#A Tentative Kinship

[hello-eeveev]

I’m feeling deeply unwell about Dot and Cleo and their whole deals and their friendship today how are you

[inbabylontheywept]

I went to summer camp as a kid. Six times, actually. I have many fond memories, and even more terrible ones. Here's one that's a mixture of both.

To set the stage, I had just spent the night in the infirmary due to a big fight I had with almost my entire tent. They never wanted to sleep, and were always obnoxiously loud with a lantern dubbed "the sun" that let me see movement around me with my eyes closed from the shadows passing over it. I was sleep-deprived, overstimulated, autistic-but-unaware-of-that, and twelve years old, and I already disliked these girls because they talked shit about me behind my back and took advantage of naivety. This unfortunate combination lead to a blowout meltdown in which I said some things I regret, so the counselors decided it'd be best if I spent some time away.

Now, this had the unforeseen consequence of putting me in a place with less supervision. This place also had some strange bugs. They were small, about the size of my pinky fingernail. Most of their bodies were in their tails, which curved downwards like a reverse scorpion. They were black and white, sort of striped, with six legs and no wings. Their fangs were very thin, but long, extending out from their faces like brownish parentheses. They had a propensity to bite.

Perhaps you can see where this is going.

While messing around with these bugs, I noticed that when they bit, they didn't just chomp and leave. They sunk their fangs in and they kept them there for a long time. Naturally, I decided to see what would happen if I let them, nay, encouraged them to bite me, as an experiment. When would they extricate their incisors from my flesh? Would my reaction to the bites vary depending on the amount of time each bite lasted?

I let these bugs bite me four times, once for about 13 minutes, once for about 5 minutes, once for about 1 minute, and once for 45 seconds (I didn't have a watch, so these are estimates). Then, I forged a peaceful resolution with my tentmates and we went to watch the beginning of Color War.

Except, turns out it's stupid to let unidentified insects taste your blood. The bites swelled up huge. I got chills. My stomach hurt intensely. My counselor took me back to the infirmary to get them checked out.

Needless to say, this was not easy to explain to the nurse on duty ("WHY" "For science!"). His first thought was we needed to figure out what bit me. If only it were that simple.

We combed through the databases for insects in the state. We expanded our search to arachnids, even, although it certainly wasn't one. I drew a little mock-up on a Post-It to show him. There was not a single match. To this day, I have no idea what it was that I let bite me. I was given orders to come back tomorrow to get them checked by a doctor, and also return every morning and night for a week to put warm compresses and medicinal ointments on the bites, and a strong directive to never do anything like that again, with a side of "What the hell were you thinking????"

A couple of months later, after camp, I went to my friend's bar mitzvah. The woman in the row behind me tapped my shoulder. She asked me how the bug bites were. It was the doctor from the infirmary.

-- @dr-robert-chase-apologist

That was a beautiful ending. I have a similar story, but less gruesome than letting bugs bite me. My family used to go up to trips to the Mogollon Mountains two or three times a year. The woods were where my dad always felt the most at peace.

My dad used that time to hike through the trees. And I grew into that eventually, but when I was very little, I felt a particular kinship to the small things of this world. Worms and beetles and woodlice and those peculiar Arizona grasshopers with wings the size of jellybeans and tummies the size of my thumb.

And on one trip, there was an incredible number of these beautiful, fuzzy caterpillars. Picture below.

I went a little crazy about them. They were fluffy, and they were had pretty colors, and they had the cutest, softest, stubbiest little suction cup feets that I'd ever seen. Watching them climb up stalks of grass or over fallen branches was enchanting.

So I caught, like, twenty of them, and most got put in a little terrarium where I could watch them do cute caterpillar things. Mostly eat fresh pine needles and wriggle gregariously. But some I kept out just to play with. I'd put them on my palm, and I'd watch them crawl all the way up to my neck, then I'd move them somewhere else. They tickled, and I was charmed to be their jungle gym.

But apparently, those little hairs break off like fiberglass, and they have some kind of venom on them, so I had these strange, wriggling, almost tattoo like rashes all over my arms up to my neck. Very embarrassing to explain to my parents.

There was an entomologist on the street that I grew up on named Freddie. And he wasn't just a bug expert, he was specifically a caterpillar expert. He had a garden in his backyard that was specifically tailored for butterflies, he'd always draw in clouds of Monarchs during their migration. My parents asked him about the mysterious itchy caterpillars, and he said they were lophocampa ingens, and that I was lucky that I didn't inhale those hairs. They can stick inside your throat and make it swell closed. Scary little bastards.

I'd still see them after that, but never in such numbers. And while I appreciated them, I always tried to keep a few feet of distance. Just to be safe.

(Also, just wanted to clarify that I didn't remember the name for 20 years, I googled "irticating caterpillar Mogollon", and saw the picture. It wasn't until I read the caption that I was like oh yeaaaaah, that's what he called them. But it was one of those memories I could never have pulled at will.)

[writingsofwesteros]

I love everything youve written where robert baratheon marries ned's daughter. Do you maybe have any more headcanons?

AN: Thank you so much! I hope you l like it x

SFW

Robert enjoys seeing his new, young wife draped in his colours as much as he has kinship with the Starks; she belongs to him now. The King enjoys seeing that she does; he orders the servants to bathe and dress her how he likes. Sometimes, when the duties of the realm do not call for him - he watches her being dressed.

In a surprising manner to most who know him; the King enjoyed dancing with his new wife. The feel of her against his towering frame was a favourite feeling of his. His larger hands roaming her body without care of the audience around them. Her giggles in his ear lightened the load he felt on his shoulders; if only for a moment.

Their sweet bouncing baby boys soon follow their marriage; with the court gossiping the young wolf was with a child the day she walked down the aisle. Of course, there could be no proof of such a thing. Even as the chubby babies came along and were grabbing their mother’s skirts from the beginning. 

As Robert would work into the evening, most of the time she could never sleep without him. Their bed feels far too empty with him missing. She would soon venture into his study; the silk robe clinging to her curves. The paperwork in front of him is easily forgotten about with the sight of his wife before him.

NSFW

Robert has the biggest of breeding kinks; and his poor wife has to put up with such a thing - not that she complains. In fact, he would argue she begs him so prettily for him to cum whilst her legs lock around his body. Her soft, ample breasts pressed against his chest as he rocks deep causing her to squeal. 

It was not long after her marriage that she heard whispers from the ladies surrounding her; of other ways of pleasuring their husbands. The poor thing had to be trained by Robert as she drooled down his thick cock as he fought against his hips rocking and taking over completely as her sweet gags echoed around the royal chambers.

The way he ate his food and greedily downed the wine at feasts should have warned her of how he would feast upon her. His favourite was to take her from behind; his fat tongue pushing in as she whimpered against the oak door. Her legs could only shake as he sucked and lapped with never sated hunger. 

He’s not too much into taking his wife on the throne; no Robert likes to have her after a hunt. Either in the tent or spread on the forest floor. Her cries of pleasure like the bird songs around them. Her hands grab at the fresh grass beneath her as Robert grunts in pleasure like the animal he could be.

[galeorderbride]

Seriously, I am blessed <3 this blog was meant to be a tiny little corner that maybe 10 people followed lol. I'm so glad to be wrong because I got to connect with so many wonderful people here :)

I made a poll for a 100 follower milestone oneshot, and the winner was (of course lol) Gale fluff/smut. I've finally finished it, and I seriously hope everyone likes it because I made it for you!

So, can't stress this enough, 18+ MDNI

Oh, and it's not beta read. I will edit later lol if there are any mistakes

Fic (and warnings/description) under the cut and can be viewed on ao3 if you prefer.

Welcome Home

Gale Dekarios x F!Tav 18+ MDNI

Words: 5.2k

Rating: Explicit for graphic smut, piv sex, oral sex (m and f recieving), fingering, creampie, soft!dom Gale, use of pet names (sweet girl, love, etc), light choking with fingers. Fluffy and romantic :)

Summary: Gale and Tav spend their first night in Waterdeep postgame, and he wants to make her feel welcome :)

...

Funny how in the entire, months long adventure against all dangers known to the Sword Coast, the one memory that stuck to Tav the most was meeting Gale. Pulling him out of an unstable portal, the lure of his bright, scholarly voice calling her ‘friend’ in the first fifty words. Little did she know, he spoke to her a prophecy. From that moment on, Tav and Gale spent all their time together, getting lost in his conceptual monologues and trading books as a solace against the ever present violence. 

In between the lines of borrowed books and stolen glances, falling in love was inevitable. From an unexpected kinship, to touching friendship and eventual passionate romance had been the one blessing in such a strenuous journey. Locked in the expectation of each other, eager for the night to fall, for the candlelight to illuminate the azure of Gale’s tent as an open door. A routine after each near death experience, to share two bedrolls squished together and become expert in the ways of making love without bruising their skin on the hard ground below. They were a proper couple by the journey’s conclusion, soaked in love and devotion, ready for the permanency of their relationship to finally bloom with the defeat of the Elder Brain. 

Their affections made clear and official when Gale proposed the evening after the city had been saved. 

One would think with all that familiarity that Tav would have no problem arriving in Waterdeep with her new betrothed. Settling into each other never came easier back in those wretched patches they called camp. Effortless to just exist with confidence. But as soon as Gale and her crossed the threshold into his towers, she felt like a stranger to him. Unsure of what the proper action might be, to the point where she found herself afraid to remove her cloak. 

Everything felt foreign. As if she’d never been anywhere but on the road, either to Moonrise or Baldur’s Gate. The tower was new, of course, but even her clothes felt odd. Clad in a woollen skirt and forest green blouse instead of armour. Hair down and well groomed rather than pulled back for outdoor convenience. Skin clean and devoid of bruises and cuts. As ridiculous as it may sound, she forgot how to be anything else but a scrapping adventurer. And to be in a lavish tower full of every amenity she could dream of, alone in the start of domestic bliss with her beautiful partner. Something so commonplace, yet completely implausible to her. 

“Your palace awaits, dearest,” Gale said, presenting her the main room of the tower with that comical charisma impervious to awkwardness. 

Handsome didn’t begin to describe him. Hair tied back in a half up style and an ivory button down held tight against his body with brand new suspenders. Healthy and happy, soon to be free of the orb and all the consequences along with it. Tav had never seen him so elated. He simply glowed with the promise of their love. The promise of peace. 

Tav smiled, the stretch of her lips failing to reach her eyes as she pondered about the tower. Distracting herself with the warm toned decor of brown leather couches and exposed stone walls. Gale magically lit the fireplace at the centre of it all, warming them against the cooling weather of late Uktar, made colder by the tidal winds of Waterdeep. She wanted to say something charming, but couldn’t find the words. 

“I’m sorry, Gale, I’m—a bit nervous. Not certain why, this should all be so normal but…oh, I don’t know,” she said, scoffing at herself. 

Gale stepped close to her, wearing that affectionate, closed-mouth smile he always did when she needed reassurance. Strong, sculpted hands found their way to her arms, squeezing just hard enough to ensure her eyes stayed on his. Shivers down her spine juxtaposing with the growing warmth of the fire. 

“This isn’t exactly normal for us, hmm? Accustomed to living under the impression that we may die the next morning, worried about whether we’d turn into illithid or get done in by Bhaalists. Not much time for the soothing hum of what we once missed,” he said, caressing the sides of her arms lightly. “Fret not, I’m a little unsure, myself. We’ll adjust. How about a glass of wine?” 

Tav felt eased by his touch, and his offer for something to take the edge off. “You read my mind. Thank you.” 

Placing a small kiss on her forehead, he said, “Have a seat by the fire, my love. I’ll prepare the finest blend in my cellar.” 

Gale bustled about in the concealed kitchen as Tav settled herself on the sofa closest to the windows, enlivening the living room with maroon and yellow stained glass and piles of books on their sills. Everything there was to know about him existed within these walls, the tower containing his very life breath. Excitement beat through her heart as she contemplated all the things he had not thought to tell her, waiting to be found in every corner. Silly things like unfinished poems and a favourite paper weight, if he played different songs on the piano at different times of day. All in between that she was meant to spend her life learning with him. 

“Athkatlan clarry,” Gale said as he walked into the living room with two goblets and an intricate, tall bottle of mulled wine. “I’ve been thinking about this blend since we first cooked together. How you loved those darker spices, cloves and peppercorns, and your admiration for the blackberry sauce I made. How I hoped I’d be able to share this particular bottle with you. I’m glad that dream has come true.” 

Notes of thyme and cherry touched her lips before the wine blanched her tastebuds with the heavenly taste of vanilla. Warm, mirthy flavours that wrapped around her like a comforting blanket. The soft happiness of being thought of enough that he had a wine decision months before they could even pop the cork. That was simply Gale; he had a way of making her feel like the only person in the realms.  

“You had my tastes down so early,” she said. “I can’t possibly compete.” 

“Don’t think of it as a competition. You’ve never been to Waterdeep, have no family or friends here, and yet you still came here with me when I asked you. For that, the least I can do is think of a wine to match your tastes,” he said. 

Tav smiled, confident enough to rest her hand on top of his, “Where you go, I go. That was decided the same day you chose this wine for me.” 

Neither of them noticed how close they’d drawn, each sip of their wine leading them nearer and nearer. The sides of their thighs touching, Gale’s arm lingering behind her back, ready to snake his arm around her waist. Her hand still held his, comfortably resting on his lap. That beckoning look in his eye had Tav spellbound, the seductive leer ending in the corners of his lips, stretched to a subtle, desirous smile. An expression incapable of feigning innocence, pooling with a tender but heated want. 

Gale slowly lifted her hand to his mouth, peppering soft kisses against each knuckle grazing against his beard. Tav’s stomach tightened, tingling with sensations of desire. Heat from the fire sunk into already burning skin and the warm blush of the wine in her blood. She often wondered if he did magic when he touched her like this, rendering her still and speechless. Her pride would never let her ask him, lest she find out the actual answer and prove to the world that she really was just a fool for him. 

“Come here,” he said with his lips grazing her fingers, “Let me kiss you.” 

Soft lips found hers as Gale finally let that hovering arm wrap around her waist. Unburdening her nerves with every caress of his palm against her back, slowly but surely finding its way under her blouse. Fingertips grazed her spine, counting each inch from the base to the top. His other pressed against her cheek, holding her close. Tav melted under his kiss, a light tickle between her legs as he slipped the tip of his tongue inside her mouth. Not too much, just enough to ease them into a gentle make out. Gale never rushed. He enjoyed playing with her, feeling the warm wetness of her lips, the amused yelp when he nipped at the fragile tissue, all the ways to get her body to lean into his. And it always worked, proven by the hook of her leg over his thighs, the silken heat of her core driving him. 

Tav could’ve stayed like that for ages, able to forget the world around her with his passionate kissing. He always said he could do better, develop his technique after being out of practise for so long. But even the first time, tucked away in that starry illusion he conjured, it was the best she ever had. 

“You deserve to be worshipped every single day, my dearest love. But tonight, especially. For the first time, we are home. This is your home, if you’ll have it. I want everything to be perfect,” he said, mouth still hovering over hers. The taste of his breath on her tongue, laced with vanilla wine and spearmint. 

“Oh, Gale, you’ve done so much to make me feel welcome. Things are already perfect,” Tav said. 

“Then let’s make perfect last. Come with me upstairs, there’s more I’d like to show you,” he said. 

