strait,

and your Terror and Erebus freeze in the crushing floes;

in that long winter night among the steeples

of jagged ice, and the infinite, empty plain of wind and snow,

when the sea refuses to be reborn in spring,

three winters pass without a thaw, and the men,

far from their wives and children, far from God,

are murdering one another over cards;

when blue gums, colic, paralysis of the wrists

come creeping indiscriminately among you;

and you leave the ships, and set out on the ice,

dragging the lifeboats behind, loaded

with mirrors and soap, slippers and clocks,

into the starlit body of the night,

with your terrible desire to know what lies beyond;

then, half-mad, snow blind, even then,

before you kill the ones who’ve drawn the fatal lots,

and take your ghastly communion in the snow,

may you stumble at last upon some band of Inuit

hauling their catch of seal across the ice,

and see how foolish you have been:

forcing your way by will across a land

that can’t be forced, but must be understood,

toward a passage just now breaking up within.

Some pro-explorer poetry was On First Looking Into Chapman’s Homer by Keats

Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold,

And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;

Round many western islands have I been

Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.

Oft of one wide expanse had I been told

That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne;

Yet did I never breathe its pure serene

Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:

Then felt I like some watcher of the skies

When a new planet swims into his ken;

Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes

He star'd at the Pacific—and all his men

Look'd at each other with a wild surmise—

Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

and The Imitation of Christ, because it’s the origin of the title of the Edwin Landseer painting:

According to our resolution so is the rate of our progress, and much diligence is needful for him who would make good progress. For if he who resolveth bravely oftentimes falleth short, how shall it be with him who resolveth rarely or feebly? But manifold causes bring about abandonment of our resolution, yet a trivial omission of holy exercises can hardly be made without some loss to us. The resolution of the righteous dependeth more upon the grace of God than upon their own wisdom; for in Him they always put their trust, whatsoever they take in hand. For man proposeth, but God disposeth; and the way of a man is not in himself.

And my personal fave, I'm Going Back to Minnesota Where Sadness Makes Sense by Danez Smith:

Have you ever stood on a frozen lake?

The sun above you, the snow & stalled sea - a field of mirror

all demanding to be the sun too, everything around you

is light & it’s gorgeous & if you stay too long it will kill you

& it’s so sad, you know? You’re the only warm thing for miles

& the only thing that can’t shine.

[thegreenleavesofspring]

.

[thedomesticanthropologist]

A comment you said on your last post really hit me as a good point of development/angst, please take or leave as you'd like and apologies if I've mischaracterized your Tav at all, but still hope this helps turn some wheels. "As a Cleric of Ilmater Mira is no stranger to Suffering for the sake of Faith." Has Mira considered that Astarion suffered for nothing?

Ultimately Mira's suffering gets her a cool connection with a god and awesome powers. Would that not make Astarion bitter in that respect? To me it seems like Mira is constantly pushing back against Astarion with a lot of "why is he like this" and "you have to be better because it's the right thing to do." At what point does Astarion share his story with her about that boy he tried to spare from Cazador's wrath? I feel like with this dynamic, that would be something he'd bring up as proof that she just got lucky that her god gave a shit about her in particular. Like he did the right thing, was horrendously punished for it and as far as he's concerned, Ilmater was sitting around twiddling his godly thumbs.

I feel like that would be a good point to develop some better mutual understanding between the pair of them that would make Mira maybe not forgive Astarion in the Act 2 confession, but at least understand where he's coming from, rather than just pushing her worldview.

So! You gotta keep in mind that the story you're referring to isn't told to the player character until Act 3, well after his confession.

By the time he confesses, Astarion has (depending on how many cut scenes you've managed to snag/long rests etc) Only told you that he lured victims back to Cazador, and that Cazador is a monster.

He's told you about his scars, and how he pities the other 6 of his "siblings". Plus a few small anecdotes, but *none of them* about anything he's ever done for anyone else.

