#also feel like ripping all of my bones out and throwing them back together to stop aching t^t

[kaisollisto]

me: hmmmm feeling kind of restless,,,,

also me: doing non stop art for 4 hours

[aihoshiino]

chapter 146 thoughts

This chapter (and thus this chapter review) contains discussion of abuse, suicidal ideation and CSA, so if you're not in the headspace for that, skip this one and I'll see you next time.

we are so oshi no back

After last chapter left me fighting for my life to come up with literally anything to say about it, this was one of those chapters where I ended up having more and more to say about it the more I turned it over in my head. It still feels a bit disjointed and has that same issue of ripping through the events of the movie way too fucking fast that the arc as a whole has been having lately but this chapter was such a breath of fresh air I can't bring myself to care.

The chapter itself is more or less split in two, with one half dedicated to 15 Year Lie's in-universe events and the other focusing a bit on Aqua and Kana for, tbh, the first time in way too long. Admittedly, my enthusiasm for 15YL has waned given the reveal of just how much of it is completely made up but like. I'm still gonna over analyze this stuff. Sunk cost fallacy, don't fail me now!!!!

I joke, but the 15YL section of this chapter was legitimately bone chilling. That barrage of cuts following Uehara's attack on Airi…. fuuuuuuuck, man.

Airi herself is pure fucking poison this chapter too and I mean it in the best way. I continue to be incredibly impressed with how OnK understands the motivations of a person like Airi what her abuse of Hikaru is really about. When discussing this in 141, Miyako points out just how often victims of abuse can themselves go on to perpetuate their own pain out of a need to try and regain their dignity, but I think what Airi seeks in her abuse of Hikaru is control. We see how often she wields her power over him while pretending that he has as much agency as she does in their """relationship""" and it's repeated here, too; she throws the results of her own sexual abuse of him in his face as a way of permanently chaining the two of them together, all while tearing down his worth as a person as if to 'prove' he deserves to be trapped in her grasp. I've said before that Akasaka is unsettlingly good at writing toxic mothers but I think Airi has made it pretty clear that Akasaka understands and is thus excellent at writing abuse and abusers in general, and for someone like me who counts that as one of their favourite Themes (tm) in fiction, I feel quite well fed.

The abuse Airi hurls at him is also interesting from a perspective of paralleling Hikaru even further with Ai. We saw snippets of this in 140, of Hikaru characterizing himself as someone desperately trying to construct a version of himself that can be loved by others the same way Ai creates 'Ai of B-Komachi', a version of herself who can give and receive love in the way she thinks her authentic self is unable to. Airi puts this into more explicit words; Hikaru must construct this fake version of himself because there is no 'real' him and thus, he is inherently unlovable. Jesus Christ.

Knowing those words were swimming around in his head, it makes the HKAI scene that follows even more of a gutpunch than it already is. It's the most wonderful kind of miscommunication tragedy - with their respective traumas, there is basically no other way a talk like that could have gone and yet it's agonizing to see it play out. Ai's innocent cruelty in the face of Hikaru's pain and her suffocating smile… the worst part is, while I completely understand why this was so shattering for Hikaru, it's impossible to miss that this was, in a way, an expression of love from Ai; it was honesty, an admission of vulnerability. She herself even says she doesn't want to lie to him. But to Hikaru, what else could that have sounded like but a confirmation of his most godawful fear?

that said. the timeline here is very confusing. this seems to imply hkai were still dating all the way up to the murder-suicide, which seemed to be just before the dome concert but did the breakup really seem that recent during their phone call?? this whole timeline is penised beyond repair.

The art in this chapter in general is incredibly good but something in particular I want to highlight is how much and how often Aqua-as-Hikaru looks like Ai in these panels. I can't put my finger on what it is, but that similarity always makes me feel so warm and sad whenever I see it. For as much as he struggles with his relationship to her, Aqua really is his mother's son through and through.

and. man. what even is there to say about that scene in the rain and everything that follows. I was't sure if the murder/suicide was going to be featured in the movie but even the brief snippet of it that we got and that barrage of scene titles and Kamiki's silent scream… whoof. shit like this makes me really hope we get to see mengo illustrate a horror manga someday because i think she would absolutely kill it.

We cut back to reality to see Aqua reading the script and in perhaps the most interesting swerve in this chapter, we see that he has once again reverted to his double black hoshigans. And uh, am I going to sound like a terrible person if I say I'm really glad for this? LOL.

Obviously I would rather Aqua not be experiencing Suicidal Ideation (Bass Boosted) 24/7, but it's kind of a relief to see that one single conversation wasn't enough to totally shake Aqua out of that headspace. I've talked a lot about how frustrating I find it that 'Ruby finds out Aqua is Gorou' is treated as the finale to her black hoshigan arc and every ongoing thread, internal and external, attached to it was dropped like a rock with no further interrogation. It robbed Ruby of the opportunity for some really important growth and, imo, was just shitty for Kana and Memcho who were treated extremely poorly by her and got no apology for it. I was really worried this would be the case for Aqua as well and that his own dip into that rancid headspace would end on a wet fart which would really sting given just how little insight we've gotten into him this arc. But this chapter makes it clear that while some cracks have started to form in his armor, he's not in the clear just yet.

i mean, even if he was permanently back to one white star, aqua is such a little freak regardless………………………….

What this means in the long term is a little hard to pin down, both because we've had so little insight into Aqua's headspace this arc and because the exact nature of black hoshigan as a symbol has always been a little Calvinballed, but in this context and for Aqua specifically, I think we can read this as his conviction in the messy endgame of his revenge play being shaken up. I, personally, have been reading the black hoshigan as of late as an expression of the sort of futureless despair that can become suicidal ideation, at least for Aqua; since immediately after Ai's death, we have gotten incredibly strong hints that Aqua is suicidal, his guilt-fueled desire to die and his desperate want to experience a happy future at war within him. He more or less explicitly says as such in 106, expressing that this break in their relationship is necessary for Ruby to be able to live on 'after he's gone' - which strongly implies that Aqua's revenge play is intended to end with his death.

Knowing that Ruby is Sarina wasn't quite enough to shake his conviction, but their talk in 143 was. I do think Ruby just giving him some straightforward affirmation was a good starting point but I also can't help but wonder, with the context that his white stars were not indicative of a permanent change, if hearing just how deeply Ruby still relies on 'Gorou's' presence in her life struck a nerve for him. Paraphrasing her from 143, she straight up says Gorou is the one who gives her life meaning. And if that's how it is, what exactly will happen if he's gone again..?

Obviously this is all still speculation because even when I am begging on hand and knee Akasaka is refusing to give us Aqua introspection but at this point I have to make a guess at SOMETHING if i am going to say anything remotely coherent about aqua in this arc, so

ANYWAY!! AQUA AND KANA HAVING A NORMAL ASS CONVERSATION FOR THE FIRST TIME IN GOD KNOWS HOW LONG!!! Ngl, it did give me a bit of a chuckle to see Kana voice the question of whether Aqua was getting too immersed in his role, given that people were accusing her of that back during the first round of the RBKN conflict.

I was also really surprised to see Aqua just outright say that yeah, he is at least flirting with suicidal ideation. Like - that's the first time he's said that out loud, to anybody??? In 143 he voices the less damning but still not great sentiment that he feels guilty for being alive but this is to my knowledge the first time Aqua has expressed his suicidal ideation out loud, let alone to anyone else. And… fuck, man! That's an absolutely terrifying thing to hear a friend say. No wonder Kana reacts like she does.

Because of my powers of Claire-voyance (read: basic pattern recognition and being in fandoms for 15+ years), I'm pretty sure people are going to be Very Mean to Kana about the way she chooses to respond to Aqua here but honestly? Not only did this tough love response feel very IC for her, but the clumsiness of it felt very honest to me. I think a lot of people in fandom lately just want characters to talk like fucking therapists all the time and have the Correct And Unproblematic Response to… well, situations like this. But Kana is an 18 year old girl who has her own share of issues and her friend she knows is dealing with his own huge amount of baggage just casually dropped an "i wanna kms" on her. All things considered, I think she handles it surprisingly well.

Because like… look at what Kana really says to Aqua here. She gives him some of their usual banter to diffuse the tension but then makes herself very clear: she does not want Aqua to hurt himself and makes him promise that he won't. It's clumsy and rough in the way Kana often is, but I think the important part - her sincere care for Aqua as her friend - really does shine through.

also cute that other people caught: Kana squishing Aqua's face seems to be an intentional callback to one of their on-stage interactions in Tokyo Blade, right down to Aqua making a identical scrunchyface to Kana. Extremely cute. I love it when Aqua is cute <3

Kana also being a person able to shake Aqua out of his black hoshigans also leans into something I've been hoping is going to pay off for a while now; the idea that Aqua's salvation is not going to come from any one, singular character but from the many different people who Aqua has built relationships with coming together when he needs them to support him. One of the things OnK has continually highlighted is the way isolation and lacking support systems warp and damage people's mental health and I think it would play excellently into that theme to have Aqua's support net, so to speak, to be wide enough to catch him no matter where he falls.

the product placement was very stupid but i did laugh pretty hard at it and then immediately go buy myself some potato chips so i guess it worked. genius mangaka aka akasaka.

All jokes aside, the note their talk ended off on was so lovely too. Aqua being honest enough to admit that being with Kana is fun and Kana getting all dokidoki and then quietly admitting she feels the same when she's alone… cute! But more than that, it highlights something about the AQKN dynamic I think is really important, regardless of whether their relationship is romantic, platonic, in laws, mlm/wlw hostility or whatever else; Kana is his friend and he can just be a normal boy and have normal fun with her without any ulterior motives. It's something Aqua doesn't really have in any of his other relationships so getting a reminder of that and what it means to Aqua was really good.

honestly i think i am just so starved of nice things happening to my son that seeing him opening up to one of his friends and admitting he has fun (HIS LAUGH!!!!!!) was like a shot of heavenly ambrosia for me. please can hoshino aqua have just one nice day.

OR UH… BASED ON THAT LAST PAGE…. PROBABLY NOT ANYTIME SOON….!!!

this is what i mean about this chapter giving me 5000000 things to talk about. kamiki is TALKING TO RUBY IN THE FLESH FOR THE FIRST TIME and i almost completely forgor.

why is he dressed like a dad about to take her out on a fishing trip, though

Ruby looks unusually solemn while she's praying, which is interesting. She's been pretty bright and high energy since 141ish so I'm curious what has her looking so comparatively dour. She's praying at a shrine, too, which means there's probably something on her mind. Nik (@akane-kurokawa) theorized that she's anxious about the upcoming scenes in the movie (LIKE, YOU KNOW, HER MOM'S DEATH) and until we get further insight on that, that's what I'm gonna assume too.

putting aside how Shrimptresting it is that Kamiki turned up out of nowhere like that, I can't help but note a certain horrible parallel between Uehara meeting young Hikaru in the rain with a black umbrella and Kamiki doing the same for his daughter…

cannot wait for that entire talk to get offscreened. lol.

break next week……………………………

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Ep7 Musings - RIP Claudeleine

Here we effing go, y'all. 🤧

The coven tortured them b4 the were put on trial--W T F 😱

Yep, in the rat box--what practical PURPOSE or POINT was there to put Claudia in there to get gnawed on by feral rats, other than sick sadistic viciousness? We know Celeste & Estelle used the Mind Gift on Roget--you mean they could'n't've done that to Claudia like Santiago did on Madz? You HAD to stuff her in there? EVIL.

Daaaaang, they used a wombo-combo Mind Gift to tell her to STFU; her effing nose is bleeding!

"In all their chilling premeditation"--yep, this is why criminals should never leave diaries or use social media! 😅🤦‍♀️ And omfg they let the audience read her diaries, I can't. 🫣 And the Baby LouLou fangirls aren't in the front row this time; effing fair-weather fans! 😒

GOD the coven frikkin hamstrung them, too!? 😱 To the BONE!

"Evil of my evil," SAY IT. Claudia laughing like she finna dance in his innards. "It moved Claudia, right up on her [HAMSTRUNG] feet," I was AGHAST. If y'all don't step TF back and give my daughter room to tear his a-hole wide open!

I love how AMC changed Ghost!Claudia's legacy, cuz the diaries were all Lou had, which implied that Claudia died "hating his guts," as Daniel said in 1x7. But by regaining his memories of the Trial, AMC!Lou gets to see that Claudia actually went out DEFENDING him. The one she REALLY had beef with was Lestat. Ofc she resented Lou, but most of all she loved her Daddy Lou, and was traumatized seeing him broken like an EGG from an airplane that SHE tried her darndest to piece back together. And Lestat can't say EFF ALL, cuz he already admitted that he broke him to hurt him.

EXAAAAAAACTLYYYYYYYYY! 🗣️🗣️🗣️

(Girl we all know you ain't sorry, lol. But PREACH!)

SPITE! 😫 Lestat was being SPITEFUL. Yes, this IS his big revenge; he DGAF about Claudia, he came there for Louis, YES! Did he expect Claudia to die? No, he EXPECTED Armand to get TF up and save ALL of them. But he DID go in there ready and willing to throw Claudia under the bus to get Louis out of there.

Claudia called herself "just a roof shingle" that flew off Loustat's townhouse, as she shuffles her way back to her seat. Chile, this whole audience us dumb as a pile of bricks to not notice that she's LITERALLY hamstrung. The unbelievable pain she must be in, omg.

FACTS! 😫👏

"Took the air out of the place with that one" EMMYS WHEN 😫 "Got a lot less fun real quick" EMMYS WHENNNNNN 😫

("'RHIIISE!" Santiago's campy accents & pronunciations STAHP.) WHY ON EARTH would anyone wanna join this nasty AF coven after seeing the hypocritical effed up way y'all treat people!? Y'all shoulda just kept her hypnotized and made her say yes, which proves that y'all really didn't care if Madz joined or died anyway! She was just collateral; and I guarantee if she'd joined they'd've used her in their actual mock trial plays, making her relive her shame the same way they did with Baby LouLou.

I get that Claudia shook her head, only wanting Madz to join so she'd stay alive, but I'm with Madz--they'd've killed her for some bogus reason sooner or later. Might as well die with her companion.

😭 MY COVEN IS CLAUDIA, TOO! 😭 Claudia finally feeling like someone in the world picked her first. 😭

STFU Santiago. 😡

STFU Lestat. 😡 (I had to make a separate post for this, cuz it's both ironic AF but also wildly in-character that Lestat of all people would mock Madeleine for doing this.)

Flip them all off, yaaas! 🤬🤬🤬🤬

I was on the edge of my seat; I knew my BAMF daughter was gonna do or say SOMETHING crazy. 👀

My daughter said "Until you do right by me everything you THINK about gonna fail!" 😤 Armand said moment of defiance; PLEASE! ALL HER LIFE SHE HAD TO FIGHT!

Rest in power, Claudia! ❤️👸🏼👸🏽👸🏾❤️

My life every time a new IWTV episode airs.

That's the same flute dude AND SONG playing when Armand set that Children of Darkness/Satan vampire on fire. Execution dirge WTF 😭

The ultimate gaslight.

Not Claudia embracing Madz as she singing that effing song take me out back and end it. 💔

Look at Lestat's bish arse standing back there watching while HIS BLOOD DAUGHTER burns to ash--Mr. I Could Not Prevent It #2! The last thing she saw on earth was her deadbeat father not doing a effing thing to help her--

--but Louis leapt through FIRE and a whole burning building to save his daughter; a girl he didn't even KNOW, and already loved unconditionally! Blood ain't thicker than water, eff what ya heard! 😤

EXCUSE ME!? 😱 Santiago I hate you so much, wow.

"Tweedley deedly dead" written on the mirror in Claudia's (or Santiago's?) booth at the Theatre; you can see her yellow dress in the corner too; omg this coven is nasty. That BETTER NOT BE her ashes.

We been expected this my guy; the movie's like 30 years old and the book's 50+, be serious. But y'all did an AMAZING adaptation; adding in things I definitely didn't expect, like Claudia singing the song. 😭👌

Claudia's the GOAT. 🐐

[dawnlotus1]

Since two people ( @updogs-blog n @redspacegirl ) ahaha said my OC sounded cool ahaha now everyone gets to hear about her… (sksjsksjsk thank you guys I’m using this opportunity LMAO)

Petra Ichor is a dnd character of mine who is aware that she is a dnd character. They are a Aasimar grave cleric whose deity is me the player.

They hate the fact that at any point, I can march her off from her life and throw her into some new world and situation and she just has to survive through it. Sure, she’s doing good things and saving people in heroic adventures but it’s *not really her* who is doing it. She is just a vessel for how I the player want to interact with the story and she knows as such.

They are naturally pessimistic, apathetic and don’t speak much. Their parties change so often or die in front of her she doesn't want to get attached any longer.

(also she is only partially aware of how the vessel thing works, she doesn't know that other ppl she meets might have a "player" as well. All she knows is that this group of ppl have been chosen by fate to fulfill a task for her "Player's" supposed deity, an even higher being known as the DM.)

Petra feels safest when I am not playing them. During that time she can live how she wishes.

Additionally, because I change their level so often to participate in different oneshots, she is tormented by the fact that their powers are not their own, and she so easily can be robbed of what she has learned and worked for. That her own strength is based purely on my whim. This feels to her very much like a timeloop. She’s been level 3 for forever.

In one of these campaigns however she might have gotten attached to a little revenant girl despite her best efforts not too. In that campaign I allowed her to escape a TPK with the girl in tow, and to leave the campaign entirely.

