#How she makes that comparison on touches of sacrifice

[astrxlfinale]

Few things beat the late night hours where Guinaifen got to cuddle up in clean sheets, fresh out of a shower, with arms around the frame of her own little universe. Him, the sole purpose of her paced heartbeats, and whose cheek would be grazed with several kisses, one warmer and sweeter than the next. Him, the one Guinaifen wished to offer the comfort and safety of her own arms for as long and often as Caelus would require or even ask of her, longer too if she so saw it as her right. To say that she loved him was simple, too simply even, for while she did love him there was so much more to it, appreciation and respect, admiration and pride.

She, indeed, was proud of him and the progress he had made throughout his journeys. With every story returning with him to the Xianzhou, the concern would drown in this overwhelming admiration for him and the choices he had gone through; " ... you do so many cool things, you know that ? I don't think I've ever met someone whose life has been as busy as yours over the past year..."

Tightening her embrace, Guinaifen would press her forehead against his, allowing eyes to examine his.

Warm. Beautiful. Something she, in return, wished to protect.

"... don't burn out your light fully, Caelus."

Indeed, he had done so many great things and fought so many great battles, some she had gotten to witness in person and where he found such bravery time and time again was beyond Guinaifen. Unlike Caelus, she'd easily cover at the mention of scary spirits haunting old grounds of the fleet, and she'd find her hands trembling around the weapon meant to fight evil. So how, when and where he found the time to gather all this courage was both admirable and a little concerning, for how long could he keep burning so brightly for others? How far could he go with such intensity?

In her concern, a hand would raise to his cheek, caress it gently. To think that within her hand laid both destruction and salvation of planets. It was still surreal; " You always rush to everyone's aid, and you do so with such compassion and respect that I... can't help but to admire you for it, but... I need to you know that if you ever need someone to come to your rescue, I'm in your corner. While I know that I'm totally just a pretty thing on your arm ~ I am capable of other things too, you know ?"

At least she would try to be.

For him, she would.

She'd lean over to steal a little, warm kiss from him, pulling herself closer against his frame with a whisper. "If needed, I'd carry you bridal style out from a battle ~ !"

Moments like these were true fields of reprieve during turbulent waves. Where the scents of fresh soaps and soft linen, where the familiarity of that bright coral hair was laid out in ways further emphasizing her beauty.

Times where he can simply be nestled in this warmth that forms a special brand of energy within him.

Caelus's expression couldn't resist melting into the peaceful stance its currently holding. Grand trials and unexpected turns would never transform these simple truths into something else. His hands locked with security around his Firekiss's hips, loosely held for any idle need of wiggle room as he stares ahead, silently marveling a view that just makes him comfortable above all else. It wasn't a matter where a look from here makes him merely forget about the world. The fact of performing Atla's feats simply becomes a cakewalk.

That could be his arrogance talking, but what's wrong with a little belief?

"Oh yea--- hmhm, hey!" He tried to counteract, but this certain offensive was determined to add this notch of victory. Loving kisses, each serving as an energizing plume, being a banisher of weariness and the sweet tide to empowerment all in one. What she brings to the table of thought leaves him mildly contemplative.

"Has it been?" The question warranted no answer. "If anything, it just felt like.. Another day that's supposed to be here."

It doesn't change the glimmering pearl of insight that she leaves. An important reminder made from someone who wants the best for him, who knows in an entirely different way about the value of managing that weight wisely. Truly drinking in her insight, silence briefly falls outside of a softer note, one that reveals her word reached just like those loving hands.

"Firekiss.."

Such silent awe melts with the tide of fashioned night upon the Xianzhou. A secret for the quilts, a declaration for the open air, for within those honeyed eyes he sees someone talking from the bottom of her loving heart. It makes him privy in just how often she extends this case, letting excess energy be placed in movements made to love, how she directs her words with a sword master's grace, holding a clarity that's in his opinion undervalued. How could his expression unveil anything else but a tender love that's continuously being fostered between them?

While the playful ideas ring and for a moment, his heart hastens in joy as he leans to her in kind, being lovingly lost within her gravity as a tender kiss would meet her lips in return. Caelus never hesitates in allowing that starlit heart of his from devoting to the moment. A touch of pressure, the way his fingers clutched and bundled up the back of her nightwear, these were the small signs in the power her love formulates.

"Guinaifen.." There's a pause while the amusing idea comes to mind. Briefly parting, that's when an abrupt switch transpires, leading to his forehead gently bumping her's with a gilded sense of challenge above all else.

"How about I tell you that I've never had a doubt about that to begin with? Calling yourself just another pretty thing would be disrespecting the cherished partner of this Nameless. I'm not taking that from anyone, especially you."

Was it strange for this thread of seriousness to bound him suddenly? Conviction was born anew in those golden eyes, a scintillating sort of flame that swims within his irises, and at this moment locked upon her face in a command for attention.

"If there's ever a pinch that can even get me on the ropes. I have no doubt that you'd turn this whole damn universe upside down to find me. ..I'm depending on that." Thrumming heavily in his veins was a measure of trust that can be felt, a border between pained and heavy, of light and liberating. Caelus can recall instances where this scale of sensation flowed in such a distinct way.

This was the grounds of a special strength that made him this indomitable force. Here it was, being shared.

"Can I count on you, the person that I believe in?"

@avaere

[sinkingquail]

a ramble about taliesin's spoon-feeding line

cw: caregiver burnout, dementia hi @dynamite124 please let me know if you want me to take the audio file down!

i was thinking about how taliesin really would take care of the ldb for the rest of their life if they happen to be unable to take care of themselves after reading the elder scroll

aka rambles from someone working as a caregiver for people with dementia and how fucking meaningful this is

(this is half me being amazed at tally, half me explaining the horrors of dementia)

tl;dr: i believe that by the time taliesin says this line, he genuinely loves the player. like so, so much i can't even begin to describe it.

to preface this, i've been working in memory care for about half a year now. it is so fucking heartbreaking, guys.

for those unfamiliar with dementia, it's a very slow, insidious disease that results in memory loss first and foremost, but can also lead to paranoia, aggression, loss of motor function, inability to process sensory info, aspiration pneumonia (this is usually what kills people with dementia - it's important for people that have trouble swallowing to be on a puréed food diet and let me tell you, it looks fucking terrible)

here's a few examples of the people in my care. note that these are people that families have decided they can no longer take care of and pay a LOT of money for their care, so they tend to be in the later stages of dementia:

guy that is just constantly walking around the building. his eyes don't track you, he doesn't react to most stimulus, when he talks it's nonsense. he's in his 70s.

lady that says her dog is running around, she can see her in the hallways. her dog is over the rainbow bridge as of last year. she is also one of our most independent residents

guy that i'd transfer from his wheelchair to his chair. after he sits, he would touch the wheelchair and ask me what it is

the one i want to talk about the most, a husband and wife that have been married for 60+ years. the husband is cognitively intact and very independent (he can drive) and the wife, well... she's absolutely dependent on us

anyways, here's the exact quote taliesin says when the dragonborn messes with him and pretends they've actually gone insane from reading the elder scroll:

"You had me half worried I'd have to spoon feed you for the rest of your life. And that is NOT a kink I am into."

(leave it to tally to use humor to deflect again) i cannot stress how insane this is.

anyways, the husband that i mentioned previously has essentially halted the rest of his time on earth to take care of his wife, who he's been married to for over 60 years. it is simultaneously heartbreaking and beautiful just how much love the husband has for this person.

i'd like to compare that to taliesin, who will say this after... how long of knowing the ldb? like a couple years, max?

(this is not to downplay the husband's sacrifice, but rather to give a comparison of the sheer amount of love that goes into making this kind of decision)

i argue that by the time this happens in-game, taliesin truly, truly loves the player (whether platonically or romantically is up to interpretation). he'd have to love them, to genuinely want to spend however long the ldb has left to take care of them.

it's even more meaningful when you remember that taliesin wants to see the world. by taking care of you, he's most definitely giving that up. and he'd do it in a heartbeat. there's also a matter of how long tally would act as caregiver for. i don't know how old they are but altmer live a fucking long time (i think like... 300 years?), and depending on the race of your ldb, this quote can be that much more meaningful. (it's still super meaningful even if the ldb would die in a year, tbh. tally had basically just gotten the chance to escape the thalmor)

and of course, what does the ldb's insanity look like? no idea. but i can tell you that when people's dementia progress, their personality changes. they can become more irritable, lash out, get violent. now imagine what that's like if you're taking care of the freaking dragonborn instead of someone that's 80+ years old.

not to mention how fucking exhausting caregiving is. i've been only working this job for half a year, part-time and i'm so tired. i also work a little less than 20% of the hours in a week, these people need 24/7 care. the work is insane, and tally is insane for offering to take this on. especially without help.

does taliesin realize how much work it is? would he tap out after a bit? im not sure, but to even offer such a thing in the first place just goes to show how much love he has for the player. and i think that's beautiful

(this was a very long-winded way of saying that taliesin's gesture is genuinely born out of love for the player. i'm also very passionate about the work i do, please feel free to message me if you have any questions about dementia, or just need someone to vent to.)

[theladyofbloodshed]

Chapter 23

(Previous chapter ended on the cliff-hanger of Feyre and Nesta being ambushed in the library - Sorry for the super long wait)

Her skirts tangled with her legs as Nesta tried to match Feyre’s speed. Only their heavy breaths broke the silence in the bowel of the library.

‘Faster,’ Feyre commanded.

Nesta couldn’t. Her stomach cramped and her legs were already burning as they barrelled towards the pit in the library.

Feyre’s fingers gripped her arm then, from the inky gloom, two males stepped forwards. One dark-haired, one light. Both in grey jackets embroidered with bone-white thread and a crest of a far away kingdom over their heart. How were they here?

Something was blown towards her. She flinched from it to no avail. A cold slithered through her body, magic nullified. Beside her, Feyre spluttered and coughed from the dust. Nesta just kept gripping onto her sister’s arm in turn. Feyre would have a plan. Her High Lord would come. Somebody would help them.

‘So easy to get into their minds once our master let us through the wards,’ said the dark-haired one. ‘To make them think we were scholars. We’d planned to come for you… but it seems you found us first.’

Their words were not meant for Feyre, but for her. Nesta forced herself to stand her ground even though these were males of unfathomable age with powers that would not touch the surface of her own.

‘Who are you?’

The white-haired one smiled broadly on his approach. ‘We are the king’s Ravens. His far-flying eyes and talons. And we’ve come to take you back.’

This was her fault. All her fault. For meddling with the Cauldron and not going down quietly. Her eyes took in the blades at their side, the muscles of their broad bodies. She held Feyre’s hand tighter, breaths coming quicker. This could be the end, she thought.

The end and there is so much that I haven’t done.

‘You’re not taking her anywhere,’ her sister declared. She pulled out a knife – but it was pitiful in comparison to their swords. But she knew her sister and Feyre would fight to the end.

‘You are an unexpected prize too. But your sister…’ A smile showed off too-white teeth. ‘You took something from that Cauldron, girl. The king wants it back.’

Nesta did the calculation quickly. Two of them. Four blades. Magic. Her sister who’d be all in because that was who Feyre was. She couldn’t take another sacrifice. Not for her.

‘If he wants what I took, he can come get it himself,’ she sneered.

‘He’s too busy to bother,’ one male purred, taking a step closer.

Nesta rolled her eyes, feigning disinterest. ‘Apparently you’re not’

Feyre squeezed her fingers. They exchanged a sliver of a glance. And suddenly they were children again. Children about to be in big trouble because they’d climbed out of the window when a travelling fair had been in the town after father strictly forbade any of the servants to take them. He’d gone elsewhere and mother was preoccupied. His carriage rolled down the driveway as evening settled in – and Nesta and Feyre knew he’d make it home before them. They’d squeezed hands then. Squeezed hands and ran like the wind around the back of the house, tummies full of sugary food from the fair, through a window and up the servant’s staircase.

‘You made a grave mistake coming here. To my house.’ They sniggered at Feyre’s words. ‘And I hope it rips you into bloody ribbons.’

Her heart lurched as Feyre broke the hold and span. Nesta followed just as swiftly, feet pounding on the ground as they ran downwards, down to the eternal blackness of the pit at the heart of the library. And into the arms of whatever lurked inside.

The males’ voices were drowned out as they ran. The smell turned musty and damp, the air thickening as they delved deeper. They would run and run, buying as much time as they could. Somebody would come for them. Azriel would come for them.

‘Don’t stop,’ Feyre urged, as the lights around them flickered out.

A high-pitched scratching sounded like talons on stone. One of the Ravens crooned, ‘Do you know what happened to them – the queens?’

‘Keep going,’ Feyre panted even as Nesta stumbled.

‘Do you want to know what happened to those queens? The youngest one practically trampled the others to get in. But the Cauldron… Oh, it knew that something had been taken from it. It was furious. When that queen went in, it took what she valued most – her youth.’

Nesta staggered again, unable to manage against her heavy skirts in the blackness. It was only Feyre’s firm hand towing her along that kept her up. Her lungs were ready to burst, breaths ragged and sawing at her lungs.

‘The other queens refuse to enter out of terror. And the youngest one. Oh, if you could hear how she talks, Nesta Archeron. The things she wants to do to you when Hybern is done.’

How deep could they go? Their bodies were spending easier than the males who followed behind, bored of the chase.

‘Run toward the light,’ Feyre said.

A faint trickle was far away and high up.

‘I’ll hold them off.’

‘No.’

‘Run,’ she breathed, squeezing Nesta’s fingers so hard they’d be turning white. ‘Please. Nesta, please.’

***

Azriel had not breathed since the afternoon. When word came that he was to guard Elain, to give his life if needed, the alarm bells had began ringing. They hadn’t stopped since. He’d almost vomited when Rhys shared Cassian’s memories with them all. Nesta running into his arms, the bone-white face, the sheer terror emanating from her. Feyre curled in a ball while Bryaxis feasted on Hybern’s Ravens.

When they reconvened, Azriel tamped down on every instinct that demanded he surge across the room and haul Nesta into his arms. It was hard. The hardest thing he’d ever done. Nobody else seemed to notice that her hands still shook hours later or that her eyes frequently slid out of focus. On his orders, Nuala brought in tea and biscuits and he’d urged the wraith to thrust it into Nesta’s hands because she was too vacant to reach for it otherwise.

The only time Nesta seemed lucid was when Elain spoke. She was a seer. Azriel had suspected it for a while; her strange garbling only making sense with hindsight. They needed to get ahead – to understand her words before they came to fruition. To avoid situations like that again. Each time he closed his eyes, he could only see Nesta running for her life.

He toed the line. Followed the rules. When Rhys sent him off with Lucien to prepare the male for his trip to the Continent, Azriel squeezed his nails into the fleshy part of his palms leaving little crescents in their wake.

Once the night settled in, he knew he should return to duties. Despite the breach by Hybern, his spies still had threads to tug on elsewhere. Responsibility should have prevailed.

But Azriel would be damned if he put orders over his mate’s wellbeing.  

His knuckles were too loud, too desperate against the door.

It took only moments for the door to open. Shadows were smeared beneath Nesta’s eyes as she stared at him. Then she threw herself forwards. Her arms reached around his waist, knuckles grazing the base of his wings so he needed to bite down on his lip to keep from moaning at the sudden, intimate touch.

Would she understand why he hadn’t gone to her sooner? Hadn’t held her when she needed it?

Azriel lifted her a few inches off the floor to carry her over the threshold into her room. The door closed with the help of his shadows. He was torn between clinging onto her or checking Nesta from head to toe. She was fine, physically. The effects of the faebane were out of her system. Logically, she was not harmed. But there was so much more to it; so many layers to the day. Nesta had stolen from the Cauldron. It had spawned revenge not only from the Cauldron itself, the king, and a queen. It was a lot to handle. And to top it all off, Elain was a seer.

