#I had no idea using 'he' so much would be such a pain that I would need to rewrite bits to avoid confusion on who was doing what

[hellothisisangle]

RAAAH YOUR LAST ART/COMIC 🔥🔥❤️💕👁👄👁✨️💖‼️‼️ i'm sorry but i immediately need context for it, it's too delicious and i cannot rest without knowing the full scene they were doing

So 90% of the comic panels I’ve been putting out recently have been one-offs based on a tiny idea or illustration that evolved into a scene. The last one in particular was a modern AU in which he hired someone for role play, but I don’t have much more than that

Actual lore:

Cae’s used self inflicted pain as an escape ever since the urges started manifesting more frequently/more strongly, which was around late teens. It was a decent distraction until he couldn’t push away the want to hurt others any longer and eventually gave in to Scelaritas’s callings

After embracing Bhaal’s inheritance he finally had an outlet, but would find that self harm was still comforting and even enjoyable. However, I think that Bhaalist Cae’s pride wouldn’t allow him to let others know how into it he was. He didn’t want to be seen as weak and he knew he wasn’t supposed to be spilling his own blood in father’s name, so he’d play up being confidentially dominant while holding onto that secret

Gortash and Orin were the only ones wise to it- Gortie dancing around giving Cae what he wanted, pretending and keeping up the ruse. Orin thinking that her brother was indeed less suited to the title than she was, but also having pity for him

On the other side, tadpoled-resist-durge Cae was only ashamed of his tendencies in the beginning. He’s pretty comfortable with being open about his likes/dislikes and gets a little made fun of because of them by the party (he doesn’t mind, it’s all in good fun)

[seniswriting]

Compliqué | LN4

Pairings: Lando x Secret Friend!Reader & Lando x Girlfriend!Magui

Summary: Lando was known for his playboy reputation and people thought he just enjoyed being the center of attention, and the thrill of going from a woman to another. In the end, rumors are just rumors and they were never completely true. But such manners can only ever be detrimental to one's life...

Warnings: cheating, a little bit angsty, mentions of drinking and inappropriate themes

Note: This derived so far from what I initially intended to write...

"Don't look at me like that, please..."

He said with a pained expression as he sat on the tiled floor of his bathroom, leaning against the wall. He looked like a wreck. Not a human, but a shell.

I was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, resting my elbows on my knees, with a glass of water in my hand, while looking down on him with a frown. I hated the sight even though it was nothing too unfamiliar.

I knew he despised it when I gave him those eyes. It felt like a reprimand to him. He knew I was judging him in the slightest, but I didn't mean to make him guilty for having fun. He just pushed it too far tonight. As far as Max Fewtrell having to call me to pick him up, even though he has never even met me before.

"Don't you remember what we talked about? No more using alcohol and sex as means of escapism. Yet, look at yourself."

The words came out harshly, showing just how exasperated I was due to his behavior. Just a month ago, he had promised to never fall into excessive drinking again. But surprise! After weeks of not communicating, the first thing I hear about is him getting shit-faced drunk at Jimmy'z?!

And like every time I have called him out on his attitude and lack of clear judgment, Lando simply glared at me in apparent annoyance. We spent a few minutes staring at each other. The silence was heavy. It was weighed by unspoken complaints from me and baseless excuses from him. As if to make peace, I just gave him the glass of water and stood up.

"I will call Margarida so she can come over and take care of you."

I knew he wouldn't want her to see him like this, but I couldn't just leave him alone and neither could I stay over. And like I knew it would, the protest came out of his mouth the second I mentioned his girlfriend.

"What?! No. Why would you do that!"

I hit the nail. He didn't want anyone to see him in a vulnerable state. He wanted everyone to think he was just a reckless fun guy, not a broken mess hiding behind prodigal tendencies. I didn't know exactly why he drank so much yet. But I had my idea because it was always the same thing. He was lonely. He didn't know why but he was. Despite having so many friends to hang around, he never felt attached to most of them. It were as if all he could make were fleeting connections. As if nobody ever reciprocated his feelings. So he shut most of them down from the public and kept anything too sincere at an arm's length.

How did I figure it out? Ever since we met a year ago, Lando kept me as far as possible from his usual group of friends. I never met them and we rarely talked about them. He rarely sought out for me but when he did, he became a very distinct person from whom he was on the racetrack or whom he was with his friends and family.

He wasn't the sunshine to my shadow. He was as empty as one.

"You can't be left alone like this, and you know it. Have a good night."

I finally stated. I didn't wait for his response. I just walked out of his apartment and if I expected him to chase after me, he didn't.

It wasn't new. It was normal for us. We were the closest sometimes, but most of the time, we were just two people who knew of each other's existence.

I used to want to keep us constant and stable but he told me it was unnecessary. That we weren't meant to be pressured to maintain communication. That we were the best kind of spontaneous, even though it wasn't all that joyous.

We were us, but we weren't together. I was hurt. I didn't let that deteriorate our connection though.

If I called, he would be there. If I didn't, he wouldn't be there. It was simple.

If he called, I would be there. If he didn't, I wouldn't be there but I would always have him in the back of my mind.

That's what I told myself until I couldn't help it. I returned back to my old ways. He didn't question it. He just went with it.

He was right when he said I overcomplicated everything. But didn't he do the same too by running away from his emotions?

A few days following the night I picked Lando up from the club, I sent him a text to check up on him.

He didn't even call me once after I had helped him, but it was normal. We always needed to let things simmer before talking it out. And usually, I was the one in charge of initiating the impending conversation.

"Hey, are you okay? The hangover must've been terrible..."

The key to getting a response from him was to start off sweetly, as if I were sorry for whatever had happened. Then, I would only have to wait for a few minutes before getting a reply.

I was proud of our communication pattern, even though it wouldn't be ideal for anyone else. I cracked the code and I took pride in it. Lando was still a man. He left most women on 'delivered' for several hours before responding; but not me.

I always tried to talk to him at the same time on Friday nights, when I knew he couldn't be drinking. He needed to be sober for his races and time zones were mostly in my favor as it was broad daylight wherever he was.

He was also aware of my texting routine, and it became a silent agreement that he needed to reciprocate my effort of keeping in touch every once in a while, when we weren't pushed together by misery.

However, the latter part never worked because the only thing we could bond over was our personal suffering. And there was no one to blame for our ephemeral status, apart from ourselves.

"Yeah it was bad. Cant believe you left me"

The notification made my screen light up and I was met with the very answer I had expected from him. I didn't believe in matching the energy of your interlocutor, so I stayed true to my typical wording. That was the charm in our relationship, after all. Together, we were ourselves. We didn't need to walk on eggshells. We could set the temperature as we wanted.

"Don't be dramatic. Magui helped you, didn't she?"

"She didnt even come home"

"Oh... Uhm, sorry... Do you want to hang out?"

"Meet me in 5?"

"How do I even get there in five minutes? But sure, just for you xx"

He didn't need to tell me where I was supposed to go. We were familiar to the point most things were unspoken and natural - whether it was bad or not, I didn't care much, we weren't committed anyway.

I arrived at what I had secretly started calling my second home. A place etched with memories of us. A place of comfort for my loneliest moments. It wasn't exactly mine though.

Lando was already there, scrolling on his phone while laying on the large sunbed on the

front dock of his yacht. I quietly went up to him to lay down by his side. He didn't acknowledge my presence for a second, but then he put his mobile down to finally look at me.

We stared at each other in silence before his gaze flickered down; that was when I felt the need to speak up.

"What's happening with Margarida?"

He grimaced at the cold interruption of what he probably wanted to do for quite some time. I was aware of his physical attraction to me, but I didn't want to indulge too much in what a man who had a partner and a million fans had to offer. I was not going to stoop that low; being his friend already seemed scandalous enough for us to keep ourselves in hiding.

"Don't even bring her up right now, love."

Love? That must have been a slip-up but it sounded quite natural to him. But who was he kidding? He was reputed for being a flirt. I wasn't going to let myself be one of his generic victims; so I told him off on the inappropriate use of the nickname, which did not faze him in the slightest. Instead, he joked about my princess side coming out again.

He slowly wrapped his hand around my waist and pulled me close to him. I knew where this was going and I didn't know if I hated or loved it. I felt his hand inch lower and lower, until I stopped him once again despite the tension that had built up in the air. His hand was right on my inner thigh as I looked at him with suspicious eyes. He knew I wanted this though, and the only thing that held me back was my conscience. I wasn't the kind of girl who took any chance she got, especially if the man she loved already had another waiting for him somewhere.

I gently pushed him away and sat up to watch the beautiful sunset view offered by the monégasque coast. He didn't resist it, neither did he complain. He simply mimicked my movements and silently watched as the sky painted the end of another day, of another story.

When the night had completely fallen, a unified sigh escaped our minds. We knew we had to end our journey there. We knew there was nowhere else we could go; that caring so much from the start was a mistake.

We held each other tightly for a moment. We held onto whatever there was left of us.

A tear encapsulating every conversation and every emotion we had ever shared slid down my cheek. It landed in a loud thud on the leather. It felt like a bucket of cold water. We were not what we used to be, and reality finally caught up on us.

It was not about being lonely together anymore. It was not about confessing our deepest pains anymore. We were about to cross a line that shouldn't be crossed. What we thought was sympathy had somehow turned into more than what we could both handle. We started seeking for salvation in each other.

Lingering glances. Crippling tension. Bottled attraction. Little touches. Things we pretended never happened. Everything we ignored slowly burned us down into nothing. And if we didn't want the world to fade away with us, we had to let go.

"Always so damn complicated."

"Only with you."

That was our goodbye. Just like how we started, we ended with no real closure. We walked into each other's life like it was a hotel and checked out, paying the price of a separation that was overdue. It was thoughtless and casually intimate, until it went bordering on the edge of something.

I knew I would fall when he approached me, and I bet he knew he would eventually join me.

Knowing doesn't mean anything though. The theoretical loses on the material. And in reality, the socialite never commits to the prettiest loner.

-

Note: I liked this when I first finished it, but it kind of feels lacking now that I've read it again... I don't know how to feel about it, but I really enjoyed writing this. Don't hesitate to share your opinion, I would love to get some feedback ^^

[urdreamydoodles]

hi! i love your work, everyone feels so in-character and accurate!!! i think anyone even glancing at this blog can really tell how much care and love you have for these characters and its absolutely beautiful.

would you be interested in doing a request with the x-men (preferably Logan, Remy, Kurt, Colossus, Cable, Deadpool, and Magneto please?) where reader is a mutant and their main power is that anyone they touch is instantly filled with joy? and the more physical contact they have the more intense the happiness is, to the point where a shirtless cuddling session might accidentally make one of the x-men cry tears of joy.

X-Men x Fem!Reader

Your mutation is to make people instantly happy by touch

As your partner experiences the effects of your unique mutation that brings instant happiness with a simple touch, they find themselves captivated by the warmth and joy you effortlessly radiate.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Colossus, Cable, Wade Wilson, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier & Scott Summers

Good day, my fellow comic book lovers. Yes, I'm back, with even more ideas than before and even more inspiration. I hope you are ready. (And I'm happy to fulfill your request, the idea is amazing. I hope you like it.)

Logan Howlett

- Logan was initially cautious about letting you get close; he didn’t believe that anyone like you could actually find something worth loving in him. He'd tried pushing you away, though you always found ways to make him let his guard down, usually through gentle persistence and that warm smile of yours that could melt adamantium.

- Your powers were unique to him. With his lifetime of pain, his usual cynicism, and a gruff personality, he never expected to find solace in anyone, let alone through something as simple as touch. The first time you brushed his hand during a mission, he noticed a calm he hadn’t felt in decades. It made him think that maybe he could deserve this—deserve you.

- Over time, he started coming to you when things got rough. A hand on his shoulder after a long day, a brush of your fingers on his arm—these small moments were something he’d never admit he was beginning to crave. It amazed him how you could peel away layers of his anger, leaving him more vulnerable than he’d ever allowed himself to be with anyone else.

- Logan had an unspoken rule about keeping his shirt on during your cuddling sessions. He couldn’t figure out if he was afraid of overwhelming himself or you. But one evening, after a particularly hard mission, he came back to you, worn down. This time, as he lay beside you, he let you slip your hands over his bare chest, fingers tracing his scars with reverence.

- The feeling was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. At first, it was a gentle warmth that soothed his spirit. But then, the joy kept building, wave after wave crashing over him, melting away decades of pain. Logan tried to keep his composure, but the intensity of happiness was too much. Before he knew it, silent tears were streaming down his face. He held onto you tightly, burying his face in your shoulder, overcome by the rarest kind of peace.

- After that, Logan stopped trying to keep his distance, feeling like he could let himself be vulnerable with you in a way he never had before. He still rarely showed his softer side, but when he did, you were the one person who got to see every part of him.

- You two shared an unspoken bond in the way he’d wordlessly reach for your hand in a crowded room, or how he’d find you at the end of a long day, needing just a few minutes of your touch to feel whole again. You became his peace, his center, the calm in his storm.

Remy LeBeau

- Remy’s charm was legendary, and he couldn’t resist trying to impress you from the moment he met you. He’d flash you a smirk, tell a joke, or drop a flirtatious line just to see you smile. But when he learned about your powers, he realized it was more than just fun and games. You weren’t someone he could win over with his usual swagger; you touched something deeper in him, something he wasn’t sure he wanted exposed.

- The first time he felt the effects of your powers, he didn’t know what hit him. Your hand brushed his arm, and suddenly, he felt a joy that he hadn’t known since he was a kid, free of the troubles and betrayals that life had thrown his way. For a man like Remy, who hid so much behind his humor and bravado, it was shocking. But he found himself craving that touch, that happiness, in a way he hadn’t expected.

- Whenever the weight of his past sins would catch up to him, he’d come to you, leaning into your embrace, letting your warmth dissolve the guilt that usually gnawed at him. Remy often joked that you were his “lucky charm,” but it was more than luck—you were his reminder that maybe he deserved to feel something good after all.

- One night, you both were curled up on his couch, your hand tracing patterns on his chest, your bare skin against his. It started as a pleasant warmth, and then, without warning, it grew into an overwhelming wave of euphoria. The happiness was so intense that it caught him completely off guard. He chuckled at first, saying, “Cher, I think you mighta broke ol’ Remy,” but then his voice hitched, and he couldn’t help the tears that slipped down his cheeks.

- For a man who always prided himself on staying in control, it was a vulnerable moment. He laughed softly, wiping at his eyes, but you just held him, letting him feel it fully. Remy realized that in your arms, he didn’t have to be the smooth-talking charmer, the rogue who had everything under control. He could just be Remy.

- From that day on, he let himself be honest with you about his past, his regrets, and the mistakes that haunted him. He knew that with you, he could find the joy he’d always chased in all the wrong places. Your touch was a balm to his soul, something he knew he’d never take for granted.

- You’d often catch him looking at you with a softness that no one else ever got to see, and when he’d pull you close, it was as if you were the one thing in his life that made sense. In you, he found a kind of love and joy that filled all the gaps he’d spent years trying to ignore.

Kurt Wagner

- Kurt was enchanted by you from the start. With his deep-rooted faith and complex past, he saw you as a gift, something almost divine. Your presence seemed to bring light into his world, and he found himself drawn to you in a way that went beyond simple attraction.

- The first time he felt your powers, it was as if his worries and insecurities melted away, replaced by a gentle, all-encompassing happiness. Your touch brought him a kind of peace he hadn’t known since before his mutation became visible. For Kurt, who always struggled with acceptance, your touch was a reminder that he was worthy of love, just as he was.

- He cherished every small gesture—the way you’d run your fingers over his skin, your gentle hand in his when he’d had a tough day, the way you made him feel seen. It was as if you understood the parts of him he rarely shared with anyone else, parts he kept hidden even from himself. With you, he didn’t have to hide.

- One night, as you lay side by side, you rested your hands on his bare chest, skin to skin. The feeling started as a soft, warm glow that spread through him. But then, it deepened, filling him with such overwhelming joy that he couldn’t contain it. His vision blurred as he felt tears welling up, and he turned his face into your shoulder, his voice catching as he whispered, “Mein Liebling… I have never felt this happy.”

- The tears that followed were unexpected, but he let them fall, finally allowing himself to experience the joy you gave him without holding back. In that moment, he felt an intense gratitude—for you, for your touch, for the love that made him feel more human than he’d ever dared to hope.

- From then on, he became even more openly affectionate, his love spilling out in everything he did. He would trace gentle patterns on your hand, whisper sweet nothings in German, or look at you as if you were the answer to every question his heart had ever asked. He felt blessed, and he’d tell you so often, his voice filled with awe and reverence.