I could make an entirely separate post about Petra and her new adopted little sister Katerina (played by my friend M) but basically Petra now is trying to get some semblance of her life together. Trying to do something about her own autonomy and how she lives life even if it can be ripped away.

Also she very much hates me. A cleric who hates her deity.

Here is some art of her :3

The halo behind her head has a little reptilian eyeball pupil that opens up when I am controlling her. She can never see the eye but she can feel it open like hairs on the back of her neck.

She is a Protector Aasimar but her wings still show up like those of Dread and rip out of her back, the feathers are made of bone and blood.

^this art was done by VeasiVlasta on Artfight ^^

ANYWAY IF YOU READ THIS THANK YOU. Sorry. I think about her so much. I will likely be back with a follow up post about her and her story with Katerina.

[golbrocklovely]

let me tell you some fun things that happened to me on my day off.

first off i went to the mall. one of my favorite stores is going out of business, and while i don't need more clothes, when they are 30-50% off…. yes i do.

also the way i basically burn thru jeans bc of my thighs rubbing together………… yall i could write a thesis on why companies need to double line their jeans on the inner thigh for plus size individuals.

anyway, i go there, and i'm not expecting them to have my size. i'm a 20/2x-3x. i've played this game before and always lose. however, i go there and all they have left, basically, is my size and 00s.

god smiled upon me today…. but then decided to throw a curveball for shits and gigs.

come to find out, after looking around and picking the stuff i wanted, their wifi was down and thus the card reader wouldn't work. that's annoying, but hey, the mall has an atm in it. i'll just go downstairs, get money out, come back up and pay. not a problem.

yes, a problem. the atm that was there is no longer there. there now isn't any in the mall at all.

well, thankfully my mom was gracious enough to give me money (she was in the car waiting for me bc we had a bunch of errands to run). so i had to go all the way back upstairs, out the front entrance, to her car, get her money, walk all the way back into the mall, go to the store and then buy my clothes.

i got two shirts, a pair of leggings, and three pairs of pants (one being a pair of cargo pants that I've been dying to get since my last pair ripped)….. $82 yall. that's all i spent. an absolute fucking STEAL.

tried everything on at home, and they all mostly fit. the one pair of jeans was a midrise which was my fault on getting, but it does fit. i just have to wear a baggy shirt to feel comfy. the other two pairs fit however a zipper is busted on one of them. that's fine. i'll fix it later since i'm not exactly wearing these pants anytime soon since it's nice out anymore

i stopped inside of zumiez… they had snc's merch. i'll make a whole separate post about that interaction lol

leave the mall, drive to family dollar. get some stuff that we need for the laundry room and the pups. my dogs go thru bones like their lives depend on it. but now they will be good for a while. also i FINALLY was able to buy a curvy barbie which i've wanted since they started making them all the way back when i was in college or hs. then we went to goodwill and dropped off some clothes. i ran into goodwill and looked at cds. i got some absolute classics:

no strings attached by nsync

believe by cher

the immaculate collection by madonna

and then i got some dvds:

an unopened box set of the first season of glee (i'm dying)

barbie pegasus

spectacular (that weird knock off camp rock movie made by nickelodeon)

overall 8.5/10 day lol

[stardustbarbarians]

Cirice

Chapter 1 (ch. 2)

A Daniel Wagner / fem!reader series

Summary: You wanna deal with The Devil? You gotta live with it when he sets you on fire.

Tags: Demon!Daniel, angst, Catholic imagery, humor

Trigger Warnings: Injury, hospitals, blood

A/N: Big shout out to @t00turnttrauma for helping me out with this fic as well as just genuinely being one of my favorite people <3. Also dedicating this to @samkooszka and I hope this makes your day better after working in hell all day. Title taken from Ghost’s Cirice. This will be a pretty dark fic, but more along the lines of a dark comedy. That being said, I'm so sorry Jakey. Anyway, please enjoy!!

Words: 3.8 k

+++

It had been a normal day… 

That’s how these stories typically are meant to start, right? That everything was normal and peachy keen and then on a dime the world shifted beneath us all like a magnitude 9 earthquake? Well, while the earth did feel like it was collapsing around us that day, it was far from normal… 

“Someone call 911!!” came Josh’s frantic scream as he raced over to his twin, all but ripping the seatbelt off of himself. Jake’s wails of pain rang throughout the warehouse of the racing strip, everyone freezing as the reality of the situation hadn’t fully set in. 

You sat on the side of the track and watched as Josh struggled to free Jake from the rolled over go kart he was pinned under. You couldn’t move. You didn’t know how to in that moment. 

“For the love of god, help me!!” At Josh’s desperate plea, Danny and Sam finally left their karts and assisted in rolling Jake’s kart back to its upright position. They all gasped as they saw Jake’s left hand, all disfigured and already bruising. It had been pinned under the kart, all 170 lbs of it - not including Jake’s own body weight. 

Tears were streaming down the guitarist’s cheeks as he tried to move it, unwilling to see the damage as he pinched his eyes shut. That was the most painful part of the entire experience. Jake already knew something was wrong long before anyone else. 

He had been rushed to the hospital as soon as the ambulance arrived, Josh riding along with him in the emergency vehicle. You, Danny, and Sam all drove together to the emergency room. It had been dead silent in that car. The only noise that could be heard was the occasional sniffle from one of you three. 

When you finally arrived, Josh was pacing in the waiting room. Upon spotting you, he threw his arms around you and cried. He informed you that Jake had been rushed into emergency surgery in order to try and set his broken bones. You could feel your heart sink and your blood run cold as the information sank in. Not knowing what to say in order to comfort one of your best friends, you simply wrapped your arms around him tighter and let him sob into your shoulder. 

It had seemed like an eternity while all four of you waited to hear any word about Jake. You watched as the boys all slowly unraveled around you, all going through the varying stages of grief. It didn’t take a psychic to know what they were all three were thinking about. Sam was pacing back and forth and gouging a rut into the floor, his brow never unfurrowing and making him look older than he was. Daniel wouldn’t stop shifting in his seat, often being the one to go up and ask the front desk about any updates on Jake. Josh sat completely motionless in his chair as the grief and worry over his twin paralyzed him.

Finally, after hours of agonizing worry, one of the surgeons came out to tell them that the surgery was a success and that he was asking for them. Josh immediately ran to Jake’s room as soon as he heard the number, everyone else following behind. You walked in to see a weak and pale Jake hooked up to machines, gazing tearfully at his twin brother talking to him. You felt as if you wanted to throw up seeing him like that. It was wrong, Jake had always been so lively and vivacious and now he was struggling to keep a neutral face. No matter how much he tried to school his lips out of a grimace, you could see the anger burning fiercely in his eyes. 

“Hey, Jakey,” you tenderly greet, very sheepishly slipping into the room and in front of his view. His gaze moved over to you, the unfettered rage pinning you in place before he blinked it away. Those beautiful brown eyes returned to normal, looking pained and tired more than angry anymore. 

He looked over to see Danny and Sam huddled to the left side of him. It was clear they were trying to not look too obviously at his bandaged hand. “Welcome to my humble abode for the time being, glad you all got my invitations.” 

It felt inappropriate to laugh, but you knew it would make him feel better. He sent you a small smile at the sound of your giggling. 

“So, what’s the news? How are you doing?” Sammy asked, his voice breaking with concern. 

“Well, my bones are all set. They said that the bones need to heal properly before they can go in and put in the pins, which will take a month to a month and a half. And then I’ll have to recover from that surgery before I can even start physical therapy,” Jake explained, his voice gaining more and more bitterness to it as he continued. 

The room went silent, save for the beeping of machines and rustling of commotion out in the hallway. There was a clear elephant in the room that refused to be addressed, but it suffocated each and every one of you. 

With a sigh, Jake was the one to speak again. “Fine. Since no one else is willing to address it, I will. We’ve gotta go on hiatus.” 

It was as if Jake had fired off a gun with how everyone else reacted. The other four in the room had all recoiled at the notion, their brows knit with concern and confusion. All four had tried to speak at once, cooing out denials and suggestions other than the obvious. 

“Guys, we can’t fucking have a rock band when the guitarist can’t move his hand!” Jake shouted, clearly impatient with their sympathy. He didn’t want to be coddled, he wanted to face reality. 

“Jake, are you sure? We can just pause the tour and-” 

“Daniel, with all due respect, shut the fuck up. We have no idea how long it will take for me to get back my strength - or if I’ll ever be able to play again.” 

And there it was. The elephant had finally trumpeted loud enough to gain the attention of the room. It would no longer be ignored. 

It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room, everyone afraid to even breathe. You watched as Jake tried to fight his tears, anger and heartbreak flooding his eyes as he came face to face with the reality that his dream had been cut tragically short. He had come so far only to lose it all in a matter of a second. 

“Alright. We’ll talk to our team,” Sam offered, grabbing Daniel by the arm and walking out of the room. 

You had gone to say something to offer your sympathy, but the moment you looked into Jake’s eyes you bit your tongue. He didn’t want sympathy. All he wanted was his hand back - his dream life back. He also wanted to be left alone from the way he seemed to plead silently with you. 

“C’mon Josh, let’s go get something to eat.” Grabbing the singer by the hand, you led him out of the room in order to grant Jake’s silent wish. Before you left, you glanced back towards the guitarist to catch a glimpse of tears rolling down his face. With your heart cracked, you closed the door behind you. 

+++

The car was silent as you drove Jake back to his house, the air so thick with tension that you felt as if you were being smothered. Jake refused to look in your direction, his gaze remaining locked on the shapes passing by the window. Despite the music filtering through the speakers, it was completely tense. 

“So, how’d physical therapy go-”

“It was fine.” Jake’s reply was stiff and curt. That anger filled his tone that seemed to have been there for months. Ever since the accident, he was always angry. You suppose he had a right to be, but also you were running out of patience. 

“Really? Because you don’t seem fine,” you snap, growing tired of his attitude. 

“Fine. You really wanna know so fucking bad?! I’m making absolutely no progress and the PT said it’s unlikely I’ll ever be able to play like I used to! That’s how it’s going!!” His voice made your ears ring from how loud he was shouting. 

You quickly glanced away from the road to look at your best friend, his eyes brimming with tears as his face was red with anger. You felt your blood grow frigid at the news, Jake clearly not really ready to talk about it quite yet but you pushed him to. 

“My career is over, y/n!! That dream I’ve had since I was a baby is fucking dead!!” Jake raved, his voice cracking under the weight of his despair. Your chest ached at the pain in his tone, your own eyes welling up with tears as the meaning of his words sank in. He was right. His dream was shattered; he lost it right when he started to believe that he made it. 

It was that moment - seeing Jake’s complete hopelessness - that you vowed that you would do whatever it took to get Jake's dream back. You refused to sit by and let the cruel hand of fate destroy that light inside the eyes of someone you loved. Reaching across the center console, you gently wrapped your hand around Jake’s wrist. You then brought his hand up to your lips, kissing the back of it. 

“It will get better, Jakey. You’ve just gotta believe me,” you forecasted, already having a plan in mind. You knew it was stupid and dangerous and probably wouldn’t even work, but you had to try. 

+++

Feeling like a teenager rebelling against your parents once again, you scoured your book collection from high school. You knew it was in here somewhere, but the question was which book. You remember storing those pages you ripped out of library books in one of your books that you never really read as a teenager, but your memory had faded since the time you were fifteen. That meant you had to flip through every single one of your books and hope that you hadn’t donated the one you were looking for. Finally, you reached the start of your Stephen King novels. You grabbed your copy of Carrie, quickly flipping through the pages when loose paper fluttered to the floor near your feet where you had crossed your legs. Setting the book aside while also rolling your eyes at your own actions, you picked up the pages and unfolded them. 

Of course I hid them in Carrie

Holding the familiar paper in your hands, you flipped through the loose leafs of pages and read through the slightly faded words and symbols. Your memory was jogged with reading through these very same pages under your covers, using a small pen light to be able to see them. Of course, back then you had no intentions of ever putting this knowledge into practice. You had merely read them as an act of defiance to your parents forcing you to be raised catholic. 

However, seeing all those satanic symbols staring you right in the face once more knowing full well you were about to wield the spells they contained, that same terror that had been instilled in you since birth had sprung forth from your bones and into your bloodstream. Gulping and closing your eyes, you forced yourself to calm down. There was no use in indulging in your religious trauma when there was no guarantee that any of this satanic stuff was real. 

Getting to your feet, you left your attic and read through the ingredients you needed for the spell. Chicken feet, gold candles, pig’s blood, bloodstone, chalk, dried hyssop, three crow feathers, and a snake skull. The candles, chicken feet, bloodstone, chalk, and pig’s blood you’d be able to get fairly easily - there was a butcher’s shop about five minutes away as well as a wiccan store down the road. The other stuff would have to be ordered online unless by some miracle the wiccan shop had them. You decided to call ahead, facing down your phone anxiety for Cob; he better be fucking thankful after all you’re going through. 

Thankfully, the wiccan shop had just what you needed as well as the butcher’s. So, it seemed that you would be conducting the ritual tonight. A stab of fear lanced through your chest as you realized what that meant. If this turned out to be a real spell, there would be a real, live demon in your house. And you would make a deal with it. 

+++

You had gathered all that you needed for the summoning. Now you just had to follow the instructions on the page. Taking the chalk, you drew the symbol on the page onto the cement of your basement floor. It was not nearly as neat as the printed one, but it was close enough that wouldn’t cause any confusion. Next, you took the wooden bowl filled with pig’s blood - your salad bowl, ironically - and crushed the dried hyssop into the crimson liquid and mixed it in. 

Taking the bloodstone, you submerge it in the blood, wincing at the feeling. You had intentionally let it sit out so that it would be room temperature and not cold; you don’t think you would’ve been able to stomach it cold. Placing the stone in the center of the symbol, you then set the snake’s skull atop the coated bloodstone. Next, taking a chicken’s foot, you dip the largest toe in the blood and draw another symbol inside the large one while chanting in Latin, setting the foot atop the symbol you drew. You repeated that two more times before completing the set up by placing the crow feathers so that they connect each foot towards the skull and the stone. 

Before the last step in the process, you lit the candles and set them around the large symbol. Closing your eyes, you then reached for the pocket knife you had laying by your leg. Unsheathing the blade with a press of a button, your hand shook as you double-checked the next step. You had read it correctly: you needed your own blood. Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes as you dragged the sharp blade across your palm. Your entire hand stung as you set the knife off to the side, dipping the fingers of your free hand into your blood. You once again began chanting in Latin as you drew the same symbol you used for the chicken feet onto the skull. With that final step, the incantation was complete. 

Having thought ahead, you grabbed the gause you brought and wrapped your bleeding palm with it. Disappointment flooded your system as the seconds passed as nothing happened. You had half hoped that it would work so that your effort was not wasted, but it seemed that all your parents’ worrying about demonic forces was for naught; it didn’t even fucking exist and you just proved it. They had feared a boogie man all their life that was as harmful as their shadow. 

With a sigh, you begin cleaning up the mess you made on your floor. You were so thankful that you hadn’t been holding the bowl of pig’s blood when you heard a voice behind you; it would’ve gone flying. 

“Well, I haven’t seen this spell used in years,” a female voice chimed, causing you to yelp and drop the pocket knife you just thankfully closed. 

Spinning around you come face to face with a stunning woman that made your heart pound. She had long sandy blonde hair styled in the style of a 50s bombshell starlet, her winged eyeliner and scarlet lips adding to that appearance. Keeping with the red theme, she wore a bright red low cut mermaid dress with a lace bodice. Red opera gloves painted her arms as well as sparkling diamond bangles. She was a total knockout, her eyes smoldering and seductive. Her smile was enrapturing, even the smallest curve at the corner of her lips was enough to make your heart beat out of your chest like a Looney Tunes cartoon. 

“Uh-” you clear your throat after your voice breaks, “who are you and how did you get here?” 

The woman smiled, your breath getting caught in your throat. She then chuckled amusedly, taking a few steps towards you. “You summoned me here, darling.” 

She had a very subtle but enticing rasp to her voice. It made you want to pay attention to everything she said, but it also was so distracting that it caused you to lose focus on the actual words. 

“I…did?” 

With a deep but annoyed sigh, the woman rolled her eyes. With a blink of her eyes, they turned completely blood red. You stumbled back at the sight, wholly unprepared to see such a thing. 

“Believe me now, sweetheart?” Her tone was purely condescending, but you didn’t seem to mind all that much. You shook your head yes; you knew she wasn’t human. 

“S-So… Miss Demon- do I call you that?” you nervously ask, very afraid of making her mad. 

“Haley is fine, darling,” the demon - Haley - corrected, adjusting her hair by fluffing it at the end a little. 

“Ok…” 

“Well, let’s get to business,” she prompted, blinking and turning her eyes back to their normal brown. 

“Right,” you tucked your hair behind your ear, feeling very underdressed in Haley’s presence despite the fact you were standing in your own dingy basement. 

“I don’t have all night, sweetheart. Spit it out!” 

Her yelling snapped you into action, remembering why you had summoned her in the first place. “I need you to fix Jake Kiszka’s hand and make it work how it did before his accident.” 

“Well, you certainly have expensive taste,” Haley commented, that seductive tone back in her words and features. You didn’t like the way her eyes glittered with mischief as she looked you up and down. 

“What do you mean ‘expensive taste’?” 

