#I think it's more about him standing up again. Like it happens a lot

[moonstruckme]

you rang for steve requests!!!

you write him so soft and boyish and nice, i've been wanting to request something and i just got an idea!

maybe some hurt comfort about reader coming to the starcourt parking lot to pick up steve (and robin and dustin) as soon as they hear abt the fire? or the emts asking steve who they should call and he just says rs phone number, and then like a "you came" "you called" moment?

I did ring, thank you for requesting lovely!

cw: season 3 canon events, reader is in the dark but won't be for much longer, mentions of physical injury, fire, suspicious governement folks covering shit up as suspicious government folks do

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 868 words

Your throat is impossibly dry the whole drive to the mall. Dry, and tight, like you couldn’t swallow if you tried. The parking lot is filled with everything from firetrucks to military helicopters, which you won’t think to wonder about until later. You’re scanning the smattering of people for Steve before you’re even out of the car. 

You don’t actually remember parking. Or pulling your keys from the ignition, or opening your door. The next thing you know you’re breathing in smoke and bumping shoulders with firefighters, your focus narrowed on the back of an ambulance. 

“Steve?” 

Your voice is hoarse, but he looks up like he can sense you. You see his lips form your name, brow bunching in that cute way of his. You start running. 

“Steve!” 

“Hey, hi.” He stands from the chassis of the ambulance, rocking back a little when he catches you. You hug him fiercely. “What’re you doing here?” 

He smells like smoke and oddly like iron, his skin damp with sweat. You don’t care; you curl your face into his neck. “I saw the fire on the news.”

“So you…drove towards it?” 

“I knew you were here!” You pull away from him, suddenly furious. “Why do you always have to work on your stupid project at night?” Steve’s been up to something lately. He won’t tell you about it, but you know it involves Robin and Dustin and something to do with translation. Steve says it’s not important but he acts like it is, and he’s been uncharacteristically tight-lipped about the whole thing. “Where’s Robin? Is she—” 

“She’s fine, she’s over there.” Steve juts his chin to the right. Through the smoke and chaos, you can just make out her familiar silhouette. She’s standing with a couple of kids about Dustin’s age. 

You let out a breath that turns into a shiver, and Steve cups your arms, rubbing up and down almost thoughtlessly. It melts down your anger into something wetter. When you look at him again, your voice is rough. 

“What happened to you?” 

“I’m fine, honey.” 

“Steve, your face.” 

He touches it, as though the tableau of black and purple bruises had slipped his mind. It’s hard to tell if his wince is from pain or remorse. “Right, yeah. Um…” 

“Mr. Harrington.” A voice comes from behind you, brusque and tired-sounding. You press closer to Steve instinctively, protective, but Steve’s face lights with recognition. 

“Oh. Hey, Doc.” 

You turn, too surprised to do much for covering your bemusement. Why would a doctor be wearing military gear like this, and be followed by a soldier carrying a gun? 

“Can we speak to you for a minute?” 

“Sure,” Steve says, but you talk over him. 

“No.” 

The man—Doc, whoever he is—looks at you as though just noticing you’re there. You steel yourself, but his gaze is more kind than hostile. Sympathetic, even. 

Steve squeezes your hip gently. “Y/n—” 

“No.” 

You don’t know what these people want with Steve, but you know you don’t like it. Your instincts are screaming at you not to let him go. To keep him close, preferably forever. 

Steve looks past you. “Can you give us a minute?” 

They go without a fight, seemingly assured in your boyfriend’s ability to placate you. You don’t want to be placated. You feel patronized and pent-up, and you blame that for the stinging tears that invade your vision. You cling to the fabric of Steve’s shirt like a vice. 

“Hey,” he lowers his voice, head dropping to meet your eyes. “It’s fine, they just wanna talk to me.” 

“Why? Can’t it wait? You just got out of a burning building, you—” 

“It won’t take long. They just want me to tell them what happened.” 

“You haven’t even told me what happened.” Your voice tightens and splinters, fist clenching so hard in Steve’s shirt you can feel your own nails through the fabric. Steve grabs your face in a panic. 

“Honey, it’s fine. Okay? It’s fine. I’ll tell you,” he says in a rush, then pauses. Something new comes over his expression, and he drops his forehead to yours. Lets out a breath. “I’ll tell you, I promise. Later, okay? This’ll just take a minute, and then we’ll go back to my place and talk. Alright?” 

You feel silly, sniffling and with tears on your cheeks, but you nod. 

“Okay,” Steve breathes out. His grip on your face gentles, cradling your jaw as he bends to kiss you. 

It’s meant to be a brief, conciliatory kiss, you know, but with all your overwhelm and all Steve has no doubt been through it heats up fast. You’re both gasping when he pulls away, using a thumb to wipe the wetness from your cheeks. 

“I’ll be right back,” he promises you. 

“You better be,” you threaten. You’re really quite serious, but Steve smiles, and naturally the sight of it makes your lips tug too. 

“I will,” he says. “Just, wait here, okay? Right back.” 

You hop up on the ambulance as he goes, making his way through the smoke to where Doc and his armed buddies wait for him by a helicopter. You couldn’t take your eyes off him if you tried.

[morganaawriterr]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Wildflower;

Pairing; fem!reader X boyfriend!Park Sunghoon (ft Jake) Synopsis; Sunghoon loves you, but guilt eats away at him—because you are his best friend’s ex. Every time you say I love you, his silence cuts deeper, making you question if he truly wants you or is just using you. Torn between love and loyalty, Sunghoon struggles to move forward. But when faced with the possibility of losing you, he must decide—finally cross that line or risk destroying what you have. Genre; Angst (happy ending...kinda) Words; 1.5k Warning; Brief mentions of sex; heavy feelings; JakeHoon kinda; — Inspired by the song 'Wildflower' by Billie Eilish MASTERLIST;

A/N: HEHEHE im suprise dropping this because I feel like it. I wanted this to be a long story but couldn't make it happen so I made this small thing. I like it a lot, I think it's deep and vulnerable like I wanted to be. I hope you enjoy getting your heart broken! As always, thank you so much for all the love, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated!

Inside the large, cozy bedroom, warm sunrays reflected off your bare back. The scent of sex still lingered in the air.

“I love you…” you whisper, out of breath, as you turn your exhausted body onto your side. Your head rests in your hand as you glance at your boyfriend lovingly.

Sunghoon lies on his back, hands behind his head, still trying to catch his breath. Hearing your words, he turns his head to face you. As his eyes land on you, he thinks you couldn’t look more beautiful—flushed face, sweaty body, and a deep love dripping from your gaze as you stare at him.

Against his will, his mind shifts to him… Did you look this pretty in his eyes, too? Did you tell him you loved him after sex as well? He can’t help but think about it, the guilt swallowing him alive every time he gets closer to you. It’s his best friend we’re talking about—how could he not feel bad for loving you?

As you wait for Sunghoon to respond, you notice the way he’s focused on something else, his eyes locked onto yours but distant. His eyebrows are drawn together, his lips pressed into a thin line. This always happens—every time you tell him how you feel, he becomes quiet and withdrawn.

The sudden rustling of sheets shakes Sunghoon out of his trance, but when he opens his mouth to speak, he realizes you’re already walking toward the bathroom. He feels like trash every time he ignores your words because he knows how much they mean to you. He’s trying so hard to forget how deeply he’s attached to you, but you keep reminding him.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, frustration building inside him. It’s been weeks since you first said you loved him—this was the fourth time. But he still couldn’t bring himself to say it back. Sunghoon knows it hurts you every time your words hang in the air, waiting for something in return that never comes.

Knowing he’s messed up again, Sunghoon gets out of bed and walks to the bathroom. His palms are sweaty as he faces the door, his heart skipping a beat in worry. He knocks softly, and after a few seconds of silence, you unlock it and open the door. Sunghoon knows you need space when you’re upset, but he can’t let you sit with the thought that he’s just using you.

“I’m sorry, baby…” Sunghoon murmurs as he steps inside the small, tiled room.

You stand in front of the sink, staring at your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes are red and wet, small drops of water weighing your lashes down. You don’t say anything as he steps inside—you just turn to face him.

It isn’t easy to look at him, not with this pain so heavy in your heart. Slowly, you lower your head, the weight of his words—or lack thereof—cutting even deeper. What is he sorry for? For not loving you? The thought of him using you for nothing but pleasure makes your stomach twist with nausea.

Tears form in your eyes, and though you try to keep them in, they start falling—hot and heavy.

The atmosphere inside the small bathroom was heavy, your quiet sobs echoing off the walls. Even the sun seemed to sense what was happening, fading away and leaving the space dim and moody.

Sunghoon’s hand reached for your chin, gently lifting it, forcing you to face him. As his eyes met yours—so sad and overflowing with emotion—he felt himself start to tear up. He hated seeing you cry, especially when he knew it was his fault.

His touch burned into your skin as your gaze never wavered from his. Your heart pounded, your palms slick with sweat as you gripped the sink for support. You watched as Sunghoon’s eyes flickered between yours, like he was trying to piece together the right words. You felt exposed, vulnerable—standing naked in front of him, crying. You hated the heavy feeling that always lingered after telling him how you felt.

As small, salty tears rolled down your cheeks, Sunghoon caught them with his fingers—a sweet attempt to comfort you. He had so much to say, the words lingering at the tip of his tongue, but he just… couldn’t. He was never good with words.

Instead, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into his warm embrace, hoping you could feel what he couldn’t say. As you rested your head on his shoulder and felt his grip tighten around you, you let your tears fall freely.

The guilt burned like a fever, consuming him. Sunghoon was terrified of what would happen if Jake found out he was dating you. You—Jake’s ex. You had dated two years ago. You were Jake’s first love, and Sunghoon still remembered the way his best friend had smiled when he told him you had finally said yes. He also remembered how devastated Jake had been when it ended. It wasn’t a messy breakup, but it had broken him all the same.

You and Sunghoon had only started talking two years later, on a random Tuesday at the library. You had ended up in the same study group. He tried to avoid you at first, unsure if you even remembered him, but your adorable smile was impossible to ignore. When you two became closer, he told himself he didn’t feel anything for you. He tried so hard. But you were so beautiful, so smart, so safe. And he fell. Deeper and deeper.

“What’s on your mind?” you whisper against his skin, unable to look at him.

“Jake.” Sunghoon finally confesses. That’s when everything clicks into place—the uncertainty he’s been showing you, the distance, the hesitation.

“Sunghoon,” you call softly, lifting your head from his embrace to meet his eyes. “I know you feel guilty—I do too. But we can’t stop living our lives because of the past. Jake and I are on good terms, you know this. It felt wrong at first, I admit it, but Sunghoon, I love you. So fucking much it makes my heart ache.”

“I know all of that, Y/N, but he’s my best friend. And he loved you.” Sunghoon insists, the burn in his chest melting his ability to think clearly.

“I loved him too,” you say, frustration creeping into your voice. “But I love you now.”

Deep inside his mind, he wonders—who did you love more? Jake or him?

He and Jake are so different. Sunghoon is calm and quiet, while Jake is energetic and talkative. Jake used to show you off, unable to keep his mouth shut, making you blush in front of everyone. But Sunghoon is more subtle. He holds you close all the time, though no words are said.

If he asked, you would tell him you love his peaceful kind of love. You love his small gestures more than Jake’s loud words—because you never felt them, not like you do with Sunghoon.

You stand still in front of him, your eyes wandering over his serious face. Somehow, he manages to look even more attractive—his jaw tight, his gaze intense as he stares right into you. Though you have so much to say, you stay quiet, realizing that maybe Sunghoon needs time and space to think about the two of you.

“I understand if you want to break up,” you say seriously, “but I would never forgive you.”

With that, you gently push past him, stepping outside to get dressed.

But Sunghoon grabs your wrist, stopping you. You turn back, watching his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows nervously.

“I love you, Y/N. So much…” he finally confesses, his heart pounding in his chest. “I don’t want to break up. I want you. I’m sorry I couldn’t say it earlier.” His voice is deep, steady, his eyes locked onto yours, trying to assure you of his words.

It feels like all the weight on your shoulders has lifted, and you can finally breathe. You hold his gaze, staring into his warm brown irises, searching for any sign of discomfort or doubt. But you find none—just small, shimmering tears and a big, relieved smile.

Slowly, you lean in, needing to feel his warm lips against yours—to seal the promise. Sunghoon meets you halfway, pressing his lips softly to yours, the salty taste of tears lingering on your tongue. The kiss is slow, deep, his lips molding into yours with such passion it melts your mind. His arms tighten around your waist as you deepen the kiss, your mouth exploring his.

When you part to catch your breath, your hands travel to his hair, playing with the small strands at the nape of his neck. His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

He might have crossed the line—but at least, he had you.

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[rainytapestry]

⭑｡𖦹°‧ㅤㅤBLUE ㅤ— ㅤㅤjay x f.reader ㅤㅤ wc 0.7k

where your boyfriend always knows a way to make your worries melt away

★ — hurt/comfort angst estd. relation fluff academic pressure :( jay being the sweetest bf

you looked at all the books and notes spread out in front of you, and the painfully waiting cursor of the blank document, as if urging you to start the assignment. but it felt… all too much, too overwhelming for you to even think about your pending works.

and before you knew it, a tear dropped down on the page, staining your messy handwriting. good here it goes again. you were tired of feeling tensed and worried about your studies.

your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of rapid knocks and the bell. you turned to look at the time, 11pm. who could it even be at this late hour?

sighing, you got up to open the door before the person could ring the bell once more, only to be met with a very familiar face.

‘jay...? what are you doing here at this hour?’ you asked, unsure of how to approach the fact that your boyfriend was in front of your apartment at near midnight. the said boy who was standing quite tensed your doorstep, visibly frowned upon seeing you

‘yn, i was worried tensed! why did you not pick up my calls? you even left me on seen?! do you know how stressful that was? wait, are you…’ he trailed, finally getting a proper look at your face.

oh shit you had forgotten that your tears hadn't dried yet and he was met with a red and blotchy face.

jay quickly stepped into the apartment, his hands going up to your face, softly holding them.

‘what… happened?’ his voice was laced with concern. ‘uh, you were worried, for me?’ you refused to meet his eyes.

‘of course, babe! you are usually so active and present but all i have got are just a few messages and no calls, i thought you were sick!’ and his eyes held this earnest look, that almost made you want to start sobbing again.

as if sensing your emotions, he engulfed you in a hug and before you knew it, you were in his arms, tearing up yet again, your forehead resting on his shoulder.

‘i… i– i am sick, of this work and study and…’ you spoke through your tears, ‘jay, i don't think i can do this anymore, i feel so-so tired, it's…’ you could feel him rub small soothing circles on your back, nodding to your every word and never interrupting you, as if you could vent out all the frustration and pressure you had building in you.

the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, slowly calmed you down as you broke apart to look up at him, with a small pout. you mumbled a small sorry.

jay broke out in a smile, caressing your cheek, ‘it's okay, yn, you've been so strong and dedicated. it’s okay to let yourself catch a break, hm? it's okay to feel sad and unmotivated sometimes, right? because i know you can do it.’

‘b-but i’ ‘ssh, i trust you.’ and maybe that was all you needed to hear.

you could feel a small smile form on your face, heart a lot lighter than it had been a few minutes ago. and you couldn't thank jay enough for it.

‘okayyy now let's see how my girlfriend is doing, secluding herself like a saint, tell me the last time you had eaten, yn?’ he questioned you in a serious tone. you knew how serious he could get if you neglected your meals.

‘eh, yesterday i think…?’ ‘i'm pretty sure it was ramen.’ you guiltily nodded.

jay shook his head, not surprised but placed a firm kiss on your forehead. ‘ok, so, you, my girl, are going to sit down and relax while i make you something healthy and edible to eat. okay?’ he said, more like commanded.

you blushed at his actions before following him to the kitchen.

it was a common routine you both had fallen into, jay would cook, you would, well… try to assist.

and even though, jay protested about you helping him, you shrugged him off, just happy to spend time with your boyfriend.

‘and from now on, yn, please don't ghost me like this. i'm always here for you, love’, whispered close to your ears, pressing another small kiss to your cheek.

NOTES. hi i wrote this down cuz of the high level of procrastination and unproductivity ive been having despite my finals starting in a month :( it isnt the best feeling and i for anyone else who's going through the same, don't worry we'll get through this rough patch together >< tysm for reading this

div cttoㅤㅤ work belong to @ rainytapestry do not steal

[athena-muldrow]

I took the first part of your idea and ran with it try and catch me now, suckers

(I'm typing on mobile, please forgive any grammatical/spelling errors <3 )

Ford hadn't realized how bad Stan's living situation was until they went grocery shopping.

Now, Ford was well aware Stan had been homeless for most--if not all--of the ten years they spent apart. Stanley had been remarkably open about it, but for all his openness about his lack of stable living, he was rather tight lipped about what happened in those ten years. He had some failed businesses, he fell into some groups of dubious morality to make ends meet, and he lived in his car most of that time. Ford was left clueless about the finer details, but, well, they would come in due time. When Stan felt more comfortable around Ford again, maybe he would start to share some of those stories.

These were the thoughts going through Ford's head when he was interrupted by Stan screeching in a high, almost panicked voice, "TAMALES!"

Ford slammed his foot on the brake instantly, sending his chest into the steering wheel hard enough to make the horn let out a sharp BEEP! and Stan to nearly break his nose against the dashboard. Before Ford could ask what the problem was, Stanley had already leapt out of the car. He skidded across the icy pavement of the grocery store parking lot and came to a stop in front of a startled-looking Hispanic woman with a folding table and a cooler. Ford hardly registered throwing the car into park before he, too, was flying out of his seat to follow Stan.

"Tiene algunos con cerdo?" Stanley asked, manic.

"Eh... Tengo algunos con pollo y carne, pero no cerdo. Gustaría comprar algunos?"

"Carne! Tomaré diez!" Stanley grinned.

Ford was left reeling. Since when did Stanley know Spanish?

Stanley turned to Ford, as if suddenly realizing he was there as well, and gave an excited smile. "Have you ever had tamales?"

Ford blinked. "I... no, I can't say I've ever had them."

"Oh, man, you're in for a real treat, Poindexter, I'm telling you! I haven't had these in years, I can't stop thinking about them!"

"What are they?"