Hand-in-hand, they left the living room and walked up the spiralling steps to the second level of his tower. Tapestries of different scenes hanging on the wall, all with accents of florals, latticework and myths of great heroes of history. Candlelit sconces lighting their way up. Nothing short of a fairytale, as if she was wandering the castle of a magical prince. Well, in a way, she was. 

Somehow, she imagined the study he showed her on their first night together. The very centre from which he cultivated his life before meeting her. But he led her through a different door, one leading to a spacious, well kept bedroom. A king-sized four poster bed against the furthest wall, a closed terrace with beautiful double doors. Night projected from the moonlit glass, droplets of rain beginning to patter against the panes. Another fireplace sat adjacent to the bed, lit amongst intricate stone just like the one downstairs. In front, two armchairs and a circular rug, different shades of dark red sewn in an intricate style. 

“Oh my goodness, don’t tell me this is your bedroom? You wizards do like to live lavishly,” Tav said as he led her into the room. She stood in the middle, craning her neck to see every hanged painting and arcane trinket on each surface. Even after looking two or three times, there was something else to see. 

“To tell the truth, the luxury of the room isn’t for me. Not really. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate fine decor and comfort. But most nights, I just fell asleep in my study. I wanted this to be something to share, to be a shelter of beauty and warmth for the one I love. Now that you’re here, I finally have a reason to close the books at the end of the night,” he explained, joining her where she stood and holding her close. 

Tav smiled, running her hands up his chest and landing at his shoulders. The soft cotton of his button down like a cool breeze against her palms. Both his arms were snug around her waist, swaying her lightly in place. 

“I regret to inform you that neither room will be offering much sleep, Mr. Dekarios,” she said, craning her head up to meet his lips in a soft, chaste kiss. “Not if I’m in here.” 

“Oh, believe me, sleep was never an option,” He said, grinning between kisses that deepened with each smack of their lips together. “Tonight, let me welcome you to your new home. Show you the splendours of this tower and all the magic it can provide—in the mortal way, of course.” 

Teasing him was all she could think to do to temper the giddiness within her. His poetic charm folding her stomach upside down. “Don’t be too fantastic, or I’ll start asking for it every night.” 

“Hmm, a threat or a promise?” He asked, but there was no need for an answer. 

Words were nothing compared to the sultry kiss he gave her, deepened with the slide of his tongue along her bottom lip and a soft moan crackling from Gale’s throat. This was the start of their lives together, away from danger and unpredictability. Beginning with a simple kiss in the middle of the bedroom that would be theirs forever. 

“Now, darling, you have a choice,” he said to her, turning her body so her back pressed against his chest, his hands caressing her arms, shoulders and collarbone, just barely avoiding the peak of her covered breasts. His stubble tickled against her bare cheek, unable to resist planting little kisses along the side of his jaw as he moved her around. 

He continued, “Armchair or bed?” 

Tav’s entire body wanted to erupt in embarrassing giggles, but managed to keep her cool as she took a long, drawn out breath. “What exactly am I choosing these for?” 

“Choose,” he demanded. 

She bit her bottom lip, tempted by the tender warmth of the firelight, “Armchair.” 

He moved her body a couple steps to face the chair, whispering in her ear, “In that case, I’m going to get you naked now. And then, I’m going to make you cum on the armchair. All well and good, sweet girl?” 

Every part of her tingled at the sound of such a pet name. At this point, she’d have let him do just about anything he wanted. Her voice shook with anticipation, “Oh yes, all well and good.” 

Gale began with the small buttons on her blouse, keeping her back to him. As his fingers undid each one, he kissed the side of her neck, the sound of his lips sucking and licking at her skin fluttering in her ears. Tav reveled in the shots of warm air as her shirt opened more and more, all the way until Gale pulled the fabric from her shoulders. A simple, cream coloured bra kept her covered, until he snapped the clasp off with expert precision, freeing her breasts for him to squeeze and knead. Tav sighed deeply, letting her head fall into the crux of his shoulder while his fingertips teased around her hardening nipples. Tracing the little buds and continuing to kiss her neck at the same time, so fervent that a trail of saliva dripped from his mouth down her skin. It was positively debauched, and yet so filled with devotion and love. His hands never allowed a part of her to go untouched, not even trying to seem like he wasn’t falling apart for her in an instant. 

Letting go of her breasts, he let his hands trail to the belt of her wool skirt, chafing against her bare waist. He whispered sweet nothings in her ear now, simple affirmations like ‘beautiful’, ‘magnificent’, ‘my entire universe’. Tav could listen to him all night, just lying in his arms while he shuddered every adjective to describe her humanly possible. But not now, as he tucked his thumbs into the skirt and gently pulled the fabric off her rounded hips. He played with the lace of the matching underwear to her now discarded bra, letting his palms wander from the hem of the panties to her butt, squishing the soft flesh. 

“How can something be so soft? You defy the greatest alchemists with the way you’ve been sculpted,” he said, giving her a playful pinch on her left cheek. Tav couldn’t stop that giggle, jumping forward as she felt the ticklish sting. A little distraction so he could bend down and pull off the last bit of clothing she had, now fully naked in the middle of his bedroom. Their bedroom.  

“Shall I take a seat?” She asked, motioning towards the armchair. 

“Mmm, yes please. So obedient, I don’t even have to tell you where to go. Seems you left your stubbornness in Baldur’s Gate,” he said, watching closely as her hips swayed in her walk to the chair. Each second he was blessed to witness her, she became more beautiful. Magic not even he could conjure. Intertwined so strikingly with the glittering veins of her soul. 

Tav giggled, sitting on the chair with her knees tucked to her chest, as if hiding her body from the man who’d seen it countless times now. “Trust me, when I get more comfortable here, I’ll be back to my normal, argumentative self.” 

Gale smirked, stepping in front of the chair, towering over her sitting form. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, my love. But I’ll not tolerate closed legs in this bedroom, dearest. Open up.” 

With a quick motion of his finger, a magical, invisible force pried her legs open on the chair. Tav gasped as she felt the soles of her feet drag along the velvet fabric. The cool air kissed the surface of her core, already wet with desire before he’d even touched her. How could she not, when exposed to the ethereal beauty of Gale. The absolute picture of perfection to her, with his flowing chestnut hair lined with grey, his toned torso glistening under candlelight as he slipped off his shirt. He was impossible not to look at, as if he walked out of a classical painting. 

Firelight glowed against her skin, her muscles melting into the comfort of the chair as she watched her beloved smirk at her. Eager tingles danced across her palms, yearning to touch his bare torso, feel the prickle of his body hair, kiss the orb tattoo that would soon heal away forever. Addicted to caressing her body against his own, coated with hot sweat as she imagined him everywhere on her, inside her. The craving was too much, Tav bringing one hand to knead her breast and the other down to her clit, gently rubbing the sensitive tip between her index and middle finger.

That is, until Gale lowered to his knees in front of her and moved her hand away. He grasped her wrist, bringing her fingers up to her mouth and shoving them inside for her to eagerly suck. 

“No no, sweet girl,” he said, clicking his tongue, “Keep those fingers in your mouth. Let me make you cum.” 

“Oh, Gale,” she said through her fingers, still prodding at her tongue, “Please…” 

“Aww, please? Please what?” He asked, his voice dark with lust as he inched his face closer between her legs, enough to feel the chill of his breath blowing against her clit. Tav exhaled, craning her head back as she fought the pulsing desire to be filled, licked and sucked until she was ruined. 

“P-please make me cum, Gale,” she said, taking her fingers out of her mouth as she spoke. 

He raised a brow at her, distancing his head back as he said, “Put those fingers back, beautiful. And then I’ll do exactly what you want.” 

They never had much time during their journey to enjoy themselves for a while. To let Gale take his time in pleasing her, demanding things of her. Tav felt even more blessed than she already did to be here with him, where they could spend the night adoring each other, exploring every way to make love. This, though, seeing Gale confident and assertive, would definitely be a favourite. 

Placing her fingers back in her mouth, letting him watch as she poked and prodded at her tongue and throat. A muffled, heart stopping growl emanated from him as he neared her pussy again, letting a trail of saliva fall from his lips, sinking onto her clit. All she could do was whimper, her inner thighs shaking as he finally trailed his tongue all across her slit. Using the tips of his thumbs to spread her open as he gently wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking and kissing at the sensitive bud to keep her irresistible sounds in his ears. Mixing with his own moans, debauched with the slick of her essence drenching his beard. 

Gale loved pressing at the soft flesh of her pussy with his thumbs, giving in to the temptation and pushing one inside of her. Continuing to lap at her clit, feeling it swell against his tongue as she drew closer to climax. He couldn’t help but smile every time she bucked her hips into him, using her free hand to clutch the arm of the chair while she struggled to keep sucking her fingers. Gods, sometimes she’d get carried away, and he’d hear a little gag from her throat, driving him further into her cunt. 

“Gods above, that feels so good! I’m close…so close,” she exclaimed through her filled mouth, concentrating on the intense precipice she balanced on. Her hips grinding against him, nearly screaming at the sensation of his lips slurping at her clit. Only a few more seconds went by before an orgasm snapped through her insides, hooking her legs over his shoulders and crying out his name. “Gale! Gale! Ugh…” 

The paradise of tasting her was unmatched to any other experience. Floral, buttery notes along his tongue as he used the tip to lightly trace across her clit, shaking from overstimulation. Gale replaced her fingers with the thumb that thrusted in her pussy, sharing in the flavour of her orgasm. 

“Good girl,” he said, “You taste amazing, I could survive on your cunt alone. Always doing so well for me, but I need to see it again, alright?” 

Tav’s sigh was breathless, wheezing with pleasure as she came down from the intense climax. She didn’t even have time to answer before he hugged his arms around her hips, scooping her legs around his waist to lift her off the chair. Limp in his arms, she began to kiss across his neck, licking and sucking to the point of marks. More desire between her legs when he’d groan in her ear, or shudder at the sensation of her nails gently scratching down his back. 

Silk sheets met her backside as he lowered her down to the mattress. Plunged into even more comfort, certain she’d never experienced a softer bed. Her arms stretched above her head, letting Gale do whatever he wanted to her. Staring at her, he never allowed his eyes to part as he undid the buckle of his belt, removing his trousers. Tav bit her lip when his cock sprang free, thick and hard with the slick of precum dotting the tip. 

“Let me touch it,” she begged, remembering she’d get what she wanted if she was polite, “Please.” 

Gale laughed, that flirtatious scoff he did when he knew he was a step ahead. Circling her like prey, driven to madness by the beauty of Tav. He couldn’t believe she wanted to be with him, stay with him for the rest of their lives. A silent vow in his head that swore he’d do everything to show how thankful he was. She’d given him the greatest reward a person could ever ask for. 

“So pretty when you’re begging for my cock,” he said, climbing onto the bed behind her. Positioning himself so his waist aligned with her face. Gale shook with arousal when he witnessed her licking her lips, eyes glued to the head. He asked her, “Do you want to taste me, dearest?” 

Tav nodded, moving her neck forward to envelop her mouth along the head of his cock. Gently caressing the tip with her lips, rimming the tip of her tongue along the sensitive ridge. He shuddered, almost cumming down her throat right there, just enough strength to resist. This was her time, and once was never enough for Gale. He traced his fingertips down her body, stopping to pinch her nipples and graze her inner thighs before sliding two into her cunt. She yelped in surprise, lowering her mouth to capture his shaft deeper. 

“Suck me all you want, but focus on finishing for me again, sweet girl. I told you I wanted to see it again. Can you do that for me?” He said, voice sensual and darker than his usual tone. Overtaken by extreme lust and the biting need to fill every part of her with his seed. 

Tav nodded with him still in her mouth, her oral fixation kicking in as she felt herself working towards a second climax just because she felt him gently fucking her throat. Combining with the hot, delicate pleasure of him thrusting his fingers inside of her. Massaging her clit with his thumb in perfect circles, hitting every spot she loved. He used his free hand to hold her head on his lap, playing with her sweat-laden hair. 

“Oh gods above, Tav! You give me more than I could ever imagine,” he said, throwing his head back as he relished in the pleasure of her tongue lolling around his cock. “Come for me, my goddess. So perfect, all for me. All for me.” 

Gale’s cock popped out of her mouth as she gasped in ecstasy, a second orgasm blossoming in her core when his fingers hit just the right spot. Her already soaking cunt dripping onto his hand, body hot with sweat and spasming muscles. During her come down, she flicked her tongue along the tip of his cock, tasting the faint saltiness of his precum. Hooked on the sounds of his shaken breath as he laughed with terrifyingly seductive satisfaction. 

Warmth covered her back, so heated and shaken she created her own heatwave. Between heavy breaths, she said, “Flip me over, please? It’s too hot.” 

“What impeccable timing for you to say that. I’m going to fuck you now, love,” he said, quickly grabbing her waist and flipping her to her stomach in one, effortless swoop. Her head hung slightly off the foot of the bed, smiling to herself as she felt Gale move his body between her legs. His cock grinding against her core from behind. 

Kisses trailed down her spine, a calm moan leaving her lips in enjoyment. Giggling as he nipped at her shoulders and scrunched her hair in his fist, pulling just hard enough for a tickling sting. He used his hold on her hair to turn her head, pressing his lips to hers in a passionate, burning make out. Pushing his tongue against hers with unbridled, sultry moans. Never over the taste of him, the scent of him, the weight of him, everything forever. 

“Gale, please, I can’t take it anymore. More, more,” she begged, happily overwhelmed by the wet kisses he spread all over her face. 

“More what, my dear? Use your words,” he whispered, biting and sucking at her earlobe. Tav’s legs bent in desperation as he pressed his rock solid cock at her entrance, teasing the slit but never penetrating. Just pushing the tip, teasing and teasing until she reached the point of crudeness he wanted her to be. 

“Mmm put your cock in me, Gale. I want to come again, please!” She cried out, voice high and tired. 

Allowing him to take control meant more than simply wanting to be submissive during love making. After months of constant fear of death, violence and all other forms of danger, the two of them could finally be vulnerable. Open themselves to one another in any way they liked, for as long as they wished. The very comfort Gale wanted to give her when they arrived at his tower, a beginning of a thousand nights of passion, tenderness and joy. And a thousand more after that. 

“I love you so much, my heart. My soul. You are just…everything to me,” he said, body melting into hers as he slipped his cock inside. Slow, tight stretching conquering every nerve in her body. Endless pleasure in the feeling of being completely taken over by him, his chest against her back as he began to thrust into her stimulated cunt. His hand clutching her ass feverishly. 

“I love you, Gale, please don’t stop! I’m…gonna…” 

Tav couldn’t finish a sentence, not when the wet stretch of his cock thrusting into her kept going and going. His pace was strong yet loving as he kissed every part of her he could reach. Hands holding her head for support. He wanted badly for her to finish again, one more time before he found his own release. There wasn’t much left of him, his cock twitching between her vibrating walls sucking him deeper and deeper. 

There wasn’t a part of her body that didn’t feel something. Clit rubbing against the soft sheets while he pounded into her, languishing within as she felt his rhythm changing the closer he got. Each time he moved, his moans grew into desperate, pleasured whimpers. A sound like paradise to her ears, bringing her nearer to that final climax. Paralyzed under him as she let herself drown in bliss, going silent as her body quaked in orgasm. Muscles tightening with that weaker but heavenly spasm, her mind couldn’t believe he had driven her to such a high. 