- You became his sanctuary, his safe haven from a world that so often judged him. With you, he found not just happiness but the acceptance he’d longed for. Kurt would hold you close, his tail wrapping around you as if to anchor himself to this joy he’d found, promising you silently that he would cherish every moment.

Piotr Rasputin

- Piotr is gentle and considerate, always cautious with his strength. When he met you, he was amazed by how someone so powerful could be so soft-hearted. At first, he worried about your powers, fearing he might become too reliant on the joy you brought. But soon, he found himself yearning for your touch after long, grueling battles, especially when he could let his guard down around you.

- When you first held his hand, he was hesitant. He’d always been a bit self-conscious about how different he looked, but you just smiled and took his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Your touch brought him a gentle warmth, melting away the insecurities he often carried with him. With you, he felt seen and accepted in ways that no one else had ever made him feel.

- Piotr isn’t one to ask for too much, but he found himself drawn to your touch like a magnet. After particularly rough missions, he’d quietly seek you out, hoping for a moment of comfort. You never made a fuss, just let him sit beside you, holding his hand or leaning against him as the joy you radiated worked its way into him. It became a cherished ritual, something that made the hardships of his life feel bearable.

- One night, Piotr finally allowed himself to lie beside you, skin to skin. At first, it was a gentle happiness that filled him, but the longer you stayed close, the more intense it became. The warmth grew into an overwhelming bliss, and for someone as stoic as Piotr, the depth of it caught him off guard. His breathing became uneven, and before he knew it, he was crying—tears slipping down his metallic cheeks as he held you close, speechless.

- He felt almost embarrassed afterward, but you just smiled, wiping his tears and reassuring him. That moment marked a turning point for him. He realized that with you, he didn’t need to hide his emotions, that it was okay to let himself feel. You brought out a side of him he thought had been lost long ago, one that still hoped, dreamed, and loved with a full heart.

- After that night, Piotr grew even more attached to you, finding peace in the quiet moments when you’d lie together, sharing warmth and joy. He’d often spend those moments in a comfortable silence, simply holding you, feeling grateful for the happiness you’d brought into his life.

Nathan Summers

- Nathan has seen his share of hardship and pain, coming from a war-torn future where joy is rare. He was wary of you at first, seeing your powers as a potential weakness in a world that demands toughness. But as he got to know you, he realized that the joy you brought him wasn’t just a temporary distraction; it was something he hadn’t realized he’d been desperately needing.

- You first touched his hand during a quiet moment, and he felt a strange peace wash over him. He was stunned. Joy was a feeling he hadn’t associated with himself in a long time, and he wasn’t sure what to do with it. But after that first taste, he found himself seeking your company, your touch, whenever he felt the weight of his responsibilities bearing down on him.

- Over time, Nathan came to cherish the sense of calm you gave him, though he would never admit it outright. Instead, he’d make excuses to see you, dropping by under the guise of “checking in” or “needing advice.” You’d smile knowingly, reaching out to him, and the tension would melt away from his face as your touch brought him a happiness that felt out of reach otherwise.

- One night, Nathan finally allowed himself to be vulnerable, lying beside you without his usual armor, letting himself feel the full effect of your touch. As you traced your fingers over his scars and metallic arm, the joy started to overwhelm him. It was so pure, so intense, that he felt his defenses shattering. His throat tightened, and he could no longer hold back the tears that streamed down his face.

- You didn’t say anything, just held him close, letting him process everything he’d buried under years of battle and hardship. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt light—almost as if he’d been granted a glimpse of a different life, one filled with peace and contentment. He hadn’t thought it possible, but you made it real, even if only for a moment.

- After that night, Nathan began to trust you with parts of himself he’d never shown anyone. You became his safe haven, the one person who could ease the storm that constantly raged within him. He’d reach for you whenever he needed grounding, finding solace in your presence, and for once, he allowed himself to believe that maybe he deserved to feel happiness, even amidst the chaos.

Wade Wilson

- Wade was fascinated by you from the start. He was used to people either fearing him or finding him too much to handle, so when you treated him with kindness and didn’t shy away from his scars, he was hooked. At first, he thought he’d be immune to your powers, but your touch affected him in a way he couldn’t explain—and for once, it left him speechless.

- Wade’s sense of humor often masked his pain, and he’d joke endlessly about how “lucky” he was to have a “happiness generator” like you. But deep down, he was in awe of you. You brought him something he hadn’t felt in years: genuine joy. He often found himself seeking your touch after missions, feeling the chaotic noise in his mind quiet as your presence filled him with peace.

- Wade was so accustomed to hiding behind his jokes and bravado that he didn’t know how to respond to the warmth you gave him. You’d touch his hand, or hug him after a tough day, and the happiness would radiate through him. For someone used to constant pain, both physical and emotional, it felt almost surreal.

- One evening, he finally allowed himself to let go of his usual defenses. You sat close, tracing gentle patterns on his scarred skin, and the happiness flooded through him, stronger than ever before. The joy grew overwhelming, melting away the hurt he’d carried for so long. Wade tried to crack a joke, but his voice wavered, and suddenly, he found himself laughing and crying at the same time, his heart pounding in his chest.

- He tried to brush it off, saying something about “emotional overload,” but you just held him, letting him feel without judgment. Wade had spent so long hiding his vulnerabilities, but with you, he didn’t feel the need to. He clung to you, grateful for the comfort you provided, for the happiness that didn’t demand anything from him but to just be.

- After that, Wade made it his personal mission to keep you smiling. He’d bring you flowers, tell you absurdly bad jokes, and remind you constantly of how much he cherished you. You were his anchor, his light, and the one person who saw past the madness to the man he rarely showed anyone. In your arms, he found a joy that, for once, he didn’t need to laugh away.

Erik Lehnsherr

- Erik’s life has been filled with loss, pain, and a single-minded pursuit of justice for his people. When he met you, he saw your power as a beautiful contradiction: something gentle yet capable of profound influence. Your ability to bring happiness through touch initially seemed trivial to him, but he soon learned its incredible value, especially as you softened the edges of his hardened heart.

- The first time you touched Erik’s hand, he resisted, fearful of showing vulnerability. But even the brief contact sent a surprising warmth through him. He’d spent so long submerged in anger and grief that this unexpected peace felt foreign. Over time, he began to seek out these moments, allowing himself to feel the comfort you provided in small doses, though he’d never admit how much he craved it.

- Erik wasn’t accustomed to softness, and at first, he found himself pushing you away whenever he felt the effects of your powers becoming too strong. But gradually, he began to allow himself more of this joy, savoring the brief relief you brought to his restless mind. You became his oasis in a life filled with darkness, a reminder of a gentler world he’d almost forgotten.

- One evening, after a particularly difficult confrontation, Erik finally allowed himself to be vulnerable, lying close to you, letting his guard down completely. As your touch filled him with happiness, the intensity grew until he could barely breathe. The joy was overwhelming, washing over years of pain, and before he knew it, he was trembling, tears streaming down his face as he held you close, finally allowing himself to let go.

- Erik felt embarrassed afterward, but you reassured him with gentle words, wiping his tears away. He realized then that, with you, he didn’t have to be the hardened leader all the time. For once, he was allowed to be just Erik, and you cherished him for it. This vulnerability only deepened his love for you, making him fiercely protective of your presence in his life.

- From that moment on, Erik allowed himself to indulge in the joy you provided, even if only in private. He’d come to you after every struggle, finding solace in your embrace. You became his sanctuary, and though he remained resolute in his mission, he held your love as a reminder that beauty and goodness still existed in his world, grounding him in ways he never thought possible.

Charles Xavier

- Charles has always been a compassionate leader, dedicating himself to helping others. When he first discovered your power, he was fascinated by the effect you had on others. He viewed your ability to bring joy through touch as a remarkable gift, one that held potential beyond the typical mutant powers he encountered. Over time, he found himself drawn to you, grateful for the solace you brought into his life.

- The first time you touched Charles’s hand, he was pleasantly surprised by the calm that washed over him. Years of telepathic stress and the weight of his responsibilities melted away, if only for a moment. He quickly realized that your presence was unlike anything he’d experienced before. You were a beacon of peace, something he hadn’t realized he needed so deeply.

- Over time, Charles found himself coming to you more often, especially after long days spent guiding and protecting his students. You became his retreat, a safe place where he could rest without the weight of the world on his shoulders. He admired your strength and cherished the way your touch brought him a rare sense of tranquility, allowing him to recharge and continue his work with renewed purpose.

- One evening, Charles allowed himself to truly relax in your arms. As he lay beside you, your touch grew more intense, filling him with such profound joy that he felt all his worries dissolve. The happiness was so powerful that he could no longer hold back the emotion building within him. Tears slipped down his face as he clung to you, overwhelmed by the depth of the joy he felt.

- You held him close, letting him process the weight of his emotions. Charles hadn’t allowed himself to be this vulnerable in years, and with you, he realized that he didn’t have to carry everything alone. Your love reminded him of the beauty and kindness he fought to preserve, rekindling his faith in a future where mutants and humans could coexist.

- After that night, Charles became even more devoted to you, finding strength in the joy you brought to his life. He would often reach for your hand during moments of doubt, feeling your touch ground him. You were his reminder of what he was fighting for, a symbol of the peaceful world he envisioned, and he cherished every moment spent in your embrace.

Scott Summers

- Scott is disciplined, focused, and sometimes emotionally reserved, the weight of his responsibilities often making it difficult for him to relax. When he met you, he was hesitant, unsure if he should allow himself to get close to someone so gentle-hearted. But you quickly won him over with your kindness, and the joy you brought him became a welcome contrast to the structured, intense life he led.

- Your touch was a revelation to Scott, who was so used to suppressing his emotions that he hardly recognized the calm happiness you stirred in him. At first, he tried to downplay it, insisting that he was fine without it. But he found himself seeking your presence more and more, grateful for the way you helped him unwind and escape the pressure of leadership, even if only for a while.

- Scott isn’t one to openly show vulnerability, but with you, he felt a rare sense of peace that allowed him to let down his guard. You’d hold his hand or lean against him, and he’d feel the stresses of the day melt away. Slowly, he came to cherish these moments, finding that your touch grounded him in ways he didn’t know he needed.

- One night, after a particularly intense mission, Scott allowed himself to be fully open with you. He rested beside you, letting your touch wash over him without any resistance. The joy you brought grew until it became overwhelming, filling every part of him with a profound happiness. He found himself overcome with emotion, tears slipping down his cheeks as he realized how much he’d been holding in.

- You comforted him, holding him close as he processed the depth of his feelings. For Scott, this was a turning point, showing him that it was okay to rely on someone, to let himself feel happiness without guilt. You reminded him that he was more than just a leader; he was a person worthy of love and joy, something he often forgot.

- After that, Scott became incredibly protective of you, seeing you as a constant source of strength and peace in his life. He’d come to you after every battle, every difficult day, finding solace in your touch. You were his reminder that, despite the constant struggle, there was beauty and happiness worth fighting for, and he held onto you with a newfound appreciation for everything you brought into his world.

[mr-ys-phantasma]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count 1703

Chapter 31:

Teen had just used his powers, for the first time truly manifesting their beautiful blue glow and slightly electric nature were getting out of control.

His anger, his grief... they were the main emotions controlling him, and he acted impulsively on his thoughts, sending all three witches into the mud; off the road.

He destroyed that damn sigil, no longer needing it, and he had chosen to wait...only that he didn't think through one thing.

You showing up.

He expected Rio to have joined you, and yet here you stood alone. Your eyes met, and before he could try and talk, explain what happened; your eyes glew white.

A strong force sent him flying back, air knocked out of his lungs rather forcefully. And then, the very same force pressed him against the trunk of a tree, white magic glowing all around him; keeping him up and trapped.

In a moment of panic, his magic glowed, but immediately it started to flicker as your white magic covered his hands.

"Wha...what...?" He exclaimed in surprise, not expecting it.

"My power neuters enemy magic," you explained briefly as you took a few steps closer, arms up and facing him.

White magic had come alive, wrapping around your fingers and wrist like veins; thin and delicate strands glowing with life and moving with a mind of their own.

"Please... Y/N..."

"Where is Agatha? Where are they?" You demanded to know. "What did you do?!"

Your magic pressed him more against the wooden truck, and he could feel the splinters digging into his back. "I... I didn't mean it..." he groaned, trying to ignore the newfound pain. "Please...I..."

Your bottom lip trembled slightly in frustration, and you found your anger subsiding as fast as the tides when the moon was low.

You brought your hands to the sides, white magic dying and letting him land not so smoothly on the ground.

Oh, you were pissed and annoyed, and your head was a mess with your feelings and Rio in the mix. You were on guard, and you would get your answers... but not this way.

This was not like you. You were not one to use your powers for harm and pain unless there was no other choice left, and even then, you held back.

Plus, you had started to warm up to the boy, and you could not really harm him or call him a liar so openly. For something deep inside of you was relating to him, to his journey, and so you chose to let him go.

He coughed and slowly stood up, feeling his back complaining from the meeting with the tree trunk but he looked at you with a thankfully look; not expecting you to truly spare him, let alone so quickly.

"Talk. Now, " You demanded, your tone commanding and sharp; like a mother scolding a child.

He took a deep breath. "I was just very angry with how they treated Alice's death and i lost control of my powers and sent them off the road and I am sorry and I dont know how I did it" he spoke fast, barely taking any breaths and hoping it would prevent you from hearing everything.

But you were a fast student, and you picked up everything. You swore you could feel a vein popping on your right temple, pressure budling up as white magic cracked between your fingers; making him take a step back in fear.

"What?!" You exclaimed, louder than before. "You tossed them off the road?!"

"It was an accident, I swear. I was just very angry. " he tried to excuse while backing away, only for you to match his steps by approaching him.

"Do you have any idea what you have done?!" You moved your hands wildly. "Do you?!"

Teen walked back, feeling afraid and planning to find some rock or thick tree to hide behind. He knew you were a kind person and he genuinely liked you but you resembled so much an angry mother at that moment... that he genuinely was concerned.

Before anything could happen, though, the sound of someone coughing and struggling made you turn your heads, only to see Agatha slowly crawling from the mud she was thrown into.

She had grabbed a nearby tree root and was slowly trying to escape the sticky sinking mud.

"Agatha!" You exclaimed and rushed her way, ignoring Teen while your anger disappeared the moment you saw your lover.

She accepted your help to get out of that stinky mud trap, more than once threatened to slip and lose her grip on you, but managed to prevent it.

In the end, she was out dirty but alive.

Leaves stuck to her muddy clothes, and even her hair had stuck together. Her hands, in an attempt to claw out, had mud beneath her fingernails, and she had managed to stand your white shirt when she grabbed you to be helped out of the trap.

You could care less, though. Your clothes were not as clean as when you first entered the road and you didn't care. It was clothes, simple and unimportant.

You could change them when this was all over.

"Thank the mother, you are okay," you said, inspecting her for any other injury she may have suffered.

So far, she seemed okay, unharmed, and simply sticky and dirty. She didn't push your hand away but kept her gaze locked on the one responsible for this trouble... Teen.

It was then Agatha took notice of his appearance and also the small parts of dirt and wood sticking on his clothes.

"I see you got to him first," she commented, trying to unglue a muddy strand from her cheek.

"More than once," you commented and also looked at him.

His gaze shifted between guilt and pride, trying not to react to your gazes and words.

"Well, careful there, sugar. If he is that much like his mother, he will learn and get you back next time you two clash, " Agatha said, making you frown.

"Like his mother?" You questioned.

Agatha smirked, and you swore her eyes grew misty, her tough facade slipping away. "Yes... the son of the Scarlet Witch. " she looked at him with odd care. "It's good to see you again, Billy,"

"Billy Maximoff," you mumbled, remembering finding that name across the star charts one day when you were trying to find Agatha's whereabouts and maybe try some... old spells to check up on her.

"Billy....William..." The boy said, still conflicted between the two people he is or was or tries to be.

He had a complicated double life he never asked for but had to learn to navigate on his own.

As Agatha started to poke around the Bush, testing the limits and patience of the boy; you managed to get a good idea. She was also kind enough to fill in the blanks.

Basically, Wanda had created two sons within the hex that you knew from rumours. After all, the appearance of the Scarlet Witch had shaken many in the magical community.

After the battle between Agatha and Wanda, the one you learned that your lover had her powers drained, Wanda dropped the hex.

And yet her powerful but still untrained son had managed to slip and escape, find a recently empty body, and inhabit it.

Your gaze softened when you saw the conflict within him and how he tried to hide the guilt he felt, for taking over the life of someone else; even if that someone had passed away.