Stan grinned, almost scary in his excitement. "They're like these... these pockets of deliciousness! The inside's got meat and vegetables, and the dough is some kinda corn thing? And the wrapper is also made of corn, but you don't eat that part, I didn't know that the first couple-a times I had 'em. But Moses, Sixer, these things kept me fed for weeks at a time when I lived in Mexico!"

Ford balked at this. "Lived in Mexico?" he parroted. "When were you in Mexico?"

"Back in... what, '77, probably?" Stan frowned and counted on his fingers. "No, '76, when I ran with Rico's crew. I lived in Mexico for a few months, but I spent almost year in Columbia when I went to prison."

"You spent a year in Columbian prison?" Ford screeched.

"Almost a year in Columbian prison, Ford, try and keep up."

Ford tried to process the new information he was granted into his Stan's past. Stan had spent a not insignificant amount of time outside of the United States, enough to learn a foreign language with what seemed to Ford's untrained ear to be a certain degree of fluency and comfortability. Enough to have a knowledge of and yearning for a totally different cuisine than Ford was familiar with. Enough to have been incarcerated for nearly a year.

Ford had the sudden urge to sit on the ground, place his hands in his head, and scream.

Instead, Stan handed him a tamale.

"Beef," he said, either not noticing Ford's internal freakout or ignoring it. "And spicy. Try it!"

It struck Ford, all of a sudden, how strange this all looked to the average passerby. Here he was, the 'mysterious science guy' as most of the town knew him as, standing awkwardly in a grocery store parking lot holding a still-warm... thing wrapped in a corn husk. His identical twin brother wolfing down one of his own with a ferocity that seemed to upset the woman he bought them from. Their car, still running, taking up five whole spaces with both doors wide open. It was embarrassing. Unseemly. Weird.

"You gonna eat that, or you gonna wait 'till you get home?" Stan asked, mouth still full.

Ford had missed being weird with Stan.

Ford unwrapped the tamale and took a hesitant bite.

Stan was right--it was spicy--but the beef was tender and the flavors complex, and the mildness of the dough helped alleviate the worst of the burn from the spices. It reminded Ford of his time in Backupsmore, letting Fiddleford drag him to some hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant where the tables were worn and the air was thick with cigarette smoke, but the tacos were cheap and well-worth the reward of several late-night study sessions.

"Good?"

Ford nodded, and blamed the choked feeling in his throat on swallowing awkwardly around the bite. "Yes. It's... it's good."

"'Ey, I knew you'd like it!" Stan cried, giving Ford a slap on the back. He held his tamale aloft like a king would his scepter. "These are just the tip of the iceburg, Poindexter! I'm gonna expand your palette to flavors your nerd brain can't even imagine! I was hiding out with this lady for a week--this was when I was making my way back to America after I broke outta prison, right?--and her grandma made this stew that changed my life. Called it chile colorado or something like that. Holy Moses, Sixer, that stew coulda made an honest man out of me! Then their house got raided by the cops 'cause she and her grandma were running some smuggling operation, so I had to duck outta there real fast, but man... I've been looking for someone that can make a stew like that since. Oh, oh! And then there was that time I was passing through Honduras..."

Ford continued to listen to Stan's retelling of his time in Central America like he did his university lectures, taking note of when his eyes lit up with past joy and when he frowned when he alluded to darker moments. They stood there, eating their tamales in the middle of the grocery store parking lot for what felt like hours as Ford watched a new piece of the puzzle fall into place. It struck him, once again, just how little he really knew about Stan's time before their reunion. But half the joy of being a scientific researcher was the discovery, and there was still quite a bit of Stan to discover.

(This was meant to be angstier. But honestly, I like where this ended up, so I'm going to leave it as is. I got plenty more ideas for this, so maybe I'll write a fullblown story sometime!)

Stan collapses during the journal fight AUs but its just a fic about Ford taking care of Stan.

He'll be out and buys all of Stanley's favourite foods from their childhood and hopes he still likes them.

He even buys him the best hair products and other things he may need in the shower because his brother has a sudden obsession with being able to be clean whenever he wants to (when Stan excitedly told him how good he smelled just by using Ford's sad 3 in 1 shampoo, the older twin was immediately out and grabbing every product with tears in his eyes).

One day they're out and Stan is looking longingly at something, when Ford looks over its a nail salon. Now, Ford is aware his brother did drag but he didn't want to just assume he wanted his nails done...

Still he offers it and when Stanley gets all embarrassed about it, he finds himself getting his own nails done as well. He hates it, they're long and get in the way of his work but Stanley looks so happy with his new nails that Stanford keeps his mouth shut.

Ford prepares a fancy spa day the very next day and hopes Stanley won't feel too badly- he always talks about being a burden but he just wants his brother to be taken care of. Unfortunately, Stanley doesn't take well with his scars being revealed and neither does Stanford. They settle for pedicures (or something else small).

Remembering his brother used to like marine life as a kid, Stanford plans a road trip to the nearest aquarium. He let's Stan drive because it makes him happy and he doesn't question any of the directions Ford gives him, seeming content to just spend time together.

His brother doesn't even suspect as they arrive and Ford worries he just doesn't care for sea life anymore. It isn't until Stanford is inside the building that Stanley finally seems to realize that was their destination, the aquarium, and he quickly shakes his fists around like a more aggressive version of Ford's hand excited flaps.

Ford likes to read thr details but he finds himself letting Stan do it for him, info dumping on everything he knows about an animal and reading aloud to his best abilities to the ones he doesn't know. He is grinning widely and Ford finds himself doing the same at the sight of his brother finally letting loose.

[wqlfstqr]

◟𖥻 love notes : percy jackson

▰▰ pairing: percy jackson x fem!reader

Valentine's day is coming close and y/n starts to receive love notes from a secret admirer. Meanwhile, Percy's panicking because someone got ahead of him.

warnings: mentions of cabin 10 reader, couple mentions of some random camper I added just for the plot, miscommunication but like it gets resolved at the end.

It's only a week before valentine's day and the entire aphrodite cabin is buzzing with excitement. Every night, they gather around one bed and share their gossip of the day: who was asked out by whom, who was spotted crying after training, who do they want to be their valentines.

She was sure of who she wanted to be her valentine. Percy and her had been spending a lot of time together lately, and she was crushing hard. But she wasn't sure he felt the same, at least not until the notes started to show up.

At first, when the first few notes started appearing on her bed, she wasn't sure who it could be. But then they became more obvious and she couldn't help but connect the dots: the one saying her hair was beautiful that day just after Percy had helped her brush it, the one complimenting the sweater Percy had let her borrow, then talking about her favorite flowers after she had told Percy she loved tulips.

And then: 'You looked pretty today, i love how blue looks on you.' that had to be Percy, right? it was his favorite color, and he had told her earlier that her shirt was nice.

She doesn’t share this with anyone, but she's so sure it's Percy leaving the notes that she starts making comments about it, hoping he confesses soon.

When he compliments her blue shirt again, she smirks at him. "Do you think it looks good on me?" she asks, expecting him to tell her about the letters.

"Yes! it's very pretty." He replies, unaware of the underlying meaning under her question, before he turns to follow Grover.

Maybe she didn’t get a straight up confession from him, but that only feds into her suspicions.

"Percy, would you say you have a recognizable handwriting?" She asks out of nowhere when they're training, she's supposed to be helping him with archery while he helps her with swording.

He's immediately distracted because that's who he is— he looks at her and the arrow he releases is far from hitting the target but he doesn’t even realize it.

"Maybe it's recognizable because of how ugly it is." He shrugs, finally looking at where the arrow fell and dropping the bow. "You should see my math notes, they look like ancient Greek threw up in my paper."

She's sure that he's downplaying it because he knows that she's onto him. In the notes, he has a very pretty handwritting, he only wants her to think that it's not him.

By the weekend, as the days keep getting closer and the notes keep coming, she's completely sure it has to be him. But he hasn't admitted it even after her efforts to drop hints at it. She thinks that maybe he's just shy, so in another desperate attempt, she mentions the notes.

"You know, i've been getting the sweetest notes lately. You wouldn't happen to know who's sending them, would you?" She finally asks, trying to act nonchalant as she looks up from her book.

Percy's head turns so fast that he gives himself whiplash, and then he blinks at her, trying to process what she just said. "you what?"

"Love notes, almost every night. I think whoever's behind those will ask me to be their valentine." she grins at him.

Percy's internally panicking— What. The. Hell. Is somebody getting ahead of him and sending her letters? who is trying to steal his valentine?

He stands up from her bed so fast that it takes her off guard. "I have to go, Grover needs my help with— uh— yes." He mutters, and then he's almost running out of her cabin.

Now more than ever, she's sure that he's simply nervous because he got caught. He'll probably confess to it soon enough.

Instead, Percy's panicking on his cabin while Grover sits on the edge on one of the beds, his eyes following his best friend as he paces around the place like a maniac. "Somebody got ahead of me, Grover! they'll ask her out before I can"

Grover gives him a deadpan look. "Then why haven't you?"

Percy stops, looking utterly confused until he understands that Grover is asking why he hasn't ask her to be his valentine yet.

He sighs. "I don't know, man. She's just so sweet and pretty and funny— I guess I just get nervous every time I try." frustrated, he runs a hand through his already messy hair. "Who even is sending her those stupid notes, anyways? I can totally do better than that."

"In the name of Pan, Percy! If you're scared of someone asking her first, then do something." Grover tells him, he already feels dizzy just by following Percy as he's pacing around.

Percy frowns. "Like what? should I drown the mystery letter guy?"

"Of course not!" Grover sighs, must he explain everything to these demigods? "you said it yourself, you can do better than those notes. So do it. Romance is literally her thing. You just have to start sending her your own gifts and letters to show her that you really like her, and then she might get the hint."

He stops pacing again, considers this and then nods, determination settling in. "Yes! I can totally do that. That's perfect! G-man, you're the best."

That's how the next morning, y/n wakes up to not just a note, but a tiny box sitting on her bed. When she opens it, she finds a tiny silver sea-shell charm attached to a delicate chain.

She quietly gasps. The notes before were sweet, but this is beautiful. And now there's no denying Percy's the one behind it, he must be fully confessing through gifts now.

The next days, she hopes for Percy to say something. Anything. She even wears the bracelet everyday just so he can point it out, but she only gets a smile out of him. But the gifts keep on coming.

After dinner one day, she comes back to a blue hoodie placed neatly on her bed. It smells suspiciously like Percy. And there’s two notes now, one complimenting her hairstyle today and the other one says 'You should keep this one, since blue looks much nicer on you.'

What confuses her is that the handwriting on those two notes is too different to even belong to the same person. But she doesn't think about it too much, because the hoodie takes her whole attention— she sleeps with it that night.

Then, the next day it's a small jar with sand, seashells and some sea glass pieces. There's still two notes, and she doesn’t understand this at all, but she still focuses only on the one placed on top of the jar, 'Something from my favorite place for my favorite girl'

She's so over the moon that she spends the whole day smiling and giggling. His favorite girl. Valentine's day is coming soon, and there's no way he's not going to ask soon.

After sword training, there’s a chocolate bar placed on her pillow and she can't help but giggle at the sight of it. Because she mentioned she was craving something sweet to Percy earlier. And now there it is, her favorite chocolate with a note: 'Thought you deserved a treat after all that sword fighting.'

It's only a day before valentine's when she finds a small glass bottle on her nightstand with a message inside, she immediately pulls the note out of the bottle and smiles when she reads it.

'I've been meaning to tell you how much I like you. But everytime I try, I just forget how words work. Which is ironic, because I could fill pages talking about how pretty you are, how much I love hearing you talk about the things you're passionate about, how my brain turns to mush— or seaweed more like, when you smile to me.

— P.'

Her breath catches in her throat once her eyes reach the final line. It is Percy. She was right!

A delighted squeal escapes her lips before she can stop it, the excitement bubbles out of her, an uncontrollable rush of happiness as she clutches the note to her chest, jumping up and down.

Suddenly, the door swings open and her sister comes to a halt in the doorway, eyebrows raised. "What's with all that noise? Did you get another note from Peter?"

She's so happy, that she just giggles, thinking that her sister got the name wrong. "Percy, silly."

"No, Peter from cabin nine? he's been asking me to help him put those notes in your nightstand everyday."

The giggles and jumping stop immediately. "Wait— Peter?" she repeats, voice suddenly unsteady. "Not... Percy?"

Her sister tilts her head, confusion all over her face. "Percy? No, I don't— He hasn't said anything to me. Why? did something happen?"

y/n's stomach drops. She doesn't answer. It's not possible. It has to be Percy. The shell bracelet. The hoodie in his favorite color. The sand and shells from the beach. The seaweed joke on the note. It has to be him.

Unless she was misinterpreting everything. Of course that's something she would do, her lovesickness got the best of her and she started seeing things as she wanted them to be.

The heartbreak is instant. She feels ridiculous. She drops the letter on her bed as if it was burning and, ignoring her sisters talking about how Peter will probably ask her out soon, she runs out of the cabin.

The disappointment feels suffocating and heavy on her chest as she walks with her head low. She keeps walking, and walking. Until she's at the pier, which feels even worse because it reminds her of Percy and yet again she feels stupid.

Her heart aches as she lets herself sink into the ground in front of the water. She wants to cry but also laugh at herself. What a joke.

She's there for what a feels like a long time. Maybe hours. Just staring at the ocean in front of her while going through the past few days in her mind, trying to conceal the fact that some Peter from cabin nine was the one behind those letters. She doesn't even know a Peter to begin with.

She's halfway through her third time scolding herself when she hears footsteps behind her, closer and closer until someone is suddenly sitting beside her. Quickly, she wipes the few tears.

But when she finally looks at the person beside her, she nearly forgets how to breathe.

Because there, sitting beside her, is Percy Jackson. And he's holding a bouquet of tulips.

His eyes soften when he sees her, his gaze following the trail of tears in her cheeks as his expression shifts to concern. "Are you okay?"

She blinks at him, unable to process anything as she looks between him and the flowers. Her favorite flowers.

But she didn’t want to get her hopes up again, so she looked away quickly. "Percy if you need my help asking someone for valentine's, maybe I can help you later."

Percy blinks at her before he's able to process her words, then he looks downright offended. "What? No! these are for you."

She whips her head towards him, her eyebrows raised as if she doesn’t believe him. "What?"

"Yes! for who else? I was—" he takes a deep breath, suddenly feeling nervous. "I went to your cabin to ask you if you wanted to be my valentine, but your sister told me you were gone because you were freaking out about some Peter sending you notes."

She stares at him, mouth slightly open. "You wanted to ask me to be your valentine?"

He nods softly, nervously scratching his eyebrow. "Yes but I totally understand if i'm too late and if you want to go with that guy."

"No! I mean— I just—" She trips over her own words, her heart hammering so hard she thinks it'll jump out of her chest. "I thought you were the one writing those love notes. But apparently it was Peter from cabin nine. I just— I started freaking out because I wanted it to be you."

Percy's face scrunches in confusion. "Peter from cabin nine?"

She feels the embarrasment again, her cheeks turning pink. "I thought it was you because those gifts, they were so much like you and—"

He finally understands where she's coming from, and he lets out a breathless chuckle, interrupting her before she keeps talking.

"No, no! I was the one leaving those gifts. You were right about that." He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I wanted to ask you to be my valentine but I always got too nervous, and then you mentioned those notes and I freaked out because someone would ask you before I had the chance. So I started leaving those gifts hoping you would know it was me, but when you didn’t mention anything about them—"

It takes another shaky breath for him to continue. "I thought maybe you weren't interested in me like that, but then I thought maybe the gifts weren't obvious enough so I was going to give it another shot." he gestures to the tulips in his hands. "And ask you myself."

She blinks at him, her mind struggling to keep up, specially when he keeps on rambling. "So you left those gifts? the bracelet? and the jar with the seashells? and the hoodie?" When he nods, the relief washes over her as she lets out a laugh. "Oh my gods, Percy! I thought I was ridiculous for thinking it was you!"

"You're not ridiculous." He nudges her shoulder with his. "Maybe I should've approached it in a least... confusing way."

"No way, I loved those gifts." She returns the nudge, unable to contain her big smile. "I was just confused over, Well— Peter from cabin nine with those notes."

"Oh yeah, no, that's totally your fault for having so many secret admirers." He teases her, grinning widely.

She rolls her eyes, but another laugh burst out of her lips before she can reply. "And you're one of them."

"I don't know, I don't want to be so secretive about it anymore." He tells her, offering the bouquet in his hands. "So, there's something I've been meaning to ask."

Percy doesn’t feel nervous anymore, but the way she beams at him as she takes the bouquet makes his heart skip a beat. "Go on."

He doesn’t know why he was ever nervous, because the question rolls easily out of his lips. "Will you be my valentine?"

She holds the flowers to her chest like it's the best thing she has ever received. "Of course." she then caughts him by surprise when she leans to press a kiss against his cheek.

He exhales in relief, leaning back on his hand. He knows his face must be red, but at least she doesn't comment on it as she goes back to admire the tulips. After a second, he smirks. "Soo... about this Peter, you know I can be intimidating, right?"

She laughs, slightly pushing his shoulder. "Percy, don't be rude! I'll turn him down tomorrow."

"That's a shame." he replies, even though he doesn’t look shameful at all with the grin plastered on his face.

She shakes her head, smiling softly. "He never stood a chance anyways."

Percy chuckles, reaching for her hand to give it a small squeeze. "Good."

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt behind the cut; “the one where Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“It usually involves taking care of the sub for a little while–like if they need to recover or if the Dom needs something to calm themselves down doing, for example–but there’s other ways and reasons to do it,” Tim says, stroking his hair just a little bit more carefully as Kon once again tries and fails to figure out what the fuck he’s feeling right now. “That’s just what most people think of first when it comes up. Supposed to just make it easier for everyone to come up and level out, basically.” 

Tim’s been petting him all this time, Kon realizes, biting the inside of his lip again. 

And then he realizes–Tim’s also been the only one talking to him about this. Like, the “polite intel-collecting/light interrogation” kind of talking, but definitely only Tim doing it. So, like–Tim thinks this is something to be careful about talking about, and apparently so does Bernard. 

. . . weird, Kon thinks, ducking his head just enough to hide his mouth against his folded forearms as he bites his lip outright, and doesn’t know how he feels about that either. 