“Not every demon deal requires a soul, baby. I thought you would’ve known that considering your teenage rebellion phase and reading up on demons,” she slightly taunted, a laugh in her tone. If she weren’t so goddamn beautiful you would’ve been really annoyed by her. 

“But… this one does? Why? It’s just Jakey’s hand-” 

“The hand of one of history’s greatest guitar players, darling. Don’t think I don’t know exactly who you’re bargaining for. Got a bleeding heart for your little boy toy, huh?” She took another step closer to you, her stilettos clicking against the concrete. 

With a heavy sigh, you grit your teeth against the annoyance you were feeling towards the demon. “Alright, you can have my soul for Jake’s hand-” 

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s very noble of you, but you’re already hell bound. I need a soul that’s taking the stairway, not the highway,” she interrupted, adjusting her hair once again. She had a brilliantly charming smile across her face, her teeth perfectly white. Her laugh, while slightly belittling, managed to pull you back in. 

“Hell bound??” That was certainly news to you. 

“Darling, you’ve broken four of the ten commandments. There’s no coming back from that.” 

Your mind was racing as you tried to figure out just which four - well, two you were certain you broke. Deciding that now wasn’t the time, you brought your focus back to the demon in front of you. 

“Whose soul will you need, then?” 

“Let’s just say it’s gonna be someone you’re… close with. Or, will be,” she cryptically answered, bringing a gloved finger to her chin, that charming glint shining in her eyes. 

You began racking your brain as to who she could be hinting at. Really, that could be anyone and you knew asking Haley for a definitive answer would be a bust. She wouldn’t tell you because if you knew for certain you would be less likely to deal. However, what you did know for certain was that taking a soul from someone would cause instant death if it was done quickly. “Alright, fine. But you have to promise me that you won’t kill whoever you’re thinking of right away.” 

Haley sighed, rolling her eyes. “Humans…” she muttered under her breath. 

“Whatever. Since I like you and the soul your bargaining is quite valuable, I promise not to take the soul away all at once. But, I’m taking half up front - think of it as an advance,” she informed, taking one more step closer to you. She was now in your personal space, her beauty overwhelming to your senses. One would think you’d be used to otherworldly beauty having been around the likes of the boys, but she was just incomparable. 

Without even really thinking, you nodded your head. While it was cruel to have the soul slowly and methodically leached out of them, it wouldn’t result in death. And you were doing it to save Jake’s dream… that had to count for something, right? 

“Do we have a deal?” Haley asked, her voice smoldering and dripping sex as she leaned in towards your ear. 

Just as you were about to say yes - the word on the tip of your tongue - you stopped. There was something that made absolutely no sense in this deal. “Wait- how am I able to bargain away a soul that’s not even mine?” 

“Semantics, angel. Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head over,” the demon placated, her gloved hand coming up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. The action made you shiver, unaware that that was something you were into. 

“But-” 

“So,” she interrupted again, “do we have ourselves a deal?” 

You opened your eyes to find that she was smirking again, inches away from your face. Your heart picked up its pace, your throat becoming dry as butterflies feverishly fluttered in your stomach. 

“Yes,” you breathe. You go to extend her hand so she can shake it and officially seal the deal when you feel Haley’s hand slither to the back of your head and push you into your lips. You let out a small whine at the feeling of her lips against yours, wholly unprepared and - admittedly - overjoyed at the notion that you were kissing such a beautiful person. 

You were deeply disappointed and annoyed when she pulled you away by your hair, her knowing laugh enough to make your cheeks pink with embarrassment. 

“Don’t fret, baby. You’ll see me again in hell someday,” she mused, “but in the meantime, Jake’s hand will be repaired.” 

With one last seductive smile, she snapped her fingers and disappeared from sight. Now that you were alone, the weight of what you had just done crushed you like a falling grand piano from the heavens. Your guilt felt crippling as you realized you just sold someone else’s life away and you didn’t even know who. 

+++

A/N: The crossroads demon I used in this fic is based off the singer Haley Reinhart and I highly encourage you to look up her music. Not only does she have an incredibly amazing voice but she's also stunningly gorgeous.

Taglist:

@doodle417 @sammykiszkasunusedshoes @jmks-housewife @alwayssotiredbutneverofyou @ageoferin @etoilesnoor @ascendingtostardust @godlygreta @s0livagant @gretavanflowerpower @morganic-goods @dannythedog @baguettejuliette @fan-girl-97 @gaby-gvf @age-of-nyahh @mzbrightside @myownparadise96 @xserenax-13 @sammysvanfeet @strugglingtodoshit @loofypoofy @chalametpwk @seventieswhore @razorbladekiszka @unfortunatelykristin @welightthefire @gretavanfleas @sammiejane22 @satanplayshisfluteforhim @starsasone @mintysammykiszka @writingcold @tearsofbri @teddiie @gardensgatedaisy @sparrowofthedawnsworld @angelbabyyy99 @whollyfreeamongststars @gretaswhore28 @l0rdoffli3s @kay-jordan @lightmyloverry @kenzie18 @gotavansleep @roosterbbradley @freckled-wonder @flower-power-anthem @gabyvanfleet @sarakay-gvf @Mamalikes-gvf

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[emmg]

I'm likely never finishing it so here's whatever I wrote for this ellana x solas x elgar'nan one-shot lmfao, releasing it into the wilds of tumblr and away from my brain, be free, you unfinished thing, you. If I ever finish it, I'll throw it on ao3 and maybe like make it a three-shot because it will get long, but idk, probably not, we'll see.

100% inspired and owed to @teamdilf and their succinct and delicious A Flower in a Cage which all of you need to check out and admire. Their Elgar'nan has me in fits lmfao, ripping bongs and being suave, so freaking delicious

--------

Solas' anger has always been a quiet, simmering force. Even when Wisdom was lost, twisted into an abomination, he remained unsettlingly composed. There had been fury, of course—words of rage—but he reduced the mages responsible to ash with a cold, clinical precision. 

It’s that same look she sees now as she watches him from the corner of her eye. His narrowed gaze, fingers interlaced and resting on the table. For ten years, she had imagined all the sharp retorts she’d throw his way, the righteous fury, maybe even a slap or two. But now, seeing him like this, she just feels tired. Exhausted, really. 

They haven’t had a moment to talk. No chance to confront one another, to scream, cry, or even laugh together. So she lets her anger go, at least for now, and reaches out to touch his forearm. The cold metal of his armor unsettles her. He was never like this with her—never this sharp, this guarded. He used to wear an ugly sweater, soft fabrics worn thin with age. Not this hard, unyielding plate. Still, he feels her touch and, with the smallest tilt of his head, the briefest shudder, he exhales, just a little. 

She finds his hand—with her own, the one that’s still flesh and bone—and gently pries it from its rigid grip. She pulls it under the table, a small gesture. Not quite a reunion, but a quiet truce. 

The Evanuris are awake, their prison, past and present, shattered. Just two for the time being. Your problem now, she's heard Rook tell her of Solas' bitter words to them. Blame and responsibility tossed upon an innocent party just as had been done to her at the Conclave. She disapproves, of course, but she knows Solas too well. Duty is his constant companion, like a cloak he never removes. He wouldn’t have reacted this way unless he had been pushed to his breaking point.

These... negotiations—if she can even call them that—are bizarre. There isn’t a word that quite fits what’s happening. Solas says they want to talk to him, but it’s clear they also want to crush him for what he’s done to them. And yet, she supposes she understands. As much as they might hate him, he’s still the closest thing to kin they have in this strange, unfamiliar world. 

She never imagined she would meet one of the creators. Then again, she never imagined she’d find herself holding hands with the Dread Wolf, either. 

Ellana glances at Elgar’nan, seated across from them at the war table, legs casually crossed, his head propped on a loose fist. He’s odd, strange, but she’s relieved that he’s the one speaking. Ghilan’nain unnerves her in a way she can’t quite explain, fear that sits deep and wordless. One moment a mass of writhing shadows, then a woman, then a grotesque creature—twisting flesh, charred bones, marrow spilling out. She shapes her creations, scratches her monsters beneath their chins, all while her own form distorts. She speaks of life and inception, even as her body unravels. 

"What does an Inquisitor do?" Elgar'nan asks, his smile soft, almost teasing. 

She’s come to know him as the indulgent kind, always redirecting the conversation back to those around him. His words sometimes catch, slipping over sounds that seem strange on his tongue, as though their language itself tastes bitter. There’s a lilting accent in his voice, one she recognizes in Solas, though Solas has carefully refined it, polished it smooth to blend in. But Elgar’nan lets the imperfections linger, and when he falters, she asks him to repeat himself. He always does, patient, with a quiet, whispered apology—forgive me.

"Not much these days," she admits, rolling a shoulder with casual indifference. "Once, I closed rifts in the sky." 

"A fragile pursuit," he remarks, his gaze drifting to the metal-and-wood fingers of her left hand. "And a thankless one." 

"That’s behind me now," she replies. 

"Ell-a-na," he says, drawing out each syllable slowly, deliberately. "That is your name, correct?" 

"Yes," she nods, her tone sharper. "And it’s not a difficult one. No need to linger on it." 

She’s not the same girl who was sent to spy on the Conclave. Not even the same "Herald" who took up a mantle less sacred than it appeared, simply because her palm happened to glow. No, the years have reshaped her. The Inquisition took the forest out of her, and time since has stripped away her simplicity. Her hair, once wild, is now styled in an elaborate Orlesian fashion—three braids woven into one, cascading down her back like a ribbon, still white, but now more from weariness than nature. She wears the diplomatic garb of a dignitary, and sometimes, when she catches her reflection, she feels lost, unable to recall what it felt like to sleep in an aravel. 

"And whose are you?" Elgar’nan continues, unbothered, as if it were the most casual of questions. 

She arches an eyebrow. "Pardon?" 

He waves his free hand, a fluid, careless motion, as if he's painting invisible curlicues. She realizes he means her face, bare now for ten years. 

"I wore June's vallaslin," she says evenly. "Before I knew the truth." 

"Ah," is all he offers in return. 

The sound seems to shatter something deep inside Solas, splintering the quiet that had settled between them. His fingers twitch violently, then convulse, jerking away from hers as if they burn. He spins toward Elgar’nan, his hand rising to point, trembling. His voice erupts, sharp and venomous, every word cutting like a blade. It’s an onslaught—a rapid, fierce tirade she cannot comprehend. 

They’ve slipped into Elvhen, arguing with one another, but the language isn’t soft and lilting now. It’s jagged, like broken glass—an ancient tongue that still carries a musical cadence beneath the anger. It rises and falls, melodic yet taut, as though the very words are wound with tension, ready to snap. 

Solas all but hisses, and the sound of his voice, cracking under the strain, makes her stomach churn. She loathes hearing him like this—so frayed, so vulnerable. 

She slams her hand down on the table, the one that barely feels anymore, and the impact is harsh and jarring. The sound reverberates through the room, loud and ugly, sending the untouched wine glasses teetering, their contents sloshing dangerously close to the rim. 

"None of that," she snaps, her voice slashing through the tension like a whip. "If we negotiate, we do it in a way all can understand." 

"Certainly," Elgar'nan is quick to agree. "But I do believe we are out of time."

With rising dread, she realizes he is right. Solas cannot stay. His connection to the Fade, his prison, is tightening its hold. Whatever time Rook's intricate rituals had bought him is running out. He must return. And she can see it—feel it. He’s been glancing at his hands, turning them over, trying to shake off the pain but unable to hide it anymore. He’s told her little about the torment, but she senses it in him, just as she did all those years ago, when he kept her at arm’s length, refusing to let her help. She feels it even if she doesn’t, and that truth gnaws at her. 

She rises. "Then we shall go," she says simply. "And we will return." 

Elgar’nan waves them off with a dismissive flick of his hand, offering no words. 

Solas is quiet as they leave the grand hall. Once outside, the doors closing behind them with a finality that makes her chest tighten, he pauses, leaning heavily against the stone wall to catch his breath. She wants to touch him—to brush her fingers against his face, hold his hand, feel the pulse in his throat. He’s grown so pale, his skin nearly translucent, yet the faint dusting of freckles remains. She can still see them, those light speckles across his nose and cheeks. They aren’t visible from afar, but up close, she could trace them like a map of their shared history, a quiet testament to all they’ve been through, the jokes they shared, the bears they evaded. 

Then, she forgets her anger, the words she has yet to say, the blows that are to come, and the eyes that linger on them. She leans in, her movements slow and deliberate. She takes his face in her hands, but the kiss she gives him is not that of a lover. It’s brief, a mere whisper of touch—her lips brushing the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, his brow, his nose. It’s not passion that drives her, but something softer, sadder. She hasn’t seen him in so, so long, and here he stands—so pitiful, so broken, teetering between what he once was and what he can never be again. Pathetic. He is neither monster nor savior, a man who deserves the noose, yet she knows if it ever comes to that, she would be the one to tie it. Without her, he’d never hang. 

Her mind floods with memories as her lips trace his skin. She thinks of the tea he always hated, the paints he used to mix with care, the long, rainy days on the road, when Dorian complained of the weather and Solas, with quiet patience, fed a few more sticks to the fire. She thinks of the disastrous Diamondback game where he had outwitted Blackwall, leaving the false Warden stripped to nothing, his pride as naked as the rest of him. It is that man she remembers—the one who didn’t wear cold armor, but soft, worn leathers. The man who spoke in familiar tongues, who hadn’t yet driven knives into the backs of old friends.

She loves that man, loves him still, and with a quiet, aching guilt that weighs heavy in her chest, she loves the man standing before her now, broken as he is. All the gods, false and true, forgive her—she still loves him.

Her kisses slow and cease, and with a weary sigh, she pulls back. 

"I am sorry," Solas says, his voice barely above a whisper, and he’s not looking at her. 

And then the world shifts, wraps around him, pulling him away. He disappears, as he always does, when the Fade reclaims him, and she is left alone. 

The sentinels at the grand doors remain motionless as she approaches, neither acknowledging her nor opening the way. They stand like statues, their eyes fixed on some distant point. Her frown deepens, anxiety rising within her as the weight of their silence presses in. 

So, she turns back, retracing her steps to where Elgar’nan still sits, now idly flipping through a book. 

"Have a drink with me, Inquisitor," he says without looking up. 

"You waited for Solas to leave," she deduces, her tone more of a statement than a question, but she obliges, perching herself on the edge of the war table and lifting one of the untouched wine glasses. 

"Hm," he murmurs, a soft smile curling his lips. 

He stands, and she realizes he is taller than Solas. She wishes he had remained seated. There is something unsettling about his grace, the way he moves with quiet, effortless ease. He takes the other glass and toasts her from across the room before strolling to the window. He moves like liquid—fluid. His deep-set lines and silver-threaded hair suggest age, something ordinary, something all inevitably come to, but in the right light, he truly could be the All-Father from Dalish legends and murals, regal and distant. He feels like a shadow detached from fables, something both ancient and elusive. 

He gazes at her, but not as one would look at a person. It’s as though she is both insignificant and the most intriguing artifact in his possession, a contradiction that sends a chill down her spine.  She doesn’t think he sees her; not really.

Maybe it’s the headpiece, she thinks, those twisted, gilded horns that curl like gold spun from myth. Or perhaps it’s his eyes, nearly empty of pupils, giving him an ethereal, distant quality—like he sees through her, beyond her. 

"I do not like your words," he says softly, a quiet confession that deepens the lines on his face. "They are... crude. Too sharp for my ears, too heavy on the tongue." His frown lingers, but then his gaze returns to hers, more thoughtful. "Yet, you wield them skillfully. Or at least, you once did. I have read of your Inquisition," he adds, waving the book in his hand like a leaf caught in the wind, "and of the Imperium that swallowed my lands, born from the betrayal of the one you cherish." 

She swirls her wine, though the gesture is more habit than purpose now. It has been breathing for hours, lifeless in the glass. Still, she lets the quiet stretch between them, the pause heavy with unspoken thoughts. 

"Then you must see," she says finally, "that not everything is wrong. Not everything needs to be destroyed." 

He shakes his head, eyes still distant. "Your world... it is broken. It breathes, yes, but not as it once did. The fire in it flickers, dim, starved of air." With a flick of the wrist, veilfire ignites in his palm, a soft green glow that quickly flares into true flame, bright and orange, like a sun rising in the hollow of his hand. 

The flames dance around him, licking the air, alive with a hunger they no longer seem able to satisfy. He sighs, almost a lament, and the fire dies with his breath, as if exhaled from the very heart of him. "In my time, it would have consumed you," he murmurs, his voice touched with a far-off sorrow. "Now, it is shackled. You strain harder for less, the very world constrained by invisible fetters." 

"Perhaps that’s a blessing," she says, steady, though the air feels heavier. "I have no desire to burn." 

He laughs then, a sound both sharp and light. "Oh, no," Elgar'nan says, almost playfully. "No, no, one such as you was never meant to burn." He offers a mocking nod, as if considering. "Others—" his tone becomes oddly teasing, "—oh, certainly, but not someone with the power to shape things. With a mere touch," his laugh once more follows, not entirely kind, "or the semblance of it. Or more precisely, with a word. Politically, socially, religiously—you are someone." His gaze sharpens, the fire in him sparking once more. "And I do not burn those with faces."

She tunes out his words, letting them wash over her as her gaze fixes on a distant point beyond his shoulder. Her voice drips with bitterness when she finally speaks. "So, you’re like Solas," she accuses. "You want to tear down the Veil." 

"It is unnatural," he replies, calm, cold. 

"Not to me." She lifts her glass, drinking not out of thirst, but to stave off the silence pressing in on her. "What about the people it will destroy? Some of them are yours." 