"She is right, you know," you chose to comment after Agatha finished her speech about why he shouldn't feel bad for what he did. "The rules were never meant for our kind. They were never fair to us. To survive, we learnt to bend and even break them. "

Your words had a personal touch behind them, and Billy quickly understood that you had been in something similar. Maybe not the same, but your past had not been perfect and light and peaceful, evident by your romantic favour towards Agatha and the scars you bore.

And he was right.

For you were meant not to harm, let alone kill, unless something was truly the Darkest spot and a danger to everything.

That was your role, your mission...

And yet you broke it when you killed those witch hunters, even if it was in self-defense. You broke the rules to survive.

Maybe not break, perhaps bent since those men truly were danger for you and other witches... but the ending remained the same.

But of course, this sweet little moment couldn't remain; not with Agatha; who chose to test the waters once again.

Though this time, Billy seemed to have trouble working his powers; a proof he had yet to master control over them, especially when not enraged.

"Whatever." He exclaimed, trying not to let her get inside his head and under his skin. "You know it's there. I can finish The Road on my own."

Agatha smirked. "Oh, sure, with all that power you can't control without throwing a temper tantrum."

"I'll figure it out!"

Deciding that you had enough, you chose to enter this little conversation as you walked to stand by your lover's side.

"You won't have to because you will be coming with us," you said, earning surprised looks from the two. They parted their lips to argue, but you lifted your hand, palm facing them; a sign not to interrupt you. "We lost Alice when we turned on one another. We are not losing anyone else. We work together, get to the end of this hellish road, and then get out of here. "

They muttered in agreement, knowing you were right and that it was also wiser not to argue with you. Especially after the show you did with the ghost of Evanora, they knew better.

And so, the three of you started to walk down the yellow leaved covered path towards your next trial; expecting that Lilia and Jen would catch up with you one way or another.

Or at least that was what you personally hoped for, unsure if it would become a reality.

[songfell-ut]

Happy birthday, Vene

This was drawn by @venelona on Discord and I cleverly tricked her into letting me put this here so I can do a very small gift and rewrite the fork scene if Frisk was a dude. I realize this is not reassuring to those of you who are tired of my self-AU, but I super swear I am editing the final draft of Chapter 34 in the other tab right now.

Also, it's not the entirety of their first meeting in Frisk's room, just skipping around to the relevant bits, explaining how there's still a dramatic reveal if this Frisk isn't wearing a veil because you can pry that dramatic reveal out of my cold dead hands.

Over a day later, the High Priest shut the outer door to his chambers, whistling to himself. He set a covered tray on the table, sat down at the mirror, and checked that his eyes were clear, or at least not too red. Then he picked up his coronet and settled it over his head. He stared at his reflection for a full minute, as if waiting for the young man in the mirror to get up first; with a sigh, he finally pushed himself to his feet.

Just outside his bedroom, he let the whistle peter out into a thread of magic that ran ahead to check the loose barriers he'd set around the bed. Two echoes came back, one very close by. "Good morning. Please step back," he said into the slight crack in the door.

A pause, then a soft creak of floorboards, unnervingly quiet for something – someone – his size. "Further, please," he ordered.

The skeleton made a noise he couldn't interpret. Floorboards creaked again, and the bedframe groaned under his weight. The priest turned the doorknob, picked up the tray, and elbowed the door open.

Sans was sitting near the edge of the bed, legs crossed, elbows on his knees. He had left the nearly transparent inner bedcurtains closed, but opened the windows, and even just his outline through the thin curtain looked menacing; the light shone through his filthy shirt, shadowing the spaces between his ribs, and the fire in his sockets fully illuminated his features. The young man made himself place the tray on a side table and pull up a chair with perfect unconcern, as if he couldn't feel him staring his down. "I see you're all healed. You must have slept well," he said coolly. "I know I did."

The skeleton glanced behind him at the rumpled sheets. "Uh..."

"You were alone the whole time," the priest hastened to assure him. "There's a very comfortable couch in my office that I've been using."

skip

That didn't feel quite right, but without more evidence, the priest decided to leave it for now. Instead, he pulled the side table closer and removed the tray's cover.

Sans twitched at the sight of steaming hotcakes, piles of cheese-sprinkled eggs, tomatoes, and crisp-crusted sausage links. The priest cut a tomato slice into quarters with his fork, speared one and popped it into his mouth; rather than making Sans share the napkin, he dabbed his lips in passing with the very edge of one sleeve.

This courtesy was lost on the skeleton. "Need somethin’ ta wipe with?" he inquired, and plucked at the curtain. “How ‘bout this?”

The young man ignored him and made a show of chewing, swallowing, and lifting another tomato to his mouth. Sans didn't have a stomach, but if he had, the priest probably would have heard it growling; the monster was shifting around and scowling, clearly agitated. So the human quickened his pace, taking a huge bite of egg, a chunk of hotcake, and a sausage in turn, eating as fast as he could.

Sans' eyes had lit to orange again, and the human was glad to put the fork down. "There. You see? It isn't poisoned," he said briskly. he stood and pushed the side table over to the bed. "Help yourself."

The orange faded. Sans’ skull tilted this way and that, like a wary but curious animal. "What?"

"I had breakfast over an hour ago. This is for you," the priest explained.

Sans glanced at the tray, then back to him. The human waited for a full ten seconds, almost holding his breath, before he was rewarded with a rude noise. "Can I have another fork? Don't want your germs," he said.

skip

The skeleton's face was impossible to see clearly. Now that it was quiet, it reminded the young man too much of when he'd grabbed him in the cell. His instincts screamed at him to pull his hand back and throw a barrier between them, but determination surged as he remembered how he'd already faced down the boss monster’s attempts to kill him. He was going to forge a lasting bond between their worlds and hand over a kitchen utensil like a normal person or die trying.

Slowly, Sans reached down through the gap in the curtains, and the human fought to keep from panicking as the massive hand approached. The skeleton paused...and plucked the fork from his grip with delicate courtesy, holding it up between them. "Hm. Too small. Still dirty." He tossed it to the floor.

The High Priest stared at the fork. He stared at him. He retrieved the fork, stood up, dropped it into the pitcher, and plunged his hand in after it. Out came the utensil; the young man strode over and shoved the bedcurtain aside enough to gather up a fistful of it as a makeshift towel. This bed was centuries old and the curtains worth as much as a commoner’s entire wardrobe, but they belonged to the High Priest, which meant they were his. And as High Priest, if he wanted to use his antique linen to dry a mostly-clean fork in order to please a giant monster who was intimidating him and somehow also being a complete snot, then who was going to stop him? No one, that was exactly who.

With a righteous huff, he turned back around, still polishing the bedamned fork. "Here," he said, fully facing Sans for the first time. "I hope this is satisfactory."

Sans looked at him. He didn't say anything.

The world always seemed a little too bright with the bedcurtains open, and the light from the window was in his eyes. The priest rubbed them on his sleeve, and scratched under his jaw where the curtain had brushed it. "Well?" he demanded.

Sans didn't take it. He was leaning forward, hand dangling as if he'd started to reach for it and somehow forgotten what he was doing. His sockets were blank, an odd color washing over his bony face. "Uh," he said. "It's."

The priest didn't know that that could be a complete sentence. It probably wasn't, he thought in growing irritation. "Sans," he said carefully, "are you going to use this, or would you like to eat with your hands?"

The skeleton shook himself and turned away. "Never mind. 'm not hungry," he grumbled.

The human bit back the urge to call him a colorful name or two. "Sans, this is not a joke. There is nothing wrong with your food, except that it's cold. Eat it. Please."

"I will, I will." Sans hunched his shoulders. "Just gimme a couple minutes."

He did not have the time or patience for this. "Sans. Look at this." The monster glanced up, and in one motion, the human stabbed a sausage and another chunk of hotcake. "Say 'ahhh,'" he ordered, and when Sans blankly repeated, "Ahh?" he thrust the fork into Sans’ mouth.

skip

Sans was not wondering the same thing. He was thinking how he'd woken up not knowing where he was and had had to figure out that he wasn't dreaming about the battle in his cell: a human witch really had trapped him and knocked him out with some kind of weird brain-magic. Once he got over the fact that he couldn't take any shortcuts and wouldn't fit through the windows, though, he had to admit things could be worse; the bed really was the most comfortable thing in the world.

Talking with the witch was not comfortable. It was bad enough when he was asking Sans questions about his capture and not breaking out of prison, but then he had to give him food and say things that made sense, and things that made even more sense, and then...

Sans did not like anything about humans, especially their looks. He never understood how they could be attracted to each other long enough to reproduce; they seemed far shallower than monsters, for whom the inside really did count more than the outside, except maybe when it came to reproduction. But that was a rare occasion for them, and they thought humans' obsession with it was shallow and weird at best. Sans in particular had no interest in the human form unless he was trying to destroy it: male or female, they were all just skeletons with varying degrees of hair, meat and fluids in the way.

And then this infuriating human had turned around in the sunlight, curtain and stupid fork in hand, and Sans suddenly couldn't breathe. The overall picture was what made him feel a huge mess of feelings he didn't like or understand, but he could see every detail perfectly: lips pursed in annoyance, the sun reflecting off that black circlet thing, chestnut hair shining and reddish-brown eyes half closed against the light…even the seemingly dull, coarse hair on his face showed wavy patterns picked out in golden threads.

And then the human had tipped his head and shown a glimpse of his throat, and now Sans couldn't think things right. All he could try to do was turn away, then eat it all in order to make him go away, and only his punning instinct had saved Sans from saying or doing anything else stupid.

Why did Frisk have to like puns, too?

This was bad. It had gotten very complicated, very fast. He had to get out of here. The human had demonstrated some emotion behind his priest-y facade; maybe Sans could appeal to it, persuade him to pick some other monster and not risk boning things up? Priests weren’t supposed to bone, right? Ha, ha, etc.

…Granted, this one could probably manage it, given how powerful he was, not to mention easy on the eye sockets, but there was no telling if he was—

"...going to do it," he was saying, wiping away tears of laughter. "I'm not all-powerful, but I have enough influence at court and with the Church to guarantee your safety." Frisk looked up at him, bright-eyed, and his SOUL did another loop-de-loop. "So, Sans. Will you stay?"

He didn't want to, it was a bad idea, and he said, "No," in his mind.

Frisk smiled, tilting his head.

"Yeah," Sans said out loud.

[aceofwhump]

Do you have a whump trope that you would like to see in the revival of White Collar, especially for Neal?

Oh gosh yes. So many. I want to see him get shot. Like badly. For real this time. A wound like the finale but he isn't faking his own death please. I want him bleeding out and I want Peter to freak out. And worse than getting shot in the leg which while I enjoyed sooooo much you have no idea but I want more. Much more. More blood, more pain, more stakes. More. Shoot him.

I would love to see more kidnapped whump for Neal too. Dangerous criminal kidnapping him to either A) get at Peter or B) use him for their own nefarious purposes. Then of course please hurt him while you have him thank you.

I'm currently obsessed with the scenario of Neal being lent to another department or organization and the new temporary handler treating him like dirt. Kinda like that one episode where Ruiz gets him kidnapped kinda on purpose. But I want it big and I want him hurting and abused.

Near drowning. We haven't had that for Neal have we? I need that please. That would be a good trope to use on Neal.

A good classic sick episode would be great. We need a good ole sick Neal episode.

Oh maybe even a poisoning! One of the fun ones where they get progressively sicker through the episode as they run out of time to find an antidote. Love that stuff.

[curly-my-beloved]

“And I can't exist without you” Curly x Reader

i. i've been waiting by my grave

waiting for you to rescue me, my love

come back from the dead

You'd look up at the night sky often. Each night, even. Especially now. Especially these days.

By now, it was routine. You'd go to the balcony of your house (one that he bought) and use the ladder to climb on the rooftop so you could lay down on it, looking at the stars.

... why was the ladder there again?

Oh, that's right. He left it there. He put there for you.

So you could look at him.

Oh, what a fool that man was. And yet, you loved him so damn much... so, so much it hurt. Especially now.

Now that he was gone.

He was supposed to be back a year ago. And yet... he disappeared. And since you didn't get to marry him, they would use that damn technicality against you.

You tried everything, but nothing worked. Not even a lawsuit.

You were stuck. Stuck with a ring on your finger...

And without him.

ii. and i can't exist without you

i can't exist without you

You felt tears falling down your cheeks as you looked at the full moon and all the stars around it. You could almost hear him. Almost feel him.

You remembered it all too well. Your head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around you. You remembered his small chuckles as you confused the constellations. He always seemed to know all the stars so well.

It was so sweet.

You remembered smiling and giggling at the child-like wonder in his eyes. In moments like this, all your worries seemed to fade away. It was just you, him and the night sky.

It was not the same anymore.

It was almost like phantom pain where you couldn't feel his body against yours.

It was almost piercing just how silent the world was without his voice and heartbeat.

It was almost colorless without those damn bright blue eyes of his looking at you lovingly when you woke up.

God, you missed him.

iii. you are my cure

in this infected world

and i can't do this without you

i'm dying here without you

Curly didn't know when he woke up. One moment, he was frozen, drifting in space on the Tulpar, all his crewmates dead... the next, there was a team of doctors above him.

He wasn't sure what was going on. His mind was too hazy, still trying to handle everything that happened to him. To his crew.

His mind kept going from them to you. He never forgot you.

Even with how fuzzy his mind was, clouded by the constant pain he felt, you always remained in his mind and heart. Sometimes he even hallucinated in his agony, seeing you sitting on the edge of the bed, holding his face and hushing him with the sweetest, softest whisper.

You'd promise him everything would be alright. Talk about your plans. You'd remind him about the silly cat or dog debate that never got to reach a conclusion.

You'd wear the beautiful ring he got you, talking to him about the wedding you two were planning once he comes back home.

He'd sob every night, prying to once day get to hold you in his arms again.

The only real cure for his pain. The light in the dark.

God, he missed you.

iv. i don't belong here without you...

Hope is the mother of all fools, and yet, it always dies last.

Your hope never died.

Almost two decades passed since he disappeared.

And yet, as your hair greyed and your skin started to lose it's youthful glow, you never lost hope.

You kept waiting.

You'd rather die a widow than even think about loving another, after all.

And yet, one day, you got a call from a hospital hours away from your home.

They asked for your name and if you knew a man called Curly. Shocked, yet hopeful, you told them that yes, you were engaged to Grant Curly.

He was finally found.

v. i wanna lie with your bones forever...

You'd recognize those god damn bright blue eyes of his anywhere.

From the moment his one remaining eye met yours, you know it was him. As damaged as he was, it was him. Curly. The love of your live.

You had no idea how long you were there with him, holding his burned face and leaving the gentlest, most love filled kisses on it as relieved tears streamed down your face.

You'd rest your forehead against his chest, finally feeling his heartbeat again after all those years, hearing his the fast yet steady rhythm between your sobs.

You could finally feel his arms around you again, even if they were much skinnier, with stumps instead of the big hands you always loved to hold.

It was him. The man you loved so much.

And as you looked into his eye, that beautiful, gorgeous blue eyes of his...

You could see your world was slowly regaining its colors.

Just like his world was slowly regaining the light.

You were together again.

God, you've both missed this so much.