He thinks maybe they’re doing that–“gentle” thing again, though, even though they’re not even actually fucking around right now. Like . . . like just being in bed together at all is reason enough to do it, or something. Like it’s just–like it matters enough to keep doing it either way. 

Kon knows exactly how he feels about that, but that’d be a lot more than just “mortifying” to admit. 

“Um . . . sorry,” he says, half-worrying about what Tim means by needing to calm himself down. The times he’s tried to Dom made him all anxious and nervy and filled his head up with even more useless circling thoughts than usual, so like . . . does that happen to Tim too? It hadn’t seemed like it was, but . . . “Should I be–doing something for you, you mean? Because I can–” 

A flash of stress flickers across Tim’s face, and Kon cuts himself off and feels a little–stupid, maybe, like he’s said something wrong or just messed up something obvious or . . . 

He bites his lip harder and a weird little–reflex, almost, has him glancing towards Bernard for . . . he’s not even sure why, just . . . Bernard would know what Tim needs right now, wouldn’t he? Like–he’d have to, right? 

Bernard’s still just standing by the nightstand and the breakfast tray, but the moment Kon looks at him he gives an easy shrug, scoops up the middle plate, and manages to neatly deposit it in Tim’s lap even as he lays down on his other side, stretched out on his own stomach and propped up on his elbows. Kon feels–something, kind of, and thinks about how that puts them both kinda . . . parallel to each other, kinda. Just . . . mirrored, a little, both lying on either side of Tim where he’s sitting against the headboard. 

That’s . . . kinda something he feels something about, yeah, but it’s another one of those “something”s he can’t seem to really pin down, because everything he thinks it’s making him feel is, like . . . not actually something that makes sense for him to be feeling. 

Kryptonite, he remembers abruptly. Right. So like . . . that. That’s probably . . . why he thinks he’s feeling . . . that kind of thing. Like–how Kara was saying, and all. 

Right? 

“Yes, you should be lying right there and letting Tim fuss over you for a while,” Bernard informs him matter-of-factly, crossing his ankles behind himself and resting his chin in one hand. “He likes doing the fussing. Though personally post-subbing is literally the only time I don’t wanna cuddle, I just wanna eat the fridge and pass the fuck out on the couch, so it’s really always been an unfortunate waste of the opportunity for me and also, like, not Tim’s favorite way to spend a scene’s afterglow either.” 

“Oh,” Kon says, mildly bemused by the idea of passing out on the couch after subbing instead of cuddling up with someone in bed. Like–wanting to pass out on the couch, at least. Like, that is just very much not how he feels after subbing, is all. But, well . . . if that’s all Tim needs from him . . . like, it’s not exactly an imposition or anything. “Seriously? Just . . . the fussing?” 

“Seriously,” Bernard confirms with a nod without bothering to lift his chin from his hand. “He literally always wants to do the fussing. Like he is definitely the ‘needs to calm down’ guy, and also the ‘subtly make sure he didn’t accidentally hurt or upset you when you were too high on endorphins to communicate it’ guy.” 

“Yeah, sounds like Tim,” Kon says, lifting his own head a little more again just to spare Tim a wry look. “‘Shit, that went way too well, lemme get all Bat-paranoia up in here and overanalyze the whole thing’.” 

“Better safe than sorry,” Tim says, looking a little wry himself, and Kon–like, yeah, he’s teasing the guy about it, because when would he not take the opportunity to give Tim shit, but he still definitely feels some shit about the fact that Tim would bother worrying about him like that. Like–the “gentle” thing again, he guesses. It’s just . . . not something he needs, and obviously Tim knows that, because a) invulnerable and b) they’re literally just fucking around for the weekend, it’s not like they’re doing anything serious or whatever, but the fact that Tim’s bothering to do it anyway is just . . . yeah. 

He just–doesn’t have to, is all. He doesn’t have to, but he still is. Still is, and still told his boyfriend to be. 

“You are a total Bat, but fuck if I'm gonna complain about scorin’ some free attention,” Kon tells him with a teasing smirk. Even if “getting attention” wasn’t half the foundation of his core personality, getting Tim’s attention would still be a goddamn treat, any time. Like–it always is, seriously. So yeah, Kon is in no way above indulging in a little extra of it. As far as doing something for Tim, it’s basically the easiest thing the guy could possibly ask for. Normally Kon’d say it was the best thing the guy could possibly ask for, even, but given the radioactive gay space rock currently influencing his tastes and his preferred flavor of his favorite pastime, any current contenders for the “best” thing Tim could possibly ask for would definitely need the other’s dick to get involved again. 

Like. To the fucking hilt levels of involved, specifically. 

Definitely to the fucking hilt. 

“Jesus, that noise is fucking adorable,” Bernard mutters under his breath, which is the only reason Kon notices himself purring again, which–oh. That wasn’t, like . . . on purpose or anything. Generally he tries to avoid any of the “don’t sound entirely human” vocal tics, though admittedly he probably does purr the most. Just, like . . . usually he decides to let himself do it, is all. 

“Vegas party favors don’t do ‘adorable’, man,” he hums around another purr, because . . . well, Bernard seems like he’s kinda into the purring, so it’s not like he’s gotta, like–stop, or whatever. And Tim’s heard him do it before and not gotten weirded-out, so . . . so it’s whatever, yeah. No big deal or anything. 

Anyway, it feels nice to, sometimes. Especially when he feels like this does it feel nice to. 

And, like, extra-especially when Tim’s still petting his hair for it. 

“I think I can literally feel the bed vibrating a little,” Bernard says, looking low-key delighted about it. “Definitely tell me how I earn this level of purring while TTK-cuddling, because that is very much my new goal for this long weekend.” 

“Mmm, s’secret lore, man,” Kon hums, letting his eyes close as he settles in a little heavier against the bed with a pleased little buzzing feeling in his gut and along his skin. “You gotta grind enough hours to level up and earn it.” 

“I will grind on you for all the hours that standard-build human stamina can handle and Konami code your ass if I gotta,” Bernard swears, and Kon laughs into his arms. Why is this dude so funny, Jesus. 

“That sounds kinda fun, what’d that involve?” he muses speculatively. 

“Some very specific and very decisive button-pressing, pretty much,” Bernard says, and Kon laughs again. “Maybe some converter cables and a rumble controller.” 

Kon sniggers. Goddammit, the bastard really is so funny, what the fuck. 

“I think the gay space rock’s done plenty of converting, but if you really wanna plug something in . . .” he hums, making a point of stretching out a bit more against the mattress, and accidentally purrs a little deeper without meaning to. 

“Desperately, yes,” Bernard says, sounding very feeling about it. So like, that’s another nice little bit of flattery. “Hey babe, how long do I have to wait to plug and play with your bestie? Like, ballpark it for us.” 

“Maybe eat breakfast first?” Tim suggests wryly. “I hear the chef makes pretty good waffles.” 

“Honestly they’re pretty mid compared to the cake that’s currently taking up a truly impressive amount of real estate in this bed,” Bernard replies frankly, making a point of reaching across Tim’s legs to grab Kon’s ass and give it a pointedly appreciative jiggle as he says “cake”, and Kon laughs helplessly into his arms. But, like–also tilts his ass up into said hand, obviously. Like, just a little. Bernard’s nice enough to give it an appreciative squeeze in response to that, so Kon figures that’s a win. “On that note, Tim, your bed is just not worthy of this long weekend, you really should upgrade. Like, no rush or anything, just maybe by Valentine’s Day. Your birthday at the latest.” 

At this rate, Kon isn’t gonna manage to stop laughing long enough to eat a single damn waffle.

[thedissonantverses]

With Lucanis, I think a lot expected a rico suave type of character. Charmer, smooth talker and basically a stereotype. When in reality, the man has PTSD (which I believe he does) he’s awkward, and also very much demi.

His romance is a slow burn. The wall scene perhaps he was trying to act smooth, but realized he couldn’t do it. He clearly does care for Rook but, he needs someone who can be patient with him. Which Rook is.

He’s not like Illario who was the smooth talker, no, Lucanis is more quiet.

Also, if Treviso is saved, Lucanis despite enduring torture for a year still chooses to be gentle. Despite his differences with Davrin, he still cares for him. The fact he also is the main cook? He’s just a lovely character, but he does have flows, he’s not perfect by all means.

He’s not the kind for someone who doesn’t like slow burns pretty much.

I mean it's pretty telling to me that whenever someone talks positively about Lucanis' writing and the ace representation that someone inevitably comes along to get angry about it and call you names because "nuh-uh I didn't like it so it's bad."

Like I don't save Treviso more often than I do and he is kind, cares about Rook, and is very empathetic and compelling. He's absurdly loyal to his family and as a Hispanic woman I GET IT. (Like I have an Ilario and they may be an idiot but by god they are my idiot)

Also I don't think he needs to even have diagnosable PTSD to be screwed up by what happened to him. The first thing you do when you meet the guy is destroy a vial of blood as big as he is. Like it would be understandable if he was unromanceable altogether ya know?

I'm not even sure the slow burn is as much an issue as people just didn't get Zevran 2.0 again or the character they decided Lucanis was in their heads. Then refuse to apply any analysis to him that isn't colored by the romance which is the backwards way to do character analysis since this isn't a romance game. Not to mention if you're a writer and you write romance first and character second your romances are going to be very weak.

Then because Lucanis wasn't written to be suave sexy Latin lover man (and yes I've seen fix-it fics where people do this) people just say the writing is bad and it gets really frustrating seeing the disrespect for the craft given the Events lately. EA and Bioware aren't standing by their writers so it sucks seeing the fans not do it either and largely because of bad media literacy and being more focused on consuming "content" as fast as possible. Which is a broader issue than the DA fandom but damn is it rampant this game.

tl;dr I'm getting "the writing isn't bad you just didn't like it" tattooed on my forehead.

[inhuman-obey-me]

Congrats on 100k likes!! Is there any more room or space left? If so, Belphegor and 7 pls!

Thank you!! And you're the lucky last one we're doing. <3

Belphegor + 7 | "Better Days" - Currents

cw: depression talk

It's said that when humans have a sleep paralysis demon haunting them, they often feel an unyielding weight upon their bodies, rendering them unable to move. It's a tried and true trick that Belphegor knows quite well.

"Is this what it feels like?" he muses, sprawled out on his bed as he stares at the ceiling, eyes tracing a pattern of painted stars. He's been doing this for the past ten hours, unable to get himself up to do much of anything else. The weight pressing down on him was suffocating, so why did he also find it so oddly comforting? Had he just gotten used to the heaviness? Used to the hole that had dug itself deep into his chest?

"Belphie, you haven't eaten anything all day." Beelzebub's voice draws him out of his thoughts. Lazily turning his head to meet his twin's gaze, he lets out a long sigh.

"Not hungry."

Beelzebub frowns, crumbs littering his face as he chews on whatever he just stuffed into his mouth. It's clear he wants to say something, but he instead plops down on the floor beside Belphegor's bed, leaning back and pulling out another snack to munch on. The seventh-born almost wants to tell him to leave, but he knows it'll get him nowhere — Beelzebub always knew when something was wrong.

"…Do you ever miss it?"

"Mish wha?" His brother responds, his mouth full.

"The Celestial Realm." Belphegor's fingers curl into fists, his brows furrowed as he turns to look at the wall. "Being an angel."

He can hear Beel pause his chewing before resuming at a quicker pace. After a few moments, Belphegor feels the bed tilt and move, Beelzebub now having lifted himself to sit on its edge.

"I mean, yeah. Sometimes." Beelzebub shifts. "It was a big part of our lives, so it's only natural, right? But I'm happy to be a demon now too, and to be here with our family, which is what's really important."

"Except for Lilith."

"…Yeah. Except for Lilith." His twin deflates. "…What's on your mind, Belphie?"

"Sometimes it feels like I'm the only one who just gets stuck." The words are bitter on his tongue, frustration rising in his voice. "I'm glad we finally found out the truth about what happened to her, but it doesn't erase the fact that she's gone. Everyone else just…moved on! And I'm just here."

That suffocating yet comforting weight, keeping him in place.

"…Are you here? It sounds more like you're there." With a forceful tap on Belphegor's shoulder, Beelzebub makes him turn towards him. "I…get it. You know I do. I still feel guilty — and yes, I know," he stops Belphie from interrupting, "…it's not my fault, it couldn't be helped. But I still feel that way. So sometimes I feel like I'm more there, you know." He scratches the back of his neck, trying to find the right words. "Mammon and Asmo talk a lot about 'living in the moment', and I think I get it. We can't change the past, but we can hold onto what we have right now, like each other."

"…Really? You got your great advice from those two?" Belphegor groans, but it's hard to hide the hint of a smile on his lips. "I think they're probably talking more about partying and doing something stupid."

"Probably, but it doesn't change what I said." Beelzebub stands up, holding out a hand to his brother with a determined look. "So, how about we try living in the moment right now? Maybe we can even go do something stupid."

A low chuckle, and it's like the weight lessens. A knowing sigh, and it lessens again. Belphegor reaches out to take the other's hand, letting himself get dragged off the bed.

"Okay. But don't blame me if Lucifer gets mad."

[rigordoll]

Sweetheart.

contains: college!AU, RE2Leon x Fem!reader, friends to lovers, kissing, suggestive at the end. This will have eventual smut in a future pt2!

I'm not an expert writing, English isn't my first language but interactions, reblogs and comments are appreciated!! enjoy :3

When you started college you were scared as fuck to be honest. All your teacher's from high school and even your parents told you that college was hell and it was a completely different environment for you, that you must be very careful and not go trusting in every person in your way.

They weren't wrong about it but to be honest college wasn't so bad as they pictured it. Yeah, there was some weird people that you wouldn't approach to them even if you got payed to do it but they didn't mess with you or something.

You would say that college was almost like high school if you weren't failing almost every subject in your first semester, that was definitely the hell part. However, you managed to improve in the second semester and it went 'easier' for you, at least you weren't failing anymore.

Well, actually...

You were failing mathematics.

Imagine your face when you saw the test and realized you didn't know a shit about algebra, you were most definitely cooked.

It was hard as fuck and no matter what, you wouldn't understand it. Thank God you had Leon, he was the first person that approached to you in college and since then you sticked to his side.

He was such a sweetheart and helped you a lot, made the study sessions more bearable with his incredible bad jokes and actually explained to you what you didn't understand in the class.

Even right now when he was seeing your test and explaining you why your answer were wrong so it wouldn't happen again.

"Now, seriously, what the hell went through your mind to think that this was the correct answer?" Leon said without looking at you, he was focused reading your failed test and he genuinely looked offended at whatever you put on there.

"It's not that bad! give me that." you said with a huff, taking the piece of paper from his hands and put it into your bag without much care.

"Oh it is bad..." He said with amusement, if he dared to laugh at you, you would punch him in the middle of his perfect face. "But hey, seriously... you need to get a better grade in the next test." Leon said softly. "You can come over to my room and I'll explain you the basics." He offered.

Leon always offered to help you with your studies and he actually did explain well. It's just that you sometimes didn't pay attention to him.

I mean, you did payed attention to him, just not to what he was saying...

In your defense, being alone with Leon in his room was an appealing idea... Just not to study. You wouldn't lie, you may have a little crush for him since the beginning but you always pushed those feelings aside because he only saw you as a friend.

"You mean, later today...?" you asked, raising a brown with curiosity which caused him to roll his eyes. "no, later next year. Of course later today, silly." Leon said with amusement and you huffed at him. "But it's friday..." you already had plans, going to a party, drink, dancing and maybe hook up with a guy and pretend that it was Leon. Last part is clearly a joke, don't do that! but anyway, college life is good.

"I don't care, see you at 6pm." He said playfully before leaving.

Fuck him, but you did wish that it was in the literal sense.

You were standing in front of his door and it was actually 7pm, ops.

but in your defense, you were busy getting ready to the party since you were lazy as fuck to to go to Leon's room then go back to your room, change your clothes, doing your make up and then go to the party, it would take her ages.

Before you could even knock the door, Leon had already opened it and it took him a moment to scold you for your tardiness since his cold blue eyes were roaming your figure and taking in your clothes option, now that was short skirt but the top was pretty, it was his favorite on you even if he never told you.

Leon cleared his throat before looking at you with a serious expression playing on his face. "first of all, you're one hour late. Second of all, why are you dressed like that?" He asked with curiosity, stepping aside to let you in before closing the door behind you.

"There is a party tonight at 9pm..." you said softly with a shrug before sitting on the edge of his bed and looking at him.

"I see, I hope that you don't drunk call me at 3am." He said playfully while sitting on the desk chair that was beside the bed. Anyway, he knew that if you called him he would pick you up without thinking twice but that isn't the matter here..

"I don't promise you anything.." you said with a chuckle while looking at him, he was dressed in grey sweatpants and a blue random shirt but damn, his biceps were on display. Focus, hoe!

Leon smirked at your answer and shook his head with amusement before searching for his notes. "Let's just get started with this so you can go to your party." He said softly.

An hour passed by with him explaining you the basics and teaching you how to do some exercises.

Honestly, you were having a bit of trouble focusing when he looked so fine and smelled so fine, you always wondered was cologne he uses because it smells heavenly. You also noticed him stealing some glances at you, more than usual.

Maybe it was because he was staring at your thighs and at how soft your skin looked... or maybe he was staring and your chest everytime you leaned closer to him to see what he was writing. he was most definitely having the time of his life when he caught you staring at him with pretty eyes while biting your pen before snapping back to reality and noticing how dumb you probably looked. He wouldn't call it dumb tho, more like hot but hey, he never said this.

"I think I got it, look." You said softly, passing him your notebook where you have just finished a exercise. Leon took notebook from you, his fingers grazing yours but seemingly completely oblivious of it.

He took a moment to check if it was good and you waited there patiently, when you heard a soft hum from him, you leaned closer. your head next to his and you rested your chin on his shoulder. "is it good?" you asked quietly.

Leon turned his head to look at you and now his face was mere inches away from yours. His eyes went directly to your lips and it took all his willpower to not kiss you right there since you were looking absolutely gorgeous there staring at him with doe eyes and glossy lips slightly agape.

Leon licked his lips and quickly looked back to your notebook. "Yeah, it's good." He said softly before looking back at you, you were smiling and looking at your book in his hands.