“Ohhh, yes, good girl! Finishing so good for me like that, three times. I’m going to make you mine, my love. Make love to your cunt until I cum deep inside you,” he said, growling in her ear like a feral beast. An irresistible side of him, made even better when knowing she was the only person who’d get to see it. 

Both of them moaned in tandem as Gale spilled inside of her, hanging his head in the crux of her neck and shoulder as he held her tighter than ever. Full body tingles coursed through Tav, drunk on the ecstasy of being the vessel for his pleasure. Feeling him soften inside her while he peppered kisses along her back. 

“Welcome home, my love,” he said, tone gentler as he came down from lust. He turned over, laying beside her as their hair hung off the foot of the mattress. 

“You’re quite the host, Mr. Dekarios. Do you do that with all your guests?” She asked with a sly grin. 

Gale wrapped his arms around her shoulders, snuggling their bodies together as he kissed the side of her head. “You’re not a guest, my love. This is your home, as much as it is mine. I’ll spend a thousand days and nights telling you that if I must.” 

Tav hooked her leg across his waist, ignoring the warmth and sweat of their skin so she could be close to him. Be taken to that paradise unique to her beloved wizard. 

“I’ll hold you to that.”

[dancingbirdie]

hi! can I request Astarion x Tav where Tav is crying (same innocent type Tav from your last fic) and Astarion has to comfort them? (like after his confession scene in act 2 but before his final quest please?) tysm for your time!

Ask and you shall receive, my dear anon! Although a word of warning: this fic has a lot of fluff and a whole lot of angst. Also damn I really explored some of my own shit in this fic and am feeling very vulnerable but also very good. PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO THE WARNINGS/TAGS BEFORE READING <3

If I could nominate a song that inspired this writing, it would be "When The Lights Go Out" by Gabrielle Aplin.

The Dark Sun

Word Count: 1.6K

Rating: Teen

Warnings/Tags: Mentions of death, grief/trauma response to death of loved ones, mentions of blood, emotional pain, hurt & comfort, FLUFF, ANGST, non-sexual comfort, Astarion x GN!Tav, Minor Act 2 spoilers.

None of the others had ever seen Tav like this. They weren’t about to let anyone see them in this state now. After all, Tav was the sunshine of their party. Sunshine had one job; it was in its very name. 

It isn’t true. It isn’t! Get away from me. Go!

Sitting in their tent, as far away from the other party members as safely possible, Tav was powerless to stop the replaying of Arabella’s words over, and over, and over, in their mind. They saw in their mind’s eye the maelstrom of emotions that had played across the young tiefling’s face when Tav gently broke the news that her mother and father had been killed. Shock. Anguish. Disbelief. Rage. Despair. Resentment.

Tav knew those feelings well. They had felt them before. They still felt the echoes of them, even now, so many years after the death of their own parents. Tav had been so like Arabella in their youth. They had recognized a kinship with the tiefling as soon as they met her in the Emerald Grove. To be the one who ushered in those emotions for someone so young and so full of unbridled joy - it was a cruel irony. To be that bearer of such unspeakable news, to a mere child. 

Though Tav knew that time would eventually take the immediate sting from this news, they also knew from their own experience that Arabella would forever be scarred. Even before she was aware, the world had been violently reforming beneath her feet. Life would never be as it once was. And the knowledge that they would forever be intertwined with Arabella’s memory of losing her parents, even if those deaths had not come at their hands, felt like opening the fissure in their heart all over again and injecting acid throughout its crevices. 

The reality of it all had Tav doubled over, sobbing into their hands in a feeble attempt at hiding their pain from the rest of the camp. None of the others had ever seen Tav like this. They weren’t about to let anyone see them in this state now. After all, Tav was the sunshine of their party. Sunshine had one job; it was in its very name. 

Most of the time, Tav didn’t mind being that cheery glue that held people together. It was a role that was helpful to others, and they had performed it very well throughout their life. It also had the added benefit of distracting Tav from hosts of problems that were better left in the far corners of their mind. Seeing them like this, in this state of despair? It would topple the whole façade. And given where they were, in a bleak forest of darkness, fumbling through perpetual night, Tav knew the party needed sunshine more than ever before if they had any prayer of making it through this area alive.

So, no, Tav resolved to work through this pain in solitude. They had done so before. They could do it again. 

***

The Shadow-Cursed Lands were not exactly an Eden for animals that could quell Astarion’s thirst. Most of the beasts were either blighted or dead. Given this, Astarion had purchased an ox and some boar from the Harpers at the Last Light Inn for the express purpose of draining their blood and storing it in vials he could consume along the way. Gale had come up with a handy little spell to keep the containers cool and prevent the blood from spoiling. He estimated that those reserves, coupled with Tav’s generosity of allowing him to feed off them, would be enough to keep him stable for several more days. 

He heard the sound as he was exiting his tent to retrieve a vial of ox blood from the camp supplies. 

Muffled choking sounds. Someone was…crying? He piqued his ears, concentrating to locate the direction from which they came. 

Tav’s tent. He was sure of it. 

Pitched as far away from the others as possible, Astarion had thought it odd earlier in the evening that Tav had positioned themselves so far away from everyone, including himself. Normally, they rested at the dead center of the camp, where they could easily chatter and joke with the rest of the party. But, given his own proclivity for solitude, he hadn’t pondered it further, assuming Tav had just needed some quality time to themselves. 

Hearing their quiet sobs now, in the middle of the night, Astarion could have kicked himself for not realizing sooner that something was wrong. 

Though he had confessed his feelings several days ago and found them wholeheartedly reciprocated, his new… status… with Tav felt like learning a new language. A language with an alphabet wholly different than anything he had ever known. He certainly wasn’t fluent yet. He wasn’t even sure if his ability to… speak it, per se… was passable. But, if for nothing else, he was grateful to Tav for their patience and understanding as he navigated this entirely foreign situation. They never asked for anything more than he was willing to give, and that empathy continued to compel him to try. For himself. For Tav. For their future prospects. 

Of course, knowing all of this made Astarion feel all the more worse for failing to intuit Tav’s emotional state. They were not exactly a closed book. Had he not have fallen back on old ways of thinking and processing people’s behavior, he likely could have recognized the signs of Tav’s distress. But 200 years of habits and mindset was hard to break. He could hear Tav’s voice in his head, gently reminding him to be patient with himself, to afford himself grace. 

They were always giving him the space to be vulnerable. This time, he wanted to try providing them with the same assurance. 

Astarion quietly padded over to Tav’s tent and cleared his throat in a somewhat awkward attempt at announcing his presence. 

Immediately, the sobbing ceased. “Um, just a moment!” came Tav’s watery reply. 

Astarion listened carefully to Tav’s quiet sniffles and movements about the tent. He assumed they were quickly trying to right themselves, slip that cheery mask they wore so well back on. The thought broke his heart. 

“Tav, darling, can I come in?” he asked softly so that their fellow party members would not be able to hear. 

“Oh sure, are you thirsty? I was just lying down… resting,” Tav added lamely before finally poking their head out from between the tent flaps. They gave him a tiny smile, a weak attempt at normalcy, before pulling back and making room for him to enter.

Astarion seated himself across from Tav, who began rearranging their pillows and preparing for what they assumed to be another feeding session. He took in their ruddy cheeks, their tearstained eyes, swollen from crying so much. Tentatively, the movement still so foreign but becoming more familiar, he reached out a hand to cup their cheek. 

Tav stilled at his touch, sucking in a breath. He watched as tears began welling in their eyes.

“Darling, you don’t need to hide your pain from me,” he gently intoned. 

Tav gave a breathless laugh, traitorous tears leaking down their face. 

“I didn’t want any of you to see me like this. Especially you,” they warbled, sniffling. 

“And why ever not?”

“I’m ‘Tav The Sunshine,’ remember?” they said with a self-deprecating grin. “The sun only ever shines on us. That’s its job.”

“But the sun isn’t always shining,” Astarion reminded them softly. “Times of darkness are allowed.”

Tav released a quiet sob. “I don’t… w-want you to see that darkness. It’s too much… I… I can’t-”

Seeing Tav fall apart before his eyes, so broken and disconsolate, the urge to take them in his arms felt like second nature. Not a foreign language at all, not a struggle to initiate a touch. Astarion couldn’t explain it; his subconscious had known how to respond and barreled through all those years of self-loathing, manipulation, and disgust to reach out for Tav. Quick as a flash but so very gently, he pulled them into an embrace, maneuvering them so they sat cradled in his lap, their arms wrapped around shoulders. 

“My sweet, sweet Tav,” Astarion crooned as they cried into his shoulder, tears quickly dampening his nightshirt. He raised one hand to push back the locks obscuring their face and softly caressed their cheek. 

“I want to tell you something,” he continued. “And I want you to truly listen... I’ve walked in darkness for over 200 years. Mostly alone. Committing depraved acts against others in the service of a master who sees me as nothing more than a means to an end… There is nothing - nothing - in your darkness that could scare me away. I swear it.”

Tav raised their head to look at him. Slowly - as one would approach a wild animal - they raised their hand and kept it hovering right beside Astarion’s face. 

That Tav would still be thinking of his comfort, even in their abject sadness, unleashed a powerful wave of… some strong emotion in him. 

Is that love? Is that what it feels like? He thought. 

He couldn’t be sure. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. 

Acknowledging their silent request for consent, Astarion pushed his cheek into their hand. He turned his face for a moment to kiss their palm. He felt Tav shudder in his arms. 

“You’ve already borne so much sorrow in your long life, Astarion,” they whispered. “You deserve lightness and levity from your partner.”

“And you have given me that every day since we met, darling,” he returned, carding his fingers through Tav’s hair. “But we also agreed to share something real between us. That isn’t possible if you hide a part of yourself away. You deserve space for light and darkness inside yourself, Tav.”

They sat in silence for some time, Astarion allowing Tav to empty their tears onto his chest, until they were finally calmed. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Tav finally sniffled.

“Shh, shh. There’s no space for apologies here, love. But, there is space to share your pain. And I’ll carry it with you, as you do for me,” Astarion promised. 

And in that quiet night, in the heart of the Shadow-Cursed Lands, Tav opened their darkness to Astarion. 

And he was not afraid.

[reaper2187]

Cairo sweet x female reader

As the school bell rings, a cacophony of chatter fills the hallways, mingling with the light scent of morning coffee and the faint hum of fluorescent lights. Amidst this teeming sea of students, you find yourself drawn to a solitary figure perched on a windowsill near the library.

Her name is Cairo Sweet, and your gaze lingers on her with a curious mix of fascination and trepidation. Her face, framed by a cascade of raven hair, is a canvas of exquisite features: piercing brown eyes that seem to hold a depth beyond her years, a delicate nose, and a mouth that curves into a mysterious smile.

As your eyes connect, you feel an unexpected surge of kinship. She is an enigma, an outsider, like you

 You have always felt like a square peg in a round hole, never quite fitting in with the preppy girls who gossip and giggle in the cafeteria. But in Cairo's gaze, you sense a glimmer of understanding.

With a hesitant step, you approach her. 'Excuse me,' you say softly. 'I'm new here. I couldn't help but overhear that you're Cairo Sweet. My name's [Your Name].'

A faint smile crosses her lips. 'Nice to meet you, [Your Name].'

You sit down beside her, your notebooks open in front of you. The silence between you is comfortable, almost inviting. As the minutes turn into hours, you share stolen glances, whispered secrets, and dreams that have long been buried within.

Cairo tells you about her life before Miller's Creek, her nomadic childhood, and her passion for writing. You, in turn, confide in her about your own struggles and aspirations. For the first time, you feel truly seen and understood.

As the day draws to a close, you and Cairo walk together to your lockers. Your fingers brush against hers, and a spark ignites within you. It is a spark of connection, a desire to be near her, to explore the forbidden realms that lie beyond friendship.

But your burgeoning feelings are met with trepidation. This is high school, after all, and societal norms dictate that girls should only date boys. You fear the repercussions of breaking these unspoken rules.

Undeterred, Cairo leans in and whispers, 'I think you're amazing, [Your Name]. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.'

Her words embolden you. You take her hand and lead her to an empty classroom. The soft glow of the setting sun filters through the windows, casting a warm and intimate light upon the two of you.

With trembling lips, you confess your feelings. To your surprise, Cairo reciprocates. Her kiss is gentle, tentative, and yet filled with an undeniable longing.

In that stolen moment, time stands still. The world outside fades away, leaving only you and Cairo, two hearts entwined in a secret dance of love.

As you reluctantly pull away, Cairo whispers, 'This is against the rules, but it feels so right.'

You smile. 'Maybe we're destined to be rebels.'

Your secret rendezvous becomes a solace amidst the turmoil of high school. You carve out hidden corners in the library, linger in the shadows of the hallways, and steal precious moments together on deserted benches. Your love grows stronger with each stolen kiss, each whispered promise.

But the walls of silence cannot hold indefinitely. Rumors spread like wildfire, and soon you find yourselves at the center of a storm of gossip and condemnation. Some students whisper words of support, but many more cast judgment upon your forbidden love.

As the pressure mounts, you and Cairo face an impossible choice. You could deny your feelings and conform to societal expectations, or you could embrace your love and risk the consequences.

Together, you choose the latter. Hand in hand, you walk through the hallways, ignoring the disapproving stares and hurtful comments. Your love is a beacon of defiance, a testament to the power of the human heart.

In the end, your resilience and unwavering bond silence the critics. Cairo and [Your Name] become a symbol of hope and acceptance for all who dare to love beyond the confines of societal norms.

And as the years go by, your love story becomes a legend whispered among the students of Miller's Creek, a tale of two girls who dared to defy the odds and find happiness in the most unexpected of places.

[brostateexam]

There was a homeless encampment about three blocks from my house, next to the loading zone for a supermarket and the dumpsters for that supermarket. It wasn't a very big encampment -- 4-8 tents and one beater car parked out by the dumpsters that mostly stayed put, split in two by the two-lane road running through the middle of it, with the tents in the parking lanes and up on the sidewalks on either side of the street. There was a wire that crossed from one of the big tents on one side to the other, the kind of heavy duty extension cord used in industrial sites to run temporary power, so I am fairly certain they had some kind of generator or something, enough to charge cell phones at the very least. They were here when I moved into the neighborhood, and apart from being a bit annoyed that the tents blocking the sidewalk meant I had to go the long way around to get to the grocery store, I didn't think much of it.

How disquieting, then, to walk by and find that they were gone.

It's like they were never there to begin with. The sidewalks are clean and empty. The only clue that anything has happened at all are the conspicuously posted signs, every 15 feet, stating that no one is to loiter or sit on the sidewalk in the area. I'm not trying to claim any great kinship with these people, but they were my neighbors, and I don't like that they're just displaced. It doesn't solve any important problem, and it creates several new ones.

I haven't written this for a while -- all this happened weeks ago -- because I feel like there should be something more to this story, but there just isn't. They were here and now they aren't, and that sucks.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

hello! do you think harry would be able to properly communicate with the horcruxes, if he tried? (besides the diary, obviously)

also, since nagini is a living horcrux — like himself — do you think she’d be able to feel the part of voldemort’s soul living inside harry? maybe feel some kind of kinship with him?

i’m wondering because i’ve seen this idea of horcruxes becoming sentient, communicating with harry and recognizing the fellow horcrux in him — maybe even getting attached — many times in fanfictions. i can’t remember how plausible it is, though, given what we’re supposed to know from the books

I think they can. Like, the Horcruxes can sense each other.

