#also this got away from me I'm sorry

[iamacolor]

Casual touches between Sol and Sunjae 💛

LOVELY RUNNER - EPISODE 16

[hyakunana]

BREAKING NEWS: The most miserable man that ever stepped in DPG is winning and about to make everyone as miserable while looking good at it

[tamurilofrivendell]

Deadly Blush | Thranduil x Reader

Pairing Thranduil/Reader

Read on AO3

Content: idk teasing, smut.

Word Count: 3,840

Prompt: (#2 from this list). It’s in bold in the text below.

Requested by anon.

tags: (if you’ve filled in a form for my taglist and you’re not here it’s because your settings are probably set to hide you from search engines so it will not allow me to tag you!) @firelightinferno​, @coopsgirl​, @birbixo0912​, @desert-fern​, @weepingdreammarvel​

The only thing that you could focus on, as the Elvenking's deep voice reverberated around the room, was his mouth. You tried not to be so blatant but you could not stop your gaze from dropping to those perfectly shaped lips every time he spoke. The rest of the room seemed unaffected by your staring and by your, truly, quite sinful thoughts. Thranduil himself seemed to not notice and you decided that was a small mercy because you were pretty certain that if he did, you might die.

However, the King was not as clueless as you believed him to be. He could see you quite clearly and, truthfully, you were not very subtle about it. The rest of the council were far too focused upon the words the king was speaking to pay attention, nodding and murmuring their agreement every so often or voicing a question of their own.

When this happened next, an important member of his council drawing everyone else's attention while they brought up a very good point, Thranduil took his chance to play with you a little.

He did not turn his head, he could see you clearly enough without even needing to. His attention appeared to be on the discussion even as his tongue flicked out of his mouth and ran along the length of his lower lip.

He saw the way you shifted in your seat and inwardly smirked, though nothing showed on his face. He remained as stoic as always, his expression a mask of dignity and calm. Inside, he was most amused. The council members all turned back to him and he was quick to snap his mind back into professional mode, answering the question with ease and authority.

The next time everyone's attention was drawn elsewhere, he took his bottom lip between his teeth.

Your face had to be on fire by now, you could feel it, and you desperately hoped that nobody so much as glanced your way. You were only ever in these meetings to take notes and so thankfully it was quite common that nobody paid any attention to you. Sometimes the ignorance bothered you but today you desperately hoped and wished for it.

Just when you thought you'd gotten yourself under control again, heat rushed straight back into your cheeks at the sight of Thranduil lifting his hand to his face and running his finger over his mouth. The gesture was merely thoughtful but your mind took it to an entirely different place.

You ducked your head and then, thankfully, a halt was called to the proceedings and everybody began to stand and leave the room. You decided to stay right where you were with your hair a curtain either side of your face, acting busy with the parchment on your lap, until they had all left the room so there was little chance of them seeing your no doubt ridiculously flushed face.

“You know, I like it when your face is all red.” Thranduil's voice suddenly purred in your ear and you shivered, wondering how he had moved so quickly.  

“My lord... please.” You murmured, though you had no idea if you were pleading for him to stop teasing you or for him to make the uncomfortable knotted feeling in your stomach go away.

“Please what?” He leaned in a little closer, ghosting those sinfully soft lips over the shell of your ear before he was gone again, pacing back over to the wine decanter in the corner of the room.

Your heart stuttered in your chest and you finally lifted your head to look at him, wondering if that had even happened at all or if you had imagined it entirely.

"Nothing, I..."

However, Thranduil was talking again and you went quiet. "You know, you seem so awfully interested in my mouth, yet I do not believe you truly heard most of the words that actually left it. I dread to imagine how useless today’s notes must be." He said it so matter-of-factly that you quite literally couldn’t understand how you did not die on the spot.

He had seen you staring at him? Oh, how horrifyingly embarrassing!

You opened your mouth to let out a stream of apologies but he was already talking again, having now turned back around to face you with his wine in his hand. "Perhaps you should rid yourself of such distracting thoughts.”

You blinked and your heart sank, nodding as you lowered your gaze shamefully. He was reprimanding you and you had never felt so low in your whole life. “I... I am so sorry, Aran nin, I...” You could not speak another word. You felt so ashamed, so embarrassed. You fiddled with the corner of the parchment and waited for him to sweep out and leave you here alone while he joined the others for their quick lunch.

A deep chuckle left him as he stared at you, watching you intently. “You misunderstand me.” He said. When you looked up, he lifted the wine chalice to his lips and drank the entire thing down, making you squirm as you waited in confusion for him to explain what it is you have misunderstood.

“My lord?” You had to prompt eventually, when he lowered the now empty glass to the table and licked his lips, his eyes burning holes in your face. Your gaze slipped involuntarily back to his mouth as he did this and your face burned as you forced them back up to his face. He was grinning.

“What I meant,” he finally spoke again. “Was you should rid yourself of these thoughts... by indulging them.”

You blinked dumbly up at him for a long moment. He stared unblinkingly back at you, the hint of a smirk on his face. You swallowed hard. “I, uh... what?” How eloquent, you thought bitterly.

Thranduil chuckled again and he moved across the room towards you. “Well.” He shrugged, reaching out a hand towards you. You took it and he pulled you up onto your feet so you were now standing right in front of him. He was still quite a lot taller than you were and you had to tilt your head. He was quiet a moment longer, studying you, and you could have sworn you saw his eyes soften. “Do you not think,” he continued, his voice soft, seductive, as he lifted his hand and traced his thumb slowly across your bottom lip. Your breath caught in your throat. “That if you were to have what you were so obsessing over that your thoughts might cease...?” His smirk widened. “Hm? You might actually get some work done. I might even be able to use those notes as intended...”

You felt as if the very breath had been stolen from you and your skin felt hot and the knot in your stomach only felt like it was getting more tangled up. You had to be dreaming or hallucinating... but could a hallucination feel quite this solid, you wondered, as his thumb continued to rub gently at your lower lip. His skin was so soft...

Without warning, because you did not move away or show disinterest, he dipped his head and his mouth came down on yours, and you squeaked in surprise. You could feel his amusement as he began to kiss you and for a moment you thought your heart might have stopped altogether before you gathered enough wits to kiss him back, a little timidly. You were kissing the king. Before you could fully get used to this thought, his tongue touched your lips, asking for access, and your mouth opened slightly as if you were about to gasp. Thranduil took the chance immediately and his tongue plunged into your mouth. The sensation, coupled with the taste of him, was overwhelming. He kissed you like this, for a little while, waiting patiently for you to grow less tense as your mind fought to catch up with what was happening here. How your secret, quite lascivious fantasy had somehow become a reality.

Eventually, you managed to get over your intense shock and you began to kiss him with the enthusiasm you had imagined in your mind, and Thranduil hummed a sound of appreciation into your mouth as his tongue battled against your own. He moved his arms and his hands took firm hold of your waist. You made a slightly strangled sound and he made a noise in response that sounded like a laugh.

When he finally broke the kiss, pulling back for air, you gasped in a deep breath and opened your eyes. As you focused in on him, you realised he hadn't moved very far away, his nose still only inches from your own, his hands still grasping at your waist. He was breathing quite heavily and his pupils were dilated as he stared back at you, making his gaze seem dark... and hungry.

There was a long silence and you thought he was going to pull away. He tore his gaze from you long enough to glance at the closed door of the room. You didn't know it but he was trying to figure out if he had enough time before everybody returned to continue the meeting. Enough time for what? You found out a moment later when his lips came crashing back down on your own, his tongue no longer asking as he shoved it into your mouth. You had absolutely no complaints about that, immediately returning to kissing him back, however it was different. There was a greater urgency to his kisses this time and in the next second he had moved you over the floor at lightning speed and your back hit the wall.

He continued to kiss you as one hand moved from your waist and began to slide up under your shirt. You shivered and made an embarrassing squeaking sound that had him pulling back to look at you. He paused, as if realising what he'd done. Thranduil licked his lips, his breathing ragged, and you were certain you had never seen the Elvenking look quite so... out of control.

"Is..." He started but then he stopped, his eyes flicking downward briefly, as if he was unsure of what to say. That couldn't be right. Thranduil was never unsure of what to say. You watched his gaze turn to the door again and then move back to your face and you suddenly understood the question he was trying to ask you. Is this okay? Do you want this? Do you want more? It was absolutely absurd, of course, and you were certain this had to be a sick joke. But the desire in his eyes told a different story and Thranduil may be a lot of things but a liar he isn't.

