#and i cannot bear to tell them that i have both plan and intent.

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

people telling me im looking better, mum pointing out im helping with clearing up after christmas dinner (i hadn't realised i haven't for months), saying im getting better-

[dragonagecompanions]

hello, this is my first request :) unsure if your still taking requests but I was wondering how the companions (maybe romanced maybe not) would react to finding out the Inquisitor has a dead kid? I think the only way the party would find out is in the fade via the fear demon, and then maybe the advisors find out on their own ┐⁠(⁠ ⁠∵⁠ ⁠)⁠┌

idk but I would be truly honored to see you answer this request, and even if not than thank you for reading over it <33

- 🍡

WARNINGS For CHILD LOSS YOI HAVE BEEN WARNED

Cassandra: When the fear demon, gleeful in it’s telling of their leader’s loss, reveals the truth the Seeker is…well, there are no words. Forcibly she is reminded of how they swayed, pale and weeping, when she had said there were no other survivors. Guilt churns low and deep at her own words, a year and more gone now, throwing that fact in their face as accusation. Throwing such a loss in their face and then demanding answers.

Throwing a calling at their feet and demanding leadership, never knowing what a loss they struggled through.

She fights all the harder for them, as if every enemy batted away from them is attempted absolution. Cassandra Pentaghast thought she understood grief in all its facets, but what does the loss of older brother and parents- expected losses if come too soon- stand before the loss of a child? Maker, how do they still breathe through it?

When they are free of the fade, she approaches only to offer apology. If they wish to speak of their loss she will listen, but only then. She has forced enough from them.

Varric: Shit. Just…shit. Here he is, going on for months about how this story is bad for heroes and how the Inquisitor is the main character and blathering on, and never saw it. Never saw the aching grief, because it was never shown. The only example he has, or is at least intimately familiar with, is Leandra Hawk and his own mother.

And as the Inquisitor had never fallen into drink or taken to blaming whoever was closest to them for things outside of anyone’s control there had been no sign for Varric to catch on to. And it makes him feel…almost dirty. Stained with his own intentions, blithely going on while their leader had lost their kid.

He doesn’t bring it up to them, doesn’t know how, but Skyhold’s resident author is absolutely the own who tells Josephine as soon as they tumble out of the fade. That raven missive is a short and brutal telling, far from his normal goings on, and his guilt is manifold in it.

Solas: The Dread Wolf is not so unattached from the world as to not consider the losses suffered at the conclave, but for the most part -when he did turn his mind to them- they were mostly academic. A balance of power, and the loss of so many leaders among both chantry and mages a destabilizing force for his future efforts. Numbers laid cooly on a chart, beads on an abacus. The fortunes of war laid bare.

But more than one parent lost a child in that terrible moment, and siblings mourned. Children bereft, friends torn asunder, lovers left to weep alone for their loves. Listening to the fear demon enumerate the inquisitor’s loss magnifies the enormity of what happened, and though he will undoubtedly be the source of much worse for a moment the Dread Wolf cannot breathe.

It passes, of course, and when they leave the fade the rift mage dies his best not to carry those emotions out with him. This world is not to blame for his actions, for the destruction of his world, but he must restore it and so they must bear the cost. It is not fair to them, and it will be long months until he can be east about his plans.

In the interim, he dares to approach the inquisitor only once about their loss. He is there as a listening ear in the silence of his rotunda if they wish to speak of their sorrow. Or if they wish only a silent companion, he will direct the kindest spirits he can find to guard their dreams and remain at their side as long as he can.

Blackwall: Maker forbid. For a moment Skyhold’s would be warden is swamped by the images of Callier’s children, dead under tiny shrouds beside the ruined carriage at his command. Too many children fall victim to the machinations of their elders and with none to protect them from the fall out, but for all that most of Blackwall’s experience has been from the other side.

Being confronted with the parent who had lost a child, confronted with the knowledge that they had told none of them and had suffered under the burden alone was staggering. Damn it, they had all laid burdens at the Inquisitor’s feet and expected answers, demanded decisions and leadership in a word gone mad— and none had known what they had lost.

He doesn’t know what to say or how to act and instead channels everything into the fight to flee the fade. Rainier would be too much the coward to speak to their leader in the aftermath, but Blackwall- older and hopefully wiser from his own griefs- will offer quiet condolences and whatever aid he can. If they need to speak of it be will listen. And if not there is soft wood and chisel enough to grind out any feelings if that is what they need.

Vivienne: Children had never been in her destiny. As a mage, even one so elevated as to be all but free of the constraints of the circle, motherhood was forbidden to her. Any child of her womb would be sacrificed to the Chantry, given to a family deemed ‘more worthy’ to raise it.

And as a mistress, no matter how deeply the love between them bloomed, Bastian could never have given her such a blessing. He had children— an illegitimate child, and a mage child at that, would have been too great a weapon against him.

And so she had put it out of her mind, never allowed herself to consider or imagine what a son might look like, how a daughter might smile. To think of it would be a loss too great to contemplate—or so she had thought. Met with the active loss and overwhelming grief that their leader must feel, Madame de Fer is suddenly glad not to know how such a burden might rest on her soul.

Could she be so calm a leader as the Inquisitor, while bleeding out inside? Vivienne does not know, and that…well, terrifies her in a way little has. But she is not called iron for nothing, and so when all is calm again she will go the Herald and ask simply and plainly what she might do for them. If the answer is nothing she will abide by it. And if there is something that might in any way assuage their grief then she will ensure they have it.

Dorian: Well, that at least explains the Inquisitor’s uncharacteristically violent outburst, when Halward Pavus had made his way to Ferelden. Upon hearing the possible consequences of the blood magic ritual the Inquisitor had laid into the Magister, flaying with words when they could not use violence. Even the Pavus paterfamilias had seemed shaken by the diatribe, and Dorian had felt championed.

He is not so shallow as to feel betrayed by the knowledge of what terrible grief must have driven such an impassioned defamation of character, but can instead only ache for his friend’s loss. They must have been a wonderful parent, and in a quiet time later will gather his courage to tell them so.

Sera: It doesn’t really register in the moment, so great is her own fear of the Fade and it’s denizens, but later it will simply break the Red Jenny’s heart. Their leader lost a true little one, and still managed to bring themselves to protect the rest of the little people no matter their age.

Like Blackwall she will either offer distraction or uncharacteristic silence in comfort, baked goods an offering that feels too…personal for such a gaping loss. But her admiration for them grows exponentially.

The Iron Bull: Public, corporate grief is rare among the Qun. Not forbidden, exactly, but when everyone is given a role it also implies that every person is inherently replaceable in that role. As Koslun said, the tide rises and falls and things must work forward toward peace.

But the death of a child is different. Whether disease or violence or simple accident, losing an imereki is a tragedy. The Tamassran mourns, the others in their care mourn, and all those in the sphere of the lost one are permitted some little allowance for the loss. Things cannot grind to a halt- this is why parents are separated from children, to ensure the deep emotional bonds that are anathema to the Qun- but there is not simple acceptance without acknowledgement of the loss.

Not even that was given to the Inquisitor. It’s east to see the shock of the others even through his own fear, and the knowledge infuriates Bull enough to get him through the Fade. Their leader lost a child, and no one was there for them. Instead piled on the whole world and its imminent loss on their shoulders. It’s disgraceful.

Later, when Adamant is pacified and they return to Skyhold, he will pull them aside. It will be painful and it will be slow, and whether they need alcohol or pain or even the clinical breakdown that bondage and sex can only give-with their explicit consent- he will help them bleed the pain and begin the grieving process.

Cole: The pain was too big for him to help, the threads caught up in pain and joy and guilt and anger and terrible despair. He didn’t even have the words to describe it to others, and so had kept silent.

If they need him later he will help, but this loss is too big for a spirit unsure of how to act.

Cullen: Maker’s breathe. How could they…why did they not…Damn it, how could he not realize?! He had all but thrust the entire inquisition on a parent who had been robbed the chance to even bury their child, let alone mourn them.

Varric’s report rocks him to the core, and the commander in truth does not know what to do. If the rest of the inner circle has it well in hand he will simply work to make sure their leader has less in their plate. If they wish to discuss it with them, he is there and if not…

He hardly has the words anyway.