‘I wanted to go to you,’ he said. ‘Then everybody would know.’

The bond had burnt not with fire, but ice. It felt so cold that he wondered if that was how death was. A never-ending frost.

‘I know,’ she replied weakly. ‘I know.’

Her fingertips dug into his body, afraid to release him.

‘How can I help?’

Nesta swallowed. ‘I don’t know.’

The need to whisk her away from danger gnawed at his skin. He could do it. Pack a bag and the pair of them could run. Keep on running to the end of the world to keep her safe. And she’d hate him for it.

Azriel shucked off his boots then stripped down to the waist. The spring was already too warm, the heat sticking his leathers to him. He was conscious of Nesta’s eyes trailing his tattoos as if committing them to memory.

‘Come here,’ he murmured.

As one would carry the most precious goods, Azriel lifted Nesta into his arms then settled in the bed. She made no protests. The night wasn’t for bedding her. If the Mother blessed them, he’d have time to learn her body, to discover all the ways to make her moan and writhe beneath him another day. Tonight, Azriel wanted to hold her. The images from the library haunted him. Only the steady singing of her heart managed to settle the restlessness in him. He should have been there. It should have been him racing to the pit to find her, not Cassian.

It was a night that he would never forget. Azriel held his mate in his arms. Her face was tucked against his neck, his hand tracing patterns through her nightgown onto her back. He wished it could have been under different circumstances – but he’d take what he could get. Eventually, Nesta’s body grew heavier as her limbs relaxed and her breathing deepened.

There were spies waiting for him to pass on intel. A whole network that he had created through centuries of spinning threads. Azriel knew he should have gone. Should have slipped away into the night like he often did with lovers. But this was not a one-time lover, a name he’d forget, a face he’d never remember. This was Nesta Archeron – his mate – and he was not leaving her.

***

 Muffled footsteps trod past her room as the house awoke. Lucien Vanserra would be leaving that morning, an early start seized, for the Continent. Nesta didn’t know what effect it would have on Elain – whether she’d be better or regress without his nearby presence.

As for Nesta, she was still in Azriel’s arms. He had slid into a supine position, half-supported by pillows whilst still clinging to her.

It was the best sleep she had had in a long time.

His presence had been enough to chase away any nightmares about the library.

At her first movements, he was instantly alert, arms locking tight around her on an instinct. Slowly, ever so slowly, Azriel released his grip. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ she replied.

When she stepped from the bed, she adjusted her night gown, ensuring it was back in its rightful place without flashing too much skin. From the floor below, there was a slight murmur of voices as breakfast was taken.

‘Thank you,’ said Nesta, folding her fingers together over her abdomen. ‘For coming here.’

‘I wanted to come sooner. I had so many orders and-’

‘It is alright,’ she reassured him. ‘I wanted it this way.’

Perhaps. Nesta wasn’t sure. The desire for secrecy while she navigated the lure of the bond had been at her insistence, yet the idea of Azriel being there to hold her tightly in those first few moments when they returned to the town house was appealing. Far more appealing than the stiff drink that Cassian had jammed into her hands.

She gave Azriel no privacy as he pulled his clothes back on. Her eyes went to his tattoos again, trying to decipher the whorls of dark ink that wrapped around his muscles.

‘You’ll be well today?’

Nesta gave a stiff nod. ‘Now we know that I have stolen something and a whole country is hunting for me, Amren has more of guess on my powers. We’ll be working most of the day, I can imagine.’

His scarred fingers slid over his taut stomach to tighten his trousers and Nesta found herself mesmerised by the motion. She dreamed of putting her hands there, of feeling the muscles beneath.

‘Make sure to eat today,’ he said, touching her cheek. ‘Amren forgets others need to – so don’t be afraid to take a break. She’s a hard task master.’

Such a simple statement encompassed so much care. It was harder and harder to think about breaking a bond when his care underpinned it all. Away from the House of Wind, it was harder for them to speak in privacy. There were more bodies and less space in the Town House for quiet meetings.

As if picking up on her thoughts, he asked, ‘Do you need anything from the house? Have you read all eight of your books already?’

‘A couple more days,’ she said, fighting away a smile.

Again, Azriel touched her cheek as if that was all he’d let himself do while they were alone. ‘I have to go. Hope it goes well today.’

Nesta stepped closer with the urge to kiss him rising with courage – then she stopped herself. How could she encourage his hope when she was still undecided? It wasn’t fair.

‘Thank you. Goodbye.’

He slipped from the room in silence, his steps hidden by magic, then she departed not long afterwards.

The day was spent busy. Azriel hadn’t lied that Amren didn’t believe in breaks. It was only when Nesta’s stomach did not stop growling that she’d raised an eyebrow and asked if Nesta planned to do anything about it. But that didn’t mean a break. Nesta had to eat whilst reading because time was precious. The Wall was precious. She could cope with pushing through to try and protect the thousands of mortals beneath Prythian who’d suffer enormously as a result of an invasion.

At one point, Amren clutched the ruby necklace she wore, a look of concentration holding her features still.

‘Adriata,’ she said suddenly. ‘It’s under attack.’

Nesta remained in mute horror at the table as the house burst into a flurry. She saw no sign of Azriel or the high lord. There was a glimpse of Cassian surging into the sky, his massive wings leading him to Illyria. When Feyre rushed down the stairs, wearing her Illyrian leathers and strapping knives to her body, Nesta went cold. Her sister meant to go to war. Morrigan wore similar attire. Her long, blonde hair had been bound for once.

‘He’ll blame himself for not discovering Hybern’s movements last night,’ Feyre was saying in the hallway.

Mor gave a sigh. ‘Azriel always blames himself. If the intel hasn’t come quick enough, if he doesn’t exhaust himself gathering every scrap of information and examining it. He was busy on the Continent last night. He can’t do everything.’

At the mention of her mate’s name, Nesta’s stomach pulled tight. He had not been on the Continent. He had been in her room, comforting her. Azriel had sacrificed a night working to be with her.  

‘Let’s go,’ Mor said, holding out an arm.

Nesta stepped forwards. How different they were. She, in her pale blue gown and delicate hands, and Mor with blades strapped to every inch of her body, ruby-red lips on display for battle.

‘What would you know of war?’ Nesta asked, heart racing from her fear.

‘We know plenty,’ Mor replied with a cocky grin. ‘Don’t worry. We know how to handle ourselves.’

Feyre gave a nod. ‘Stay with Amren. You and Elain.’

With that, they were gone.

Despite attempts at trying to focus on the ancient tomes laid out on the table, neither Nesta or Amren could. The latter kept thumbing the rubies around her neck then made an excuse that she was examining Velaris’ wards to have time alone. Nesta found Elain in the garden, quiet and pale. One of the wraiths appeared with tea for them and sandwiches. She didn’t want a single bite, but Azriel’s words from the morning came back to her. She’d eat. He’d wanted her to eat. There was no good in being a worry for him here. She did all the worrying. For him. Feyre. The others.

Elain reached for her hand. ‘The thief will have his head.’

‘Elain?’

‘From the shadows, a blade willingly given. Then his head.’

Nesta clenched her teeth together to keep from crying out. ‘Elain. What do you mean? What is the point in being a seer if nobody understands you?’

Her sister just hummed softly to herself, brown eyes entranced by her cup of tea.

It was an agony. She kept Elain in her room that night although Nesta slept little. Her thoughts were heavy with the people of the Summer Court – and its proximity to the Wall. How had Azriel been holding her in this room only a night earlier and now, Nesta could not say where he was. Bleeding out on a foreign battlefield. If he returned, what then? To be with Azriel was to hold the hand of death. It would go with him everywhere. She had heard what he did for his court; he’d die for it – kill for it. And Nesta would forever worry.

At dawn, she found Amren holding a vigil in the living room. The hazy light seeped through the clouds, casting Velaris in hues of copper.

‘Any word?’

‘No.’

That was all she would say on the matter. In silence, Nesta paced the living room until the sun clambered up into the sky. With no admonishing from Amren, she was free to do it. Indeed, Amren had not touched a book either, but sat with her knees curled to her chest, cat-like and silent.  Unperturbed by it all, Elain glided down the stairs. Her hair was twisted from her temples and pinned back. Without a greeting, her sister slipped into a seat in the dining room where one of the wraiths added dishes to the table. It was not the usual massive spread for all of the inner circle’s mouths, but her sister did not seem to notice.  

Nesta stared out of the window, willing the world to send her a pair of sprawling wings on the horizon. A sign that Feyre was well too.

Three of them arrived while Nesta paced the foyer. She felt Amren leap up from the chair behind her in greeting.

‘What happened?’

Mud flecked Rhysand’s leathers, but his face had been hurriedly cleaned of grime, the evidence still on his neck. ‘There was a battle. We won.’

‘We know that. What happened with Tarquin?’

At Amren’s question, Morrigan sucked in a breath. Before she could speak, Feyre cut in. ‘Well, he didn’t try to slaughter us on sight, so… things went decently?’

Rhysand shrugged. ‘The royal family remains alive and well. Tarquin’s armada suffered losses, but Cresseida and Varian were unscathed.’

She did not care about the Summer Court. They were names she’d never hear again. Faces she wouldn’t know.

Her mouth pulled thin. If Azriel was injured, she’d see the grief etched on their expressions. ‘Where is he?’

‘Who?’ crooned Rhysand.

Under his stare, she blanched. Her and Azriel had been so meticulous to avoid interacting in front of such nosy eyes. He hadn’t said anything. He wouldn’t. Only Cassian knew through his heavy-handed prodding.

‘Cassian,’ she lied.

With narrowed eyes, Morrigan replied, ‘He’s busy.’

There was such ice in her tone. Such jealousy. Nesta believed it was old news. That was what had been said. Perhaps not for Morrigan. Was this how she would be with Azriel? Threatened that another female grew close to the males that she so fiercely guarded and kept.

Nesta held her stare, not yielding an inch.

Morrigan was the first to look away. ‘When he gets back, keep your forked tongue behind your teeth.’

She was a snake defending her nest. Already, Nesta had visions of the venom that would spill from her when Nesta laid a claim on Azriel. Perhaps she wanted neither male, but she wasn’t prepared to give them up.

‘Mor,’ warned Rhysand. His voice was enough to turn her head. ‘We now leave for the meeting in three days. Send out dispatches to the other High Lords to inform them. And I’m done debating where to meet. Pick a place and be done with it.’

With hardly a blink, Morrigan vanished into thin air. She would be a problem. A big problem.

Feyre went to turn, to likely wash herself and rest, but Nesta took a step forwards. ‘You’re well? Not hurt?’

‘I’m fine. Tired,’ said Feyre, with a longing look towards the staircase.

Rhysand lay a hand on the small of her back to guide her.

‘And Azriel,’ blurted Nesta. Her cheeks scorched. ‘Azriel is safe too?’

Feyre nodded, but it was Rhysand who watched her closely, too intimately to be polite. ‘He’s tying up the loose ends in Summer,’ replied her sister. ‘Cass is in Illyria. Fine for now.’

Nesta stared at the grit beneath her sister’s nails, the grime around her neck where it hadn’t been cleaned properly, the blood staining her boots.

‘You went off into battle. Without a second thought. Why?’

‘Because I had to,’ she replied. ‘Because people needed help.’

***

One day, Azriel would hold his child in his arms and the horrors of war would not clench him so tightly. He’d feel joy and love and forget about the lives he saw ended – the lives that were ended by his scarred hands.

It took the best part of three days to assist in Summer Court and to assist Cassian in Illyria during the aftermath. His brother was better received by the families of the fallen. But Azriel was there for his brother to lean on after speaking with grieving families.

They’d been young – too young – in the last war. Eager to prove themselves, almost excited at the prospect of being heroes. They’d been bolstered by the Blood Rite. Three Carynthians striding into the battlefield together. Until they saw the horrors of it. Despite knowing what to expect now, it was not any easier. He was older, felt the wounds more gravely, knew what they cost, how heavy they were to carry.

He thought often of Nesta. No news from Velaris was good news. After the High Lord meeting in Dawn, he’d steal a moment to hold her. If she let him. If word hadn’t come to her that his failure meant they missed the intel that Summer would be the next victim of Hybern. They’d got there in just enough time. But they should have had more time. If he hadn’t forgotten his duties. Nesta had needed him that night. His mate or his duty. He knew which was more important – and it was not the latter.

‘I don’t think I can fly,’ said Cassian, face thinner from the last few days.

‘I’ll winnow.’

‘Hold my hand tight,’ his brother teased.

Azriel hooked his fingers in Cassian’s collar like he was a mutt and pulled them to the House of Wind. Cassian’s wings splayed out to slow his fall then he landed with a thump. ‘I hate winnowing. It’s not natural.’

‘You say that because you can’t do it.’

They were under pressure with time so he had to cut short his shower although standing under scalding water seemed the best way to spend his morning. Neither of them had bathed properly in days and had only eaten scant amounts here and there. As soon as they had pulled on fresh leathers, Azriel reached for Cassian to winnow back to the Town House.

In the foyer, Rhys was waiting for them. He wore his usual black jacket and pants. He waved a hand to use his magic to polish their siphons. Mor smiled to them both; she wore a gauzy gown of midnight blue with slits up both thighs, exposing her legs as she moved. More panels were cut from it, exposing parts of her midriff and back.

‘Couldn’t you afford the whole dress?’

She stuck up a middle finger at Cassian’s question.

Feyre fiddled with her dress. He recognised it from Starfall, all sheer silk and glittering starlight to embody the light of the Night Court. She touched her hair again then vented at Cassian, ‘What are you staring at?’

His lips twitched. ‘You just look so…’

‘Here we go,’ Mor muttered.

‘Official.’ Cassian said, waving a hand at his high lady. ‘Fancy.’

‘Over five hundred years old,’ Mor said, shaking her head, ‘a skilled warrior and general, famous throughout territories, and complimenting ladies is still something he finds next to impossible. Remind me why we bring you on diplomatic meetings?’

Even his shadows couldn’t hide his chuckle.

‘I don’t see you spouting poetry, brother,’ shot Cassian.

Azriel crossed his arms, smiling faintly. ‘I don’t need to resort to it.’

That was a lie. He’d try every trick in the book for a smile from Nesta.

They fell into a silly camaraderie which helped to lift the weight of the last few days. Cassian leaned over Mor to block her view of the mirror so he could preen instead then he started picking at Feyre’s dress.  

‘I thought you were leaving,’ Nesta’s voice cut in from atop the stairs.

It took everything in Azriel not to go to her. The gown she wore reminded him of the darkest depths of the sea. It swirled around her legs as she took the stairs. No adornments were needed, no jewellery, no make-up. She was enough as she was. Beautiful as she was. His heart gave an excited leap when her eyes met his. He felt the bond growing and pulsing as both of their feelings flooded it.

She turned to Feyre. ‘You look beautiful.’

‘That, Cassian, was what you were attempting to say,’ Mor crowed.

A blush dusted Feyre’s cheeks at the compliment. ‘Why are you dressed so nicely? Shouldn’t you be practising with Amren?’

‘I’m going with you.’

[bewiiitched]

⟩ Sexdoll (chapter eight)

• Autor's note: I had a hard time getting inspired the last few days and this isn't what I planned at all but then it did come to my mind how is supposed to be two Logan's (and two Laura's) in Deadpool timeline since Logan is still alive in 2024. And well, things are gonna get bittersweet.

Warnings: none.

/////////

It's no small victory that Logan has decided to sleep next to her again. And the mutant can't ignore how, in small steps, the alcohol in her life is diminishing.