"Yes." You said, nodding your immediate consent as you stared up at him, your head spinning at the mere idea. "Yes... please." You wanted more, you always did, always had. Now he was... offering it? You could not fathom it but you were not about to say no!

Thranduil studied you for a very long moment, searching your eyes for any hint of uncertainty, but he found none. He growled slightly and his grip on you tightened as he hoisted you up by the waist and pressed you firmly against the wall. Your legs wrapped around him on instinct and your body felt like it was on fire as he attacked your mouth with his once more. He kissed you deeply, thoroughly, though urgently, as if there was not enough time and you realised then why he had kept looking at the door and you understood this would need to be quick. Your heart fluttered in anticipation.

Thranduil kept you pressed to the wall as he slid a hand between your bodies and moved it up under the skirt you’d put on that morning. Luckily, your choice of garments only made this process easier. You moaned into his mouth when, without hesitation, his fingers found that delicious spot between your legs and began to massage, gently at first but his touch became more vigorous. He needn't have really bothered, because you were wet enough already, embarrassingly. Though it only seemed to excite him when he discovered this. All you could do in this moment was keep making muffled sounds of pleasure into his mouth.

Thranduil wished that he could touch you longer, that he had the time to please you properly as he had always longed to do. He had not expected his little game to go quite this far, of course, but he told himself that next time... he would take all the time he wished and pay attention to every inch of you.

He grunted as he reached down and tugged at the laces keeping his trousers in place, pulling himself out and lining up between your legs. A gasp left you as you felt the tip of him against you and you had to pull away from his mouth to process that this was actually happening. He didn’t stop, breathing laboured as he held eye contact with you the entire time he pushed himself inside, watching the way your eyes almost rolled back and your body shuddered with delight.

Then he was moving and you were pretty certain that you had entered heaven. He moved with determination as he took you right there against the wall of the conference room and soon he was practically panting in your ear. You had never thought yourself to be turned on by sounds before but the ones you heard leave him, quiet as they may be as he controlled himself, changed your mind. He moved quickly but not selfishly, his large body pinning you between him and the wall, one hand still between your legs trying to make certain you felt pleasure too. Your legs, which had once been firmly about his waist, began to lose their grip on him.

You were a mess.

There was no other way to put it.

One particularly well aimed thrust caused a loud moan to rip itself from your throat and one of Thranduil’s large hands immediately clamped down over your mouth. You couldn’t help it! You were not as good at controlling yourself as he appeared to be and it felt... so... good.

He smirked as he looked back into your eyes and started to move his hips just that little bit faster, as if reading your thoughts, his hand still firmly over your mouth as you moaned again, the sound muffled, the back of your head tilting back and hitting the wall as your legs began to feel useless around him and your fingers dug into the fabric of his doublet.

Thranduil’s smug expression soon disappeared from his face as he realised that he was getting closer and closer to release. His hand slipped from your mouth, his palm pressing hard against the wall as his thrusts increased slightly, his pace becoming desperate as he drove himself closer, aware that time was running out. You were, of course, much closer and you tensed around him as a great wave crashed over you, your blood rushing in your ears as you screamed out your satisfaction. Thranduil tried to cover your mouth again but he wasn’t quick enough and the feeling of you contracting around him made him forget everything else as he was pushed over the edge of his own orgasm.

As the ecstasy rolled over him, he dropped his head and pressed his face into the crook of your neck and he let out a deep, almost primal groan against your skin. The heat and the sound of him made you shiver. The feeling of him releasing deep inside you made you moan again, but you did bite your lip this time to try and stifle the sound. Thranduil went still and, for a short while, the only sound in the room was both of your heavy breathing mixing together.

Slowly, Thranduil came back to himself. He sighed, his breath hot on your neck, and he kissed your flushed skin, his lips soft and tender. You hummed, keeping your eyes closed as he gently began to suck on your neck, losing himself for a moment, and then unfortunately he pulled his face away to look you in the eye again. He took a deep breath, looking at you for a long moment as if he was studying you. “You are so beautiful...” He breathed, and your heart practically melted. Thranduil leaned in and he kissed you once more, the touch of his lips soft and gentle, as your legs trembled and threatened to stop working. Thranduil’s hands found your waist again and he helped your feet find the floor again, still kissing you.

Sudden, loud voices from the hall outside caused him to jump back from you quite suddenly, his hands immediately moving to adjust his trousers and smooth down his clothing. He stared at the door for a moment before he turned his eyes back on you, watching as you adjusted yourself, the long skirt sliding easily back into place. He reached out and he combed his fingers through your hair, smoothing some stray pieces back down. You stared up at him, captivated. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something but at that very instant the door opened and everybody began to file back into the room, their voices loud and cheerful as they moved to take their seats.

Thranduil moved away from you back to the front of the room, his shoulders straight, his hands clasped behind his back, and his expression once more his normal neutral mask.

You, on the other hand, were certain that your legs were shaking so much that if you took a step you would fall flat on your face in front of everybody. You stayed where you were for a long moment until everybody was seated and then you realised you had no other choice because it was you who needed to take the notes for the final half of this meeting. You forced one foot in front of the other, certain you could feel Thranduil’s seed starting to run down your leg. You bit your lip and you squeezed your thighs together as you finally reached your seat, taking up your parchment and quill once more, and letting out a very shaky breath. You were sure your face was flushed but, as usual, nobody paid you any attention. Small mercies.

The rest of the meeting seemed to drag on for eternity as you did your utmost to take coherent notes of what was being discussed. Unlike how Thranduil had made it sound earlier on, your mind had certainly not let up after getting what it wanted (more than it wanted, even!) No, in fact it was probably worse as your thoughts were full of Thranduil’s firm body pressing you against that wall, the feeling of him moving inside you, his hands on your body, his tongue in your mouth...

“...are you even listening?”

You blinked, lifting your head. Your eyes met Thranduil’s and the knowing smirk on his face looked so self-congratulatory you could have actually smacked him for it.

“Sorry?”

“Apology accepted.” He said, his smirk only growing as you blinked up at him.  Your eyes narrowed and he chuckled. “Forgive me, I am only teasing you.”

It was only then that you realised the room was empty. You had not even noticed everybody leaving and you glanced down at the paper in a panic to see if you had even registered the end of the meeting. Apparently you had, in a few almost incomprehensible scribbles that you must have written on autopilot.

Cringing slightly, you turned your attention back to Thranduil. “Have you not teased me enough, my lord?” You asked, a slight smirk of your own visible on your face as you met his gaze.

He let out another laugh, this one brighter, and he seemed pleased. “You will call me Thranduil.” He said firmly and then he shook his head. “And no. I do not believe I have.” 

You would call him... by his name? Without any titles at all? You were too busy trying to figure that one out that you did not catch his next words straight away. When you did, you frowned and tilted your head at him. “No?”

Thranduil shook his head, holding your gaze as he shifted and bent down at the waist so he was eye level with where you were sitting. “No.” He repeated, his eyes studying your own. He looked a little lost for a moment before he gathered himself once more. “Do you have plans this eve?”

The question took you off guard and you could only stare for a long few seconds, probably looking like a complete fool... but Thranduil merely stood patiently and waited. “No...” You said eventually.

Thranduil immediately straightened and turned on his heel. “Good. Come.” He said, gesturing over his shoulder for you to follow him. You scrambled out of the seat as fast as you could manage, snatching up your things as you hurried to follow him from the room. He did not lead you out of the main door but the one near the back of the room, that connected to one of the many passageways that were reserved just for the king, which would eventually lead... to his chambers.

When he pushed the door open, it hit you like a ton of bricks, though you must have already known on some level. Your brain was just a little slow from what had happened between the two of you earlier. 

He turned in the doorway and looked at you very seriously. “I do not want...” As before, the Elvenking seemed to not quite know what to say. “I mean, I would not wish to presume...” Again, he stopped, his mouth a thin line and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he tried to figure out what it was exactly he wanted to say to you. Such uncertainty frustrated him.

You smiled. Somehow, despite how surprising it was to see him in such a way, it relaxed your nerves. You reached for his hand and you gazed up at him, watching the surprise register on his face as he felt your fingers thread into the gaps between his own. “You do not presume, Thranduil...” You said simply, your soft smile turning into another tiny smirk. “You guess correctly.”