Leon didn't know why but his heart was beating against his chest, his hands felt sweaty and suddenly the room felt a lot warmer now, is the AC working or what the hell?

The tension was in the air and you when you met his gaze, you noticed his rosy cheeks and dilated pupils while he stared at every detail of your face. Suddenly, you remembered why you liked him. It's those cold blue eyes that look into you with intensity and adoration without failing.

You both just stared quietly in each other's eyes, none of you said anything or did anything even if your bodies were betraying both of you and itching for being closer to each others warmth.

It was such a comfortable silence, a silence that spoke volumes.

So it didn't surprise you when you hear the words. "I really want to kiss you." coming from Leon's mouth in a quiet tone as it was secret that he was telling you.

You just took a heavy breath while looking at his pink lips before nodding at him. that was enough for him to understand, he always understood your silence even if that happened rarely.

To be honest, you felt so cozy and warm when his lips touched yours. you swear that you felt butterflies in your tummy when he started to kiss you slowly, taking his time with you and his hand going to cradle your face.

It felt so right, Leon wonders why he didn't do this before. Why didn't he kiss you in every chance given?

It didn't took long before you were beneath him on his bed, kissing each other and exploring each other's body through the layers of clothes.

It seems like you weren't going to that party anymore... Leon's much better that any guy that you could found there anyway.

HEYYYYYYYYYY, I'll leave this here.

I'll probably make pt2 later that will included an attempt of smut since I still figuring out all this write thing, but anyway, enjoy!

(I'm taking requests BTW)

[gugapuppy]

Abortion - Part 8 (A!Ghost x O!Soap)

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8

═══════════════════════════

This chapter was made to hurt a lot and give facts, the main ones at least.

Tell me your opinions, if it lacked angst or if it was too much. For me, I think it lacked a little, but I can't explain why.

CW: Hurt no confort, Break up

═══════════════════════════

Finally, after a few more days, Ghost returned to base.

He was anxious but somewhat hopeful about the conversation he would have with Johnny, he even wrote a long letter of apology in case he couldn't get the words out of his mouth.

It was night when he arrived, so he would have to wait for Johnny to wake up tomorrow so as not to disturb his sleep. Unfortunately he couldn't rest yet, having to give Price a report.

As he approached Price's office, Ghost began to hear some muffled voices shouting. Laswell and Price.

He hurried his steps and knocked on the door quickly, the voices inside stopped and then he heard Price telling him to come in.

As soon as he enters, Ghost notices the pile of paperwork on the desk, Laswell standing in front of the desk looking seriously at Ghost, and Price sitting holding a folder with other documents, but he freezes when he notices Johnny's name on the cover of the folder.

"What's going on?" He asked, a bad feeling in his stomach.

Instead of receiving a verbal answer, Ghost receives a strong punch on the cheek, not a slap, a punch, making him feel his tooth scratch inside. A sour smell scents the room, an angry alpha. Laswell.

His eyes widen as he looks at Laswell, who growls at him. Ghost resisted from letting out a whimper.

"Sit down, now Lieutenant." Laswell commands, and without wasting time Ghost sits down, looking down to avoid eye contact.

Laswell stops next to Price who is still sitting, he hears a breath before listening to the captain.

"Mactavish was transferred to another unit, Lieutenant, while you were away." Ghost quickly looks at Price, his body becoming tense. "It wasn't my decision, it was the sergeant's."

Again, before he can ask, Laswell interrupts. "Soap asked me a few days ago for him to be transferred, claiming to have been fraternising with you for several months."

Ghost let the words sink in before replying in frustration. "You knew that a long time ago! Price doesn't even care about this within our unit! What are you trying to do, Laswell?!" Gasping, he takes a deep breath before demanding. "I want to see Johnny in person, I need to talk to him-"

"Unfortunately that won't be possible, Lieutenant." Laswell replied firmly, indifferent to the anger of the other Alpha, Ghost tense as he stood in front of her. "The sergeant has already been transferred, and you're out of the field until you complete a psych eval of at least six months."

Ghost had already done this assessment years ago, why would he need it again? He didn't need Laswell meddling where she didn't belong.

"I'm fine! I just need to talk to Soap, and that's going to happen whether you like it or not, he's carrying my fucking child!"

As Ghost says this, a strange feeling passes over Price and Laswell's faces.

"Ghost," Laswell says, pulling something out of her pocket, a small envelope. "He doesn't want to see you, he gave me this to give to you." She hands the envelope to Ghost who shakily takes it.

"Simon, dismissed for now." Price says easily.

Ghost stands up slowly, anxious about what the letter says, Soap asked for a transfer, he didn't want to see him anymore? He was carrying their baby, why would he want to ignore him like that? It didn't make sense.

In the back of the lieutenant's mind, his father's voice came through, cursing him and saying how alike the two of them were as a country, Simon couldn't believe it, he still was, he could be a good father.

The lieutenant quickly went to his own room, opening and closing the door with a bang.

The clothes from the mission were quickly discarded on the floor, leaving Ghost with only his shirt, trousers and mask. Sitting on the bed, he stared at the letter for a while, not knowing how to react yet.

It seemed like hours before he finally managed to gently open the letter, grabbing two pieces of paper. The smell of the papers reminded him of Johnny, and Simon sniffed the paper to calm himself.

Little did he know that the words, phrases and emotions would make him spiral.

——🧼——

Hi, Simon.

I hope you're okay, because I haven't been lately.

Before I write what I need to, I need you to understand that this is what's best for both of us, and that my choices came from a place of dignity with myself.

Ever since you left on that mission, my life has been a hurricane of anxiety, panic and melancholy. Nights have been spent awake, imagining that you were there with me.

Only for me to wake up and discover that it was a lie from my own naive mind.

You were the sun that lit up my mornings, the reason that pulled me back to reality when I was in doubt, you were more to me than just a person in bed for pleasure.

I thought there was something between us that was true, that was sacred.

But the day you slammed that door in my face, swearing at me and accusing me of things you knew I would never do, I realised that maybe there was no going back.

I was raised only by my mum, since my sperm donor walked out as soon as he found out she was pregnant. And, well... ironically history repeated itself with me.

When I asked her for help, she counselled me on the pros and cons, and I realised that I had a lot to lose. Yes, I would have liked to have a family if you had been with me, but that's not what happened.

I couldn't waste my life looking after a child who would be born into a totally bewildered home, wondering why he had only one father instead of two, or even if the two of us were together, what would one of us say if we died on the war field?

When you sent Price to confront me, informing me that you weren't infertile and saying that you couldn't “wait to be a happy family”, how do you think I felt? Anger was the only emotion, I felt deceived by the person I trusted the most.

Did you think I'd jump for joy? That I'd call you? That I'd be waiting like a good partner?

I can't wait for you Simon Riley, I can't.

And if a similar problem arose in the future with a child in the middle, would you run away again? Run away until you got your head round it? I can't trust you, Simon.

I'm not saying you're a bad person, but I can't stay with someone who still has problems that need to be dealt with. And the same goes for me.

Now, I need you to understand that I can't give up my future for a child who would be born into a dysfunctional family, or put the child up for adoption, that would leave a moral weight on my mind that I can't bear.

So I'll just tell you straight out, Simon. I'm no longer pregnant.

The paper next to this letter will tell you what happened, but by now you should recognise that I had an abortion. Believe me, it was one of the hardest decisions of my life.

Every day I kept telling myself that I had to put myself first.

I'm sorry, Si, I can't forgive myself, but I'll be looking for that in the future, for myself.

Please don't contact me. We'd better go our separate ways from now on.

Goodbye, my dear Simon.

——💀——

He was sobbing, snot dripping from his nose, and tears began to fall onto the letter, staining the ink of the pen, as soon as the last words were read.

‘Please don't... no, no.’ He murmured slowly as he looked at the other piece of paper, the one that was Johnny's abortion results from the clinic.

With trembling hands, the papers shook and a small photo fell out of the envelope. As he picked it up and analysed it, Simon began to cry loudly, looking at an ultrasound scan.

Simon's child, the child he would never have because he'd fucked up with his own omega, the very person he loved.

He cries, not knowing how much time has passed, at some point Price came to him and held him while he cried, begging Price to bring Johnny back, saying that he would change for the better.

He just wanted to be loved and have a family that wasn't like his, but in the end, he became the same as his father.

However, even Simon's father managed to stand by his mum for years, while Simon managed to ruin even that.

═══════════════════════════

This was practically the penultimate chapter of this story, the next two chapters will be the bad ending and then the hopeful ending.

(Yes Laswell was trying to fuck Ghost postion/work in a certain way)

Again, for those of you who are going through a very heavy and difficult situation, seek help from a professional or someone close to you that you trust.

Take care, I love you all! ✨💖

[socksandbuttons]

So i seen that you had an thngy of sa show cslled "killcode and Erath show" and I want to know if you hsve like silly ideas/HCs about KC and Earths dynamic?

well first of all. While there WILL be disagreements and slight betrayal. Not to the levels of SOURING the relationship like laes has currently (it makes me sad, not even a fun sad) However lemme think of somethings on the spot here I've mentioned KC and Earth would go see Barbie and vibe with that. KC isn't like a huge fan but he enjoys it, and will be sat to hear Earth go on for hours about Barbie movie lore. Dude is like nodding and going Uh Huh while also he's lost where he was in this lore dump. Absolutely would spoil baby sister, all she has to do is give puppy eyes and he's like '... my weakness' Good thing he doesnt have much money. Earth meanwhile the first meeting still... baffles her cause when she does ask about what that was about KC never gives a direct response (She seems to dismiss when he brings up he had a bad encounter with their father... He hasnt realized yet thats a deliberate coding thing in Earth) Earth is capable of lifting KC. Even if he's at full 20ft height yeah she CAN and she will. Big bro also deserves to be held. Earth being hit on by Monty when she's not totally aware yet? KC is lurking in the distance 'Greetings' 'HOW LONG WERE U THERE' 'When you and Foxy were discussing how to neg her' '...You know I wasnt going to-' 'I wouldnt have been standing there the whole time if I didnt' 'dude ur terrifying even doing nothing' 'I have a welcoming aura' 'SAYS WHO?' Earth says so. KC still has the tendency to leave for a while and not be able to be reached which Earth is a lil sad when he does so but leaves him to have his space and all. Later on she does get more on him about that 'What if we need you? How am I suppose to contact you if- if you won't even answer?' KC staring at the emotion situation the family is in and Earth trying to 'fix' that... Yeah I think he'd be a lil more trying to get her not to do that. Helping with her need to be useful to the family as a therapist... by actively making sure she ISN'T being one for them. She's here to be their sister. KC however is a good listener. Earth also being the one to teach KC on how to be more present with the family. (Cause dude while he was about being family... he still didnt check in during a lot. Albiet he wanted to live how he wanted still-not even a letter) Sibling dynamics of older sibling just letting the younger Vibe but also making sure theres a firm word in if someone steps out of line. Like Earth will point out KC's nonsense- However KC being here let's Earth learn without taking that role of 'I am responsible for everyone and take care of them'. Sun's relationship with Earth would still develop as her looking out for him, but KC will be here for New Moon and Lunar so she's not taking everyones problems on herself. Theyre the down to earth duo of siblings during the crazy shenanigans that keep happening. While also having silly moments themselves. KC will scare sun with 'I did and oopsie woopsie' on purpose cause it just makes everyone uncomfortable. 'Ew i dont wanna hear that again'

[lightan117]

I will wait, no matter how long - Part 1

Guys, I had to break up this massive chapter. It took me forever and tons of rewrites. 12k words just for part 1 alone. And I'm not even done yet! Please let me know how you guys like this! I worked really hard on this and to bring up more of Daisy's past.

Pairings: Lucanis/ (F)Mourn Watch Rook

Warnings: Some violence, drinking, ghosts, and mentions of abuse. There is also a lot of pining, fluff, and Lucanis/Rook being fools in love but can't express how they feel.

~oOo~

Daisy had never moved so quickly in her life. One second, she was in the pantry with Lucanis, and the next, she was almost taking Harding's door off its hinges. “I’ve fucked up.”

“I’m sorry?!” Lace’s head shot up as Daisy barged into her conservatory room, sending a ceramic pot teetering dangerously on a ledge. Her eyes went wide when the curse word fell from Daisy’s lips. “What in the Maker’s name—Start from the beginning!”

Daisy wheezed, trying to form a coherent thought, but her brain was still soup. Her whole life was about staying composed in tense situations—handling wayward spirits and working through magical problems with a steady hand. She was supposed to be calm. She was supposed to be rational. So why did it feel like she had just sprinted through a battlefield naked while screaming her deepest, most shameful secrets? She grabbed Lace by the shoulders. “I made a mistake.”

Lace stared at her. “Did you set something on fire?”

“No.”

“Did you accidentally invite a demon into the Lighthouse?”

“No!”

“…Did you finally tell Lucanis you like him, and it backfired spectacularly?”

Daisy made a strangled noise and smacked her hands over her burning face.

Lace howled.

“Oh, this is better than I hoped. Keep talking.”

Daisy flailed. “I didn’t mean to! I was just—Spite took over, right? So I talked to him, trying to keep things from getting worse—”

“Of course you did,” Lace muttered.

“—And then Lucanis took control again, and he was all broody and apologetic and tragic-looking, and I was just trying to be supportive, but then—then things happened—”

Lace leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “What things?”

Daisy whimpered. “He—he cornered me, Lace.”

Lace nearly fell off her chair. “Excuse me?”

“Against the pantry wall! He—he put his hand next to my head and looked at me and—and his voice got all deep and serious, and I—I said stupid things—”

Lace grabbed her arm. “How stupid?”

Daisy sucked in a breath. “He said, ‘This isn’t a good idea.’ And I—I told him—” She gulped.

Lace shook her. “What did you say?”

“I told him… ‘Sometimes a bad idea is better.’”

Lace screamed.

Daisy screamed with her, shaking her by the shoulders in sheer secondhand horror. “No, no, no, it gets worse—” Daisy babbled. “He said I liked walking too close to the edge, and I said, ‘So do you,’ and then he said, ‘At least I know I’m doing it,’ and his voice dropped, and Lace, I thought—” She gasped for air. “I thought he was going to kiss me!”

Lace was already standing up. “Did he?!”

“NO!” Daisy wailed. “He just stared at me, like he was debating all of his life choices, and then he walked away!”

Lace clutched her head like she was in physical pain. “HE DID WHAT?!”

“I DON’T KNOW, OKAY?! I’VE NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE; I PANICKED, HE PANICKED, WE PANICKED, AND NOW I’M DYING.” Daisy flopped onto the floor, groaning into her hands.

Lace exhaled sharply and rolled her sleeves up. “Alright, I’m getting my crossbow.”

“Lace, no!” Daisy latched onto her waist.

“Oh no, no, no. He pulled away?! After that kind of tension?! What, does he think he can walk off a near-kiss like it was a casual chat about the weather?! I’ll show him weather—”

Daisy clung harder. “It’s fine—”

“IT IS NOT FINE.”

“I JUST WANTED TO VENT, NOT INCITE A MURDER.”

Lace gritted her teeth, arms crossed. “Alright, fine. No murder. Yet.” She sat back down, hands still twitching. “But what’s the real problem, Daisy? Because I know that face, and that face says, ‘I’m spiraling into an existential crisis.’”

Daisy sniffed. “…What if I imagined everything? What if he doesn’t actually like me that way?”

Lace gawked at her. “Are you joking? Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

Daisy frowned. “But what about him and Neve?”

Lace groaned like she had been physically wounded. “Daisy. Please. You’re smarter than this.”

Daisy buried her face in her hands again. “I feel so stupid.”

Lace softened, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You’re not stupid. You’re just… catastrophically in love for the first time and have no idea how to process it.”

Daisy whimpered.

Lace sighed, standing and offering her a hand. “Alright. Get up. We’re going for a walk.”

Daisy peeked through her fingers. “A walk?”

“Yes. Because if we don’t, I’m going to march straight to Lucanis and tell him to fix this before you combust.”

“…Fair.”

As they left, Tassh appeared at the top of the stairs. “Uh. What’s happening?”

Lace pointed. “Daisy’s in love and suffering.” Daisy's face grew red with every glare sent in Lace's direction.

Tassh nodded sagely. “Ah. Been there.”

“Want to join us?”

Tassh shrugged. “Why not? Watching Daisy have a meltdown sounds entertaining.”

Daisy groaned. “I hate both of you.”

Lace slung an arm around her. “No, you don’t.”

“…Fine.”

"We should go to the Hall of Valor. Isabella owes Rook a few drinks for helping out. Besides, the company isn't bad, and the Lords are fun to party with." Taash offered. It wasn't a bad idea, but...Daisy wasn't best friends with alcohol, and the few times she does have any, it's minimal moderation. Varric gave her some fruity Orleasian wine the last time, where one could hardly feel intoxicated until they stood up. Then, the feeling would slam them up against a brick wall.

"What's going on?" The group turned toward Neve, and Bellara approached them.

Before Lace could open her mouth Tassh jumped in, no stopping them. "Lace and Rook want to drink at the Hall with the Lords. Wanna join?"

"There are plenty of places in Minrathous, but is there something about the Hall that's more exciting, Taash?" Neve asked, and Bellara quickly jumped in with excitement over the idea.

"The Hall has free drinks and no venatori. What more could we ask for? We all deserve a drink." The three of them started to plan for the night, which was settled on that very evening, while Lace looked up at Daisy for some sign of discomfort. Lace had never seen Daisy take such a quiet stance before, and the far-off look behind her eyes was worrying.

"Daisy? I know how you are with drinking." Lace whispered, and Daisy shook her head, her ear cuffs jingling softly.

"It's fine Lace. I have you watching out for me, right?" Daisy's smile didn't reach her eyes. Lace nodded, speaking the word always before squeezing her arm while the three members of their party planned the night. "Besides, one drink won't hurt. It might kill any leftover embarrassment I have."  

No time like the present. Daisy barely had time to protest before Bellara, practically vibrating with excitement, grabbed her arm and dragged her from the Lighthouse. The energy was infectious, but Daisy could only manage a half-hearted chuckle as they stumbled forward together. Behind them, Lace hurried toward Emmrich’s quarters, knocking sharply before slipping inside to inform the necromancer of their plans. They wouldn't be gone long, just enough time for a needed reprieve from the constant weight of their reality. Meanwhile, Taash was already deep in conversation with Neve, pouring over the list of drinks with a mischievous glint in their eye. If all went according to plan—or horribly awry—they could always crash at their mother’s house should the need arise.