[hanfourz]

― consume ‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅ | l.rw

pairing: fledgling!riwoo x human!reader (fem bodied)

genre: smut, fantasy

word count: 2.2k 0_0

warnings: blood!!, lots of kissing, biting, marking, cunilingus, use of riwoos real name (sanghyuk)

note: that pic is what inspired this whole thing btw... -🪼

walk with me... so riwoo fangs right..? what about fledgling!riwoo who just recently turned and his fangs are starting to fully grow (?).. so obviously they're kinda uncomfortable and cause him to need some sort of relief right?... do we see where i'm going with this?... oral fixation riwoo yes yes 🙂‍↕️

him needing to suck or bite something sooo bad it makes him wanna cry. and you’re always so willing to help him even though you're not a vampire yourself and don't fully know how it all works but you'd do anything for him. and at first he doesn't really tell you he's struggling with his new fangs but he winces when he's eating certain things and you see him constantly tonguing at his gums and kinda figure it out on your own. so ever the diligent partner, you start to do some research and figure out a couple remedies for his discomfort. a lot of the things you found sounded like things you would give to a teething baby and thought that idea wouldn't rly interest riwoo... but you saw something about biting and the cogs start turning.

so one day as you're chilling together you bring it up. you ask him how he'd feel about biting/feeding from you and at first he looks at you confused before saying something like 'shouldn't i be the one asking you that?' then he asks why you even thought of that. you tell him it might help with the fangs and he tries to brush it off and tells you he's fine and the discomfort should go away on its own. you don’t push it again that night but you hope he's at least thinking about it now because truth be told you couldn't really stop thinking about the idea of him feeding from you.

he does think about it. a lot. something he also didn't tell you was that your scent was so much stronger to him now and it was sooo enticing. he'd tried to ignore it, pushing away the urge to shove his nose in your neck and inhale when you walked past him. but it only got more and more intense as time passed which was the opposite of what he hoped would happen. it caused his fangs to nearly hurt with the need to sink them into your neck. but he withheld himself, absolutely refusing to tell you of this. he was pretty good at hiding it too, his behavior never really changing around you.

it was a day while you were cuddling that his last thin thread of control finally snapped. you had just gotten out the shower, hair washed and scent especially strong. you two were watching some show riwoo had put on. you were in a t-shirt and shorts while his head rested on your chest and your hands gently carded through his hair. he felt so peaceful like this, softly inhaling your scent and eyes starting to feel heavier. just when he was ready to doze off, he felt that uncomfortable tension in his gums again. he kept his eyes closed and tried to will the pain away but it was no use. it was only getting progressively worse, so much so that he had started to curl into you unknowingly. you’d already noticed when he tensed up but concern flooded you when you heard what sounded like a very quiet, pained whimper.

“baby? are you okay?” you’d asked softly, trying to look at his face that was now almost fully turned into your chest. he just whimpered softly again, not answering. “is it the fangs, love?” you heard a small sigh before riwoo nodded and lifted his head slightly. you tried not to gasp as you noticed his fangs now poking out from his top lip, much longer than they usually were. he leaned off of you and you followed, eyes holding bewilderment. 

“baby, that looks painful…” you whispered, still keeping your tone gentle. riwoo had leaned off of you to get away from your scent but you didn’t know that so you leaned towards him to get a better look but were utterly shocked when he flinched away. confusion flitted across your features, a strong furrow to your brows as you looked at him. “sanghyukie… what’s wrong?” your tone was slightly hurt as you asked and he felt bad but how could he explain it to you without sounding like a freak? 

“you.. your smell.. is a lot stronger now. it makes it difficult for me to think…” he answered eyes downcast and refusing to make contact. it all started to make sense to you now, his refusal of your original idea, his avoidance of the subject. he felt like he was losing control. 

“will it hurt you?” riwoo looks up at you, brows furrowed. 

“will what hurt me?” he asks, not understanding where this was going.

“feeding from me. would it hurt you?” you say, head tilted to the side in curiosity. riwoo stared at you for a minute. 

“no but… it might hurt you, love.” he says, concern lacing his tone. he could see the cogs turning in your head, running over his words and thinking about it. then he watches as whatever you’re thinking solidifies and he already knows what you’re about to say. you have that determined look in your eye that tells him you aren’t budging on this. 

“we don’t know for sure though, right? hyukie… if it might help, i wanna try. i don’t like seeing you suffering knowing i could help.” your brows are furrowed and your gaze is gentle as you watch him take your words in. he hesitates for a while, tongue running over his fangs out of sheer habit at this point. then he sighs and you think he’s giving in. 

“we can try… but if it hurts you we stop. and… i’m not sure i’ll be able to think clearly but if it’s too much, you have to stop me.” he concedes and watches a small smile settle across your lips. 

“okay, promise.” you say with barely contained excitement. 

riwoo can’t deny that he finds your eagerness cute, even if the entire idea makes him nervous. he doesn’t really understand why you’re so eager about it though… he assumes it’s just because you want to help him. which is partially true but he’s unaware of your own selfish desires. when you start moving closer to him, his brows raise in surprise. you wanted to try, now?! he steadies himself as your scent starts to grow nearly suffocating, gums already starting that odd tingling sensation. 

you take his hands in yours, pulling him a little closer while keeping that gentle smile on your face. he knows it’s supposed to help calm him but truly his heart feels like it might jump out his chest. everything about you was overwhelming him but he knows that he does want this. he wants to taste you, wants to be able to get that sweet smell straight from the source. the more he thinks about it, the more it starts to drive him insane. 

when your lips meet his, he doesn’t even register it at first. his mind goes into overdrive and it’s like a shock goes through his entire body. he moans into your mouth as he kisses you much more feverishly than either of you were expecting. he doesn’t know what comes over him as he starts to press further and further into your space. all he can think, smell, feel is you, you, you. when you whimper quietly, he moans again in response. it’s the most desperate and needy you think you’ve ever seen riwoo. you move so you’re on his lap, legs wrapped around his hips and arms around his shoulders. he starts to trail his lips down your jaw to your neck, fangs grazing over a spot on your neck that makes you shiver. he inhales sharply as he tastes your skin on his tongue. he drinks your scent in, his cock twitching in his pants.

when you whine and tilt your head back to give him more space, he starts to suck on the spot right under your ear. he wishes he could see your face but he thinks he might die if he pulls his nose away from your neck right now. he softly tongues over the mark he just sucked into your skin. you can feel his heavy breaths fan over your skin. your hands find purchase in his hair, not pulling it but just resting them there. you feel it as his fangs press into your skin, him testing the waters for now as he starts to leave little love bites down your shoulder. riwoo always liked biting you even before he was turned into a vampire, it was his favorite way of marking you. and you always expressed how much you liked it yourself. now was no different but you were even more turned on this time. you grind down onto him, his hips stuttering up into you. when he digs his teeth in a little harder, you keen into him. you feel like he’s edging you as he continues this pattern of softly biting before he presses his fangs in harder but not enough to pierce your skin. 

“sanghyuk… please, baby.” you whimper out, knowing you saying his name like that makes him weak. he sighs into your skin as his hands fully wrap around your waist. he runs his hands up your shirt and over your skin as he brings his lips back up to your neck. he inhales your scent again before he sinks his teeth into your skin. you fully moan at the feeling, a warmth like syrup spreading through your veins. riwoo loses himself as your taste fills his senses. he doesn’t even know he’s whimpering out and his hips are grinding into you. your hands scramble in his hair, tugging on it as you whine out again and again. you don’t know what you were expecting but it wasn’t this. you feel like you’ve taken three aphrodisiacs in one sitting. you’re completely consumed by the man attached to your neck, sucking your life force like it’s his own. like he needs the very air you breathe. like he might die if he doesn’t become one with your body. riwoo is faring much worse, almost cumming in his pants. and it only worsens when he feels you pulling on his hair and you grinding yourself down onto him. 

he pulls away, pupils blown wide with his lips and fangs stained red. his entire face is flushed and his eyes are still locked on the marks his fangs left in your skin, blood oozing from the still open wound. he leans back in and licks over the marks until the bleeding stops, moaning lewdly at the taste. you’re still swimming in ecstasy as he pulls away again. he looks up to see that you’re flushed and your eyes are barely open. he brings a hand up to your face and you lean into his touch, sighing softly as you make eye contact. a small smile plays on your lips and he feels his heart jump in his chest. 

“you’re perfect.” the words tumble from his lips before he can stop them. you can’t find your words quite yet so you lean forward and catch his lips in a heated kiss, not even caring about the taste of your own blood on his lips. when he softly sinks his teeth into your bottom lip, you push him down until he’s laying underneath you. the need to feel every inch of him consumes you as you move your hips over the bulge in his pants. he whines into your mouth and it only urges you on as you both start to undress. his hands roam over every inch of your body as you press kisses to his neck. you leave marks of your own down the expanse of his neck and shoulders. he stops you before you can move down his body any further, causing you to whine in protest but he shakes his head. 

“need to taste you, please love.” he says breathlessly. you stare at him a minute before you nod and move so that you’re sitting next to him. he gets up quickly and you switch your positions with you now underneath him. he trails his hands down your sides until they rest on your thighs, watching the way goosebumps raise in their wake. when he spreads your legs apart you understand what he meant by tasting you. your breath hitches as you watch him lower himself between your legs. he starts to kiss and bite at your thighs, leaving hickeys and bite marks, before he sinks his fangs in again. you gasp and arch off the bed, moaning his name loudly. he doesn’t stay there long, suckling at the bite and licking your blood off before moving and doing the same in your other thigh. when he’s satisfied, he moves to get a taste of the juices leaking from your pussy. licking a long stripe up from your entrance and then circling his tongue around your clit. you grip the sheets hard as you moan out and his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs. 

you let him consume you whole on that bed again and again until you're both completely spent.

tags : @onedoornet ||

[sgt-tombstone]

When Soap caught a glimpse of the red and white app on Ghost’s phone, he wasn’t sure he saw it correctly. It was the quickest flash, out of the corner of his eye, in a dark and crowded pub the night after one of the longest ops they’d been on in a long time. Surely, it wasn’t…

But then he saw it again, a few days later, when Ghost pulled out his phone to message Price about something inane, Soap sitting next to him like always. And there it was: Clue Period & Cycle Tracker.

He knew he’d recognized it the first time; it was the same app that his sister used when she and her husband had been trying for their second child, and he’d know the app logo anywhere with how often she’d shoved her phone in his face, complaining about fertility windows and PMS. But, contrary to popular belief, John MacTavish knew when to keep his mouth shut, so he didn’t mention it, despite the questions crawling up his throat like ants.

That didn’t mean he didn’t acknowledge it at all, though. It was a little hard to come to terms with, his hulking lieutenant being trans, but it didn’t change how he felt about him, the smoldering lust (and love) that he felt just by being in the same room as him. He needed to show Simon that it didn’t bother him, that he’d be supportive of him no matter what. That he would love him no matter what.

So, in typical MacTavish fashion, he started talking. Small stuff, at first, comments about how fucking stupid anti-trans laws were or how he’d always prioritized the people he loved over whatever was in their pants. It was awkward at times, and maybe a little heavy-handed, but he was trying his best. All it gained him, though, were confused looks from everyone around him, Ghost included. At one point, Gaz even pulled him aside and pointedly asked if there was anything he wanted to tell him, but Soap didn’t dare out his lieutenant, so he stammered through a denial and beat a hasty retreat.

Maybe he needed to be more explicit. The on-store base sold the bare minimum of period supplies, and he didn’t know anything about Ghost’s cycles, so he grabbed what he vaguely remembered his sister mentioning, along with some chocolate, pain killers, and a heating pad. It wasn’t much, woefully inadequate and almost comically small in the only box he had in his room, but… he was trying his best.

He knocked on Ghost’s door that night, box under his arm and heart in his throat. When Ghost opened the door, he practically shoved the box into his chest, his face burning with embarrassment, and Ghost leveled him with a questioning look as he waved him inside. The last thing Soap wanted to do was have this conversation, but he stepped in anyway, heart hammering as Ghost closed the door behind him.

“What is this, Sergeant?”

For once, Soap didn’t know what to say. Maybe this was a bad idea. How did one tell their superior officer that they were aware of and fully supported their gender identity, despite said superior officer never having actually told them about it? They didn’t, that’s how. Except that’s exactly what Soap had to do, somehow.

“I, uh,” he stammered. Great start. “I just wanted tae-“

“Why are you giving me pads, Soap?”

Soap wanted the floor to swallow him whole and leave nothing but a soot stain on the floor to indicate his swift descent into hell. Ghost had opened the box and was looking over it at him, one eyebrow raised in bafflement.

“I just,” Soap said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Was it hot in here? He felt sweat drip down the valley of his spine as Ghost continued to fix him with that same expectant stare. “I just thought ye might-“

“Do you think I have a period, Soap?”

It wasn’t said with an air of disgust, or even derision, just earnest curiosity, but it prickled something defensive in Soap anyway, and he rushed to explain himself.

“Ah saw ye had an app on yer phone and it’s the same one my sister uses so I figured ye were trans and just hidin’ it well so I just…”

He drifted off, words petering out when he registered Ghost’s chuckles. In fact, he was full on laughing, curled slightly over the box still in his arms, one hand raised to his face, pulling off his mask to wipe at his eyes. Hot rage swept through Soap at the sound.

“You bastart,” he cried. “Ah was just trying tae be supportive and yer laughin’ at me-“

“I’m sorry, Soap,” Simon said, schooling his expression slightly, but Soap could still see mirth dancing in his eyes. It was a good look on him, and it was hard to hold onto his anger in the face of it. “I’m feeling very supported, thank you.”

Hard, but not impossible. Soap glared at him through narrowed eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.

“If yer gonna mock me, I’ll take the box back, ye bampot,” he muttered, but Simon pulled the box closer to his chest, protective of its contents.

“It was a gift, Sergeant,” he said, shaking his head. “No take-backs.”

“What are ye, five?”

“Thirty-five,” Simon corrected, a glimmer of mischief in his smile. “And not trans, either. Though I’m sure every trans person is very appreciative of your wholehearted support.”

“Fuck ye,” Soap said without heat. The tension drained out of his shoulders and he slumped slightly where he stood in the middle of Simon’s room. “What’s the app for, then?”

“It’s to keep track of the side effects of my medications,” Simon shrugged, putting the box on his desk and stepping back over to his bed, but not before Soap noticed him pocketing the chocolate. “My psychiatrist recommended it. Works well, even if it gets confused that I never actually have a period. Good for keeping track of trends, though.”

And that… Made sense, all things considered. He knew that Simon took a small handful of pills everyday when they were on base, medications to help with his anxiety and other PTSD-related symptoms, but he’d never thought about the side effects that they might have. His confusion must have shown because—in a jarring moment of deja vu—he abruptly had a phone being shoved, albeit more gently than his sister had, in his face. He immediately recognized the app’s calendar, tracking various symptoms in colored tabs on each day. Most of them were orange, having to do with mood or sleep or energy levels, but some were blue or green, and he wasn’t sure what those were for. None of them, notably, were red.

“Oh,” he said dumbly, a little shocked at how forthcoming Simon was being about all of this. “Ah guess… Ah can take the stuff back then.”

“Don’t you dare,” Simon said quickly, a little teasingly. He put his phone back in his pocket and stepped unsubtly between Soap and his desk. “When your sergeant shows up at your door with chocolate and pain killers, he’s not allowed to leave with them, too.”

“Surely ye don’t need the pads, though, LT,” he said, cheeks heating with embarrassment again.

“I’m sure they’ll come in handy the next time you get shot in the field,” Simon smirked, dodging Soap’s badly-aimed smack with a chuckle.

“Ahm sorry,” Soap said quietly, not letting himself get swept up in Simon’s good mood. “Ah didnae mean tae assume-“

“Johnny,” Simon said quietly, suddenly in his space, his bare hand rising to tilt Soap’s chin up, forcing him to meet Simon’s eyes. They were soft and genuine where they bore into Soap’s, and the sight made his breath catch in his throat. “Thank you. You were wrong, but I appreciate the thought.”

“Yeah?” Soap said, embarrassingly breathless. When Simon nodded, he risked placing his hands on Simon’s hips, heat searing through the black fabric of his shirt.

“You noticed what no one else did and tried to be supportive the only way you knew how,” Simon continued, gaze still pining Soap in place, and Soap really needed him to step back or else he’d be very aware of exactly what effect his voice had on Soap.

“I always will, sir,” Soap breathed, and then abruptly stopped breathing at the darkened look in Simon’s eyes.

“You always take care of me, Johnny,” he rumbled, and the dam broke. Within a heartbeat, their lips met, a slick slide of teeth and tongues and pent-up desire, their hands sweeping across each other’s bodies, touching everything in reach. Soap felt one hand tangle at the base of his mohawk, the other splayed across his lower back, a radiating heat diffusing across his skin. His own hands were clenched in the back of Simon’s shirt, holding him as close as possible as he pushed himself up and forward, as far into Simon as he could get with layers of clothes and skin and muscle between them.

After an indeterminate amount of time—Soap couldn’t have guessed minutes or hours for all the money in the world—Simon gently broke them apart with a palm on his cheek, his hand so big that it covered the entire side of Soap’s face, and the thought made him whine even as he let himself be pushed away. They didn’t go far; Simon pressed his forehead against Soap’s, both of them gasping each other’s air as they caught their breath.

“Fuck, sir,” Soap panted, eyes pressed shut as he struggled to process what had just happened.

“Want to find out what exactly you were wrong about, Johnny?” Simon asked. Soap looked up at him, eyes flying open in confusion, then glanced down when Simon tilted his head with a smug smile. In the scant space between them, he could see the clear tent in Simon’s pants, and he couldn’t have stopped the moan that ripped out of his throat if he’d tried.

“Fuck, sir,” he repeated, looking up again, his eyes dancing with excited lust.