His uncertainty and frustration melted away, reassured by your words. You expected his perfect mouth to turn into yet another smug smirk but instead he gave you the softest, most relieved smile you had ever seen on him. “In that case...” He said, tightening his grip on your hand and pulling you back into the room with him, kicking the door shut with his boot and lifting you into his arms in one swift movement.

You squealed a laugh and then he did smirk, his lips finding yours once more, as he walked you across the room and threw you down on his large, extravagant bed.

[coolsvilleprincess]

Everybody give it up for more cleaned up sketches!! This time it's characters that I have simply been thinking about recently that are not the main gang, yes I did get distracted while cleaning up my Shaphne sketches, yes this is the result now I must return to the caves to finish them.

[alongtidesoflight]

so here's my honest thoughts on dragon age: the veilguard, after ~40 hours of playing. i finished the main quest after having finished all companion quests and major faction quests. just to clear up what content i saw, i played as an elven transmasc rook who is a member of the lords of fortune. he romanced lucanis (although after finishing the game i'm now leaning towards taash). i don't know what's happening in playthroughs that have a different race, gender identity, romance or faction going on.

full spoilers ahead, i mean it. don't read further if you want to avoid them. i don't want complaining about it in my asks.

oh and also, if you're worried because of a few negative reviews online i can comfort you by saying don't give a fuck about a certain big name youtuber who is very much tied to bethesda franchises giving this a negative review. i'll explain why.

i'm starting off with the things i liked

the game looks really pretty. i was worried it wouldn't feel like thedas anymore (with them trying to "focus on northern thedas only" i thought they'd make a clear cut in environmental design. they do and they don't. it's complicated. i'll elaborate on it when talking about the negative stuff). anyway it does. minrathous feels like kirkwall. treviso enchanted me like the winter palace did. the hossberg wetlands reminded me of the hinterlands and a couple other inquisition maps. arlathan looked like... arlathan. the crossroads were different, but familiar. overall i like the way it looks and feels. it's thedas, with a twist. it's a good one, and gives everything a solid but unique feel.

combat is top tier. if you're a hardcore dragon age player you WILL miss the tactical aspect of it for a bit, but i promise you, once you're used to the way the combat works, you will be lapping that shit up. and once you get to ability combos you'll mourn the control you used to have over your companions in battle a bit less

the MAIN quest and its story. i expected worse, way worse. and for a while the game even had me tricked (harr harr you'll get it in a second) it is Really That Much Worse. but holy shit was it good. i walked away satisfied ngl.

your choices have SOLID weight. there's consequences, good AND bad. i got minrathous blighted, ruled over by venatori, and the leader of the shadow dragons ultimately died because of my decisions. i made those at the beginning and throughout the game. he died at the end. DAVRIN died because i didn't expect what i was saying to have that much weight. i thought i was in the clear. he had hero status. well turns out, your choices can still get your companions killed even if you do everything right. i fucking love him. he shouldn't have made that sacrifice just because i told him to do everything it takes once.

the inquisitor, morrigan and dorian being there, surprisingly. there's also negatives to this though, see below.

speaking of companions dying and the inquisitor playing a bigger role: the final quest feels like me2's suicide mission. i was blown away by it and the fact that i got to see the results of all my efforts playing out in front of me.

bioware are NOT trying to redeem solas. they love him as a character yes, but i wasn't forced to see any good in him. he betrays you. he fucked my rook over twice. he fucked him over right back, for good this time (the veil wasn't torn down, i anchored it by binding him to it, he's doomed to uphold it). but solas really lives up to his name as the trickster elven god. rip to all the people who grew really attached to him over the years.

varric died. if you like him that's probably as hard reading it as it was watching it. varric died and the game lies about it until the very end. when the realisation hits, it hurts. but in the very best way.

the amount of care they put into gender expression and trans identities this time around. (i'll add onto this with negative points as well too).

rook feels very much ingrained in the world of thedas. he doesn't ask questions that expose the player to lore through dialogue as if he's stepped foot into thedas for the first time. those conversations feel very solid and good. i hope other faction players got as much joy out of this as i did.

and the things i didn't like and boy there's a lot unfortunately

the music. let's just get that out of the way holy shit. it doesn't feel like it belongs in this universe. it gets so incredibly sci-fi-y at times you'd think it's taken straight from mass effect andromeda. there's not a single song unique to veilguard that i really enjoyed. it broke my immersion, real bad. hearing a busker play the tavern songs from inquisition on a lute right after i killed some venatori with wobbly bass songs playing in the background is just odd. weird tonal shift. don't like it. it's made for people who like flashy light-weight cinema.

tevinter nights is required reading. the podcasts are required listening exercises. the game is so fast paced, especially at the start, that there's no time to introduce you to characters and how much weight their names carry in-game. i would not have known who half these people are if i hadn't skimmed over tevinter nights. i'd care even less about them than i already did. there is no time to get properly attached to them. people will act as if you're talking to a legend personified and you'll be thinking man goddamn which chapter of tevinter night were they in again and what did they do???

there's a weird mismatch with the animations. you'll have beautifully fluid ones, like emmrich casting spells. and then you'll have rook's face animating in the most unnatural manner that's sorta reminiscent of mass effect andromeda's "my face is tired" addison, when their emotions SHOULD be landing with the player rn instead.

i'm not vibing with the art style. sometimes it works. most of the time it doesn't. at points i felt like i was watching tangled.

that also brings me to some of the dialogue. same issue. i am watching frozen. i am watching tangled. someone on the writer's team really likes the adorkable trope. bellara is its victim.

for all the talk about identity, bioware sure doesn't like theirs. the grey warden armor got a redesign again and it just makes them look like a generic army. i hate it lol

in general, i don't like the armor design. the wardrobe/appearances system is fine, but it's just not helping if all the armors are just... kinda bland or downight bad looking? and don't get me started on the lords of fortune armor. that is orientalism personified.

the world states should have been carried over, full stop. i know they said they didn't because they want to separate what happens in the north from what happens in the south, which... i could have lived with that. but the inquisitor sends you letters that keep you up to date on... the south of thedas. you learn that there's a blight again, that people are standing strong but it's difficult, denerim's fallen, the rulers are taking care of it, orlais is fighting and they're successful for a while, etc etc. what's good bioware. i thought we don't care about the south this time around. why are you feeding me so much boring generic information. if you're not gonna show any of it and just write letters, then carrying the world state over should not have been an issue. i have a game dev background. those few lines of code would not have broken your budget or pushed your engine's limits. fuck right off.

this gripe of mine carries over to all the cameos. as a lord of fortune you have to deal with isabela a lot. it's fun. i missed her. you get to go drinking with her and taash and bellara! also my hawke romanced her. she's not mentioned once. they had the opportunity to put a sentence or two about her in there with not a lot of effort, trust me.

when varric dies, all she has is a single line about it. for gold, for fortune, for varric. she only says it if you interact with her on your way to the final push. that's not mandatory.

morrigan is there. kieran isn't. the old god soul that mythal and then solas absorbed? who cares at this point, the gods are dead now and solas is locked away for eternity. i suppose? why is morrigan there. she feels unneeded. i wish they'd just left her down south, at least that way i wouldn't have had to witness her god awful redesign.

dorian at least feels as if he belongs in this story. the shadow dragons are a crucial part to protecting minrathous. he's also weirdly underutilised. isabela and morrigan had more lines than him in my playthrough.

on the topic of romance: bro that was underwhelming. no, genuinely. you know when romance picked up a bit? after the point of no return. i heard maybe two lines of companion banter about it before that. maybe i missed something which i honestly doubt, but romance did not play much of a role in lucanis's storyline. i saved his grandmother as he wished me to (and if you read tevinter nights you know she was rather abusive and their relationship not the healthiest) and told him to focus on his family. a reunified family my rook wasn't even introduced to as a partner at the end of all that.

really, do not buy this game if you're only in it for the romances. others might be better, lucanis's basically gave me nothing. except for an outing (the second coffee date i had with him, it was getting repetitive) all of it played out once i committed to the final quest. the sex scene was a fade to black. annoyingly right after davrin died. if you're looking for well paced and good spice, pick up something else. the sweet talk and the final goodbye were nice though.