Josephine: She weeps over the missive, when it arrives. Their inquisitor has been hiding the worst of loses from them, putting on such a brave face to do so much. Like Cullen she works to make sure they have less to do when they return, but does pull them aside briefly to awkwardly hug them and ask if they want a memorial somewhere private in Skyhold.

Leliana: She knew. She knew from only a few days after, when her spies brought her everything there was on the Herald. And even The Nightingales Heart could ache for such a loss, but Leliana took her queues from the Herald and simply never discussed it. That does not change now— she will follow their lead.

Mod Fereldone

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐑𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐫𝐚, 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐰𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!  

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ  

SFW🌿

⭑ There was too much passion, too much desire, for the four of you to be separate.

⭑ You moved to Dragonstone, where the chambers were much larger than the ones at King’s Landing.

⭑ And although you do have a shared room, you have chambers of your own. Where you can store your belongings and hide away if you wish it.

⭑ Harwin rarely uses his rooms, and is usually in someone else’s.

⭑ Rhaenyra��s is closest to yours and you often find yourselves snuggle at night.

⭑ You’re all equally in love with each other. And I mean everyone is. Even Harwin and Daemon. That might be inconceivable, but sexuality is a spectrum and cannot be defined all the time.

⭑ Daemon loves Harwin’s intensity and his passion. He finds it invigorating, blood-boiling and exciting.

⭑ Harwin loves the way Daemon’s mind works and he is constantly asking what he’s thinking.

⭑ Rhaenyra and Daemon are married, while you and Harwin married four years ago.

⭑ You had this arangement for two and a half years at King’s Landing. You all tried to keep it a secret. But ever since moving to Dragonstone, you all feel like you can be your true selves.

⭑ Rhaenyra still has Jace, Luke and Joffrey from Harwin, and she is now pregnant with her first child from Daemon.

⭑ Laenor is still ‘dead’ to the world. But Harwin was practically saved from his fate by his marriage to you. It took him out of the spotlight with the allegations that Laenor wasn’t the children’s father.  

⭑ You and Harwin haven’t been trying for children yet - you still take contraceptives. You haven’t yearned for motherhood quite yet.

⭑ And Harwin does not mind that in the least. He’s just happy with his family already - there’s nothing missing. Nothing that he pushes for you to do.

⭑ Daemon is an enigma to you -

⭑ He’s not like many men, not many at all.

⭑ You fell in love with him when you were younger. And yes you have admitted that to him - it was during a night that you were all drinking. Someone came up with the idea to tell secrets to each other. And you told that one.

⭑ No one shamed you for it though.

⭑ Rhaenyra has loved you ever since you came to court at age 10. She didn’t know it was love. She thought it was friendship.

⭑ You, her and Alicent were a threesome. A group of best friends who loved one another dearly.

⭑ But Alicent chose to betray both of you, by marrying Viserys.

⭑ She hadn’t even told you that was her plans.

⭑ Alicent became very jealous of how close you and Rhaenyra became after that.

⭑  You were the white-haired heir’s solace. A shoulder to cry on. A person she knew she could always go to. 

⭑ When everyone is home, there aren’t any visitors and the children are in bed, the four of you will sit in front of the warm fire. Daemon sitting on the couch, a book in his hand. Harwin on the opposite side of the lounge, with Rhaenyra on the floor between his legs. You’re laying directly on the floor, your back to the fire while you watch your partners. 

⭑ Daemon usually pats the spot beside him, without looking up from his book. 

⭑ Everyone is content. 

Theme Song:

‘The Devil & The Daughter’ by Daniel Pemberton

Relationship Tropes:

Touch ANY Of My Partners, And You Die (that goes for all of you, you little fiesty things)

Idiot (Harwin and You) x Loves Their Idiot (Rhaenyra and Daemon)

Murderous Intent (Daemon) x Chill (Rhaenyra) x Chaotic Dumbass (Harwin) x Psycho But Not Insane (You)

Mama Bear (Rhaenyra) x Papa Bear (Harwin) x Wine Uncle (Daemon) x Vodka Aunt (You)

NSFW🔞 minors dni!

⭑ Sex is actually very fun, and no, it isn’t always the four of you every single time.

⭑ Usually, it’s a free for all; no one gets jealous that the other has had sex with someone else because they know that in time it will happen to them

⭑ However, when you all first agreed to be a part of this relationship, the sex was out of this world.

⭑ All four of you were a tangled mess of arms, legs, mouths, and teeth.

⭑ You didn’t know whose fingers were inside of you, but they felt good. And then at one point all of your holes were full, two cocks and slender fingers were inside you. Thrusting and pumping. The feeling was indescribable. Like there wasn’t a part of you missing. You were whole.

⭑ Sometimes you off with partners, while still keeping everyone involved. A good example of this is mirrored spooning; Harwin is behind you, while Daemon is behind Rhaenyra. They thrust into you from behind, with you stare at the opposite person. 

⭑ Daemon likes to fuck you while you’re in the air on Caraxes. His cock is buried deep inside you, and he thrusts deeper on while Caraxes’ descends. Gravity pushes you down farther onto him. 

⭑ Rhaenyra likes to fuck on the bed, or while bathing. Usually, her fingers find their way inside of you. She’s usually a gentle lover, but on the days that she feels extra needy, she’ll rip your clothes off and pleasure you until she hears you orgasm. Then she keeps going until you plead for a break. 

⭑ Harwin likes to fuck you on the training grounds. Especially on the ground. Your dress over your waist, while he thrusts deeper inside you. The dirt embeds itself in your knees. 

[sunflowersandsapphires]

See if it fits

Wake Up, Chapter 10 (THE FINALE)

Series Masterlist

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: In an attempt to stop the advances of an unwanted suitor, Matt Murdock accidentally condemns you to being his fake girlfriend.

warnings: swearing, smut adjacent times, reader blames herself for SA (this is entirely an insecurity, survivors are NEVER at fault.), discussion of pressing charges (this piece is not meant to shame anyone who chooses not to seek legal reparations for harassment or assault, this is just setting up a future plot.)

a/n: WE MADE IT! Wow, I can’t believe it’s been 3 months since I first posted this fic, that’s crazy. I really hope this feels somewhat satisfying, I left it open ended because I may or may not be planning a follow up in this verse :)! I cannot thank y’all enough for bearing with me and following along. There will be more fun multi-chapter fics to come!!!

w/c: 4.5k

Your chin tilted up appreciatively as Matt pressed a kiss to your temple, the arm he had around you nestling you more firmly against his side. Your three mutual friends, situated around the large booth at Josie’s, exchanged knowing glances at the display of affection. 

“So…” Marci swished her drink around, looking between you and Matt with an arrogant smirk. “What changed?” 

“Nothing, we just…” Matt’s free hand gestured limply, giving no further explanation. 

“Stopped beating around the bush and admitted to having feelings for one another?” Karen asked with an air of fake politeness. 

“Realized that you were both miserable when you were avoiding each other?” Foggy snorted. 

“Finally looked at your relationship and had a ‘come to Jesus’ moment because you two have actually been dating for months now under an incorrect label?” Marci smiled, clearly amused by Matt’s blush and your avoidant eyes. 

“Yah, yah, all of that.” Matt groused, taking a swig of his beer as he rolled his eyes. 

“And after one night, some asshole was able to get you to confess your love. Truly doing what none of us could.” Foggy let out an incredulous laugh as Marci and Karen giggled at the joke but Matt had gone rigid beside you, not seeing the humor in such a traumatic event. 

“That’s not funny, Foggy.” He muttered, his rumbling tone heavily inked with a darker quality that you knew lurked beneath his surface. 

“What even happened to you two that night?” Cruising right past Matt’s angry comment, Marci gazed at you intently. Your friends had been given small details, but only Matt knew the identity of the man that had captured you, and, as far as you knew, all of them were oblivious to your previous issues with him. 

“Um, well, that’s kind of a long story?” You answered, lamely, stirring your drink and focusing intently on the way it twirled around the glass. 

“She doesn’t have to relive a near death experience to satisfy your curiosity.” Matt snapped, muscles flexing as he pushed in front of you protectively. 

Marci raised her hands in surrender as Foggy and Karen exchanged nervous glances. “Woah there, big shot, I wasn’t—“ 

“Did you not just ask her for the story of how she was attacked because she hadn’t told you yet? I’m pretty sure—“ 

“Matt,” Hooking an arm around the one he had securely thrown across your belly, your palm came up to grasp his shoulder and pull him back. “Hey, she was asking a valid question. They deserve to know.”