He has however:

- Been extremely racist towards the Gur based on being attacked by them, likely having been hired by Cazador based on how the story was told so Mira explained that you can't hold an entire race of people accountable for the actions of the few. Astarion said he absolutely can, and fuck you

- Assaults you in your sleep then begs for blood and if you do trust him enough to let him bite "I'll be as gentle as a babe! I only need a little" but u don't pass the checks he will murder you

- Tried to abandon the Tieflings to their fate and told Mira they should move on not because of the tadpole problem, but because killing goblins "would take hours" and he's too lazy to bother

- Repeatedly and loudly stated that he desires power over all else, but has NOT yet told her its because he's scared/desires to feel safe

- Asked to be left out of the Nere quest because he didn't want to ruin his nails and would prefer to move on. Mira said Nere isn't the point, the gnomes are and he was EXTREMELY racist towards deep gnomes in general. He has NOT yet explained to the PC / Mira why he is against digging through rock (the crypt for a year thing) by the time he does this

- Tells you if you get in the way of what he wants he will go through you if necessary (denying him the tadpoles) and to stay out of his way

- Snaps at you about how to deal with Yurgir if you try to figure out what's going on instead of immediately killing him, even if you plan on killing him, and also rails against PC loudly in many other instances as well

And much much more, I won't go on. The point is that by the time he confesses, you have no back story. You have nothing to go on. There is nothing to trust. And the ONE thing Mira and Astarion had together where she thought they were making headway, their physical relationship, has now just been revealed to be a huge scam from the start.

Not ONLY that, but he doesn't regret doing it. He is proud of his simple plan and upset that it fell apart (at least that's how he presents it) and does NOT apologize for trying to use her. He instead says because he fell in love and she is so incredible he feels he can trust her enough to confess his deception without fear of being kicked out of the party.

You must remember that while Astarion has reasons, he hasn't revealed them. And if you judge a man based on his words and actions, at the point of the confession scene, he's not got a lot going for him besides puppy dog eyes and a backstory of admittedly horrific slavery that has only been lightly touched on because he wants you to know Cazador is Bad, but he's not about to spill his guts on what really all happend to him yet.

TLDR: Faith is just about all Mira has to give at this point, and Astarion has made her suffer by gaining her trust through manipulation and then only messing up because HE caught feelings.

In other versions of the game, if you don't finish his quest, he breaks up with PC very cruelly.

If you make it to Act 3 with Caz and you don't make the right dialogue choices or pass the persuasion and instead just say you won't let him ascend, he says he hopes you die screaming.

This man is my fave, don't get me wrong. But without the knowledge of his entire character, when you go in blind or you play a character that you don't give High Insight to, you have to see that he is a very difficult person to navigate. Especially a Lawful Good Cleric of Ilmater who's life purpose is to help and alleviate suffering.

She feels called to him because of his suffering and she *does* have faith she can help, but that faith is majorly BLIND right now and it hurts to know the man who proved time and time again that he isn't trustworthy just confessed his love by explaining that he has been extra untrustworthy

[vitanithepure]

Gale and Mystra

Ok, first thing I wanna talk about, what absolutely lives rent-free in my mind since I finished my first run is how much I love the companion's personal stories. I will for sure make an Origin run with most of them. I want to know every last detail about those pixel people.

With no surprise on nobody's part - I want to talk about Gale first. I believe I once said my OC Vitani and I share exactly one brain cell and it is consumed with thoughts about that wizard.

He did get a bit of a lift up when it comes to the story we knew from EA and it turned out absolutely fabulous. I won't be focusing on our relationship with the man as much as his with Mystra, the goddess of magic. This would be far too long otherwise, there is just too much to say.

Regardless, this will also be a long one, and full of spoilers for his story, so be warned. Placing it all under the cut.

First, some facts. It turns out, from my understanding, that Gale was not after Mystra's godhood, quite contrary to his bio on the website (which I find…weird) but rather tried to ascend by himself. He was impatient; he wanted more, and he wanted it now - and Mystra was not willing to grant his wishes. It goes without saying he was in the wrong, no explanation needed.

So, to convince Mystra to share even more with him, he decided to "screw flowers" and tried to get her what turned out to be that cursed Netherese orb. At least, that is what he thought. We know that this went horribly wrong and Gale was not only stuck with magic he can barely control, but severed from means to stop it - as Mystra, understandably, abandoned him.

Which is also to say how little she actually cares about other mortals, leaving a ticking bomb to run free in the Realms. We could assume that, in her "infinite wisdom" she trusted Gale to do the right thing and just go on and die somewhere remote, like he planned to if he ever started to lose control of the orb. Not really sure what lesson is there to give through such a punishment, that is for Mystra to answer, I don't get it :)

This is when we meet Gale, humbled, but not giving up. I don't want to repeat myself too much as I did a breakdown of his EA content a while back [link here] and not much changed in that regard, his slight rewrite didn't change my opinion on how and why he does and says to us.