for all the good the ever-presence of gender identity does, it is brought up in such a disruptive manner too. it doesn't even play out naturally if you CHOOSE the lines that are meant to be said. hearing the words trans and non-binary in this setting doesn't feel right, and i'm saying this as a trans guy. i think it could have been handled more gracefully. the amount of times my rook went "i'm a MAN" as if he's about to start drumming on his chest and roaring any second now got super nerve-grating. "i'm so glad you're into me... the me who is trans. remember?" just. tell me one trans person who'd talk like that to a person they've grown close with and are trying to romance. this game doesn't handle sexuality well, so all this hey my body might not look like the way you're expecting it to look talk amounts to nothing anyway. i feel about this the way i feel about krem: this is partial exposition to trans experiences... packaged up for cis consumption. the ONLY exception to that is interacting with taash. holy shit was all of that heartwarming and bro did it feel good and natural to talk to them about theirs and rook's gender.

rivain and nevarra are new locations added by veilguard. they're also incredibly underwhelming, small and constricted maps. rivain is a coastline with a few ruins. the hall of valor is a partial ruin nestled into a cave on a beach, with a fighting pit. isabela is there in her skimpy outfit commentating your pit fights. that's it. i'm sorry if you were looking for a bustling pirate cove or whatever. you're not gonna get it. the nevarran crypts btw are a long ass dungeon crawl. that's it.

speaking of maps. i thought people were being dramatic when they said you're gonna be fighting the same enemies on them again and again. i thought they were figure of speeching it. they're not. you WILL fight the same amount of enemies. in the same spot. every time you reload the map. best to stay on a map and clear out the enemies and do as much questing on that map as you can before leaving, because you WILL have to do it all over again once you return.

the three choices i made for my inquisitor didn't matter lol she didn't have to face solas and therefore couldn't stop him at any cost as she had sworn (maybe because my rook tricked solas into binding himself to the veil, there was also an option to fight him. would she have stepped in? who knows). blackwall wasn't mentioned. and either her using a small amount of her forces in the final fight was the reason the civilians of minrathous fared so well..... or it just didn't matter. ultimately i think she had very little impact on anything

[memoriamp4]

I hate that we never heard Astrid tell Hiccup 'I love you'. I was fully expecting her to tell him she loved him back in rtte 6x06 after he told her he loved her... but she didn't. Like they really made an entire episode about Astrid wanting a more lovely dovey relationship but then she never even said 'I love you' in the episode?? And Astrid has so many inspiring and loving speeches to Hiccup but I wish there was an 'I love you' included in at least one of them

[rawbin-hsr]

Aventurine x reader

You die.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

TW: DEATH, heavy angst, gore, blood, kind of disturbing, a bomb explodes, derealisation/disassociation, graphic, I'll be so honest this fic is kind of fucked up

Lmk if I should add any more specific warnings!

If you're sensitive to violence and dark themes, you probably shouldn't read this.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

This mission had gone terribly awry. 

It was only meant to be a routine checkup. The IPC was planning on allocating resources from this planet, something the locals had not been pleased about. Aventurine understood. He would not be particularly happy to have his planet drained of all that made it worthwhile either. (He had not been happy. But all things considered, he thought he was being generous. Nobody was being directly killed, the IPC merely wanted a cut of the many materials the planet offered. The Avgins on Sigonia had all been very intentionally exterminated. He was not doing that to these people.)

Still, he couldn’t afford to take risks, hence the many IPC assigned bodyguards he had brought along. Deals like this, where the clients were undeniably on the losing end, were bound to go wrong in one way or another. Often violently so. 

He just had not expected the bombs. He had not expected the mass amounts of guns. The people were more capable and vengeful than he had assumed, then. Ultimately, it was his own fault.

Most of his goons were dead. Most of the government officials were dead too. It made sense they’d want to go out in such a loud and proud way. A declaration to their people they wouldn’t lay flat before the otherworldly corporation that had come to essentially take away what made their planet their home. Bold to be ready to kill so many of their own, but he could respect it. 

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t be very angry. It was fair, all things considered. He’d had this long coming; being killed by the people whose lives he was ruining. In their positions, he’d love to kill him, too. The only issue was that this hadn’t happened under normal circumstances. 

No, you were with him. You’d been just a bit away from him when they opened fire, when they set off the bomb. 

It was so stupid. It was so, so unbelievably stupid that he’d let you come with. It was your job, yes, but he should have reassigned you to some other mission. Something safer. Something that didn’t involve visiting planets to drain them of all their worth. Something that didn’t bring about rage from the clients. 

He could see you. He’d been saved from the brunt of the impact, and his luck had once again protected him from serious harm. He had only been slightly grazed by a bullet, had only been slightly burned by the heat of the explosion. Nothing serious. Nothing he couldn’t walk off within a week or two. You had not been so lucky. 

Your arm was outstretched over your head, body lying limply on the floor. Missing the other arm. There was only a gaping, red hole where it had once been attached to your body, a little bit of bone sticking out of the gory mess. The blown off hand with your engagement ring lay close enough to him that he could touch it. Maybe intertwine his fingers with it for the last time. The pinky was missing.  

He pushed himself onto his feet on unsteady legs. He could barely feel his own body at all. One glance down at it told him he’d been right in his initial assumption, though. No parts of him were missing. He was intact. 

He stumbled over to where you lay, your expression calm, almost peaceful. No pained pinch between your brows, no worried frown on your lips. Were you unconscious, or were you dead? Though he knew it was unlikely you’d leave this place alive either way, he hoped desperately for the former. 

He fell to his knees next to you. Something was buzzing beneath his skin. Something was buzzing in his vision. Had the world always been so blurry? Had there always been such a loud noise ringing in his ears? His hands trembled as he carefully reached out, a hand tenderly cupping your cheek. Your face was red, slightly burnt in places. Your hair was singed. You felt hot to the touch. 

No, not hot. Warm. Warm as in alive. He couldn’t hear you breathing, but warmth meant life. Warmth meant life. You were alive, surely.

He brushed his thumb under your eye. Tried to find something to say, but he found his mouth refused to open. Carefully, so carefully, he shifted you onto his lap. He stared at the dust from all the debris that had settled onto you. He couldn’t breathe. 

(He thought back to a time when the dust had been sand. He thought back to the red that had painted the ground then as it did now. He thought back to another body he had pulled closer, with hands much smaller and weaker than the ones he had now. He thought back to the taste of salt as tears fell in an endless stream from his eyes to cover his face and hers.)

He moved his free hand to your neck, gently pressing a finger to where he knew he was supposed to find your pulse. It wasn’t there, but only because he wasn’t searching hard enough. He carefully felt around, and though he couldn’t find it, he knew it was still there. He just didn’t dare press down hard enough to find it. The same applied when he felt your wrist. He was just bad at finding things today. 

(He stupidly hadn’t found a good enough reason to put you out of this mission. He stupidly hadn’t found anything that happened before the explosion suspicious enough to leave early. He stupidly hadn’t found his way next to you quickly  enough to save your life.)

When his hand landed on your chest, absent of a heartbeat, tears started falling from his eyes. But why was that? You weren’t dead. In fact, the longer he looked at you, the more sure he became this couldn’t be you. Your skin wasn’t this hot. Your arms were both still attached. You did not have fresh burns covering your face. Most importantly, you were alive. Alive and well and happy and safe from this little mishap. He had misremembered, you had stayed home during this mission. The hand he’d been so sure belonged to you had been someone else’s, he’d merely mistaken the ring for yours. It was such a bland ring, after all. He’d have to buy you a new, much prettier one once he came home to you, and apologise for his oversight in giving you such a boring design. 

He ignored the repeated whispers of ‘not again, not again’ going through his head. Nothing was happening ‘again’. This was not Sigonia. This was not a person he loved, or even knew. He couldn’t understand why his body curled over the stranger’s, sobs wracking his frame as he pulled them close, soft apologies tumbling from his mouth. He nuzzled his face into your- their hair, hand carefully cradling the back of their head as the other supported their back. 

The body smelled like you. The body felt too similar to yours in his arms. The body had your face, even if your features were a little damaged. The longer he stared, the more he could feel his gut sinking. So he shut his eyes and reminded himself that there was no possible way this was you. It couldn’t be, it couldn’t. The universe would not be that cruel to him, would it?

Then again, maybe he had deserved this. If it was real. He was not a good man. He had not come to this planet with good intentions. Losing the thing most precious to him, the only thing precious to him, after taking away so much from so many others was a befitting punishment. 