His face turned to yours, you could just make out the flurry of rage and concern in his stunning brown eyes behind their red lenses. “You don’t have to tell anyone anything. No one is owed an explanation.” There was an edge to his words that gave you the impression that he might know more than just the small amount you’d told him. 

“I know.” You smiled wanly. “But I haven’t been truly honest with any of you about that night. You all at least deserve that.” 

Clenching his jaw, Matt held you close as you took a deep breath. The rough pads of his fingers drew soft patterns under the hem of your blouse as you began recounting the worst days of your life. 

“The man that took me…was James Lannister.” Assuming it was better to rip the bandaid off, you started with the worst of the omitted details. Understandably, Marci, Foggy, and Karen all gaped at you from across the table until Karen broke the silence. 

“The attorney that was fired from PBA months ago? What on earth did he want with you?”

Biting your lip, you avoided their inquisitive eyes as you admitted your sin. “He wanted revenge. Because I got him fired.” 

The three of them took in the new development silently. You let your mind linger on the pleasant warmth of Matt’s palm around your waist before continuing. 

“James Lannister found me when I was working as a waitress in a shitty diner in Queens. After befriending me during my shifts, he offered me a position in his office. I was Lannister’s assistant for almost two years. No one knows this about me except a handful of people at PBA because I have since scrubbed it from my personal records and asked to keep my position and supervisor during that time confidential.” As your voice began to crack, you downed the rest of your drink. 

“You don’t have to—“ Foggy looked at you worriedly, but you waved him off. 

“It’s fine. I'm fine.” Matt gave a nearly silent growl beside you, clearly not convinced by the lie. “Like I said, I covered up that part of my life, but I worked for him for a significant period of time. During those two years, Lannister groomed me. He used me as a tool to end his relationship with his wife and then took his anger out on me when the settlement didn’t go his way. He abused and assaulted me and I was powerless to stop him for months. When the spot opened up in the midtown office, I jumped at the chance to escape. A coworker who had witnessed the abuse helped me report it and they transferred me.” 

Matt nudged his beer towards you as your vocal chords tightened around the words spilling out of your mouth. Somehow, he didn’t seem as surprised as the others by your tale of woe. “Thanks, love. After I was transferred, there was a very very lengthy investigation and, at the tail end of it, I was promoted. He was also up for the promotion, but when the investigation proved that he’d been a less than stellar employee, he was fired instead. Obviously, he holds me responsible for that.” 

Around the table, no one spoke. Foggy’s hand clenched tightly around his bottle, Marci looked furious, and Karen had gone white as a sheet. Clearing your throat, you pressed on. 

“I won’t traumatize you with any of the details but most people think that someone made up the allegations, even if they don’t know that it was me, personally, who spoke up about it. Moving on to the first night of the conference, you all know I was leaving the hotel after Matt and I had a…stupid conversation,” Matt winced beside you and you squeezed his thigh gently. “And I was planning on going home. But I was stopped by Lannister…and Beatrice Snyder.” 

A strangled noise sounded from your boyfriend at the inclusion of a familiar character. “Please tell me she didn’t…” 

You laughed, mirthlessly. “I wish I could, love. She was one of the people who thought I made everything up, except she knew it was me who reported him. I have no idea who told her, but all that time ago, when I freaked out at the Liberty Gala, that’s what she accused me of. She thought I was wrongfully punishing a man who had refused my advances and stealing his promotion. Handing me over to him was sort of a two birds, one stone thing, I guess. She wanted Lannister to be vindicated and she wanted Matt to think I was a cheating piece of shit. So she could finally have him.” 

Tears were pooling in your eyes now, but it wasn’t just from sadness or embarrassment. You were angry. Livid, in fact. Apparently, with all the “almost dying” and whatnot, you’d never processed how horrible you felt about Snyder trying to lie about you and swipe Matt from under your fake-girlfriend-soon-to-be-real-girlfriend nose. 

“That fucking bitch.” Karen snarled and Foggy nodded emphatically. 

Marci pointed a finger at Foggy. “The next time I see her, I swear—“ 

“Please don’t!” You squeaked, a few tears breaking the surface tension barrier and making their way down your cheeks. “I know that this is a lot of information and you are obviously going to draw new conclusions about the people involved, me included, but…I just want things to stay the way they were. Please.” 

“Sweetheart, I’m not sure we can do that.” Matt used a thumb to swipe the moisture from your face. “You matter so much to us, of course we care about what happened to you.” You fell against his solid chest with a sniffle and he kissed the crown of your head. 

“Matt’s right.” Foggy added gently. “What they did to you was not ok. We won’t do anything you don’t want us to do, but you should at least consider pressing charges.” 

“I‘ve tried that before.” You murmured tiredly, burying your face against Matt’s neck. “Lannister is still respected by most of the cops, attorneys, and judges in this city. I didn’t stand a chance then and I don’t now.” 

“You didn’t have us before.” Karen says, her gaze ferocious but kind. 

“Karen’s right. You have 4 attorneys backing you now.” Marci nodded, clearly already working through the details of the case in her head. 

“If we could get the coworker to testify—“ Foggy jumped in, making notes in his phone. 

“Guys, wait…” You pleaded, but your quiet tone was ignored. 

“Foggy is right, a coworker testimony would be crucial. And we’d just want to thoroughly vet the judge before filing, to be sure he wouldn’t have the upper hand. But we could file in both criminal and civil courts and give us a better chance of success.” Matt’s attention was fully on the other 3 attorneys, his arm no longer shielding you from the world or your bubbling panic. 

“No, I don’t want—“ They still weren’t listening. Your breathing turned shallow, why did the walls suddenly feel like they were closing in on you? The voices around you blurred as your skin turned clammy. You clenched and unclenched your fists repeatedly in an attempt to bring yourself out of an impending anxiety attack. 

Behind you, a glass shattered—scattering the few remnants of your calm demeanor across the bar with the shards. You jumped, whirling around to find the source of the noise. A hand clamped around your wrist and you flinched, turning to see Matt’s worried face flash with hurt. 

“I-I can’t—“ You panted, “I gotta go.” And with that final display of bravery, you fled the dive bar and retreated to your apartment.  

Inhaling deeply, you tried to ground yourself by focusing on the heat of the mug in your hands. Whisps of steam spiraled upwards toward your eager face, dancing across your cheeks in a tender caress. You got all of 5 minutes to wallow in self pity before he caught up to you. 

The window in your bedroom slid open, which would have alarmed you if you weren't confident that it was your concerned ninja boyfriend. His stern voice did catch you off guard, however.

“What were you thinking?” Arms crossed, you could almost smell his rage, the devil gnashing its teeth behind his glowering eyes. 

“I'm sorry, Matty,” His nostrils flared at the nickname, clearly rejecting your attempt to soothe his spurt of protective anger. “You were right, it was too much, I--”

Matt was practically alight with indignation. “You cannot just run off like that. Not after your track record.” 

“My track record?” That comment stung, plucking a string that ran straight to the core of your insecurities.

No doubt sensing the shift in your tone,  Matt changed tactics with a sigh.  “Lovely, you of all people know how dangerous it is out there—“

“You think it was my fault.” Your voice wavered, not daring to look at him and see resigned agreement. 

“Of course not.” Matt denied firmly, but you held onto your suspicion nontheless. Hands held out in a placating gesture, he moved towards you. “Never. I just…I worry about you.” 

“I’m fine.” Your boyfriend flinched at the lie. 

“Both of us know that’s not true.” His blank eyes darted around your face, searching for any path past the walls you were putting up. Clearly something he'd said had been misconstrued, he would never blame you for the actions of monsters, but it had forced your guard up anyway. Wetting his lips with his tongue, he sat beside you on the couch, trying not to let his face betray how devastated he was by your physical and emotional distance.  “Sweetheart, why don’t you want to press charges?” 

“What?” You looked to him in surprise, not expecting him to get right to the root of your distress.

“That’s what set your anxiety off, isn’t it?” It was less of a question and more of a statement.

“Matt I don’t—“ You started, but he held up a finger to stop you as a scream echoed in the distance. Holding your shoulders high as your heart clenched, you set your jaw and allowed your consciousness to sink back into emotional numbness. “Go.”