There was no part of him that would have dared to broach the subject, not when the amount of alcohol she ingested was minimal compared to his own, but being aware of the inferior healing factor in her was a constant torment, so he is caught completely off guard when the bottles are not replenished in the wooden display case where she kept them. The pack of beer she bought was only replenished on Tuesdays, and now her extra pay was only based on money. Nightmares are cured by the warmth of his chest instead of the burning in her throat from cheap liquor. The same bottle of Vodka remains half full for weeks even though she can't sleep, and when worries plague her, they take a backseat as her fingers wrap around his hair and the tips of her fingers make small circles on his scalp.

However, it's not the only achievement, since despite her initial reluctance, Logan ended up accepting to work with Wade on some of his missions. The idea was not foreign to her, since she had received the same offer from the mercenary in the past and could count on the fingers of one hand the times she had accepted, given that she refused to use her powers on others and although the type of criminals had varied considerably, in her case she always focused on attacking organized crime gangs, getting some information and letting Wilson finish the job.

The sound of the hands of the clock hanging on the wall is her only company when cleaning, and she unconsciously hums a song to motivate herself, that is until she hears a light tapping on the window that faces the street. She doesn't need to look to know what it is about him since his smell is enough, and when she turns to see him over her shoulder, his grumpy expression makes it clear that he is rethinking his decision.

“Has it gone that badly?” She asks, trying to hide the hint of amusement in her tone. Her last “job” had been half a year ago, but she couldn't blame the mutant for getting exasperated when Wade didn't take the situation seriously. Her hand goes to a bottle of Jack Daniels that is on top of the shelf, when his hand grabs her wrist, stopping her from standing on her toes to grab it.

“No need. ” He answers, his tone is a little rougher due to tiredness, but his touch is just as gentle as ever as his hand positions itself on her lower back. “I thought he wasn't serious during our time in the void. In comparison, I was wrong.”

He growls, and can't help but laugh at it, he breaks off with a light hum and his hands position themselves over hers, gently pushing them away as he turns around, both of them face to face, she can't help but glance at his suit.

“ So you're the hero of the city now?” She murmurs, her hand runs down his chest, and Logan clenches his jaw with his hand closing on her wrist, stopping her.

“ I'm not hero, doll. ” His response is instantaneous and she gives him a guilty look, but that doesn't mean she agrees, she had believed that they had gotten out of that pit of guilt and rejection, but obviously she was wrong. “ Even if I saved your timeline, it's the least I could do. ”

He adds, his expression more tense than before as he sees the challenge in her gaze, but she doesn't answer. His brow furrows more and more as the seconds pass and the words are on the tip of her tongue. “He told me how you were about to sacrifice yourself, not just anyone is willing to die for strangers.”

She emphasizes, and his wrist twists free of her grip to wrap both hands around his neck. His brown gaze darkens as he remembers the event, how Wade had cataloged him as the best Wolverine shortly after and yet, the events of his past still haunted him.

She is not the best example to get him out of that pit of darkness, but she tries to move the subject away.

“You know how Wade wasn't born mutated...” she begins, only to stop when he sees her expression, and realizes that in reality, he didn't know that detail. Her lips turn into a line as she senses that this isn’t territory she needs to be talking about, so despite the confusion on the mutant’s face, she continues speaking, putting a finger to her lips when he opened his mouth to interrupt her. “Well, now you know. None of the victims did it, actually. There was this whole process to create a mutation, and I spent months sabotaging the creation of new mutants.”

Something clicks in Logan’s brain and she can see the understanding in his expression, it’s almost adorable how she can see the gears in his head turning and connecting the dots. “He told me how you took over in the torture.”

She hums in response, a look of regret crossing her face. “I didn’t always do it because I could get caught, but in the absence of a regenerative factor, I would turn off the nerves so they wouldn’t feel pain and interrupt the whole process, but they always ended up dying…”

The dismay is written on her face and hee lower lip trembles slightly at the memory. Even worse when she has the shadow of Francis’ hands on her neck after discovering what she had been doing.

“You had good intentions…” Her snort cuts him off.

“Hell is full of good intentions.” She answers dryly, brushing the hair from her face. “If I had never been taken out of the base and sent on all those missions, everything would still be the same, I would still be torturing innocent people or sabotaging their progress, but I would be still killing people.”

But it would all end the same, with death or dozens of supersoldiers. They learned from Stryker, controlling mutants is deadly, but mutating humans is unstable.”

The frustration is obvious, but her small outburst doesn't let the mutant's flinch go unnoticed at the mention of Stryker. And although Wilson had vaguely given her details of the multiverse, she hadn't been able to help but wonder if all of its variants got the adamantium claws and ended up being a heavyweight through the same process.

They both try to get rid of each other's wounds but it's like putting out a fire with gasoline. “I'm not like you, or Wade. I brought on everything that happened to me.”

She finishes, and silence is all she finds from the mutant, his gaze goes to his own suit, the only memory he had of his own universe, he remembers the screams in the same way that the young woman remembers the only two times she fought against Francis.

“I lost control when I got back to the mansion. “He starts, but his voice shakes. “All I could focus on was the smell of blood, I could still smell the traces of fear and worry that were in the rooms, and they were all gone.” He says through gritted teeth, his gaze filled with helplessness as he continues. “They were still looking for more mutants when I killed them, every single one of them… I started losing control more often.”

His voice sounds thick, and he sees her nod slightly, understanding written all over her face as she looks away, a shaky sigh. “Alcohol was the only thing that could keep me distracted, I needed to drown that rage, but I could barely contain it. ”

Looking up, she swallows, confirming in that instant how he had followed her in her attempt to quit alcohol, although theirs had been a gradual process, part of her was tempted to tell him that there was no need for him to join her sobriety but she could barely imagine the frustration it must be that his regenerative factor would eliminate the alcohol in his body when he wanted to forget the memories and she only used it to fight a few nightmares. “Don’t do it…”

She murmurs without hiding her concern, her gaze focusing on one of the many bottles that had been left on the bar, and despite the bitter taste in their mouths that they both shared from their experiences, his expression softens in understanding and a growl rumbles in his throat.

It had been about two months since their first meeting, but that's when Logan realizes how his heartbeat is pounding in his ears at the gleam in her eyes, a mix of guilt and devotion as if he were worthy of something more than perpetuating the path of violence he had always followed, as if she had decided to stay with him despite everything, as if her hands could be used for something more than getting blood on themselves. The faith he perceives from her dries his throat, although the sensation is not entirely unknown, he had felt the same rejection with Laura and Wade at their expectations, how they believed it could be something better than what it was, as they knew it was from the beginning.

He keeps thinking about how little he really knows about the situation, how Wade barely detailed how Ajax and her came to confront each other at some point, being the background of her being removed to external missions and in turn, the little he knows about his own roommate, it's not that he completely trusts the mercenary's versions when she had made it clear that there were certain aspects that she was hiding from him. And he can't help but think of the scene as Wade had told him, how it had been a matter of time before it was discovered, so being present in the fight alone was like watching two divorced parents argue.

It had happened days before his escape, Wilson was no stranger to what the female had been doing for weeks, and it had become a sort of silent pact between them that she was relieving him of torture even after he had mutated. So she found himself visiting him more often, gravitating around him and ignoring his jokes and questions, being more like a puppet that appeared and disappeared for nothing more than trying to repair the damage she helped to create.

Not that it was any different that time, entering the basement where they kept him she barely gave a nod to greet him, but she still found it difficult to adjust to the idea that his body did not show the signs of torture to which they continued to subject it. Sometimes she was tempted to answer him, but she always kept silent since she knew how constant Ajax's presence was on both of them, and the special interest he had developed in testing his limits.

A syringe of her blood preceded the familiar tickle on her fingertips, how they wave through his body, noticing the previous pain under her touch only to see the spasms in his body as she forcefully calms it, his muscles relaxing, his skin tickling and his breathing regulating.

“I’ll be back in a bit.” is all she says, but she can barely get out of the place and into the hallway when a hand closes on her neck, lifting her up, the figure of Ajax stopping her in his iron grip giving her no room to speak.

“Of course you will.” he hisses, everything in him screams danger and Wilson’s voice in the background reaches her ears, but she can barely pay attention to it when Everything around her sounds distant. And then she feels it, the burning in her body that makes her fingers curl, every muscle in her body tensing and like an electric current, she hears him growl, his grip losing strength as her powers take over. Panic won’t let her think clearly, and she goes all out when her hand closes on his arm, the spasms in his body beginning and her feet hitting the ground again. Years of holding back makes losing strength in her senses and reflexes feel like sinking into quicksand, and it only makes her more alert, since the only advantage she has is that she can paralyze him, that not hurting him.

“Don’t even think about telling them,” she threatens, and her tone is relentless, her hand traveling to her lower back, pulling out a gun that she places on his forehead. “No feeling pain and no having nerves are two different things.”

She reminds him and there is a dangerous edge to it, one that makes her see how the cornered animal she is and that she won’t stop once she snaps, but it’s not just the certainty in her words that creates fire in his gaze, but how even though he wants to tear her apart, his body is numb and it only gets worse, his legs ending up giving out.

Despite the situation, she is reluctant to kill him, making it obvious that she feels pushed to do so so even when she puts the safety back on the gun, her powers still affect him, and the look he gives them both from the floor when she leaves the room is promising.

(...)

“Logan?” Her voice, shy and worried, brings him out of his thoughts, and he clears his throat. She doesn’t realize it, but he remembers the mercenary’s words and there is no past destructive enough that can make him think of her as nothing more than a victim of circumstances.

“You held back. “He murmurs, more to himself than to her and she sees his brow furrow in confusion. His tongue moistening his lips as she sits up and her arms leave his neck.

“with who?” she asks, a slow blink that could be almost comical.

“Him.” He answers seriously, and the tension in her body is immediate, no need to name his original version. But he is not wrong and she gives a slight nod in response as she waits for him to continue, to make his point clear so when he doesn’t, it is she who falters in her speech.

“It’s different.” Her words come out halting but she is defensive as she looks at him. “I didn’t want to hurt him, I guess I subconsciously didn’t go all in. Francis, though…”

The last time she faces him, she can't recognise herself, blood boiling at the recent news and both aware of each other, what their actions had meant for the project, both on a tight rope as Ajax was seen as the one esponsible for the escape of the now called Deadpool and the burning of the former lab.

Her comings and goings to the base are becoming more and more spaced out in time, the missions becoming more constant and she tries not to think too much when her main purpose is based on attracting more helpless people who can mutate while Francis cleaned up the mess.

So when her new purpose reaches her ears, everything around her explodes. — AJAX!

Her scream echoes, the sound of her heels resonating on the floor as she searches for him, door by door and hallway by hallway, ignoring how the rest of the staff evaporates as she walks, everything in her trembles and she sees red when she finally finds him coming out of a torture room, his white coat splattered with blood.

She advances towards him in giant steps before launching herself at him, fueled by fury, helplessness written on her face that only grows when he dodges her fist and grabs her wrist only to receive a kick to the stomach that sends him against the door frame and drags her with him, in response her wrist creaks, but there is no scream that follows the breaking of the joint.

His gaze darkens as a satisfied smile grows on her face, the understanding that they both feel no pain now, so forcing her damaged limb, she twists it free of his hold but Ajax is faster and grabs her hair, slamming her face into the wall, again and again, the crack of her nose preceding the shudder that indicated her control over her own body was failing so she doesn't even consider using her fluids. The third time he goes to hit her, her foot hits the wall hard creating distance as she pushes her body back, her hand grabbing the one that was pulling her hair and they both give in, for different reasons, taking a while to process that he has frozen behind her, a moan escaping her lips as her power returns to its original state. And when she finally recovers, the tension in her body is evident, the pain being fuel for her burning gaze.

She turns sharply, still holding her hair in his hand, and pulls a knife from her thigh sheath, stabbing his chest until all her frustration comes out, she just growls and gasps, seeing his body covered in blood as they both fall to the ground, her power over him and her fury only growing at the thought that it doesn't hurt him.

She registers Angel’s voice screaming her name, but when she looks up seeing her approaching from the end of the hallway, the bloodlust written on her face makes her stop halfway. The wariness in her gaze because it’s clear her powers have been unleashed if Ajax is like this.

“Back off.” She grunts, not stopping herself from attacking him, abandoning the knife and hitting the back of his head over and over again like moments before he had broken her nose. Out of the corner of her eye he sees her approach, and her expression turns condescending when the mutated woman’s hand closes on her forearm.

“Wait for me there, sweetheart.” She murmurs to Francis in disgust before focusing on her new problem, watching her squirm listlessly and her touch abandons him to focus on her, grabbing her arm and making her feel nothing but pain until she finally passes out, falling with a thud.

“I thought you’d like the new position.” He scoffs, spitting blood and her foot slams into his stomach in anger, the tip of her heel digging into his flesh.

“I’m not a fucking whore.” She hisses, still shaken by the thought of having to face the damn wolverine. And the laughter that follows lets her know he doesn’t agree, but it’s cut short when she grabs him by the neck, kneeling down and lowering herself to his height as his body obeys her. “I don’t know how you convinced them but you better get this shit sorted while I’m gone. Because if I die, you’re Wilson’s whore.” ”

(...)

To this day, she still blamed the mercenary for not having recorded Francis' death but it was something she had learned to live with until her birthday came around and she remembered it again.

“ That was the last time I lost control like that, and well, you know the rest.” She speaks, but she can't hide the satisfaction she felt at having unleashed on him after so long. “ The only reason we didn't kill each other was because we were both crucial...”

His expression is unreadable as he looks at her, but his gaze softens as he remembers the incident that had occurred at the bar during his absence, understanding the reluctance to lose control, and he can't say he disagrees, the murderous rage he had felt after the death of the group had shaken him to the bone.

“ Let's go home. ” She whispers, her voice vibrating low as she tries to ignore how her heartbeat is racing, the discomfort she felt after having opened up to him like so many other times and him still not judging her, not seeing her as the monster she felt she was, the one she had become after activating her powers having isolated herself from all physical contact at the risk of harming others, how she had stained her hands with blood for never being able to control herself, how even after managing to suppress herself her powers were still a danger, despite being studied by the project as if to conclude that her fluids could be useful even if she wasn't involved, specifically, her blood.

/////

Taglist: @bontensbabygirl @twinky-wink

[hannahp0calypse]

Falin?

something i really like about falin is her existence for the majority of the story being entirely via what other people tell us about her. i'm pretty sure that's classic well-written "haunting the narrative" type stuff, but it still really appeals to me. it's fascinating seeing the various facets of a character represented almost entirely by how other people remember them - with the character themselves having little to no input on the way they're remembered and talked about.

an obvious point of comparison, to me, is rose quartz stevenuniverse - a character whose death and absence defines the narrative, presented as almost ridiculously perfect initially, and is slowly revealed over time to not be the simple, perfect "loving damsel" deal. obvs falin's deal isn't about slowly being revealed to be a very harmful person and the cause of almost all of the pain in the setting, but you see the comparison.

one part of falin's flavour of "haunting" that stands out to me is the way that the two characters who know her best - laios and marcille - both knew completely different parts of her life. this is part of why i bring up rose quartz - in SU, we learn about her the same way steven does. everyone else has mostly complete information about her, though obvs not 100%, and it's almost entirely about steven's discoveries. meanwhile, laios and marcille both have very incomplete pictures of falin because they both knew her at completely different stages of her life. they learn more about one of the most important people in their lives from each other, and grow closer to each other (and her!) as a result. it's really cool.

there's another element to it, but it touches a bit on endgame dungeon meshi spoilers, so

particularly interesting to me is how falin has an entire character arc while spending the majority of the story being dead (literally or spiritually). and that arc ties into the entire idea of her being this dead character, absent from the narrative and from her own agency.

falin's arc is about learning to take up space, to want and to need, to be open about her desires. it's kind of similar to how the inciting incident of the story allows laios to be open about his desires and interests in a way he hasn't been before, but stretched over the story's timeframe. part of why the characters learn about falin from each other is because she lived her life closing herself off from people to make herself more palatable. it's why the inciting incident is her own self-sacrifice for the people she loves!

but so much of dungeon meshi is about learning to open up to others, to share parts of yourself, and to share in parts of others. it's about eating, and choosing to eat, and how eating is living, and choosing to eat is choosing to live, and choosing to be eaten is choosing to die so something else can live.

it's why at the end of it all, falin revives because she chooses to eat, and chooses to live. chooses to take up space, and to make herself a presence in the world. just think about how she dresses and carries herself at the start of the story, vs how she does so at the end/in post-story materials.

i like falin :>

[xxxxkathleenxxxx]

Love Confessions

Pairing: Shadowheart x f!reader

Summary: After fighting mercilessly at the Goblin Camp, f!reader builds up the courage to confess her love for her seductively beautiful Shadowheart.