But you hadn’t deserved this. Wouldn’t have, if it was real. You were so kind and generous and perfect and lovely, so different from him, so different from the position your job wanted you to be. You didn’t deserve to die. 

Die. Dead. 

Dead. Dead. Dead. 

You were dead. 

(Aventurine had seen so much death in his life. He should have been used to it by now. He was used to it. He had just forgotten how much it hurt when it is someone he loves.)

He held you tighter. If he held you tightly enough, could it piece you back together? If he held you tightly enough, could he replace the parts of you that were missing with his own? The sobs that escaped his lungs were violent, and quickly, some morphing into gagging. He felt sick. He had to turn himself away from you briefly to throw up, not wanting to soil what was left of you further, before he desperately held you again. Would it be the last time he held you?

Maybe if he took you back to the ship quickly enough, something of you could be salvaged. Maybe he couldn’t piece you back together, but he could find someone who would. There had to be something he could do. This couldn’t be it. He couldn’t lose like this again. 

He could barely stand. His body was already weak and your added dead weight made it even harder to balance. He picked up the parts of you strewn about on the ground he could quickly spot. Your hand, your shoulder, what he thought might be your bicep. He couldn’t find your forearm and he didn’t have time to properly search for it. Maybe someone could put all of you back together? Maybe you’d be whole again. He wanted you to be whole again. 

(He couldn’t save his people. He couldn’t save his mother. He couldn’t save his sister.)

(But things had to be different now, surely. He was a different person now. He had power, he had wealth, he had everything. What would it all be good for, if he couldn’t save you?)

Other IPC personnel met him outside the building as he stumbled out, and Aventurine’s mind was so hazy he couldn’t make sense of anything that was happening. He was pretty sure his own, now dead, workers had sent a distress signal. People rushed in to find anyone else from the wreckage. After, Aventurine found out he was the sole survivor. (He always was.)

(You had not survived.)

He demanded you be taken into surgery. That the medical staff on board had to get you to breathe again. For some reason, they had been hesitant. He threatened to have them fired or killed if they didn’t get to it. He set you as first priority, putting the best doctors they had on hand to work on you. 

They sewed you back together as best as possible at his insistence. They got your heart pumping blood again, they hooked you up to machines and forced your lungs to breathe. The surgery lasted for four hours.

It did not change the flatline on the screen signalling your brain activity. 

He could find the best doctors in the whole galaxy, but he already knew the line would remain flat. Nothing was bringing that back.

He stared at you for hours after your surgery. Interlaced his fingers with yours, feeling the artificial warmth of your hand. It did not feel like you. The temperature was wrong. The look on your face was wrong. Your body was wrong. Everything about what remained of you was wrong. 

He eventually laid his head on your chest, and then he cried.

He cried until the black spots in his vision grew so numerous he could no longer see, until everything faded and he could no longer hear the beeping and humming of the machines keeping you hollowly alive. 

(Why did he ever let himself love again?)

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Sorry that was messy I wrote everything today because I am con-crunching tomorrow and won't be available for like at least 3 days after this (usually I write over the span of multiple days so I can re-read for grammatical/spelling errors and so my language will be a little more varied + I get fresh ideas). Sorry this fic was ?? kind of messed up ??? I think ??? I think my perception of what's messed up and not is kind of weird (I grew up on warrior cats HELP.) so to me it didn't feel that fucked up to write about Aventurine literally picking up your body parts after you died but I've realised upon mentally summarising that part of the fic that maybe that was kinda horrific. Just a glimpse into my twisted mind heh 😈.... sorry

My inbox is open, feel free to send in asks or requests, I'd love to ramble about things <3

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

questioning sexuality is so exhausting

[pumpkinrootbeer]

imo there is something to be said for how Lip is consistently placed in the position of protector/parent. Obviously we see him take care of all his younger siblings, especially Liam. But beyond that from very, very early on in the show we see him have a strong vested interest in protecting kids, like when Karen is going to give the baby up for adoption; "Now, uh, do you check the, uh, families for, you know, um, alcohol and drug abuse? Make sure they have enough income to feed it and stuff?", "But they're still good families right? You make sure they're going to decent parents?"(s2.8)

Or in s3.4 when he convinces Mandy to help him rescue her half-sister, Molly. "She sounded desperate. Let's see if we could get her, let's see if we could help." and "If she ran, it was probably for a good reason, no?"(s3.6). Of course there's the entirety of season 4, where he's not only willing to drop out of college to look after Liam but then is afraid to even let Liam out of his sight for almost the rest of the season. And then, obviously, there's Xan in season 8 & 9, a complete stranger but still a kid in need who he then helps without question. He also gives Xan and her mom ten thousand dollars.

Also in s4 (sorry just a really good Lip season in general), it's Lip who realizes something is wrong with Ian and goes looking for him (s4.5) and then it's Lip who takes care of Fiona after she breaks parole (s4.10). On top of which, the only reason Lip is even going to college, despite vocally saying he doesn't want to numerous times, is because it'll help his family if he gets a good job; "Except the little ones Debbie, and- and Carl, and- and Liam, and, my sister Fiona. I could be there for them but I'm not. You know, 'cause I'm here. 'cause I'm told that, that's something I could do for those kids, in a big way, in a real way.' (s5.8)

This perception that Lip both doesn't care about Fiona (or the rest of his family) and doesn't do anything for them is such a misconception. Obviously, there's everything he does to help in s4, from picking up Fiona in Wisconsin to stealing food and cooking dinner every night, but there's how he does try to help Ian, like in s7.3 when he convinces Ian to take his meds. Or in s9.6 when he does a gig as a sober coach to get Ian money for his commissary account in prison. And, then, of course there's how Lip is the reason Fiona goes to AA in s9, both by convincing V to not enable Fiona, "What kind of friend do you want to be? The kind that sees her drunk at the Alibi every morning?" and also by telling Fiona, "Get to a meeting."(s9.12).

I think it's also worth mentioning that Lip only kicks Fiona out once she starts being a danger to the kids in the house, "I'm not letting you stay here! Not with Franny, and not with Liam. No fucking way."(s9.12) Keep in mind, the previous episode he had to body block Fiona to keep her from yelling around and at Xan.

It's just such a wild misreading of the text that Lip is callous or selfish in regards to his family, and especially in the context of Fiona and their relationship. When people say that Fiona always took care of Lip and he never gave anything in return, or that he pushed her to take care of their whole family and never stepped up, I think they're just willingly choosing which parts of the show to engage with and which to ignore.

Obviously there's the age gap, she's 5 years older, (in s8 Lip says he's 23 and Fiona says she's 28) so I'm not sure how much you guys wanted a 4 year old to pitch in when you bring up what she was doing at 9. But beyond that, when Lip got old enough to help, he did. We see him helping throughout the show, we see him stepping up and caring for everyone including Fiona. And it's not just Fiona he was helping, he did Kev and V's taxes, he was the one who came up for the plan to keep Debbie out of jail in s1 when she stole the baby. He helps JimmySteve throughout season 1-3.

And at the exact same time, Lip ends up having to solve most of his problems on his own or he just never brings them to Fiona in the first place. When she does find out he has something going on, her advice usually boils down to telling him to fix it; "So what are you going to do?"(s2.5) "Make it right with Ian."(s2.6) "You want to piss away every single chance you get, including this job, that's your business but don't drag me into it."(s7.10) It's also interesting how in her big "I was nine" speech in s7.12, Lip is the only one she doesn't mention.

Honestly the only character we see actually looking after Lip during his struggles with alcoholism is Debbie throughout s6 and 7. ("I don't want you to end up like Frank" being the reason he goes to rehab, "Do you need us to hide the beer?", "He's trying to get sober Frank!", and of course her confronting him in s7.11 when she finds out he's been drinking and makes sure he's going to a meeting.)

I wanna make it really, really clear that I'm not blaming Fiona or anything other character. I honestly think it's actually really compelling story telling that Lip is the sibling Fiona has a completely different dynamic with and that he's the one she consistently leans on. Not to mention, Lip clearly struggles to accept help and is pretty closed off emotionally. (Almost every big scene we see regarding their family he shuts down and goes silent.) But! I do think there's just this wild misconception with Lip's character that he's ungrateful, selfish, and uncaring towards his family. Yes he's prickly and rude and arrogant, but he's also incredibly caring and that's been a consistent character trait since day 1.