I mean, Harry does feel a draw towards the other Horcruxes. I mentioned it in the past but Harry feels drawn to the diary:

Harry couldn’t explain, even to himself, why he didn’t just throw Riddle’s diary away. The fact was that even though he knew the diary was blank, he kept absentmindedly picking it up and turning the pages, as though it were a story he wanted to finish. And while Harry was sure he had never heard the name T. M. Riddle before, it still seemed to mean something to him, almost as though Riddle was a friend he’d had when he was very small, and had half-forgotten. But this was absurd. He’d never had friends before Hogwarts, Dudley had made sure of that.

(CoS, Ch13)

He feels drawn to the locket enough to insist on wearing it:

“Hmm,” said Hermione, looking down at the heavy gold locket. “Well, maybe we ought not to wear it. We can just keep it in the tent.” “We are not leaving that Horcrux lying around,” Harry stated firmly. “If we lose it, if it gets stolen — ”

(DH, Ch15)

You could argue he feels drawn to the diadem as well. I mean, he enters the mess of the room of requirement and walks straight to where a Horcrux is located to hid the Prince's book?

Harry hurried forward into one of the many alleyways between all this hidden treasure. [...] he stood it on top of the cupboard where the book was now hidden, perched a dusty old wig and a tarnished tiara on the statue’s head to make it more distinctive, then sprinted back through the alleyways of hidden junk as fast as he could go

(HBP, Ch24)

I mean, seems a little sus unless he felt drawn to it like he did the other Horcruxes.

And even with Nagini, he's quicker to trust her as Bathilda than Hermione is becouse he feels that draw without realising it:

Harry could think of many reasons not to obey the summons, and yet his suspicions about her identity were growing stronger every moment that they stood facing each other in the deserted street.

(DH, Ch17)

I think Nagini also sensed that same draw to Harry. After all, she knows to approach Harry and Hermione in Godric's Hallow when they're both under the effects of Polyjuice potion + the invisibility cloak:

He did not need Hermione’s pinch to his arm. There was next to no chance this woman was a Muggle: She was standing there gazing at a house that ought to have been completely invisible to her, if she was not a witch. Even assuming that she was a witch, however, it was odd behavior to come out on a night this cold, simply to look at an old ruin. By all the rules of normal magic, meanwhile, she ought not to be able to see Hermione and him at all. Nevertheless, Harry had the strangest feeling that she knew that they were there, and also who they were. Just as he had reached this uneasy conclusion, she raised a gloved hand and beckoned. Hermione moved closer to him under the Cloak, her arm pressed against his. “How does she know?” He shook his head. The woman beckoned again, more vigorously.

(DH, Ch17)

“Do you really think she knows who you are?” “Yes,” said Harry, looking down into the milky eyes fixed upon his own, ”I think she does.”

(DH, Ch17)

But it isn't something super noticeable unless Harry is actively paying attention to it. But, it does mean he could potentially recognize when something is a Horcrux if he learned to recognise it.

Nagini doesn't seem to be able to communicate with the Horcrux in her from what we see, but I think you could argue the Horcrux within Harry is a little more sentient than we are led to belive. I talked about this here an on Horcrux sentience in general here, but there are multiple scenes that could be read as the Horcrux communicating with Harry, for example:

It happened in a fraction of a second: In the infinitesimal pause before Dumbledore said “three,” Harry looked up at him — they were very close together — and Dumbledore’s clear blue gaze moved from the Portkey to Harry’s face. At once, Harry’s scar burned white-hot, as though the old wound had burst open again — and unbidden, unwanted, but terrifyingly strong, there rose within Harry a hatred so powerful he felt, for that instant, that he would like nothing better than to strike — to bite — to sink his fangs into the man before him —

(OotP, 474)

(This might be the Horcrux's reaction to Dumbledore since there's no reason Voldemort would randomly be angry at Dumbledore when Harry looks at him)

And the memory of his parents dying, which isn't one Harry was old enough to remeber, but that he had nightmares about even before the dementors:

Something very painful was going on in Harry’s mind. As Hagrid’s story came to a close, he saw again the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than he had ever remembered it before — and he remembered something else, for the first time in his life: a high, cold, cruel laugh.

(PS, 43)

I belive this memory is from the Horcrux, so, yeah...

Some bleed-through and communication happen, but not anything too big, mostly because Harry isn't aware of the Horcrux. If he was aware, I think he might've been able to communicate with the Horcrux within him more. Maybe.

[fuedalreesespieces]

Inuyasha x Kikyo, Sesshomaru x Kagura

getting my rating out of the way: TWO OUT OF TEN BABYYYY!

here's the thing - i think inukik's dynamic is interesting because of the restraint. the distance between them despite their perceived kinship. souls brought together because, in kikyo's words, they both know loneliness.

but that isn't really true. inuyasha is alone, kikyo is lonely, and it's this disconnect that makes them incompatible. on the surface, they share many traits that stem from similar issues. both are distrustful, both have to hide their "true selves" under masks of either prickly disdain or stone-cold apathy. and the deal they make about the shikon jewel is really where it clicked for me how much they just don't work, because before kikyo can get to know the real inuyasha, beyond pre-conceived notions, he has to strip away a part of himself. he has to become human. and a huge, huge reason as to why inuyasha is the way he is is because he's a hanyou. who will he be after a transformation like that?

inukik shippers like to prattle on about how inuyasha and kikyo are super tragic and deserved better, but can we actually think about what that means? what would their relationship be like if things had gone according to plan? you have inuyasha, whose just given away a crucial part of himself, simultaneously tentatively happy to start a life with someone but also completely lost because he doesn't know how to be a lover, how to be a husband, hell, he barely knows how to be a friend - is that what they once were? friends? he doesn't know how to adjust to humans who would have once shouted and thrown things at him. he feels the fleshy things around his ears and wonders how he can still possibly feel deaf when he has them. he hates how he can't see his own hands in the dark. he hates the unspeakable and unexplainable human aches.

and kikyo is free. she still heals people, of course, but she no longer has to deal with the burden of the shikon jewel. and now she has a companion to share it all with. he's always so frustrated, and she can't understand why beyond the fact that he's a little weaker now. they're so careful with each other, too. they didn't know how to hug or hold hands or touch when they were meeting alone back then, so they don't know how to kiss, either, as husband and wife.

i can't see them fighting. i can't see them bickering or having a playful spat and that, to me, is a problem. one of the reasons why i love inukag so much is that we see them fight all the time, but they always come back stronger regardless. their feelings don't waver. and because of the honesty in their arguments, they learn each other's tells and ticks. the small details. they aren't afraid to get into a debate, because their love is strong enough to withstand it.

when i think of inukik, i think of walking on a wire.

besides all this conceptual stuff, we do get inukik in the show, after her forced resurrection. and this is where you totally lose me. any potential interest i could have had (and there was none to begin with) goes down the drain with lines like, "your life is mine." no. NO.

genuinely she made his survivor's guilt so much worse by reinforcing his negative line of thinking. and then at the end when he's holding her dying body, lamenting that he couldn't do more for her, she's like, "it's okay. you came." THATS WHAT HES BEEN DOING THIS WHOLE TIME??? no. no. this is too irritating lmao

i don't hate kikyo (most of the time) i just think a) inuyasha deserves better b) they are nooot compatible. also, most inukik shippers i've met turned me off from the ship even more.

anyway inukag and kagkik are a thousand times more compelling >>>

rating: 10/10 no notes

okay, but genuinely, i love sesskagu. i don't talk about them a lot, but they really are one of the more interesting pairings imo. opposites in many ways, but also very similar. sesshomaru, so certain of whom he is, and kagura, still trying to recover her body and identity for herself. sesshomaru, who travels the lands at his own pace, and kagura, who wishes to be free as the wind. sesshomaru and rin, kagura and kohaku. both haughty and powerful, but with contrasting personalities. wouldn't hurt to give sesshomaru someone (who would bully him) to banter with either.

also, i have a super specific headcanon of kagura teaching rin wind magic....i just need more rin and kagura interactions please im begging.

anyway 10/10. sesskagu sepremacy.

[quasi-normalcy]

Another point about the Romulans: They remembered their ancient kinship with the Vulcans, even though most of the Vulcans themselves were unaware of it; they were in fact working behind the scenes to reunify with the Vulcans, right at the time that humanity appeared on the galactic scene.

So basically, they have this rich, 2,000-year-old history with their old enemies/cousins; they've reached out, tentatively, to the highest levels of Vulcan High Command with a plan to merge their empires. They just need to get their boy in place as a dictator on Vulcan, and in order to do that, they need to stage a terrorist attack. Okay, well; against whom? Against the embassy of this absolute nothing-burger bunch of space-hillbillies called the "Humans." Whatever, they only just invented warp drive like 5 minutes ago, who cares about them? Blow up their embassy, blame this pacifist sect, get V'Las some emergency powers and then toast to the 10,000-year reign of the Romulo-Vulcan Empire.

But what's this? The humans are investigating? They've made contact with the pacifist sect and it turns out...that they have Surak's katra and and the true record of his writings? What? And now V'Las is being arrested? And now the Vulcan government is being dissolved, and the entire planetary religion is undergoing a reformation?? And the new government wants lasting peace with its neighbours! Well, we can't have that! We'll send a false-flag ship in to sow chaos between Vulcan, Andor, and Tellar; we'll have them back on a war-footing before they know what's going on, and hopefully get V'Las out of prison--

And our false-flag ship was just destroyed...By the Space-Hillbillies. AGAIN? Well, clearly these "Humans" are more dangerous than we've anticipated. No matter. We shall send our imperial navy to swoop in upon their nascent civilization, just as the unmerciful raptor swoops in upon its pr--

What the FUCK, our fleet was DEFEATED!?! And now the Vulcans are forming a union with these peasants?? They were supposed to be forming a union with US! WE are the ones with the thousands of years of shared history! WE are the ones with the bonds of blood-kinship going back since before our ancestors left Arret bearing tales of the Ganmadan! Who the hell are these people!?

And then they go off to sulk behind the Neutral Zone for the next 200 years.

[3d-wifey]

And They'd Find Us in A Week - Chapter 12

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 8.4k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag list: - @melancholicmelanin, @yvy1s, @glomp-me, @honethatty12, @swftlore, @hashcakes, @antoheartit, @finnickodaddy, @lilifl0wer, @antoheartit, @kermitcrimess, @persophonekarter, @aawdrea, @obaewankenobis, @xyxlyn, @meandurdaughtergotaspecialthing, @innercreationflower, @kisskittenn Chapter Summary: There's a certain kind of pain in reading or watching something from the perspective of a character who doesn't know about the tragedy ahead of them. It's like watching a scary movie and going, "No, don't go to sleep! He's behind the door!" Like in The Song of Achilles, we all know how the original story ends. We know how the actual prophecy plays out. We know that the moment Patroclus's heart stops, Hector and Achilles fates are set in stone. You wince whenever Achilles says he has no reason to kill Hector because "What has Hector done to me?" You want to tell him that Hector will do the unforgivable to him. You want to tell Patroclus not to go on the field. Tell Achilles to get his damned head out of his ass as he disguises Patroclus as himself because he is at risk of losing something far more important than his pride. You hold your breath as Patroclus is speared in the back and as Achilles realizes the consequences of his actions. You knew it was coming, and yet, you still read the story because a part of you hoped. You hoped for the hopeless. All this to say that knowing and still having hope regardless is crueler than complete ignorance. A/N: I imagined your stylist as Anne Hathaway in Alice in Wonderland.

Past (xiii) - You [22 & 23] - THE CAPITOL

If you were from any other district, maybe it would have surprised you how attached Rue is to you. But the sense of community in Eleven breeds this need for kinship. You’re social creatures; you’re not meant to be on your own. Certainly not in a place like the Capitol. It’s how you end up hugging your knees to your chest, an unnamed ocean projected on your wall as you try to get lost in the tides the night before the tributes will be marched into the arena.

No one talks about this part, or maybe they just don’t want to think about it. The part where being forced back into the room you slept in during your own Games eats at you—that anxiety that courses through your veins and leaves your body thrumming. Because no matter what you tell yourself, your body isn’t entirely convinced that you won’t be the one entering the arena tomorrow. You close your eyes and suddenly you’re fifteen again, gripping the sheets so hard you could tear holes in them as you fight the vomit threatening to ride the wave of acid reflux.

Sleeping beside Finnick helped. He reminded you that you weren’t fifteen and alone and wishing you’d die in your sleep so you wouldn’t be slaughtered live. And now? Well, at least there’ll always be the ocean.

There’s a knock on your door, so tentative that you would have missed it if you weren’t already so keyed up.

You pause the projection of the ocean, assuming the sound woke someone up. You get up and go to open it, only to see Rue. Suddenly you’re shamefaced and embarrassed, like you’ve been caught doing something pathetic, even though it’s doubtful she even knows what the sound was, let alone the significance of you listening to it.

“I’m sorry, honey. Was I being too loud?”

“No.” She shakes her head, shifting from foot to foot. “Um, I couldn’t sleep. And I just—I saw that your light was on and thought maybe you couldn’t sleep either?”

That may be true, but you don’t think it’s the only reason. Rue is the oldest of six and they all live in Shacktown. With all those people in one house, you’re sure Rue’s never slept alone a day in her life. It makes you wonder how she managed these past few days.

You’re an only child; your dad was killed before your parents could have any more, so you can’t say for certain that you understand what she feels. Yet, you reminisce on the fact that you’ve never really gone through a year of mentoring without Finnick being within arm’s reach.

She stares up at you with those big, pleading puppy-dog eyes, and you twist your mouth to the side.

“C’mon.” You move so you aren’t blocking the entrance anymore and you nod your head towards your room. “How ‘bout you sleep in here with me tonight? You don’t have to, of course, but we might as well stay up together.”

You know you’ve made the right choice when she grins big, rushes in, and takes a running start to jump on your bed. You shake your head fondly as she scurries to get under the blanket, lying down with them pulled under her arms and getting comfortable like she belongs there. The door slides shut behind you and you twist the dimmer until the only light comes from the projector. You settle into your bed beside Rue andyou snort at how she keeps smiling at you.

“So… What were you watching?”

“Uh.” You pick the remote up to unmute the device and the sound of crashing ocean waves fills any remaining silence. “The ocean.”

She looks over, seemingly transfixed by the drag and pull of the water. The nearest ocean to Eleven is the one that rests just outside of the towering fence and only serves as a deterrent for escaping. This is her first time seeing one outside of a textbook. “Why?”

“Well, I,” you let out a weighted breath, "I thought it would make me feel better. Help me sleep.”

“Oh.” Says Rue and then she looks at you. “Why?”

You let out a surprised laugh. “Um. I guess the ocean reminds me of my friend and—I don’t know. It’s just easier to sleep with him around."

“Is he your crush?” Crush? Such an innocent question feels surprisingly weighted considering your current relationship with Finnick. Or lack thereof. Is it a crush now that it’s unrequited?

“I love him.” You tell the wall and it’s the sad truth. You still do. You wouldn’t be so hung up if you didn’t.

"Whoa. You like like him.” Like like. It’s been years since you heard that. It brings to mind how young she is. It’s not as if you needed another reminder. “It’s okay, I won’t tell. I like someone too.”

“Oh? And what’s his name?” You smile. You both flip over to face each other. You picture little you and little Sage, shyly holding hands during downtime, and find yourself hoping this boy liked Rue back.

“You can’t tell anyone.” She narrows her eyes and makes you swear, which you do with a pinky promise. “Coriander.” Her voice goes all quiet and timid as she hides her face and you wonder if you’ve ever seen anything cuter.