“I was hoping to,” Simon replied, and his laughter echoed around the room as Soap shoved him down onto the bed, his grip on his sergeant pulling them flush.

Later, as Soap laid on Simon’s bed, sprawled and strung out, the scent of sex heavy in the air, his limbs even heavier, he couldn’t help but to be glad, for the first time in his life, that he’d been wrong.

Read it on ao3 here!

[weclassygirl]

wonders

⋆˙⟡ sauron x fem!elf!reader (witch) ⟡˙⋆

summary: creation of the Rings is quite demanding, Lord of Gifts is here to ensure their completion

warnings: dream manipulation (fake deaths), not much besides that

word count: 3k

author’s note: i hope everything loads because my wifi sucks as of recent days. i've been trying to upload for over an hour now. finally we get a glimpse of reader's power so... enjoy! (previous part -> bewitched)

You wished you could drop the illusion even for a split second when you heard that he left Eregion. Galadriel found out who he was and went on to create the Rings nonetheless. In three there’s balance, she said, you wanted to disturb that balance. 

You felt them when she brought them to Lindon, felt the very life within you blossom as they worked their magic. The Elves would not leave the shores of Middle-Earth, but Eregion still didn’t know that. 

As Celebrimbor and the other smiths worked on the completion of the forge, you could do nothing but aimlessly wander the grounds, trying to connect to him. He let you, hesitantly and you found out why. Chained, dirty and wounded he laid inside the tent, waiting for the Lord-father to bargain with him again. 

You tried to break the chains, used whatever power was bestowed upon you to free him. They twitched lightly but nothing moved, not a nail that held them together, never bending under your fingers. 

You kneel next to him and place your hands on your lap. “It was worth a try.” you admit and he smiles despite being in pain. You could feel it, faintly, not as strong as it could be once you bind yourself to him.

“You should go back, you’re wasting your power on me.”

You place your hand on his cheek even if it’s a quickly forgotten feeling. “I wish to stay.” you reassure him. “The hour is late in Eregion, no one will look for me.” your chambers have been moved multiple times over the years, at first near the center, then moving further away until you could choose on your own. The edge of Ost-in-Edhil was a place of your choosing, quiet, no one to disturb you and your craft. You could be yourself within the walls.

Sauron closes his eyes to your touch but opens them as Adar walks inside the tent. You never met the Lord-father directly, only through the whispers of the Orcs but remembered the day he betrayed Sauron. 

A tear falls down Sauron’s face as Adar retells the story of how he met him. You understand him in a way, the servant of Morgoth had that effect even before he took on a new form. 

You’ve met him when he was injured, his cheek adorned by a gash that bled black, his shoulder shattered and his thigh cut through the bone. It took you some time before you healed him completely, Morgoth’s wounds always came first. When the orcs brought you to his bedside he was wide awake, waiting and holding onto his cheek. He could heal himself but why would he bother and use his power when you were at hand? 

Adar informs him that his people were set free and demands an answer to his question. What did he know of Sauron?

You saw his mind at work, he probably found the situation amusing. He smirks as he shifts on the ground to get a better look at the Lord-father.

“Sauron has returned in a new form.” the chains around his neck rattle. “I am not yet certain what shape he has taken.”

“Then of what use are you to me?” Adar asks. You lean against the stone as much as your illusion allows you to.

“I have something you don’t. The trust of the Elves… and a witch.” that piques Adar’s interest. 

“I wonder… what kind of witch would put her trust in you?” he has a faint idea that it might be you but to Adar you could be good as dead. He knew what kind of person you were, how Sauron quickly took liking to you in Forodwaith. You were no good company but if persuaded, you could prove a valuable ally. 

“Release me and I’ll go to them and seek him out, so you can marshal your legions and destroy him.”  he offers and Adar seems to consider. 

Waldreg comes closer. “Do you vow allegiance to Adar, Lord-father of the Uruks?”

Halbrand looks up at him and speaks quietly.

“Yes.”

“Then kneel.” His sight is focused on you as he does so, the disdain evident on his face as he bows before Adar. For a second it reminds you of the day he was betrayed by him. “Now swear it.” 

His head hangs low as he begins. “I vow—”

“With your head at my feet.” Adar commands and you see how he relishes in it. Soon enough both of you will once Sauron sets out to claim his army.

He takes his time putting his head to the ground, Adar watches carefully as do his children. The King of the Southlands at his mercy, thinking that he can use him as his pawn. You’ve seen the trick in his eyes, the lie and grin as he took the vow. He looks straight at you as he speaks the words and you feel a sense of power flowing through you. He means more than the words slipping from his lips. 

“I vow to serve the Lord of Mordor. To the end of my days… and his.”

His chains are let loose and slowly he rides out of the camp. Adar knows better not to trust him entirely, you observe him and he turns his head to you, you freeze. Could he…? You step closer and lift your hand up in front of his face, if you were at your full power you could snap his neck with the single movement of your hand. You have to hold yourself back.

As Halbrand leaves the camp you already wait for him at the hill and in the distance both of you hear screams - Waldreg. He grins like a child.

“Satisfied?” you ask as he halts the horse by you. 

„Very.” he responds. „I take it you will grant me entry once I arrive?” 

You shake your head. „Galadriel informed Celebrimbor to not treat with you. He doesn’t know who you are and I doubt he will allow me to make the decision.” you confess. You look back to the camp, the orcs moving around in the distance. „Use your charm, mention the Rings and he will be wrapped around your finger. Make him believe they worked wonders.” 

He nods and you disappear from his view. Back in your room you hear a knock at your door, your eyes flutter open as you notice dawn at the horizon. You go up to the door and see Mirdania at the other side, ready to walk with you to the forge as she always had in the mornings. 

The following days you wait until he comes by the gate. The new forge has been completed, everything set in place as you watch from the upper level. The anvil descended from the ceiling like the last piece of the puzzle, Celebrimbor beamed next to you as he saw his dream come true before his very eyes. 

„Fëanor would be proud.” you say to him and mean it. Creation of this forge was no mere task as well as crafting the Rings. You’d be a fool to admit otherwise.

Mirdania joins you and mentions a messenger from the Southlands, your heart skips a beat and you follow to see who it is from the balcony. He looks up at you before you fully take in his presence, disheveled, wounded and as ever prideful. 

Celebrimbor gives you one order. “Stay away from him.” but have you ever listened?

You come up to him during the day, Halbrand gets away from his horse and smiles at your arrival. 

„I tried.” you announce low enough for him to hear. He looks up to Celebrimbor standing on the balcony with a tug at his lips. 

„Give him time.” he only says and you trust his words. As simple as they are you know them to be true, Celebrimbor is but a note waiting to be plucked to the melody of his choosing. A conductor in waiting before entering the stage.

However when you return to the forge, Celebrimbor looks at you displeased as you defied his single order.

“He is not to be negotiated with.” he reminds you.

You pick up your apron from the chair and smooth it out as you think of an answer. “Forgive me, but I simply needed to make sure—” you start and sigh. “he appears to be injured.”

He is aware of how close the two of you have gotten over these few short days that he spent in Eregion. He puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Galadriel made herself clear. I know how much you seem to care for him but he is a mortal. His life will pass you in the blink of an eye whether you like it or not.” he tells you and you wish you could break the hand he held on your shoulder. Never to create again. The time draws near and you cannot wait until you’ll finally let go of this tiring illusion.

It takes a whole day before Celebrimbor lets him in, his eyes sparkled at the mention of the Rings. Halbrand covered in rain and wounds made the Lord of Eregion pity him. He welcomed him back, fed him and reveled when hearing about the success of the Rings. You stood in the shadows of the forge, listening to their conversation, waiting when Halbrand began his act, his own illusion. 

As Celebrimbor calls out for him, the forge began to burn brighter, you cover your eyes from the light when you see him. Grey-white robes draping from him, long blond hair graced with a golden head piece. He sauntered down to face Celebrimbor, an emissary from the Valar himself.

You stayed hidden until you found it fit to reveal yourself, as ever the innocent, accidentally knocking over a hammer that was on the table. You shuffle to pick it up, unable to look them in the eye. “Forgive me, my Lord. I—”

Celebrimbor has a gentle look on his face. “No… please. Uhm…” he looks to Annatar, unable to explain. The Lord of Gifts comes closer and takes the hammer from the ground and places it in your hands. 

“I believe I should be the one asking for forgiveness.” he admits, never taking his eyes off of you. “You may have known me as Halbrand, but I had to make sure that the three of us were of the same ambition.”

“The three of us?” Celebrimbor asks confused. His expression mimicked on your face as well. 

Annatar nods. “Yes. The Valar has observed you and your smith.” he turns to you and brings up his hand to your face. So delicate as if handling porcelain. “Once swayed to darkness, now working amongst the greatest smiths in all Middle-Earth.” he explains and gestures to Celebrimbor. “And the very descendant of Fëanor, who may have bested his kin.” 

The Lord of Eregion seems to be already wrapped around his finger as a subtle blush roses on his cheeks.

“Our work can begin… with a letter.” he announces.

“A letter?” you ask. You had not expected that, you would have imagined him to ask for more Rings straight away.

He walks up the stairs and up to the open office, he picks up a quill from the desk and holds it out to Celebrimbor. “The Three Rings healed the Elves, I believe it can also heal Dwarven halls of stone.” 

Celebrimbor looks hesitant but takes the quill from his hands. You look to Annatar and he gives you a knowing smile. 

You whisper to him as the scribbling on parchment fills the room. “Rings for Dwarves?” 

“And Men, but let’s worry ourselves with the Dwarves first.” he says. “I’ll need you now, more than ever.” you couldn’t wait for his plan for Eregion. 

Durin already suspected Annatar was not to be trusted, but you made sure his loving wife would persuade him from these frivolous thoughts. As they spoke to Celebrimbor you sat by your workbench, drawing new designs for the Rings, perfecting them in any way. While your hand drew them, the other floated slightly above the paper, as if pushing away invisible speckles of dust. No one saw except for Annatar, how your power slowly made its way into Disa’s mind, planting the conviction of the success of the Rings for their people. 

As they left the forge you could still hear Disa convincing her husband to grant mithril for the Lord of Eregion. You would have to focus your magic on Prince Durin the next time they arrived, but you believed it would have been in vain as the Rings will be already granted to them and they would rejoice because they have to. The Lord of Gifts wouldn’t let it slide if they didn’t, all that work for no appreciation. 

Annatar slowly played his part, making Celebrimbor think that his ideas were his own when he began to write the letter to the High King. You returned to the forge to hear their voices, Annatar felt your presence and looked to you with pleading eyes, knowing that Celebrimbor is watching.

“What are you doing, my lord?” you ask as the Lord of Eregion picks up a quill. 

“I am congratulating the High King on the efficacy of The Three and telling him that I am closing up the forge.” he informs you as you walk up the stairs. You start to shake your head at the news, not knowing what has transpired earlier. “With a promise to join him in Lindon as soon as possible.”

Annatar notices your expression but reassures you. You feel a slight pull in your mind, the bond might be weak but started to grow ever slightly with the recent events and his proximity. 

“You would lie to your High King?” he questions Celebrimbor. The Lord of Eregion looks to you, his trusted smith that would know how important this is, that you would understand.

“I would grant us the space to complete our work.” he says. You act startled when his fists bangs on the table as he tells that he reached the height of his craft. “This… this is my moment. Now, he will not take it away.”

You give him a soft smile as Annatar circles around him. He looks to you and you leave the forge, knowing that Celebrimbor will be dead set on his work. After a few hours most of the smiths have already retired for the night, Celebrimbor left after you practically dragged him away from his table, reminding him that even the brightest minds have to rest. He let you lead him to the door as the forge became empty, the anvil covered for the night and Annatar leaning against it. 

He spoke when he knew there was no one around to eavesdrop.

“It’s been centuries since I’ve seen it properly.” he says.

The last time you used your power was to influence Morgoth to release you from his hold. The success didn’t last long as he felt you in his mind and chained you for the rest of your days in Forodwaith. 

You lift your hand up and let the magic flow around it, you could feel it tingling above your skin, whirling like a small storm as you walked up to him. It was captivating in every way, if you wanted you could make them appear like the light of the Silmarils, make the onlooker stare into its depth like Morgoth once did. 

He knew your true power lay dormant, waiting for a more suiting occasion. For now, the simple illusions and mind control would have to do to grant you some form of satisfaction. 

“Morgoth hasn’t taken everything.” you reply and let your darkened fingertips show from underneath the illusion. He takes your hand in his and places a soft kiss in the palm of it. “You truly believe he would create the Rings for Men? You’ve heard his objection before.” you voice your thoughts and he lets go of your hand. 

“That is where I need you.” you raise your eyebrow at his statement. “Let him see how demanding their creation is. Let him feel the ruin it would inflict on Middle-Earth if he never created them.”

Your mind spins with ideas but perhaps the simplest one is the best option. Annatar sees to it that it’s done when you sit down in your chambers and reach out to Celebrimbor’s mind, plaguing him with visions of Middle-Earth’s doom, with Men standing at the front lines, getting slaughtered while the races with the Rings survive. 

You make sure to leave no trail of your presence, having him face you in his dreams as arrows hit you repeatedly as you try to protect him. An Elven witch turned a respected smith, now dead while sacrificing herself to save his life for his mind filled with creations. He sees the emissary of the Valar down at his feet, covered in wounds that no mortal or immortal being would survive and the Lord of Eregion’s hand covered in blood, responsible for the fall of the Men.

He wakes up startled and you flee as quickly as possible. 

“Finished?” Annatar asks you as he sits on the edge of your bed. 

“For the night, yes.” you reply. 

“One time will not be enough.”

“I am aware, Mairon…” how he loved to hear his name slip out of your mouth. You see the look in his eyes but stop yourself, you’ve exhausted yourself for the day. “Do not fret. His days will be filled with glimpses of what could have beens.” 

And you did, even when the Rings for Dwarves have been completed, you had brought fear to his mind, when Annatar spoke to him of Rings for Men, he refused. Perhaps your visions were too frightening for him, but with the coming days, your work has only bore more fruits and Sauron knew that he had chosen an elf worthy of his vision for Middle-Earth.

[4veslil]

Oneshot | Friends Made In Strange Places | Aegon Targaryen II

A/N: Another Oneshot from my Ao3 and Wattpad accounts, the last three I have posted are my faves and probably the few I have that have been completed or exited the idea stage haha

SUMMARY: (Female) Reader is the maid/nanny for Aegon's children, and while you watch over the princes an unlikely friendship forms.

TW: Minor Character Death, Loss, (Class) Discrimination, Abuse of Power, Depictions of Alcoholism, Mentions of Incest, Mentions of SA (because no, I'm sorry, you can't like a character and just erase all the shitty things they did, it WILL be addressed in this oneshot)

★ MASTER LIST HERE ★

WORD COUNT: 4,999

The Red Keep was still, the night had cast a blanket of its mercy. It hid the guards in shadowed corners and allowed the court to sleep. They were tucked away in their beds, their dreams taking them to a peaceful realm. Only you, a single maid was not allowed such a night, made to watch over Maelor as the Queen slept. He was ceaseless. Nothing seemed to work, not the feeding, the burping, the changing, the small bounces or the soft songs. You feared he had colic. After all, he seemed to cry incessantly for no reason at all.

You continued to bounce the child, lifting him to your shoulder as you looked out over the King's Landing. At least not all were captured in dreams, many were awake but too far to see. You could glimpse at the small lights from houses but not a soul. In the darkness of the chamber, you felt the only being alive, trapped in torment as the baby refused to settle.

You hoped by laying Maelor down and rubbing his tummy that soon he'd find peace, feel the comfort of the cot to finally, sleep. Tears pricked your eyes.

"Please" you murmured, breaking the quiet of the chamber with your silent plea.

No wonder the Queen Mother made you, not Queen Heleana, comfort the child. He was not even yours yet the stress felt no different. He was forever restless, nothing could calm him. You considered feeding him again but that felt no use, he had eaten not long ago. Perhaps, you smirked, he was a true Targaryen, wilful and torturous when he wanted to be. But he was but a baby, it was funny musing to pass the time.

Once again a lullaby left your lips trying to soothe the child. Your mother had sung it to you in the Riverlands. You had not seen her for years, her health becoming poorly and you too busy to visit. Your sister said it was an affliction unlike any she saw.

Your singing grew louder at the memory- a whisper that carried across the chamber, your hand rubbing the child's tummy to the rhythm.

"Why is he not asleep?". You shot up, immediately, turning to the voice. The wails of Maelor did nothing to quench the fear filling your stomach, you hoped he could drown it so it wasn't clear on your face.