[hydrachea]

You're the first person i've encountered here/on twt who ships the SH polycule 😭 everywhere I go it's nuclear family this girl dad blade that

I know anon, I know. It's dire for us out there.

It's not even that I don't think they're found family. They very much are. It's that found family doesn't mean found father found mother and found children, and yet it's apparently all people can come up with for some reason. And not only does it limit how you can appreciate their relationship, but I'm also really not a fan of the resulting constant infantilization of Silver Wolf and now Firefly by... Most people at this point. You don't have to ship the four of them together, but I sure would appreciate if people didn't treat these two like Blade and Kafka's teenage daughters just because they have short models.

I can't tell you how grateful I am that Firefly called them all her partners in 2.3. Not her allies, not her teammates, her partners. And that Jade, from her outsider point of view, called their relationship "strong and intimate". They all love each other so deeply, it's everything to me.

This ship may be so tiny you might as well call it a raft but believe me when I say I'm sailing it as far as it can go.

[floydmtalbert]

Tab + “nostalgia” from this prompts list, for @shoshiwrites

It is a hot, still evening in late August. The war has been over for a year.

Floyd steers the pickup onto a dusty side road skirting the edge of a cornfield, driving slowly, heading nowhere in particular. He holds the wheel loosely with one hand; the other hangs out of the open window. The lowering sun is warm on his forearm and on the side of his face, and glaring bright, so that he has to narrow his eyes as he stares through the dirty windshield down the road ahead, stretching away into a heat haze along the horizon.

There are no other cars on the road, no houses or farms in sight. No people. Just the cornfield, flashing yellow-green past the window, and the road ahead, long and straight, rippling in the heat. Everything quiet and lifeless, save for the pickup, the hum of the tyres on the asphalt and the rumble of the engine.

The mail that morning had brought a letter from Bill Guarnere, chatty, containing a photo of Frannie and their baby boy, and full of updates on other Easy men and plans for a reunion. Floyd can’t see the point. A bunch of fellas sitting around talking about the good old days, when they weren’t all that good, and aren’t exactly old, either.

He huffs a long sigh, makes a slight adjustment to the steering wheel. Maybe it’s only him that thinks that way.

Floyd came home nearly a year ago and picked up where he left off. He sleeps in his childhood bedroom, under the old patchwork quilt his great-aunt made, with his high school basketball trophies still on the shelf, dutifully dusted by Nellie Talbert every week, and all the old photographs pinned to the corkboard: himself as a ten-year-old with the family dog, him and his father fishing on Lake Michigan during the one vacation his parents had been able to afford, photobooth snapshots with girlfriends, all married, now, or gone to Indianapolis for work. A few months back he’d even found a bunch of dirty magazines hidden in a box under the bed, a relic of his teenage years. He’d burned them in the backyard, and filled the box instead with his medal ribbons, and his jump wings, all the patches and chevrons, and other bits and pieces, and the bundle of photographs he never looks at but still can’t bear to throw out, and kicked it back under the bed.

He turns onto another road, the pickup bumping over a pothole. The sun is behind him now. He drives past a couple of ramshackle houses, and, further on down the road, a farmhouse, with a barn and a cluster of grain silos. The road is long and straight and level, but he takes it easy. No hurry, nowhere to go.

Major Winters writes now and then—and that’s another thing, Floyd can’t stop thinking of him as Major Winters, even though the man keeps telling him to call him Dick. He’s working in New Jersey, with Captain Nixon, has already been promoted once. Chuck is doing better, working, seeing a nice girl. Joe Liebgott is getting married—or is maybe already married by now. His latest letter sits in Floyd’s bedside drawer, unopened. Smokey calls every couple of weeks, talking about using the GI Bill to go to college.

Floyd got his old job back with Mr Nelson, doing odd jobs on the farm, and in the evenings he takes his dad’s Chevy and heads out for a drive, alone, going nowhere in particular. Sometimes he circles the reservoir, watching the changing colours of the sky reflected in the water. Sometimes he drives through the suburbs on the other side of town, where the houses are tidy and painted fresh white, and have big wraparound porches and garages, and trees on the lawn out front. Other times he heads east, taking one road after another through the acres of farmland, left turn, right turn, zigzagging out and around and back on himself. Just driving, and smoking, sometimes drinking, half a bottle of whisky in a paper bag that he tosses out before he gets home.

In the rearview mirror the sun is a deep orange, flaring along the horizon.

He tries to think of what a reunion would be like. He imagines a big room in some hotel, with a dance floor, and tables set up around it. Maybe there’d be coloured paper garlands strung along the walls and across the ceiling, like they did for his high school prom, or the USO dances in England. He imagines all the fellas there, with their wives in cocktail dresses, and pictures of their kids in their wallets, catching each other up on their jobs, and their houses, and the new car. Or else their college classes, the cute girls on campus, the fraternity parties. And then the talk would turn to the war, d’you remember when and I’ll never forget that time, the jokes and the hijinks and everything else tucked away and the whole thing a big adventure, and done with, in the past.

Floyd slows the pickup and guides it carefully over a culvert. The engine chugs.

He doesn’t want to remember the war, but he can’t seem to move on from it, either. He sleeps in his old room, and works the same job he was doing at eighteen, and after work he drives around aimlessly, with nothing to do and nowhere to go. He’s tired, bored. Mostly he’s angry: at everything, and everyone, and himself most of all.

Maybe it would be good to see the guys again, he thinks as he turns onto another road. Just once. Maybe then he could get it out of his system. Snap out of it, stop holding himself back.

Twilight is falling now, and the air is soft and warm. Floyd switches on the headlights and keeps his eyes on the road ahead, dusty, uneven, patched asphalt revealed in the wobbling beam of light, and glances up now and then to watch the colours fade from the western sky.

He wouldn’t go, he decides. There was nothing to say, nothing worth remembering. He props his elbow up on the sill, and then hangs his hand out of the window again, feeling the air stream through his open fingers.

[acourtofquestions]

Rowaelin Chapter 41 Kingdom of Ash:

She'd rebuild it—what she had been.

Perhaps one last time, perhaps only for a little while, but she'd do it. If only for Terrasen.

Rowan swooped from the mast, shifting as he reached her side at the rail. He surveyed the night-black sea beyond them. "You should rest." She slid him a glance. "I'm not tired." Not a lie, not in some regards. "Want to spar?" He frowned. "Training can start tomorrow."

"Or tonight." She held his piercing stare, matched his dominance with her own.

"It can wait a few hours, Aelin."

"Every day counts." Against Erawan, even a day of training would count.

Rowan's jaw tightened. "True," he said at last. "But it can still wait. There are ... there are things we need to discuss." The silent words rose in his animal-bright eyes. About you and me.

Her mouth went dry. But Aelin nodded In silence, they strode into their spacious quarters, its only decoration the wall of windows that overlooked the churning sea behind them. A far cry from a queen's chamber, or any she might have purchased as Adarlan's assassin.

At least the bed built into the wall looked clean enough, the sheets crisp and stainless. But Aelin headed for the oak desk anchored to the floor, and leaned against it while Rowan shut the door.

In the dim lantern light, they stared at each other.

She'd endured Maeve and Cairn; she'd endured Endovier and countless other horrors and losses. She could have this conversation with him. The first step toward rebuilding herself.

Aelin knew Rowan could hear her thundering heart as the space between them went taut. She swallowed once. "Elide and Lorcan told you... told you everything that was said on that beach."

A curt nod, wariness flooding his eyes. "Everything that Maeve said." Another nod.

She braced herself. "That I'm-we're mates."

Understanding and something like relief replaced that wariness. "Yes."

"I'm your mate," she said, needing to voice it. "And you are mine."

Rowan crossed the room, but halted a few feet from the desk on which she leaned. "What of it, Aelin?" His question was low, rough.

"Don't you..." She scrubbed at her face. "You know what she did to you, to ..." She couldn't say her name. Lyria. "Because of it."

"I do know."

"And?"

"And what do you wish me to say?"

She pushed off the desk. "I wish you to tell me how you feel about it. If…"

"If what?"

"If you wish it wasn't so."

His brows narrowed. "Why would I ever wish that?"

She shook her head, unable to answer, and stared over her shoulder toward the sea.

It seemed like he would close the distance between them, but he remained where he was.

"Aelin." His voice turned hoarse. "Aelin."

She looked at him then, at the pain in his words.