"None of them are mine," he snaps, dismissive, like the notion itself offends him. But then, a slow hum escapes his lips, low and discordant, the sound lingering in the air like a half-formed melody. "Though they could be," he adds, his smile thin and eerie. "Religion, devotion—such exquisite tools, wouldn’t you agree, Herald?"

The way he draws out her title makes her skin crawl, each syllable sinking deep, heavy with intent. She knows exactly what he means, the kinship he’s attempting to weave between them, a shared understanding she does not want. 

"You can force a thousand men to their knees," Elgar’nan continues, his hand sweeping through the air as if shaping unseen forces. "And they will indeed kneel. But once the blade is lifted from their throats, they will rise again, defiant, waiting to strike. Faith, though—" He pauses, raising one long finger in punctuation. "Faith is a leash that requires no hand to hold it. It binds on its own. You know that already, however." 

His truth curls around her, thick and suffocating, as though he’s inviting her to share in it, to acknowledge the power she herself wields. Power she wishes she didn’t understand so well. 

"You're not a god," she blurts out, too quickly, the words tumbling from her lips before she can gather them, as if every lesson in diplomacy Josephine had drilled into her had vanished in an instant. "Neither is Solas," she adds hastily, a futile balm meant to soften her sharpness, though she knows it won't soothe him. "And I’m no divine representative." She rolls her eyes, feeling the bitterness in her own voice. "You were a slaver, like all your kind. But you don’t have to be one now." Her voice takes on an edge of naive hope, and she hates how it sounds—like an idealist who can’t accept the shades of grey the world truly holds, reaching only for the pastel colors she wishes were real. 

Elgar’nan shows no hint of offense, or if he does, it is buried so deeply she cannot see it. He simply watches her, appraising, as though he sees through her bravado and into the softer parts of herself. His scrutiny drifts over her slowly, with a kind of clinical interest, as though studying something fragile, something almost pitiable. 

"What I am," he says at last, his voice like silk unraveling in the air, "is irrelevant. What matters is what they believe me to be." The words hang between them, heavy, weighted with the truth of them. "Is that not what raised you to the pinnacle of your world, Ellana?" 

In the way he speaks her name, he strips away the titles, the masks, as though acknowledging her roots, the bare bones of who she is, wrapped in the illusions of power she’s been given. Yet, behind his stare, there is no warmth, no real recognition. He sees her, but only as one sees a fleeting shadow—curious for a moment, but ultimately unimportant. What she is beneath it all doesn’t truly matter to him. 

When his smile spreads across his face, a wave of profound anxiety washes over her, so deep and consuming that her hand begins to tremble. There is something terribly wrong in his expression. The smile is too perfect, too precise, as if it’s been borrowed—stolen—from someone else. It is beautiful, finely crafted, like a mask made by the finest hands. He is as breathtaking as the Mother of the Halla, just as ethereal, but something about him is fundamentally amiss. He is not like Solas. His refined politeness unnerves her, a facade too polished, too practiced. 

And still, he does not drink. 

In their old, foolish legends, she recalls him wrestling the sun from the heavens. And looking at him now, she believes it. If he were to tell her that he reached up and plucked the glowing orb from the sky himself, she would trust him without question. There’s something in him, something electric, as though that sun still sizzles beneath his skin. Magic, power, or something else entirely—it thrums in him, an otherness that sets him apart from the world around him, makes him feel like he’s not quite of this realm. And he isn't. Not really, not truly, even if he once walked it freely. 

"I should go," she says, setting her glass down with a quiet resolve. 

His head tilts ever so slightly. "No," he replies, his voice gentle but firm. "You will stay. And we shall talk more." His smile is disquieting, unsettling in its decorum. "But tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow." 

****

When she sees him next, he hands her a map of Tevinter and a quill. 

She is bone-tired, her body aching with the weight of sleeplessness. Fear, raw and primal, pulses in her chest—a fear she hasn’t felt in years. She loathes being alone in this place, the stillness unsettling, the ancient stones seeming to drink in both light and sound, leaving only silence in their wake. 

She hates them, the ones who awoke with the Evanuris. They are ancient, strange, devout in a way that defies comprehension—a faith so deep and unyielding it could shame the Chantry, even if Andraste herself walked in during a morning service. They are not like her, despite the shared features etched in their faces. They speak little, their silence more oppressive than comforting. They remind her of Abelas—distant, ageless—but where Abelas had been kind in his own way, they are colder, detached, their faces marked in the same strange patterns that make them feel even less...alive. 

"I don’t appreciate being locked in," she says, though her fingers have already wrapped around the quill. 

"You are not," Elgar’nan replies calmly. "Have you not walked freely? Are you not doing so now?" 

"And yet, the front door is barred." 

"A contingency," he says, dismissive, as though the locked door were nothing more than a trivial inconvenience. "Nothing more." 

She holds his gaze, her resolve wavering before she finally sighs and shakes her head. "What do you wish to know?" she asks, motioning tiredly toward the map. 

"Borders."

"They're already depicted," she says, her patience thinning, her words clipped. 

He smiles that maddening smile, his tongue clicking in a soft, rhythmic tsk-tsk-tsk, the sound as if chiding a child who has missed something obvious. "The unspoken ones," he corrects, his voice a velvety murmur, indulgent, almost tender, as though her ignorance were something to be gently shaped. "Show me where those you call Venatori creep through the cracks. The paths your former Inquisition slips along, unseen."

His finger glides over the map like a knife tracing an invisible wound, following the jagged contours of the Hundred Pillars. "All the hidden crevices where your people crawl," he continues, smooth and coaxing, "where they lie in wait like spiders, ready to ambush mine. And where they scatter like shadows," he adds, his tone darkening, "when the tide inevitably turns against them." 

She sets the quill down, her eyes following the slow fall of a single drop of ink, fat and heavy, as it splashes onto the parchment, smearing the careful depictions beneath. "I cannot give you that," she says quietly, but with finality. 

"Then perhaps," he muses, his voice as soft as the ink still spreading across the page, "you will give me something else." 

Her brow furrows, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. "What could that possibly be?" 

"Peace," he says, the word lingering on his tongue as if it were a secret, as if it could reshape the very air around them. 

The next thing she knows, his hand is in her hair, fingers coiling through the strands she left loose, unlike the dignified style she wore yesterday. He doesn’t yank her upward, but the pull is firm, commanding—like someone catching a pet by the collar. It’s not forceful, but insistent, as though he knows she will follow. He leads her to stand before a vast map, one that spans nearly the entire wall, where shadows shift and flow, and figures seem to rise and fall as if alive. 

"No, no," he murmurs, his voice tame but unyielding. "You will look." 

His grip tightens just enough to keep her head still, fixing her gaze on the swirling masses before her. He is behind her, a looming presence, yet she feels the brush of his arm as it extends past her shoulder, his fingers furling and unfurling like tendrils, pointing at the restless shapes on the map. 

"I do not know much of the Chantry," he begins, sounding very much the scholar. "Nor of this religion it champions, a faith that has swallowed the land like a plague. And I know little of this Orlais you speak of." His tone shifts into something uglier, like his patience is thinning. "But I do know how many despise both. Many who look like you. Many who have already come to me, and more who will continue to come." 

She thinks of the elven alienages, of the unrest simmering like a cauldron on the brink of boiling over. She remembers how it erupted in Denerim—riots, rebellion, and the bloody purges that followed. It is a story she has seen play out across Thedas, each version a little different but always steeped in horror. And then her thoughts turn to her own clan, the Dalish, blind in their unwavering devotion to gods of a forgotten age. The offerings, the prayers, the way they shun the present, clinging to ancient stories like lifelines, dreaming of a past long buried, of how to breathe life into it anew. 

No, no, he is not lying, she realizes, and the dread coils tighter around her heart. She knows, with sudden clarity, that there will be many who see him as the harbinger of change—a living myth walking among them. They will kneel without question, without hesitation, and offer themselves to him as if their every breath had led to this moment. 

And Solas? If the All-Father walks, if Ghilan'nain walks, then Solas is no fabrication, no mere story whispered in the dark. He is real, and he is the Betrayer. The Dread Wolf of legend. And they—her people—will turn on him at the mere word of these two. Her people, who have carried their resentment for Fen'Harel like a festering wound for millennia. It would be so easy, too easy, for these ancient relics of the People to wield that hatred like a blade, to turn it against anyone who doesn’t revile him. Against those who show him sympathy. Against her. Against her friends. Against the fragile alliance Rook now leads—this little band that grew into something far larger, something that, in the eyes of many, might appear to stand beside the Betrayer himself. 

"So, let your words flow, Inquisitor," he murmurs, his voice pleasant, yet heavy with an undercurrent of menace. "Let them hear you. Let them withdraw. It will be easier—easier for you, for them, and yes, even for me." His hand glides across the map once more, this time stopping at its tattered edge, where the South, her home, is cut short. "Or, when this Veil, this hollow illusion you cling to, crumbles, and your wolf rises to his full strength, so too shall me and mine." 

With a sudden, unsettling motion, he gives her a shake—not violent, but enough to rattle her. "Why do you think your trickster, your deceiver, locked us behind a door without a key? Wouldn’t it have been simpler to end the threat completely?" His fingers begin their relentless tap-tap-tap against her shoulder, each strike a quiet taunt. "He couldn’t. He simply could not. And he cannot do it still—will stand even less of a chance when the sky ignites with fire." His words slide over her like poison as he continues, "So, I repeat myself: speak. Call for surrender. Don’t let this end in flames."

"Let me go," she snaps, shaking him off. His fingers slip from her hair as he takes a step back. Her body pulses with raw anger as she shoves him. "And never presume to touch me like that again." 

"You snarl like a cornered dog," he muses, but he is frowning now and she knows he is unnerved. "Baring your teeth, snapping. But I don’t offer a gentle hand to a beast that bites. I catch it by the scruff instead." His voice softens into a mockery of kindness. "Show me a fragment of decorum, Inquisitor, and you will see me return it tenfold." 

She watches as he brushes at his flowing sleeves, as though wiping away the very memory of her touch. The gesture is a quiet dismissal. Without another glance, he turns and begins to walk away. She steps forward, instinctively wanting to follow, but the air shifts—solid, impenetrable. An unseen force blocks her path, as if the very room bends to his will, keeping her trapped in her fury and isolation. 

****

"I do not like this," Elgar’nan mutters. "I do not like this at all." 

There is a cool detachment in him, she has learned—a restraint in the way he moves around her, as though the mere act of contact would shatter the brittle glass of his self-forged divinity. But not today. Today, without warning, he reaches for her hand, his fingers slipping into hers unbidden, even as she recoils, questioning, trying in vain to pull free. His touch creeps upward, like the encroaching shadow of some ancient force. Up, up, his fingers glide, finding the delicate curve of her elbow, where the clockwork joint meets her prosthetic, a careful mechanism of birch and dawnwood and magic. Then higher still, until two fingers press against her skin—living, warm—and two more against the cold metal. 

Suddenly, her balance deserts her. Her knees buckle, and for a breathless instant, she teeters on the edge of collapse. But his grip tightens, iron-strong, holding her fast. She would scream if she could, but the sound is trapped, suffocated, as fire blossoms through her arm—sharp, relentless, alive. It surges from the hinge of her elbow and winds its way inward, a serpent of agony twisting through her flesh. 

With horror, she watches as the finely-crafted prosthetic—a gift, a masterpiece forged by Tevinter's finest artificers at Dorian's behest—begins to dissolve. No, not just dissolve—it melts into her, her flesh absorbing the metal, and the metal melding into her skin. It is a grotesque fusion, an unnatural marriage of living tissue and lifeless machinery, bound by a fire that devours and reshapes. Three separate entities—her, the arm, and the magic—become one, a morbid union that should not exist. The flame sears through her, then dies just as quickly, leaving only the echo of its wrath behind. 

When he finally releases her, she staggers back, trembling, trying to make sense of the transformation. The prosthetic is no longer just an arm—it has become part of her, fused seamlessly to her body, moving with a fluidity that was once impossible. And the sensations—oh, the sensations. Her dawnstone fingertips burn with a newfound sensitivity, every touch more vivid than she ever thought possible. She can feel him still—the heat of his skin, the softness of his palm lingering against her. She can feel the whisper of the air as it brushes past, a breeze so faint it might as well be a phantom. 

And beneath it all, she feels the pain. Still, endlessly, the pain lingers, sharp and relentless. 

"How does it feel?" His voice is idle, almost distant, the question more a musing than a demand for truth. His arms fold neatly behind him, his head tilts with a feigned curiosity. Then, as an afterthought, comes her name, as if he's suddenly remembered she has one. "Ellana." 

She responds with a resounding strike across his face. 

The impact is so swift, so vicious, that it rocks him. His gaudy, ornate headpiece, that ridiculous crown of gilded arrogance, slips askew, tangling in the grey of his hair, pulling at strands like thorns catching in silk. For a heartbeat, it teeters precariously, caught between falling and staying, before it finally gives in, tumbling to the floor with a muted clatter, the sound so small against the thunderous echo of her slap. 

There is a moment, just a breath, where the world seems to still—her hand still tingling, his cheek reddening with the imprint of her defiance—and for that brief heartbeat, she knows he feels it too. Knows that he sees her as something alive, the same realization Solas struggled with. 

"Wonderful," she finally rasps, her voice rough, each word scraping painfully from her throat. "And I believe I already told you not to touch me again." 

Eh fuck it, I’m gonna write that ellana (lavellan) x solas x elgar’nan one-shot we’ve been fantasizing about and make it à la dinner & diatribes, something so utterly toxic and angsty and downright deranged that the asylum will be calling to check if i still have a soul. Lesgo my beautiful wine & dine charming villain, get the liquor and propositions out on the table

[milliedazzledust]

If A Look Could Kill (Bucky Barnes imagine)

Words: 1429 words

A/N: this is literally a blurb from a scene in the 2nd episode of fatws when they're all in the car after they fought the supersoldiers

They had been in the same car for no more than ten minutes and Y/N was already holding herself back from punching the smug smile on the man pretending to be Captain America. Both fake heroes had showed up in the middle of their fight, throwing around Steve’s shield, acting like the world owed them anything.

Earlier that day, inside the comfort of the apartment she shared with Bucky, she had watched the cocky man parading in front of cameras, standing in a stadium. She had heard him talk about Steve like he knew him, like he had fought along side with him. And when he had compared Steve to a brother, when she had seen the look of hurt and betrayal on Bucky’s face, her heart had shattered.

She knew that sometimes grief could come like a runaway truck, that despite seeing it careening down the highway, we might not have enough time to get out of its way. And she had seen it that morning, that grief smashing Bucky right in the face when he had least expected it. She didn’t know the man the government had chosen to replace the Captain, but she already hated him for causing her lover pain.

"If you guys joined us we could …" The man pretending to be in charge started as the military vehicle was moving.

"No." Bucky hostly cut him.

There wasn’t a lot of space between the five of them. She had been forced to sit next to the man with the shield while her friends were in front of her.

The tension was almost palpable. Sam had his arms crossed and his lips pursed and Bucky was visibly clenching his jaw. Their patience was hanging by a thread and only she seemed to have notice.

Ignoring the conversation they were having, she exchanged a knowing look with her boyfriend. He had a short temper and habits he had picked up from his alter-ego that could potentially get him to explode. Judging by the side glances Sam kept giving him, she guessed she wasn’t the only one worried.

"What do you say, Y/N ?" She heard the man sitting next to her talk.

Unwillingly, she turned around to look at him.

"What was that ?" She asked him.

His smirk alone was enough to make her roll her eyes.

"We could use a … woman like you" He told her suggestively. She didn’t miss the way he looked her up and down, neither did Bucky.

"A woman like me ?" She repeated, raising an eyebrow and tilting her head to the side.

"Yeah, you’ve got potential, babe. So what do you say ?" He said in a seductive voice. "Interested in joining us ?"

A quick glance at her boyfriend was enough for her to tense when she saw him going from annoyed to seriously pissed off. He was scowling at the man with all his old ferocity, looking everything like the assassin he had once been.

"Does he always stare like that ?" Battlestar inquired, nodding toward Bucky.

"You do know your friend is disrespecting Y/N in front of her boyfriend who also happens to be one of the most prolific assassin on this planet, right ?" Sam ironically told him.

The woman narrowed her eyes at the man sitting next to her, irritated by his behavior.

"At what point did you decide we were close enough for you to refer to me as ‘babe’ ? Because I think I missed the memo between the need to punch your face and the craving to shove your ego up your ass"

Bucky’s chest swelled with pride at her comeback and he sniggered. He knew she was a strong woman and had always loved that feisty side of her. She was fire and he was ice, a perfect combinaison yet dangerous association. Even Sam seemed pleased when he noticed Walker growing uncomfortable next to her.

"Look, we know you don’t like us" The other soldier known as Battlestar answered.

"That’s an understatement" Sam muttered under his breath.

"We’re on the same team here" Walker added.

"No, we’re not" Bucky glared at him.

The soldier with the shield sighed. He pursed his lips, thinking for a moment before glancing at the men in front of him.

"I’m not trying to replace anyone" He started to explain.

"You couldn’t if you tried" Y/N mocked him.

"My point is, I know I’m not Steve and I’m not trying to be. But I am Captain America"

"Like hell you are" Bucky scornfully stated.

"It takes a lot more than knowing how to throw a shield to become a superhero" Sam reminded him.

"I am what the world need right now" He insisted.