“Ah, I think I might know him.” She looks at you with wide eyes as you tease her, peering out from between her fingers.

“Nuh-uh, no way.” She denies it as you tap a finger on your chin and pretend to think about it.

“No, no. I think I do. He’s got pink hair, no teeth, and walks with a waddle, right?”

“No! ” She giggles and you can’t help but giggle along with her. You take a moment.

“Finnick. The boy I like.” You provide when she looks confused. “His name is Finnick.”

“Oh, oh! Is he that boy from Four? The victor?” It’s hardly shocking that she recognizes him. He’s one of ‘the greats’. You nod and she gasps like that’s the juiciest piece of gossip she’s ever heard.

“He’s pretty.” She whispers.

“He is.” You laugh.

“Is he nice?”

“The nicest,” you say without thought or contempt. Finnick’s indeed been nothing but kind to you since you’ve met him, current behavior not included. You find that even when you’re mad at him, you can’t disparage him. And you don’t want to lie to Rue. “He made me this." You lift your wrist and show her your bracelet. You’ve been wearing it around your ankle while you’re out in public, but when you’re on your own, it goes back to its rightful place.

“Cori made something for me too.”

She pulls her necklace up for you to see. It’s woven grass attached to a wooden charm shaped like a flower—you squint—or maybe a star? Definitely the handiwork of a child. Adorable. It reminds you of Cane.

“Your token?”

“Yep. He gave it to me when everyone came to see me off after I was reaped. He ran all the way home and back to give it to me. He almost didn’t get back in time, but I waited for him. I knew he’d come, and that’s why it’s good luck.”

“Makes sense.” You nod and she nods with you, like she’s happy that you get her logic. “He must like you a lot to go through all that.”

“Yeah. He’s sweet.” She smiles, fidgeting with the charm.

“I bet he is.” You push some of her curls out of her face. Just two doomed girls talking about their equally doomed crushes.

It’s silent for a moment; ocean noises make your eyes feel heavier with the pull of each tide. You watch as the shadows cast from the projector paint the ceiling in a series of swirling blues. You think you can see Finnick’s favorite color hidden amongst the other shades.

“Were you scared? When you went into the arena?” Rue asks and you still can’t find it in yourself to lie to her.

“Terrified.”

“Really? You’re so brave though?” She sounds so genuinely confused that you have to hold back your laughter. You don’t want her to think you're making fun of her. You appreciate the vote of confidence. It’s more than you have in yourself.

“I think…being brave means doing something even if you are terrified.” You look away from the ceiling to make eye contact. “It’s okay to be scared, Rue. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” She mumbles like she doesn’t actually believe it.

“I think you’re incredibly brave.” You know she regularly went foraging for food for her siblings, and she took on more hours than what was required of her. Who knows how many times she’s entered her name for Tesserae?

And she’s still so young.

“Really?”

“Oh, definitely.” You laugh at her skepticism. You’ve laughed more with Rue in the short time you’ve had with her than in the last two years combined. Sadly, there hasn’t been much of a reason for you to. Realizing that this is the last night you two will laugh together is devastating. “I was fifteen and I felt like I was on the edge of breaking down the entire time. How are you so calm?” She’s only twelve years old—not even a teenager. If you were in her shoes, you’d have dehydrated yourself from how much you were crying.

“I am scared, but…" She drags out the ‘uh’, then shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t feel real.”

“Hmm. I get that.” You don’t tell her that it won’t start feeling real until she either wins or dies. It’ll only make her feel worse. She closes her eyes and you two are quiet for a time—so long that you think she’s fallen asleep.

Her voice is small when she asks, “Can I hold your hand?”

“Of course.” You hold your right one out for her to take, and her little fingers lace with yours. Her palms are callused too. Not as much as yours. No, she’ll never have enough time to catch up to yours.

Rue moves closer to you and you wrap your left arm around her. You feel her say your name more than you hear it and you hum in response. “Thank you.”

You pull her closer to your chest, your linked hands resting between you. “Of course, sweetheart.” You say this into the crown of her head, wishing that you could have done more for her and Thresh—wishing you weren’t so helpless.

But you can do this. You can give her this last comfort, this last embrace from home. You hold her tight as you both fall asleep and you only let her go when they come to take her away in the morning.

You do not cry.

-

You miss him, you decide one day. You thought you hated him after you got through your self-pity, but the words "hate" and "Finnick" are too oxymoronic to ever stay together for long. You were so angry at yourself, angry at the world, but you sat with that anger long enough to know what it truly was. Grief. You miss him the way you'd miss a limb. You're so used to having it that you only remember it's gone when you notice the space it used to occupy and feel the phantom aches of what it used to be—what you used to have and took for granted.

Chaff has described in detail the pain of losing his hand. But, he said, nothing hurts worse than remembering it’s not there.

You've never taken Morphling and you don't know anyone personally who's gotten hooked on it, but you imagine this is what withdrawal feels like. You haven't seen him since before he sent that letter, and it feels like he's actively avoiding you. You said years ago, after Annie's Games, that you could handle just being his friend if he decided he didn’t want you anymore. But he never gave you the chance.

That’s alright. It’s perfectly fine. You know when you’re not wanted around, you can take a hint.

Maybe it's for the best. There’s no telling what you would do if you ran into him again. Something pathetic, probably, like begging him to take you back. There's a specific moment when you really feel your loss. A few days into the 74th Hunger Games. Chaff is finalizing the transaction with the money Eleven gathered to send bread for Rue and Thresh, so you’re on your own. 

“Your girl is something else.” You tell Haymitch from where you stand beside him, arms crossed, as you split your attention between him and the Games.

He cocks his head slightly, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, then returns to watching Katniss and Rue rehearse their strategy. “I can say the same to you.” You hadn’t expected Rue to team up with anyone, but you can’t say you are surprised that it’s Katniss. The girl did volunteer for her little sister, after all. Primrose, was it? But you’re concerned that your little speech about being brave by doing things that terrify you may have swayed her to come out of hiding and help Katniss.

You can’t take full credit, though. Rue—well, she’s far too kind for her own good.

You look him over, a glass of something alcoholic in one hand while the other remains buried in his pocket. Honestly, you’ve never seen him this invested in the Games before, but you could hazard a guess why. You weren’t just blowing smoke up his ass about Katniss. She’s honestly got a pretty good shot of winning, if not making it to the top five. She’s already a fan favorite, along with Rue, Peeta, Glimmer, and Cato. She’s exceeded your expectations, along with Haymitch’s. No wonder he’s been networking his ass off. If she’s actually got a chance at surviving this, he owes it to her to try.

That’s when it happens.

Rue’s screams echo in your ears as Katniss races through the forest. Something has gone wrong—she's been captured or the Careers are using her as bait, or—you wipe your sweaty hands on your dress and then recross them, wanting more than anything to bite at the skin around your nails. You hold your breath, hoping beyond hope that she’s saved from whatever fate has befallen her.

She’s by herself in the clearing. Caught in a net, but not hurt. Katniss manages to get Rue out and your muscles begin to untense, but the relief is incredibly short-lived. 

Marvel, that cocky little boy from two, throws his spear with deadly precision, lance soaring past Katniss to pierce Rue in the abdomen.

Your hands are numb as they cover your mouth, but then you remember where you are and drop them just as quickly. She pulls the spear from her chest and you want to yell at her not to, that taking it out will only make her bleed quicker. Like it even matters at all when she’ll bleed out regardless. You think you need to sit down.

Katniss catches her before she falls. You’re lightheaded.

Katniss sings to her after she whispers something that the mics can’t pick up and it feels like your heart is being wrung dry. You think of Rue’s mother. You think of her six siblings, who all look up to her. You think of Coriander. You think of how small she felt in your arms and how tightly she held your hand. You think of a lot of things in the time it takes for her heart to stop beating.

The cannon fires and all eyes go to you. Ranging from curious to pitying. Some are even tearful. She was a fan favorite, after all. Mentors and Capitols alike split their attention between you and the screens to catch your reaction, but your face is deceptively blank. You stare ahead silently, your eyes unseeing as they remain on the screen.

You will not give them the pleasure of seeing you break down. Katniss will leave and Rue’s body will be airlifted out and that will be the end of it.

This is nothing new for you. You’ve gone through this twelve other times. Why would she be any different? She isn't. You tell that to your shaky hands and they only tremble further. You tell your heavy lungs and they only get heavier. You try telling your chilly skin, but all it does is make you feel colder. Why is she different?

You want to close your eyes as Katniss grieves. To be able to save one little girl but not another, it must weigh heavy.

“I’m so sorry." Someone comes to stand beside you, some Capitol elite. “One less chance for your district to win.” You look at him from the corner of your eye and Haymitch scoffs on your other side. For one stupid moment, you thought he was offering his condolences.

“Right. Well. There’s still Thresh.” He nods along to your words, thoughtfully, like you’re talking about the likelihood of a horse winning a race.

“Yes, he’s the big one, right? I have money riding on him or Cato winning.” Of course, he remembers his name and not Thresh’s. You close your eyes before they can roll out of your head. “I’d like to send him something to eat as a sponsor. I worry—what is she doing?” You open your eyes to see what tribute has captured his attention, only to see Katniss again. But she’s still with Rue, kneeling next to her body with an armful of flowers—

“She’s giving her a funeral.” You bite your bottom lip to keep it from trembling. Rue rests on a bed of flowers—white daisies and lavender. She tucks a bouquet of daisies in her little hands and you wonder if Katniss knows the significance that being surrounded by flowers has for your people. Or maybe that’s something your two districts have in common. All that’s missing is fruit and it would be a proper Eleven funeral.

A funeral for a little girl. Your heart grows heavy with that realization and your mouth curls into a scowl.

You shouldn’t think about how she clung to you before she was sent into the arena. You shouldn’t think of Coriander’s childish hope dying with her. You shouldn’t think about her family watching this. You shouldn’t think of how her mother woke up this morning with six children and will go to sleep with only five. You shouldn’t, you shouldn’t, you shouldn’t—

“Oh, how sweet.” The man coos.

“Yes.” Katniss faces the camera, kisses her three middle fingers, and salutes the cameras—salutes District Eleven. You don’t think of Coriander sprinting to the train clutching a grass-woven necklace with a good-luck charm that wasn’t very lucky. “Very sweet."

On instinct, you reach to the left for Finnick, but there's no hand to hold other than your own.

You need Finnick, and he isn’t here and for the first time since you've become a mentor, you have to brave the games by yourself and shoulder your grief alone. 

“Kid…” A flinch rolls through you at the unexpected voice, and you look to your left at Haymitch’s face as he goes through a range of emotions before settling on sympathy. No. Empathy. For a moment, you forgot he was beside you. But he hasn’t forgotten you. 

He does something that surprises you again. He places a big hand on the nape of your neck, warm and callused, and squeezes. You exhale sharply, your face twisting minutely, and it’s the closest thing to crying that you’ll allow yourself to do. He pulls you into his side, and it’s a battle not to burrow into him—a battle you lose. Your image will allow you to do this much. Allow you to be comforted while many of the other Capitols in the room do the same thing because it’s all very sad. You wrap your arms around his waist from where you’re held tight against his side and his hand goes down to rub your back soothingly.

No words are said between you two, and that’s enough. It has to be. Past (xiii) - Finnick 

[ 22 & 23] - DISTRICT FOUR Finnick has never felt worse.

The sky is clear, the stars are bright, and Finnick has never felt worse.

It’s a particularly quiet night on the beach. There’s no one walking along the shore, no bonfires, no night swimming. There’s only Finnick. 

He sits with his legs crossed under him; the coarse sand is warm against the exposed skin of his legs and feet. He’s always been able to come down to the beach to think and unload any weight on his shoulders. With how heavy his heart feels, he’s never needed that release more. A cool breeze carries the smell of the ocean, but it’s not as comforting as it should be. 

He reaches into the ornate box sitting between his thighs and just rests his hand there, letting his fingers ghost over the pages upon pages of parchment paper. He’s kept a tight lid on this box, hoarding your letters and your scent inside like a corvid. Even now, outside on the shore, your smell wafts around him—concentrated and stiff. He blinks past the tears in his eyes.

He doesn’t look inside; he doesn’t think he can handle it. To see the length of your relationship measured by words on paper, to know he’ll never be adding to this box again—it’s too much.

He pulls out a letter at random. 

His eyes have already readjusted to the darkness as he uses the moonlight to read. He traces the looping lines of your handwriting. 

This is the letter you sent along with that pretty picture of yourself in case he forgot what you look like. A beautiful sentiment, but largely unnecessary. Finnick knows your reflection as well as he knows his own, if not better. Even now, with all this space, time, and hurt between the two of you, he could draw your portrait blindfolded. Not that anything could ever live up to the real thing. Nothing can compare to you.

He sighs, twisting his bracelet around his wrist absently. He feels the cool grooves of the fish charm between his thumb and pointer finger as he looks at the stars. There are more stars than there are grains of sand. Each tiny, flickering dot is a blazing inferno, the likes of which he can hardly comprehend. They don’t shine nearly as brightly as you do in his memory. 

He just…he just wishes he could have told you that.

Unconsciously, his eyes fall on Cassiopeia. Punished for boasting about the beauty of her daughter. It’s not fair. Her only crime was loving her child, and for that, she was forced to give her up for the safety of her kingdom.

Sacrificing someone you love for the greater good. He can’t tell if he wants to scoff, scream, or cry. Maybe all three.

Are you looking at the same sky as him? Even now, are the two of you still connected? Is it cruel to hope for that? It has to be, but Finnick has found that he's grown rotten in his misery. Rotten and incredibly selfish. 

Over the past year, you’ve sent him letter after letter and he read each one with ravenous eyes—desperate for you in any way he could have you. You were angry, you were hurt, you were confused. You alternated between begging him and demanding him to reply. So he did. Of course, he did. He could never deny you anything.

He just never sent any of them.

He kept them stashed in a drawer, locked away so he didn’t have to look at them—wouldn’t have to look at his bleeding heart. It wasn’t healthy; he knows that, but still. He just wanted to pretend, just for a little while, that everything was back to normal. That he hadn’t ripped out his soul by tearing yours apart. 

Those letters had been a constant staple in his life for nearly seven years, and—he was going to wean himself off of it, off of you, really, he was. 

But he never got the chance to before they stopped coming a few months ago. They just stopped.

He should be happy about that. He should be pleased that you're moving on. He should be a lot of things that he's not, but, as it turns out, he’s getting pretty fucking sick of performing for an empty audience. You've given up on him, and you have every right to, but— 

God, it hurts.

It’s for the best. It’s what he wanted—no, it’s what he needed to happen for both of you. And it’s certainly better than the alternative Snow offered.

Knowing all that doesn’t make it hurt any less; it doesn’t make the pain any easier to bear.

He takes out another letter, and it’s…it’s the first one? The first letter you left him after you spent the night in his room. He remembers waking up on the floor, tired and raw from that conversation on the balcony. He was fully prepared to act like it never happened. He was a little disappointed to wake up alone, but he was sure that it only proved that you wanted to forget about it too. Imagine his surprise when he rolled over—not to the empty space he was expecting, but to a note on your pillow.

I really appreciate…

Thank you for…

Just thank you.

He was left floored. He was seventeen years old and he couldn’t remember the last time anyone thanked him for anything.

Finnick brings the note to his nose and your perfume floods his senses, drowning him in memories. Memories of long train rides home from the Capitol, his only company being the smell of you on his clothes.