"Do you know what I wish?" He exposed his palms, one tattooed, the other unmarked. "I wish that you had told me. When you realized it. I wish you had told me then."

She swallowed against the ache in her throat. "I didn't want to hurt you."

"Why would it ever hurt me to know the truth that was already in my heart? The truth I hoped for?"

"I didn't understand it. I didn't understand how it was possible. I thought maybe ... maybe you might be able to have two mates within a lifetime, but even then, I just ….." She blew out a breath. "I didn't want you to be distressed." His eyes softened. "Do I regret that Lyria was dragged into this, that the cost of Maeve's game was her life, and the life of the child we might have had? Yes. I regret that, and I wish it had never happened." He would bear the tattoo to remember it for the rest of his days. "But none of that was your fault. I will always carry some of the burden of it, always know I chose to leave her for war and glory, and that I played right into Maeve's hands."

"Maeve wanted to ensnare you to get to me, though."

"Then it is her choice, not yours."

Aelin ran a hand over the worn wood of the desk. "In those illusions she spun for me, she showed me variations on one more than all the others." The words were strained, but she forced them out. Forced herself to look at him. "She spun me one dreamscape that felt so real I could smell the wind off the Staghorns."

"What did she show you?" A breathless question.

Aelin had to swallow before she could answer. "She showed me what might have been—if there had been no Erawan, if Elena had dealt with him properly and banished him. If there had been no Lyria, none of that pain or despair you endured. She showed me Terrasen as it would have been today, with my father as king, and my childhood happy, and..." Her lips wobbled. "When I turned twenty, you came with a delegation of Fae to Terrasen, to make amends for the rift between my mother and Maeve. And you and I took one look at each other in my father's throne room, and we knew."

She didn't fight the stinging in her eyes. "I wanted to believe that was the true world. That this was the nightmare from which I'd awaken. I wanted to believe that there was a place where you and I had never known this suffering and loss, where we'd take one look at each other and know we were mates. Maeve told me she could make it so. If I gave her the keys, she'd make it all possible." She wiped at her cheek, at the tear that escaped down it. "She spun me realities where you were dead, where you'd been killed by Erawan and only in handing over the keys to her would I be able to avenge you. But those realities made me ... I stopped being useful to her when she told me you were gone. She couldn't get me to talk, to think. Yet in the ones where you and I met, where things were as they should have been ... that was when I came the closest."

His swallow was audible. "What stopped you?"

She wiped at her face again. "The male I fell in love with was you. It was you, who knew pain as I did, and who walked with me through it, back to the light. Maeve didn't understand that. That even if she could create that perfect world, it wouldn't be you with me. And I'd never trade that, trade this. Not for anything." He extended his hand. An offer and invitation.

Aelin laid hers atop his, and his callused fingers squeezed gently. "I wanted it to be you," he breathed, closing his eyes. "For months and months, even in Wendlyn, I wondered why you weren't my mate instead. It tore me up, wondering it, but I still did." He opened his eyes, and they burned like green fire. "All this time, I wanted it to be you."

She lowered her gaze, but he hooked a thumb and forefinger around her chin and lifted her face.

"I know you are tired, Fireheart. I know that the burden on your shoulders is more than anyone should endure." He took their joined hands and laid them on his heart. "But we'll face this together. Erawan, the Lock, all of it.

"We'll face it together. And when we are done, when you Settle, we will have a thousand years together. Longer."

A small sound came out of her. "Elena said the Lock requires—"

"We'll face it together," he swore again.

"And if the cost of it truly is you, then we'll pay it together. As one soul in two bodies.

Her heart strained to the point of cleaving. "Terrasen needs a king."

"I have no intention of ruling Terrasen without you. Aedion can have the job."

She scanned his face. He meant every word He brushed the hair from her face, his other hand still clasping hers to his chest, where his heart pounded a steady, unfaltering rhythm.

"Even if I had my choice of any dream-realities, any perfect illusions, I would still choose you, too."

She felt the truth of his words echo into the unbreakable thing that bound their very souls, and tilted her face up toward his. But he made no move beyond it.

She frowned. "Why aren't you kissing me?"

"I thought you might want to be asked first."

"That never stopped you before."

"This first time, I wanted to make sure you were ... ready." After Cairn and Maeve. After months of having no choices whatsoever.

She smiled despite that truth. "I'm ready to be kissed again, Prince."

He let out a dark chuckle and muttered, "Thank the gods," before he lowered his mouth to hers.

"You're my mate." Her words were a breathless rush. "And I am yours."

The world might have been burning around them for all she cared, all he cared, too.

"Together, Aelin," he promised, and she heard the rest of the words in every place their bodies joined. Together they would face this, together they would find a way.

Together we'll find a way, their mingling breaths, the crashing sea, seemed to echo.

Together.

[crossbackpoke-check]

tagged by ko @tofumilanesa for wip wednesday! big shout out to writevember for making me feel like i can actually call any of these works in progress… your guide to my emoji code under the cut

wip!

🪻🐈‍⬛ - the doc title is still just. YOWLING but i am like 7/8 of the way done with omega yamo fic and hopefully salem isn’t reading this so i can just drop it over a year later with no warning <3

🫃2️⃣ - DEWEY^2 P2!!!! she is almost done (i am lying) but she is so close i can almost taste it. sorry to my pwp that grew its own feelings baby

😇🤭 (🕒 -> 🕜) - rip i’m not telling you about this one until it’s posted but it IS complete aside from being ao3 formatted and the eight billion edits i inevitably do right before full-sending it

☁️💧 - cloud petey fic, which exists mostly as an embarrassingly large tag on a different blog and is condensing into a narrative about as well as water at 30° N/S. the time loop fic also falls under this description

eternally in progress (short list)

🌑🐕 - tyler borzoituzzi exists… there is an index of scenes/plot points… it plays like a movie in my head…

💯❕- fantastic! ‘verse

👁️👻 - stevie brandon seeing ghosts au, which has eight different (now nine i guess but you haven't seen the mustache adam post yet) plots. sorry

just. rotating like a microwave

🍎 - because they didn’t have a pomegranate emoji, this is what i used for the fic that feels like it should be a 50k connor bedard character study hanif abdurraqib/cathal kelly thesis about legends and mythmaking in sports and eating your young. yes i know pomegranates aren’t actually pomes and apples are but it’s fine

🦈 - the one cat da fuck they doing over there meme but about the sharks just like. in general. more on this at five

tagging @colap1nto, @songsandswords, @whitenikes, @gordiemeow, @acheronist, and anybody else who wants to share!!

[purgatored]

STATUS : closed for @ludics ! LOCATION : inside benny's diner !

" YOU MUST BE REAL BUSY NOW, HUH ?" the question is blatantly rhetorical . cherry's brows raise with it as she looks at him . " without kina to cover for you or whatever ." a shrug . " that must fucking suck . i mean, a lot of things fucking suck right now ." cherry allows, her brow arching . " but that must fucking suck for you ." cherry moves to take a sip of her milkshake to punctuate the words, studying him almost curiously from where she sits at the diner's counter . she puts down her glass before adding a blunt, " although, it overall seems like a pretty shitty business to be busy in, i'm not going to lie to you ." if cherry was honest she mostly only started the conversation because they were the only two people in here, and well, cherry never did well with boredom . especially not now, with the doom and gloom of it all settling over the town like a heavy blanket . no, cherry needed distractions and a lot of them . she was pretty sure this conversation might give her at least ten minutes of that if nothing else . so cherry turns to face him then, the diner's counter digging into the small of her back as she almost boredly asks, " ... you like your job or what ?"

[donttouchtheneednoggle]

don't mind me just dethorning the bramble in my stick insects' cage because a CERTAIN beautiful old lady

managed to snag her wing on one and got stuck there until I saw and detangled her and I am not eager to repeat the experience!!

ALSO I finally managed to get a picture of the whole family as it is now :DDD

1 adult Indian stick insect, 1 adult Pink Winged stick insect and three Pink Winged stick insect nymphs at various stages of development

(I also have an Indian stick insect nymph but she lives in a separate enclosure at the moment and is so tiny getting her out would be way to stressful for both her and me)

[horsechestnut]

Reverse Robins!

But specifically Stephanie and Tim (with a little Jason added when it's relevant).

Note: I'm of the opinion that in Reverse Robin AUs they wouldn't actually use Robin as their code name, but for convince and clarity's sake I will be using it here.