Daisy tried her best to keep up appearances, her usual mask in place. She smiled; she laughed at the right moments, but the effort was exhausting. She felt Lace’s perceptive gaze flicker toward her every now and then as if trying to decipher the emotions lurking beneath the surface. But Daisy was a master at misdirection, and Bellara, with her boundless enthusiasm, made for an excellent distraction. She seized every opportunity to steer the conversation toward Bellara’s latest experiments, her magical advancements, and all the questions Daisy had been meaning to ask but never quite remembered at the moment. Bellara, ever the

inquisitive person was happy to oblige, her voice animated as she shared her knowledge.

Daisy had spent much of her early life feeling like an outsider. Raised by two human women in a world where bloodlines mattered, her elven heritage had been a mystery—at one time, she was desperate to unravel. Now, she just wanted to know more about what she was missing. Learning the language had been a struggle; each word clawed from the depths of an identity she was only beginning to grasp. Even now, the scars of old prejudices lingered, reflected back at her every time she saw her...ruined pointed ears in the mirror. She had been judged for them, scorned by those who saw her as neither fully human nor entirely elven but something in between—something lesser. A half-breed. A mutt. A weed.

Meeting Bellara had been a turning point. The Dalish elf carried the weight of her people’s traditions with pride, and she had been more than willing to guide Daisy toward the answers she sought. When their paths eventually crossed with Davrin, a seasoned Gray Warden, Daisy had another mentor willing to help her navigate her tangled heritage. Davrin had taken her under his wing with an ease that had startled her, offering not just guidance but acceptance.

For the first time in her life, Daisy wasn’t an outsider looking in. The rag-tag group she had assembled—Taash, Davrin, Lucanis, Lace, Neve, Bellara, Emmrich—had become more than allies. They were her family. Not one she had stumbled upon in the shadows of Nevarra, not one she had been abandoned to by fate, but one she had built with her own hands. It hadn’t been written in the stars. It hadn’t been some grand destiny. It had simply happened. And she had never been more grateful.

When they arrived at the Lords, the night of celebration was in full force.

Laughter rippled through the warm night air, mingling with the scent of salt and spirits. Daisy sat with the others around a long wooden table, a half-empty mug in her hands. The glow of lanterns cast flickering shadows on their faces, and the sound of waves crashing against the distant shore provided a steady, rhythmic backdrop to their revelry.

Bellara and Lace were already deep into their drinks, each engaged in an unspoken contest of who could down more without slurring their words. Neve leaned back in her chair, eyes glinting with amusement as she sipped from a delicate glass, while Taash, already flushed from the alcohol, animatedly recounted a story of a battle in a jungle, arms waving dramatically. "You should've seen it," Taash boasted, their grin wide. "This thing was bigger than a druffalo, with scales like darksteel and teeth like daggers—"

"—And yet, here you are, still in one piece," Neve drawled, smirking over the rim of her glass.

"Obviously," Taash said, feigning offense. "What do you take me for? Some common soldier?"

Isabella snorted. "We take you for someone who embellishes their tales more with every drink. Take it from someone who embellishes often."

Lace laughed, slamming her mug down. "If she’s lying, at least it's entertaining!"

Daisy chuckled along with them, warmth blooming in her chest—not just from the alcohol but from the ease of the moment. It had been too long since they'd all had time like this, where battle and duty didn’t weigh down on their shoulders. Here, they could just exist in a pocket of laughter and camaraderie, away from the expectations that usually hung over them. But even as she smiled, something in the back of her mind buzzed with unease. She shifted in her seat, rolling her shoulders as if trying to shake off the sudden prickling under her skin. Daisy...a whisper of her name more than once caught her attention, shifting her eyes to look over her shoulder. She ignored it, mistaking her real name being mentioned instead of her normal Rook.

When she started to feel it, Daisy was perhaps two or three drinks in.

The night around her buzzed—too warm, too loud, too much. Even outside, the air felt thick, pressing in on her skin like a smothering embrace. Voices blended into a single, overwhelming hum, layered with laughter, cheers, and the occasional clink of mugs. Even the spirits of Adventure, those boisterous echoes of old stories and grand exploits, seemed to swell in volume, their ghostly voices bouncing off one another like a chorus inside her head. The heat crawled up Daisy’s neck, settling behind her cheeks. The alcohol left her limbs floating and buzzing at the same time, like she wasn’t fully anchored to the ground. Her fingers tightened around the half-full mug in her hands—whatever they had given her was more potent than she anticipated. The Lords around her continued their endless tales; their excitement was palpable, their pasts bleeding into the present as if time had unraveled for them. Isabella was chatting with Neve and Taash, their laughter cutting through the thick air like a blade. Bellara and Lace had disappeared and were likely off to get another drink.

And Daisy… Daisy was alone.

The thrill of it sent a tremor through her chest. And yet, so did the fear.

Every sip made it easier, loosening the iron grip she kept on herself. The last time she had drunk this much, it had been with Lace and Varric by a crackling campfire, the stars sprawling overhead like tiny, unjudging eyes. She had been reluctant then, hesitant in the way only someone raised to fear indulgence could be. But Varric had made sure she drank, nudging her toward a lovely Orlesian wine that had hit harder than she expected.

That night, the weight of years had spilled from her lips. The War of Banners. Her family. The orphans she had cared for as penance, as repayment. The chains she would wear until her last breath. Her memory loss. By morning, she had been dizzy and aching but lighter.

The ocean breeze brushed past her, but it wasn’t enough to cool the fire in her skin. "Having fun?" Daisy flinched. Neve leaned against the overlook beside her, drink in hand, sharp eyes watching.

Daisy willed herself to stay steady, gripping the railing as if it could anchor her to the moment. "Just… thinking," she managed, the words heavy on her tongue. "Needed to step… away. Got hot all of a sudden."

The ocean stretched before them, the salt air tangling in her hair. Beautiful, as always, but the thought of sand sticking to her boots was enough to sour the scene. "Everyone seems to be having a great time, though," Daisy added, voice slightly distant. "Glad we could do this. Gods, can you imagine if Davrin were here? I’d pay to see who could drink more—him or Taash."

Neve hummed. "My money’s on Taash. But Davrin did mention Wardens drink a lot. Could be close." Daisy nodded, grateful for the distraction. But Neve’s gaze lingered too long. "You do remember I’m a detective, right?" Neve said, her voice light but her meaning sharp. "It’s my job to notice what’s missing. Find the problem. Or—" She stepped closer. "understand why something happened." Daisy’s stomach twisted. "You wouldn’t happen to be thinking about a certain assassin who lives in our pantry now, are you?"

Her breath hitched. "I am not…" The denial came too quickly, her voice too tight. She refused to look Neve in the eye, afraid her expression would betray her.

Neve chuckled. "You know he likes you, right? More than likes you."

Daisy’s heart tripped over itself.

"I’m sorry?" Her tongue felt clumsy, too thick.

"For such a strong leader, you might be a bit blind when it comes to someone having feelings for you." The words were casual, but they slammed into Daisy with the force of a war hammer. "What could possibly be the problem between you and Lucanis that makes you look like the world just ended?" Daisy’s grip on her mug tightened.

"Lucanis and I… nothing is going on between us!" The words rushed out, too high-pitched, too defensive. Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out the sound of waves. "You and Lucanis are—I mean—the way you two flirt, I assumed…"

Neve raised an eyebrow, and Daisy felt herself unraveling by the second.

"He rejected me," Daisy admitted, cheeks burning. "I thought it was because he was with you. If I had known you were, I wouldn’t have…"

"Developed feelings?" Daisy made a strangled noise, her entire body thrumming with heat. Neve laughed, sipping her drink. "Sunshine, nothing is going on between us. Sure, he’s handsome, and the flirting is fun, but when he looks at you… it’s different." Daisy wanted to melt into the ground. Or vanish. Or throw herself into the sea. Neve’s voice softened. "Should I have stopped flirting when I noticed? Maybe. Maybe I was still bitter about your choice of city to save. But now… I understand. You did what you thought was right. And I have to deal with the aftermath."

Daisy opened her mouth, guilt rising in her throat, but Neve lifted a hand.

"Don’t," she said simply. "I don’t need an explanation. I just wanted you to know—there’s nothing between Lucanis and me. What we have is a shared love of our homes. We’re good friends. But you? You’re different. And if he rejected you… maybe he just got cold feet."

"Cold feet?" Daisy echoed, barely above a whisper.

Neve tilted her head, eyes sharp. "Have you ever been with someone, sunshine?"

Daisy’s breath hitched again. The room—the night—everything felt too close—the warmth of the alcohol, the weight of Neve’s gaze, the pounding in her chest. "Neve…" she pleaded. "Please stop looking at me like that. I think I’ve had too much to drink."

Neve smirked. "Go figure—the two people utterly smitten with each other, both too blind to see it, are both virgins." Daisy nearly choked on air. Neve leaned in, her grin wicked. "Adorable." Daisy groaned again, resting her face in her hands as Neve gave her head a soft pat. "Talk to the man and tell him how you feel since he can't tell you himself. Words are good. Actions can always come later."

"Thanks, Neve," Daisy muttered softly.

"Anytime, sunshine." She was gone, leaving Daisy alone. Without much thinking, Daisy downed the rest of her mug in one go. The burning made her quickly regret the small burst of courage, but she held it down. Daisy would talk to Lucanis once she was sober enough. Once she had the courage to confront him and tell him her honest feelings. That even if it took forever to admit his own, she would wait.

She felt it then.

Eyes.

Someone was watching her.

The sensation crawled over her skin like icy fingers, squeezing the breath from her lungs. Her stomach churned—not just from the alcohol, though the burn of it swayed her movements and made the world tilt dangerously.

Daisy…

She turned too fast, nearly stumbling. The tavern spun in a haze of dim lantern light and smoke, but none of it could blur what stood before her.

A spirit.

A ghost.

A person who should be nothing more than the rotting bones of a memory, yet here she was.

Watching.

Seething.

Daisy’s breath hitched. The spirit’s lips never moved, but the voice slithered into her ears, coiling around her brain, slurring through the alcohol clogging her thoughts.

Found you.

A sharp jolt of terror cut through her stupor, but her body lagged behind her mind. She lurched sideways, her shoulder hitting a table, glasses rattling. Someone cursed. Strapped to her back, her staff clipped a mug—amber liquid sloshed, drenching the table. Someone shoved her. Laughter? A shout?

The spirit moved.

Not walked—moved. Gliding, reaching, her presence stretching toward Daisy like something cold and wet curling around her throat.

She ran. Her pulse thundered. Footsteps stumbled beneath her, too sluggish, too clumsy. Behind her, the spirit turned, those hollow eyes locked onto her, a silent promise that made Daisy’s veins run to ice. She ran past Lords, who were drinking joyfully, not paying any attention to one lone person who seemed to be too many in their cups. Daisy's companions were nowhere close, and she wasn't sure if what she saw was real.

So she ran.

And she didn't stop.

~oOo~

Daisy staggered through the crossroads of the Rivan eluvains, her mind drowning in a haze of memories and shadows. The world spun around her, uneven beneath her feet, and she barely registered the rough scrape of stone and sand against her palms as she caught herself from falling. No, no, she could not have been here. The face she had seen—so familiar, yet impossibly distant—could not have been real. It couldn’t be. Faces like hers existed only in nightmares, in the twisted corridors of dreams she dared not walk, illusions that flickered and vanished like candlelight in a storm.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, the air too thick, pressing down on her chest like unseen hands. Her stomach twisted violently—not just from the alcohol burning in her veins, but from the knowing. A terrible, clawing knowing that something had shifted, something had changed. But what?

Sand clung to her skin, gritting beneath her nails as she dug her fingers into the ground, desperate for something solid. But even the earth betrayed her, shifting, slipping, reminding her of everything she could not hold onto. The hum of the Fade pulsed around her, seeping into her bones and pressing against her skull. She felt it in every pore, every breath, every panicked heartbeat. It was an itch she could never scratch, a voice just beyond the Veil, whispering things she couldn’t make out.

Her hands shook.

No.

Her hands weren’t hers.

Daisy let out a strangled gasp, reaching up instinctively to claw at her throat, her fingers searching for the cold bite of metal that wasn’t there. But she felt them—tight, constricting, chains digging into her skin, wrists bound, movements sluggish as she fought against invisible restraints. Her pulse roared in her ears, a frantic drumbeat of terror, the weight of something unseen dragging her back into a place she refused to return to.

She wasn’t there. She wasn’t there.

She tried to stand, but her legs refused to move, too tangled in past and present, in fear and liquor, in a reality that felt paper-thin. Her vision blurred, and for a moment—just a moment—she swore she saw her again. A glimpse of dark eyes watching, waiting.

A ghost. A memory.

A whisper. A shift in the air.

And then, they stood before her—spirits of Adventure and Madness.

"We need your help! They will die without aid!" The Spirit of Adventure seized her hand, its ethereal grasp cool yet urgent, pulling her toward the Rivan Coast gate. Daisy clawed for breath as her head swam, her senses oscillating between sharp clarity and thick, muddled fog. She barely registered that she had moved, had passed through the eluvain, and now stood upon the ruined fort they always appeared at. "This way!"

Daisy did not resist. She knew better than to fight fate when it called.

Possession was nothing new to her. She had long since mastered the art of housing spirits within her, allowing them to speak and feel without relinquishing complete control. She had safeguards and rules—she would not let rage consume her or let vengeful spirits take the reins. She had learned that lesson well. Daisy followed silently, gaining back control of her body once they were close enough. The spirits had explained that their friends were to meet them on the beach with refugees but were met with ill fate. Antaam pirates, if you could call them that, had sunken their ship and were going to take them to be slaves. Madness cackled and spoke of cracking of bones, splitting of skulls, and...familiar faces?

Daisy gave Madness a look before trying to slowly shake away more of the fog that continued to cloud her mind. Within a moment, they hid among the trees lining the coast. There, Daisy could see clearly that this would not be an easy fight. Twenty-five antaam pirates stood, weapons gleaming beneath the crimson kiss of the rising sun. Behind them, fifteen captives knelt in the sand—elf, human, and qunari alike. Some sat defiant, their gazes hard, while others bowed their heads in silent resignation. Madness and Adventure murmured silently about their plans of help, but Daisy was already deep within her plan.

Before stepping onto the sand, Daisy raised her hands, weaving an illusion with magic. The air thickened, the shadows stretching unnaturally around her. Her form elongated, her fingers turned into clawed, blackened talons, and her eyes glowed with spectral, inhuman light. The whispers of the Fade amplified, swirling around her like the wails of the damned. From the vantage of the antaam pirates, what approached them from the jungle was no mere human—it was a monster born from nightmares.

"Let them go! They belong to me!" Daisy used magic to throw her voice, making it errie and echo along the shore.

"Come on out! Fight us, demon!" The pirates stiffened, some gripping their weapons tighter, others shifting uncertainly. One took an involuntary step back. Fear flickered in their expressions, uncertainty gripping them in their hands. It wasn't enough.

"Where are you going?!" The Spirit of Adventure pressed urgently while the Spirit of Madness merely laughed, coaxing her forward.

"To kill the antaam pirates who hold those people captive. Don’t worries, I’ll... hick... be fine." Daisy slurred, shaking her head to clear the fuzziness, though it did little good.

Then, with a slow, deliberate step, Daisy let the illusion flicker and twist, just enough to keep them in suspense before stepping fully into the open.

The jungle gave way to golden sands, her bare feet sinking slightly with every step. The scent of salt and blood thickened the air, warning of the carnage to come. The antaam leader, a hulking qunari with a face carved by old battles, sneered. "You think a drunken human and her foul magic can stop us?"

Daisy did not answer. She stepped forward, slow, deliberate, the wind catching the edges of her dark cloak, making it billow like the wings of a shadowed specter. With measured calm, she drove her staff into the sand. The earth trembled. Shadows coiled around her feet, slithering outward like ink in water. From the depths, skeletal warriors clawed their way free, their hollow eyes burning with spectral fire.

The antaam hesitated. Then, with a bellow, they charged.

Fools.

The battle erupted in a symphony of steel and sorcery. Daisy wove between them, necrotic energy crackling from her fingertips. A pirate lunged—she sidestepped, whispering a curse that sent him crumbling, his own shadow snaking up to choke the life from his throat.

A skeletal warrior met another attacker, its spectral blade driving deep into quivering flesh. A pirate swung wildly at her—she raised her hand, impaling him through the jaw with a flick of dark magic. Yet even as she fought, she knew that she would be in trouble if they charged all at once.

She called to the dead, and they answered.

The fallen antaam rose, their lifeless eyes turning on their former comrades. Panic rippled through the remaining pirates as their own slain brothers turned against them. The antaam leader roared, hoisting his Warhammer high. Before he could bring it down, Daisy let out a terrible, inhuman wail. The Fade surged, swirling into a necrotic storm that crackled and burned, consuming all in its path. The captain screamed in terror and pain as slowly his skin started to decay, turning black and green, melting away. The remaining pirates broke, their courage shattered, and fled into the wilds.

As the storm dissipated, Daisy swayed on her feet. Her breath was ragged. With a mere wave of her hand, the captives' bonds unraveled. "You are free," she murmured. "Go before the tide claims the dead."

The last echoes of battle faded, and the dead returned to their slumber beneath the sand one by one. Daisy, too, felt herself unraveling. Her body ached as though she had run for miles. Her limbs trembled from exhaustion, and the world tilted dangerously.

"By all the Gods of the dead... Daisy, is that you?" She turned, her vision swimming. A qunari stood before her, his face familiar yet blurred by the drunken haze still clouding her senses. But his voice—that voice she would recognize anywhere.

"Ti'Lan? That... you?" she whispered, the last shreds of strength slipping through her fingers like sand. Darkness swallowed her. She never felt herself falling, never felt the impact of the ground.

But she was caught.

Strong arms lifted her, cradling her against a broad chest. A low chuckle rumbled through the night. "Easy, sister. I have you." As she drifted into unconsciousness, she barely registered his following words, though they carried the weight of a grin. "Oh, I can’t wait to tell the others how drunk you got."

~oOo~

Lucanis felt like such a fool.