And try as he might, he can’t forget. He can still feel the blood caked under his fingernails and flaking at his wrist. Can still feel the warmth of your beating heart in his hand after he ripped it out. That’s his punishment. Remembering it all, good and bad.

He’s broken from his musing by the crunching of sand approaching him from behind.

“You’ve been out here for hours. Aren’t you cold?” Annie's soft-spoken voice is almost lost in the wind. No. He isn’t. He’s the exact opposite, actually. He’s scorching from the inside out. He’s burning bright and hot and one day he’ll implode under the weight of it all like a supernova. The only respite he can imagine is the cool relief of your touch. He’s scared he’ll forget what that feels like. 

She sighs when he doesn’t answer. “We know you’re hurting, Finnick, and we’re worried. You can talk to us. You don’t have to just…talk to your letters. We’re here for you.”

He doesn’t look up; he doesn’t have the strength to, but he nods anyway. Of course, they can tell he’s hurting. A blind man could spot his suffering from a mile away. He hadn’t bothered to hide it outside of the Capitol.

“...Try not to stay out here too long, okay?

Annie squeezes his shoulder before walking back up the beach, leaving him alone, and he's thankful. She shouldn't have to see him like this. She shouldn't have to see him break down. 

I'm allowed to, he thinks, I'm in mourning.

But how can he mourn something he killed?

He reaches into the box one more time, pulling out a stray scrap of paper and a pen. His hands shake along with his shoulders, his handwriting so bad that only he and you would be able to understand it. He writes:

Dear Heart,

I don’t know who Finnick Odair is without his love for you.

Every day, I think I can’t possibly miss you more than I already do. And then another day passes and I prove myself wrong.

Is there a fate crueler than this?

I just want to see you again. I just want to hold you again. One last glance, one last smile, one last laugh, one last kiss. If I knew the last time I saw you would be the LAST time I saw you, I never would have blinked. I’d have made the moment last forever. But forever isn’t nearly enough, is it?

Do you think you could ever forgive me?

-I love you I love you I love you,

Finn

Present (XI) - Finnick

[23 & 24] - THE CAPITOL; ELEVENTH FLOOR

“I thought I’d find you here."

“Haymitch.” Finnick leans in the doorway of your room, wiping sleep from his eyes. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He wanted to stay awake and bask in the little time he had left with you, but he hadn’t slept next to you in so long and it felt like he was lured in.

“Listen,” the man rubs at his scruff, “it’s not what I came here for, but I’m happy you two figured out whatever the hell…” He trails off with a particularly constipated look, waving a hand vaguely in the direction of your room.

“...Right. Thanks.” Finnick clears his throat. “I’m, uh, I’m happy too.”

“Yeah… Anyway.” He sighs. “There've been a few last-minute adjustments to the plan.”

That wakes Finnick up, his mind running over what Haymitch has already told him to do in the arena. “Oh, should I wake Star—”

“No, no. This is just for you. We realized you’d have no way of knowing when you should be heading to the pickup point, especially since things out here can change on a dime.” He steps closer, burying his hands in his pockets. “Once all of the necessary players are gathered in the arena, a sponsor gift will be sent down, probably some kind of food. Pay attention to the district and the amount that’s sent.”

Finnick squints. “Why?”

“The district tells you the day we’re coming and the amount tells you the hour—do not get the two mixed up.” Haymitch raises a hand, staring Finnick down until he nods. 

“Alright, I won’t. And the pickup point?”

“When in doubt, Beetee will know.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. He’s sure working behind the scenes and acting as a messenger is harrowing work, especially with Snow on such high alert. “Our girl managed to get in Peeta’s good graces. Not that I’m surprised; they probably bonded over how ‘fun’ and 'rewarding' it is to help the less fortunate or something. Having her plus Beetee and Wiress will definitely give Johanna and Blight some credibility in Katniss’s eyes. You, on the other hand, are gonna need to rely on something other than your good looks and Mags.” He fishes a flash of gold out of his pocket—some kind of bracelet.  

Finnick takes it gingerly, examining how the light makes it shimmer.

“Take it into the arena as a token. Show it to her, preferably before she shoots you between the eyes. And, shit, if that doesn’t work, ask her…tell her to remember who the real enemy is.”

He wants to ask what that means outside of this very specific context; he wants to know what this bracelet means to him and Katniss if just seeing it will be enough for her to make him an ally. But he doesn’t. He feels like it’ll bring on more questions than it’ll answer.

“I’m gonna need you to hold onto something for me then.” He reaches into one of the deep pockets along his billowy pants until he feels the familiar shape against his fingers. He’s almost hesitant to give it away. When the Quell was announced, he was sure he would die with it on him. But it’s a part of you and he can’t take the chance of it getting destroyed. “It’s, um. It’s a photo she gave to me a few years back, I always carry it on me—”

“You don’t need to explain.” When it’s handed to him, Haymitch takes a moment to look at you. Finnick feels a little self-conscious of how faded it is from years of him running his fingers along your face—faded from years of being well loved. “I’ll make sure she gets back to you.” He’s careful when placing your photo in his pocket and Finnick feels relieved that there’s someone on the outside who wants to get you out of the arena just as much as he does.

“Good luck, kid.” He squeezes Finnick’s shoulder and hesitates. His eyes shift to the walkway that leads to where you’re resting. “When she wakes up, tell her… Tell her I said…” He trails off, his face severe, and Finnick understands painfully well.

“I will.” He promises. Haymitch purses his lips before giving a nod. Finnick watches his back as he leaves and wonders if that will be the last conversation he has with the man, one of his oldest friends.

Present (XI) - You 

[23 & 24] - THE CAPITOL; THE ARENA “Your tracker.” The Peacekeeper yanks your arm up wordlessly and waits for you to pull your sleeve back. You squint around the sharp pain as he jabs the needle into your forearm, burying the tracking device under your skin. You glare at his back and rub at your now-raised skin. 

You grip the straps of your seatbelt as the hovercraft begins its ascent.

As relayed from Haymitch to Finnick to you, Peeta brought you up as an ally, and, luckily enough, Katniss wasn't against the idea. It might have something to do with the conversation you and she had before the Chariot Rides or maybe it’s the fact that you're the only person Peeta suggested. It hadn't been your intention to get on his good side when you offered to train him, but you're glad you did. It makes your job that much easier.

“It's a very breathable, lightweight material, so I’m thinking of a humid environment, maybe tropical. Large bodies of water for certain. Have you decided on a token?" Your stylist pipes up from her seat beside you.

“Oh. Yeah.” You lift your hand to show her the blue bracelet sitting snugly on your wrist. She gasps and you pull your wrist away, looking around the carrier for anything that could be the cause of the sound. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing!” She waves you off with a flippant hand. “It’s just, I didn’t think I’d see you wear that bracelet again. I know Finnick never took his off, but—” You yank your arm back against your chest, holding your bracelet almost as if you can hide it.

"Wha-what..how do you, how…?”

“Us stylists confide in each other, and, well, those of us behind the scenes thought the two of you were just so cute together! I never saw you without that bracelet for five years straight and then one day, it was just gone. Poof! Oh, we were worried sick something happened with you two. But now it’s back!” She cheers, clapping her hands.

You gape at her. “You…you knew? All of you? And you never…?” Never leaked the gossip to the tabloids? To Snow?

“What? Heavens no! We're not heartless, dear. It wasn't our place. Besides,” she leans over, her crimson-painted lips pulled into a smile as she pats your thigh. Her eyes are glossy enough that you’re almost certain she’ll start crying. “You two deserve to be happy.”

You nod stiltedly, rocked by this new information. Did Finnick know? No. If either of you did, you would have been a bit nicer to your stylists. You’re quiet for the rest of the flight as she talks to you. This time around, you do try to listen to what she’s saying, nodding along at the right moments to show you’re paying attention. It’s a bit late, but you feel like you owe it to her.

She walks you down to the tube that’ll take you to the arena.

“This is it, my dear.” She sniffs, raising a hand to her mouth as she actually starts crying now. “Oh, I’m a mess. I’m sorry.” She apologizes, fanning her pale face. You don’t think about it too hard; instead, you step toward her and pull her into a tentative hug.

“It’s okay, Shimmer,” you comfort her. “And for what it’s worth, thank you.”

“It’s not okay. It’s not fair at all.” You let her squeeze you tight, allowing the hug to go on longer than you normally would. She inhales and then pulls away. She holds you by your shoulders and takes you in. “It’s been an honor working with you, my dear.”

“Same here.” You smile, but it feels more like a grimace.

You step onto the platform.

The door slides shut behind you and you start feeling sick as you rise. Sick enough that you worry you might vomit before you even make it into the arena. Your heart beats in your teeth. It’s starting to dawn on you, you realize, just how fucked you are. There’s the revolution, but there’s no guarantee you’ll even live long enough to be saved. You’ve been training like crazy, not that it was that hard with the way you grew up. It’s one thing to use your skills for physical labor; it’s another to use them in a fight to the death. That wasn’t how you survived your Games.

You hold your breath, gathering and reminding yourself of what’s important. The plan. And the plan hinges on you getting to the Cornucopia and surviving.

Your stylist tearfully waves you off as you rise, her elaborate and puffy white gown the last you see of her. You look up at the hole of light as you approach it, your nails digging into your palm.

The drastic temperature change makes you shiver and squint, raising your hand to block the blinding rays of the sun. This heat is different from the kind you’re used to. Heavier, somehow even more humid than Eleven’s muggy summers. The sun disorients you and the little wind that comes through carries the smell of salt. You push through the fog of your senses and force yourself to see.

There’s water—a shit ton of it. Saltwater if your nose is to be trusted. Shimmer was right.

The first thing you do is look for Finnick. You can’t help yourself; the need to know where he is is stronger than your need to acclimate. Your gaze bounces from tribute to tribute in your search for him. Sweat is already gathering on your brow when you finally find him. You see him, but only barely, on your left. He’s about three sections away, close enough that you make eye contact with him. It’s brief and fleeting, but long enough for your stomach to settle and your heartbeat to slow. 

You’re all divided by rocky strips of land that protrude from the island the Cornucopia rests on like the spokes of a wheel. And in between each spoke are two tributes. That would mean there are twelve sections.

Mentally, you try to map out where everyone is. You note that Finnick is standing beside Chaff.

On your immediate left is Johanna, sectioned off from you by the long line of rocks. You nod at each other and relief courses through you knowing you won’t have to search for her. Beetee stands with Cecilia in between Finnick and Johanna’s respective sections. Was this placement intentional or just luck?

With half of your group near you, your eyes rove around for the missing two and—

“Shit.” You curse. You’ll have to go looking for Wiress. That’s the first part of the plan: Johanna gets Beetee, you get Wiress, and Blight waits for the four of you away from the Cornucopia. You’re lucky to be placed next to Beetee and Johanna, but it would have been nice if Wiress was a little closer. Or within your line of sight, at least.

“Let the 75th Hunger Games begin. May the odds be ever in your favor.”  

The sound of Ceasar’s cohost echoes throughout the arena and you rush to gather more information. On your immediate right is the woman from Nine, about the same distance from you as the strip of land on your left. You know she never stepped foot in the training center, so you’re confident in the fact that she isn’t a threat. A little further down are Peeta and the man from Ten. You do a double-take. You hadn’t expected him to be so close to you and you have to force yourself to ignore him. You beat back the instinct to watch him like a hawk; that isn’t your job right now—it’s Mags and Finnick’s. The next section houses Woof and Mags and beside them are Enobaria and the female morphling. That’s as far down as you can see.

Your muscles tense up when he begins the countdown. 

You take stock of your surroundings. Before you is the Cornucopia, and behind you is a beach and a deep forest—no, a jungle. The large body of water surrounding your platform looks pretty clear. Nothing but fish and plants, you’re sure. It’s doubtful they’d put anything deadly in there. Not when so many of the tributes can’t do anything more than doggy paddle. And certainly not this early into the Games. What an odd choice to have water this deep. Especially considering how rare a skill swimming is in the districts.

You watch the red, rotating cube as it flashes down to one, your muscles poised like a spring as you prepare to jump. You take a breath and dive in.

Deep in the woods behind the shack your family used to call home, there was a lake in an area the Peacekeepers seldom patrolled. That’s where your dad taught you to swim. You haven’t done it in a long time, not since before he was killed. You’re more than a little rusty and you wish you had aimed a little more to your left.

The cold water is a shock to your system, but you don’t have time to stay idle. You don’t sink to the bottom like you think you will; you’ve forgotten how much lighter water makes your body. The salt in the water burns your eyes every time you try to open them so you squint and swim towards where you think the strip of land is. It’s a battle. The distance, while a problem on its own, is nothing compared to the strength of the waves. 

You’re panting by the time you make it there, shaky fingers grappling with the wet rocks as you pull yourself up, thanking your forethought to focus on training your upper body strength. The woman from Nine had jumped in the opposite direction, aiming for the beach instead of the Cornucopia. Smart. You’d do the same, but you need a weapon and you need to find Wiress. You push your water-laden hair out of your eyes, getting your feet under you and taking off towards the Cornucopia. 

You're surprised when you make it across without slipping. You have to make the split-second decision between getting a weapon or looking for Wiress first. You glance behind you, and no one seems that adept in the water on your side. Johanna is just now clawing her way out of the waves. You guess there aren’t many reasons to swim in Seven. You make a run for the mouth of the Cornucopia with the sound of cannon fire chasing you and you hope to God that no one sets their sights on Wiress. You glance to your right, and you can blurrily make out Finnick, Katniss, and Mags helping Peeta out of the water.

You skid to a stop, your legs freezing without your actual input.

“Finnick!” You yell, and his head whips up before you fully get his name out. The water weighs his hair down, turning it a darker blond than you’re used to seeing it. You aren’t entirely sure why you called out for him. Maybe it was more for his comfort than yours; he’ll need to know that you weren’t the cause of one of the cannons firing. 

“Star!” He grasps his trident tighter, scanning your surroundings for potential threats. When he sees none, his shoulders relax but his trident remains poised in anticipation.

He looks from you to his group and back again. You shake your head to stop him from taking that step forward. It was only three hours ago that you last saw him. And before that, the two of you stayed up talking about nothing until you fell asleep in each other’s arms. Nonetheless, the desire to run to him is strong. You can see him fight that same impulse you do. When the cannon fires again, Finnick leaps into action, nodding at you with an uncertain gleam in his eyes before placing Mags on his back. 

You watch them all run for the jungle before getting your weapon. You spot a scythe propped up with spears and tridents and can tell immediately that it was planted for you. You take a second to analyze it distrustfully. A metal handle and a deeply curved blade, undoubtedly for show rather than harvesting. You won’t take it. It’s big and cumbersome, and it’ll slow you down in this kind of terrain. Plus, the strength needed to wield this in an actual fight is beyond you. Someone like Chaff or Brutus would get far more use out of it. Maybe even Finnick, if his trident ever fails him. It’ll just tire you out.

Instead, you opt for the twin sickles hanging next to it. They’re also bigger than any you’ve seen in Eleven. With their thick, smooth wooden handles, the blades are sharper than any you have ever used. Their weight will take some getting used to. When you notice more tributes orienting themselves on the rocks behind you, you decide the time for contemplation is over. 

You sprint to your left, eyes scouring the water for a small brunette woman. Wiress is on the other side of the Cornucopia, more floating in the water than swimming.