Damian is gone. He left in a blaze of anger. They'd fought before, but this time came with a finality Bruce doesn't known how to handle.

Batman is spiraling. Without Damian around there's no need to be Bruce Wayne, no reason not to follow one more lead before turning in. No young eyes looking to him to be an example. Nothing to keep him from beating the bad guys into a comma.

Tim Drake has been watching Bruce Wayne for awhile. He's been watching Batman for longer. He saw the turn, the way the Wayne Foundation is slowly being corrupted without Bruce's over site, and the more extreme injuries criminals are coming in with. He looks at Bruce Wayne and Batman, and the man behind them both and thinks "Yeah, I can fix that." Maybe it's teenage nativity, maybe it's a drive to do something good, maybe it's the need to be in control of something in his life. Whatever it is, he acts on it.

Bruce doesn't want to let Tim be Robin. Damian was his son, and a trained assassin, Tim is a random kid with no formal training. But Tim is a random kid who figured out his identity and is actively blackmailing him with it, so he doesn't have many options.

Batman and Robin are back together. Bruce Wayne is back in board meetings. The criminals are getting a lot less bruises. Robin is far more impressive than Batman ever would have guessed he could be. Tim is falling asleep in math class, but he already knows it all anyway so it's barely worth mentioning.

There's a new vigilante in Gotham. One who sets a dangerous precedent. It's one thing for Batman to have allies, it's another for outside agents to start taking matters into their own hands. Especially when they're untrained teenagers who are looking for personal vengeance.

He does everything he can to get Spoiler to quit. He tells himself it's not just about his personal dislike of her, it's for the sake of every other misguided kid who might try to follow her lead.

He fails.

The Joker attacks Robin. He doesn't kill him, he has a worse fate in mind. He takes Batman's prodigy and makes him his own. Tries to prove that even the Bat's closest ally can be corrupted if he has a bad enough day. He succeeds, and for one terrifying night The Batman faces off against Joker Jr.

Tim survives, but he's not the same. It takes months for his injuries to heal, and even then he's haunted by what Joker turned him into. Terrified that he could snap again at the wrong moment. He tells Bruce he can't be in the field anymore, it's to big of a risk. He promises Batman he'll find another way to help.

Cluemaster is dead. He died on a suicide mission. No matter how Steph feels about it personally, logically she knows Gotham is safer without him around. Part of her can't help being relieved, and she doesn't hate that part of herself as much as she knows she should. There's no longer any need for The Spoiler.

There's an opening for Robin and Steph wants the job. Wants to prove she can do it. That she's just as good as Tim. That she's not her father. That she can make a father proud.

Batman doesn't want Stephanie. He wants Tim. But maybe Stephanie is a way to get there. To make Tim jealous enough to come back.

Bruce tells himself it's for Tim's own good. Stephanie's too. Tim needs the push, needs to be Robin again so he can overcome his fear about being the field. And Stephanie needs the training, and the focus now that Cluemaster is gone.

Robin tries, she really does. She does everything Batman asks of her, always. Except once. And once is all it takes. Robin is fired, but as she leaves the cave Stephanie grabs on to one last desperate chance to prove herself. Batman never intended for the file to be used, but Stephanie doesn't know that. Batman didn't tell her. He never told her anything.

The war that erupts is unlike anything Gotham has ever seen.

Damian comes home. It's not for Bruce. It's for Gotham, for the city that took him in despite everything.

Batman isn't listening to Oracle. He's cutting him off, overriding his systems, and treating him like nothing more than a glorified phone operator. Tim can't just do nothing. Not when his city is burning.

Black Mask captures Spoiler, and nobody notices.

Robin is back on the scene. He's reluctant at first, but once he starts it's like a switch flips. The moves are second nature, the danger is exhilarating. It isn't a game, but part of him can't help relishing it all the same. He can't remember why he stopped.

Spoiler manages to get free. She manages to ambush Black Mask. She manages to pin him to the ground, gun pointed at his head. But Steph can't pull the trigger. Two months ago she would have, but now Batman's voice is in her head. She can't let him down. Not again.

Stephanie hesitates, and in that moment Black Mask breaks her hold. He gets his gun back. There's no moral code running though the back of his head. He doesn't hesitate.

Gotham is safe. Batman did his job. Damian is back. Robin is in the field again. But Bruce is haunted by what happened. Damian is injured, Tim has nightmares, and Stephanie...

Jason Todd isn't new to being poor. He knows how to be hungry, how to fend for himself. But he is new to being homeless. The gang war left lots of kids in the Narrows orphaned, of course some of them were going to fall through the cracks, and Jason happens to be one of them. Maybe it's for the best. He's heard how the Gotham Foster System treats kids. Maybe he's better off on his own. He just needs to find a way to make some money.

Batman descends with all the furry he's been holding in. But instead of an overconfident car thief, he finds a twelve year old boy desperately clutching a tire iron, trying to seem angry instead of scared.

Bruce recognizes something in him that he can't fully explain. He takes Jason back to the manor. Gives him a home. Does everything he can to keep him away from the cave.

That lasts about two weeks.

Jason wants to give back to his community, to make sure kids don't have to deal with the shit he had to deal with. He wants to thank Bruce for helping him. He wants to be nothing like his dad. He wants to make his new father proud.

Damian is against it. Tim is against it. Bruce is against it. Jason is insistent. He decides to take matters into his own hands, to steal an old Robin suit and sneak out after the others have left. It doesn't go well. He thinks he's blown his chance, but to his surprise Batman relents. If he doesn't Jason will find a way to do it on his own, and he won't let another kid go out untrained.

Tim goes back to Oracle. The way he felt the night of the gang war still scares him sometimes, reminds him to much of Batman back when they first met. Guilt washes over him whenever ever he thinks about it. How happy he'd been, all well Steph...

He should have been in the Clock Tower that night. Should have been keeping better tabs on all of them. He should have known she was missing in action, should have been monitoring her suit's location or trying to reach out instead of just listening when Batman said not to involve her. So if there's a new kid running around in the suit, their suit, he's going to make sure this one is safe.

Robin is good. Really good. He's to angry, he's rash, he's impulsive. But he learns fast, and he seems to almost fly over Gotham. He fits the role in a way Tim never truly did.

Black Mask is dead, and someone else is using his name. Someone who's dismantling the Gotham underworld piece by piece.

Steph has a duty to the people she hurt, a duty Batman will never understand, and one she has to handle her way. Batman stopped the war, but he didn't stop the gangsters. He didn't stop Black Mask, or Scareface, or any of the others. It's not about what they did to her. She deserved it. It was her own fault. But so many others suffered because of them, because of her, and Batman did nothing to stop it. So she will.

Black Mask isn't planning to confront Batman. She doesn't care about him. She's done seeking his approval and following his rules. Doing that got her killed. It got other people killed. But there's another Robin running around, and someone needs to explain that. Steph knows by now that she was never really Robin, it was all just a trick to get Tim back. A trick that worked. So who the hell is this kid? Is he like Tim, someone Batman will keep safe, or is he just another pawn he'll sacrifice the second it's covenant? And when she finally gets around to asking, she lets more slip than she should have.

Batman knows the truth, but that's okay. It was only a matter of time before he did, and it doesn't change anything. Bruce tries to appeal to her, but what can he possibly say that could make a difference? That he's sorry?

He is, but it's to late for that. Stephanie knows the truth. She knows he never took her seriously. She knows he never trusted her. She knows it was all a game, and that in the end Batman got what he wanted even if not in the way he intended. And Bruce can't argue, because she's right. He created her, and he knows it.

Stephanie Brown is dead. She died in Leslie's clinic. She died because her doctor decided teaching Batman a lesson was worth more than her life. A lesson he didn't even bother to learn. She died because she listened to Batman even though he never bothered to listen to her. And she died because Batman used her as a chess piece. Because he wrote her off before she'd even properly begun.

Black Mask is not Cluemaster. She refuse to ever be her father. But she's not Batman either. He never gave her the chance to be. She's something else. Something between those two extremes. Something that's fully hers. She's going to protect the people Batman's to busy to care about, and if she has to kill a few people along the way, so be it. She's not playing by his rules anymore. She never will again.

Black Mask is Batman's greatest failure. Not because she died, but because he never took the time to teach her how to live.

Stephanie is Bruce's biggest regret. Not because she died, but because he didn't care about her until she did.