After leaving the pantry, he strode toward the walkway beside the kitchen, trying to steady his breath. He only realized then how tightly he had been holding it in, how his chest ached from restraint. He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face, but it did nothing to shake the burning fire beneath his skin.

Spite, ever-present, roiled with frustration in the back of his mind. Coward, the spirit snarled, its anger a reflection of his own. Lucanis ignored it. He had enough of his thoughts clawing at him.

Daisy deserved more.

More than an assassin tainted by a demon of Spite. More than a man whose hands had done far too much harm, whose past was stained with blood he could never wash away. Daisy, with her kindness, her patience, her warmth—she was light, and he was the shadow at her heels.

But Maker, he wanted to kiss her.

That moment had been perfect, painfully perfect. It was as if it was out of Bellara's serials that she was writing how her eyes met his, unwavering and filled with something unspoken but understood. The way she had answered him—not with fear, not with hesitation, but with certainty, with want. Every small inch she moved closer sent his heart into a frantic rhythm, a sound so loud in his ears he swore she must have heard it too. And then—

He froze.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to close the space between them, to press his lips to hers, and finally let himself have this one thing. But the weight of it crushed him. If he kissed her, if he allowed himself even a sliver of what he longed for—what then? What happened when Spite reared its head at the wrong moment? What happened when the past he carried became a weight she had to bear? Spite had lost control and put one of his daggers against her throat. The fear that he could lose control could harm her...

He couldn’t do that to her.

So, instead of leaning in, instead of taking what he wanted, he pulled away. He left her standing there, looking at him with something he couldn’t bear to name. He told her he needed to clear his head and walked away. Like a fool. Like a man who did not know what to do with something precious when it was offered to him freely.

Gifts like her...

Lucanis braced himself against the wood railing, gripping it tight enough to make his knuckles ache. His hands curled into fists. He could still feel the warmth of her presence, the ghost of where their fingers had nearly brushed, the space between them so small he could have—should have—closed it.

Spite simmered, its presence crackling through his veins. She wanted you, it hissed, low and knowing. And you ran.

Lucanis closed his eyes. He knew.

And yet, despite the torment in his chest, despite the pull he could not fight, he still wasn’t sure if he had made the right choice. Because even now, as the cool fade air failed to steady him, all he wanted to do was turn around, find her, and finish what he couldn’t bring himself to start.

"Enough Spite. I don't want to hear more of it; I made a choice."

A foolish choice. Spite stood beside him, its presence a flickering distortion in the dim light, pressing close enough that Lucanis swore he could feel its breath—if the thing even breathed. Its sneer curled like a knife at the edges of his thoughts. She likes us. Wants us. And you let her go! Go. After. Her!

Lucanis winced as Spite’s voice crescendoed, each syllable pounding against his skull like hammer strikes. He pushed himself away from the railing, rolling his shoulders as if he could shake off the demon’s weight and the lingering regret clinging to his skin. He turned, forcing his feet to move, leading himself back into the kitchen, where the scent of smoldering embers and barrels of coffee beans greeted him.

The fire still burned low in the hearth, its golden light licking at the edges of the stone walls. The silence was thick, save for the occasional pop from the wood. The kitchen, once filled with the warmth of company, now felt empty. He had no hope that Daisy would still be here. That didn’t stop his pulse from leaping for a foolish second before the quiet confirmed what he already knew.

Disappointment gnawed at his ribs.

With a steady breath, he reached for the coffee grinder, pouring dark beans into the worn wooden bowl. The rhythmic scrape of the handle twisting against the coarse grounds gave his hands something to do, something to focus on other than Spite’s simmering irritation. The demon materialized fully before him, its form purple flickering with embers of its agitation. Anger was etched deep into its expression, its sharp features twisted in frustration. It muttered under its breath—dark, crackling words Lucanis refused to acknowledge. He kept his gaze downward, watching the rich, ground coffee collect in the vessel below.

His thoughts drifted, unbidden, back to Daisy. To the way she had looked at him, eyes searching, lips parted just so—an invitation, if only he had dared to take it. His fingers tightened around the mug as he poured steaming water over the grounds, watching the deep brown liquid swirl. A creak of the dining room doors pulled him from his trance. He blinked, realizing he had been staring into the fire, fingers curled around his cup like a lifeline.

"Seems like it's just you, me, and Emmrich tonight. The others have gone off with Rook for something." Lucanis turned as Davrin strode in, his usual easy manner in place, though his sharp gaze flicked over Lucanis with something keener. Assan followed at his side, the griffon letting out a short, expectant squawk. Lucanis absently ran a hand over its feathered head, earning a satisfied huff.

"They left?"

"Maybe an hour or so ago? I just ran into Emmrich, who told me." Davrin studied him. "Daisy didn’t tell you?"

Lucanis cleared his throat, forcing himself to keep his expression still, unreadable. "No, I haven’t seen her in a while. I thought she was researching with Emmrich." The lie slid out smoothly, easily—a believable one. Davrin didn’t buy it.

His brow furrowed, and Lucanis could feel the weight of scrutiny settling over him. "Look, Lucanis, I know we’re not on the best terms, but you sound off. Is everything alright? Is it Spite?" Lucanis exhaled slowly, fingers flexing around his cup. The warmth of the coffee did nothing to thaw the cold coiling beneath his ribs. Davrin crossed his arms, watching him closely, then tilted his head with a knowing smirk. "Ah. I see now. This isn’t just about Spite, is it?"

Lucanis stiffened slightly. "I don’t know what you’re talking about." He lifted his cup and took a slow sip, feigning disinterest.

"Right, sure. Because you always look like a kicked mabari when someone leaves without telling you." Lucanis shot him a glare over the rim of his mug. "Let me guess," Davrin continued, undeterred. "It’s Daisy, isn’t it? You’ve got that whole brooding, ‘I could have kissed her but didn’t’ look about you. I bet you—" His words trailed off as realization dawned on his face. "Oh. Oh, I was joking, but... that’s it, isn’t it?"

Lucanis sighed, running a hand through his hair before setting his coffee down with more force than necessary. "Meirda, drop it, Davrin." Spite was beside Davrin, making crude gestures, which Lucanis rolled his eyes at.

"Gods, I was just messing with you, but you actually—" Davrin let out a low whistle, shaking his head with amusement. "Lucanis, you really are a piece of work. You like Daisy, but instead of doing anything about it, you just… skulk around in dark corners and wallow in self-loathing?"

"I don’t skulk."

"Oh, you absolutely skulk. Or brood. It’s like your second nature." Lucanis shot him another glare, but Davrin just grinned. "Look, I get it," Davrin said, his tone shifting from teasing to something softer. "She’s different. She has this whole kind-hearted, ‘probably too good for an assassin with a demon in his head’ thing. But if you think pushing her away is going to make things easier, you’re a bigger idiot than I thought."

Lucanis clenched his jaw. "It’s not that simple."

"It never is," Davrin agreed, shrugging. "But here’s the thing—if she really didn’t care about you, she wouldn’t care about you as much as she does. She wouldn't look at you like she does. And don’t even try to pretend you don’t know what I mean." Lucanis didn’t respond, but the muscle in his jaw twitched. Davrin smirked.

"See? You do know. Not as blind as I thought."

Lucanis sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Even if that’s true, it doesn’t change anything." His voice turned hoarse, thick with something he couldn’t quite voice. "Daisy is… she’s light. She’s warmth, she’s kindness, even when she has every reason not to be. She looks at people and sees their worth, even when they don’t deserve it. He prays over the dead when they just tried to kill her." He let out a slow breath, running a hand down his face. "And me? I’ve got blood on my hands that’ll never wash away. I’m...tainted, Davrin. I’ve been tainted for so long that I don’t even remember what being whole is like. And Spite—" He let out a humorless chuckle. "You think Daisy deserves a man who’s possessed by a demon? Who can’t even trust his own mind?"

Davrin leaned against the table, arms crossed. "You know, for someone who thinks so highly of her, you don’t actually give her much credit." Lucanis frowned, glancing up. Spite turned back to Davrin, glaring at the warden. "If Daisy is as strong and kind and good as you say, then don’t you think she’s capable of making her own damn decisions? Don’t you think she already knows what you are and cares about you anyway?"

Lucanis opened his mouth, then closed it. His chest ached, and for a moment, all he could think about was how Daisy looked at him in the pantry. The way her breath had hitched, how her fingers had rested on his chest, the warmth of her hand through his clothes. He had wanted to kiss her. Had wanted it so badly it hurt. But instead, he had pulled away. Just like he always did.

Davrin sighed, shaking his head. "Look, all I’m saying is—stop being an idiot. If you want her, do something about it. If you think she deserves better, be better." Davrin watched him carefully, then shook his head with a laugh. "You’re hopeless. But hey, if you ever decide to stop being a coward about it, let me know. I’d love to see what happens when you actually act like a person instead of a brooding shadow."

Lucanis shot him one last glare before picking up his coffee again, but Davrin just chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder as he walked off.

"You so like her," he called over his shoulder. "Yell if you need any help, assassin."

Lucanis groaned. This was going to be a long night.

~oOo~

Daisy felt like the dead.

Truly, like the dead.

Her skull throbbed with the force of a Mourn Watch guard hammer, each pulse a fresh wave of agony that made her groan into the scratchy fabric beneath her. The taste in her mouth was an unholy mix of stale wine, sand, and regret—like she had been chewing on old parchment dipped in seawater. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth, dry and sluggish as she smacked her lips, immediately regretting it when nausea twisted in her gut.

From what she could tell she was residing in, the tent around her was stifling, the canvas trapping the heat of the morning sun, making the air thick and heavy. A dull glow of daylight filtered through the fabric, far too bright for her pounding head. She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a pathetic whimper, rolling onto her side, only to feel sand shift beneath her. That was the second worst thing—sand. Everywhere. Stuck to her skin, gritted between her fingers.

Oh, Maker. She remembered. She had passed out on the beach.

Her stomach twisted as fragments of memory drifted back—staggering through the Rivan eluvains, the flickering glow of the Fade pressing against her mind, voices she wasn’t sure were real. She had run. From what, she wasn’t entirely sure. A face? A shadow? The past? It was all muddled in the thick haze of alcohol and exhaustion. She reached up, her fingers grazing her throat instinctively. It was too hot, and for a brief, terrifying moment, she swore she could feel the weight of chains that were no longer there. They had been gone for years, but in her drunken haze, the memory clung to her like a phantom pain. She clenched her fists tighter as if grounding herself in the feeling of sand slipping through her fingers would somehow bring her back to reality.

Outside, the rhythmic crashing of waves only made things worse, a constant reminder of the poor choices that had led her to this exact moment of misery. A distant noise—footsteps crunching on the sand, the tent's flap shifting in the breeze—made her groan and bury her face deeper into the makeshift pillow.

If anyone tried speaking to her right now, she might actually die.

“Well, now, I see that you aren’t dead.” Daisy cracked an eye open; her vision blurred and wobbly, but she recognized that voice—steady, warm, and tinged with an affectionate tone. The face hovering above her was familiar in a way that loosened the knot in her chest, a balm to the ache in her head. “Come now, little sister, drink this.”

A cup was pressed to her lips, and Daisy drank greedily, the cool liquid easing the desert dryness of her throat. She tried to gulp more than Ti’Lan allowed, chasing the brief relief, but he pulled the cup back with a soft chuckle. “Ti’Lan?” she croaked, her voice a rasp. “Is that really you?”

“A home in life, a berth in death. A house of many mansions. How long has it been? A year?” He set the cup down beside her makeshift bed and lowered himself to the sand beside her, his long limbs folding comfortably as if he’d sat by her side a thousand times before. “Gods, where did you come from? I did not expect you to rescue me when I asked the spirits to get help.”

“Was…drinking…” Daisy muttered, the admission slurring slightly.

“Oh, I can see that from how you reek of it—not to mention you fighting pirates drunk!” Ti’Lan’s voice rose, exasperated, and Daisy winced at the spike of pain his volume sent through her head. Immediately feeling bad, he softened, his expression shifting to one of gentle concern. “Sorry.” He reached out, and his hand threaded through her tangled hair, untangling a few knots with the tender familiarity of someone who’d done this since she was small. His touch was grounding, soothing, a reminder of simpler days when their biggest worries were stolen sweet rolls or whose turn it was to help with the washing.

Daisy blinked slowly, trying to piece together the tangled mess of memory and dream. “You...you were really in trouble?”

“I was,” Ti’Lan confirmed, his hand never stilling in its comforting strokes. “But it seems the spirits saw fit to send me a bedraggled, sand-covered sister instead of a rag-tag group of Lords.” His lips curled in a grin, eyes dancing with amusement. “Not that I’m complaining. I’d take you over anyone any day.”

A tiny, fragile smile broke through Daisy’s hangover misery. “I’d fight pirates for you any day. Just…maybe not while drunk.”

He laughed softly, the sound rolling like the waves outside. “I’d prefer that. But you did well despite the state you were in. You have to teach me that one spell at the end with the captain later.” He reached over to dab a cool cloth at her temple, soothing the sweat and grit. “Besides, when I saw it was you, I knew you'd be ok. You always come through when it matters.”

Daisy groaned again, rubbing her temples. “What were you even doing as a captive?”

Ti’Lan let out a slow breath, his expression turning more serious. “Helping the Lords of Fortune. We were smuggling people out—those who escaped the Antaam.” He leaned back slightly, absently tracing patterns in the sand. “Our ship was caught.”

Daisy pried open one eye, attempting to focus. “So… you were captured for helping people?”

“Essentially,” he said with a slight shrug. “But that’s not the only thing.” His tone grew hesitant, and she could tell something weighed on him. “There’s a matter I need to discuss with you—about one of the captives. A little Qunari girl.”

Daisy squeezed her eyes shut as another wave of nausea rolled through her. “Can’t talk until the world stops spinning. But I promise to talk about her when I can...think clearly.”

Ti’Lan chuckled, shaking his head. “Fair enough. Rest up, little sister.” He reached out, ruffling her already messy hair with the same affectionate ease he always had. “I’ll check on you in a bit.”

She groaned in response, curling into the thin blankets, while he chuckled again and stood. As he slipped out of the tent, the scent of sea salt and cooling embers drifted in, mixing with the lingering haze of alcohol in her mind. Daisy exhaled slowly. Whatever he had to tell her could wait. For now, she just needed to survive her hangover. Daisy’s eyes fluttered closed, the tension in her body slowly unwinding under her brother’s gentle care. “I missed you,” she murmured, the confession slipping out like a secret.

“I missed you too,” Ti’Lan replied, his voice softening with an ache that mirrored her own. Feeling safe and loved, Daisy drifted back into the dark, the warmth of her brother’s presence anchoring her through the storm.

The next time Daisy woke from the darkness, the sky was painted in strokes of red and orange, the sun dipping low over the water. The salty breeze carried the mingling scents of roasting meat and the sand beneath her. Her head still ached, but the world wasn’t spinning nearly as much. She groaned, pushing herself upright, her fingers digging into the fabric of the tent for balance before she finally got to her feet.

Outside, the battle remnants had been cleaned up, and the remaining captives had formed a small camp. A few fires flickered against the twilight, and around the largest, Ti’Lan sat turning a spit, the savory scent of cooking meat wafting through the air. The soft murmurs of conversation filled the space, punctuated by occasional laughter—an attempt at normalcy after everything. Daisy’s gaze landed on Ti’Lan, who was calmly rotating the spit, his large frame steady and familiar. But what truly caught her attention was the tiny figure clinging to his legs. A little girl with silver hair and small, barely developed horns peeked out from behind him, her large eyes darting around curiously.

When Ti’Lan spotted Daisy, he grinned and waved her over. “About time you woke up. Hungry?”

"Starving." Daisy took a few steps forward, her legs still shaky but stronger than before. Her gaze dropped to the child, who pressed herself closer to Ti’Lan’s leg but continued to watch Daisy with quiet interest.

Daisy knelt, offering a gentle smile. "And who is this beautiful princess standing next to you?"

"This is Demihan, but everyone calls her Demi." Ti’Lan rested a large, protective hand on the girl's head, ruffling the soft strands of silver hair between her small, growing horns. “Demi, this is my little sister, Daisy. Can you say hi?”

Demi hesitated, her tiny fingers curling into the fabric of Ti’Lan’s pants. After a long pause, she managed a small wave, her expression uncertain but curious.

“She’s still a little skittish,” Ti’Lan explained, watching the girl with something like affection—guarded but genuine.

Daisy chuckled. “That’s okay. The big teddy bear you’re holding onto was skittish, too. He used to crawl into my bed during thunderstorms just so I could chase them away.”

Ti’Lan groaned, rolling his eyes. "Hey now, I remember you came to me a few times too."

“Yeah, the one time,” Daisy shot back playfully, winking at Demi. The little girl’s lips twitched, the first hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She slowly peeked out from behind Ti’Lan’s legs, her small horns catching the last light of the setting sun. Daisy took a moment to take her in properly—she could be no more than four, her horns still round and stubby, her gray skin peppered with freckles.

Daisy sat down on the sand, stretching her legs in front of her. “I’m guessing she’s the one you wanted to talk about?”

Ti’Lan exhaled, his expression shifting to something more serious. He glanced down at Demi, his hand resting lightly on her head. “Demi is... special.”

Daisy raised an eyebrow, looking between her brother and the little girl. “Special, how?”

Ti’Lan hesitated before answering, his expression unreadable, his fingers tightening briefly on Demi’s head. “She’s a mage.”

Daisy exhaled sharply through her nose. “Yes, and?”

“I need you to take her home with you.”

Daisy blinked, her exhaustion giving way to sharp irritation. She ran a hand down her face before fixing Ti’Lan with a look. “I can't take her with me, Ti'Lan.”

“What do you mean? Of course, you can,” he said, his voice edged with impatience. “You bring kids home all the time.”

Daisy scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Ti’Lan… when was the last time you were home?” Her tone shifted, more pointed now, a warning laced beneath her words. “I haven’t seen you in over a year.”

His jaw tensed, and for the first time, he looked uncomfortable. “I shared a few letters with Alilya and Ma, but… not for a while.”

Daisy let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Of course you haven’t.” She shook her head, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “Listen to me, I was sent away from the Mourn Watch. There was an uprising—a war called the War of Banners. I was… able to stop it, but it resulted in me being practically banished. I can’t go home until they allow me.”