Warnings: 18+ Explicit Smut, Porn With Minimal Plot, f!reader is a visual person, f!reader likes femme women, oral (f receiving), v fingering, some dirty talk. No definitive top or bottom. Baldur's Gate 3 universe.

Wordcount: 3.2k

A/N: this was originally in my scraps, so it may not be the best, but i'm sure someone out there might like this! maybe... lol

I liked Shadowheart. It wasn’t fair of me to admit this post-battle with the goblins. It was a long, hard fight; trying to bring Halsin back to Emerald Grove proved to be the greatest challenge on our adventures towards Baldur’s Gate. Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Karlach, and I were atrociously exhausted despite the celebration taking place at our campsite with the tieflings. We had an obvious victory, what with bringing Halsin back in one piece, but we desperately wanted to hide away in our tents, sleep the treacherous battle off, and pray to the gods for what was to come in our future quests. 

As I finished conversing with Halsin, I leaned against a nearby rock, sipping on the only wine I found remotely tasteful. The tieflings surrounded me, the party leader, in a roaring victory as they raised their glasses of cheap, dry wine we looted from the goblins.. 

“You are so brave. So strong…” One of the tieflings boasted as she rested her hand on my shoulder, nails grazing my campsite clothing; a simple white shirt with puffy sleeves and an adorned black corset to hold everything taut, with black trousers; way more comfortable in comparison to the armor I hung to dry, which was previously coated with stench-smelling goblin blood. 

“What is your secret?” A young, tiefling man cried in a drunken haze. “How is it possible you defeated them within a day? My, my. I must worship you now.” 

One beautiful, young tiefling woman placed her hand over mine as she licked her lips, smiling. She was radiant, what with the perfect, healthy build every tiefling seemed so fortunate to be born with.

“Goodness,” she let out a low, flirtatious laugh as her heterochromic eyes bored into mine. “I could keep you to myself tonight if you’d be willing to have me? I’d be happy to reward you well for saving us,” she whispered in my ear, and I shivered. She did not quite have the effect on me like a certain half-elf.

.

I watched her from across the campsite. Her hair was still up in that cute, long braid as it swayed from side to side. I wanted nothing more than to touch it. I bet it was soft. It smelled amazing. I guiltily took in a whiff when she tended to my wounds one evening. As I hissed past clenched teeth when she treated my wound with alcohol, I lost all self-control and could not resist the urge to inhale that lovely night orchid scent she emitted. 

My eyes trailed further down as I took another sip of my wine. Her monochromic tank top hung low, and I wasn’t complaining. She had a lovely figure; her tight, leather pants hugged her in the right spots. She was quite literally perfect. And these were all nothing compared to her charismatic personality that first drew me in on the nautiloid. Her panicked, beautiful blue-green eyes looked at me with a curiosity as I saved her. Her willingness to make the right decision, even if it proves to be a sacrifice to Lady Shar’s commandments. She was everything I ever dreamed of and more. 

“So?” the tiefling woman pulled me out of my trance. I turned my attention towards her, slightly annoyed. She smirked at me, biting her bottom lip. “What will it be?”

“I think I will be turning in now,” I dismissed her as I made my way towards Shadowheart’s tent, isolated from the others, paying no mind to the tiefling who scoffed, but immediately played it off by turning her attention to a tired Wyll. 

As I made it to her tent, her lovely smile grew on her face when she noticed me. My gaze softened as my demeanor changed from the tiefling who was coming onto me. Shadowheart had my complete and full attention now. 

“It’s a lovely evening, isn’t it?” Shadowheart’s soothing voice radiated as she smiled at me, raising her glass of wine in the air. “Though, I quite like having my tent over here; isolated from the rest. It’s peaceful.”

“You fought well today, Shadowheart. I couldn’t thank you enough for tending me my wounds,” I stood in front of her sort of awkwardly. I grew overly self-conscious. I wanted to tell her how I felt, but her faith in Lady Shar was all too powerful; I just don’t think I could quite compare. 

“Don’t mention it. I would do anything to keep you safe and protected.” Her gaze softened as she took another sip of her wine. I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, but I could have sworn she was moving closer to me. Very slowly.

“May I ask you a question?” I blurted out. I mentally face-palmed. If I’m so damn terrified of confessing to her, then I will do so in a roundabout way, so she doesn’t suspect anything. 

She moves closer. I glanced up at her piercing eyes, but they gazed into mine as if her full attention was on me. Not anyone else or anything. “Fine… What’s on your mind?”

“Let’s go away from camp. I need to do this with you. Preferably alone. If that’s alright with you.” While I recognize many people were drunk in celebration, I wanted this moment to be sacred between the two of us only. 

“Sure. Lead the way.” We both head to the outskirts of camp. I leaned against the bark of a tree as she stood in front of me, crossing her arms as she was giving me an expectant look, awaiting my confession.

C’mon. C’mon. C’mon. Think. “How am I holding up to your estimations?” I pursed my lips shut after blurting out this atrociously weird question. 

She began to chuckle, covering her mouth as she let out a loud, hearty laugh. I felt my face redden as I furrowed my brows. “S-Shadowheart? W-Why do you laugh?”

She let out a few more snorts of laughter until she composed herself. Her breathing slowed as she placed her hands on my shoulders, leveling with me. “You silly girl…”

My breath hitched as her gaze pierced intensely into mine. The way she laughed was enough to absolutely drive me mad. I awaited her to continue what she had to say. I was hoping it wouldn’t be a rejection, but by the way she was within close proximity to me made me feel like this night would be in my favor. 

“Y-Yes…?” I squeaked out.

She leaned in even closer, resting her forearms on my shoulders as she was still eye level with me. “My little night orchid…” She breathes out, closing her eyes; I can feel her breath hit my face ever-so-lightly. “I’m listening… Go on…” She urges me. 

I took a deep breath as my heart was literally pounding through my chest. I bit my bottom lip and looked up at her, seeing her eyes glisten along with the stars in the night sky. “I- I- like you…”

Her face darkens a bit. I felt my face burning up to a crisp. I was prepared for her to ridicule me.

“B-But i-it’s not that b-big of a deal, so d-don’t even worry. You can l-let me d-down. I c-can handle i-it-” I babbled on and my eyes widened when she pressed her lips to mine. I stood there in absolute shock, my hands stiff to my sides. 

Once she pulled away she chuckled. “There. Now you can hear what I have to say to your confession.”

She takes her arms off of my shoulders, and I feel a sense of emptiness as she stands up, looking down at my shorter stature. “In all honesty…”

“From rescuing me aboard the nautiloid, when you could’ve easily abandoned me. You quite literally could have, and I would have died, but you rescued me. You not only willingly had me stand by you as a companion, you confided in me when I needed to talk to someone about my past with Lady Shar. You never once made me feel bad about faith and journey to becoming a Dark Justiciar. You were always there when I felt the horrors and trauma of not remembering my past. How I was agonizing in pain from being forced to keep all of these secrets, so I could please Her. I know my faith might not make sense to many people; they might find it weird, unsettling, and do everything in their willpower to make me change my mind, but you have been there every step of the way, aiding me into doing what I want. You’ve never once stood in my place to speak for me. So…” She leans forward and rests her hands on either side of my head, propping herself against the bark of the tree, trapping me. Her gaze was intense. “For you to ask me… ‘How am I holding up to your estimations’?” She shakes her head as her eyes narrow into a smirking expression. “You have got to be the most modest fucking person to even question the amount of affection I have for you.”

“What I’m trying to say,” she began. “I love you.”

“Right. I’m a good friend to you-” She placed an index finger to my lips, shushing me.

“No,” she said in almost a commanding tone. “I love you, like I want to be with you. I want to be your partner. I want you to hold me. I want to protect you from any harm that comes in your way. I want to kiss you. I want to-” I cut her off by extending my head up, pressing my lips to hers. She stood there in a daze for a split second, but then, she melted into the kiss.

Her plump lips moved in a melodic rhythm with mine as she slipped her tongue into my mouth. Our tongues danced with one another. I felt her hands grabbing mine, placing them on her hips. I sighed against her lips, loving the silky touch of her clothes; the feel of her curves was enough to make me feel hot. I wanted more of her. 

I pulled her hips into mine close. She gasped and reached up, caressing my face gently as she never once broke our kiss. She grabbed my chin, lifted my face up so she looked down at me with these gorgeous doe eyes. 

She didn’t even peep a word out. She grabbed my hand and stuck my digits in her mouth as she coated them with saliva. She stared at me seductively and I practically groaned at how she teased me. She slowly moved my hand into her taut pants and I threw my head back, letting out a sigh as my fingers ran over her wet folds. 

She propped her hand up on the bark of the tree as her other hand was holding my wrist, guiding my hand against her as I curled my fingers over her juicy pussy. She bit her lip as her brows furrowed. She let out whines in almost a sing-song voice and I loved every second of it. It was way better than any stupid music box. I could listen to this for eternity.

She bucked her hips forward as she moaned, resting her head on my shoulder and I shivered as her breath hit my ear and neck, making goosebumps arise on my skin. “C’mon. Don’t be so gentle. Fuck me with your fingers,” she moans in a husky whisper into my ear. I gulped as I felt a lump in my throat. She had me incredibly wrapped around her finger. Literally.

I curled my digits up into the cavern of her vagina, pumping my fingers in and out as I looked up at her for reassurance that I was doing it right. She pulls back and nods as if she can read my thoughts. “Yeah… Oh, fuck. You fuck me so good. Don’t stop. Right there…” She moans as her lucious hips roll into mine in delicious figure 8s. I was rendered speechless. No words came out of my mouth as I was entranced by the sexiness of her voice and movements. I took my other hand and reached up, touching her hair and she sighs in satisfaction, sending her over the edge into a body-shaking orgasm as she presses her lips against mine roughly, moaning at her release. 

She pants a few more times, coming down from her high as she pulls back, looking at me with half-lidded, lustful eyes. She reaches down and pulls my hand out of her pants. She puts my fingers up to her lips and licks them clean. Her eyes were much darker as if she was in heat. She chuckled darkly. 

“My, my. That’s quite the expression you have on your face.”

My thoughts snapped back to reality and I spoke up quickly. “W-What expression?”

She laughs. “You look like you’re in shock. Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes, Shadowheart…” I was quick to nod as I hesitantly reached up to tug at her shirt to aid her into taking it off. She shook her head, halting my hands. “Another time.”

I frowned but my eyes widened as she leaned in again, kissing my lips gently. She then leans into my ear, whispering hotly, “Right now, I wanna make you feel good…”

My breath hitched and I felt myself growing more bold over time. I looked up at her daringly as she looked down at me as if I was her prey. “Do whatever you want to me. I’m yours.”

Her jaw clenched as she pushed me up against the tree. I gasped and let out a squeak as she crushed her lips into mine, reaching up and wrapping one of her hands around my neck gently, holding me in place. It was hot as fuck. I completely submitted to her as I leaned against the tree, taking whatever she gave to me as her lips trailed along my jaw, down to my neck as she nibbled it, sucking until she left a perfect hickey.

She reached up and caressed my breasts. I threw my head back as she looked up at me in reassurance to take my shirt off. I nodded and was shocked as she tore it off, ripping the material up. “You’re so amazing. Every inch of you is perfect.” Her eyes raked over my body hungirly. I felt my body flush nervously and she took each breast into her mouth, taking her time as her tongue swirled around each nipple until they were hard. 

She reached up, gripping the top of my pants as she pulled them down quickly, the breeze of the night air making me shiver. She looks up at me darkly. “No underwear?”

I shook my head. “N-No… Is that a problem?”

She chuckles, kissing my thigh and I bit my bottom lip, shivering. “No. Just took me by surprise. I’m not complaining though. It’s definitely a sight from here.” 

What she did next absolutely blew me out of any impression I had of her. She leaned in and inhaled my pubes, pressing her lips to my skin as her tongue flicked out and ran over my folds, sucking in all of my juices. I stood there in shock as my eyes widened, trying to escape. “Shadowheart. You don’t have to do this. Please don’t feel obligated. I feel bad. It’s probably gross…”

She grips her hands into my hips, holding me in place. “It’s not gross…” She murmurs against my pussy, leaving pleasurable vibrations against me. My legs shook as her tongue flicked against me in many directions. 

I felt myself throwing my head back, groaning, holding my hands up, unsure where to place them. She pulls back, looking up at me. I glance down at her and my heart skips a beat at her puppy dog eyes. “Grab my head. Make yourself feel good. C’mon.” She urges me almost commandingly and I felt my folds grow even more wet by the sexiness and huskiness of her simple words that could alone throw me over the edge. 

She leans back in, licking my pussy in a consistent rhythm, and I finally built up the courage in reaching down, grabbing ahold of her braid as I guided her against me. I bucked my hips forward and she accepted me gracefully, digging her fingers into my thighs as she pressed her face in further, never ceasing the speed of her tongue.

“Shadowheart… I’m gonna… I’m gonna…” I was panting, my chest heaving up and down as lights were practically dancing in my vision. I felt my knees buckling slightly from the intense pleasure she was giving me. 

“Let go. Let yourself feel the pleasure, my little night orchid…” And with that, my body released the most intense orgasm I have ever had in my life. I let out a harsh breath, hissing as I threw my head back. She stood up quickly, moving her hand over my pussy sensually, allowing me to ride out my orgasm against her palm as she kissed me eagerly. I felt myself shiver from tasting the salts of my juices on her tongue. 

Once I came down from my rush, I let out a deep sigh, looking up at her as I laughed. “Jeez. You’re insane. I almost fell.”

“I would’ve caught you,” she quickly responded very seriously as she looked down at me tenderly, never once taking her eyes off of me. 

As she helped me clean up, I adjusted my clothes and I put them back on. I felt a question burning, and I didn’t even have to mention anything until Shadowheart spoke up. 

“What’s plaguing your mind, my love?” She gave me a look of utter concern as we both headed back to camp, lying in her tent next to each other. She leaned her head on her hand, propping herself up with her elbow as she looked down at me.

“Is there a reason why you didn’t take off your clothes? I was worried that maybe you weren't into it… I’m sorry I couldn’t do better to please you.”

She laughs and her eyes widen. “You worried you didn’t please me?” She grabbed my chin so I looked into her mesmerizing eyes. “Listen to me.”

“You made me feel so incredibly good, I almost saw Lady Shar herself. I just…” She averts her eyes for a moment. “I just don’t feel comfortable showing myself yet…” 

I felt my heart skip a beat. So that’s why. I reached up, running my fingers through her hair. “Then we will take as much time as you need. There’s no rush. We have forever.”

She smiles at me, lying down next to me as her hand rests over mine, grabbing it firmly. 

“And that’s why I love you. You respect my boundaries and never push me to where I feel uncomfortable. I’m grateful for that.”

“I will always respect you, Shadowheart. Always-” I began, and I looked over at her as her eyes were drifting off. 