"What the world want. Big difference" Sam continued.

"You were getting your ass kicked back there" Battlestar told them, helping his friend’s case. "We saved you"

"Should we say thank you ?" Y/N ironically threw at them.

"This isn’t up to you. Why are we even arguing about that ?" Walker was getting annoyed.

"Because you’re not even half the man Steve was yet you keep parading like a clown pretending to be someone you’re not" Bucky aggressively spoke with a cold voice. "You don’t get to mention his name, Walker, not when you’re destroying all he’s ever work for"

"Bucky…" Sam called him with a cautious tone, trying to get him to calm down.

The former assassin shut his mouth, refraining himself from saying anything more.

"Obviously there’s some issues you still need to work on" Walker spoke with a grin on his face. "But my offer still stands. We’d work better together"

"Keep on dreaming" Y/N expressed, rolling her eyes.

"If we’re being honest here, the only thing I dream about is you out of that suit" He forcefully flirted, looking down at her superhero outfit

She cringed at his useless attempt of seduction and missed the way Bucky’s expression turned dark in the split of a second. He clenched his jaw so hard his veins were visibly noticeable and his blue eyes were boring into Walker. If a simple stare could kill, he’d already be dead. He looked as menacing as can be with that hostile glare and his anger was reflecting itself through the way his muscles were bulging, ready to attack.

"Don’t do anything stupid" Sam warned him when he realized the man’s patience was running low.

Bucky growled and before any of them could react, the super soldier watched his newfound nemesis casually placing his hand on his girlfriend’s thigh. His entire body tensed and his blood ran cold.

"If you don’t take your hands off me in the next two seconds, you’re gonna lose both of them, Walker" Y/N threatened him.

"I’d take her word, Captain, ‘cause you’re about to be eaten alive" Sam advised him.

The soldier dismissed him and laughed, which only seemed to anger the woman and her boyfriend.

It all happened too fast for anyone to react. Just as Y/N was about to assault the man, Bucky decided to let his rage speak for himself and reached for Walker’s hand, twisting his fingers. He could almost feel the bones on the verge of breaking and his skin had started to turn red as the former assassin applied more pressure. The soldier grunted loudly in pain, trying to release himself from the tightening grip.

"Stop the car !" Bucky shouted.

The vehicle slowed down and he menacingly leaned toward Walker.

"If you so much as glance at her again, I will rip you to pieces"

Maybe it was the tone in his voice, or the serious promise of death he could see in his eyes, but the soldier bit back the lump in his throat, unable to answer. He looked terrified.

"Told you" Sam shrugged as Bucky released the man.

They both stepped out of the car, waiting for Y/N. The woman, still angry, turned to stare at the soldiers in blue and red.

"One more thing" She tilted her head.

Without notice, her fist collided with John Walker's jaw. The loud impact with his face was enough to almost knock him out and she smiled. Pleased with herself, she got up and followed her friends.

"Was that really necessary ?" Sam joked and they started walking.

"Oh c’mon, you know you’ve been dying to punch the guy" She smirked.

Bucky placed his human arm around her shoulders and a sweet kiss on the side of her forehead, secretly satisfied.

[sophie0197]

For the collective sanity of everyone, here are my ideas for season 5 :

- max is alive, recovers from her broken bones, learns to walk again and is still left blind but that makes her cared for and loved and nurtured and she matters to everyone, meanwhile she can still kick ass. She is the Toph of the gang.

- lumax date at the theater and Lucas describes scenes where they don't talk in the movie to help her follow it, bonus they are loud and annoying everyone at the theater and laugh about it together

- Dustin is now leader of the hellfire club, will and Lucas joined, they spend a lot of time together and become very close friends again. Dustin talks about Eddie "the freak" all the time to will and how awesome he was a'd the love they shared, Lucas also talks about his struggles with max being in a coma and disabled and his love for her, and will ends up feeling safe enough to come out to them and they are the first to know outside his family. Possibly they could know also he likes mike but that's a stretch. And they'd keep it a secret for him the way Steve does with Robin.

- Mike and eleven have a fallout, fight often bc they can't communicate to each other, they struggle but eventually manage to discuss it openly to each other and decide to end their relationship on good terms because they love each other platonically. They recognize the codependency they were having, mike having self worth insecurities and El thinking she has worth only as a superhero. They hug a lot and it's important to notice that they do love each other deeply, but it's about platonic love and it's very important to value it.

- Mike mentions the painting to El. El reveals to him she never commissioned or saw any of will's art. He's shocked and realizes will made that painting for him and meant all the things he said as his own feelings and it hits mike so hard he falls in love.

- Joyce and hopper wedding. Shenanigans with Murray. The byers/hopper family moved in the cabin in the woods and they expanded it together so everyone fits under that roof.

- hopper becomes a dad to will. Teaches him how to work hard for himself no matter what life throws at him, to gain confidence, and to not be lazy and escaping in games and conforts like hopper used to be. Will gets ripped by chopping wood with hopper and expanding the house litterally it's their dynamic. Hopper learns to draw with will too why not.

- hopper also being a dad to El and Jonathan, he is just this kind more patient being and Jonathan is happy and feels at home in this place. Hopper helps him get rid of the addiction to drugs. With El, they go hunt for food together in the woods. Hopper doesn't fully understand El's powers but tries to train her anyway for the battles to come. He is patient and nurturing which improves her abilities somehow. El's powers shifting from a place of anguish and trauma to developing in a supportive and loving home would be good. Think of zuko's firebending type of growth.

- Nancy chooses neither Steve nor Jonathan, she leaves Jonathan and goes on to follow her career dreams and is a girlboss. Jonathan is relieved they finally talk openly to each other too and break up on good terms and this would directly parallel Mike and eleven breaking up by finally opening up and communicating.

- Will gets to hang out regularly with Mike, learns he broke up with El, he stays very polite but we all know this teenager would jump around like a maniac the moment Mike's gone. Let him be happy lmao

- Will and Mike slowly talk more openly to each other about all kinds of stuff. About growing older and wiser mostly. The hints at mike being more and more into will as they grow closer again multiply. The climax hits when he learns about the painting. Suddenly it all make sense to him, will was always the one to give him the love he wanted.

- before he gets to confront will about this, will is in danger again. Becomes a puppet again and the group unites to save will back. It goes full circle. Evil will moments, angst. He is shown nightmares about his homosexuality and has to overcome it.

- Mike's love for will saves him. Litterally they have a full on catradora moment near the end where their love is giving them strength to free will from vecna's grip. Will also has a moment of self love from that btw. Will's love for himself also saves him.

- El's love for every person in this show defeats the upside down. She does not die sacrificing herself because stop it with the unnecessary self sacrifice deaths it's annoying. Her survival despite everything thrown at her is powerful and important. She is a hero because she chooses to, not because it's her duty to the world and she's meant to die for it. She chooses, and everyone is helping her this time instead of watching in the back. Major scene where others are the ones saving her life in a critical moment instead.

- everyone rebuilds the town together. As much trauma as it left them, it was their true home and their community bond is bringing life back into it.

- Mike and Will rebuild castle byers and kiss there it's the only cliché I wanna see lmao.

- Steve has a wife and kids. He invites the party over to his home, each time they visit there is a new kid and they joke about it.

- the show ends in the new year's eve of 1989, they all celebrate together as it turns to 1990.

[metalandmagi]

Winter 2021 Anime Worth Watching!

Since 2020 basically sacrificed itself to give us the most stacked anime season of all time, I’m currently buried under the weight of almost 20 shows airing per week. So for anyone who’s looking for some anime to watch this winter, here’s some first impressions! I’m speed running my list this time by only talking about the new shows...because otherwise this would be my great American novel. 

If anyone’s interested, I have master lists for both 2020 anime and 2019 anime, because there’s no shortage of fun things to find. 

New Shows!

And before anyone asks, So I’m A Spider, So What? isn’t on here, because CG spiders freak me out.

Cells At Work Code Black: This...less comedic spin off of Cells At Work (made by a different studio) takes the wholesome concept of Osmosis Jones meets cute anime girls and turns it on its head. In this much more depressing version, we follow a rookie red blood cell who works in the body of an overly stressed, alcoholic smoker who puts every strain on the body imaginable. I love Red Blood Cell AA2153 and his co-workers, but man am I glad we get the regular Cells At Work airing this season too, because I need something fun and uplifting after seeing my sweet son go through hell every episode. 

*Heaven’s Design Team: Have you ever wondered how God came up with some of the weird ass animals that live on this planet? Like, what’s the deal with giraffes? And why can’t we have dragons and flying horses? Well this is a comedy about the engineers and designers in heaven creating the new animals that are going to inhabit the Earth. That’s it, that’s the show. It’s kind of in the same vein as Cells At Work, having comedy blend with a surprising amount of educational information. If you want something light and funny, this is the show for you (though I don’t think it needs to have full length episodes). I’m just hoping there’s an episode about how the hell the platypus was created. Also it’s the only new one available on Crunchyroll.

Horimiya: A romantic comedy about a girl named Hori who fits the image of a perfect queen bee and a quiet bespectacled boy named Miyamura who never makes an impression at school. When the two meet by chance outside of the classroom, we see that Hori is practically raising a younger brother by herself, and Miyamura is actually a sweet guy who happens to be covered in tattoos and piercings. This show is an exercise in breaking down the images people have of others in their minds, and it’s a concept that really hits home in a fun and meaningful way. Honestly, this has become one of my immediate favorites. The characters have great chemistry, and I can’t wait to see more of them!

Monster Incidents (Kemono Jihen): When big shot Tokyo detective Inugami is called to a rural town to investigate a series of strange animal deaths, he finds a mysterious boy with the nickname Dorotabo who has been shunned by the other children in town. As the detective gets closer to Dorotabo, he discovers that there may be more...inhuman secrets to the boy than he realizes...and Dorotabo discovers that Inugami has some secrets of his own. This is a hard show to sell without spoiling the first episode, but it had twists and turns that kept me engaged from start to finish. I’m really interested to see where the plot goes, because I thought this was going to be something totally different just from the PV and series summary. If it plays its cards right, this could be a great paranormal detective show!

Wonder Egg Priority: A psychological drama about a girl named Ai who starts having dreams about a mysterious egg that promises to give her what she wants most in the world...a true friend. Before long, she begins to see how the dream world and reality are tied together, and trippy antics ensue. It’s hard to say more without spoiling anything, but I had to go back and add this one in because I made the mistake of thinking it was an OVA when it’s actually a full series. And what a series it’s starting out to be. This anime has all the psychological discomfort of a Satoshi Kon product with the beauty and style of something from Kyoani (even though it’s made by Clover Works). It’s really one of those anime you just have to see to understand.

Sk8-∞ (Skate the infinity): An original skateboarding anime from Bones, featuring a typical sports anime protagonist who takes a new transfer student who has never skateboarded in his life under his wing. Together they compete in dangerous races and take the skating community by storm. The character designs rival Appare Ranman’s in outlandish creativity, and I can smell the main characters’ ship dynamic a mile away (considering they’re exactly the same as the protagonists from Robihachi). If you’re looking for some wild and crazy fun with top notch skateboarding animation, don’t skip this!

2.43: Seiin Koukou Danshi Volley-bu (Seiin High School Boys Volleyball Club): Yes, it’s another volleyball anime. And no, it’s not just a clone of Haikyu. This story follows Yuni Kuroba, a physically built but emotionally weak teenager who finds out his childhood friend Hajime is moving back to their hometown for high school. Yuni discovers Hajime has become an exceptional volleyball player and they join their school’s volleyball club hoping to turn the unknown team into a rising star. If anything, this anime is much more like Stars Align or Free, where the sport is a backdrop for letting the characters explore their personal problems. Or at least it seems that way after the first episode. I went into this show ready to throw it in the trash because how could anything compete against my beloved Haikyu, but I found myself really enjoying the dynamics of the main duo and I’m curious to see what the rest of the team is like.

And speaking of sports anime rip-offs…..I can’t believe I’m including this but…

Skate Leading Stars: The show where the animators clearly wanted to design another throw away idol anime but saw how popular Yuri On Ice was so they decided to make whatever the hell this show is instead. It revolves around a fictional team sport called skate leading, and we follow the world’s most insufferable main character, a former figure skater named Kensei who wants to return to the ice and join his school’s skate leading team after he finds out his childhood rival is going to compete in the sport. Look, this show is just trashy enough to get a certain type of audience hooked, and it mainly has to do with the best boy of the winter season, Hayato Sasugai, the aspiring team “coach” who pulled most of us into watching this show with his punk appearance, snide comments and smug personality. He’s basically the lovechild of Izaya Orihara and Shizuo Heiwajima in a high school sports anime setting. The show treats itself with the perfect amount of sincerity to get away with being absolutely ridiculous most of the time without making you feel like you’re watching it from a dumpster...like Try Knights. You will know after one episode whether this show is for you. All I can say is, Hayato is worth the watch, and I haven’t seen any 3D animation used for the skating scenes (yet) so that’s a win for me. 

Honorable mention:

Jobless Reincarnation ( Mushoku Tensei): Yet another isekai where the main character is hit by a car (big surprise) and gets reincarnated into a fantasy world...but he happens to remember his previous life and narrates himself growing up as a jaded adult. I’m only including this because it looked amazing animation wise, and I love the opening where getting hit by a car and dying is actually traumatic. And I love the protagonist’s parents (who are retired adventurers who just want to bang all the time). But honestly...the main character is the fucking worst, and I don’t know if I want to keep watching it because of how creepy and weird he is. Like...he’s the hit on your fantasy mom as a baby kind of creepy and weird. But for anyone who wants a cool looking isekai that had an amazing PV, it’s worth checking out. 

Continuing Series!

Because the real gold of the season is in all the established anime getting their next seasons, I’m just going to list some of the things that are also amazing and definitely worth checking out if you haven’t already (because I’ve already talked about most of them at some point and don’t know what else to say).

Attack On Titan season 4

The Promised Neverland season 2

Beastars season 2

Log Horizon season 3

That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime season 2

Re: Zero season 2 (second cour)

Dr. Stone season 2

Cells at Work season 2

Osomatsu-san season 3 (second cour)

Higurashi New (second cour)

Jujutsu Kaisen (second cour) 

Not to mention all the shows I don’t watch that everyone else loves...like World Trigger (which I have seen quite a bit of, but long shounen shows are too much for me now) Quintessential Quintuplets, and Non Non Biyori. 

So there’s just some of all the anime airing this season. Hopefully, someone can find something they like. Here’s to a great year...well, of anime at least...

[roanofarcc]

so I know people are mad about byler, but how well do you personally think they handled lumax in vol 2? lucas holding max as she tells him she isn’t ready to die really got me. i can’t believe the duffers really *went* there with max, and then threw her in a coma to boot. Honestly I’m just happy she’s alive, but also im worried for the next season. Hoping she’ll be out only for a little bit until el finds her soul or whatever so that she can come back for the rest of it 😭

a little rant ahead so be warned lol

The thing about byler is that I'm mad it didn't happen. I've never really cared if Mike and Will got together. Do I think that would have been an incredible character arc to see two smalltown boys grow into a relationship in a setting where their queerness was never the plot or point of the series, but them fighting monsters together was? Yes 100 percent, yes, but that's not what happened. I think why people are so upset about the way that it all played out, wasn't because byler didn't happen, but because they used a boy who has suffered so much, who has been called a freak his entire life, who feels like a mistake, as a block to prop up a heterosexual relationship. and they didn't even give him the decency of a coming-out scene or to even utter the word gay, or directly state his crush on his best friend. he got nothing and had to sit there while his best friend told his girlfriend that the best day of his life was the night he went missing and Mike found El. I know this was not your question but I just have a lot of thoughts about this.

On to lumax, to which I have even more conflicting feelings. Sadie and Caleb were the MVP of this season, hands down, they deserve all the awards for actually ripping my heart out of my chest. That entire scene of them in the creel house was so good and heartbreaking and gut-wrenching just by their acting alone. The little messages and drawings were too sweet! The thing is about the ending, it felt so needlessly cruel. Max had suffered enough. The scene of her in vol.1, in the mind-world running towards the light of her friends after realizing that she did not want to die, she had something to live for, was so powerful for countless people who have felt that kind of darkness and grief surround them before. It was so hopeful and beautiful to see that. they should have left it at that. I am all for endings that aren't happy, and in all honestly, I expected more deaths and tragedy to come from vol.2, and I was ready for it. But using Max's struggle that she had started to overcome, throwing it back in her face, gouging her eyes out, breaking her bones, and then throwing her into a coma was just so awful. someone else should have died, maybe another one of the kids, out of left field but for a good reason that pushed the plot forward. I'm sure they left her alive for a reason, and she'll come back, but like Jesus Christ, can she really come back from all of that?

[inhuman-obey-me]

Deadly Envy

Word Count: 1.8k Description: Perhaps directing insults directly to the Avatar of Envy's face is a mistake -- or, Leviathan reminds some demons of their place. Part of the A Demon's Nature series. Finally got back to continuing this, so here's Leviathan! Apologies for the delay, hope this is okay;; Note: Vepar is a demon associated with the sea and is one of the 72 demons that Solomon has a pact with, mentioned in the Ars Goetia. They were often depicted as a merman. Lassal is a minor demon named in the Liber de Angelis and is associated with the moon. Can also be found on AO3 here. content warning: blood, brute force violence, mild gore, use of hallucinogens

The Avatar of Envy was not one to find comfort in being alone with his thoughts, but there were times where he would wander to a certain cove by the oceanside, a place just for him where he found a sense of peace, a sense of belonging. The taste of salt in the air, the gentle spray of ocean mist, the sound of the waves crashing into the surrounding rocks -- yes, this was another home for him, one he dearly missed.