Ti’Lan’s eyes widened. “What? That can’t be true.”

“Oh, it’s true,” Daisy said, her voice thick with sarcasm. “And you would know that if you ever bothered to check-in. But no, you’re off doing gods-know-what, and I’m the one left to pick up the pieces because that's what I do. I fix everything and continue to put back pieces that should remain broken, but I'm too stubborn to say no.”

Ti’Lan had the decency to look guilty, but Daisy didn’t stop. “And for your information, brother dear, for the past year, I’ve been helping Varric Tethras hunt down Solas—yes, that Solas—the one who just happens to be Fen’Harel, an ancient elven mage trying to bring the Veil down and return the world to the time of the ancient elves. And guess what? I interrupted his ritual! That little act of heroism unleashed two elven gods—Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain—from their prison, and now Solas is trapped in the Fade.” She threw up her hands. “And the best part?! Almost every time I sleep, I get to see his ugly, annoying face staring at me from the other side.”

Ti’Lan was staring at her like she had grown a second head. “Daisy…”

“Oh, I’m not done.” Daisy gestured around them wildly. “The spirits you called to help found me leaving an eluvian, which—by the way—is an ancient mirror that lets people travel through the Crossroads inside the Fade itself. My friends had to drag me away because of—well, let’s just say reasons—and I left because I’ve been remembering things from that time.” She let out a breath, rubbing her temples. Ti’Lan was silent, his brows furrowed in concern, but Daisy wasn’t in the mood for his judgment or shock. She was exhausted and aching, and now, somehow, he expected her to take in a kid when she barely had control of her own life.

She sighed, dropping her hands to her sides. “So tell me, dear brother, where exactly in that mess do you see room for me to take in a child?”

Demi pressed herself closer to Ti’Lan, watching Daisy with wide, nervous eyes. Daisy felt a pang of guilt but pushed it aside—she needed Ti’Lan to understand that this wasn’t a simple request. Ti’Lan exhaled, running a hand over his horn. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Daisy said dryly, “Shit.” She let herself fall back onto the sand, the fine grains sticking to her sweat-dampened skin. The world was still tilting slightly, but the cool breeze from the ocean helped settle her stomach. She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply before exhaling in a long, tired sigh. “I can send a letter home and see if someone could meet us at the Necropolis, but that’s as far as I’ve been allowed to go. The higher nobles still hate me, and I still hate them. I saved lives, and what do I get? A big fat ‘fuck you,’ as Iishka would say.”

Ti’Lan let out a quiet chuckle. “Gods, Iishka would curse them to the Void and back.”

“She probably already has,” Daisy muttered, rubbing her temples. Ti’Lan sat beside her, Demi still clinging to his leg as he absentmindedly ran a hand over her silver hair. The little girl watched Daisy carefully, trying to figure out if she was safe.

“Well, where are you staying?” he asked after a moment. “If it’s okay, I’d like to stay with Demi until we hear back. I promised her father I would look after her.”

Daisy cracked an eye open, glancing at the girl again. Demi’s tiny hands were curled into the fabric of Ti’Lan’s trousers, but her gaze had softened just a bit. “Everyone else gone?” Daisy asked.

“Yeah,” Ti’Lan confirmed, his expression darkening. “I promised I would watch over her and give her training once she was old enough. She’s sensitive, Daisy—really sensitive. She can sense spirits before even I can.”

Daisy lifted a brow. “That’s impressive.” She waved a hand vaguely. “And everyone else? Where did they go?”

Ti’Lan exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening. “No idea. We were supposed to dock at Kont-aar, but I’m not even sure where we are now.”

Daisy sighed, pushing herself up onto her elbows. “Well, good thing I’m here then. I can escort everyone somewhere safe. My friend Isabela will be able to get them where they need to go.” She looked to Ti’Lan then. “After that, I can take you to the Lighthouse. That’s where my friends and I have been staying. It’s the safest place for us while we figure out how to stop the gods.”

Ti’Lan’s brows lifted slightly. “Gods… gods are real, then.”

Daisy let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, you have no idea. And they’re ugly.”

Ti’Lan snorted, handing her a piece of roasted meat. “Ugly, huh?”

“Elgar’nan looks like he was carved from rage and bad decisions, and Ghilan’nain? She’s a nightmare with too many tentacles and not enough mercy.” Daisy took a bite of the meat, sighing at the taste. “And those are just the two I know of."

Ti’Lan shook his head, staring into the fire. “Shit.”

Daisy’s nerves buzzed beneath her skin, an uneasy restlessness that refused to fade. From what she could gather, it had been a full day—maybe two—since she had left the Lords. Time had slipped through her fingers like sand, and though she had no way of knowing what was happening back at the Lighthouse, she prayed that nothing catastrophic had erupted in her absence. She ran through the plan again in her head, trying to find some comfort in its structure. If all went well, getting everyone through the eluvian would take half a day, and then she could make the return trip to the Lighthouse before nightfall. Ti’Lan and Demi would bunk with her until she received a letter back from her mothers. They would be safe there—at least, safer than wandering unfamiliar lands with nowhere to go.

The rest of the night was spent huddled close to the fire, laughter breaking through the heavy weight of exhaustion. Daisy and Ti’Lan took turns sharing stories, weaving images of mischief, daring escapes, and childhood memories. Demi hung onto every word, her silver eyes wide, her small hands clenched in excitement. When Daisy exaggerated a tale about Ti’Lan getting stuck in a tree while trying to impress a girl, the little girl let out a breathless giggle, covering her mouth as if she wasn’t supposed to laugh.

The warmth of family, of shared history, settled something deep in Daisy’s bones. By the time sleep came, Demi was nestled between them, her tiny frame curled close to Daisy’s side, her fingers tangled in Daisy’s shirt as if afraid she might disappear by morning. Daisy lay awake for a while, listening to the rhythmic sound of Ti’Lan’s breathing, the soft crackle of dying embers, and the distant hush of the waves against the shore. She shut her eyes, willing herself to rest, knowing that tomorrow would come too quickly.

~oOo~

The morning was a blur of movement, tension, and unspoken emotion.

The camp stirred before the sun had fully risen, the air thick with the scent of smoldering ashes and damp sea breeze. People moved with a quiet urgency, rolling up bedrolls, securing packs, and dismantling makeshift shelters. The weight of departure pressed down on them, heavy but necessary.

Daisy moved through the motions, checking supplies and ensuring no one was left behind, all while keeping a careful eye on Demi and Ti’Lan. The little girl clung to her brother sleepily, rubbing her eyes with tiny fists, her freckled face scrunching as she tried to shake off the last remnants of sleep. Daisy exhaled slowly. Today would be long, but if everything went according to plan, it would at least be the first step toward something better for all of them.

The journey back was slow but steady, and as the hours passed, Daisy felt the remnants of her hangover gradually loosen their grip on her. The sluggishness remained, clinging to her limbs like a heavy fog, but at least the pounding in her skull had dulled to a manageable throb. The spirits of Madness and Adventure lingered close, their presence a steady, guiding hum. They whispered warnings when needed, alerting her to any dangers that lurked ahead.

Thankfully, only one threat stood in their way. A wandering group of antaam had blocked their path, but they barely posed a challenge. Daisy and Ti’Lan made short work of them, their movements fluid and practiced, a silent rhythm between siblings who had fought side by side before. By the time they reached the eluvian, Daisy felt the first stirrings of relief settle in her chest. Handing Demi over to Ti’Lan, she stepped forward first, placing a cautious hand against the cool, glass-like surface of the mirror—the magic within thrummed beneath her touch, sending a ripple through the Veil as she passed through. The world bent and twisted around her, and then—silence. The Crossroads stretched before her, an eerie and endless expanse of pathways and ancient structures. She scanned the area; her muscles were tensed, her senses sharp, but nothing stirred.

Satisfied, she turned back, watching as her brother hesitantly stepped through with Demi clutched in his arms. His face morphed from suspicion to awe, his golden eyes widening as he took in the surreal landscape. "By the gods…" he whispered.

Daisy smirked. "Worth the trip, huh?"

He huffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’ve been traveling through this?”

“Among other things,” she said, guiding them forward toward the Hall of Valor eluvian. The short walk was enough to allow Ti’Lan to gather himself, though his grip on Demi remained firm as if he feared she might slip through his fingers in this strange realm. What Daisy didn’t expect was Isabella storming at her when she approached the main area. The pirate queen did a double take once she saw her, an uncharacteristic look of concern shadowing her usually mischievous expression. Isabella’s sharp eyes locked onto her, scanning her from head to toe.

“Where the hell have you been?” Isabella’s voice was edged with worry, but her posture remained guarded. “Your friends have been looking for you everywhere. You ran out of the Hall like you saw a damn ghost, and then—nothing. No word. Nothing.”

Daisy parted her lips, struggling to find the right words, but Ti’Lan spoke before she could. “She ran because of me.” His voice was steady, carrying the weight of quiet authority. “She found out I was in danger and didn’t hesitate. She had no time to waste.” Daisy swallowed, feeling a mix of gratitude and guilt. That wasn’t the whole truth, but it was close enough. Close enough to shield her from the real answer—the one she couldn’t bring herself to say. That she had run not just because of her brother’s plight but because of the face she had seen. A face from a long-dead memory, one that shattered her resolve and sent her fleeing like a coward.

She had felt the weight of chains that no longer existed, their phantom grip tightening around her throat, dragging her back into the abyss she had spent years clawing her way out of. How could she explain that?

She couldn’t.

Instead, she exhaled, forcing a wry smirk onto her lips. “You know me, Isabella. Always running headfirst into trouble.”

The pirate queen didn’t look entirely convinced, but she let it go with a shake of her head. “You’re a damn headache, you know that?”

Daisy grinned. “Wouldn’t want to be anything less.”

Thankfully, Isabella had other priorities. When she learned of the refugees, she immediately offered her help, her usual roguish charm slipping back into place as she took command of the situation.

With a plan in place, Daisy let herself breathe. Just for a moment. Because soon enough, she would have to face everything she had been running from. As Isabella took charge, she wasted no time in assessing the newcomers. Her sharp gaze flicked over Ti’Lan, appraising him with obvious interest. A slow, knowing smirk curled her lips as she sauntered closer, placing a hand on her hip.

“Well, well,” she drawled, her voice dripping with amusement. “Daisy, you didn’t tell me you had such a charming company. You keeping him all to yourself?”

Daisy groaned, already regretting every choice that led to this moment. “Isabella, don’t—”

“Oh, hush, sweetheart. I’m just being friendly.” She turned her full attention to Ti’Lan, her smirk widening. “So, tell me, tall, dark, and handsome, do you happen to have a taste for pirate queens?”

Ti’Lan blinked, momentarily taken aback, before chuckling. “I appreciate the compliment, but I’m very married.”

Daisy nearly choked on her own relief as Isabella feigned a wounded gasp, placing a hand over her heart. “Oh, tragic! Another good one taken.” She sighed dramatically, but the twinkle in her eye showed she wasn’t truly disappointed. “Tell me, does your wife happen to be the jealous type?”

Ti’Lan smirked. “Extremely.”

“Shame.” Isabella winked before stepping back, clearly enjoying herself. “Well, if she ever decides to throw you overboard, do let me know.”

Daisy rubbed her temples, her annoyance peaking. “Are you done?”

Isabella grinned. “For now.” She gave Ti’Lan a final, exaggerated once-over before turning back to business.

Ti’Lan simply shook his head, amused but unfazed. “Is she always like this?” he asked, glancing at Daisy.

“You have no idea.” Daisy crossed her arms, eyeing Ti’Lan with open suspicion. “But before we leave—married? Since when?”

Ti’Lan chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “For a little while now.”

Daisy gawked at him. “A little while? You’ve been gone for over a year! When exactly were you planning on telling your favorite sister?”

"You are certainly not my favorite." He shrugged, clearly enjoying her reaction. “I figured I’d tell you when I saw you.”

Daisy threw her hands up. “Unbelievable! Do I at least know this person?”

Ti’Lan’s lips quirked into a small, knowing smirk. “You might.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s all you’re getting for now,” he teased.

Daisy groaned in frustration. “Oh, you are horrible.”

Isabela, still within earshot, let out a low whistle. “Mystery spouses? How intriguing. Now I have to know who was lucky enough to tie this one down.” She wiggled her eyebrows at Ti’Lan, but he only chuckled.

Daisy jabbed a finger at him. “We will be talking about this later.”

Ti’Lan grinned. “Looking forward to it.”

The journey back to the Lighthouse was eerily quiet, the hum of the Fade surrounding Daisy and Ti’Lan as the boat carried them through the shifting mists. The air crackled with magic, the reflection of distant, shattered eluvians flickering in the distance like dying stars. Demi clung to Ti’Lan’s cloak, her small hands gripping tightly as she peeked over his shoulder, wide-eyed at the strange, weightless movement of the boat. Daisy, still drained from the remnants of her hangover, pressed a hand to her forehead and exhaled slowly, trying to center herself. As they neared the Lighthouse’s dock, the familiar sight of its ruined stone archway wrapped in roots was a relief. Daisy stepped out first, her boots crunching on the gravel path leading to the main courtyard. Daisy helped Demi out of the boat first, holding her tightly while trying to keep her distracted until Ti'Lan stood beside her.

Just ahead, movement caught her eye. Two figures—Lucanis and Emmrich—emerged from the opposite dock, deep in conversation. Daisy’s heart leaped at the sight of Lucanis, a mix of relief and something deeper settling in her chest. She took a step forward, calling out, “Lucanis! Emmrich!” She handed Demi off to Ti'Lan.

She barely had a moment to breathe before he was suddenly there. One second, he was across the courtyard, and the next—Lucanis, or perhaps Spite, had closed the distance in the blink of an eye. His arms wrapped around her with a force that nearly knocked the air from her lungs, holding her tight—as if afraid she might vanish if he let go. The sheer intensity of it stunned her, and for a moment, all she could do was grip his coat, grounding herself in his warmth.

“Are you alright?” Lucanis’s voice was rough and urgent, with the faintest tremor beneath it. His breath was warm against her temple, and his grip was unrelenting.

Daisy blinked up at him, her hands instinctively coming up to cup his face, thumbs brushing over the sharp lines of his jaw. His skin was cool to the touch, his warm brown eyes flickering with something she couldn’t quite place—relief, concern, and something raw beneath it all. “I’m fine,” she murmured, searching his face. “Are you? Has something happened to Treviso? Is everyone ok?” For a moment, he just stared at her as if committing her to memory, as if he hadn’t been sure he’d see her again. Then, finally, he exhaled, his shoulders loosening just a fraction, but he didn’t let go.

Lucanis gripped Daisy so tightly that it almost hurt, his arms like iron bands around her as if he were afraid she might slip through his fingers. His breathing was uneven, and she could feel the tremor in his body as he held onto her.

“Daisy,” he rasped, his voice raw with something she couldn’t quite name—fear, relief, anger, all tangled together. “Where the hell have you been?” Lucanis’s grip was firm, tense, his fingers pressing just a little too hard into Daisy’s arms as he held her. He was breathing steadily, but there was something controlled about it, too measured—like he was forcing himself to stay composed. His dark brown eyes flickered over her, sharp and assessing, taking in every detail—her disheveled state, the exhaustion lining her face, the way she swayed just slightly from the remnants of her hangover. “You vanished,” he said, his voice low and taut. “No word. No sign. Just—gone.”

Daisy met his gaze, trying not to flinch under the weight of it. She could feel the tension in his grip, the effort it took for him to keep his touch from bruising. Lucanis was always careful, always in control—but right now, that control felt like it was on the verge of snapping. “I had to,” she said, barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t—”

Lucanis’s fingers twitched against her arms before he exhaled sharply through his nose. “You ran,” he muttered like he was trying to make sense of it. “You never run.”

Daisy swallowed hard, not knowing what to say. Not knowing if there was anything she could say that would make a difference. Then Lucanis’s gaze flickered past her, his body going still as he finally took note of Ti’Lan standing at her side. His grip on Daisy loosened slightly, but the tension in his frame only deepened. “Who,” Lucanis said slowly, his voice like a blade sliding from its sheath, “is that?”

Daisy barely had time to open her mouth before Ti’Lan, ever the opportunist, clapped a hand on her shoulder and grinned. “Me? Oh, I’m Daisy’s husband.”

Daisy choked. “Ti’Lan—what the fuck?!”

Lucanis went completely still. His eyes darkened, a flicker of purple flashed before it disappeared, his expression unreadable—but there was something almost lethal in how his jaw tightened. His fingers flexed at his sides like he was resisting the urge to reach for a weapon. Ti’Lan, the absolute menace that he was, just grinned wider. “What? No ‘dear husband’ for your beloved spouse?”

Daisy smacked his arm hard. “I swear to every god listening, I will drown you in the ocean.”

Ti’Lan finally laughed, holding up his one free hand in mock surrender. “Alright, alright—she’s my sister.” He winked at Lucanis. “Though if you saw the look on your face just now—priceless.”

Lucanis exhaled slowly through his nose. “Charmed,” he said flatly.

Daisy groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Lucanis just crossed his arms, glancing between them. “So this is your brother?”

Ti’Lan extended a hand. “Ti’Lan. A pleasure.”

Lucanis eyed the offered hand, then, after a moment, shook it briefly before releasing it. His gaze flickered back to Daisy, unreadable. “We’re going to talk later.”

Daisy sighed. “Yeah. I figured.” Before Daisy could recover from the absolute humiliation of Ti’Lan’s little joke, another voice cut through the tension.

“By the spirits. Ti’Lan Ingellvar.” Daisy turned to see Emmrich standing behind them, arms crossed, his sharp gaze assessing. His usual stern expression softened only slightly, though his tone carried something bordering on approval.

Ti’Lan straightened, his posture shifting instinctively into something more formal. “Professor Emmrich. It’s been some time.”

Emmrich gave a slow nod. “It has. Last I heard, you were working with Professor Klous. I take it that didn’t go as planned?”

Ti’Lan exhaled through his nose. “That would be putting it lightly.” He hesitated, then inclined his head. “It’s good to see you again. I didn’t expect to find you among Daisy’s allies. I thought Mourn Watchers never leave Nevarra?”

Emmrich arched a brow. “Some of us do travel. And I didn’t expect one of my more promising students to turn up needing rescue. Life is full of surprises.”