“Shadowheart?” I whispered.

“Mmm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“I love you most.”

“Not possible.”

“But it is!” I spoke up and she grabbed me, pulling me into her chest.

“Keep at this right now and we’ll go another round,” she spoke lazily; no shot she was going to do anything now. She was almost into a dead slumber. 

“No way! You milked me dry!”

“You sure know how to turn a girl off.”

“Whatever,” I groaned, resting my head on her chest and feeling her chuckle as she pressed her lips to my head. 

[doctorbrown]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 ⸺ 「 13 / 31 * CAMPFIRE 」

September 6, 1885

Purple really was a beautiful colour.

Turning the brooch over in his hands, he’s struck by the simple elegance of the vibrant flowers, their pop of life and colour against the gloomy, dust filled California night. Emmett had never given it much consideration before—purple was a fine colour; one he had no real opinion of—at least not until Clara gave him a new appreciation for it.

Even the fire looks dull by comparison, unable to match the splendour of the flowers in his hand no matter how it dances in the darkness.

Clara. He runs his thumb over her name embossed in the metal, thankful that Marty was asleep and entirely oblivious to his emotional turmoil. Emmett frowns, looping his earlier discussion with Marty in his head, unable to quiet either side of this heated debate.

His head screams be scientific about this. His conscience, borrowing his young friend’s voice in order to tip the scales back in the favour of logic and reasoning, throws the weight of the universe at him—you are singularly responsible for the fate of the timeline now. You have chosen to circumvent the boundaries set for mortals and tread where no man has before, stomping across realms that fall solely within the purview of the Gods, and now you must suffer the consequences for your actions.

Such dangerous knowledge could only come with personal sacrifice. Perhaps that was why it took three decades’ worth of dogged resolution and pertinacious research in order to accomplish it—some things were not meant to be touched by man.

He cannot stay in 1885 any more than Marty can, not without serious repercussions to the timeline. Their actions have already left indelible scars on history as they know it; they’ve introduced an entirely new, unknown variable to the timeline by inadvertently preventing Clara’s death, and while Marty had managed to somewhat convince him that renaming an entire ravine wasn’t the most universe-shattering thing that could have happened, they’d never done something like this.

This would be an entirely new future shaped by countless unforeseen aberrations from their original timeline.

His heart, however, steals his voice, advocating for selfishness in spite of the timeline. Marty had already done just that, inadvertently altered the timeline, and nothing unravelled because of it. He and Marty still became friends, he finished the Time Machine precisely on-time, prevented his own death…

He knew the future—that very knowledge alone should allow him to avoid causing any major changes to the timeline. This time, he could prevent his death, he could send Marty home, he could live out his final years with the woman who fit perfectly into that hole in his heart and made him whole.

Just thinking about her makes Emmett’s heart swell. Just like these flowers, she is beautiful—a vision, and Emmett wonders, privately, when his heart pulls him away from all reason and sense, how such a woman could’ve been bestowed with such a tragic fate—able to make him feel as awkward as a schoolboy in front of the object of his affection with little more than a smile.

Emmett sighs, staring into the fire. No, no he can’t do that—to allow himself this comfort while denying and cautioning Marty against this very thing would be grossly hypocritical of him, not to mention highly irresponsible.

There will never be another woman like her in all of time and Emmett isn’t lost to the heart-wrenchingly cruel irony that is that the one woman that makes him almost willing to believe in the foolish, unscientifically romantic notion of soulmates just so happened to be a woman who no more belonged in today than he did.

Marty’s voice inevitably wins out and Emmett turns the flowers over in his hand one last time, searching for some yet undiscovered third option that will satisfy everybody. He’s right, as much as it rips his still-beating heart from his chest to admit. There’s only one acceptable course of action available to them now and though it is a small, almost negligible comfort, at least Clara will live out a full life.

And the moment they get back, he will destroy the blasted Time Machine and everything related to it to avoid any temptation of returning to the past.

It’s for the best.

If only he believed that.

Emmett stands, delicately slipping Clara’s brooch into his pocket while his heart drops like a stone into his stomach.

The campfire pops three times as he saddles up Archimedes, shooting embers into the air, and were he a superstitious man, he may have considered that an ill omen.

[fizzigigsimmer]

Fargo Season Five: Finale thoughts.

I AM UNWELL. I have never seen a piece of television so beautiful. More of me just rambling and processing my thoughts beneath the cut. Spoilers naturally for the season.

Oh boy. I’m going to start this off by saying preemptively that I know there is going to be a portion of the audience who feels underwhelmed by this finale. In comparison to seasons past, this last episode was surprisingly lite on the blood. The epic showdown and fantastic shoot outs that Fargo has become known for was quite literally skipped over. The feeling is anti-climatic and that won’t sit well with some.

But here’s why I don’t give a shit and wouldn’t have it any other way.

This season wound us up. It brought us to a place where we were on the edge of our seats, so certain that the only way out for Dorthy, if she got out at all was going to be pathed in blood and bodies. We thought that the only way for Dorthy to be free was to rip and tear and destroy all who tried to stand in her way. We wouldn’t have blamed her. What else can she do, in a world that is kill or be killed. Fight or die. Conquer or be conqured.

But that was never the point of Dot’s story. Her story has been about how to live this entire time, and the secret to living is not more death. It’s acceptance and forgiveness. It’s empathy for your fellow man and a helping hand. It’s sacrifice, doing the right thing even when it costs us everything.It’s learning to bear the burden of the unfair, because those sacrifices are rarely made by the people with the most to give and the least to lose. It’s giving what you can, and leveraging the privileges you have for the greater good and learning to appreciate those around you. It’s putting aside our bias to find common ground and appreciate the best in each other. It’s a meal made with helping hands. It’s oatmeal cookies. It’s a buttery biscuit. It’s love.

👏🏾

I will forever love this season for giving me Dot’s story. For telling a story about abusers and survivors without the cinderella syndrome. For showing abuse survivors as they are in reality : complex human beings with flaws, phobias, bias, and toxic coping mechanisms just like everyone else. The only truly innocent character in the entire season was Scotty, a child and that is purposeful. Everyone else is just human, and it’s the choices they make that are important and define their fates.

Roy chooses to be a cowardly monster until the very end and so Lorraine sentences him to a lifetime of feeling the suffering he’s dealt to others. Feeling what it is to be weak and small and violated and at the mercy of the system. We stan a queen.

Lorraine didn’t have to open Dot’s file and hear her truth, or accept it for that matter and at first she had no interest in educating herself about the woman she disdained and tried to discard. But she chose to open that file and reckon with Dot’s past, and not only that she let it change her and how she lived going forward. It changes her for the better in small but significant ways. It saves Dot, preserves her family and allows for the chain of events that lead to Roy getting his just deserts. *Side note, Dot hugging her and her not knowing how to deal with such a kind touch and intimate moment is such a mood. 😆 I laughed out loud.

Indira was laden down by a man who could only love himself, but still she chose to get up every day and try to serve her community. Even when nobody else cared, she cared about finding the truth and helping the real victim in it even if it cost her everything. The only person she didn’t know how to fight for was herself but Dot and Lorraine showed her how. We stan a principled Queen who knows her own value!

Witt. 😭 😭 😭 In a lot of ways Indira and Witt are two sides of the same coin. They are both sentinels. Principled individuals who truly want to serve the greater good. And it’s so meaningful that the two characters showing us what true justice - true law and order - should look like, are marginalized individuals. While Indira’s struggles as a brown woman in the police force are less pronounced for a more internal subplot, the narrative does such a beautiful job of showing us the battle against external powers through Whitt. He is a state trooper. A good and dignified man worthy of his badge and yet his authority is always challenged and he is constantly reminded by those around him that he is less than. There’s a huge emphasis on names and their meaning throughout the season, and the importance of what we call people. But few characters bother to remember his name. He’s called Boy or Son more than any other character on the show. Every time he stands up for Dorthy and goes into battle we’re made aware of his powerlessness despite the badge he wears. He’s powerless to stop Gator stealing evidence. He’s consistently demeaned and threatened, and yet he chooses to bear it all with grace. He chooses to stay his course and help Dot, even when he has the least power and the most to lose. He dies alone, without backup and the last words he hears are Roy’s “Don’t fight it, it’s over now Son.” It’s not fair. It’s not right. But in so many ways he saved Dot’s life. He’s a big part of the reason she gets to go home. She’s the last character to say his name. “I’m looking for my trooper. Whitt Farr.” I cried. Still crying.

Gator. Gator, Gator, Gator, Gator. 😭 I will probably do a longer post about this someday when I’ve fully processed it all, but for now… I was fully expecting for Gator to have a “last moment act of goodness” through killing Roy, and probably die himself. My Billy girlies know what I am talking about. I’ve seen it over and over again in books and movies. I have talked about this many times over the years in multiple fandoms, but our society loves to write “the human villain” for their capacity to emotionally hook an audience. But they have no idea what to do with that humanity once it is written, and that’s because we ourselves barely know how to live once we’ve been at our lowest and done our worst. We don’t know how to forgive ourselves or others, and we don’t know how to heal and move on. We’re afraid of the work required when you live past the redemptive moment. We resent the work required and the loneliness of it. It’s boring and difficult and messy and it never seems to end. It’s so much easier just to write characters who either choose not to change or die sacrificially. But we need more than that. We need to see and to believe that it’s worth it - clawing your way through the dark, searching for light - doing the right thing and learning from the pain of yesterday. We also need to know that we will find someone waiting on the other side for us, who sees that struggle and believes in our potential. This is what Billy Hargrove deserved. This is what anyone who has ever been abused and abandoned deserves. This is what everyone who wants to change and chooses to do it deserves.

Ole. What a phenomenal use of magical realism this character is. He is the man who has swallowed the sins of mankind for centuries. He’s carried the burden of our atrocities and our most inhumane impulses until he forgot his name, his place of birth, or even how to dream. Until he became a function of the system. Tit for tat. Eye for eye. The man who ensures that the debtors pay their debts. A soldier. Until he became a code and forgot how to be a man. His use of the third person as if he is narrating the life of All Men from some position outside himself is so profound in the face of the truth he finally shares with Dot and her family. A truth he’s probably never shared before. He echos Gator’s character in a fashion. He’s a soldier who doesn’t know how to dream, a victim of an unjust system, but deep down he yearns to be better.

The old woman whose house he invades is never named, simply called “Mama Munch” and we see how he takes on an almost childlike role with her. She asks him what he wants, and the answer is pancakes - reminiscent of Scotty’s love of all things breakfast for dinner - and it’s of course deeper than pancakes. He wants to feel a mother’s love and a child’s ability to take comfort in it. But he can’t. Because he has invaded her life, and even when he guards the door the war gets inside. She’s abused by an ungrateful child and then killed on her own front step. Ole came to Dot’s house to continue the cycle and perform the only function he knows, but Dot reminds him that he can choose. He can choose to stop swallowing the fruit of the poisoned tree. He can choose to remember beautiful things. He can choose mercy. He can choose kindness. He can forgive and he too can be forgiven.

Dorthy Lyon’s story was always about more than survival of the fittest. It was about more than the fight to live on and get back to the people who loved her and find a safe space for herself. Her story was about rejecting the lie we’ve all been told since birth.

That life is like a prison. You’re born and then you’re shuffled into groups, separated by class and race, and within those groups the strongest rise to the top. And until death it’s an endless fight to take take, and hold onto what you take.

Dot’s story presents us with an alternative viewpoint. That life can be devastating, but it can also be beautiful and it all comes down to who we choose to be.

[raayllum]

TDP Reflections: Lost Child breakdown 

“Know your roots and know yourself…”

Loss of sense of self motif for Viren, Claudia, Callum, and Rayla continues.

Claudia blinked in surprise—she didn’t realize she’d been followed from the campsite—and the creature blinked back. She tilted her head, and sure enough, the homunculus did the same.

LIKE A MIRROR REFLECTION YOU SAY, aaravos transforming her like a butterfly for his own ends

Something flickered behind its lamplike eyes—like someone passing in front of a flame—and Claudia realized that the air in her lungs was growing stale.

fire elarion motif (his touch a blaze, a gift, a spark) nobody’s business

Burbling happily, it offered her the mess like it was the prize of its many labors. Worms dangled helplessly in the air, many broken apart by the being’s sudden movement, their blunt ends wriggling in confusion.

IT’S FUCKING FISH B A I T, like bait on a hook, hook line and sinker

She uncorked her flask and plunged it into the pond. Bubbles sprouted from the lip, like someone drowning.

Her hands itched with the horrible lightness of each scattered piece, her feet ached as she walked and walked and walked to gather her father back together… And then the voice, the thread she had caught and clung to and used to haul herself out of the darkness.

I know the patience of a woven tapestry, how the weaver plaits the purpose of every thread, even as they disappear into the beauty of its design. (Patience, first Aaravos short story) / string and puppet symbolism

+ bonus dark isn’t always bad / light isn’t always good continued thread of symbolism / duality

It’s up to me again, she thought. It’s always up to me.

It’s also a perfect parallel to their own dynamics with their respective boyfriends. Terry is right there, actively supporting Claudia, but she can’t seem to fully trust that she can rely on him (just as Rayla feels she can’t fully rely on Callum - without getting him killed, perhaps) because they’e both too wrapped up in their tunnel vision of “I’m the one who has to sacrifice to keep other people together/safe” even when it’s detrimental to them and untrue. 

“So is that it?” she asked. “Aaravos left me too, huh? Like dad and Soren, and my mo—”

Lissa had left her years ago, but the space she had owned in Claudia’s heart remained. It was a dark place now, hard and hateful, its edges raw as a wound that had forgotten to heal.

A FESTERING WOUND / dark and light symbolism again as well as a parallel to Aaravos’ (missing) chest piece and according Key to his Heart theory

Surprised, Claudia looked up to see the homunculus. Its wings caught the sun, bathing it in a soft halo of lavender light. Its eyes glowed gold and luminous, almost warm, almost… patient.

A moment later, she blinked into the pond; her reflection beamed up at her. Her eyes brighter, her face fuller, more color in her cheeks. Small changes, but still—There I am, she thought.

Not only is this a smaller version of Viren’s butterfly spell to hide his physical dark magic corruption (and seemingly rejuvenate himself too) and it shows Claudia going down that path, but it’s also a parallel to 3x03:

But instead of being brought into the fold by someone else (and therefore supported through clarity rather than guise), Claudia is alone, because of course she is. 

“Let’s go,” Claudia told the creature. “I can fix this. I can fix anything.”

Her brother squirmed. “Clauds, Biscuit’s—” “—I know. But I fixed it. Now we can still play with her.” (Rise Again, S4′s Claudia short story)

She reached for its hand—and flinched. The remains of the second snail coated the homunculus’s palm, a stain of crushed flesh flecked with colorful shards of shell. The being seemed unperturbed. It gazed up at her, eyes bright and luminous. Like a helpless thing, Claudia thought. Like a child.

Re: Sir Sparklepuff being compared to both Claudia and a child, thus tethering Claudia to that same childlike comparison makes me find it especially interesting that seconds before this, Claudia reaffirms her sense of herself that she’s uniquely Strong vs her father’s “If we are led by a child king--” “He’ll make bad choices?” “He will make weak choices” as well as the juxtaposition of This, always: 

as well as the whole concept of being Lost (with Ezran and now Aaravos’ “lost and found” / game of “hide and seek” thing that’s going on) and Rayla’s “Don’t look for me and don’t follow me, I don’t think you’ll find me anyway” and Clarity of Vision amongst blackened (dark magic) / whitened (possession) eyes and

[egg-emperor]

Predicted to see the "I'm not calling you a good girl, that was shit" meme or whatever with Eggman and Sage done inaccurately compared when done with Metal and yup lol. Y'all really don't remember the canon dynamic and how conditional his praise of Sage is, to think he'd still praise her like that if she didn't succeed in doing what he wants

He only praises her and calls her a "good girl" if she did exactly what he wanted the exact way he wanted. The scene where he yells at her suggesting something that'd benefit him but not with a method he approves of, working with Sonic, shows that he doesn't care about intent or give an A just for effort, if there isn't any success

It has to be to his exact desires/terms/standards. The times he praises her and says he's proud to her is only after she literally saves his life,

and saves the world he wants to rule.