“Angel, I don't--” Conflict was etched into his features, softening your resolve.

”It's ok, Matt.“ You ran a hand over his arm as you reassured him honestly. ”Go, let the devil out. We can have a more productive conversation when you've given your alter ego the space he needs and I've sorted through my own emotional turmoil.”

“I don't want to leave you like this.” Matt's voice was soft with hesitation and strife. He reached a hand towards you in silent offering.

Squeezing his outstretched fingers, your stomach ached with sympathy. “And I'm asking you to. As much as I adore your company, I know myself pretty well. I need time to process my own thoughts and emotions. I love you, and we both know you need to attend to whatever is going on out there.“

Kissing your forehead, Matt nodded in understanding.”I love you too.“ 

”I know. I'll be here when you get back.“ You promised as he walked into your bedroom and leapt out the window.

Recentering your mug in your shaky palms,  you sighed as you realized the heat had dissipated in the time you'd neglected the drink. Standing on wobbling legs, you shuffled to the stove to boil it once more.

Ripping his mask off, Matt ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair as he debated his next move. The city hadn't asked much from him tonight, simply guiding him through a web of petty crimes before he landed in his apartment at a semi-decent hour. 

Each hit thrown had steadily chipped away at the swirling mass of anger that had been building in his chest for hours, leaving a trail of regret and guilt in its wake. His heart hammered at the thought of facing you again, after the way he'd acted. After scolding you for taking care of yourself and accusing you of putting yourself in danger, of course you assumed he blamed you for the violence you'd experienced. God, he was such an idiot. He didn't deserve you.

Swallowing the lump of insecurity that rose in his throat, he stripped off the suit and stalked into the shower, already brainstorming his much needed apology.

Across Hell's Kitchen, you turned fitfully on your mattress, failing to let sleep drag you under despite your exhaustion. Threads of apprehension knit together a string of self deprecating thoughts, weaving an intricate trap that you'd barely avoided since Matt left. Voices rang through your brain, making you wince with each word. Your fault. You’re so pathetic. Slut. Not with your track record. Whore. Shrew. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.

You whined, curling into a ball and throwing your hands over your ears. But the voices didn't quiet down. 

You did this to yourself. You were asking for it. You think you’re a victim? You are so stupid. 

Shivers wracked your body as you wrapped a pillow around your head, the soft feathers unable to silence the imaginary accusations. Heaving quivery breaths, you tightened your fingers around the fabric in your fingers until your knuckles ached. With the subtle pain to hold your attention, you willed your lungs to hold the air for longer than a millisecond. 

Sniffling through stifled cries, your throat felt tighten as your heart pounded, stabbing a dull ache into your temples with each pulse. You were so engrossed in the storm of emotional instability that you didn't hear the window sliding open. Yelping as a hand touched your shoulder, you flew out of the bed, landing haphazardly on the wood floor in a pile of frantic limbs. 

“Woah, easy there, angel, it's me.” Keeping an admirable distance, Matt crouched in your line of sight, giving you time to adjust to his presence. Dressed in a worn shirt and sweatpants, his cheeks were tinged pink with exertion and his damp hair was ruffled—he must have hurried back to you. Although the thought of your boyfriend rushing to your side after tending to the city made your heart swell with adoration, your frayed nerves triggered a defensiveness within you.

“You couldn't have used the door?” You snapped, baring your hurt to him rather than letting your guard down and revealing the terror beneath. Grimacing at Matt's shocked expression, you recoiled at your own standoffishness. “I'm sorry, you just startled me.”

Frowning at the defeated tone you held, Matt scooted over to your collapsed form. “I thought you'd be asleep, angel. When I got close enough to hear your heart rate, I panicked. What happened?” Offering you a hand up that you timidly accepted, he sat you on the bed, kneeling before you and gazing up inquisitively. 

“Dunno. I was doing ok and then...I just wasn't.” Your breath hitched with the confession, pulling stale tears from your waterline. Traitors.

“You should've called me.” Matt's thumb ran lines over the back of your hand. 

Biting your lip, you closed your eyes. “I–I never want to make you choose between me and the city, that's not fair.” 

Nodding, Matt frowned. “I appreciate that, sweetness, but I will always always come help you.” Putting a mental pin in that conversation, he sat against your headboard and, risking rejection, lifted you tenderly into his lap. Breathing out a sigh of relief, you inadvertently leaned into the kisses he placed against your aching head. 

“I'm so sorry, beautiful girl. I didn't mean to snap at you earlier, that wasn't smart of me. It made you feel bad, huh?” Matt placed a gentle kiss on the bridge of your nose as you nodded miserably, glistening tears pouring down your cheeks. ”I apologize, but I need you to know I wasn't angry with you. It seemed like I was, I get that, but I promise I was just worried and I let my emotions get the better of me.“

”I'm sorry too.“ You murmured, gratefully falling into the hands that came to cradle your face. ”I should have been more careful.“

”Oh no, sweet thing, I didn't mean that. Nothing that those men did is your fault, ok? Nothing. I will tell you that a hundred times a day if I need to. I have never blamed you for their actions, ok? Hand to God.“

”Pinky promise?“ You sniffled quietly, pressing a lone pinky against the back of one of his. 

With an airy chuckle, Matt linked your fingers together. ”Pinky promise.“ 

”Thank you.“ 

”No need to thank me, sweetness. I just hope you'll forgive me.“

”You're already forgiven.“ You murmured, pressing your lips to Matt's. 

Tangled in each other’s arms, you happily let Matt trace patterns along your spine, beginning to nod off in his secure hold. Cupping your chin, Matt nudged his nose against yours. “I know you’re tired, lovely, but you should drink some water. Maybe take an Advil too, for that headache of yours.” 

Yawning, you nuzzled further into Matt’s neck. “How d’you know about that?” 

“I have special Devil senses. They help me tell when my darling girl isn’t feeling good.” He jested, pinching your cheek lightly. 

You smiled, accepting the glass he offered you and drinking greedily. Setting the now empty glass back on your nightstand, Matt settled into the mattress and pulled you with him. 

Sleep lapped at the brink of your consciousness, spurred on by the warmth of your personal space heater of a boyfriend. “I was thinking…” Matt’s rumbling whisper began, “We’ve never gone on a proper date, since we got together. Would you like to have dinner with me this week?” 

Humming contentedly, your lips broke into a small smile. “Yes please.” 

Kissing your forehead, Matt smiled back at you. “Ok, my sweet girl. I’ll plan something for us while you sleep.”

“I love you, Matty.” 

“I love you too, angel.” 

Waking up with you in his arms continued to be a small slice of heaven that Matt was sure neither he nor his Devil deserved. Pressing a kiss to your head, he inhaled deeply–centering himself with your delicate scent–before making his way to the kitchen to start coffee. Slipping out of your slumbering grasp, he padded blearily out of the bedroom, shuddering slightly at the abrupt lack of warmth around him. 

Once the coffee machine was whirring, Matt sank onto his worn couch, opening his laptop to listen to some emails he’d received the night before. After responding to one, a smile grew on his face when he heard an uptick in your pulse as you shifted on the bed. 

Patiently waiting for his coffee to brew, he refrained from returning to the covers to shush you and help you back to sleep. Unfortunately, this meant you had fully left the bed before he could encourage you to stay there.  

Soft footsteps rung throughout the loft as you walked towards him, yawning the whole time. 

“Good morning, sweet thing. You didn’t need to get out of bed yet,” Though he was still smiling (his grin was nearly constant in your presence), he almost pouted in sympathy as he heard your groggy voice respond. 

“Didn’t want to be in bed anymore,” You explained with a shrug, settling into his lap with a content little sigh. “Wanted to be with you.”

Fuck, that tugged on his heart strings. Gasping slightly at the outpouring of affection from you, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and hooked his chin over your head. “Then I guess we’ll both have to relax today, huh.” 

Nodding vigorously, one of your hands came up to cradle his face, gently rubbing over his stubble. “Mmm I like that plan. And any other plan that involves Matthew Murdock resting. He’s pretty averse to that, you know.” 

Huffing out a laugh, Matt poked your stomach. “I am not ‘averse’ to resting!” 

“Oh yah? So you wouldn’t be listening to emails on this bright, early Sunday morning? Rather than, I don’t know, staying in bed with your sleeping girlfriend?” 