So, moving on:

The juicy part truly begins when Elminster shows up and drops the bomb (heh…) about what Mystra expects of Gale… I instantly went with "ok, yeah, here it is, my heartbreak I've been waiting for". And from that point, he seems so…resigned. I can't imagine what a person in his position goes through? Not sure I want to. Can you imagine that? Someone you genuinely looked up to, perhaps even loved, in the past, someone holding infinite power over magic in this world, hell, someone holding power over you asks you to forfeit your life to deserve forgiveness? Damn, D&D gods are stone cold.

Like, I get it, and I try not to excuse Gale. He did a terrible thing, a horrible breach of trust and who knows what kind of person it would make him if he succeeded. As it is, though, it shows such an awful imbalance in power. Mystra was never in any real danger, she proves this by being able to control the orb, decides that this - already humbled and regretful - man has to die to make it okay with her? 

Even though she clearly sees he learned his lesson? And she could remove the orb at literally any time? Because that is what she presents him with if he refuses to just lie down and die for her. She will remove the orb if he brings her Karsus's Crown, along with the netherstones - the thing the Elder Brain possesses.

I don't know what happens if we go along Gale's plan to control the crown himself, possibly nothing good (I am about to find out, I so desperately want to see his whole arc, from every perspective), so here I want to finish off with how it ended for me on my first run - with a complete redemption, both in his and Mystra's eyes. 

Gale recognized his folly and, in hindsight, agreed he had everything a mortal man could ever possess and lost it to his arrogance and ambition. But also him realizing "no love was lost between them" makes me simply happy, he is healed at this point.

From what I gathered, he finishes his story by becoming the Chosen of Mystra once again. Still curious, because how could he not be with his love for magic, but knowing his limits. No longer known as Gale of Waterdeep, but Gale Dekarios, your neighborhood nerdy wizard with a good tale to spin over some wine in the Yawning Portal.

And seriously, fuck the D&D gods with their mortal flaws.

[sunnynwanda]

The Darkside: Part 3

Part 1   Part 2   Part 4

Warning: mentions of physical torture and trauma, a somewhat graphic description of rape in the 2nd chapter, blood, broken bones, healing and aftercare for Villain cause I love them. 

The motorcycle comes to a halt in front of an abandoned cabin. There are no lights in the windows, as far as Hero can see, which makes it even more plausible that Villain is here. They turn the keys, stop the engine and take off their helmet as they walk to the door. They pin the lock and step into the silent darkness of the cabin. Hero stops, searching for signs of human presence, but senses nothing. They take a few hesitant steps, glancing into the kitchen, then moving toward what looks like the living room. They hear laboured breathing to their right and turn just in time to dodge the dagger aimed at their shoulder. 

“It’s me,“ they offer. A silhouette behind the sofa's back shifts to get a better look at them. “Villain, it’s me.”

“Why are you here?” Villain's voice is barely audible. Hero suspects they haven’t had time to treat any of their wounds. Villain brings another dagger up, pressing it to their own throat. “I’ll die but won’t be taken back, Hero.“ 

“I’ll die but won’t let them take you,” Hero claims, unwavering. They cannot blame Villain for not trusting them after what their mentor and colleagues had done. After everything that Villain had to endure because Hero was too slow. “I swear.” 

Villain does not reply, but they do drop the dagger down. With a relieved sigh, Hero crosses the room, walking around the sofa and dropping their bag to the floor. They crouch in front of the fireplace and light a fire, then scan the room, fetching a blanket upon locating it. 

“Shh, don’t move too much.” They place their palm on Villain’s chest, pushing them back on the sofa. “What do you need? Water?”

Villain nods, wordless from exhaustion and concern. “Why are you here?” They repeat after Hero returns with a large glass of water and a jar. “And what is that?”

“Honey,” Hero’s hands are shaky, they attempt to ignore it for now. “It’ll give you some strength before I can get some food in the morning.” 

Villain takes the spoon with their right hand, the left safely tucked away under the blanket. Hero shudders, remembering the state of it, what was done to it. They reach for their bag, pulling out their first aid kit. Something they learned to use to heal themselves while in training. Villain had no need of knowing that. 

Villain scoots away the moment they notice forceps. “No, no, no, please, no...” Hero looks up, not yet understanding what’s gotten into them. They stop Villain from jumping off the sofa and follow their frightened gaze, locked onto the instrument. 

“No, God! This is not... I want to treat your wounds, Vil.” They explain, putting everything aside and holding their hand in their own. “I would never hurt you.”