Daisy, at this point, was entirely done. She had reached her limit between Lucanis, Ti’Lan’s nonsense, and now Emmrich sizing up her brother like a disappointed father figure. With a dramatic sigh, she shifted Demi in her arms and turned on her heel. “I swear to every spirit listening before I deal with any of this—any of you—I am having a bath.” She pointed a firm finger at Ti’Lan, Lucanis, and Emmrich. “You can all stand here and analyze each other to death, but I smell like a damn sewer of Minrathous, and I refuse to do anything else until that changes.”

Ti’Lan merely nodded. “Understood.”

Lucanis gave the slightest twitch of his lips but said nothing.

Emmrich, however, smirked faintly. “Still as dramatic as ever, I see.”

Daisy didn’t bother looking back. “And still dealing with too many men talking at once.” With that, she strode off toward the Lighthouse, Demi tucked securely against her chest, leaving them behind to their quiet assessments and unspoken judgments.

[photoniccyclone]

Crack Theory: Zym Will Be the One To Save Claudia

Sounds crazy right? But here me out, I may be huffing some major copium right now and it requires some other headcannons to come true but when you think about it... this could be a really cool thing for them to do.

Zym can talk now, which means he's gonna need to be a charatcer and do character things, what better way to do that then take a crack at saving Claudia and bringing a new perspective the others didn't? Picking up where they failed?

In order to be saved now, after all the damage that's been done to her, she's going to need two things in my eyes.

A lot of empathy. Those who try to save her need to have sympathy and empathy for her situation and while not agreeing with what she did, have the understanding of why she did them and what she's going through, and have the ability to be patient with her and help her when she's struggling. This is going to be hard for a lot of the cast. Rayla definitely can not do this because she just downright hates her (she spent the two year time jump trying to kill her) so she's out. The rest, their emphathy has been spent potentially after their failed attempts to save her, which were, not very successful for a variety of reasons i.e tricking her with a fake mom (diabolical) or straight up making her feel gaslit. (I'm referencing the "I think we have different bone feelings" it's important to note that I don't think Soren was gaslighting her because he truly believed in what he said, but to someone like her, it can come across as gaslighting.) Or not giving her the time of day, but that's not the point. The point is that the rest of the cast feels they've done all they can, even Soren feels that way, remember he begs Terry to let him kill her! While we don't know where Zym stands on this, we can start to sow some doubt in his mind about the dragaang's methods. This will not only help explain why Zym wants to try and take a crack at saving Claudia but also help develop him into his own character who isn't just Ezran 2.0. Maybe him and Ez can even have a disagreement over this at some point! Wouldn't it be cool to see an argument or a bit of a temporary falling out between these two? Zym has been shown to be extremely emphathetic so far, similar to Ezran and has a chance that he could feel like he could bring something new to the table that the gang hasn't tried before which I will get into later. (ANNNNDDDDD, if a certain headcannon holds true he might be perfect for the job)

A proper addressing of Xadia's crimes. Yes, she's definitely going to need this. What Xadia did in the past drives a lot of her character, maybe not as much as family but it's a huge motivator, and it must sting really hard when her own brother contradicts everything with "I don't have the same bone feelings". It could easily be going through her mind right now like "Are you crazy? after everything they did to us your just all lovey dovey with them? Like it just didn't happen?". Someone is going to need to acknowledge what happened, clearly and definitively and also apologize for it and deliver the promise that they will make sure it will never happen again. Now... who better to deliver this message to her than the literal King of The Dragons himself who literally has the power to make it never happen again? Could this cure her instantly? No, maybe not... Claudia is hurting badly and the scars run deep, but that could be the beginning to set off a chain reaction that Zym could help her through by instilling point 1.

Now, if a certain headcannon comes true which could make narrative sense, it would just make this all the more powerful. You know how Ezran is an empath with animals? Like he can basically talk to them to an extent and can also feel their pain (novelizations), what if Zym is the same, but for humans and elves. This is not entirely baseless either, other than providing cool symmetry it would also explain why Zym is able to communicate telepathically with Ezran to an extent. It's two empaths connecting to each other. If Zym has this power, he could potentially understand what Claudia feels on a deeper level then anyone else because he literally feels it too, and thus would easier be able to empathize with her making point 1 all the more plausible.

And on top of everything... I just feel it would be really sweet. I love Zym, I love Claudia and seeing Zym be a character by performing something so monumental and helping someone who clearly needs help would just be... kinda heartwarming to me if done correctly. That's why it's a crack theory at the end of the day. There's not hard evidence and it relies on some assumptions, but do I want it to happen? Absolutely?

But hey, if you disagree, that's fine too! :)

"But Claudia is pure evil and I want her to burn."

I disagree on that but to each their own, fine If you want that too I guess lmao.

[thestrangestthing89]

And another thing!!! lol

Kali fits into this too. I think she is an alter within an alter, like a sub-part (more Subs). She exists within El and also contains a lot of components to Will. She teaches El to be angry and to use that anger for power. Will's anger about his abuse is buried deep but it's starting to surface. He is starting to "heal" as Kali says.

I think this whole episode exists solely in Will's head. There is a lot of evidence to this that is for a longer post. But whatever happens to Will in the lab also happens to El. And there are a lot of similar themes mentioned above that add to it. Here are a few examples: - The doctor calling Will schizo and then El getting called schizo by Kali's friend - Will being afraid of the doctors and needles and then El and Kali breaking into the house of Ray - the man they are going to kill. He's watching Punky Brewster on tv and it's an episode where she is scared of the doctor and needles. - Kali's friend tells El something about how "poof you show up like magic" - All of the comments about Kali not being real (similar to Susie who I think also exists in Will's head in a different way) - Kali talks about how a piece of her was missing and El showing up made her whole (Will isn't whole without his alters combining like the og post says) Kali has manifesting powers like Will. He's repressing those powers and pushing them down deep, which is why his sub-alter has them. But El learns to grow more powerful in this episode. Kali is the one who teaches her about how her anger is a source of power. Henry also said this to her in "her" childhood. I think it's likely this isn't a real memory and Henry is another alter. Kali doesn't show up again. Will was starting to heal. El is the one who needs to now and we started seeing that in S4. She doesn't save or forgive her abuser - Brenner. Brenner I think counts as an introjection. He's the stand in for Lonnie. But El refusing to save him is an indication that Will is starting to process what happened with Lonnie and show that he doesn't forgive him. I do think we will see a more angry Will next season with regard to his abuse and his father. I think it will still have a theme of love saves the day rather than anger though. Anger only got El so far. She needed to feel that to start to heal but to move on Will needs love.

Why I’m confident that El was willed into existence…

In a show that frequently references superheroes, alter egos, clones, “subs”titutes, and swapping places…

Is it truly that far fetched to believe that our main “hero” is actually the boy who likes to hide in disguise all along?

In other words, let me explain the evidence that Will created El and what it means for the ending of the show.

I’ll begin by saying that even back when I was a GA watching the show, I sensed that there has always been a supernatural connection between the two of them.

Think about it. Will vanishes, El first appears then El vanishes and Will re-appears. They “swap places”. Will is “good at hiding” and thus El takes over as the lead.

El is a masculine girl (at least power-wise), while Will is a feminine boy. They are connected but yet within the show they aren’t that close? Sure they’re “siblings” now but the writers made a choice not to focus on building up their relationship/bond. In fact, we see them continuously being separated from each other. This conveys a subtle message to the audience:

They cannot co-exist.

They both take up the same role within the show. Let me explain…

Let’s start with similarities between Will and El

Both are around the same age

Both are quiet

Both have a mother who is loving yet distant and both mothers are implied to have mental health issues and are heavily paralleled.

Both have a complicated and ab*sive relationship with their father/“papa”

Both are associated with powers

Both have been victims of bullies

Both have trauma and struggled with their emotions

Both are associated with repressed memories

Both are romantic love interests for Mike

Both are heavily connected with the supernatural

etc etc…

Let’s talk symbolism…

I’ve mentioned this many times before but the writers have subtly used the explosion of “Little Boy” the atomic bomb as a metaphor for Will’s disappearance.

“Little Boy” is Will Byers himself. The real “Little Boy” bomb caused a nuclear fission reaction. Fission means to “split in two”. We also have the Phineas Gage metaphor that conveys splitting of the brain.

On top of this, in the flashback of El opening the gate for the first time, we see the Demogorgon feasting on an egg. When El sees this, we see cracks appear and the gate opens. The egg cracks. This is further implied with this line:

If the hair is a nest, the egg is the head. The head “split”/cracked open. Like an egg, the head hatched… which implies a birth!

Notice how they chose an “owl” out of all birds? Owls are associated with wisdom, and the Greek Goddess Athena. How was Athena born, you ask?

Zeus had a “splitting” headache and then Athena was born from his head.

”Splitting” is also a term within Dissociative Identity Disorder when a new alter/personality emerges. Alters are often seen as “superheroes” as they often protect the host/the system from experiencing trauma. They take over, and “swap places” with the host/other alters. There are common alters roles within a DID system, and one of them is called “The Gatekeeper”.

“The Gatekeeper” controls access to the gate, and to the memories (sound familiar?)…

To add to the “splitting” analogy, we have multiple references to El being “half” and not “whole”. Notice how she’s “twice” as happy with Will present, after being “half”way happy? Two halves = a whole.

Another planet/different species

We have many references to the UD being another planet. If the UD is another planet, all those who inhabit said planet are a “different species” or rather, aliens.

As we all know, El is heavily inspired by “E.T.”, a famous alien character. When she comes to “Earth”/the right side up, she is, essentially, an alien. She doesn’t fit in because this is not her world.

El was even paralleled to D’Art who, as we know, was a “new species” that literally came from Will’s head!

D'Art is a "new species" and El and Max are a "different species" aka "material girls". This implies that they all were created.

They aren't from Earth but instead they're from "another planet". We are given a hint to this in the shot above on the left. A globe (Earth) near another round sphere (Will's head...)

Relevant Media References Within the Show

Within the show, we have many references to other media- specifically media that contains a character with an alter-ego.

Superman is the simplest one to explain, so I’ll start with that. As we know, Mike said El was “Superman”, and that he was “Lois Lane”, prior to Will expressing his love for Mike using El’s name. The writers chose to reference Superman for a reason and it’s not just because El has powers or that Mike is gay. We are supposed to connect the dots and conclude that:

Will is Superman’s alter-ego: Clark Kent. The seemingly nerdy ordinary guy who loves Lois Lane but who is (secretly) Superman.

(Read the line from Lois above, it is incredibly relevant to Will and El)

Another commonly referenced movie within ST is The Neverending Story.

(Atreyu looks into the mirror and sees Bastian…)

The similarities between Bastian (bullied bowl cut boy) and Will are fairly obvious, as well as the similarities between Atreyu (the hero) and El. Well, it turns out that Atreyu was actually Bastian the whole time.

X-Men has also been referenced within the show.

Will asks Dustin for "X-Man 134" in the very first episode. This comic is significant because it was the first appearance of "Dark Phoenix".

In the book the Dark Phoenix is accidentally unleashed by the Mastermind who is tinkering around in Jean's brain trying to unlock the full potential of her powers. x

I argue that the "Mastermind" is actually Will himself who unleashed El into the world. He cast "fireball" unleashing El, the phoenix.

That's not the only X-Men clue however...

In the original Montauk script, it was X-Men 269 that Will asked Dustin for.

@threemanoperation made an excellent post about that here.

There are clear references to gateways and "splitting" which are incredibly relevant to this theory.

Karen's Novels

In this scene, Karen is reading a book called “Tender is the Storm”. In that book, there’s a surprise twist at the end:

These two "twins" that the main character is torn over end up being the same person.

Now keep in mind, the previous novel Karen reads also has clear relevance/foreshadowing. Credit below goes to @/kaypeace21, her post is here.

Sound familiar?

Hawkins Lab/Tunnels

Tunnels are something that we see a lot of... especially in Will's drawings in ST2. He draws tunnels from his mind... it's his mind map.

So... El came from Hawkins Lab, and escaped through these tunnels.

Hawkins Lab...

There's lots of subtle clues that "Hawkins" is metaphorically Will. Let me explain...

"Hawkins" is still healing from the gate being opened = "Will" is still healing from the gate being opened.

"But some of him is here, too. In me. It's like... it's like he's reaching into Hawkins [me] more and more." - Will

"Hawkins" isn't the same without Will because "Hawkins" *is* Will!

So El came from "Hawkins" lab = El came from "Will's" lab.

A laboratory is a place where things are created.

The mind is a "prison" as Papa states. Then we have Hopper and Henry comparing Hawkins Lab to a "prison"/El being a “prisoner”.

El is a prisoner of the mind…

Thus we can conclude: Hawkins Lab is Will's mind, and that is where El came from.

She was a prisoner of his unpleasant and traumatized mind who managed to escape into the real world.

El's Memories

The biggest question is... if El came from Will's mind, how does she have her own memories?

The answer to this is fairly simple:

El has Will's memories...

A major clue of this is in ST2. In a flashback, we see Hopper teach El Morse Code. Later on within the same season, we see that Will knows Morse Code...

Now I know this sounds like a stretch for some, but the major reason why is because we know so little of Will's past explicitly.

We have never seen Will and his father Lonnie directly interact. But through many many clues we can infer that Lonnie had a profoundly negative effect on Will. Not only was he obviously homophobic and a deadbeat father... but many clues point to him being so much worse. I talk about much more in this post.

"Papa" may not be real, but rather a manifestation/altered version of Will's father.

In one of the comics, we see a clear parallel here between El and Papa and Will and Lonnie. The father shutting out the child and ignoring their cries.

Perhaps the biggest clue of El having Will's memories, however, comes from 4x02.

Lets break this down:

In ST1, Jonathan tells us that his father forced him to kill a rabbit on his birthday and it was traumatic for him.

In ST2, March 22 is established as Will's birthday and we are told by Owens that "The anniversary of an event can bring back traumatic memories."

In ST4, we are told that "our brains protect us from trauma" by repressing memories.

In ST4, Will's birthday (the anniversary) is forgotten (repressed memories).

In ST4, on March 22, El has flashbacks to a massacre... and the song "Wipe Out" plays. "Wipe Out" can mean two things: to kill (a rabbit?) and to eliminate something completely (memories).

So... with all of that knowledge... wouldn't you say that it's interesting that El has traumatic memories on Will's birthday?

I think it's fair to conclude that:

Will experienced something very traumatic related to his father on his birthday (March 22). El, as the "Gatekeeper Alter"/superhero protecting Will/the system, has access to Will's memories.

Gatekeepers control access to specific memories or protected alters and can, in some cases, prevent unwanted switching. These alters aid in preventing traumatic memories from escaping from the alters who control them, thus throwing up amnesiac walls to protect the whole system. x

Which is why in the NINA plot line, it was all about El retrieving back memories... Will's memories. Or rather, altered versions of his memories.

Just to re-affirm the point that Will does not have his own memories... we were gifted with this subtle clue.

"Larry" is a nickname for Lawrence/Laurence. Lonnie is also a nickname for Lawrence/Laurence. So basically:

Will doesn't remember Lonnie. Or rather, he only vaguely remembers Lonnie.

El has Will's memories of Lonnie, and we see them through her flashbacks with "Papa".

This is exactly why we never see Lonnie or rather rarely have any direct mentions of him within the show. He is a deeply repressed memory.

I could go on about this because there are tons more hidden clues but this post will get FAR too long.

Why did Will create Eleven?

Wherever you go, the number 11 seems to find you - this is an angel number. x (credit to @thestrangestthing89 for pointing this out).

To answer this question very simply: Will created El as a replacement for himself. She was his "guardian angel" to protect him from his trauma, but also to erase him.

We really do not discuss this enough, but Will has crippling self-esteem issues! That's why he's so selfless and that's why he always tries to hide. He doesn't believe he's worthy of... anything.

El is a strong, brave, and socially acceptable version of himself. She has superpowers and she can be with Mike, because she's a girl. It'd be acceptable.

But over time we see that El could never replace Will, nor does she want to! El replacing Will causes everyone to be miserable. Will, Mike, his family, and El herself.

How it may be explained within the show

So, DID itself was not a term that existed within the 1980s, it was called "Multiple Personality Disorder". My guess, however, is that they will not use any specific medical term. They will, instead, use a DnD term:

"Changeling" x

According to folklore, a changeling was a substitute left by a supernatural being when kidnapping a human being. x

After Will vanished, El, a supernatural being, appeared in the same place. This whole time El was a "changeling"/substitute for Will.

El's Ending

El's ending has been a hot topic as of recently, for a good reason. People are scared she'll be killed off and express their discontentment with that. Will she be killed off?

Not exactly. Let me explain.

El is E.T., an alien who ends up returning back to their own world. The same thing will happen to El. As I explained, El came from Will's mind, and she will return to Will's mind! This will be her own choice, because she's not adapting to the real world. It's been a constant loop for her, and she's not happy. She hasn't felt like she belonged.

She's tired of being forced into roles that aren't her own.

El and Will will "combine" via fusion. This is where the "Little Boy" metaphor for Will returns. El came into the world via "fission" (splitting) and will return via "fusion" (combing back into Will).

The important thing to note here is that she will not "die".

As Henry states, she will live on in the mind. Most likely, a much more pleasant version of the UD. My guess is her ending will be similar to Frodo's at the end of Lord of the Rings.

(Notice how she disappears into Will? That's obviously intentional visual foreshadowing).

I have even more to say on this but this post has been long enough!

What are your thoughts?

[imminent-danger-came]

(1x00 A Hero is Born)

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(1x09 Macaque)

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(1x10 The End is Here!)

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(2x05 Minor Scale)

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(2x10 This is the End!)

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(3x09 The King, the Prince, and the Shadow)

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(3x11 Embrace Your Destiny)

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(4x07 Pitiful Creatures)

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(4x08 The Brotherhood)

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(4x10 The Jade Emperor)

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(4x11 A Lifetime of Mistakes)

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(4x13 Rip and Tear) (He's little but he's kneeling in both)

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MK Kneeling Motif

[roots-symphony]

do you think the reason agatha’s trial felt weird is because she was the only one who did not actually buy into the mythos of the road since she knew the truth? like that was why no perspective change and all the other reasons why people thought it was a fake trial