Chuckling, Matt shrugged, “I wanted coffee!” 

“You’re deflecting, counselor.” You hummed, pressing an inviting kiss to his lips and pulling back all too quickly for Matt’s liking. His hands caught your neck, trying to tug your lips back to his as he whined involuntarily, but you just smiled. “I’m getting you that coffee you wanted so badly.” Matt hadn’t even realized the machine had sounded, far too focused on your body and the delicious sounds it was making as it teased him. 

You tried to get up from the couch, but Matt’s arms caught you in a vice grip. He growled lightly, burying his face in your neck and nipping at the junction where it collided with your shoulder. 

“Matty, darling,” You laughed brightly, leaning into his nuzzles and bites as you tried to reason with him. “As much as I do want you to rest today, I’m going to need coffee so that I don’t pass out immediately.”

“You can pass out,” Matt murmured against your sweet skin. “I don’t mind.” 

Tracing a hand up his back and into his hair, you smiled. “Well, I mind. I have something I want to do today that I need to be awake for.” 

“Wh-What’s that?” Matt rumbled, struggling to stay coherent as you massaged his scalp. 

“I, uh,” You suddenly hesitated, Matt tilted his head as your guard slid up ever so slightly. “I was thinking of going to the 10th precinct and, um, filing charges.” 

Your pulse stuttered, your body giving away your discomfort—with either the idea of filing or his reaction, he wasn’t sure. Maybe both. 

“That’s, that’s great, sweetness, but I don’t want you to do anything just because people you care about suggested it—“

“No, I want to. Well, want might not be the right word, but I…I think it’d be smart. To file at least a protective order and to get something on paper for the whole hostage situation.”

“I agree, love. Always a good idea to make a paper trail, right?” Matt asked lightly, as he rubbed a hand over your arm—trying to silently remind you that you were safe, that you could be vulnerable with him. 

Hiding your face in his shoulder, you bit your lip, weighing the consequences of the question you wanted to ask. Apprently reading your thoughts, Matt pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“You can ask me anything, love.” 

Shoving his shoulder, you glared at him. “You know it’s really creepy when you do that.” Matt laughed in response. 

“You don’t think it’s creepy, you feel more comfortable when I read you like that. Your heart rate always slows down.” 

Rolling your eyes, you stifled a smile. “Fucking show off.” 

“For you my dear? Always.” Resting his brow against yours, Matt’s blank eyes formed an almost stern expression. “What did you want to ask me, lovely?”

“Will you, er, I mean—“ You sighed, drawing in a deep breath before spitting out the query. “Will you actually help me if I file? Like, legally?”

“Oh, angel, of course!” Pulling back from you, Matt’s words held so much affection and genuine care that you felt a lump growing in your throat. “I will do everything in my power to see that man locked away for good.” 

You giggled as his voice deepened to a snarl, the Devil showing his face for a moment as the memories of your kidnapping resurfaced. “As Matt Murdock or the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen?” 

“Both.” He growled, hands instinctively clenching around you. 

Cradling his face between your palms, you drew your protective boyfriend into a heated kiss.

Shifting from foot to foot, you glanced at the brick facade apprehensively. As you ran through the possible ways this could blow up in your face, Matt’s steady hand clasped around your trembling one. 

“We can go home right now, sweet girl.” He reminded you gently, squeezing your hand comfortingly. For a moment, another night flashed before your eyes, as if the precinct was the venue for the Liberty Gala you’d attended all those weeks ago. 

“No. He deserves to be put away. I’m going to make that happen.” You said defiantly. 

Matt dropped your hand and slid an arm around your waist. “I’ll be here every step of the way, sweetness.”

Nodding to yourself, you blew out a breath. “Right. Let’s do this.” Taking your boyfriend’s arm, you led him up the steps and into the bustling precinct. 

It wasn’t clear what the future would hold, but the pair of you would get through it together. That, you were sure of.

Taglist: @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @scoliobean @harperdoodle @mattkinsella @leikelle @sweetbee0108 @dark-night-sky-99 @fallen-angels2213 @will-delete-this-later-probably @cheshirecat484 @thornbushrose @vernon-dursley

[scribomaniac]

forward, always

Spiritual sequel to 'back and then forward' by fencesit

(written with original author's blessing)

The Senju arrived three days after Sakura had stabilized Izuna. A messenger had run in, eyes wide and frantic, to deliver the news that not only had the Senju arrived, but that they had arrived carrying the white flag of peace. Sakura had a good guess as to the reason for their visit–she’d been a diligent student of all subjects during her time at the academy, after all, and knew a truce between the Uchiha and Senju came not long after Izuna’s death–but the historical dates during the warring periods were not exactly a well documented thing.

Sakura had been sitting with Madara at the chabudai in the main room, each sipping on their respective cups of tea. Madara had informed her of his plans to survey the boundary lines and Sakura had updated him on Izuna’s health. All the while, Madara had held Sakura’s free hand in his own atop the table, his thumb gently stroking across her knuckles. 

“The Senju?” Madara’s brow furrowed. He looked over at Sakura, frowning, then looked back towards his attendant. “Who all is with them?”

Bowing deeply to his lord, the attendant informed them, “Senju Hashirama, sir, and his brother Tobirama, as well as five clansmen.”

“Very well, I will meet them momentarily.” Madara turned away, effectively dismissing the other man, and redirected his attention to Sakura. “If the Senju are truly here with peaceful intentions, then I shall send them away swiftly, but if not,” he paused. Madara’s eyes flickered down to her hands, so small and delicate looking, but he’d witnessed first hand that Sakura’s appearance was deceiving. “I will keep them at bay long enough for you to escape. Find somewhere safe to hide, and I will find you when I can.”

Sakura almost scoffed, and instead she reached out and cradled his face. “I will do no such thing. I will stay with Izuna and wait for your return.” 

And protect Izuna if necessary, went unsaid. 

Madara was still for a long moment, then he exhaled harshly through his nose and turned his face into her touch. Reaching up to squeeze her hands once, he removed them from his face and pressed a kiss to both sets of knuckles. “I won’t be long.”

Izuna’s room was on the side of the house, and if the shoji window was opened even just a sliver, then the voices from the front carried well into the room. For all Sakura has memorized her textbooks, she had to admit this was all new. For her, for Madara, for everyone. Sakura had already meddled with history by saving Izuna. Now that Izuna was not, in fact, dead, there was a growing worry in the back of Sakura’s mind. There was no telling what ripple effects that one action had caused.  Perhaps the truce would no longer happen. Perhaps that by saving Madara’s younger brother, she had already changed the future beyond recognition. If there was no truce then there’d be no Konoha, and then where would that leave Sakura? The logistics and ramifications were too much to think about and she quickly pushed those thoughts away. 

Instead of making assumptions or thinking about the what-ifs, Sakura waited and listened.

The first thing she heard was Madara’s voice, deep and hard and as unfeeling as she’d ever heard it before. “Senju Tobirama, you dare to show your face to me after what you’ve done? I should kill you here and now for the impertinence; white flag or no.”

“Please Madara, I have brought my brother here not for more bloodshed, but in the hopes of ending it.” This had to be Hashirama then, Sakura decided. “I am so sorry for the loss of your beloved little brother. Had I been on the battlefield that day I would have stopped it. I cannot imagine the pain you must be feeling, losing your final brother. If I were in your position, I’m not sure that I could bear it.”

Sakura looked down at Izuna and brushed some hair away from his brow. If his survival was the only change she ended up making during this time, then it would be enough for her. To spare Madara the pain Hashirama described, it was enough. 

Just as much the optimist as all the textbooks described, Hahsirama continued, “Why don’t we put an end to this war? We made a promise, remember? To make an ideal village where we could protect our loved ones, where children could be cherished and not forced to fight.”

“I’m sorry, Hashirama,” Madara said after a long pause. Sakura wondered if he was thinking back to his childhood, of the time he’d spent with Hashirama before they learned which clan the other hailed from. “I just cannot bring myself to trust you.”

“But isn’t there any way I can convince you?” Hashirama asked, his voice sounding tense and almost desperate. 

“I suppose,” Madara said slowly, and Sakura recognized a certain level of dryness in his tone that she’d come to learn as one he used in jest, “you could prove your sincerity to me by either killing your brother or killing yourself right now.”