Leviathan closed his eyes, basking in the light of the Devildom moon as he debated going into the water tonight. It would be nice to go for a swim, but he was also itching to get back home and watch the latest episode of the anime he had recently gotten into.

“Well, well, who do we have here?”

Leviathan’s eyes snapped open, his body tense as he recognized the voice of the demon who unceremoniously interrupted him.

“Vepar,” the name left the sea serpent’s lips in a near hiss. “What are you doing here?”

“Why, enjoying the view this fine evening. I assume you’re doing the same? What a surprise, to see you actually outside! I thought you loved the computer screen more these days.” They laughed, a ripple of malice present in what should have been a joyous sound.

Of all demons, why did it have to be Vepar that had found his sanctuary? Every time Leviathan looked at them, or thought about them, envy bubbled in his chest and filled every fiber of his being.

Vepar had been one of the angels who fell alongside the brothers in the Great Celestial War - one of the few survivors outside of his family - and had been a rather high-ranking officer in the army at the time. After becoming a demon, they managed to become a Captain in Hell’s Royal Navy, following Leviathan as his subordinate. Or, that’s how it would have appeared, if it wasn’t for the fact that Vepar had seemingly lost all respect for their superior.

Their relationship was practically non-existent these days, as the Royal Navy hadn’t been active in centuries. They were never terribly close to begin with, but a great chasm seemed to have opened up between them as the years passed and Leviathan watched Vepar be so … successful.

How was it that this demon who ranked beneath him had managed to climb up so much higher in the social sphere? In true normie fashion, they had no issue conversing with strangers and seemed to make friends wherever they went. They were smooth with their words, charming with their smile, and always knew the right thing to say.

Except when it came to Leviathan.

“What’s with that look? I was just speaking the truth, wasn’t I?” Vepar grins, their mockery obvious. They brush a long lock of hair from their face before looking over their shoulder. “Oh, Lassal, look who I found!” They call out behind them, and soon another demon appears from the dark, his wispy white hair reflecting the moonlight. He was one of the lesser demons who seemed to cling to Vepar whenever they were together.

“Ah, Lord Leviathan..!” Lassal starts a bit nervously, unsure how to act in this situation. After all, he often joined in on the endless ribbing of the Avatar of Envy. The Greater Demon was never around to hear it, so what was the harm? “It’s, uh, nice to see you.”

“I was just telling him how strange it was to see him here. After all, I don’t think there’s a video game store anywhere near this area.” Vepar continues, the deriding smile still on his face. “Such a rare sighting of the ever-elusive demon. And all alone, too … but, I suppose it’s true that you don’t have any friends.”

Leviathan glares at the long-haired demon, his hands now curled into fists as they continue their jabs. Has he really become such a joke? Of course, a worthless otaku like me doesn’t deserve any respect, he thinks, They only care about my position when they have to…

“I would offer you to join us, but… hmm, you’d honestly just kill the mood.” Vepar shrugs, turning to Lassal, and attempts to get him to join in. “Isn’t that right? I mean, we all know how pathetic he is!”

The jealous thoughts continue to invade his mind. They only care because of my brothers. I’m obviously the weakest link, huh? Even Solomon liked Vepar enough to make a pact with them … they might be even better friends than we are …

“R-right!” Lassal easily bends to the other demon’s will. “Sorry, Leviathan, but you’re not really fun to have around.”

And then they feel comfortable enough to talk like this to me, to my face?! They have all the qualities I lack, everything is so much easier for them, and I’m just a laughing stock who only deserves mockery, huh? Is that it..?

“Oh, so polite. Come now, weren’t we talking earlier of how sad of a demon he is?”

“Yeah,” All nervousness is gone from Lassal, a rather smug expression taking over his features instead. “It’s hard to believe that he’s one of the demons ruling over us...it’s funny because even he knows how depressing he is, isn’t that right?”

They really think they’re so much better than me?!

“And to think, he’s Grand Admiral -- ”

“SHUT UP!” Leviathan finally speaks, his envy burning hot and turning into rage as he lunges at Vepar, his claws digging into their throat. “You actually think you can just talk to me like that?” His eyes shift, turning more snake-like while ink spreads through his sclera. His horns grow larger, his tail longer, and his teeth look a bit too sharp when he growls at them. “May I remind you that YOU serve under ME?”

A gargled choke manages to leave the caught demon’s mouth, their eyes wide in surprise. Lassal, who let out a squeak of terror when the third-born attacked, was trying to scurry away from the scene -- only to be caught by Leviathan’s tail in a tight grip.

“And where do you think you’re going?” The sea serpent shot a deadly glare at the lower-level demon, hoisting him up into the air to dangle upside-down. Leviathan turns his attention back to the other demon, trying to stop himself from ripping their head off right then and there.

“I might not be the most sociable guy, or the most popular, or the coolest, or … whatever! But if you really think you can just talk shit to my face and get away with it, you’ve got another thing coming.” His forked tongue slips through his lips with a menacing hiss. “It seems you both need a reminder that I’m the Third Demon Lord, your superior, your Greater, your ruler.”

“I-I’m sorry…” Vepar manages to get out, their previous haughty air vanishing as dread sunk in, a heaviness sinking into their bones. “I--”

“Oh, save your fucking apologies, Vepar!” Leviathan spits at their face. “If it wasn’t for your little pact with Solomon, I would kill you this instant.” He momentarily digs his claws further into their skin. “Your little friend, on the other hand…”

Lassal whimpers, trying to shake his head furiously. “P-please Lord Leviathan! I-I only said such things b-because Vepar made me! They -- “ His words are cut off with a choke as the Avatar’s tail tightens around their neck as Leviathan brings him close to his own face.

“Wow, throwing them under the bus? I guess I can’t expect anything more from the likes of you.” Leviathan sneers, the claws of his free hand going to drag down along Lassal’s face, venom leaving their tips and entering his bloodstream. With a flick of his tail he slams Lassal into the ground head-first, the jagged rock they were upon cracking slightly from the force. “If you thought I was going to go cry in my room because of your taunting, you were sadly mistaken.”

Lassal’s skull was fractured, blood dripping from the head wound caused by impact. If he was trying to say anything more, it came out in incoherent words and sounds, which soon turned into struggling screams. The venom that now coursed through his veins had a hallucinogenic quality that made the victim feel as if they were drowning, and it seemed to be working rather well. Leviathan thrashed him about again, making sure to smash his skull against the rock over and over and over and over and --

“Leviathan, stop! He’s dead!” Vepar screams, managing to get some more words out as the grip on their throat had slightly loosened while the Avatar was preoccupied with the other demon. Leviathan makes sure to deliver one more whack for good measure before dropping Lassal to the ground, his head smashed to bits and nothing more than a messy pile of bone, blood, and flesh.

“So he is.” His voice is cold, distant. His orange-purple eyes are glowing as he turns his attention back to the still living demon. “Now, as for you, Vepar… what was it that you wanted to say earlier? Something about how you couldn’t believe I could still be called the Grand Admiral of Hell’s Navy?”

“I-I didn’t say that, I just … look, I’m sorry, okay? You just a-appeared to have become so weak, you -- “

“...became an easy target?” Leviathan finishes their thought. “Well, let this be a lesson, Vepar. Think you’re better than me all you want, think you have so much more than I do, but at the end of the day…” He drags his claws down Vepar’s chest, sharp points sinking into their flesh and creating several large gashes that spurt dark ichor. They bite their lip in an attempt to hold back their cries of pain, tears streaming down their cheeks. “...I am at the top. I have more power than you do, and I will make sure that your existence will be a miserable one if you dare challenge me again.”

Mumbled words left Vepar’s lips, soon followed by a sharp cry when Leviathan sank his claws into their torso once more.

“What was that?”

“Y-yes Grand Admiral, sir. N-never again, sir!” The words tumbled out without a second thought, the demon trying not to let his body tremble too much from the mix of fear and pain.

“Good.” Leviathan retracts his claws and lets Vepar slump to the ground to their knees, his cold gaze lingering on them for a moment before looking over to the mangled corpse of Lassal. Turning away from the scene, Leviathan begins to walk away, raising a hand in the air.

“Clean that mess up.” He pauses, looking over his shoulder to fix the fellow sea demon a menacing glare. “And that’s an order.”

[yanderenightmare]

uhm, yandere Katsuki with a small reader... like idk how to explain but fluff fear? like waking up together but all she can think about is how loud he sleeps and how BIG he is, also him being a total bitch about how small she is?

yandere kidnapper ! BAKUGO KATSUKI

Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3

goodiebag WARNINGS: dubcon/noncon mentions, kidnapping, abduction, abuse, degradation

PUFF

Waking up warmer than usual was something she’d gotten terribly used to. 

It had only been a couple days. A couple days in a foreign house without anything to do except prance around in what lingerie Katsuki bothered to give her, or sleep the hours away. Where which the latter was undesirable, because she’d be risking getting snuck up on by the brute predator once he returned. So, she was left walking about, dragging tired limbs through barren hallways, stopping to take in the space of each impersonal room, half-naked and cold in the marble mansion, doing nothing but dreading the time her hero came home. 

And in the absence of things happening, those moments where she was in fact preoccupied with something became so much heavier and longer than what they were in reality. Expanded, to the degree where she could pinpoint almost every single detail within the moment. 

This was one of those moments.

She wanted to focus on the bed, soft material, caky and cloudy beneath her, but it was difficult to ignore the mass behind her. His nose poking into the top of her head, nuzzling in her hair, a good measurement of knowing how close his teeth were to her neck as heavy breaths ran down her neck like a chilling breeze, ticklish and disturbing like crawling mites. His chest, rising, pushing into her back, the beating of his heart rattling her ribcage. His hands, large and so very warm, warmer than they were supposed to be, scathed like sandpaper as they scratched in their presence by rubbing her hip, arms slung around her body haphazardly, caging her, suffocating her, pulling her close, holding her steady, trapping her. 

Like a dragon protecting his treasure, she thought, but quickly discarded of the notion. It sounded too sweet. 

Katsuki wasn’t sweet.

He’d come home yesterday, coated in smog, droplets of blood flecked on his sand-skin in no particular pattern. He didn't shower, he’d only grabbed her and walked off to bed. No words shared, only whimpers and dark, disturbing chuckles. She’d struggled, as much as she could against the brute, but it felt as though he enjoyed that more. Tightening his hold until she swore she began to hear her bones ache, bristle as he squeezed the air from out of her lungs. 

She was happy she was spared his painful cock that night, but she was sure it would be a short-lived mercy.

His hold; though still strong, wasn’t as tight in the morning. She took it as an opportunity to create more space between herself and the fever-heat and blinding smell of caramel. She almost wished she could smell the blood and smoke instead, something bitter to disrupt the sickening sweet. She wished she could smell anything else, but even the smell of herself was overcome by him. She’d walked around the house thinking of it the other day, how it was almost as though he’d scented her, as though they were animals.

He didn’t take lightly to the disturbing of his slumber, grunting and growling, stirring that overbearing sense of fear inside her gut, her stomach folding in every possible way. She didn’t want to stop, she wanted to fight, she wanted to roar. He tightened his arms around her, squeezed her hip, planting her ass better against his crotch and she froze.

He smacked his tongue against his teeth. “Now what?” He coaxed. She expected his voice to sound groggy in the morning, but she’d learned in the past days, it never shed its ugly tone. “You gonna cry?” His voice sounding almost hopeful as he bit down on her earlobe, earning a gasp that along the way turned into a delicious little whimper. She tried clawing at his hand, his own nails digging into her skin. “Do yourself a favor and relax” All his taunting, patronizing overbearing words, dismissive to her discomfort, rather enjoying it, if only she could see the cracked smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. She kept struggling despite the obvious futility. “Yer’ not going anywhere, yer’ exactly where you need to be... exactly where you belong.” His tone was casual as he sucked in a breath, sighing with a grumbling growl, still sleepy, yawning behind her, comfortable when squeezing her plushie little form, keeping her close like child with a teddybear. 

But he wasn't enjoying how her legs were kicking, despite the rest of her struggles being teasingly pleasurable.

Pushed down on her back, manhandled into position, he made to move himself between her thighs. Now, with more mistaken freedom, she tried pushing him away. Foolish fists hit against the stiff muscles of his chest, until he grabbed them by the wrists and pinned them above her head. His face so much closer now, but he didn’t kiss her, still longing to hear her speak up, to beg, to plead, to scream. But he remained close, knowing how every one of his words made her heart beat that much faster, and how those especially crude words made her quiver or better yet bleat, like a little lamb beneath him.

“Come on…” He hauled out. She barely made out the words, as far hidden in the growl as they were. His voice tickling her burning ear, his head resting its heavy weight on her arm. “I know I’ve been busy, but…” He spoke as though she wanted to spend more time with him. “It’s my day off.” His voice in singsong, as if she’d be excited, the tone sounding dreadful and wrong when coming from him, dark as it was. But it earned him what he’d been wanting, that soft and struggled sniffle, breath caught in her throat, an uncontrolled shiver breaking the sweet feeble noise.

Content with what he’d reduced her to, he rested his head on the pillow beside her face, his weight laid down upon her in a lifedraining fashion. He hummed, closing his eyes, enjoying her small frame beneath him. In her rightful place, he snickered. Eyes fluttering to look at her pretty face, hand covered in dried blood and smoke as it ascended to tug a lock of hair behind her ear, his thumb stroking over her lips when he made to retract it. The state of his skin made him cringe when he touched the fairness of her complexion. It felt wrong, he admitted. 

They needed to find an even ground.

“Let’s shower, I’m dirty.” She could feel his lips on her ear now, but she was too shell-shocked to snap her head away, knowing what was coming.

In all honesty, she wouldn’t mind a shower. She’d been there a while and didn’t exactly feel clean with him spread, smeared all over her, inside her. But, he’d insisted on being so very close at all times, she was sure the same rules would apply in the shower. 

She tried her best to fight, but it was all so easy to simply grab her arm and pull her with him, yanking on her like a child with a toy. Throwing her inside the large bathroom, with strength that almost had her falling to her knees.

“Take yer’ clothes off.” He commanded, having her backed up against the cold tiles of the walls. “Or… they’re not really your clothes.” He tugged at the black fabric of his shirt, one she’d put on after realizing her own clothes were far from wearable anymore, singed as they were.

Towering over her petite shape, enjoying how she had to tilt her head a drastic degree to stare up at him. 

She was so tiny, it sent pleasurable shivers down his spine to look at her, small like a little pet. His shirt hung around her in the same way you’d expect a tent would, reaching all the way down to her knees, only barely fitting on her narrow shoulders.

She wanted to sound strong. “N- no.” It came out weak.

Snickering, he placed a hand on the wall beside her head. “I was hoping you’d say that…” His smile was so feral, she began wondering if smiles were ever a nice gesture in the first place. Katsuki seemed to do it simply to show her those large teeth stored in his mouth, teeth that could rip her throat out if he were dedicated enough. “Better you learn sooner than later just how helpless you are to stop me getting what I want.” He leaned in closer, stepping further into her space, threatening to crush her toes under the soles of his feet, his much too hot breaths striking her face on repeat. “Weak.” He spat the word, as though it were venom on his tongue. “Defenseless.” It disgusted him, distaste clear in the growl lacing his tone. “Fragile.” 

He’d not gotten exactly what he wanted. He wanted her to scream, whether it was of rage or of fear, didn’t really matter. The tears were no less satisfying though, dribbling down her cheeks, eyes glossy and sparkling.

He grabbed the collar of the t-shirt. She felt the pull, but the tear still came as a surprise. The ripped fabric, now reduced to useless singed rags, pooling around her ankles, and she found herself regretting her wish to smell smoke because the burn of the textile at her feet was not the type of bitter like morning coffee, but bitter in the way that made her eyes sting. Her knees almost gave out when his hand neared her again, his other hand placed above her head, meaning to cage her in between his warmth and the freezing wall behind her. 

Her nipples perked at once when he made contact, which made him smile, hand still hot, much too hot. He cupped one breast in his hand, much too small to fill it entirely. He didn’t seem to mind though.

“So soft…” The disdainful tone was gone, but she found herself missing it as opposed to what lingered in his voice now. “So delicate.” Lust was so terribly more frightening than his distaste. “So…” He licked his lips, a hot breath fanned over her face and goosebumps sprung to the surface of her skin. He hummed in response and she was sure she might just faint. “So sensitive.” She yelped when he pinched. “Mine.” His voice was low and rumbling, hot like raked coals. Tugging down her bottoms as well, she did little to prevent it. 

Not that it would have mattered if she did.

Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3

[uwuwriting]

Boyfriend w/ Megumi, Itadori and Gojo

Request: hii I just read your jujutsu nightmares piece and oh my god I am indeed a very simple simp and your writing just makes my heart go uwu so may I maybe req a very soft, fluffy s/o for Megumi, Itadori Sato and maybe Sukuna if you write for him? I hope it's not too much, thank uu <3 - anonymous

I can’t get enough of the JJK content, I love them so much my heart can’t take it. Sadly I don’t write for Sukuna *I think I mention it in my rules but I’m not sure*, he pissed me off big time in the manga so yeah sorry about that. Really all the curses have kinda pissed me off but that’s a story for another day lmao. Love ya.💖💖💖

masterlist II rules

warnings: boyfriend things lol, fluff, maybe some angst sprinkled on top but not a lot. 