"Your Majesty" you bowed, being quick to pick up the child afterwards. It wasn't out of comfort, no, Maelor had now become your own meat shield. You had heard what he'd done to Dyana and that would never become you. Close you held him to your chest and bounced lightly.

"How long has he been crying?" His voice was unusually concerned. You didn't think the King cared much for anything unless it was his cups or whores.

"All night. Nothing seems to settle him, Your Majesty"

He nodded in contemplation and stepped closer. You were rooted to the ground. Soon he reached you in a few quick steps and plucked the child from your arms.

It was like magic, with a few simple bounces, pats on his back and soft soothing escaping his lips, the child's wails began to lessen. It was like the King was a baby whisperer. The child knew when fire and blood were near.

"How... how?" You could only say, your eyes wide with shock and a pained relief.

"He is my child, he knows it is me" he whispered.

"But I tried everything, I have always taken care of him... Your Majesty", you nearly forgot his title.

"Maelor is fussy, spoilt. He will cry until I am here. I was late"

You soon came to the realisation, after sifting through your memories, that this was the first night you were the last to hold Maelor. The King did indeed care for the children, coming every bedtime to settle the child into his cot. All the while, you would clear the room of toys and his old day clothes.

"I never noticed, Your Majesty. I apologise" you bowed.

"Do not worry, even as King many do not pay attention to me"

"I am sure many do, Your Majesty"

The King chuckled, shaking his head with an almost sad smile. Not only did you realise he was rocking the child in his arms, but his feet were pulling on and off the floor. Once again in his cups you assumed.

"You smallfolk, still know nothing of this Keep" he said aloud in the barest whisper. He refused to meet your eyes, they were fixed on the child.

You didn't understand what had caused this bout of honesty. Before you had pictured yourself becoming Dyana, you knew how to escape that. But handling the spoken sorrows of a king, was something you were unprepared for.

"Tis my duty to care for your children. Not think of court matters, that is not my place Your Majesty"

"Of course, all none the wiser while we burn" he smirked sardonically.

"Are we to burn, Your Majesty?", your lip trembled at the words. You were pushing too far, eventually, he would find disobedience among the questions. Perhaps cast you out the Keep for insolence.

The King shrugged, a small shift of his shoulders. Too much like a child. "Perhaps, perhaps not. None of us wants to but maybe it is inevitable"

"Do you fear it, Your Majesty?"

The enquiry hung in the air. This was the moment it would all come crashing down. Your bags would be packed by dawn and onto the streets you would be cast. You walked a path so unpredictable, so treacherous, but you couldn't help yourself. There was a vulnerability in the King that had to be addressed. You doubted with the Queen's sensitive mind and their Mother's lack of emotional comfort that the King had someone to talk to.

The King has no friends, only followers, you once heard. And the phrase couldn't be truer now.

"The stranger comes for us all" he quoted with a mocking tone. The Queen Mother's pious voice was not lost on you.

"Not always, sometimes he's merciful"

"You think death can be a mercy?"

You had to tread carefully, "I have had yet to suffer to truly feel so. But in other's suffering, my family's, the darkest parts of me fear it's the only way"

"Would you willingly go to the stranger, four your family?"

"I love my family, I do. But I hope to be honest with my King. I would never be without a fight. I have too much to live for Your Majesty"

The King nodded, seeming to contemplate the thought, surprisingly considering your words despite your station.

"You are dismissed" he finally spoke amongst the silence.

And you didn't think twice before quickly escaping from the child's chambers. Your heart was thrumming in relief while it momentarily throbbed with regret. Something about the king was almost- no, it was pitiful. You couldn't help but look back and capture those eyes. They spoke of a pain far greater than you had realised.

You hoped soon he would find solace somewhere. Not just in his cups, or in whores, but in genuine company.

-

The next night you had returned to the nursery after tucking Jaehaerys and Jaeheara into bed. They had separated the two from baby Maelor due to his wails, endlessly echoing throughout the keep until the King came.

This time his crying wasn't as loud but he was so restless you couldn't help but swaddle him. You didn't hear of the crown swaddling their children like this, so tightly bound in a scarf their limbs were trapped against their bodies. You only ever saw them in long baby clothes wrapped in delicate fabrics, their arms and legs still free to kick. You hoped it would settle him to sleep, cast the child back to a time it was safe in the Queen's womb.

"He looks like a loaf of bread" The King chuckled, his eyes crinkling and smile wide like a jokester. You had made way to rise but his hand gestured you to stay.

"He is swaddled Your Majesty, hopefully, he will sleep better this way," you remarked, looking back down at the child. His eyes were still teary and his mouth contorted to release a powerful wail that never came, silent amongst the night.

"It seems you have discovered his weakness, why does it work?"

A King who is impulsive, reckless, and sinful, you wondered what turned him to question. He did not seem a man for curiosity if it was not amongst the Street of Silk.

"If you wrap them tightly they feel like they're in their mother again, where they were once safe and sound", the back of your finger ran down the child's cheek. Another cry threatened to blast from his lips as you shushed Maelor. 

"It's a shame we cannot remember it like them" he nodded, and slowly he stepped closer. Almost cautious, making your hair stand on end.

"Is that jealousy I hear Your Majesty?" you quipped, trying to dispel your nerves; forgetting who stood before you despite speaking the title.

"Are you not jealous?" He countered, his brow suddenly stern with venom. You knew to tread carefully, you did not know what he was thinking.

"How can I miss something I've never known, Your Majesty?"

"Many people do. Money, power, women. They'll never have it yet crave it"

"And because of that, you think they're lacking?", your eyebrow quirked.

"Do you not lack in life? A wet nurse with no child, no husband, no power" he smirked, his tone full of mocking.

Your heart stopped, or the pain in your chest felt it did. Your gut had been punched, a wave of anger sifted through you that was uncontrollable, and the only thing stopping you from boiling over was the child in your arms. He was still a King, no matter what you saw the night before, he would always look down on you. No conversation could remould the chain. Change the way of things.

"I have a family that loves me, food in my belly, a roof over my head and work to keep me busy. I am lacking in nothing Your Majesty, I have everything I need"

"Because you do not know more than a small, meagre life. Never getting what you want"

"It is better than watching you drown your sorrows despite everything you have" you suddenly snapped and aback the King was taken. His poison lost on the truth you had spoken.

"You know nothing about me," he growled, stepping closer, his hand on the back of your chair, lowering himself face to face. His stark white hair had cast a curtain around you; there was nowhere to look but him, and you could not tear yourself away.

"Neither do you. I bet this is the longest conversation you have had with a woman without spreading her legs" You stood firm, you wouldn't show him weakness. It could mean your head but a part of you pitied. There was still a boy clawing for power and adoration behind those eyes.

"You think you are funny"

"Oh the funniest Your Majesty"

Your eyes were locked, battling in a silent rage.

"Why do you not fear me?" He uttered from the tense silence, breaking the atmosphere.

The words were lost on you, still lost when he gradually pulled away with the child taken into his arms. While you gnashed your fangs at one another, Maelor had found sleep among the chaos.

"I will take my leave, Your Majesty"

And with that, once again you fled.

-

"You are a strange woman" he sounded from the doorway, leaning against the frame as you looked over Jaehaerys. The boy had come down with a slight fever, nothing the measters couldn't tend to but, they insisted someone sit tight.

"Strange in what way Your Majesty?" you sighed, preparing to tolerate his presence after last week.

You had not spoken since, only coming into his presence so he could settle Maelor into bed. He could not manage a word between you before you ran to your cot.

"You come back" The King shrugged, his arms still knotted at his chest. You felt something brewing.

"Where else could I go Your Majesty?"

"There are many duties you could take up"

"Like your cupbearer?" You bantered with an edge. The King stalked further into the chamber, coming behind your chair. He fixed his hands to the corners of it, leaning close to your back.

"That does not sound too bad my lady"

"I am no lady" you shook your head.

"Then what is your name?" you hesitated for a moment. To disobey would be a great offence and you already offended too much.

You told him in a quiet whisper, hoping it evaded his ears. But the smallfolk achieved little victories in King's Landing. It echoed from between his lips with a slight slur.

"You are drunk Your Majesty" you came to realise.

"Never more than usual" he huffed.

"Still, what if you fell?"

"Is that a threat?" He chuckled lowly, his mouth suddenly at your ear.

You refused to lean away, refused to show weakness, and said that he had a chance of winning.

"It is an educated guess from knowing men too fond of their cups"

"I am not most men"

"No, you are the King. Even more, reason to be wary"

His hand came to curl a lock of your hair around his finger, his pull was so delicate but too close. "You speak so well for a wet nurse"

"My father was an educator, he spoke well and in turn, so do I"

He tugged slightly on the lock, and your head came into contact with his temple. It was too close for comfort but you swallowed the unnerving twang in your stomach. You assumed it to be an element of disgust but were surprised to feel your heart pull. How long had it been since a man played with your hair? Spoke to you so softly? Bantered back and forth with you? How long had it been since you felt wanted?

"Such a strange woman..."

"Should I thank Your Majesty?"

"What for?" You could feel the quirk of his brow against your head.

"For not demanding my attention but earning it?"

You did not hear an answer, did not see his mouth slip open to respond. Only the small, meagre coughs from Jeahaerys called your ears and onto him you focused. Not the King standing perplexed behind you.

Yet still, it was on that night, one so quiet and strange. For the first time in a long while, you admitted in the deepest cracks of your heart, you wanted something.

-

When you opened the door to Maelor's nursery you were surprised to see King Aegon sitting with the child on his chest. For the first time in two weeks, he was settled before you acted.

"You have overtaken my duties Your Majesty" You smiled quietly, it barely ghosted over your expression.

But he remained still, his eyes cast down. Or so it seemed. As you crept further you came to realise the King's state. When asleep like this he simply appeared as Aegon Targaryen. There were no drunken words, unsteady feet, no emotional rampage.

Your feet were delicate across the stone floor until you crouched slightly to gaze at his face closer. His features were still boyish, no longer contorted with stress and sorrow. His hair was strewn across his brow, short threads of silver like cobwebs- soft and delicate.

Without thinking, your hand came forward and brushed them aside, barely skimming across his pale skin. You hoped to stay like this for a little while longer but the contact snapped his eyes open. It was instinct that his hand seemed to trap your wrist in his grasp.

"What are you doing?" He grumbled, his grip becoming tighter. Your expression winced in pain, rippling fear across your body.

"I-I apologise, Your Majesty, forgive me" you stuttered.

"Who gave you the right to touch me?" He grimaced.

"Nobody Your Majesty, there... there was a bug" The lie was terrible, absolutely unbelievable and with the quiet laughter that rang out, you knew he knew it too.

"You think I am stupid", he threw your wrist from his grasp.

"I think you are merciful"

"Another word for weak" he scoffed.

"Mercy is only available to those with power"

He contemplated the words for a moment before standing, in quick succession he placed Maelor down and turned quick on his heels.

"Follow me" Aegon commanded resolutely, your position offered no chance to refuse. You were trapped but a bigger part of you remained curious.

Was this how Dyana fell into his snare? Goading her with comforting words. Did he play with her hair too? You thought.

You traced your steps behind Aegon, small and unsure until you reached his chambers. It was coming, you were sure of it. The guards at his door looked upon you with pitying eyes as you could only cast yours down.

Inside it was just as you heard, barren of the late King's possessions, littered with cups half drunken and yet to be taken away. You could hear him refusing it. Wine stains yet to be scrubbed from the floor littered the stone. The guards pitied you, but your own was reserved for Aegon.

He poured himself another cup, you recognised it as Dornish. The previous Lord you had worked under had a fine taste for it.

"You can call me Aegon in this room" he announced, extending a cup toward you. You took it with trembling fingers and thanked him. Only accepting the drink to hide the shakes that fluttered your limbs.

"I could not Your Majesty" you fretted.

"It is an order, you would not disobey your King, would you?"

"No, your Ma-" you looked up to see his eyes bore into you as the title hung from the tip of your tongue, "No, Aegon" you corrected.

"Marvelous, now! Let's drink"

"Excuse me Your- Aegon, why am I here?", Aegon paused the cup's movement, the rim just licking his lip.

"I am in need of a drinking buddy and honest companion"

"I am sure you have many of those at your disposal"

"None as pretty as you. Now drink, I insist"

Your cheeks blared a deep pink, heating your face to a degree your previous lover couldn't muster.

Unlike in his children's chambers, Aegon appeared more free than ever. Only in the nights did you spy on the King or keep his company, in those moments, there was a sadness riddled within the man too deep to weed out.

Your lips pressed to the rim of the cup before finally taking one gulp. Aegon's eyes of disapproval encouraged another, then a third before finally, he was pleased.

It was strong but unlike anything you had tasted before. It was spiced, not too dry and had a sweetness to it that lightened the mood.

"It is good Aegon" you complimented and for once, a genuine smile stretched upon his face.

"I knew you would enjoy it! Now come, come see" he gestured to the balcony. You felt like you were being dragged around like a child so excited to show you his toys. He was not a child in any way, but the desire for approval was apparent as Aegon pulled back the curtain with a proud, twinkling eye. Over the balcony King's Landing was alive, from here, there was much more to observe than from the nurseries.

"It's-"

"Amazing right? It is the day of rest tomorrow, I used to sneak out on this night" Aegon confessed with a giddy smile.

"I remember celebrating such nights" you shared with a small smile, "my family and I would head to the nearest tavern, unlike most, it was more... family friendly"

"You can guess I never had that. My Mother is too pious, Aemond too serious and then Heleana... well you know Heleana" he chuckled.

"She is a wonderful mother" you complimented.

"If only a better Queen, a better wife, a different woman"

"Do you not love her?" The territory you tread in was dangerous but Aegon relaxed at the question. It was as if he had been waiting for this moment for lifetimes. For someone to ask how he felt.

"Who can love a sister like a wife? It's...", he didn't have to finish.

"How old were you?"

"Fifteen... it is not so bad though, she does not care if I run away to the Street of Silk"

"Would you want someone to care?", you feared there was no coming back from this. You had given the King someone to confide in, would he ever let that go?

"Who knows" he huffed. "What of you? Did he run? Get cold feet before the altar?"

"Something like that, he passed the night before. He had engaged in a scuffle on the road. One punch and his head landed on a rock... he never woke up" Your tone then filled with mourning, despite how you tried to dampen the embers of grief flickering. Every time his face came into your mind you couldn't help it.

"Nothing works out the way we want it to" he huffed, leaning across the balcony. You followed suit, hoping the wind would dry the tears brewing.

"Smallfolk and King's alike" you commented before you clinked your drinks together, never taking your eyes from the kingdom below. "Where would you be now if you could?"

"Essos" he responded in a beat.

"Why Essos?", Aegon didn't even need time to ponder it.

"It is the furthest I could be from this shithole"

You hadn't drunk in a while, the wine had made your lips loose and you couldn't help but giggle at the foul language.

"Why not ride away on your dragon, who could stop you?",

"Have you seen Vhagar? My brother- the cunt that he is- would have me back on that throne before I could step out the Keep"

"Sounds like they need you" I nudged. The contact was sudden and free of thought- impulsive. It was too comfortable but Aegon only shook his bowed head with a smile.

Was this the man who hurt Dyana? Was this lost man truly a King that had caused such suffering? When thinking about it, it was easy to see. So starved of affection, of guidance, master to his whims so easily achieved. None of it was surprising. It was not easily forgotten, not forgiven, but easily understood.

The air changed in moments. Contorted into a silent understanding. You had grasped Aegon's mind in the palm of her hand so easily. He was a man so easily brought to his knees.

"Do you need me?" His tone had shifted so easily, lilting and calm. He sensed the wave that had come upon you.

You shrugged and downed the rest of your wine in two gulps. "I don't need much Aegon"

"Then do you want me?"

You played with the cup in your hand. The dangers of involving yourself like this was insurmountable. Absolutely hysterical. But you allowed yourself to ponder the idea. If you allowed yourself, what would come of it all?

You had not known the touch of a man for years and alone in your cot you slept dreaming of wanting, having the chance to want instead of being chained down by need. And just like you, Aegon stood there needing something to ground him, to offer a chance at respite. He was a broken man and perhaps, you could pay your pain forward.

"As long as you need me, I will stay by your side", the grin that curled at his lips was remarkable, warming your heart too quick to recall how cold it once was.

"Well then!" He clapped as he rose, "You need a refill and cheers to your promotion as my new drinking buddy"

You didn't know what to say, it all happened so fast but the response was spoken before you could catch it, "I would be honoured Aegon"

He raised his cup and handed you another when he returned it to the balcony. No longer were his eyes pitiful but bright and somewhat hopeful. It was a jarring change but one you welcomed nonetheless. At this moment, it felt perhaps something good could come of this. Perhaps, something could be changed.