A new voice spoke up, “You dare say such an outlandish–”

“You’re insane! So what now, elder brother?” Another–Tobirama, it must be–began hotly, “Are you going to kill me? Or are you going to die in order to win this man’s trust? It’s madness! Don’t bother listening.”

“You truly are kind hearted Madara, by sparing me the death of my own little brother. Please Tobirama, carve into your heart these final words of mine. Words that I will be exchanging with my life. You too, fellow clan members–”

“Brother . . .”

“After my death you must not kill Madara. I forbid any more fighting between the Uchiha and Senju. Swear this right now upon our forefathers and our unborn grandchildren. Let my death be the end of it. Farewell.”

There was a pause of silence, one that Sakura’s mind filled with horrible scenarios. Konoha needed Senju Hashirama. The ninja world needed him—he was the God of Shinobi! Madara didn’t know that, but given that Izuna was safe and breathing and would recover with time, surely he didn’t intend to let Hashirama kill himself. Knuckles white and breath caught in her throat, Sakura silently begged for someone to do something. Say something. 

“While I appreciate the gesture, Hashirama,” Madara said, his voice surprisingly soft and thick with an emotion Sakura couldn’t place. “There is no need. Izuna is alive and on his way to becoming well again.”

“That’s impossible,” Tobirama spat. “That wound was fatal. Not even our best healers would have been able to save him.”

“Then it is very fortunate for you, Tobirama,” Madara said slowly, dangerously, “that I did not call for help from one of your healers.”

Once again there was a pause of silence. 

“The Uchiha are not known for their healing abilities,” Hashirama finally said. 

“No, they are not,” Madara agreed easily enough. “Thankfully, the world has all kinds of people in it.”

A small smile pulled at Sakura’s lips as she thought back to the day she’d said those very same words to him. She’d offered it to him as vaguely as he offered it to the Senju now, though she doubted the Senju would be as comforted by the words as Madara had been at the time.

“A new healer then?” Hashirama asked, his voice light and brimming with curiosity. “What wonderful news!”

If Hashirama and Madara were left alone, Sakura was sure that the two would be able to part ways peacefully, perhaps even begin the creative process behind founding a hidden village, but, and unfortunately for everyone, Tobirama was present. 

“Bring the healer here,” the younger Senju demanded. 

“Tobirama,” Hashirama chastised. 

“I will do no such thing.” Madara told him firmly. “The medic is the Uchiha’s honored guest. I will not allow for you to interrogate them for the sake of curiosity.”

“I do not believe this mystical medic exists, brother,” Tobirama stated. “I wouldn’t put it past the Uchiha to have made up this ruse to lull us into a false sense of security and then reap their revenge for Izuna when our backs were turned.”

“It was you who sought me out, was it not?” Madara asked. “If you’re to continue calling me a liar then I will ask that you leave now, while we can still call this meeting a harmonious one.”

There was a bit more of quiet, tense and uncomfortable, even for Sakura, and then Hashirama asked, “Please, Madara. If I may, I would like to see Izuna and pay my respects to him. I won’t lie and say I’m not curious about your new medic as well, but if you’d prefer to keep him hidden away then I will understand.”

Izuna would be furious if he knew the Senju were here, much less allowed into his sick room. Sakura wasn’t sure what Madara was thinking, or what his motives were, but after Hashirama’s recent attempt to prove himself in Madara’s eyes, she wasn’t surprised to soon hear two pairs of footsteps creaking upon the porch’s steps entering the home. 

Closing the window softly, Sakura turned to kneel beside Izuna and placed a hand upon his brow. Pushing a bit of chakra into him, she ensured he was deep within his REM cycle and wouldn’t wake during Hashirama’s visit–so long as everyone kept their voices down. She thought about sneaking away before they arrived, but if Madara wanted her to disappear, he would’ve sent her some sign or signal to leave, but none came so she stayed put. 

She wasn’t exactly sure what to expect from the Shodaime, but based on the stories she’d heard about him from Tsunade, Sakura didn’t have that much faith in his ability to keep quiet. Hopefully he’d at least have a bit more decorum entering a sick room than Naruto. 

When the shoji door slid open, Sakura had just finished placing a damp towel on Izuna’s brow. As with her initial meeting of Madara, Sakura was shocked by how young Hashirama looked. Whenever she thought about these legends, she always imagined them so much older than herself, so much greater. Seeing him before her, looking not that much older, was jarring to say the least. 

“Ah!” Hashirama gasped as he switched his gaze from Izuna, to Sakura, then back again. “How absolutely amazing. May I?” He took a step forward, looking to Madara for permission to venture in further. 

Madara looked to Sakura, silently asking for her thoughts. Giving him a nod, Madara passed the gesture on to the Senju head. The sequence of actions did not pass Hashirama’s notice. 

Kneeling beside Izuna, Hashirama hummed softly as he surveyed the patient. “How wonderous,” he whispered. Madara had settled beside Sakura, but Hashirama looked straight towards her as he hesitantly reached out a hand towards Izuna’s blanket and asked again, “May I?”

Sakura pursed her lips in consideration. If Izuna would hate the man’s very presence, she could only guess how he’d feel upon finding out he’d been examined by him as well. Still, something in her was adamant that this moment was important. Following her gut, but still trying her best to protect her patient, Sakura raised a hand to stop Hashirama. “Allow me,” she told him, pulling down the sheet herself. 

Deciding to treat this moment as she would any standard examination–just with the addition of two extra pairs of eyes–Sakura tenderly pulled open Izuna’s yukata. His chest and stomach were covered in bandages, covering his still raw wound. Pulling at the knot tying everything together, Sakura slowly unwound the bandages and began the process of surveying the wound. 

When she had first arrived, Izuna’s stomach had resembled that of a gutted fish with a deep line extending from beside his navel up to his right shoulder. The worst of the strike had been the initial puncture in his gut. Wounds near the stomach and intestines were always the trickiest to handle, due to bacteria and stomach acid leaking out and leading to infections or worse. It wasn’t anything Sakura couldn’t handle, but it hadn’t been anything to snuff at, either. 

Now the tear across his chest was nothing more than a thin, pink line, and the puncture beside his navel, while still very red and irritated, was healing quite nicely as well. Sakura placed her hand over his stomach and pushed the smallest bit of chakra into Izuna’s body, checking for any infection. Finding none, she removed her hand to add more of the healing salve she’d created over the stretch of healing skin. Once she was done with that, she reapplied his bandages, straightened out his yukata, and smoothed out his blanket. 

Looking back up, Sakura found the future Shodaime’s attention was solely focused on her. 

“I’ve never seen such impressive work,” he admitted freely. Looking up at Madara, he added, “You’ve found yourself a miracle worker, my friend.”

Madara’s face remained unchanged, “I have been lucky in that regard.”

“Indeed.” Hashirama’s gaze returned to Sakura. “What is your name, miracle worker?”

This time it was Sakura who looked to Madara for guidance. When he nodded his head, she gave Hashirama a small bow and answered, “My name is Haruno Sakura, sir.”

Hashirama waved her off, “Please, call me Hashirama!” The bright smile adorning his face dimmed to something more gentle and his gaze dropped to his hands in his lap. His voice turned soft and quiet as he continued, “I am glad, Madara, truly. When Tobirama told me what he had done, I feared for you, my friend. We have both experienced enough loss to last a thousand lifetimes, losing the last member of your family–your last brother–I would not have wished that on anyone, least of all you. If I were to ever lose Tobirama . . .”

It was no small feat for Sakura to curb the flinch that tried to break free from her body. Before coming to this time, Sakura had been no stranger to loss, either personally or professionally, but now everyone was gone. She thought she’d been doing a good job of not focusing on it–and she was , dammit!--not letting it drag her down and under into a vortex of depression and anguish, but damn it if Hashirama’s words didn’t just cause the void inside her heart where her loved ones used to reside to tear itself open a little bit more.

Madara shifted beside her, the heat of his arm slowly seeping through their clothes and into her skin, dragging Sakura out of her thoughts and back into the present. The movement was brief, but the message was clear. She wasn’t alone, not anymore. Looking at the Uchiha head out of the corner of her eye as he spoke to Hashirama, Sakura felt her appreciation for the man grow. 