Fushiguro Megumi 

-Megumi reminds me of Suna from Haikyuu. 

-Like a lot. 

-He will put effort in the relationship of course but he won’t flaunt it around in everybody’s faces. 

-Yes he has a s/o and yes he is in love but in his book that should be mostly kept in between you two, no one else has to know. 

-So at first your relationship isn’t really acknowledged by the others. 

-It’s so subtle at casual that everyone around you thinks that you’re merely best friends and close to each other. 

-Only Makki knows that you two are a thing since she sees how you worry and take care of him after he has been injured. 

-It’s different from platonic concern and she knows what’s going on. 

-Plus she saw you steal a kiss one time and that sealed the deal. 

-Eventually the others figure it out and they are losing their shit, for completely different reasons though. 

-Nobara can’t believe Megumi got a s/o before she did. 

-Gojo is hurt because neither of you said anything and he has been trying to hook you up for the past two years now. 

-Itadori is just confused because he thought that you were like that to everyone. 

-Now PDA is non-existent with this one. 

-He doesn’t feel comfortable touching you in public even if it’s a small peck. 

-He prefers showing his love behind closed doors or through acts of service. 

-So expect to find multiple bentos waiting for you in the kitchen each morning or a hot bath on the ready when you come back from a long mission. 

-You are okay with the no PDA rule, your only request is that he at least hold your pinkie when you need it. 

-It grounds you and who is he to say no to that?

-During missions he doesn’t underestimate your strength and let’s you do your thing. 

-He only interferes when you ask for help or when he notices that you’re extremely overwhelmed. 

-He doesn’t smother you and you are eternally grateful for that. 

-Training sessions between the both of you are brutal. 

-Neither holds back and you're left a panting, sweating mess at the end, crawling to your respective rooms to change before you settle for a movie later that afternoon.

-If either of you gets injured it’s mama bear time. 

-You need to change your bandages? Megumi has already taken out the kit and all the essentials. 

-He needs to take some meds to calm the pain in his ribcage? You have the pills in hand. 

-He is a shy boy so even in private he hesitates to touch you. 

-Don’t get him wrong he loves holding you and feeling you close to him but he is also afraid he will make you uncomfortable or overstep. 

-So you will be the one initiating cuddle session during the first months of your relationship. 

-After a while he will simply pick you up and carry you to his bed for cuddles if he needs them without uttering a word the whole time. 

-Good morning/Goodnight kisses are a must. 

-It’s a ground rule that he follows religiously since day one. 

-It doesn’t matter if it’s a simple peck on his lips or a passionate kiss, he just wants to get a kiss before starting/ending the day. 

-Sleeps on his stomach with an arm always draped over your waist. 

-Isn’t really into the whole sleeping on each other thing but he won’t say no to being the big spoon or even better the little spoon. 

-He gets flustered when you kiss his knuckles or trace patterns on his palms. 

-He knows his hands are rough from all the training but after your touch they feel tender and gentle. 

-Prefers indoor dates rather than outdoor ones. 

-His favorite  is cooking dinner together and then cuddling on the couch *in hopes you won’t get interrupted by Gojo*.

-The only thing he dislikes about the whole relationship thing is the teasing he receives from Gojo. 

-He is ready to rip his ears off. 

-Boy has murder on his mind 24/7 and it is all directed to his mentor.

-Gojo noticed that Megumi had you as his wallpaper ONCE and now it’s game over for your boyfriend. 

-The thing is that you don’t get teased as much and he is *salty*. 

Itadori Yuuji

-He is such a lovable boy, how could you NOT fall in love with him?

-Your relationship is naturally effortless. 

-Everything flows so naturally and without even trying you two have formed such an unbreakable bond that not even Sukuna himself can tether even if he tried. 

-Many MANY spontaneous trips to the nearest convenience store at 3 am.

-Oh you are craving some popcorn? Well go on, get your shoes, we are going grocery shopping. 

-Won’t hesitate to do anything for you and when I say anything I mean it. 

-He ditched Gojo once because you had bad period pains and said you needed cuddles. 

-What cruel creature would he be if he denied his beautiful girlfriend her cuddles??? 

-Sukuna has cockblocked you two and has ruined your cuddles on multiple occasions. 

-From weird noises to rude comments to interrupting Yuuji’s thoughts with random shit. 

-Real party crasher. 

-Yuuji’s love language is touch mainly so expect a shit load of hugs and kisses. 

-Won’t let go of your hand while you are out in public. 

-If he can’t hold your hand he will place his palm in the small of your back or wrap his arm around your shoulders/waist. 

-It’s a physical need. 

-He has to be touching you at all times because that reminds him that you are truly here beside him and that you are okay. 

-The sorcerer's life has already taken a toll on his mentality and he hates leaving you alone so most of the time you go on conjoined missions. 

-Unlike Megumi he tries to protect you during fights by all means. 

-He doesn’t do it because he sees you as weak and in need of protection it’s just an instinct that he can’t control at all. 

-He will put himself in immense danger, taking all the blows just so you can leave the scene unscathed. 

-You have scolded him on his complete disregard of his own life and the tears that pooled in his eyes as he explained that his body moves on its own when he sees anything darting towards you, breaks your heart. 

-If you kiss the little marks under his eyes all his worries fly out the nearest window. 

-He forgets about everything around him, about the looming threat of his imminent execution, the only thing on his mind are your lips on his cheekbones and your thumbs rubbing circles on his cheeks. 

-If you pepper him in too many kisses he will begin his own assault by first tackling you to the floor or the bed and capturing you in a hug before the smooches begin. 

-He has a tendency to leave hickies on your neck which you struggle to cover each morning and you are always real close to glaring at him when he beams like the sun itself at you in the morning but your mild anger fades the moment his lips meet yours. 

-You have your suspicions that he knows what he is doing with that, he knows his kisses make you weak so he uses them to his advantage. 

-Will never admit it but it always places a small smirk on his lips every time you clutch his shirt for balance or rest your forehead on his shoulder to regain your composure. 

-An I love you a day is required for good vibes. 

-Won’t hesitate to shout it even in front of others, he just has no filter and no shame. 

-Makes you turn tomato red and he snickers. 

-Fuck him, literally. 

Gojo Satoru

-This fucking tease. 

-He has no chill!!!!!!

-How are you with him?!?!?!?!!

-My man fine af and he drinks his respect for y/n and y/n alone juice every morning. 

-That doesn’t mean though he won’t try to fluster you throughout the day. 

-It’s his main goal really. 

-Full blown make out sessions in the hallways of the school, ass smacks in front of others and trying to leave hickies on your neck during your lunch break. 

-It simultaneously pisses you off and turns you on so you can’t decide if you should smack him or jump his bones. 

-It’s a never ending debate and his chances of getting the quawk quawk 5000 are 50/50. 

-He respects your boundaries when you give him a sign that you really don’t want him to be like that on certain days. 

-He is a very observant individual in general so it’s not hard for him to take note of the signs of pure discomfort or awkwardness. 

-True he loves flustering you but the moment things get out of hand and you don’t feel okay with how he is acting, he is throwing his attitude out the window and becomes respectful Gojo in a flash. 

-Likes having his arm draped over your shoulder. 

-He is super tall so chances are he towers over you. 

-He has used you like an armrest several times which resulted to a trip to Shoko for a dislocated wrist/shoulder. 

-You make him bentos almost everyday and he waits for them like a lost puppy. 

-No matter the time, he doesn’t care if he is late, he will wait for you to make him a little bento to take with him. 

-Curses can wait, he needs to receive his first dose of y/n love of the day. 

-Brags to his student about you and to Nanami, much to the blonde’s dismay. 

-Talks everyone’s ear off. 

-He becomes super protective when an elder shows up or at the mere mention of them. 

-He will grasp your hand, keeping a firm grip as those pretentious fucks stare down at you. 

-They really don’t care about Sato’s happiness and they will never show you a fiber of respect despite being chosen by the strongest sorcerer. 

-You are not part of one of the three clans so you are worth nothing in their eyes. 

-Gojo hates them for that. 

-Deep rooted hatred that could turn into a mass murder if one of them call you a distraction or a slut one more time. 

-You are really grateful for him in those moments. 

-You are grateful in general but during those times when you are being bombared left and right with rude comments, he will remind everyone in the room that he doesn’t give a flying fuck about what they believe. 

-He fell in love with you because you are your beautiful self and not because you are a powerful sorcerer. 

-He wants to imagine your kids as a sign of your love and not as an item of power, as a weapon like many of these people see him. 

-He has ditched the elder meetings on many occasions just because he wasn’t in the mood of listening to their bullshit so he came home to you and spent the rest of his night cuddled up under the large comforter, watching a movie while peppering your shoulders with kisses. 

-Adores seeing you in his clothes. 

-They are so big on you that you wear them as dresses around the house. 

-He especially loves the sight of your bare legs peeking from underneath his black t-shirt. 

-99% of the time this ends up in you getting your guts rearranged. 

-Surprisingly remembers all the important dates and he makes it to as many dates as he can. 

-Being a sorcerer is difficult man, give him a break curses he has a date at 8 and he needs to get his formal glasses. 

-All in all he loves you to the moon and back and would do anything to keep you safe and next to him. 

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[blzzrdstryr]

Reveries of the Past. Yandere!Childe x Fatui!gn!reader

Wordcount: 3875

CW: Dissociation, graphic depiction of violence, hallucinations, unhealthy relationship and unhealthy power dynamics.

A.N.: I used a lot of my experience with dissociations in this and if it makes you uncomfortable, I would advice not to read it. I also plan on writing continuation for this, as it’s set before the Rite of Descension. P.s. I am not a native English speaker, so could you notify me if there’s awkward wording.

[Next chapter]

There are plenty of times you find yourself reminiscing about the past and now, your mind slips back to your memories, as you look at the horribly mangled body of the treasure hoarder. The stench of blood stuffs up your nose, it’s sickly sweet metallic odor making your gut clench and nausea rise, as your limbs grow heavier and numb. You don’t feel  like you belong in your skin and bones and blood anymore - it’s cold, so cold, yet you don’t feel any of it. You are an outsider, an unwanted intruder in the house that is your body, an indifferent observer looking at the world through the thick glass.

The world around disfigures, shapes and colors changing in the constant whirlwind - they jump and dance around, small becoming large and large shrinking so much it’s barely visible, green shifts to red to blue and to yellow and to million of other colors, and sounds suddenly become muffled, losing their sharpness, but you don’t care about it: the part that is “you” fled to the daydreams of your childhood moments ago, leaving a clinically observing, yet unfeeling being behind. 

Adults would describe you as a perfect child: quiet, obedient and dutiful, you were a stark contrast to the other louder and more free spirited kids. You studied hard, cleaned the house, helped with dishes and cooking and never talked back. 

I can't upset mom and dad because they work so much. I can't play with other kids because if I do, they will make fun of me, I have to study hard and get good grades, because mom said I will have a good job and become rich and help them. 

These particular memories don't feel good to you: they're bleak and boring, yet full of silent shame - they make your throat clog and eyes water, as something burning starts to bloom deep underneath your skin. 

Childe stops beating the still alive treasure hoarder, a blood smeared on the cheek and a dangerous glint in his eyes, and turns his head to you. 

"Hey, how about lending me a helping hand?", there’s a hunger in his voice you recognize, he wants to teach a lesson to the debtors, then. You walk towards him, feeling your knees get weaker and weaker with each step for some reason. A dagger made of ice shines in your hand with cold light. 

"It's no wonder [First] received a vision! My [First] is always so good and smart, there are no children better" the exact words your mother says, as she brags to her friends, showing them the vision you were bestowed with. You left it to her, not caring what will happen to it - despite all the child's wonder you felt before receiving it, the glowing orb doesn’t look so amazing to you now. It feels foreign and ugly, a reminder of what happened seconds before you gained it. 

“You know, when I was a child”, he takes the weapon and focuses on the treasure hoarder’s leader again, “we made a special kind of promise”. It’s tip travels to the hoarder’s hand. “You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life”

The sweet voice he uses and the fact that you  know the nursery rhyme too would make you sick in the stomach the other day, but not now. 

You don’t exactly remember how you joined the Fatui - it happened shortly after you gained a vision, when you were still too numb and cold to the outside world after the Event. 

Mom will hate me, dad will hate me too. I can’t let them know.

Your parents say that officials just knocked on the front door one day and offered you an entry into the Fatui and a monthly salary, big enough to stop your parents from overworking themselves. You were terrified back then, Fatuis despite being known as a diplomatic organization are still a mystery to the ordinary Shezhnayan and a direct servants to Her will. The thought of disappointing Tsaritsa or letting down Snezhnaya was enough to paralyze you, but seeing the smiles on your parents faces was enough to make you swear to yourself, that you will work there no matter how scary it seems.

“You break a pinkie promise, I throw you on the ice.” The blade stops between phalanges of the little finger: “The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend", he presses it, strong enough to detach the limb from the rest of the body in one swift slash. Treasure hoarder starts to cry and scream from the sudden pain, yet quickly chokes on it as Childe hits him in the solar plexus. The crack of bones feels deafening among the sea of muffled sounds.

Training was rigorous to say the least, you came back to your dorm room absolutely exhausted and after you fell on the bed you were practically dead to the world. Turns out, having a vision wasn’t enough to make you a fighter - you needed to know how to climb, swim, run with a weight to lift and wield a weapon. There were other children and teens with you, they eyed your vision with a mix of adoration and envy, you pretended not to catch it in turn.

“The frost will freeze your tongue off so you never lie again”, harbinger forces the victim's jaw apart by squeezing it with one hand, the other rapidly forcing a dagger inside the mouth. Treasure hoarder gasps and mumbles, fat tears forming in his eyes. A part of you expects a sound of parting flesh, but none comes: Tartaglia stands up and removes the blade, leaving a shivering and terrified man laying on the ground.

“Well,” Childe shrugs, as if he didn’t just dismember a person, voice back to his cheery tone : “You didn’t actually make a pinkie promise, so consider it a small mercy”. The treasure hoarder cowers even more, snuggling the injured hand close to the bruised chest. “But if you fail to repay your debt I will oversee that the frost”, he points in your direction, a treasure hoarder’s eyes going wide as he notices your vision, “will actually freeze your lying tongue off”, his voice descends again, back to it’s dangerous half-whisper.

You meet Ajax during the winter, he’s close to you in age and just arrived into Fatui grounds. He boasts and shows off to all of you, and you desperately want to retort something acidic to shut him up and rip off that arrogant bravado, yet say nothing, picturing how the tomorrow training session will have him laying flat on his back, too hurt and too tired to move even a single finger. 

He defeats the trainer in less than a minute.

Now, that the treasure hoarder fled, still snuggling disfigured limb, Childe turns attention back to you. “You seem a little bit disinterested here”, his hand on your cheek is so foreign, it’s burning and freezing at the same time, the shock from the unwanted touch almost strong enough to pull you back into reality. He notices your unintentional flinching and unfocused eyes “Ah, you hurt my feelings, [First]! And I thought we already became friends”. 

You say nothing, cold and unmoving, blind and deaf to the outside world, his words register a second too late, and there’s no cliche phrase for you to reply with. He looks a bit baffled and deflated for a second, but shrugs it off, just like he did during teen years, when you deliberately ignored all his attempts at catching your attention.

“Huh, even if you are so cold to me, I still forgive you”, he takes your hand, his touch still too overwhelming for you to process and pulls you back to Liyue harbor, your legs barely bending as you walk after him, like an obedient dog trailing it’s master.

“You know [First], I can beat you up so badly, that you will barely walk”, you put feather aside, stopping writing the letter to your parents as you glare at Ajax with barely masked indignation. He grins, satisfied to finally catch your attention after the whole day of pestering you. “I am aware of that” you reply in an absolutely flat tone, holding yourself from pouncing on him and trying to break the teeth out of that smug smile. He beams even wider, as if sensing your not-so-good intentions, revealing even more pearly whites as if taunting you.

“But I won’t, count yourself lucky”. And he leaves, this short interaction filling you with so much rage that you shake, handwritten letters noticeably becoming sharper and faster, your thoughts clouding around the idea of acquating his face with your boots. 

 Nonetheless, you indeed count yourself fortunate enough, when you see Ajax defeating grown men with bare hands. When you two, the only vision holders among your peers have to spar, he always goes easy on you, prefering to immobilize you rather than beating, making your defeat less painful yet even more humiliating. 

Almost at the end of your trail he suddenly stops and says something, but you don't catch it, words turning into separate vowels and then fusing together into one unintelligible gibberish mess. He leans in, close enough for his breath to burn your neck, and he continues to get closer, until his empty eyes look into yours glazed ones. He seems disappointed for a second and backs down, his breathing no longer fanning your skin. 

Distantly you think that you somehow angered him and he will slap you for it, and do nothing to dodge the hit - you barely feel pain in this condition anyway, but he doesn’t. The road to the Northland Bank is completed in absolute silence, Childe no longer trying to grab your attention, only when you enter Liyue Harbor does he whisper, that you two must look like a pair with all that hand holding. Judging by the volume and tone of his voice he says it more to himself than to you.

***

You come back to yourself in the safety of your room on the third room of the Northland bank. It feels like a rush of sensation, as everything becomes sharper and clearer again, like you just swam to the surface of water from the very depths of it. An invisible bubble around your head pops in one moment, and the world becomes real again, mind and body connecting for once more.