He calls her a "good girl" only after she does all that lol (and even sacrifices herself in the og ending), not just because She Tried. It wouldn't be enough. She literally had to save his life and the world and give everything (including her life in the og ending) to get that kind of praise

How he acts when she has good intentions and tries her best to appeal to his desires in a way he doesn't like vs when she does so in one of exact ways what he wants, for comparison:

Second is literally the next scene and you can trigger it to play immediately after the first btw

Plus wouldn't overpraising her for every small thing take impact away from the rare cases he finally does anyway? Whether it's to show how conditional and manipulative he is or even for the surprise of being genuinely proud and praising (but still always in a self-centred self praising way as her creator of course), it'd diminish the meaning if it was happening constantly and so easily

Eggman absolutely overpraises his ingenious creation to himself all the time to stroke his own ego, and speak of it highly once proudly when introducing it to enemies. But not to its face in direct interactions anywhere near as commonly, the particular occasions would be when he's especially proud and wants to let them know to keep it up

He keeps his standards high to keep them working hard for those very rare moments of praise. It creates a stronger drive when it's a rare and hard to get reward. He *programs* creations with this desire, even

Recieving his praise is one of those rewards. It most certainly is in Sage's case because it touches her the most and she clearly works so hard in being loyal and efficient to receive

Thanks for coming to my ted talk and yeah I got a lil petty over a silly meme my bad :P But I always love more opportunities to talk about their dynamic and how it's a lot more unique and nuanced than people are acting like it is.

Sage may be the golden child compared to Eggman's other creations and something to boast and take pride in by him, which is very appealing to his ego- but he's also very calculative in where and when he actually openly shows it, especially in front of/to her directly. The nuance and complexity makes it super interesting and compelling!

[wordtotherose]

Orin dies bloody. 

And then dissolves into putrid viscera and sludge that has Astarion grimacing and taking several steps away from the puddle that once was Bhaal's chosen. It seeps underneath Elizia's boots. She stands, dumbstruck, sword and Rhapsody dripping blood and poison into the mix on the floor. She had expected...more. A tougher fight. Worse injuries to their party. Exhilaration, perhaps, at having won, at having all three stones in their grasp. Instead, it's...hollow. 

Similar to how it had felt looking down at Raphael's still smouldering corpse in the House of Hope. The same as how it had been to land the last arrow in Gortash's back. 

Easy. It was all so easy now. 

And that was terrifying. 

At what point will the god of murder turn his attention to her scores of lives taken, at what point does she become like Orin? Taking too much joy in the well executed slash of her blades? The pin point accuracy of her crossbow shots?

There's movement from the altar in front of her, around which she'd led Orin and her followers in their deadly dance for barely even /twenty minutes/- What had even been the killing blow? One moment she was slicing through Orin's arms and then she was on the ground, body giving out at last, dragging itself across the ground towards her, her torso ripping itself away from her legs in the process. The sound of it will haunt her for years, she knows. The fetid squelch of organs spilled onto unholy ground harmonising with the creaking and cracking of bones giving out slowly, oh so slowly. 

"Halsin's waking up." 

Continue Reading on AO3 or under the cut.

Shadowheart.

Halsin.

Movement. Altar. Forwards, move forwards. Enough thinking. More doing.

"Astarion."

"Oh for a skeleton key," comes the usual lamentation before he's up next to Halsin's prone but waking body.

Elizia watches the vampire kneel with a grimace to get a better angle, sticking well-used and well-loved lockpicks inbetween his lips as he starts to find the best for the job. Confident that it won't be long before Halsin is freed, she crouches down as close to the ground as needs and no more. It isn't about what she can stomach, what she can live with touching and having been touched by. It never has been. She can handle anything if she must. That's a fact written into the core of her being, proven time and time again. Steeling herself before plunging her fingers into the horrendous mess that was Orin is easy. Sifting through the mess is easy. Taking the stone, so light and so filled with magic and responsibility. Easy. The dagger is a predictably powerful weapon even with the stone removed so she slips it under her belt. The stone is dropped into the pouch tied securely under numerous layers of her armour with the other two, close to her skin, safe as she can get them. They hum, vibrating like they're greeting each other.

"Welcome back to the world of the living," Astarion drawls and Elizia makes it over to his side in two long strides, shaking the last drops of blood from her fingertips.

Shadowheart is already handing the burly druid a large health potion but he waves it off, casting a, surprisingly strong for what he's been through, healing spell on himself instead. There's not a lot of blood on him. Not as much as she'd feared. What is there seems to have been smeared from other sacrifices and whilst he certainly has numerous deep cuts that will more than likely scar, the spell knits them up neatly. All in all, he looks well. Orin kept her word.

"My friends," Halsin says warmly, rubbing his wrists before swinging his legs round to reach the floor, Astarion in comparison cannot stretch his feet to the ground whilst sitting up there and instead has to jump down, "you came for me."

"Of course, Halsin," Elizia says with a smile she wishes weren't so tense. "We were hardly going to leave you to Orin to torture forever. I can only apologise that we didn't come sooner."

A large hand holds her shoulder, shaking her ever so gently, she looks down at her shoes, unable to bare the sheer gratitude in his eyes. Weeks. He'd been here for two weeks. And yet he touches her like the friends they were before she let him be taken. Before she actively, time and again, made the decision, gave the order, to leave him to Orin's devices.

"You have nothing to apologise for. I, on the other hand, must ask your forgiveness. Whilst I do not know how exactly she got to me, and how exactly she moved all of me, that must have been...no, nevermind. I should not have been such easy prey for her to use against you all. She should not have been able to get the better of me."

Elizia shakes her head, the clasps of her braids clacking across her armour. She covers his hand with one of her own and gives it a squeeze, braving the sincerity he looks at her with. "No, Halsin. We had no way of knowing. It could have been any of us."

"You are too kind by far, Tav. I know you would have come regardless to take down Orin but it warms me to be-"

"Sorry to interrupt," Astarion cuts in, not apologetic at all. "Do you think we could move this touching reunion somewhere less noxious and, frankly, disgusting? Above ground perhaps?"

"Not a fan of the blood, Astarion?" Shadowheart teases. "I'd have thought this to be a wonderland for your kind."

Astarions scowls at her, voice condescending as he snarks back, hands on his hips. "I prefer my blood uncorrupted, thank you very much. I do have standards." 

"Stop it," Elizia snaps, sending a warning look at Astarion when he opens his mouth to continue needling.

Continue Reading on AO3

[Hello all! This is like over 25k words so whilst I'll be posting the start of each chapter on here like this every update, if you want to read the full thing head on over to AO3!]

[ivycorp]

Day 2: Affection | Over Time

Continuity: Transformers Bayverse - post ROTF

Relationship: Mikaela Banes/Decepticons (multiple)

Warning: attempted assault, mention of drinking, swearing

Mikaela Banes knew from a young age that her life would not give her a fairy-tale ending - her father's 'career' made sure of that - as she grew to understand a few things about the world:

One, there were things people were going to expect of her, and which she could use to her advantage.

Two, there were things people would not expect, and disclosing these was to be done after a careful consideration.

And lastly, three, the paths of the ‘good’ and the ‘necessary’ rarely meet.

When she returned from Egypt, the young woman was already questioning her feelings towards Sam - she might have professed her love, but as the flight took them back to the States, she could sense the words escaped them in a moment of stress. She liked him a lot, they were a couple long enough to attest to that, but she wondered if maybe it was something connected to him that made her so attached to the young Witwicky.

The high from the battlefield was leaving her body, filling her with exhaustion, when she joked to herself that maybe what got them together and then made her confess was what really called out to her in their relationship: the alien robots.

A few months later, she knew her hunch was correct.

Sam was struggling with living a life without playing the hero - as a man who helped save the world twice by then, he ached against the secrecy he was sworn into. The idea of having to get a job after all of this excitement fell flat in comparison. Nobody knew him, nor his sacrifices - he was just another face in the crowd, and it was making him more irritable with each failed interview.

Mikaela didn't have the same problem - she was used to hiding others' secrets, after all. She had the garage, a dog, and a father to care for; it mattered little what she wanted aside from that, so she didn't crave for the recognition her boyfriend longed for. After growing up knowing people were going to always have their own opinions of her, it didn't matter that she was anonymous again. 

Their relationship fell into a lull, as they saw each other occasionally. On better days they would watch a movie and laugh. On worse… Mikaela did not want to admit Sam's anger made her tense up, even if it was not directed at her.

On those days, she kept clear of her father too, even though he had not touched a bottle in years. 

When the first new bots arrived, she was initially hopeful - maybe this would be enough to rekindle their connection, as they both would need to help the survivors acclimatize themselves to life on Earth. It would give Sam a mission, and her a bit of variety in life.

It quickly became apparent it was not going to unfold this way at all. 

Instead of calming the man down, he grew short-tempered and resentful; his own replacement car was just a pale comparison to Bumblebee, so seeing the bots of different sizes come into their lives and leave after a period of time as brand new cars was like a wound dug open every time.

Mikaela couldn't let it continue - it was not good for her or the bots, as they could not comprehend the constant tension in Sam's demeanor. 

So again, she did what was necessary.

They broke up.

*****

She wasn't surprised that the military decided to cut her off - her criminal record was against her from the start, and no matter how much she helped, they saw her as an add-on for Sam. They swore her into secrecy again, threatening with consequences she could care less about, more concerned about having to throw out any signs of her now ex-boyfriend from her home.

She was a bit disappointed that the separation did not cause her to cry even a bit; but then again, she knew this was coming for a while. 

Mikaela stared around the garage, her mind free to think about what she could do now that she didn't have to worry about Sam's moods; when only jumbled thoughts came, she shrugged and got to work on one of the custom bikes which she needed to return in a few days anyways. Working with her hands helped, as familiar routines took over, leaving her mind clear.

For a while, life was completely normal.

The custom bikes provided a good income, but she also offered mechanical repairs to other vehicles if need be - her customers knew of her skill and would recommend her to others, making her name gain respect in the relevant circles. She didn't ask many questions, her prices were fair, and she never lied about the details of the job.

Which was why when someone called asking for a repair of a 'found car' she just told the guy to leave it in the yard, as she was out to get groceries. 

Seeing an oddly familiar, if very banged up, police car on her return nearly made her drop the bags, which would have ruined the eggs she planned to use for dinner.

"Yeah, no," she declared loudly, walking to the side and putting the package on the desk in the workshop, before she returned back to the yard.

The car was still there.

"You couldn’t have the decency to leave when my back was turned, could you," she approached the vehicle, as she flicked the familiar badge with obvious annoyance.

"Come on, Decepticon, you can stop pretending not to hear me, I know what you are," she huffed, expecting the car to shift and threaten her with violence.

Instead, a hologram of a man shimmered into existence right by the dented door. 

"I did not come here with an intent to harm you, miss Banes," a deep voice spoke, in time with the movement of the lips of what she suspected was the mech's avatar of sorts. She leveled both him and the car with a doubting look, but as nothing was happening, she decided to bite:

"Then please explain why someone ended up leaving you here for repairs, of all the damn workshops in this city?" Mikaela demanded, finding this exchange oddly funny, with the way the hologram blushed and twisted his hands nervously.

"It was a coincidence," he finally admitted, looking anywhere but at her face; when she tutted angrily, he rushed to add:

"And there is nobody that will come look for me - the human that called you thought I was the driver and towed me here, since I'm running on fumes," he rubbed his neck in embarrassment, "I overheard them saying they had a good mechanic and well… I do need repairs, as you can see," the hologram gestured towards the alt form his body was in.

"Let me guess - you were hoping they would fix you just so you can disappear in the middle of the night, hmm?" Mikaela asked, looking at him unimpressed. He nodded, and added wearily:

"Should I assume you and your boyfriend will be calling the Autobots to take me in?"

"Sam and I aren't together anymore," she replied at once, out of habit, and grew silent, watching the Decepticon in deep thought. She should probably inform someone she has an evil robot in her yard, but that would mean a lot of attention brought on her and her establishment. All the credibility she had would go up in smoke. 

Plus she would have to call Sam's parents to reach him, so they could call NEST…

She groaned. 

This was all too much hassle to follow the ‘good’ path here – so she bowed to the circumstance.

"You are in luck, I can't be bothered to bring the entire army into my workshop today," she replied, finally approaching the Con. The hologram stepped away in surprise, letting her pass by towards the front of the car.

"Any clue as to what I should look for?" she questioned, allowing professionalism to take the lead. The less she thought now, the better. 

Fix a car. That she could do.

"I don't know what precisely went wrong - after I transformed last time I got stuck, and couldn't change modes since," the bot admitted sheepishly, but she could see the mech's hologram was shifting, looking at her with the entire pose screaming of vulnerability.

He was afraid of what she would do. Smart, but misplaced worry - as far as things were, he was another job to deal with.

And she was not a bully.

"Barricade, was it?" Mikaela inquired, tapping the hood twice; she learned quickly that Cybertronians valued consent in what was going on with their frames in any mode. She understood that well, so when the panel popped up obediently, she mumbled a soft "thank you" on reflex.

"Yes, you are correct, ma'am, " the voice confirmed her guess, as she looked around for some more obvious damage. Seeing a few possible leads, she started taking notes; it would be a riddle, not knowing precisely which part would be responsible for actual shape change (it never came up in the patch-ups she sometimes offered to the bots) - but if it was a machine, she would be able to deal with whatever problem there was.

"I need to look at the undercarriage - you think you could help me roll you over the inspection pit?" Mikaela asked again, even if she knew she would be able to do it alone; the mech was already terrified from her having access to his internals - her moving him would probably cause yet another issue to find and fix.

After an affirmative noise, together they pulled the vehicle inside the workshop, where she could get onto the last piece missing from her review. She tried to be as quick as possible, but there was little that could be hurried. 

In the end, she finished the check when it already got dark outside, dismissing her father taking the groceries with a distracted wave in the meantime. He returned later with a simple egg-fried rice, but she was so hungry it tasted heavenly.

"This human… is he your partner?" Barricade asked when she was eating her dinner, causing her to spit out some of it, coughing loudly.

"Partner? No, he's my father - he is usually out during the day, but lately whenever I forget to cook, he does it for me," she supplied as a clarification, resuming eating the rice at a slower pace. 

"So you are his… offspring?" the Decepticon sounded a bit puzzled, but at her hum of agreement, he happily added:

"Like a hatchling then!" 

Mikaela put down the plate, one hand clasped over mouth filled with food to prevent it from escaping. She gulped it down, forcing herself to remain calm.

"What 'hatchling'? Do you guys reproduce via hatching?" she tentatively questioned, curiosity getting the better of her. Barricade's avatar nodded, turning pensive.

"There were lots of them before Egypt, but we couldn't feed them all - I can only hope Lord Megatron managed to save some from early deactivation…" he mumbled, and she decided to keep silent until the mech got a grip on himself again. 

If she understood, they had starving robot children somewhere out there. The idea that there could be more Decepticons did not bode well for humanity.

She frowned, feeling an odd concern grow in her - for the Cons it was way worse: their future dwindled on a planet rich with resources. 

When the hologram seemed to shake out of the sadness, she coughed politely and got back to work. The sooner she fixes the mech, the sooner he would go away, and so would the entire alien robot issue with it. 