"To friends found in strange places," he grinned,

"Indeed my King-" you agreed as your cups cheersed, "as long as it is wanted"

Aegon's hand then, once again, found itself in your hair, closer now as his finger twiddled and curled a lock around it. "As long as we want it"

And with that quiet admittance, you raised your eyes to his. Knowing that somehow, two suffering souls had found each other across oceans and chains of being.

[alipeeps]

Episode 16

I'm ready for the pain. *whimpers* Bring it on...

.......

Whyyyy is Zhu Yan's (much shorter) hair fully grey when he was younger? Is my boy vain? Did he start colouring it as he got older? 😂

Okay so young Li Lun is a sulky bitch. I'm getting "teenager forced to come on a family holiday and determined to hate it just because" vibes...

Why do I feel like I know the dragon mountain god somewhere?

*goes to check MDL*

Meh, he's done this and My Journey to You (which I only got a few eps into before getting distracted) and two movies that I've not seen. So, no idea why he seems familiar.

Though for some reason (his styling maybe - with the braids and the hint of moustache?) he is giving me Nie Mingjue vibes...

Ahahahaaaa they knew in advance that Zhu Yin was skanky!! 😁

Gotta say (I have mentioned it before) I am loving the narrative device they keep using in this show where they flash back to a previous scene and show more of it/detail that we didn't get shown the first time around that completely reframes the current scene and shows that they were expecting this and had stuff planned in advance...

But wherrrre is my boy Bai Jui during all this? Ying Lei asked this earlier and Zhuo Yichen said he should be with Pei Sijing... I took that at the time to mean they still had no idea that Sijing is the spy and thought he was somewhere safe with her... but could it mean that they do know/suspect and they maybe sent Bai Jiu after her, knowing she would spot him and (trusting she wouldn't actually hurt or kill him - which is a big risk tbh?) would have to stay and guard him, thus keeping Bai Jiu away from the fight *and* taking Sijing out of the fight?

Aiya... Ying Lei living up to his potential as a mountain god...

Uhoh, dragon boy is fighting back with his weather-controlling powers.

And Li Lun is just standing there not doing shit. 😂 Like... dude... they are all occupied with either holding the area or spell-casting inside it. You could just walk up and stab em and they wouldn't be able to do much to fight you off...

Oh shit no... dragon dude is not controlling the weather... he's making it night time rather than day...

Which means... blood moon

Oh SHIT!

Welp Zhu Yan pulling in all the malicious qi has at least dealt with the creatures outside the gate... but on the other hand you've now got a MUCH bigger problem!!

Well fuck

So the Baize token was what was shackling Li Lun and that's why he wanted it broken... bullshit about breaking the barrier between the wasteland and the mortal world so demons could be free was just the lie he sold Zhu Yin to get him on board (just like the lie he sold Qing Geng - this is his modus operandi)

God this is glorious imagery...

Goddamit though, Zhu Yan has absorbed all the malicious qi and very clearly lost control but all he does for the longest time is just hover there... he doesn't immediately go on an indiscriminate rampage. I can only imagine him spending all that time hovering just... trying to cling to control...?

And the first person he *does* go for is Zhu Yin, who betrayed him and his friends.

Ugh the dismissive ease with which he shrugs off the mountain god's power...

Oh man, the slow deliberate malice in the way he moves...

I shouldn't be finding this expression hot AF, right?

OMG look at how distressed he is - even after everything Li Lun has done - at seeing his friend be sealed...

So... it was *again* a blood moon that caused Zhu Yan to kill Zhao Wan'er? But... where did the blood moon suddenly come from? Or did it appear *because* Zhu Yan started absorbing malicious qi?

The *sound* in this scene... no music at all... just silence and the over-loud, almost distorted-sounding sounds - slosh of the water from Wan'er's footsteps, her breathing, the washing of the waves....

So. Fucking. Atmospheric.

But wait, in this memory he attacks Wen Xiao and (it looks like?) ?breaks her neck? (Or does he just knock her unconscious?) That didn't happen though in the other depictions we've seen of this scene? Is this memory faked/altered? In fact... how the fuck can Li Lun be showing her a "memory" of shit that went down after he was sealed? He wasn't there to see any of this? I call bullshit! Unless... he somehow stole this memory from Zhu Yan?

Oh SHIT is the blood moon where he killed Wan'er the same one in which he attacked Demon Hunting Bureau?!!

This song by Hou Minghao is so melancholy and haunting... and even more playing over this scene...

Oh what the fuck Sijing actually fighting on the side of the good guys? Or is she...?

Also wtf happened to her boss who was outside the gate. Why has he not gotten involved in the latest shenanigans... he wants Zhu Yan's core still, doesn't he?

Oooh baby bro enters the fray!!

Using Ying Lei's blood to fire up the sword?!

Oooh divine blood, demon blood & the Bingyi clan blood on the sword = maximum effort!

Ooooooh is he faking? I've been slightly spoiled about Zhu Yan giving him immunity to his one word spell... are we gonna get another flashback showing that that already happened and Zhuo Yichen is once again pretending to be in a coma to get the upper hand?

Fuck WHAT?!! You end it THERE?!!!

And it's fucking 3am, I cannot watch another episode, I will have to go to bed and SUFFER until tomorrow!!

[starsreminisce]

LucienWeek2024 Day One Gentleman

Bite Me

Word Count: 3200 Rating: M @lucienweekofficial

Summary:

Lucien Vanserra is up in Velaris for yet another meeting with his High Lord. He has to remind himself that he is a gentleman, and gentlemen act with honor, but that honor is tested whenever he is close to his mate.

Read on AO3

Lucien was decidedly not having a good time as he reviewed his report on the Spring Court for what felt like the hundredth time. He didn’t need to be in Velaris for yet another meeting with Rhysand—especially not when they could’ve easily used daemati-speak. Rhys could also have scanned his thoughts and seen everything for himself.

No, Rhys had another reason for summoning him here, week after week. Lucien wasn’t sure if it was all Rhys’s doing, or if Feyre had some hand in it too, as he skimmed the report again, trying to distract himself.

And, as usual, they were late. Again. As if dragging this out would somehow make Elain do what everyone seemed to expect her to. He knew her routine by now. She’d be coming back from the garden soon, passing the sitting room to pointedly ignore him, on her way to finish baking whatever it was. The warm scent of country bread drifted through the house—simple, rustic, his favorite. Not that she knew, of course. She couldn’t possibly know how much he loved it, especially slathered with Day Court butter and a pinch of flaky salt.

The mating bond flared as she got closer, a familiar and frustrating itch beneath his skin. He gripped the edges of the paper in his hands, trying to shove the feeling aside, but he wasn’t going to lie to himself about what was really bothering him. It wasn’t just the bond. No, the bond beckoned him towards Elain, reminding him what he actually missed the most since Jesminda’s passing. He missed sex. The simple, physical act of it. He missed the buildup, the friction between two people, the release and subsequent euphoria. He missed being inside someone. And Gods, he was stressed enough that made missing it even worse.

Jurian and Vassa weren’t exactly subtle about what they were up to, and their scents had a way of rubbing salt in the wound. And as for Feyre and Rhys—they didn’t even bother trying to hide it. How Elain could stand living in this house with all of that going on, Lucien had no idea.

He let out a slow breath, forcing his thoughts back to the report. Elain was just a few rooms away, and he knew she’d slip out of sight the moment he so much as looked at her.

Still, no matter how much the bond tugged at him, no matter how badly he wanted her, Lucien wasn’t going to act on it. He was a lot of things, but desperate wasn’t one of them.

Lucien reminded himself, again, that he was a gentleman.

He decided then he would leave. He planned to drop the report with an attached note that if Rhys had some follow-up questions, he would oblige him. He finally decided this was the right course of action when a loud clatter came from the kitchen, followed by a sharp, pained “Ouch!”

He was on his feet in an instant, rushing toward the noise. When he entered the kitchen, the warm, yeasty smell of freshly baked bread filled the air, but it was quickly overshadowed by the sight of Elain crouched near the open oven, cradling her hand. Tears welled in her eyes as she tried to cool the burn.

Lucien's heart lurched. Without thinking, he moved toward her. She instinctively pulled away, but he was faster, dropping to his knees beside her. His hands hovered near hers, cautious, unsure.

“Let me see,” he said, his voice low, almost a plea.

Elain shook her head, turning away as she cradled her injured hand closer to her chest, her breath shaky.

Lucien exhaled, his shoulders tensing. He carefully shut the oven door, ignoring the loaves inside.

“Please,” he whispered, his tone softer now. “Just let me help.”

She stood slowly, her body stiff, her eyes darting toward the door as if she could escape. “I can find Feyre.”

“I don’t know where they are,” he replied as he stood up as well, “but I can help.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. Her hand stayed curled protectively against her chest. Then, with a reluctant sigh, her fingers loosened, revealing the angry red burn on her palm. The skin was inflamed, already rising into what would surely be a painful blister. She bit her lip, stifling a small whimper as Lucien gently cupped her hand in his.

Magic stirred within him, and a soft emerald glow shimmered between their joined hands. When the light faded, Lucien lifted his hand, revealing her palm—smooth, unblemished, as if the burn had never happened.

Elain blinked, her breath catching in her throat. She looked down at her healed hand, then back at him, eyes wide with something between surprise and wariness.

He inspected her hand for a long moment, making sure the healing was complete. His thumb brushed across her palm—softly, almost absentmindedly. Then he glanced up at her, looking through his lashes. 

“Be careful next time,” he muttered, the words coming out more awkwardly than he intended.

The urgency had faded, leaving behind a charged silence. It was only then they both realized Lucien was still holding her hand—tenderly, almost protectively.

And then his body reacted, betraying him. The scent of his arousal thickened the air between them, impossible to ignore. His breeches strained uncomfortably, his cock swelling before he could stop it.

Elain stiffened, her eyes flicking down for a heartbeat before she yanked her hand away, her face twisting into a frown.

“Of course,” she hissed, stepping back, her voice laced with disdain. “Typical mate.”

Lucien blinked, caught off guard. “Typical mate?” he echoed, incredulous.

She glared at him. “It’s always the same with you mates,” she spat. “You think—just because we’re mates…” Her voice faltered, a crack in her anger revealing something more fragile beneath. “You think it’s always about that.”

Lucien’s jaw tightened. “I just healed you, lady,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

She scoffed. “I would’ve been fine. Feyre could’ve healed me.”

“Feyre isn’t here,” Lucien snapped, his patience fraying. “I am.”

“And yet, you came rushing in here—”

“Of course I did,” he growled.

“—to take advantage of me.”

“Take advantage? Of you?”

“Yes,” she snapped. “Typical mate.”

Lucien felt the strain of his arousal like a cruel reminder, his breeches uncomfortably tight, his body betraying him in the worst possible moment. “I am, first and foremost, a gentleman.”

“A gentleman?” Elain's voice trembled, though she tried to mask it with disdain. “A gentleman would have acted with honor. Not suddenly grown aroused by a simple touch.”

Her lips twisted as she wiped the lingering tears from her eyes.

Lucien took a slow, deliberate step toward her, his frustration boiling over. “I’ve been a gentleman long before this mating bond snapped,” he said, voice low and controlled. “My mother raised me with honor. But nothing could’ve prepared me for how that honor would be tested—by you.”

He was close now, towering over her, his gaze locked on hers. Elain glared up at him, her scowl more kitten-like than fierce, though it only sharpened the tension between them.

“That honor,” Lucien continued, his voice dropping to a growl, “grows thinner and thinner every time I’m near you.”

He paused, letting his words hang in the air. “Typical mate?” He echoed her words, but this time, they came out as a challenge.

Elain’s gaze flicked down to the obvious bulge in his breeches before snapping back to his eyes. “You mates are all the same,” she hissed. “With your … longing gazes. Cassian can’t look at Nesta without wanting to tear her clothes off, Rhysand can’t keep his hands off Feyre, and you—” She trailed off, biting her lip. “You barely even touch me and yet…”

The scent of her arousal filled the air, subtle but unmistakable. Lucien could feel his instincts begin to sing. He took her hand again, brushing his lips softly over the place where her burn had been. His voice dropped to a murmur. “A typical mate would have kissed it,” he said, his mechanical eye whirred as it focused on hers. “Shall I?”

Elain didn’t answer, but she didn’t pull away either. So he did. Slowly, deliberately, his lips pressed against the soft skin of her palm. He felt her shiver under his touch, saw the goosebumps rise along her arm.

Lucien let his lips trail up her arm, inch by inch, savoring the way her breath hitched as he neared her neck. He paused at the curve of her shoulder, breathing in her scent—jasmine and honey, heady and warm. Perfect.

“A typical mate might have bitten you right here,” he murmured, letting his teeth graze her skin just enough to tease, to hint at the primal urge simmering beneath his control.

She exhaled softly, but she stayed perfectly still, her trust evident in the way she leaned into him. His mouth hovered just behind her ear, his breath hot against her skin, and he felt her shiver in response. The effect she had on him was intoxicating, maddening—his instincts clamoring for release even as he forced himself to hold back.

Walk away, he told himself, fighting to keep the warring impulses in check. But with each heartbeat, each whisper of her scent, his restraint frayed a little more

“I could claim you here,” he murmured, vibrating with barely contained restraint. “Or maybe… you’d rather claim me.”

She should have pulled away. She should have stepped back. But she hadn’t. His instincts were overriding his control, drowning out reason. His grip tightened on her, the pulse of their bond thrumming in sync with the rapid beat of her heart.

His senses were overwhelmed by her scent, which was once pleasant and delicate but was now tinged with something deeper, something necessary. His thumb brushing against her skin made his palms shake. His entire being was in tune with hers: the rise and fall of her breath, the electric tension that kept them centimeters apart, and the charged stillness between them.

“You really are a typical mate,” she whispered, her voice threaded with her own heat, her own wanting.

“There are certain expectations of a mate,” he growled. His lips brushed the curve of her neck, just barely. “Shall I fulfill them?”

Her body answered for her—the scent of her arousal growing stronger, filling his lungs, heady and overwhelming. His control slipped, and without thinking, he pulled up her skirt, his hand slipping beneath the fabric. She still didn’t stop him. She still didn’t pull away.

Her breath caught as she pressed closer, a silent surrender that ignited something wild in him. 

Lucien’s heart thundered, his pulse racing. She was soft beneath his hands, warm, and gods, that scent was intoxicating. She was unraveling him, tearing away the last threads of his restraint. The bond pulsed between them, pulling him deeper into the need that blazed in her eyes, urging him to give in.

He pressed his mouth to her neck, the gentlest of touches, as his hand slid further up her thigh, fingers brushing sensitive skin. The little left of his control was slipping, but he wasn’t sure he cared. Not when she felt like this under him, when every pulse of their bond was tethering them together in a way that made him ache with need.

And still… she hadn’t said no.

“Elain,” he whispered. The sound of her name in deep timbre crossed something between them, as if speaking it out loud had broken whatever fragile boundary still existed.

Her reaction was immediate. Her body tense and her lips part in a soft, startled exhale. Her pulse jumped visibly at the base of her throat, quickening under the delicate skin. Her eyes fluttered shut for the briefest moment, as if the weight of hearing her name spoken in that way—by him—had sent a tremor through her entire body.

The bridge between their souls trickled down her need for release, the same stress, the same aching longing that plagued him. But it wasn’t just her scent or the bond that told him. He saw it in the way her fingers curled, gripping the edge of the table as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded. In the way her lips parted just slightly, her teeth catching the soft curve of her bottom lip as she stared at him, her eyes dark with want.

“Do you want me to keep being the gentleman I’m trying to be,” he rasped, his voice barely holding together, “or do you want me to act like the mate you accuse me of?”

Gods, he hadn’t imagined it like this—hurried and heated, driven by instinct. He’d pictured something slower, more intimate, with whispered promises and confessions of love.

But Cauldron damn him…

His fingers slid between her thighs as she parted them slightly, inviting him closer. Gently, he brushed aside the fabric of her undergarments, and found her already wet. Elain gasped, her hips instinctively bucking against his hand as he slipped two fingers through her slick heat, teasing the swollen nub of her clit. The soft sound of her moan sent a shiver down his spine, unraveling him.

“Hurry,” she whispered, but it was all he needed.

Lucien lifted her effortlessly onto the table, his hands trembling as he undid his breeches. His cock sprang free, hard and aching. Her eyes widened as she leaned back, watching him. He aligned himself at her sex, teasing with the tip of his length. Her back arched, her eyes fluttering closed.