The power of loss was undeniable. Its devastation could ripple throughout families and communities like earthquakes devastated valleys. She remembered what Madara had been like, in her own timeline, during the war. He’d been so empty and cold, so unwilling to consider alternative solutions to the one he’d deemed viable, and all of the havoc he had wreaked against the Five Great Nations had been the result of just one loss. Izuna. 

“I must ask, Sakura,” Hashirama’s use of her name drew her eyes to his, “are you related to the Uzumaki clan?”

Tilting her head, Sakura didn’t bother to hide the confusion on her face. She thought of Naruto, of his bright blond hair and ocean-blue eyes and mile wide smile with a not so small pang to her heart. “No,” she answered slowly. “Why do you ask?”

Madara’s shoulders stiffened at the question. Had Sakura not been sitting right next to him, she probably wouldn’t have even noticed. But she was, so she did. 

“The clan is known for their healing abilities,” the future Hokage answered easily, his smile turning almost charming as he spoke. “I know a good deal of their members have red hair and thought that perhaps your color shade was an offshoot of that.”

Red hair, like Kushina and Mito Uzumaki. Women that Sakura had only ever seen photos of. Mito, from her history books and maybe once or twice in Tsunade’s home, and Kushina only once, from an old wedding photo between her and Minato that Jiraya had unearthed for Naruto when the old Sanin felt he was ready to learn about his parentage. 

Comparing her rose colored locks to their red, Sakura could vaguely understand how Hashirama had come to this conclusion. 

“I’m sorry to disappoint, Hashirama,” she said with a small shake of her head. “I have no Uzumaki blood to speak of.”

“Well then,” Hashirama’s gaze returned to his one and hopefully future friend, “Thank you for letting me see your brother. I am glad that he is doing well and that he is in capable hands. Madara,” he paused, his next words struggling to make their way past his lips. “If I could encroach on your hospitality for a bit longer—I was hoping to discuss an important matter with you.”

Madara’s dark gaze flickered between Hashirama and Sakura. With Tobirama and several other Senju just outside his door, Sakura could make a good guess as to the cause of his hesitation. She could also make a good guess about what Hashirama wanted to talk about.

Giving her betrothed a small, reassuring smile, she told him, “Go on. I’ll see to everything here.” 

Madara looked like he wanted to argue, but in a show of trust in Sakura—which wasn’t so much surprising as it was pleasing—he merely sighed. “Very well.”

The two titans of shinobi walked out of the room together and Sakura felt herself release a shaky breath. 

The sky had turned a beautiful, pale orange by the time Madara returned and the Senju took their leave. Sakura had just settled down on the engawa to watch the sun set. Her legs dangled freely off the edge and a nice cup of tea kept her hands warm as the temperature slowly began to drop. 

Madara took a seat beside her, his knees tucked in properly beneath him, and with him came the weight of the world. A servant came quickly to provide the clan head with his own cup of tea, and left them with an even quicker bow. A thousand and one questions ran through Sakura’s mind, but she recognized that small furrow in Madara’s brow and the tightness in his lips from their days protecting that lord’s wife and child. The signs had appeared often enough, when he was thinking up strategies and ways to keep those in his care safe. This time, he was preoccupied with whatever Hashirama had said to him. When Madara was ready to talk, he would. Sakura and her questions could wait. 

From orange to pink to red, then to blue and then black, the sky settled into night. Sakura had long finished her tea, but still cradled the cup in her hands to give them something to do. She worried that without it she’d reach for Madara mindlessly, as she’s been doing more and more often over the past few days. Doing so while out on strolls or sitting for meals was one thing, doing so while he was deep in thought was another, and with this thing between them still so new and fragile and precious, Sakura didn’t want to risk it with a misstep. 

Looking up at the dark sky, Sakura found the same constellations she knew from her own time. It helped to settle something in her bones, made her feel more stable and confident with her place in this world. If the stars could survive in both her time and this one, then perhaps she could too. 

“Hashirama is a fool.” Madara’s words, so quiet and muttered they could’ve been lost in the wind, roused Sakura from her existential musings. Without looking at her, Madara reached over to place his hand over her wrist, his fingers pressed against the thrumming line of her pulse. 

“What did he want to discuss?” Sakura asked as she leaned, ever so gently, into his warmth.

“A child’s dream,” he scoffed, not elaborating further. 

Sakura hummed in response, waiting for the rest of the story to unravel in its own time. It took only a quarter of an hour more. 

With a slow slump to his shoulders, Madara closed his eyes tightly and told her, “I met Senju Hashirama first when we were children. We didn’t know who each other were and we,” he paused. His eyes opened and he blinked heavily. “We became friends.”

Wearily, and with a heavy heart, Madara told Sakura about his and Hashirama’s past. Their days spent playing by the river, their mutual dream of creating a better world, their shared pain over having lost brothers needlessly and so young, even his own growing pessimism and eventual desertion of those dreams and his friend. 

“I want to believe in a peaceful world,” he confessed so, so quietly Sakura had to strain to hear him. “But after everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve done , I just can’t. I don’t know how to dream anymore.”

Sakura thought back to what he said to her after she’d arrived to heal Izuna. “If there’s anything you can do—even if it’s just to ease his suffering —” Even then, the most he had hoped for was a painless death for his remaining brother. 

Pulling back so that their shoulders were no longer touching, Sakura placed her teacup to the side and tugged on her wrist until Madara let her go. Then, boldly, and with full eye contact, Sakura told him, “Lie your head down, Madara,” and patted her lap. 

Dark brows shot up, disappearing behind his raven mane. He looked down at her lap, then back up to her, his jaw dropping at the idea of it all. “Sakura,” he said, his voice hesitant. 

Placing her hands on his shoulders, Sakura guided him down to where she wanted him. “Just close your eyes and try to relax.”

She carded her fingers through his hair. The thick locks were silkier than she had expected, but she was still careful not to catch a tangle as she dragged her fingers through it. Madara’s muscles, which had stiffened against her man-handling, slowly loosened and his breathing evened out as she continued with her ministrations. His eyes, however, stayed open and alert. Smiling softly down at him, Sakura figured she’d take what she could get. 

With her free hand, she took one of his into it and laid them both atop his chest, just over his heart. 

“I had a friend, once,” she started, her eyes not straying from him, “who was the biggest dreamer anyone could ever meet.” Talking about Naruto would be hard, she knew, but she hoped it would also be worth it. 

“He inspired everyone around him, even cynics like you,” her smile widened with the tease. Madara’s hand tightened around hers, his own face unchanging. “All he wanted was for the—for the clan to respect him, to take him seriously and to not dismiss him.”

Pressure built behind her eyes and she had to look away. Sakura remembered back to her Academy and genin days, when she thought Naruto was annoying and a pest because he was loud and played pranks. As an adult with hindsight, she could see him for what he’d been; a child desperate for attention. She wished she could have been kinder to him, more patient. He was one of her most precious people, and she knew he never harbored any resentment towards her, but she still carried around a great deal of guilt when it came to Naruto and her treatment of him in those early days. 

Blinking away some of the moisture in her eyes, Sakura looked out into the night as she continued her story. “No matter what anyone said or did to him, no matter how lost he felt or how bad things looked, he never gave up on his dreams. Instead, his dedication to them seemed to grow. So many people doubted him, but you know what started to happen?”

Madara stayed silent, knowing the question was rhetorical. Sakura’s fingers continued trailing through his raven locks, her nails gently scratching against his scalp. Her eyes remained focused on the trees before her, but her mind was in the past. 

She thought of Neji, who’d been inspired not to accept fate as a fixed thing; of Gaara, who’d never known love or friendship, but who’d leapt towards it the moment a sincere hand was outstretched; of even Tsunade, who’d forsaken the village and her vow as a medic, only to have that desire to help people reignited. Sakura thought not only of them, but also of the hundreds of other people who’d been touched by the radiant light of hope that was Naruto Uzumaki. 

“He turned their hearts,” she said finally, looking down at Madara with a watery but bright smile. “Every single time.” 

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Sakura tried to circle around to her point. “There are good people in this world, Madara, people who share in this dream of a better future. You may not believe yourself worthy of it,” she gave his hand a squeeze to silently tell him she disagreed, “and you may not be able to believe in it yet, but that’s okay. All you have to do now is to try. Take it one day at a time, one choice at a time, one action at a time. Before you know it,” she shrugged, “all those little changes, those little thoughts and actions, will have built themselves up into something solid and real that you can believe in.” 