They can see the panic subsiding in Villain’s eyes, but the fear is still there, ever-present in the back of their mind. “I don’t have to use those, okay?” The enthusiasm with which Villain nods shatters Hero’s heart into the tiniest pieces. “Let me have a look at your hand first, alright?” 

They are still hesitant, eyeing the forceps with utmost hatred when Hero puts those away into the kit. “I can heal, remember?” Hero prompts, pulling their jacket off and discarding it onto the floor. They push the hem of their shirt aside. “I got this when you threw the giant doughnut at me.”

“You didn’t have it the next day,” Villain attempts to smile, opening the cut on their lip. “Shit.”

“Hey, stop with that!” They stop Villain’s sleeve mid-way to their face. With a sigh, Hero moves closer to them, taking Villain’s face into their hands. “Lean back and just trust me.” 

They allow their fingers to move gently over Villain’s lip, wiping the crusted blood and then using their power to heal the cut in mere minutes. Villain looks shocked but remains silent when Hero’s fingers move up to their cheekbones, then forehead, ghosting over every bruise on their face. Once they are done, Hero shifts, pulling the blanket off and revealing Villain’s mangled hand pressed to their stomach for protection. Hero shudders, sounds of flesh and bones crushing under repeated hammer strikes fill their ears.

“It’s...” Villain starts, but is unable to finish. They blink back tears that sting their eyes and take a sharp breath when Hero lifts their hand onto their lap. “Fuck.”

“Sorry, love,” Hero says as they attempt to straighten their crooked fingers. They disinfect the wound - the entire hand from the wrist down. Villain hisses, teeth digging into their lower lip. “Hey, I just healed that! Don’t you dare damage it again!” 

They chuckle at the stunned expression on Villain’s face, happy for the distraction as they snap their phalanges into place. It’s rough and painful, but they know it will heal right. There is no time for surgical precision. Villain inhales sharply but does not pull their hand back, watching Hero tear their hand apart and then work their magic to fix it.

Twenty minutes later, Hero looks up with a small smile. “Done.” They shake their head when Villain waves at them, delighted at their fingers moving freely. 

God, they are so cute, so pure. Hero cannot comprehend how deranged one must be to inflict such torment on them. Without a word, they hook their palm under Villain’s knee, bringing their leg up to examine the damaged foot. Villain shifts, leaning on the couch and watching Hero peel off their impromptu bandage. 

“A T-shirt?“ Villain shrugs. It’s not like they had a bunch of supplies at hand. Hero knows Villain spent whatever time they had in the city to go meet them. Warn them. It takes a moment to compose themselves and start talking because the fabric is stuck to their skin, and it’s about to get painful again. “That’s a pity. I liked that one on you.”

Villain chuckles at the attempt at distraction while Hero’s fingers gently soak the fabric before tugging at it. They bite the inside of their cheek to suppress an anguished moan. Their vision is blurring.

“I’m so sorry.” Hero’s expression is pained, and that provides comfort to Villain. They needed to know there was someone who didn’t take pleasure in their suffering. They tug again, finally ripping it off their skin. “Sorry. This was the last one, I promise.”

Villain nods, blinking to refocus their eyes. They notice their foot is bleeding when Hero starts breathing frantically. Their hands hover just above the wound, almost touching the skin to rush the process. They stop, from time to time, to fix the positions of some bones or make sure they don’t lose functionality. After what feels like an hour, Hero leans back with a satisfied groan. “Can you move your toes?” 

Villain wiggles their toes, and Hero can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of their mouth. This idiot.

“Good. Now take off your shirt.” Villain does not move for a good minute, staring at them with a mixture of emotions that range from surprise to something Hero is better off not discovering. “I need to check your shoulder.” 

“It’s not that bad,” they start, pulling the collar tight around their neck, but Hero’s gaze oozes determination. 

“One touch sent you flying across the street, Vil,“ Hero reasons. They can see the hesitation colouring Villain’s features but do not budge. “Let me take a look.“ 

This time, Hero asks gently, and that’s what breaks Villain. They exhale, looking away to hide the glint of tears in their eyes as they unbutton their shirt and pull it off one shoulder, revealing the bite wound. A large deep purple bruise surrounds the area, and the skin around the torn tissues is red and swollen. 

“Shit, it’s infected.” Hero knows there’s a tremble in their voice but cannot bring themselves to care about that right now. They are thankful Villain doesn’t question it. 