“Wiress!” You call. She waves her hands as if you can’t see her and you nod, weary of attracting unwanted attention. Luckily, she’s been in the water for so long that the waves have carried her towards the island. It doesn’t take much to pull her out.

“You, you’re hurt?” She speaks in her usually broken speech pattern, gesturing towards you, and you’re quick to look down, thinking you’ve been hurt without knowing it. When you come back with nothing, you look back at her, confused, and she gestures again. You realize it’s a question, not a statement. 

She seems tunneled in on whether you’re hurt or not. Drenched with water and frustration, you spin around in front of her. “I’m fine, Wiress, I’m fine, but we have to go.” She’s a lot more amicable now, allowing you to corral her back to where you saw Johanna last. The bodies littered around give you pause. In front of you lies a woman who is half-submerged in the pinkish water. Taking a deep breath, you step over her and drag Wiress with you.

When you get to the mouth of the Cornucopia, you spot your two allies locked in a fight. That is to say, Beetee huddles behind Johanna as she fights, clutching a spool of wire to his chest as if it were the only thing between him and certain death. Johanna and the man from Nine are locked in the most dangerous game of tug of war you’ve ever seen. They both have their hands on an axe and if this were a game of speed, she’d have him on his knees already. But he’s bigger than her, stronger too, and just as unwilling to let it go.

Her teeth are bared in exertion, legs almost buckling under the strain. He has the blade pushed alarmingly close to her neck and you don’t think about it; your body is pushed into action before you’re even aware that you’re moving. Later, you’ll think back on how easy it was. You’ll think about how quickly he stopped being a human being like you and instead became an enemy—a threat. You’ll think about it—about who he used to be before he became a body—and you will come alarmingly close to crying. For now, you kick the man in the back of the knee and he goes down with a grunt. Johanna uses the leverage the new position gives her and snatches the axe out of his hands with a huff.

You lift the sickle in your dominant hand high in the air, putting your full weight behind it as you drive the blade into the top of his head. The collision of metal against bone ricochets up your arms, leaving your muscles vibrating. He falls forward with a heavy thud and you stumble backwards. Your hands feel like they’re vibrating and the adrenaline coursing through you puts a stop to any panic before it can begin. 

You move forward and have to place your foot on his back, grunting as you use both hands to yank your weapon back out. He makes a keening sound in the back of his throat—the guttural moans of a dying animal. You’re not used to being the one on this side of the slaughter. He’s still alive, but he won’t be for long. You won’t wait for the cannon to go off. 

“Let’s go!” The four of you sprint towards the beach, glancing behind you in case the Careers decide to give chase. There are still plenty of tributes on their platforms, too scared to brave the water. They should hold their attention long enough for your group to get away. Running away as the Careers lay claim to the Cornucopia makes you feel like prey. 

“Blight!” Johanna shouts and your head whips around, searching until you find the burly man a few yards away, waving you over. You all run to him and you take another mental stock.  

Between the five of you, you have an axe, two sickles, a machete Johanna managed to snag, a spool of wire, and two brilliant minds. That should be more than enough for the plan. Johanna hands the machete over to Blight and you and her share a glance before wordlessly booking it into the jungle with your charges. Blight leads and you carry the rear. 

You really hope it doesn’t take long to find Finnick.

A/N: ┬┴┬┴┤(･_├┬┴┬┴ Heyyyy, are you mad at me? I hope you didn't mind that rant in the summary. I felt like Rue's death from this perspective hurt a little more bc you know it's coming, but Star doesn't, and sometimes I get carried away with writing my thoughts. ┐(シ)┌ More Finnick audios in the next chapter to make up for the shortage in this one. Come yell at me!!!

[tanis-fics]

You're gonna go far, kid

The FBC and the Oldest House were dangerous waters to thread and Barry knew that, luckily he could find kinship in an old acquaintance, a girl he met on his former band's glory days who would grow up to be more important than any of them ever expected.

Relationships: Jesse Faden & Barry Wheeler ♦ Words: 1873 ♦ Notes: Partly based on this post by @lostinthewoodsomewhere

[on ao3] ♦ [on squidgeworld] ♦ [read on site]

 The mess hall of the FBC was a crowded place, a neutral zone of sorts where people from all the different departments could meet with one another, eat and wind down. In any other moment Barry Wheeler wouldn't mind the crowd, he would quickly grab something to eat and move somewhere quiet to review what he'd worked on so far, or, most likely, he would use that time to preen and show off whoever his client was at the moment. This particular mess hall, however, was one of the very few places he didn't fear the floor would eat him alive, and it had been some time since he had any particular clients. Not ones he wanted to flaunt over, at least.

 Hard to preen when the stupid dress code kept his options limited too, he sighed, annoyed, as he tried making a beeline to the cafeteria, when a figure standing up knocked him off his feet.

 "Sorr—"

 "Hey, watch where you're fucking—" He hissed, grabbing the couple files that flew off his hands before glancing at the other person, instantly feeling the sense of familiarity attributed to a déjà vu until the realization hit him. He was talking to the woman whose portrait adorned every hall. "Shit, sh- I- I'm sorry, ma'am. Miss?" She was younger than he anticipated. "Boss. Didn't see you there."

 The Director simply raised an eyebrow, unimpressed and possibly irked, and Barry cursed in silence for making a fool of himself in front of the only person here who was worth a damn.

 "It's fine. Just try to be more careful next time." Her tone was dry and he bit his tongue.

 “Will do.”

 Barry thought —hoped— that that would be it, that she would excuse herself and march forward to wherever she was going to when she bumped into him, but before she could turn away the Director did a double take and squinted. Barry stood in high alert as she scrutinized him.

 "Have I seen you before?"

 Barry stared like a deer in the headlights. If the only way he had known her face was because of those portraits the chances of her knowing him were slim at best, unless she recognized him because of what happened in Cauldron Lake, which would be potentially disastrous.

 "Nope, no, I don't think—" The Director kept squinting at him as he dragged his words, until she looked to the side for a second and then snapped her fingers.

 "You were with the Old Gods of Asgard a few years ago, weren't you?"

 Suddenly, surprisingly, Barry felt like he could breath again.

 It had been more than a couple of years, but he could work with that. A tentative smile grew on his lips, the green Communications Agent being replaced by the seasoned Band Manager.

 "I was with them, yeah!” He puffed his chest, wishing he was wearing something more impressive than a white shirt and an ugly, simple tie. “I managed the band for a couple years during their revival tour. You’ve ever been to one of the concerts? Because if you did, you’ve probably seen me there. Yeah, you definitely know me from those." The Director chuckled, and Barry could see some of her stiffness washing away.

 “I wish.” She shook her head. “I never got around to actually seeing them live, unfortunately. But one time, they… they actually showed up at work, my previous work. Got into a pretty nasty fight too.” Barry winced at the memories of having to tail them down night after night, of having to break up fights and pay for whatever was broken this time, but her smile spoke of nothing more than fondness. "You, uh, you gave me a free t-shirt back then."

 Barry snorted. Of course he did.

 Chasing that feeling of familiarity beyond the aforementioned portraits of directorial sobriety he tried recalling where exactly he saw that same red hair before, and was met with a couple matching wide eyes behind a counter. Wide eyes and a grin. Barry remembered being surprised at her happiness despite the mess. Not many people glowed whenever two ancient men started breaking tables around them.

 Funny thing was, she also seemed to be glowing a bit now. Or maybe it was just a trick of the light. Either way, he hummed.

 "Y’know, I think I remember…” He scratched his chin, deep in thought. “Yeah, weren’t you working at some bar? Wasn’t there a guy…?

 Who was, if memory served, very close to harassing her, or at the very least annoying her. Barry never finished hearing the full story, truth be told, the only people present being the old rockers themselves, but according to their drunken ramblings the man had been hitting on her the entire time they’ve been there despite her clear lack of interest. He remember wondering whether the reason why she hadn’t tell him off was because she really, really needed the job, because even at the time she’d seemed perfectly capable of handing herself if things got hairy.

 Which they did, at the time.

 According to Odin he confronted the man and next thing they knew all hell broke loose, a push here, a push back, a glass being thrown around and a bottle shattering against the wall. Usual Anderson stuff, all things considered.

 “Didn’t Tor smash a table on that guy’s back? I remember having to pay for… a number of things.” At least not for her silence. That was what the shirt had been for originally, of course, but Barry would be lying if he said her surprising excitement hadn’t brought a smile to his face in that mess of a night.

 Now it was her turn to wince a bit.

 "Yup. That was me behind the bar. And I’m pretty sure he had to go to the hospital afterwards."

 “Shouldn’t have messed with my boys. Or been a creep, for that matter.” Barry chuckled, before raising an eyebrow. “You... didn’t get in trouble for that lil’ stunt, did you?”

 “Oh, I did.” The woman wrinkled her nose and squinted, thinking back to that time. “Even with all the money you gave me for repairs they still kicked me out.”

 “Fuckin’ bastards.” She huffed, rolling her eyes.

 “Tell me about it. But hey,” shrugging, she pointed at the building above, “got a pretty cool promotion.” He laughed.

 "I can tell! Say, speaking of, how does the under payed waitress from some shitty bar end up as the Director of a secret organization? No offense, of course."

 After a pause, she shrugged.

 "None taken, just came knocking at the right time, I guess. What's a band manager doing in the FBC?"

 His smile cracked for a second, flashes of nightmares that might or might not been real flooding his head before coughing.

 "Oh you know. This and that. I've always been a big fan of the supernatural." He lied.

 The Director looked at him, humming, and for a second Barry thought she was looking through him. Or looking at something behind him? He ignored the impulse to turn his head. This was a test of character and Barry Wheeler could handle it, God dammit. He also knew he couldn’t tell her about his search of anything relating to Bright Falls. To Al. As much as he was fond of the woman, his smile shinning with pride despite the very short time they’ve known each other, he simply couldn’t trust her nor the FBC. Not yet at least. So many things were redacted and behind closed doors, he couldn't, as she put it, simply come knocking. Couldn't he?

 The woman finally opened her mouth to say something, when a third voice distracted her.

 "Jesse!" Jesse? A blond woman with a notepad called at the end of the hall —Barry swore he’d seen her at the Communication Department at some point. Wasn't she one of the Heads of something else?— and the Director replied with a warm smile and a raise of the hand.

 Blondie couldn’t have come at a better time.

 "Well! I won't hold you any longer, Boss." He clapped his hands with finality, taking a step back and holding out one before him out of habit. "Barry Wheeler, at your service."

 Maybe he couldn't ask her right away, but getting in the woman on top’s good graces seemed to be a good idea (better than come guns blazing to a place that could easily kill him by itself, at least). He didn't realize the small wrinkle on her forehead at the name, close to recognition.

 "Jesse Faden." She eventually replied, shaking his hand. Before she could finally make her way out, though, Barry saw a flicker of something on her eyes. "By the way, do you... by any chance do you have any Old Gods shirts left? I know it's a long shot, it's been a while, but-"

 "Hey, I get it. The only thing those rags are good for after eight years is to use as pajamas.” He reassured her. “Don’t worry, I also pop a new one from the pile I couldn’t get to sell from time to time." She —Jesse— chuckled, but a heavy shadow replaced the brief amusement on her eyes.

 "It's not for me, actually, it's... it’s for my brother. He..." For a moment, she seemed to be at loss for words, lowering her eyes for the first time in that conversation, before smiling back at him. “He used to be a big fan of the Old Gods too. I’d love to give him anything from them.”

 Barry wasn't unaware of the looks people around them have been giving them since they’ve first crashed against each other, he remembered what it felt to be around such focal point of gravity, but something about her last request stroke a chord in their vicinity that he couldn't help but wonder about. Something about her brother, clearly. Something rather significant. He'd have to check that out later, but for now, he smiled. Maybe a bit more honest at the admission.

 "I'm sure I can find a couple t-shirts left. And a CD too! If... you still have anything to listen to it."

 Jesse laughed, and for a moment Barry was taken back to that shifty dead-end bar, and the mighty Director became the girl with stars on her eyes.

 "I know someone that might. Thanks."

 "The pleasure is all mine, Boss."

 And just like that Jesse —the Old Gods of Asgard fan— —the Director— walked away with the blonde woman, and Barry finally got to grab his lunch, with the particular glow of someone who’d seen an old friend.

 It would be much later that he would come to realize that if they actually had, in fact, any information of Alan and whatever that might or might have not happened in Cauldron Lake, maybe going around saying his full name might not have been the brightest of ideas.

 Barry was lucky, then, that if there was a person who understood what it was to walk into the lion’s den for a chance to see their loved one again, it was the same girl he met by happenstance after that random pub brawl so many years ago.

[aleksanderscult]

Since we have officially entered the Aries' season I thought I should honor the fact that it's the Darkling's birthday! 🎉🎊

(No, we don't know his exact birthdate but we know he's an Aries. Anyways)

To celebrate it let's remember some facts about him.

Even though he was a Shadow Summoner, he loved bright colors. Blue, red, purple but most of all the color of sunlight.

Since we mentioned that he was a Shadow Summoner, isn't it endearing and ironic how he feared the dark when he was a child?

Once he didn't sleep for two nights because his mother had left him in a tent without a lantern.

He loved sweets! Cakes, pies etc. but his two favorites were a cake with cherries and sweet cream from Kerch and candies coated in sesame from Shu.

He had trouble mastering his powers as a child. He felt embarrassed for the fact that he couldn't make the Cut at the age of 13.

He could play the violin. 🎻

He was really intelligent from a very young age. Until the age of 13 he could speak three languages fluently and could read people and their behavior like an open book.

He was awkward and felt uneasy around children his own age since Baghra always kept them on the move and insisted not to let anyone touch him or for him to get close to someone.

He never met his father although he kept asking about him to his mother and wanted to meet him. The only thing he (possibly) ever knew was that he was a Heartrender.

He loooved nature. The trees and forests. The smell of them. Especially the evergreen trees. He even decorated his room in the Little Palace with carvings of trees.

Oh and he loves animals too! In the "Demon in the Wood" he got excited in the thought that he would see white tigers for the first time and Leigh once mentioned that he's kind to animals (we even saw that in "The Tailor" when he took time out of his duties to visit his horses, pat them and whisper to them soothingly).

And he actually saw those white tigers eventually.

Apparently he has great good looks to the point that he attracts others (and especially girls) like magnet since forever.

And his life was full of sex so he was experienced with it (Alina, your opportunity to fuck around and find out was literally right there).

The author confirmed (in 2014-2015, years before even the show came out) that he indeed harbored strong feelings for Alina and believed that they were destined for a future together (my man was ready to buy IKEA furnitures for their future house😭😭).

He had many, many half-siblings (one of them was a mermaid) and throughout the centuries he sought them out, out of a need for kinship, companionship and a desire to not be alone (🥲🔫)

This one is especially sad. He wasn't conceived out of love.

On another note though, his smell has been described as the smell of winter, forests and of the night.

In a solar eclipse his powers wouldn't be affected.

He's the Grisha with the most aliases in the Grishaverse (that's what living in a persecuted environment as a child does to you).

It's confirmed by the author that he was created after fantastical villains that she used to love, so please let that rumor that he was inspired after her abusive ex finally rest for good.

He had indeed fallen in love many times in the past but he kept witnessing the people he loved die from their mortality. At some point he just gave up on love and became more and more closed off. (Let's talk about the break he never had💀)

We might not know which person was the first he ever fell in love with, but we know which was the last one: Alina.