Eyes and ears focused you take in surroundings: the room is neat and lifelessly empty - just a bed and a working desk with a stack of written but unsent letters, along with a small bookcase near, no figurines, pictures or even plants to decorate living place, as you see no reason to adorn the area you use for sleeping only. Indiscernible wallpapers and a small window close to the middle of the bed finish the picture of austerity.

 Once, your memory catches up to you, you can't help groan from the shame and irritation, hiding your face in both hands. Afterwards  always feels both like a disgraceful escape and a warm blanket during the stormy night, a duality that you accepted long ago after joining the Fatui and today is no exception. You curse Harbinger when you remember why exactly you had an episode, and get up from the bed you threw yourself on minutes ago. You come to the desk, taking a clean form of a relocation request from the drawer and writing materials. 

Filling in the blank feels like commiting a felony to you for some reason - you stop several times when you hear footsteps in the corridor, focusing on the door,ready to hide the half written form and say some lie as an excuse. You don't list the Childe-related reasons, knowing that there's nothing that could make any of the Harbingers face the consequence for their actions, and instead you write completely normal and fake causes: health concerns, family matters and so on. Part of you doubts that this will work and you will have the fortune to get away from a certain harbinger as far as possible. Trying and failing is better than never attempting, you think, quickly writing the paper.

Once you finish it, you almost rush to Ekaterina, praying that you won't run into a certain ginger on the way. Sometime ago you caught Tartaglia checking your letters, for a secrecy he said back then, we can’t let anyone know about the coming operation. Childe then instilled that every sent and received letter should be checked, lest Qixing and other Liyuens learned what Fatui had in plan. It sounded logical and sensible, but the paranoid thought that he enforced this policy just to have a glimpse at your feelings never stopped eating at you. From that day on you sent your family the most basic and vague letters, just stating that you’re in good health and mind, still missing them and Snezhnaya, leaving the ones with more private sentiments in your room. 

Her eyes are completely obscured by the mask, but even with that you can’t miss the pointed glare she sends your way - Tartaglia never shied away from showing off, be it his strength, money or his twisted obsession that he calls love. With the amount of time and finances he spends on you and the way he acts like a kicked lovesick puppy in your vicinity, you are pretty sure that at least half of the bank workers see you as a cunning and cruel seducer, so keen and devious in the art of temptation that you managed to lure in Eleventh Harbinger.

As if archons decided to laugh at you, Childe descends from the second floor too, catching the sight of you near the receptionist. He looks unusually somber for a moment, but then he sees you, a smile appearing on his face as he takes the form from Ekaterina's hands. You can just feel how Ekaterina rolls her eyes under the mask, as if muttering complaints about the lovers’ spat and insubordination, having been working with her for some time, enough to have a clue of the inner workings of her mind.

You have to give him that he plays the confusion and regret very persuasively. He asks how he can fix this, says what a valuable team member you are to him and how much you are needed in the Northland bank. You agree to his suggestion - if years of training with Ajax and then work with Childe taught you anything, it is that Ajax is the chaos incarnate and Tartaglia is Ajax’s less tolerable and more unpredictable version, so it’s better not to anger him.

***

In the end he invites you to dine with him at Wanmin restaurant, a place Childe heard from some “xiansheng” as he called them. A bustling Liyue street is open before you two, tall midday sun painting the whole street into bright orange, so unlike the pristine white landscapes of Snezhnaya. He orders two Black Back Perch Stews on the chef's recommendations, and hands a bouquet of local flowers in a parody of a normal boyfriend. Any random observer would really see it as a date.

You take the flowers, pretending to pay more attention to  them than to a man sitting near you. Tartaglia is an unpredictability wrapped in human skin, there’s no privilege as being lax and carefree near him, as even Tsaritsa has no idea what he will do next. 

To your mutual confusion Xiangling presents the meal with two pairs of chopsticks. Utensils feel foreign in your palm, you having no idea how to handle them and Childe, by the looks of it too. Tartaglia specifically asks the chef for spoons, while you observe the other clients, noting how they use theirs. Holding one stick like a pen and then placing the bottom one in a fixed position under the thumb you manage to grasp the fish from the soup, albeit clumsily. You consider it a small win. 

The image of a mighty Harbinger struggling in a failing battle with chopsticks would look funny to you, if it wasn’t for the whole "date" you were having. After putting them aside, and seemingly admitting defeat, Childe starts from afar: "You know [First], you changed a lot since I first met you" .

You raise an eyebrow at the starter, it's vague and innocent enough, but experience tells you that he will or at least try to stir the conversation into your relationship with him again. Straightening a bit and finally turning your eyes to him, you pause for a second, picking the least offensive reply you can muster - there’s a swarm of insults buzzing at the tip of your tongue prepared just for him, growing and sprouting since your pubescent years.

“Yes, I got taller”, he laughs it off, like you said some funny joke, his giggles not stopping for some time. "No, I mean as a person. Remember how you used to glare at me for joking? And now you act so unfazed ”

Joking. Is this what he calls it? Shivers creep up your spine when your memory oh so conveniently conjures the images of the aftermath of his jokes.

“Your jokes weren’t funny to anyone but you”. Breathe, you think, there’s no need to anger him. There are pictures of broken bones and bruised bodies and a cacophony of somebody else’s pained screams flashing and rattling in your head, Adults never did anything. Why would they? They had a golden boy Ajax, why would they help the others when they had him? Why would they help you? Bitterness and anger you thought you swallowed long ago rise up to the surface again, and you decide to bite down on the stew - Tartaglia always found a way to turn your words against you and hurt you, no need to give him more weapons now.

“I changed a lot too. I know I was insufferable as a teen”, he must have taken your silence as a free pass to continue whatever nonsense he’s sprouting, “I am sorry”.

The last three words catch you off guard, a piece of fish almost stuck in the throat from the jolt. Ajax takes you by surprise once again, for him to finally acknowledge and apologize for all the pain he caused and years he tormented you?

You blink and look at him intently, his facial expression changing into an unusually somber one. It seems authentic enough.

“Let’s start from the scratch?

You contemplate unsure what to say.

Was he lying?

Looking back, you in a sense are luckier than most of Childe's victims, witnessing his youth, familiarizing and distinguishing the tells of him lying and scheming, observing the way he bloomed into the manipulator he is today firsthand. You see a familiarity in his face and voice, something that helps you from falling to his charms. There's also the added fact that you were and still are an involuntary witness to the way how carnal and bloodthirsty usually friendly Ajax can become. 

When did you catch his attention?

You remember his smile when he first approached you, less teeth and more sincerity that is thereafter,a hand outstretched to you. It happens on the next day after his arrival, almost as cold and unpleasant as the previous one. You brush the limb away like a noisy fly, secretly angry at his arrogant attitude and how effortlessly he endured training. His smiling doesn’t stop, yet you feel a sudden change in the air around you.

Would your fate be different if you took his hand?

You can't forget how your mind disconnected from your body for the second time. It was Ajax again vying for your attention akin to a spoiled child, and like one he threw a tantrum when you refused to give him any. The poor recruit you were talking with was hospitalized the same day, as you helplessly watched the carnage before you. You didn't fight, you didn’t flee, you just froze, like a scared animal, paralyzed by fear, yet somehow too detached from feelings. That day was bizarre: once you felt reality, it was solid and undeniable and then you didn't. The realness of the current diffused, slipped through the fingers like sand, leaving nothing but unreliable and delusive reveries behind.

Will he let you go? 

“People do change and I see that you changed too. I don’t think of you as a teen you were” you carefully pick the words, Tartaglia visibly blooms, thinking that his apology worked, yet your next words snuff out his triumph: “but my memories stay the same. I don’t think we can start from scratch”

You bite the tongue, the second part still coming out too harsh for your liking. The moment of sincerity is interrupted, you see him, changing the masks, unsure what to do. It seems for the first time it was you who caught him off guard. You guess which one of the two standard facades he will decide to show to you, having spent years by his side to observe him masterfully wielding both, the friendly one with a vacant smile that never reaches his dead, dead eyes or the calculating one, distant and devoid of humanity?

In the end he uses none, a hurt still evident, dripping in his tone, face and moves - is it another mask you never got to see or is it real? - “So that is your answer”, he leans in closer, dull cerulean eyes looking right into yours.

You hold his stare, nodding, instead of saying anything and he hums, sitting back and wearing the cold mask, reserved for his enemies: “Just wanted to remind you that I am the Harbinger and you are just a position higher than an ordinary agent”. Despite seeing it so many times, it’s the first time he directs it at you and you have to suppress the shiver. The unsaid threat hangs heavy in the air, suffocating you.

You two are no longer solemn [First] and annoying Ajax, who trails your steps behind like a puppy, no, you are a special agent [Last] and Eleventh Fatui Harbinger Tartaglia, to whom you are personally assigned by Tsaritsa herself. Even possessing vision and delusion yourself you can’t match Childe’s power, and your loss would be easy to overlook if your harbinger wished for it. Honestly speaking, there are a lot of things he could do to you without anyone questioning it, the Harbingers being the second most powerful figures in the organization, right after Tsaritsa herself. You heard the stories of Krupp and other assistants who got missing under Il Dottore, you heard of horrible accidents happening to the people Scaramouche dislikes, you heard about the injuries Signora inflicts on the unfortunate recruits when she is in foul mood, yet you never thought that Tartaglia will abuse his power in the same way.

“Don’t worry” he seems to have taken mercy on you, “I won’t use my position like that, it’s cheating and I like to play the fair game”, despite the seemingly reassuring words , you don’t let yourself relax, knowing him for years.

“Don’t think I will back down though, I am not the type to give up”

[buckysboobs]

BEG ME TO STOP || k.p.

Warnings: degradation, slapping, spit kink, spanking, choking, daddy kink, slight consent play, dom!kai, just 1.6k words of really rough and filthy smut. Also it's my first time writing smut and I got carried away so oops?

He's busy reading the grimoire while she sits and watches him and the way her LED lights cast a reddish hue all over the room. He looked dangerous, and she was feeling like playing with fire.

"Malachai." She calls out, heart thumping against her chest. He replies with a 'Hmm?' without taking his eyes off the book.

"Give me attention."

He looks up at her. She's on the bed laying upside down, eyes hopeful and locked on his crotch. For some reason they're always locked there. It is a very nice sight.

"No." And with that, he's back to reading.

She gets up and slowly walks over to the chair.  She snatches the book away from him and straddles his lap.

His hands push up to her waist to still her.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asks, gaze hard, an eyebrow raised. She throws the book over her shoulder and looks right into his eyes.

"Daddy, please give me attention." 

Once he realizes what she really wants, his features soften and his hand comes up to cup her cheek.

"Yeah?" he asks. She nods.

It was unpredictable, how he suddenly yanked her by the hair and darned a slap upon her cheek. She moaned, heat rising up her skin. 

"Always so thirsty for daddy's attention, aren't you? Such an attention seeking whore." 

She made the infamous puppy eyes at him, "I'm sorry daddy, just wanted your touch."

"Oh with that attitude i'm gonna give you a hell of a lot more than that." 

With that being said he holds her close and whooshes away to their bedroom. He throws her on the bed, his lips immediately pressing to her lips. She starts sucking on his tongue when his hand wraps around her throat, his fingers applying sight pressure as her mouth snaps open and a gasp escapes the back of her throat.

He spits into her mouth. 

She hums in content, swallowing and opening her mouth for more. He slaps her again. 

"Don't be a greedy bitch now, darling." He commands, lips attaching to her neck and sucking cherry shaded bruises into her skin.

"Daddy please…" she cries, small hands trying to pry open his shirt, "I want to feel you!"

"Of course you do." he smiles, and with a snap of his fingers his shirt is off. She presses her lips to his shoulders, open mouthedly sucking, loving the salty-sweet taste of his skin. His hot breath fans over the side of her neck and down her chest as he's licking wide stripes, fingers pushing into her hips.

"Off." he mumbles against her skin and with a heavy tug, he pulls down her panties. He shoves his fingers into her mouth and she rolls her tongue around them, sucking like there's no tomorrow. He pulls them back with a pop and she blushes red when his index finger rubs against her clit, furiously applying pressure. A heavy gasp escapes her throat when Kai starts kissing down her stomach, licking into her navel and down to her heat. She presses her thighs together, almost trapping his head between them when he pries them apart with his hand and moves back up to lick into her mouth.

"Daddy please…" she whines, pushing her heat back and forth on his fingers, trying to get some friction and he sniggers mockingly.

"Getting yourself off on my fingers… what a fucking slut." With that being said he abruptly reaches down and licks a wide stripe up her gaping cunt.

"Oh shit!" she cries out, earning herself a spank.

Kai's prickly beard rubs against her pussy and inner thighs as he eats her out like she's delicacy, tongue reaching in and out of her core and thumb rubbing harsh circles on her clit. Without warning, he pushes two fingers in and she gasps, hand yanking on the sheets to ground herself.

His experienced mouth sucks on her clit, fingers furiously thrusting in and out of her pussy, mind reveling in her cries and gasps of pleasure and mouth full of her sweet taste. His long and thick fingers scissor her open, thrusting hard against her insides, basically tearing her apart and he's not even started.

She pushes down on his fingers when Kai comes to level with her, whispering dirty things into her ear.

"Grind on 'em," he moans, his dick getting impossibly hard against his jeans at the mouth watering sight of her, skin red, hair spread out all over the sheets and eyes filled with tears. Her mouth looked puffy and a cry escaped her parted lips when he gave a particularly hard thrust with his fingers. 

She feels a heat pool in her belly and cries out, "Daddy i'm close!"

Kai pulls back and she whines in protest. 

"I was so close!" she says, breathing heavily as she watches Kai play with the buckle of his belt. 

"Make daddy feel good and he'll let you come."

That's an offer she can't refuse so it barely takes her a minute before she's on her knees, pulling down Kai's jeans and watching his hard cock bounce against his stomach. Kai's hand comes down to rest atop her head, slightly pulling at a few strands of hair as she takes the tip into her mouth, giving kitten licks to the head.

Kai slaps her across the face, his fingertips burning her skin. "Don't be a tease, bitch."

Tears roll down her cheek and she moans around his cock, taking all of it down, the gag reflex she had worked so hard on finally coming into use. Kai yanks at her hair roughly, thrusting into her mouth while her hands rest on his thighs. He shoves his cock harder into her warm mouth, letting out breathy moans at the sounds of which her heat begins to pool again and her hand reaches down to play with her clit.

Kai sees that and pulls out of her mouth, spitting onto her face and darns another slap onto her cheek. She cries out loud, her pussy pulsing wet and throbbing.

"Nasty little bitch," he snorts bitterly, shoving his cock down her throat again and yanking her head back by the hair, "I didn't allow you to touch yourself, did I?"

She moans and it sends vibrations around his cock, he's thrusting harder when she feels him twitch and his seed is spilling down her throat.

"Swallow it." he warns, even though he knows he doesn't have to tell her. She swallows it like it's delicacy and she's been starving forever, closing her eyes and humming in content. Kai pulls out and she opens her mouth to show him that she had, indeed, swallowed it all.

"That's my girl." he praises and she beams at the response. However, the soft moment is over when he grabs her and pushes her against the wall, tongue plunging into her mouth.

She grips his shoulders but he doesn't take it, instead he thrusts hard into her pussy. His hands find hers and their fingers intwine, Kai holding them beside her head as he thrusts roughly without warning. She cries out, but the pain subsides soon and she's dwelling in the pleasure that comes with his animalistic thrusts. Her body's bobbing up and down with every thrust and Kai is grunting right into her ear, his breath tickling her skin and hands holding her down. She's crying because it feels so good and it hurts so good, his thick cock ramming into her tight cunt and heat striking every inch of her skin, his pubic bone slapping against hers. He pulls out for a second and whooshes them away to the bed where he flips her onto her front and enters her from behind, ripping a scream from her lips. He's cheating with his vampirism too, his thrusts hard and deep when he changes the angle. He grabs her neck and pulls her back up against his chest, pounding into her mercilessly while she screams his name. 

His hand comes down to brush against her clit and she starts to cry even louder, "Fuck! Fuck i'm going to cum!"

"Go on, bitch, come for me" he whispers in her ears but his thrusts never stop, he fucks her through her orgasm, still pounding hard and furious when she begs him to stop.

"That's a good girl, beg." He fucks her hard and rough and she screams, tears rolling down her cheeks and pausing at her chin, her fluids slipping down her thighs. She could have used the safe word if she wanted to , but she truly didn't because the pain and the overstimulation felt so heavenly.

"I'm gonna fill you up." Kai snarls, fucking into her roughly and rubbing fast circles on her clit, lips attaching to her ear, "I'm gonna bury my seed in your tight little cunt, breed you like a bitch in heat."

"Oh god daddy oh shit— FUCK!" she cries as another orgasm washes over her and he thrusts even harder if possible, flipping her onto her back and throwing her legs over his shoulder, he fucks her into oblivion where she's completely at his mercy. 

It hurts so good. She feels his thrusts get slower and realizes he must be close to his own orgasm but this didn't stop him as a loud groan escaped his throat and he fucked her like an animal. 

With another thrust he's spilling into her, washing her pussy with his seed and leaving his cock buried tight into her as he collapses right on top of her, breathing heavily. Her hand comes up to play with his hair and he gives her cheek a soft kiss before pulling out, making her wince.

"I wanna cuddle, daddy." she mumbles, and he smiles at her, laying right beside her on the dirty sheets as he opens his arms and she falls right into them.

___________

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