When Hero finishes treating Villain’s shoulder, the sky is dark grey on the horizon. Both are exhausted and sleepy, but a question keeps eating at Hero’s heart. They know Villain did not expect to see them again when they came to warn. They wouldn't allow Hero to see what was done to them otherwise. Yet, as much as they knew Villain hated the idea of them knowing, Hero had to ask. They had to, despite knowing very well the answer would be a resounding no. 

“Vil, can I...” Hero stops mid-sentence, looking down at their hands covered in Villain’s blood. They wish it was Superhero’s. Elbow deep. Villain shifts in the corner, using a pillow to prop themselves up. Hero takes a deep breath, then another, attempting to steady their heartbeat. “Can you allow me to...“ 

That is when it dawns on Villain what Hero’s question implies. What they are asking permission for. What remaining wound of theirs they are referring to.

“No!” Their voice sounds fragile. They sit up, using their legs to push themselves further away from where Hero is seated. They dreaded this moment, this topic from the second Hero walked in. “No fucking way. No.”

“Vil, you know I would never... I want to help.” It takes everything in Hero to keep a sob from escaping. Unable to handle the terror behind Villain’s eyes, they cover their face with trembling hands, dissociating from the horridness of the situation. 

“I know.” Villain is silent for a long moment, waiting for their words to sink in. I know you won’t hurt me. I know you would probably murder Superhero for this. But I can’t. “But no.”

Hero remains irresponsive, so they continue. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I don’t need help.” They lean forward, placing a hand on Hero’s shoulder. Their muscles feel tense enough to crumble under Villain’s touch. “Trust me on this one.” 

Hero nods, still not taking their hands away from their face. It takes them several minutes to collect themselves, pulling the pieces of their broken self into a person-shaped pile. They look up, offering Villain a small smile, then drape the blanket over their nemesis. “Get some sleep. I’m gonna go grab some food.”

“You’ll come back?“ It sounds more like a request than a question. Villain’s eyes are closed when Hero reaches the door, their breathing uneven. 

“No matter what.” With the doors locked, Hero hops onto their motorcycle, pulls a black mask over their face and departs. Once again, they have three hours till the sun is up. Until then, they need to reach the city, complete their mission and return to Villain. No matter what. 

Part 1   Part 2   Part 4

Masterlist

[britishassistant]

What if Villain!Yuu had a civilian that cares for them like that civilian would come and check on Villain!Yuu like

Civilian: did you eat well?

Civilian: do you need sleep?

Like a sweetheart Civilian that genuinely cares for them and helps them escape the other civilians *cough* NRC *cough* *cough* anyways a civilian that is very trustworthy?

“Do you think we should be doing more?”

The head proprietor of the Daisy Chains bookshop looks up at his husband, curled up on the corner of their couch, a book abandoned in his lap. He runs a nail over his empty teacup, tracing the kittens painted in black, white and grey playing with a purple ball of yarn.

“I’m not sure what you mean, love.” Martin admits, setting down his knitting. Elena’s shooting up like a weed, she’ll need a new hat again for this winter.

“With. You know,” Jonathan Blackwood moves his hands in a vague gesture that somehow encompasses the elephant in the room. The one who rather graciously agreed to let Elena come over to play at their lair and promised to bring her home by four.

“I know they’re an adult.” Jon states, raking a hand through hair that’s now almost entirely silver, only a few dark streaks from when Martin first met him remaining. “I know they’re, they’re independent. That, that they’ve got those minions, and the birds, and they’re. They’re functional.”

Martin raises an eyebrow, shifting closer. “I’m sensing a ‘but’?”

“But Yuu isn’t. I’m not sure they’re…happy.” Jon scratches at the faded round scars pockmarked across his cheek. “And I know they’re an adult, I know, but sometimes I look at them, and.”

He peers at Martin, brown eyes wide and beseeching. “God, Martin, they’re so young. They’re going out and giving orders and trying to pretend they’re this, this big bad monster, but they’re just—just—!”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Martin puts his knitting entirely to the side and scooches the rest of the way over, wrapping his husband up in a gently crushing embrace. “I know, love, I know. I don’t like it either. Feels a bit too close for comfort.”

Jon buries his head in the crook of Martin’s shoulder. Martin can faintly feel him nuzzle the tip of the scar tissue that hides under his jumper, which snakes down his arm to the elbow and bursts across his shoulder blades.