Do you remember those countless letters Alina was sending to Mal in "Shadow and Bone"? Well, the Darkling not only kept them secretly but read ALL off them.

He has a throat-neck fetish. And it's probably canon. The way he kissed Alina's throat every chance he got, the way he once nipped it, the collar and how he was always touching it.

According to Leigh, he didn't start wanting to be King. But this ambition came eventually after deeming it the only way to change things.

Kaz has been described as more selfish than Aleksander.

Well most of them turned out to be sad and tragic but that's because he had a tragic life and he himself was a tragic character.

Happy birthday to one of the best and most iconic book characters ever created. 🎉🎊

[kirbles]

thinking about lae'zel approaching wyll during the party with the tieflings.

she's feeling that post battle high, body full of adrenaline, that she would usually expel with her fellow githyanki through carnal pleasure.

so she considers her options, and ultimately settles on wyll. she approaches him with the intention to bed him, but he's at the water, somber after his experience.

lae'zel in game states how she plans to sleep with wyll, and then the next morning tells you all he wanted to do was talk.

however, she didn't seem all that bothered when she said it. which gives me the impression that she really did just spend the whole night with wyll, talking about everything and nothing.

how sweet if it was lae'zel who eased his somber mood and convinced him back to the party. lae'zel who directed him to her tent with the sole intention of sucking and fucking only to be stopped and asked by wyll if they could just... enjoy each others company in another way.

and she relents, because sex isn't fun if you're both not super into it. but also because wyll is well travelled, and faerun is so new to her. she wants to know more about this plane and the culture. lae'zel is well read about her kind, she would relish in regaling tales to wyll, who would listen with rapt attention.

and while her opinion on the blade of frontiers isn't necessarily a high one, she still enjoys the stories of him slicing down foes that deserve it, and that before the tadpole he was very accomplished at doing so. it's there and then that the two agree to regularly train together, to keep their blades and wits sharp, and maybe even swap tips.

they also swap stories about their childhood, and how their upbringing was so vastly different but also held some similarities.

they're only a few years apart in age, so despite the stark contrast between them, they do feel a sense of kinship; that they are so young, and yet so accomplished and learned, but also so very naive about how the world really works...

after that night of intense emotional connection, i feel like the dynamic would shift slightly. especially if they were to spend more time together outside of their usual battle training.

wyll is no doubt smitten from the start, finding githyanki novel despite their savage history, and being a bit concerned due to being a monster hunter. but the more time he spends with lae'zel (especially after being propositioned almost immediately after meeting) the more he sees beyond just what she was brought up to believe.

he would want to court her in the traditional faerun way, but would have no idea if that's something she could fathom or even want.

however in my mind lae'zel absolutely falls first. because she is so driven by the physical, it's so strange for her to grow so attached to wyll without having ever slept with him. that even a kiss is something he holds out on until wyll is ready, despite her being very forthcoming about the many nasty things she wants to do to him beyond a mere peck.

but it's the strongest emotional connection she has ever had. it dizzies her how he is always on her mind, she wants to monopolise his attention, find any excuse to put her hands on him unrelated to sexual intimacy. she always looks out for him in battle, and swells with pride when he utilises ancient githyanki teachings to win.

she wants him so damn bad!!! but she knows it has to be long term, which contests with the idea of freeing orpheus and her kin.

uggghhhh. i just think they're neat!!!!!!

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

I saw one au where Metal Sonic's creation had him believing he was Sonic (because he was quite literally created with Sonic's memories and bio data), so he thought initially that the "real" Sonic was an imposter implanted by Eggman and that Eggman had turned him into a robot that couldn't speak

And I must admit it changed my brain chemistry because I periodically think about it

Today, though, it's for Mettails thoughts because I think Metal who has all of Sonic’s memories prior to creation would have thoughts about the "imposter" taking not only his friends, but his little buddy.

Can't Tails see that it's him? Maybe he can't speak anymore, maybe he's not flesh and blood, maybe he carries all the marks of an Eggman robot, but he doesn't want to hurt his little buddy. It's the "imposter" he has beef with, but with Tails, is there any way to get him to take the hint?

And then Metal Sonic grappling over the truth, learning that he's the copy, the imposter, and that Eggman created him. Does this mean his feelings are fake? What does he do with this? Aside from following Eggman's orders (which he has no choice but to do), does he not have a purpose? What's the point of fighting when to fight the real thing's friends and little buddy just hurts?

And yet, he doesn't want to go away. He doesn't want to just blindly follow Eggman, but he can't leave the empire even if he wanted. His fabricated memories and feelings compel him to seek adventure, to help his friends, to be around Tails—all things he cannot have.

So, for a time, he's at a standstill. He puts his passion and frustration into fighting and racing the real thing, he follows Eggman's orders, enacting loopholes where he can (largely to avoid hurting those he feels Sonic's feelings towards).

Does he lean into it? Does he accept these feelings and how they compel him? Does he follow Eggman's orders and put his all into finding loopholes to aiding and protecting Tails and the others under the radar? Does he decide to become better than the real thing—become the new him? Does he try to take his place in a naive attempt to claim the position from his fake memories? Or, does he reject it all outright? Does he try to beat Sonic to distance himself from him? Does he go all in on becoming different? Or does he go further, distancing himself not just to beat or surpass the real thing, but to go his own path? Does he abandon these fabricated feelings and memories altogether?

I don't see Tails caring all that much for Metal Sonic beyond picking the robot apart to analyze Eggman's more impressive tech, much less understanding why Sonic would want to give him a chance at freedom or would revive him once they've deactivated and damaged him (this is a reference to the early idw chapters post the neo metal return arc). But what if, by chance, Tails and Metal end up locked in a predicament together.

They're far away from anyone else, in a place neither of them know of. Perhaps, after an ordeal, a fight, the two wake up in a cave.

Tails wakes up in pain and exhausted. His anxiety spikes the moment he sees Metal Sonic, already preparing to defend himself

But Metal (who'd gotten up before him, clearly damaged) just prods at the fire he'd set so Tails wouldn't be cold as he slept. Rather than move to lift a metal finger against Tails, he lets out a short round of alarmed beeps, motions for Tails to sit down

Tails doesn't trust Metal outright of course, but after a bit of time (and analysis of his situation), he realizes how Metal is taking care of him. He's wary of making Metal fully operational (not that he really can without spare parts, but that's besides the point), but he begins to tentatively trust him. Perhaps, as they start out isolated, the two work together to get to safety and to figure out the gravity of their situation

And once the two are back to their respective sides and they get the chance to heal and rest, Tails can't shake that feeling of kinship that should have been temporary. In this moment, he feels that he may understand why Sonic would want to give Metal Sonic a chance at all (beyond the obvious reasons Sonic would still want a robot that can match him to stay active). However, Metal Sonic's display of care and protectiveness towards him bewilders him a bit. Because...it must be genuine, right? But what does it mean?

And Metal, meanwhile, feels bitterness and hope all at once. Maybe, after this event, he decides he will lean into those feelings where he can. His memories and feelings were all fabricated, fake, copies, but this decision is the only thing he has control over.

Maybe Metal decides (like replica riku in chain of memories) that he doesn’t care if his old memories and feelings are fake?

He can never be the real flesh and blood Sonic, but he can be himself. He can be a better Sonic (and one day, he will wrest control of his own life back) by doing what he can where he's at, taking a path that is not the one of the hero (because Metal Sonic doesn't need heroism or cheap praise). And, whether these feelings are fake or not, he'll keep those friends of Sonic's alive no matter what.

And, perhaps, by the time his plans turn to world domination in Eggman's place, keeping his creator and controller from having any power over him, he hopes that Sonic’s friends will accept their place in the world that he creates (he wants them to live happily of course), and he hopes that Tails will take that offered place at his side. Metal would prove that the real thing was inferior and weak, but he could "fix" the world into one in which he and Tails and the others can live and enjoy.

...

Sorry kinda went off for a minute there

I just think it would be interesting to cross Metal Sonic's creation with that au idea that person made that has me in a chokehold with Replica Riku KH and with some canon metal/idw metal happenings. Also I'm rotating Overlord Neo Metal trying to convince Tails to rule with him (and trying to convince himself that he can convince Tails to do it if he just proves himself the right way. Starline style if you know what I mean) in my brain. Metal who has Sonic's memories and feelings choosing to keep and lean into Sonic's attachment to Tails

[ebongawk]

The first time she said it, he thought maybe it was just a slip of the tongue or something.

"You're so pretty, Eddie."

They were sitting together at the picnic table, textbooks and homework spread out in front of them that Chrissy was diligently doing and Eddie was diligently ignoring in favor of making notes for his next Hellfire campaign. They'd been unlikely friends for a few weeks, Chrissy having come to him in search of drugs and instead found a tentative kinship with a fellow freak in the woods.

He looked up at her, feeling how rounded with surprise his own eyeballs were as he let out a guffaw of disbelief.

"I think that's my line, Chrissy. But a lowly jester sitting at the queen's court, I am meant to compliment your beauty that rivals the very essence of springtime. Not, uh, the other way around."

She giggled a little, but her eyes were still roving over his face. Searching for something, though Eddie had no fucking idea what.

After a minute, she shrugged, returning to her history essay.

Eddie just kinda figured that was that.

"Gosh, you're pretty," she said again a few weeks later.

He was riding the high of playing for her – finally, Jesus Christ – and laughed loudly enough for the entirety of the Hideout to hear. Still incredibly sweaty, he'd just jumped off the stage to come greet her immediately after their set finished.

Those were the first words that fell past the lips he'd spent more time than he cared to admit dreaming about.

"Damn, not even, 'Wow, Eddie, you're so good at guitar' or anything?" he jested, trying to shrug off her compliment with a joke. She beamed at him, giggling when he pitched his voice to try and match her dainty way of speaking. "You wound me, Cunningham! Am I not rockstar material?"

"All rockstars are good at guitar!" she cried in defiance. "But not all of them are pretty!"

"Not all rockstars are good at guitar! What about the bassists and the drummers and the singers?"

"That's not the point," she huffed before giving him that star shine grin that wrapped his heart in a fist and choked it until it was beating with the same resonance as her name. "But, um, you do play guitar really well, too."

That, he kinda figured, despite counting up all her little accidental compliments like rosebuds trying valiantly to bloom, should've been that.

But it was not.

"Eddie," she sighed, leaning heavily against his shoulder as they watched some stupid made-for-TV movie through the haze of their shared high. "Do you know how pretty you are?"

They were sprawled across the dingy couch in his trailer, snacking on popcorn – Eddie munching on, like, fifteen kernels to Chrissy's every one. He hadn't even realized she was looking at him.

Jesus. She was so close. So beautiful. Her pointy little chin pressed against his shoulder, staring up at him like he was a sunrise and she'd never before seen daytime.

"Me?" he scoffed, trying valiantly to buck the urge to kiss her. Fuck if he didn't want to, though. But that was, like, some law of the goddamn universe or something. Earth's magnetism sustained the gravity that kept everything from floating into space, matter cannot be created or destroyed, and Eddie Munson desperately wanted to kiss Chrissy Cunningham.

"Yes, you."

"Sweetness, have you looked in a mirror?" he asked, trying not to dwell too long on the verbal vomit that was this sudden introduction of a pet name. "You're a fucking knock out. Starlight in human form. Comparatively, I'm basically a gelatinous cube."

Though the D&D reference was lost on her, it did nothing to deter the sudden spark of fire behind her reddened eyes. In a move that stole the actual breath from his fucking lungs (since she already had the heart from his chest), Chrissy was swinging her leg over his and pulling herself into his lap.

Repeat for emphasis: into his fucking lap.

Both of her perfect, tiny little hands came up, gently cupping his jaw as she stared him dead in the eyes. Storm clouds meeting forested brown across burning coals.

"I may be starlight or springtime or whatever else you want to call me," she said, her voice taking on a severity he'd rarely heard from her. Not since she told Jason and his goons to leave the Hellfire kids alone a couple weeks ago, just before miraculously ending their monarchic relationship in front of the entire school. "But that doesn't negate the fact that you are also pretty."

"Uhh." She was way too fucking close for him to think clearly.

"Just accept the compliment, please."

He'd swallowed his tongue or something. Responding to her simply wasn't possible. He no longer had a voice box; it was lost in the ether of his weed-addled body. He just stared wide-eyed at the woman of his dreams who was currently straddling his lap and holding his face and opening up a variety of daydreams he'd had about this exact scenario, though not anywhere near under these circumstances.

A knock at the door broke them apart, someone calling through the door about pizza delivery, and Chrissy begrudgingly climbed off of Eddie to let him pay for their dinner.

He couldn't really let himself hope that she hadn't wanted to move.

"So pretty."

They were lying together in his bed, sweat still cooling on their spent bodies. Each of them turned onto their sides, eyes absorbing one another's nakedness as though still uncomprehending of how they'd made it to this moment.

Or, at least, Eddie was.

It was two-thirty in the morning when a frantic knocking had awoken him from a decently peaceful sleep. He'd stumbled out of his bedroom, expecting to find... well, he didn't even know. Something that most certainly was not Chrissy Cunningham, standing in her pajamas and tennis shoes, clutching the stuffed cat-bug-thing he'd won her at the Fourth of July fair two weeks ago with tears in her eyes and a determination set in the rigid line of her jaw.

(The plush was, admittedly, almost a little creepy, but also extremely cute, and it was the only thing Chrissy had gushed about for a full week, so.)

She'd barreled past him into the living room, bouncing on her toes and teeming with anxious energy that made his throat close and his eyes prick with tears unrelated to his interrupted sleep. It felt like she was here to slice his heart in two or something. It took true, actual willpower to shut the door and give her his attention.

"Uh, hey, Chrissy, what––"

"I love you," she blurted out, blinking like she hadn't expected those words to come out of her own mouth. Lips twisting, she pushed on, refusing to allow her admission to hang between them for even a second. "I'm, like, completely in love with you, Eddie. And–– And I've waited for you to notice, but you haven't, and at first I thought maybe you didn't like me back, and that was okay! Or, it–– it had to be okay, right? Because I valued our friendship so much. But then, at the fair, we were talking, and you mentioned that you liked someone, but you didn't say who, and I was so heartbroken that I cried for, like, three days, and then Nancy told me that I was being so dense, because of course you liked me, but how could that be, because you never said anything! And I thought I'd just come here and tell you because I can't keep it in anymore, Eddie, I can't––"

Her rambling had only cut off when Eddie finally found the strength to fucking move. He crossed the scant distance between them, cupping her jaw in his hands and pressing his lips to hers in a messy, imperfectly perfect kiss that tasted like pretty springtime starlight.

"Of course it's you, Cunningham," he'd rasped when they finally pulled apart. "It's been you my entire goddamn life."

They crashed into his bedroom after that, cat-bug-thing and tennis shoes and pajamas discarded in favor of skin and lips and hair and whispered promises caressing fevered flesh.

And now, she was gently caressing the line of his jaw, the curve of his cheek, the shell of his ear, and whispering, "So pretty," into the few inches of mattress between them like it was a brand she could sear into his very soul.

His first instinct was to shy away, to deny, to turn the compliment back on her and remind her that she was, in fact, the absolute definition of beauty in this world and every other galaxy. To tell her that sunlight fell from her hair and oceans crashed inside her eyes and every freckle dotting her skin was like a fresh raindrop on dewy summer grass.

Instead, he caught her hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to her palm, her thumb, each of her fingers, and whispered,

"Thank you, baby."