With one smooth thrust, he buried his cock deep inside her, groaning as her warmth enveloped him fully. He waited to give her time to get used to it and to stop him if she so desired. Rather, she propped herself on her elbows. Her legs instinctually wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer.

“Hurry,” she repeated urgently.

Lucien swallowed thickly. “I don’t know if I could…”

“Don't be gentle,” Elain finished for him in a pant.

The last of his control snapped. He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her skin as he pulled her closer. His thrusts came harder, deeper, more insistent, her body tightening around him with every movement. His thoughts scattered with every movement. The overpowering need to have her, to claim her, eclipsed everything else.

His mind was clouded with the scent of her, the feel of her. Her heat, her breath, the way her body arched and responded to him. 

Mine. I am yours. You are mine. Mate.

Their breathing became one: her soft pants, his low grunts, as the room echoed the cacophony of their bodies coming together in a more and more frantic, urgent manner. He could feel her walls squeeze tighter around him, and soon her panting gave way to louder, unbridled moans.

“Look at me,” Lucien growled.

She did. Her gaze locked onto his, her pupils wide, her eyes softening as they met his. Her full lips hung open as soft gasps escaped from his every thrust.

Lucien watched as her expression shifted—her flushed face tightening, her brow furrowing in concentration. Her lashes fluttering as her eyes struggled to stay open, pinned to his. Her mouth quivered, and he could see the tension building within her, feel it in the way her body coiled beneath him, so close to the edge.

She was so beautiful.

Lucien leaned down, capturing her mouth with his, their kiss as furious and consuming as the rhythm of his body. Her hands clung to him desperately, nails digging into the hard muscles of his back, as though it’ll keep her from floating away in this storm of sensation building between them.

Her body trembled beneath him, legs wrapping tighter around his waist. Her heels dug into the small of his back, urging him closer, harder—locking him against her as the tension coiled, tightening with every thrust.

Lucien released her from his kiss. He whispered, “come for me, Elain.”

And then, as if time itself shattered, she obeyed.

Elain’s body tensed and convulsed as she reached her peak, her breath catching in a sharp gasp before breaking into a low, raw moan of his name. Her entire body clenched around him one last time, and Lucien felt his cock coated by her release. He could feel it in every part of her—her muscles locking, her back arching, her nails creating crescents into his back as she lost herself in the throes of her orgasm.

But just as she let go, her mouth found the curve of his neck. She bit down—hard.

The sharp sting of her teeth sent a shockwave through him, snapping through his body like lightning, but instead of pain, it unleashed a flood of overwhelming pleasure. The sensation of her biting—claiming him—combined with the vice-like grip of her body around his was more than enough to overshadow any semblance of laughable control he had.

With a guttural groan of her name, Lucien felt himself unravel, his release crashing through him in powerful waves. His hips bucked against her, giving one final desperate thrust. His cock pulsed inside her. The pleasure burst white-hot, blinding in the intensity, spilling deep inside her.

The moment Lucien’s release burst through him, they moved as one, their bodies united in that last, desperate hug. Her heels dug harder as her thighs cinched closer around him, as if she might pull him in any deeper. Two souls intertwined, lost in the bliss that enveloped them both, were perfectly in rhythm with each other in every breath, pulse, and beat of their bodies.

Lucien’s breath came in ragged gasps as the last of his release spilled into her, his forehead resting against hers. His body trembled, tired yet still tingling with pleasure. There was an unmistakable electricity between them, and their bond was more intense than before.

Her bite throbbed in his neck, the bruise a seal of her claim, but he embraced the sting. It bound him to her in a manner nothing else could.

For an instant, the world receded and all that was left was them—them alone—connected, claimed, utterly undone.

For several moments, neither of them moved; the only sound in the space was their heavy breathing as they were still trying to get their breath back from what had just taken place. Slowly, the haze began to lift; the awkward stretch of silence settled in as they disentangled themselves. Not looking in each other’s direction, the weight of realization impaled them—what they had done, and how intimate they had claimed each other.

They muttered apologies, neither of them quite sure what they were apologizing for. But it didn’t change the way Lucien felt. She had been worth the wait—gods, she had been worth every second. And now that he’d had her, the gnawing need to be inside her again was already creeping back, coiled tight within him. The bond thrummed softly between them, as if sated for now, content with their offering but a remainder they still need to pay.

He glanced at Elain, no hiding what had transpired between them on her appearance. He wanted to say something—anything—that might make sense of what had just happened. But there were no words for this, no easy way to explain how different everything felt now.

“I should clean up,” Elain mumbled, smoothing her wrinkled skirt with shaking hands as he pulled up his pants. She glanced over at the oven, the half-forgotten loaves still baking.

Lucien, catching her look, moved before she could. He reached for the oven door, his hands inherently handling the heat she would have burned herself on. He removed the cast irons, setting it down carefully on the countertop.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

And then their gaze met, and in that shortest of moments, the space between them just melted away. Surprised by how close they were to each other, they widened their eyes and almost in a synchronized awkward fashion, both took a step backward.

But even as the distance widened, the bond thrummed—low and steady—a reminder to them both that something had shifted, something that wasn't so easily ignored.

Elain’s gaze jerked to the mark on his neck, her cheeks going a wonderful shade of crimson. She bit a lip and averted her gaze, turned, and retreated in silence. Lucien blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. Ah, well. Now she certainly won't be speaking to me.

His fingers moved to his neck, hovering over the spot where she had claimed him. He thought about healing it, erasing the mark she’d left, but… he didn’t. Instead, a small smile tugged at his lips as he glamoured it.

It was, after all, the first thing she had given him.

Turning back toward the sitting room, he prayed that neither Rhys nor Feyre would catch a whiff of what had transpired between them.

He wouldn’t tell. He never would.

After all, he was still a gentleman.

[madrivervalleyicelandics]

TW pet loss

Big long reflection post under the cut. Wanted to say it all somewhere that doesn’t have a character limit.

We are about a year out from when we put our two mares diagnosed with ESPA to sleep. Ultimately losing them has caused me to really sit with & unpack the way I had allowed the judging & breed standards to impair, inform, & even BECOME my own judgement, even when they didn’t make sense or clashed with something I knew wasn’t right. I think we all need to become more honest about the root of our sports & traditions, & redefine our ideas of “correctness” not based off of historical trends but the best & most current research we have access to.

I liked Skvísa from the start because she was hypermobile & that made her talented & easy to prepare for sport. Bottom line. Hypermobility wins, the standard calls it correct & rewards it, & I followed & believed in the standard. I didn’t see her hypermobility for what it was until recently. I saw it as talent, suppleness, flexibility.

If I hadn’t bred her, she’d have lived an almost normal lifespan, which is true of many ESPA horses. She always had some sensitivity & required a lot of careful stabilizing training to stay balanced with a rider (particularly to keep her trot & avoid cross-canter), but she would have more or less been okay for the normal lifespan of a horse. Her fetlocks might have dropped in her late teens, she might have developed an unusual propensity for eye ulcers or colics or whatever but if I hadn’t - twice! - allowed her body to undergo 11 months of relaxin & weight gain followed by a year+ of pasture time afterwards, she’d have lived a more or less normal life, & I can almost guarantee she’d have retired undiagnosed & whatever eventually killed her wouldn’t have prompted us to make the connection & diagnose her.

She only got diagnosed because for whatever reason her kids expressed this hereditary disease to a much more extreme degree, & with a much faster progression. Síríus was incompatible with life because his larynx lacked integrity & stuck together when he flexed his neck, blocking his airway. His older sister, Sylgja, seemed normal at birth but presented with extreme nerve impingements as she grew, & was crippled & experiencing whole-body pain episodes by 5. I got to see her get better under my stabilizing training & then watch her completely fall apart worse than before & realize that it was my responsibility, entirely, from her conception right down to the bitter, early end.

What happened to these horses is 100% my responsibility & my fault, the result of choices I made. But I made those choices based on the education I received regarding what “correctness” is & looks like - a standard I was then very heavily reinforced for riding & training towards.

Since my mares’ deaths, I’ve learned about enough other Icelandic horses with this disease, & talked to enough people who fully don’t care & have no intention to change anything that I’ve all but completely removed myself from the breed community. I won’t be told this was an isolated or unlucky problem for me specifically when I know that I’m not alone. I won’t continue to use language that dances around what we’re doing when we endlessly rehab the same problems over & over again - horses losing trot, losing canter, getting pacey, crests falling over, etc etc etc. I can’t see the sense in continuing to chase an “outline” that requires inappropriate poll/AO compression & a degree of leg action that does not make sense to the animal’s anatomy, with no research to support these practices and so MUCH research indicating that this runs counter to welfare, while mindlessly parroting the standards & citing them as the reason why X hypermobile hyperflexed example is “correct.” It’s a feedback loop. We’re saying that the horse is correct if he scores high, but he scores high because he’s correct.

It makes no sense. It’s rooted in nothing. The standard was written to fit the trends - it’s not as if science informed the standard & THEN the sport followed. No! The sport came first. That’s true of Icelandic horses, true of saddleseat, Tennessee walkers, hell - it’s true of competitive dressage. Honestly? It’s true of classical dressage, too! We are riding to standards set by a bunch of dudes from a very long time ago based off of what they thought 1. Looked cool & 2. Felt cool to ride, with NONE of the knowledge we currently have about training science, biomechanics, equine behavior, etc. As recently as the 1970s, scientists were still claiming animals couldn’t feel pain. Think about how that mentality informed horse training!!

We retrofitted rules to match & reward what was already winning, in these early iterations of sport. We continue to do mental & linguistic gymnastics to maintain this status quo with every new study that emerges. We know SO MUCH MORE now. We have progressed rapidly in the last century, last 50 years especially. Equestrian sports NEED an update. The onus can’t just be on the riders to find ways to meet the standards using better, more evidence-based techniques. The sport standards themselves have to change to fit what we KNOW now.

Anyway. Not all hypermobility is ESPA, obviously, and many ESPA horses can live long, relatively okay lives with careful management - if they’re diagnosed and the owners know & can stop riding them & certainly not breed them. It’s worth learning how to manage hypermobility, & how to use certain training techniques to help stabilize hypermobile horses, because the world is now absolutely freaking flooded with them. But until we stop rewarding it so heavily, we won’t stop selecting for it, & as I learned the hard way - when you’re breeding hypermobile animals, you can’t control how that hypermobility expresses itself down the line. AND - ESPA isn’t the only disease or injury associated with selecting for hypermobility.

Bottom line: No horse deserves what happened to Sylgja, in particular. She suffered, and longer than she should have because it took me so long to figure out what was wrong.

Because of this experience with them, my life looks completely different than it did a year ago, & in my opinion every single change is very much for the better. Identifying and learning to manage my own hypermobility & connective tissue weirdness has been a piece of that puzzle. I owe very much to those mares, but that is not what horses are here for. They do not exist to suffer so that we can learn about ourselves.

I considered what it would look like to step away from horsekeeping entirely, & in the heaviest months of grief that felt extremely attractive. But where I landed is to recommit myself to understanding their minds & bodies, be a student again (the trauma-informed certification being the first step of that!) & reconnect with my own horses more as pets, & less through sport. Beyond that, I really can’t say what my future with horses holds.

Right now I’m focusing on healing & supporting my own body, & building up other areas of my life. My own horses are not in the back seat, but they’re on this journey alongside me, rather than BEING my journey. I think it’s the amount of distance & clarity I need from the various pressures & stressors of The Sport to avoid falling back into the cycles that blinded me to Skvísa’s dysfunction to begin with.

I hope that when all is said & done, I emerge from all this grief & shifting to find that I am a better horseman than I was when they left me. Time will tell.

But I can’t let a year go by without acknowledging it. They died about a year ago. It was the worst experience of my life, from Síríus’ birth to Sylgja & Skvísa’s last breaths. I miss them daily. I feel the weight of my responsibility for them & their pain always, & I always will.

And if I haven’t said it publicly, I am so, so sorry for what happened to them.

[karizard-ao3]

I had trouble sleeping this morning so I was laying in bed, daydreaming about Twiyor a bit. I was thinking about my fic idea and how funny it is that Twilight's solution to pretty much any perceived hiccup in his arrangement with Yor is to immediately try to seduce her into falling for him, which led to this little scene (not sure it will make it into the fic when I eventually start writing it, but I had fun):

Twilight stood at the window, concealed by the curtains, looking down at the street below where Yor chatted with that incompetent fool, Daybreak. So, the worst secret agent in Ostania had taken a shine to Twilight's wife. Was he also looking to start a cover family? Was he trying to steal Loid's? Twilight's fist clenched. Or was this Daybreak's way of interfering with Operation Strix? Was he a better spy than Twilight had thought?

Down below, Yor waved at Daybreak and turned to head into the apartment building. Twilight lifted his binoculars, peering through them to read the expression on her face: a mild, absent-minded smile. Reassured that she wasn't thinking about dissolving their arrangement - which was crucial to his mission - Twilight swung the binoculars over to Daybreak. He was watching Yor leave with a dreamy, slack-jawed look on his face. Hmmm.

Twilight lowered the binoculars. So. Perhaps the idiot’s feelings for Yor were genuine. And why wouldn't they be? Yor was a beautiful woman. Twilight had made note of the fact many times himself, though in a cold, impartial way befitting a professional intelligence agent. He, himself, was unmoved by the brightness of Yor's eyes or the rosy flush of her cheeks or the plump curve of her lips, or her favorite backless sweater, which exposed the dip above her spine and hinted at more wonders to be found beneath the baggy, red knit. Having a lovely wife was good for his mission. He was aware that he was quite attractive himself, and had used it to his advantage often in his work. It would draw attention and suspicion if his wife was not on par with himself, so of course he had to take regular inventory to verify that Yor was still stunning. It was practical and necessary. 

Behind him, the door cracked open. 

“Loid!” Yor exclaimed. “You’re home so early!”

Twilight turned around, plastering an easy smile across his face. “Yor! One of my patients canceled so I took the opportunity to come home and have some lunch before I head back to the office.”

Yor glanced at the binoculars in his hand, her eyebrows furrowing.

Twilight tensed, his stomach gurgling. A rookie mistake! Yor would realize he had been keeping tabs on her! He began to run through the 629 most likely outcomes of this error, throwing together a game plan for each.

Yor clapped her hands. “Oh, were you bird watching?”

Twilight looked down at his binoculars. “Yes,” he said. 

Yor smiled and went into the kitchen. “Do you have time for some tea?” she asked.

“Sure,” said Twilight, hurrying to put the binoculars away. She hadn’t mentioned running into Daybreak. Was she trying to hide it from him? Had the brief conversation meant that little to her or was she keeping it as a delightful little secret to giggle over in private? Did she think Daybreak was handsome? Charming? 

Twilight’s stomach twinged with panic and acidic pain. This was a disaster (for his mission). There was only one way forward. He was going to have to take Yor on a date.

End

[sapphireshineonao3]

My brain is rattling off on ideas for WHAT exactly the contract between Kinich and Ajaw did to Kinich's body so the whole concept of "gain control after death" is more viable. There is so much we don't know so I'm just taking it as free real estate to shove in my own ideas.

As I finished up my giant expo dump from Dottore's POV in Unique Specimen... I had another idea relating to it.

What if Kinich's body modification was done in a similar manner to Magical Girls from "Puella Magi Madoka Magica"? To those who don't know what I'm talking about, when someone becomes a magical girl in that series, their soul is physically removed from their body and placed inside a Soul Gem. When the body sustains damage, the soul isn't harmed and they can keep on fighting, using magic afterwards to repair physical wounds to the body. Even noted later on, that with enough training, they can start to ignore and shut out the pain of their injuries.

What if a similar concept was done to Kinich? Since Ajaw is locked away in a bracelet, that could act as a sort of "Soul Gem" in comparison. And the main point I'm going with this is, what if Kinich's soul was disconnected from his body? That's a reason why Ajaw will be able to possess him, because the body isn't reliant on a soul to signal "life" anymore. The body remains active and dormant until a soul manages to take control, the body remains alive, and such a method of regeneration would allow Ajaw to control Kinich's body even after Kinich died and his body is still sustaining heavy injuries.

This also fits in well with what happened in his Vision story, since we don't know if visions are sentient or not. Visions as far as we know DON'T contain anything like a soul of their own, so that makes sense as to why it was able to control Kinich's body, but it was still in a dormant "death" state.

His soul being disconnected would also help explain why he ended up having a memory gap.

Am I making sense? I don't know if I am and I feel more and more like a literal mad scientist the more I talk about this.