After taking a few deep breaths, he’s recovered enough to sit back, still resting in the protective cocoon of Martin’s arms. “I don’t. I can’t feel good just leaving them to be a, a pawn of that organization. Even if their friends have their best interests in mind, I can’t trust that’s the same for their. Their employer. So I was wondering if there wasn’t something more we should be doing. If we could help somehow.”

Martin shrugs. “Well, you’re right that we can’t just. What, present adoption papers and say ‘thanks Mr. Night Raven, but we’re taking your kid because you’re a shit parent’? That wouldn’t go well for anyone, and like you said, they are an adult. Yuu’s responsible for the decisions they make, and so far they haven’t actually said they want to decide to stop being a supervillain.”

The mulish set of Jon’s jaw is familiar and adorable. “Yes, but—!”

Martin presses a kiss to his husband’s cheek to forestall the protest. “But, if they ever say they’d like to, we can of course do everything we can to help them. And in the meantime, we’ll just. Be there. As best we can. Honestly, I think Elena’s already done half the work for us.”

That gets Jon to smile at least, thumb rubbing circles into Martin’s shoulder. “What, just keep offering meals and tea like they’re a stray cat?”

“It worked on you, didn’t it?” Martin grins, then shrieks a laugh as Jon blows a raspberry into his clavicle as revenge.

[w-w-whumpupthejam]

Caretaker discovering a whumpee in a cage?

Caged Little Creature

I had a lot of fun with this, so that you for the request!

Content warnings:

Starvation, being caged (obviously), swears, bruises, cuts, etc.

Whumpee shook as they curled in on themself, the cold thin bars of the wire cage digging into their skin. They shivered, the thin blanket that was in there providing neither warmth nor comfort.

“That was the point though,” They thought, “To give what feels like hope but does nothing.”

They shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position in the too small cage. Whumpee winced as their cuts and bruises were attacked as they did so. Their breaths were sharp and painful, but they were used to it by now. At this point, the pain was a constant.

When they were first shoved into the cage—oh, how long ago was it now? It had become terribly difficult to keep track—they had been thankful to be left alone for a little while, regardless of how uncomfortable they were. But now, having been without food or contact for who knows how long, Whumpee just wanted someone to be there. They were terrified of Whumper, but maybe if they came back they’d bring Whumpee food, or let them out of the cage! As if Whumpee’s body was listening in on their thoughts and simply wanted to be ironic and cruel, their stomach let out a loud growl. They tried to ignore it but they had been starved for far too long. They took a few intentional, but short and sharp, breaths, doing their best to steady themself. Everything stung, every breath in and out, the cuts and bruises, their skin and bone. Their eyes began to flutter, and Whumpee had abandoned all hope of anyone coming to save them. The days of anyone caring about them were far in the past now. The only thing Whumpee saw before the darkness of rest was the dim light of the now forgotten room that held the cage, and them, inside, the wires of the cage making slashes in the light.

—<•>—

The team had gotten tasked to investigate Whumper’s… entire deal. When they learned of Whumpee, Caretaker was sent on the retrieval mission.

And now here Caretaker was. The old house they were looking in had been abandoned for days, likely, if not more than a week. They kept looking for any sign of life, though, anything at all. And they found it. A sound rang out, a shuffling coming from the room Caretaker had been about to search. They hurried in, hardly paying any attention to the protocol that was supposed to be followed. And there they saw it. A cage pushed into the corner of the poorly lit and downright freezing room. In the cage was a person.

A fucking person.

Alive (thank god), but shaking and hurt and scared and starved. Their skin was covered in hashes and scars, their cheeks were sallow and sunken, and their knuckles were white as their hands were balled up into timid fists. Caretaker couldn’t believe they were still even alive. Oh, they would fucking kill whoever did this to them.

When Whumpee registered at last that this new person wasn’t going to hurt them, in fact, the opposite, the relaxed a little. Caretaker let them out of the cramped cage, giving them the jacket off their back and protecting them. Whumpee tried to share their thanks to the best of their ability, voice cracking and breaking and failing them from the lack of use (and likely at least one illness). When they tried to walk, their legs buckled beneath them and they fell to the ground. They winced, expecting the usual taunts or laughter, or slap or kick. But no such blow came. This new person wouldn’t do that to them. Caretaker didn’t hurt Whumpee, no, they reached out and helped them. Caretaker gave Whumpee food and a warm drink, blankets and clothing. Whumpee couldn’t eat a thing after being starved for so long, but Caretaker said they would take this all one step at a time. Whumpee trusted Caretaker. For the first time in God knows how long, Whumpee had someone they could trust. It felt good.