Including the hatchlings.

Starving hatchlings.

*****

The repairs lasted for another day, into the dark hours before the morning sun breached the horizon - by then she ran out of things to fix, and poured fuel into the tank to help kick-start the shift between forms. She slapped the roof gently as Barricade drove onto the open yard.

"Okay, I think it's now or never - let's see if it worked," she prompted, already hearing the bot prepare to transform, getting the Earth's fuel running through his body after a long period of driving on empty.

Mikaela saw the hologram blink out, and the familiar sounds of Cybertronian mode change filled the silence, barely distinguishable with the sounds of the city raging in the background.

"It… worked," Barricade sounded amazed, mostly hidden in the darkness, before he turned towards her.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said clearly, the gratitude dripping from his vocalizer. 

"Don't mention it," she replied tiredly, before she added:

"And don't call me ma'am, Barricade, it's Mikaela," hearing how corny it sounded, she finished with a lighter tone:

"Now, off you go - if you need me, you know where to find me," she meant as a joke to keep the situation from going into an unpleasant direction. 

The mech stood for a moment, before he changed back and drove away.

She sagged in relief.

That was the end of it. It is over, and she can get back to her usual life. Tired, but happy, she went to sleep.

*****

When the next day she walked out to see a black car stand at the side of the yard, she stopped. 

There should not be anything there. It was an empty space yesterday. She clearly recalled not having any pure black cars in her care.

Mikaela saw the Decepticon badge and let out a noise of frustration.

"Barricade, is this you?" 

A familiar hologram of a man appeared, waving awkwardly. She glared at him, hands on hips, and a prompt:

"What are you doing here?" 

The avatar had the common sense to look abashed, but it took a moment for him to gather himself up, open his mouth…

… and deflate visibly.

"I don't have anywhere else to go - I can't get a hold of anyone," came the answer, which put out the anger gathering in the woman, replacing it with pure consternation.

"And you decided that the best option was to return to one of the only few people who know about you, instead of doing literally anything else," she surmised, gesturing wide to emphasize her point further.

When he nodded again, she exhaled loudly, glad that no customers were supposed to come in today.

Apparently, she had a stray on her hands.

“I guess I did say you know where to find me if you need me, so that one’s on me,” she muttered, before straightening up.

“If you try anything funny, I don’t care if this brings entire NEST here, I will make sure it’s the last thing you do,” she felt the threat was necessary, but there was no heat behind her words. The way the hologram perked up and smiled, promising to not cause any trouble, was already melting her heart.

“Some ground rules then,” she began, hand up, as she started listing things out on her fingers:

“One, no violence or war-related shit is to be done in here. Two, no talking or shifting into root mode when customers are around. Three, my father and my dog are around, so no territorial spats, understood? It’s my place and I am letting you crash here for a while, so don’t make me regret this.”

“Yes, ma’am!” was exclaimed in her direction with a sharp salute, when she cringed, popping another finger up:

“Four, again, no calling me ‘ma’am’ – there is no need for it, just use my name,” she added, knowing it would come up at least a few more times, if the confused look on the avatar’s face was any indication.

Mentally, she could already see the increased fuel expenditure she would need to calculate into the workshop’s budget. At least it was not that unexpected, so hopefully nobody will pay too much attention.

*****

Mikaela would have liked to be able to say that it was hard, getting used to the presence of Barricade in her life, but it would have been a blatant lie.

It was laughably easy.

The mech was a pleasant company, talking with her in an avatar form during the day, and sometimes shifting to root mode in the night, helping with whatever heavy lifting he could do, after she jokingly teased him about being a free-loader. He would often take a ride outside, returning late with a suspiciously full tank and a blank look upon any questioning about that.

She tried to keep him at a distance, but soon enough she would find them laughing at some odd joke, discussing a reality show playing in the background as she worked, or catch the way he looked for her when he would return from a joyride; at first tentatively, as if he expected her to leave him behind to be trapped by NEST, then with relief, in the end to become a full blown comfortable excitement.

Curse the way humans could pack bond with anything – she was growing attached to the slagger.

*****

When he returned one day after dark, she went out to greet him as usual, and was surprised to see a tow truck follow him with a load on the back, concealed by a tarp.

“Barricade, care to explain what’s going on?” she asked, approaching the driver’s side of the black car, seeing the hologram look up at her in panic, rolling the window down.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t leave them back there - Soundwave would know and kill me later!” he rushed in, pointing towards the back of the truck.

“Didn’t I say ‘no war shit in here’? Let me guess, I need to pay for the tow too, don’t I?” she bit out; when the hologram froze, looking guilty, she swore under her breath. She turned around, keeping the truck in sight, as she asked loudly:

“Or is it another of your friends?”

He looked around, trying to deny the inevitable, but nodded.

“Onslaught. Somehow he got lucky to bump into a transport that was carrying parts from Egypt, and managed to get Ravage out. He’s barely alive, but not for long,” he explained, as he got out of the driver’s seat and knelt down, pleading:

“Please, can you help him?”

“Pathetic,” came from the side, a new avatar popping up from the inside of the truck. He was slightly taller than Barricade’s hologram, and carried himself with an air of arrogance.

Mikaela was familiar with that type, so she stood her ground, looking flatly at the newcomer.

“You – shut up! Unless you can fix Ravage, you don’t get to talk here,” Barricade threatened, shooting up, looking ready to fight at a slightest notice.

“You can’t be serious, there’s no way she can help here, and seeing you grovel in front of a human makes me want to purge all of my fuel,” Onslaught retorted, but did not move to stop her when she reached out to peek under the cloth covering whatever was left of Ravage.

There wasn’t much left, to her dismay, but the pieces seemed to be mostly there. It would be more intricate than Barricade’s case, for sure, and yet she could already see how things were piecing together, what tools she could use…

She huffed, stepping away, and waved at the familiar avatar to catch his attention, where the he was currently engaged in a staring contest with the other Decepticon.

“Get him into the workshop, this will take time and I can’t let anyone see him during the day – and you owe me, big time,” she ordered, feeling a pang of satisfaction when the mech obeyed hastily, ignoring the bewildered look of his companion. Onslaught moved to park his form in the street, as he went back in to see Mikaela get to work.

At first, he was offering crude commentary of the futility of her actions and insults, but when Barricade started ignoring him and only talking to the woman, he seemed to catch up on the dynamic between them, and shut up. In the next few days, with small breaks to work on the paying customers’ requests, she started making visible progress – this, in turn, made the new mech more cordial, as he started to speak to them both with less acid in his words.

Mikaela was vaguely aware about this, her brain focused on a way less familiar work than she was used to, as she tried to fix the delicate spine back onto the remaining pieces; shuddering in sympathy whenever the form below her would thrash weakly. She would mutter soft noises of reassurance, and the other avatars joined in on calming the injured bot down.

All in all, things were looking up for Ravage.

*****

When the repairs progressed considerably, she decided to take a break – her body was exhausted, and she could feel her focus slipping. She collapsed on the cot in the workshop, and before she even had a chance to re-arrange herself, she was already asleep.

A loud noise of broken glass woke her up.

She got up, trying to blink away the drowsiness, as her workshop came around her – and a hand with a gun popped into focus, other gloved hand cutting off her scream for help. Alarmed, she backed away, as an unknown assailant was smiling mockingly.

“What a pretty thing you are, I bet you will sound just as pretty when I take you – the money I expect to take will be just petty change compared to that, I’m sure,” he gloated, shivering in anticipation. She cursed her exhaustion for not grabbing a weapon she had nearby faster, as she tried to find a way to get away alive.

“Na-ah, don’t think so,” the gun pressed into her rib painfully when he noticed her looking around. The muted sound of her distress sounded unfamiliar to her ears, but then she realized someone else was emitting the same tune deeper in the room.

A large, Cybertronian servo appeared from behind the man, startling him into losing grip of the weapon. He got pulled harshly across the floor, before the pain registered and he started to scream in fear.

She heard a sound of a car door opening, the scream abruptly stopping, and familiar noise of Onslaught’s alt mode pulling away from the yard.

“Mikaela, are you okay?” Barricade queried with alarm, crawling into the workshop.

She returned a short affirmative, before she got up and approached him on legs that felt like lead. Ravage emitted a short string of beeps, and she petted his side affectionally.

“Thank you – both of you,” she offered with gratitude, before the mech looked her over and grinned, satisfied in her lack of injuries.

“Rule one, no violence here,” he reminded, and cheekily added, “but outside of here, it’s another story – Onslaught will take care of this in a fitting fashion, I promise you.”

Mikaela was unsure what did it say about her, but she found herself smiling at those words.

She fell asleep inside Barricade’s alt mode that night, feeling safe.

*****

Decepticons started appearing a few days after Ravage was fixed.

Some were in need of repairs, others in need of company. Most of them were quick to assimilate, as she was already vouched for by three separate mechs, and those that were disrespectful were very quickly corrected, should their host decide to kick them all out.

They still could not reach their commanding officers, and thus leave, which made the woman’s yard start to feel crowded. She complained about it one time, saying she probably needs to rent a warehouse or something, hell, why stop there, get the damn aircraft hangar – she was already a goddamn shelter for misplaced Cons, so why stop at ground forces only?

When the next day she received a confirmation of ownership of a hangar, paid in by a mysterious benefactor, she stared in herself in the mirror for an hour.

She pointed at the reflection accusingly.

“You need to get your shit together and stop giving them ideas.”

Resigned to her fate, she arranged for the workshop to be open at prior phone contact only, and left off to explore the new space she now owned.

*****

The hangar was large and empty, with a small office space she decided she might as well use for sleepovers – she knew they will become a new norm. She looked from the window at the floor below, and smiled fondly at the surrealness of the image.

The Decepticons started to re-arrange the space to fit their needs, quipping at each other – yet they were keeping things peaceful. She could see they were happy to be able to move without worry about being spotted. Mikaela suspected they had no idea what to do with themselves, but being together was preferred to being alone – and with her in the mix, they were finding a new purpose:

Being absolute idiots.

After yet another day of having to listen to someone complain that the fliers that showed up were hogging the remote of the TV they managed to rig up, she threw her arms up and decided to take a short break in the night’s air to calm down.

“I am surrounded by old alien robots from space, each of which experienced in combat in a war that spanned over millennia – why does it feel like keeping them from punching each other is the most complex issue I ever had to deal with? What am I, a babysitter?” she growled, shaking in rage.

“I believe it makes you a Decepticon officer, miss Banes.”

Head shooting up, she staggered a step back. Megatron was looking at her, braced on the sides by Starscream and Soundwave.

“You! What are you doing here?!” Mikaela gritted through her teeth, when a familiar form of Ravage came outside, rushing towards the communication officer.

Behind him, Barricade came barreling down, and stood stupefied seeing the Decepticon command; the dramatic exit prompted others to join into checking things out, and now the dim lights of the night illuminated a crowd of Cybertronians shifting on their pedes, as the command trio watched them with interest.

When Megatron moved closer, Barricade raised his weapon with a conflicted expression, mirrored on Onslaught, who did the same on the other side of the woman. Ravage uncoiled himself from Soundwave, circling his form around Mikaela protectively.

The Decepticon leader stared for a few seconds, then let out a laugh.

“I came to retrieve my army, but it seems you have left a lasting impression on the troops, miss Banes,” he said, putting a servo up in a pacifying gesture. Motioning towards the entrance of the hanger, he inquired:

“Could we possibly have this conversation inside? We couldn’t leave the hatchlings behind, and they might get noisy if we stay outside.”

The loud negative she wanted to reply with died in her throat. The other soldiers shuffled excitedly, and Megatron revealed the concealed container in which something was moving tiredly, judging from the noise.

She let out a noise of frustration, and waved them all inside.

“Of course you had to use kids as a bargaining strategy,” she spew out angrily, watching as the hatchlings were transported inside and tended by some of the crew.  

Dear heavens, they were chirping!

The remaining Decepticons were keeping some distance, but Mikaela was not feeling concerned for her safety. The previous showdown outside already revealed the soldiers were conflicted between their loyalty to their commander and the arrangement they had with her; and when she was threatened, they did not abandon her.

Humans pack bond with anything and everything – apparently, the same was true for Cybertronians.

She crossed her arms, standing confidently in the middle of the crowd, and challenged:

“So, Megatron, what is the deal? What sort of master plan are you cooking up, and should I already write my last will and testimony?”

The mech bristled at that, ignoring the murmur of alarm among the others, and he instead extended his servo for her to climb. She eyed it critically, but acquiesced with only mild complaining, as it removed the strain from having to look up at him the entire time. He put her up on the optic level, and when she stopped swaying, started speaking:

“Miss Banes, your faith in my organization skills is truly inspiring – and most likely, had you not appropriated my crew from me, I would have taken to reaching out to another desperate solution for keeping the hatchlings alive.”

She was astonished at the matter-of-fact way the mech had admitted to having yet another plan up his sleeve – and deciding to abandon that.

Because of her.

“You have taken care of multiple of my soldiers when you had no gain from it,” he began, looking around, seeing the general improved health of his forces, and continued with “You have brought Ravage back from the brink of death, for which you have gathered Soundwave’s sympathy – which is not an easy thing to accomplish by anyone, I can assure you,” he praised her, as she could not fight a stray blush creeping up on her from these words.

“You have given them shelter and did not turn them over to the authorities. For all of this, you have my eternal gratitude,” he finished, inclining his helm in a respectful bow.

“No harm shall befall you from me and my soldiers, and you would be granted whatever boon I can offer in return that lies within my power – name it, and we shall procure it for you, before we leave you to your devices.”

Mikaela realized she was again facing a choice:

name a price, leave them be, and come back to her workshop alone.

deny it, and stay with the rest of the bots for the foreseeable future.

She heard the hatchlings beep happily at the nourishment, and she knew her answer.

“I’d rather keep an eye on you all, if that’s all the same with you, Megatron – you guys are a magnet for trouble, and I just got used to wrangling these bastards,” she replied steadily, relaxing into the hold, getting a surprised look back from both Megatron and the other Decepticons.

“Dangerous choice, miss Banes,” the mech chuckled, and she stopped him right there:

“And enough with the ‘miss Banes’ – it’s Mikaela, plain and simple.”

Megatron nodded at that, and the atmosphere around the hangar lost most of the tension.

“As you wish,” he acquiesced, and looked around the room, as he said:

“Welcome to the Decepticon Cause, Mikaela.”

*****

The way she saw it, working with the Cons’ officers was slightly less challenging than the other soldiers. After a short discussion, she managed to coerce Megatron into allowing her to patch up his injuries, and to let her take a look at the hatchlings.

Starscream was actually helpful in that regard, offering information readily as they were cooperating towards keeping the kids alive and well. To their relief, it turned out to be easier than expected – with the numbers they operated in now, it was less difficult to maintain acceptable fueling rate for both them and the crew.

She mused sometimes that her life was not going in the way anyone would have expected, least of all her – when she broke up with Sam, she expected to never meet another Cybertronian again.

And here she was, surrounded by Decepticons, at ease.

“You are an interesting human, Mikaela,” she heard as she sat outside, admiring the stars in the warm, summer night.

“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing, Megatron,” she replied insolently, offering a small smile. The mech sat down by her, and also looked up.

“I did not expect to find allies on this planet, and here you are – a living proof that an organic can sway course of Cybertron’s history,” he remarked, optics taking in the clear sky stretching above them. When she let out an inquisitive noise for him to elaborate, he cleared his vocalizer, and stated:

“The hatchlings are growing strong. My Decepticons are healthy. We are not hunted, nor do we need to risk injury against Autobots and their human allies. We can focus on rebuilding our race and home.”

Then, he lowered his helm, looking at her directly.

“All because you took the risk and helped one of us.”

She wasn’t sure what to say, so she simply shrugged, and took a sip of the drink she had with her.

“Guess it’s good I got a thing for strays, then,” she uttered teasingly, and Megatron tittered at that.

“Guess it is,” he agreed, shaking his helm fondly, as he started getting back up. At her questioning look, he provided an explanation:

“I need to check on the crew - it’s gotten suspiciously silent and I do not like it.”

She snorted, waving at him, as she allowed herself another moment of peace before she returns to see what sort of problem the Decepticons managed to brew up this time around.

The ‘good’ and the ‘necessary’ paths rarely meet.

And yet, right there, right then, Mickaela knew she managed to find one that was both.

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

Second entry for @heartsandsparksshipweek

[nalyra-dreaming]

Hey! I'm not sure how I feel about so many vampires being able to fly so early in the show. That and Armand being able to walk under the sun. What are they gonna do with his self-sacrifice/suicide attempt? It's such a huge point for his character journey.

I don't understand why they're making them more powerful than they were in books? And how's Akasha gonna fit in all of this? She was scary because of how powerful she was in comparison to others, but now this gap will be much smaller (if they don't change her powers too, though I don't know what else can she do)

I do know what you mean...

So... for me - it depends on how they spin it.

(Book spoilers below)

Like, Anne put hooks into the later books. Fareed already being there is like an ultimate hint for me (obviously I can be wrong, but... it makes sense to me^^), because... he wanted to find out how to give the vampires the sunlight back, he (already) enabled them to have sex. He obviously is involved in whatever is going on with Daniel.

I can see the show go a more... scientific route, if that makes sense? Like, if Louis wanted to keep his canon suicide-by-sun-card, then maybe he refused Fareed's treatment? You know? We know Louis has the fire gift, which speaks for a certain level of powers, why wouldn't he be able to stand the sun?

For me it would be hilarious and clever to have Fareed the mad scientist there as fallback. Fareed, giving Flavius a new leg. Fareed, killing random vampires to get the tissues and organs he needs. Fareed wanting to reclaim the sun for them. Fareed cloning Lestat. I mean... the possibilities in combination with Gregory are almost endless. And if they really introduce the Replimoids... they'll eventually get to that clone that likes to be fed on... That's something that has the power to change their whole world.

As per Armand and his suicide attempt - I don't think they'll do Memnoch on the show. I think that if they touch that (and IF Lestat is in his coma somewhere for example), then that has already happened. We might get to see the fallout from that, but... I think a lot of the back and forths are too much for a show, and they've reconfirmed that they're focusing on Loustat's relationship. But we'll see. It definitely IS a big turning point for him, so it won't be something they'll completely let go (I hope).

And Akasha... I don't think her and Amel's awakening will be separate. Like, her awakening was a preamble to Amel's in the books, with the almost same threat even, and Lestat's body being "used" in both cases - I think the show will combine these threats. And then... all bets are kinda off. I know what you mean wrt the powers, but... imagine the powers we have already seen them with, multiplied into this frightening and all-powerful being which could incinerate you on the spot, or make you blow up with the killing gift. I still see a lot of potential there, even if their powers have shifted a bit.

We'll see. I definitely am enjoying this mix-up, because there is so much hinting in there^^. And given how devastating they made episode 5... I think they will be able to properly destroy us with whatever catastrophe they have planned for the upcoming arcs :)))

Personally, I cannot wait.

[anneapocalypse]

Rating my own recreations of my Hawkes in Inquisition

Why? Because I thought it would be fun. Please feel free to steal my idea and tag me so I can see your Hawkes.

Alessandra Hawke

World State: Elf Lovers

Difficulty: Easy

DAI's character creator offers a very similar hairstyle to to Alessandra's original. Her lovely hooked nose is a key feature and DAI fortunately had one similar enough, though it's a little more rounded at the end. She looks a lot more Tired in DAI, but all Hawkes do, and they probably should. It's tough to get a more rounded jawline in DAI, so her face looks a little more angular. Darker skin tints tend toward warmer in DA2 and cooler in DAI (and cool light severely washes out medium browns in DAI) but all told, she came out pretty darn good.

Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars ⭐⭐⭐⭐

Sabine Hawke

World State: For Love of the People

Difficulty: Easy

She changed her part to the other side, but otherwise Sabine came out pretty bang-on. All Dragon Age games need a better variety of Asian features now and forever. Nonetheless, I think her face shape, skin tint, and even her nose comes pretty close. Looking at these shots, I could have possibly made her chin a little longer and rounder. That's about the only quibble I can come up with.

Rating: 5 out of 5 stars ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Cillian Hawke

World State: Love & Magic

Difficulty: Moderate

Cillian took a few outtakes to get right. The hair is acceptable, eyes and mouth look good. and after a lot of tweaking I think I got his face shape pretty bang-on. The nose, however, is a problem. The nostrils are sitting way too high relative to the point (as opposed to his original nose which is pretty straight across the bottom), which makes him look like he's sneering at all times, and this combined with DAI Hawke's tendency to have a pinched, worried brow makes him look Angry in a lot of shots--not exactly right for a gentle-hearted Blue Hawke. Nevertheless, I'm really proud of how I nailed those cheekbones.

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars ⭐⭐⭐⭐

Emilia Hawke

World State: Noble Hearts

Difficulty: Hard

Woof. Just woof. This did not go well. First off, DAI really doesn't have a true "dirty blonde," just this mustard color which makes the whole shot look overwhelmingly yellow, so much that DA2 Emilia looks washed-out by comparison. I thought the nose was fine, but looking at these shots side by side, something does seem a little off. The hairstyle is acceptable, but its makes her forehead look much larger than the original (modded) hairstyle, and I couldn't really find a way to fix that. Overall it's really the face shape that kills it. DAI does not like round faces. I did my best, and then left her in the Fade where she belongs. (Trust me. It what she deserves.)

Rating: 2 out of 5 stars ⭐⭐

Mallory Hawke

World State: Rogues Gallery

Difficulty: Hard

We're starting from modded hair, so we have our work cut out for us here. (Curly hairstyles WHEN. Also modded freckles, but there DAI has us covered.) Unfortunately, I was not able to get a hair mod to work in DAI, so Mal was forced to wear her hair up, which she Would Not. But we make the sacrifices we must. Mallory also has a lot of soft curves to her face, but I'd say she survived the jawbonification a lot better than Emilia did, and where was this nose when I was trying to make Cil? DAI's neon teal eyes are a touch greener but I can let that slide. Overall, I'd say she's still recognizable, even without letting her hair down. That's still my girl.

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars ⭐⭐⭐⭐

(Note: I put all the comparion pictures in side-by-side, but none except the first one will display that way on the dash, and I can't fix it. 🤷‍♀️Sorry.)

[bumblebeesweettea]

Haven't I Given Enough? | One Shot

Fandom: Owl House

Characters: Darius Deamonne, Hunter, Willow Park

Synopsis: After the hard battle with Belos and the recovery of the people of the Boiling Isle Darius couldn't help but wonder where a certain red feathered Palisman had gotten to.

_

He didn't know being a puppet for months would make him feel so stiff. Darius groans as he takes a moment to stretch his shoulders and flex his fingers. He'd have sought his revenge on the brat that had turned him, if the collector hadn't also saved the lives of everyone on the Boiling Isles. Also they seemed truly remorseful of what they had done. As old and as powerful as they were, the collector was little more than a child.

When things calm down enough, Darius had noticed that a certain bird Palisman was nowhere to be seen. A constant companion and guardian of Hunter, Flapjack's absence was concerning. Especially when paired with Hunter's new gruesome scars. However the former coven head didn't wish to jump to conclusions and smiles down at Hunter.

"Where is that secret Palisman of yours?" He asked chuckling, "surely he needs a proper thank you for-"

Darius cuts his joking short as he observed Hunter's expression. Grief wasn't a strong enough word. Hunter's brows furrowed, lips pressing together hard as if trying to stop them from trembling. The young man touches his chest, right over his heart, fingers curling into the fabric so tight it threatens to tear it. He'd gone deathly quiet and couldn't reach Darius eyes anymore.

A cold feeling washes over Darius as he realizes those passing thoughts of the worst case scenario were true. Oh No. Darius half reaches out, hesitates a moment, before he gently puts a hand on the teens shoulder. The former coven head had never been good at comforting others, and he was half tempted to get someone else to deal with the teary, devastated Hunter. But Darius didn't want to be just another person who abandoned the teen to his own devices.

"Hunter?" Darius's voice was low, gentle.

"Belos.. Belos possessed me," Hunter's voice cracks. "I.. he made me hurt flapjack. Attack the others" -Darius hand squeezes Hunter's shoulder as the teen takes a shuddering breath- "I was.. dying I guess? Or something like it and Flapjack, he saved me. He sacrificed himself to give me whatever life he had left and- and-" Hunter broke down unable to finish the sentence. And he didn't need to, Darius had heard enough to know what had happened.

The former Coven head pulls Hunter into a tight hug. He'd recalled how painful it had been to give up his own Palisman to be a Coven Head. That paled in comparison to what had happened with Flapjack. Being forced to hurt your palisman, and then they sacrifice themselves for you? Darius couldn't imagine the grief and the guilt Hunter must be feeling. And on top of all that Hunter was still just a child... none of this had been fair. Darius had no idea what to say, so he just hugged Hunter until the sobs quieted into sniffles. By that time, Willow Park approaches them, eyeing Hunter worriedly.

"Hey," she greets Hunter as Darius releases the teen.

"Hey," Hunter responds rubbing his eyes furiously to try and erase the evidence he'd been crying.

"Eda's inviting us all back to the Owl House so Mrs. Noceda can make us tea," Willow said trying to keep her voice chipper. She offers her hand out to Hunter and the blond took it with a weak smile.

"Yeah.. yeah that sounds nice." Hunter said before realizing Darius was still standing there. He turns to the former Coven Head who just smiles at him.

"Go on. Heroes deserve some rest," he said shooing the pair away. The two teens bid him farewell and walk off to the others. Darius watches them, face slowly falling as they disappear. He heaves a heavy sigh as Eberwolf appears beside him with a grunt and head tilt. As if asking 'Really that's all you had to say to him?'

"Ugh don't start," Darius scoffs, "I'm not good with making others feel better. Miss Park will handle that. Besides I'm not his father." He straightens his cloak and folds his arms. "Come on. We have a limited amount of time to recuperate before we have to clean up the mess Belos left. Might as well make the most of its."

[anotherworldash]

What is your take on Kaname and THW ship if it isn't romantic? How does it compare to Yume?

hello i'm glad you asked! i've been thinking about thie series for a while! and to answer it:

(this is my personal take and you can agree to disagree but i will stand by my opinion. if you ship THWxKaname and aren't happy with my answer please just kindly leave my blog without trying to convince me)

i don't think kaname loves THW romantically although they were in romantic relationship. in the sense of... it's clear there's a panel where she kissed him on the lips so their relationship were romantic.

i think they were together because: at that time, both were looking for companion with same goal in mind. their action were quite controversial. so, they did bond overtime.

but he wasn't attracted to her that much. he didn't have the hots for her like he did to yuki. yeah i'm not even joking on this part. haven't we read enough how much kaname yearn for yuki physically? kaname is literally so horny when it comes to yuki. we've seen how they kiss or drink blood.

(with this description, i'm pretty sure attraction is a big part of relationship for a man like kaname................ god i love him . taken from volume 10 btw)

so THW's kiss with kaname is a pale comparison. in my personal opinion, it's rather one-sided. (THW leaning in for a kiss and kaname's somberly touch her flowing braids... i feel like this could be any woman x kaname if she is the one giving him direction/power/companionship at that time., i think it's expected when two opposite gender that respect and doesn't hate each other spend a lot of time together. he's got his 'he's just a man' moments if you know what i mean when he take blood from ruka)

let's say he had a slight attraction to THW. still, it's already over once she's dead. he also had completely moved on from THW, yuki herself asked if kaname is looking for replacement for her and he said 'no one can be a replacement to anyone'. he didn't lie when he said this. there's literally no need for him to lie. he did regret losing THW but that's it.

(let me add some personal opinions/headcanon : i also don;t think THW and kaname had done anything more than a kiss. i long wondered how did kuran family has descendants if kaname didn't have a child himself back then with THW? if he had one then surely he would had a reason to live , or at least the child will appear in his memory. but, no that just doesn't exist. the more accurate guess would be : perhaps kuran family doesn't consist only ancestor kaname, but he had other siblings/family member who procreated and that is where yuki/rido/juri/haruka came from. the reason why they weren't in picture was because they didn't agree with kaname's goal to live alongside human. so they separated way) (ya know this could be provven wrong in the future VKM chapters as the series is still ongoing but i will stand by my opinion for now as it makes the most sense. if you think about it, someday ai's descendant will call rido as 'kuran ancestor' too.)

rather than in love, it's more appropriate to say kaname is still in the same page with THW when it comes to problem solving. because, they were doing the same quest together. and he actually agree that her plans to kill are purebloods and her decision to sacrifice herself were GOOD SOLUTIONS. when all plans failed, he remembered he could use her solutions.

this is the space where Yuki came in too late to save Kaname. it's not entirely Yuki's fault because Kaname deliberately keeps Yuki away from this problem because he knew how she'd sacrifice herself for him and he don't want that.

when it comes to yume, eventhough kaname sees yuuki as his lover and beloved, he was unable to see her as his equal. perhaps it's due to big age gap between them. therefore, kaname already has this mindset that decide yuki can't handle this much of a problem. and even if she can, he wouldn't let such a baby get involved in this problem.

the point in his struggle is he wants her to live and be free, just like he wanted himself to live and be free. kaname longs for the mortality and carefreeness that might set him free from his responsibility and burden (but he can't, so he try to at least give it to yuki. but OOPS, he turned yuki back into a vampire and now he's gotta keep those purebloods and opposing vampires in check...cause they're not endangerin only him, but yuki as well. not to mention the furnace and vampire hunter weapons are getting less effective.)

kaname meant it when he said yuki has became a hindrance for him. this is exactly why at the end of series, he wanted zero to be with yuki.

originally, that is not what he wanted, he wanted yuki for only himself. this is shown where he turned yuki back into vampire. although this was initiated by yuki. let's admit he partly agree so he could have her by himself. and show zero that yuki is HIS. that was not a part of his original plan.

but then he realized things have gotten too complicated and the price is too high to pay. (the price is yuki's safety and happiness that he fought for long and many times. he also saw that yuki wasn't as happy as she used to be in her new life as vampire and he felt guilty for it)

by the time he said she is a hindrance, he already hated himself. perhaps he already hated himself from a long time ago and now he got to see for himself how far his course of actions have gotten everyone in trouble. he didn't feel like he deserved yuki's warmth for a slightest. for him, it's already over. everything is over. his life is over. he wants nothing but redemption. i think this explains why he's so nonchalant when yuki held him tight. but, he still talked to her once he heard yuki erased zero's memories to chose him.

<Additionally, it explains why he decided to leave after their night together. Things have gone wrong so many times. Why would it work this time? It's the state of a depressed mind.>

ultimately he just want to protect yuki and prevent her from perishing like THW. because, he might not 'love' THW romantically or passionately but her sacrifice showed him how regret feels. he learned from it and try his best to prevent it in the future.

this is also why he rushed to throw his heart into the furnace, he didn't want yuki to change his mind again knowing her safety is at stake. especially when he know yuuki is too empathetic and caring of others.

kaname has this mindset : "If you want to marry an Angel, you must first create Heaven for her. Angels don't live in Hell".

as her ancestor,brother,husband,lover, he feels responsible to yuki's wellbeing.

unironically, he's a simple logical man. he's got a goal in mind and no price is too high to create heaven for yuki, a safe place she can live in. even if the cost is his own life and happiness