Madara looked up into Sakura’s eyes, an expression of wonder and incredulity on his face. Holding her one hand tight to his chest, he brought up his other one to cup her cheek. A hesitant, hopefully smile played at the edge of his lips. His thumb brushed away a tear that Sakura hadn’t noticed escaped. Turning her face into the palm of his hand, she breathed in deeply.  

“This friend of yours,” Madara starts, his words slow and cautious, “he’s gone too, isn’t he?”

Breath hitching in her throat, Sakura nodded her head. “His name was Naruto,” she whispered, feeling as if she were sharing a greater secret than just a name. “I miss him every day.” 

Sitting up, Madara pressed a kiss against her forehead. “His spirit lives with you, Sakura. You serve his memory proud. Because of you, I feel a newly sprouted sense of hope within my chest for the future. I feel that I can begin to try.”

Inhaling shakily, Sakura hid her face in the crook of his neck and whispered, “Thank you.”

[spitdrunken]

With the masquerade event spoilers somehow the blurbs you wrote for him regarding with him having an unhealthy attachment and him also not really taking care of himself that well is even more depressing now that it’s confirmed

People should write for him more, idk if it’s just me but he certainly gives me a lot of ideas. I actually wonder how he would be like with a magicless and nice person (still digging the noble bell college magicless student post you made bc you’re providing good Rollo food rn) , sorry I just wanna give this man a hug like can you imagine that instead of being fully angry with him you just

Both pity and sympathize with him

If it’s okay can you make this yandere as well? Sorry if this is a lot

notes: yandere, some elaboration on this piece in the tags

Rollo can't bear the way you look at him.

All the ideas he'd been stewing over for years, the ideals that shaped his life, the plans to take it all down... To reshape this world, and finally make it a safe place to live. (so no one may have to find one of their loved ones in such a state, ever again.) To you, he bared his heart. All of it came bursting out of him in one powerful, continuous, disjointed rant. For him to even have entertained the thought of confessing, much less go through with it, means he has come to care about your opinion far, far too much. He wanted you to treat him like you always do. For you to find the good in himself that he has failed to discover. 

He wanted you to tell him that his ideas were worthy, that the salvation he dreamed of was beautiful, that the people embraced by the cleansing fires would have deserved it. If you reached out your hand to him, he would have taken it. He thought, maybe, you would be the one to understand.

Instead, you look at him with pity. It causes his chest to tighten like it’s being constricted, and his mouth to set into a thin line. Your ideas do not align with his. But, how could they? Compared to him, you are too kind and untainted, too believing and warmhearted. He should not have expected you to be able to descend to his way of thinking. You are no fool for that; You, who hail from a world that never knew magic, to whom the concept is fresh, could not be expected to grasp all of its dangers. 

“Rollo... Um, it’s clear you’ve been suffering a lot. I’m sorry that I didn’t notice before, and that I couldn’t help you. What happened to your brother sounds... Horrific, and you have every right to be upset about that. But...” Your gaze wanders off. “I think that while magic has the potential to do harm, it can also do many good things. Taking it all away would be- Well, I don’t think it would be the right action to take here.”

With your words, your fate is sealed, and so is his. Rollo has gone too far down the path of no return to be changed now, and you are clearly too kind to take up the burden of truth from this world. He would have shown you their crimson salvation, but it is clear that you would, in your limitless, naive kindness, not be able to bear it. For all these filthy mages, you would only be a perfect victim. He has to do this. You will not known, until it is all over. And once you can walk the streets of the City of Flowers, without a care in the world, you will thank him. 

For now, he will pretend. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth as he prepares to tell his lies. He will have to sink down further, before being allowed peace. “I- I understand.” Rollo mutters. “What would you suggest I do then? And, please, do not tell anyone about this, because I...” He trails off, and you support him.

“I get it. I promise I won’t. You haven’t done anything yet. Thoughts are just thoughts, and you’re not evil for them, or anything.” You smile. The rest of your words are lost on his ears, but Rollo cannot stop staring at you. If he tucked you away somewhere safe, until all is said and done... You wouldn’t be able to try and save him with your good intent.

[dragon-kazansky]

What lies within

Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky x Reader

Regency AU

Female Reader

[Masterlist]

[Previous Chapter] - [Next Chapter]

Warnings: None. Just that two can play at the lying game.

The duke returns after years overseas. He has no intention of marrying. However, your father has leverage over him and you find yourself trapped.

Can love be found in the Iceman’s heart, or are you destined to be lonely forever?

Word count: 1.2k

Chapter Ten - Overwhelming attention 

♡♡♡

Tomorrow was the Kerner ball. The one where you were expected to announce your engagement to Lord Simpson, and the last one the duke was going to attend. His business was done, and he had no intention of being seen or the rest of the season. At least, that was his plan.

The duke wonders if it may be right to shift his plan. He could see the season through to the end. He may have to if it saves you. This ball would be his one chance to change things, so he must get to work right away.

Luckily, he has some good friends on his side.

With one word from him, a chain of events will happen, and he was prepared to see it through to the end. The first one was to slow down your situation, and there was perhaps only one way to do this.

Though he didn’t know you very well, he hoped you would forgive him.

That morning you are sitting with your family. In less than a fortnight, Carole will be wed to Lord Bradshaw, which would then lead to your demise under your mother’s rule to keep Lord Simpson in the family. You had not spoken to Lord Simpson since yesterday morning.

A knock on the door breaks you out of your depressing thoughts.

Your mother stands up to go answer it.

“Probably one of our Lords coming to see their intended,” she hums softly.

If Lord Simpson was here, you do your best to make him feel comfortable. You wish it didn’t have to be this way.

You hear your mother gasp and look up at your sister. Carole shrugs. You both get up and go to the door. Your eyes widen with surprise at what you see. A line of gentleman, all bearing gifts, waiting outside your home.

“What is this?” You ask.

“They are callers,” your mother says, voice laced with confusion, “for you.”

You stare wide eyed at the line of gentlemen.

“For me?”

Your mother goes to shoo them all away, but you grab her arm.

“We can’t send them off,” you say, voice rushed.

“You are engaged. You cannot have callers,” she says.

“They don’t know that. You told us to announce it at the ball tomorrow. I have to see them,” you say to her.

Your mother sighs. You’re right. Sending them away will make them seem rude and suspicious.

“Very well. Carole, will you join me in this charade?” She asks your sister.

“Of course, mother.”

“See the first gentleman through,” she says.

You follow your mother into the living room and take a seat. A slight excitement bubbles within you. Where did they all come from? There was no ball last night.

It’s about noon when the last gentleman enters the room. You smile at him, finding yourself very much at ease. A pile of gifts has grown over in the corner of the room, but this gentleman has brought nothing but himself. You stand to greet him, and he takes your hand, kissing your knuckles lightly.

“Lord Seresin!”

“My lady,” he smiles brightly at you.

“Is this your doing?” You ask, eyeing him.

“Partially. I am helping a friend of a friend. According to my source, you’re a no one and gentlemen don’t do anything for you. I have never heard anything more ridiculous before in all my life. You are not no one. You are a lady in the eye of gentleman who was here today. Perhaps more so in the eye of a certain someone,” Jake smiles.

“The duke?”

Your mother sits up at this.

“The duke is interested in my daughter?” She smiles.

Jake ignores her.

“I think you may have caught his eye. Of course, he will not be pressured into anything. He is a duke after all. I hear he hopes to see you at the next ball,” Lord Seresin tells you.

“He does?” You ask.

Jake winks at you subtly.

Your mother looks like the cat that got the cream.

“I suppose if you wanted to gain his interest, dance with him at the next ball. I’m sure he would like to spend some time with you again,” Jake says, looking right at you with a small smile.

“I would love to, but-”

“But nothing dear! We shall have you ready for the duke!” Your mother says, standing from her seat. You are taken a little off-guard by her outburst but say nothing more.

Jake keeps his gaze on you.

“He seems fond of you,” Jake tells you.

“Not really,” you whisper. Your mother is far too excited to hear you now.

“Don’t hold doubt. I’m not just saying it to make you feel better.”

You find Lord Seresin smiling at you again. You find comfort in his words and nod your head.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Any time, my lady. Now, I must be off, there is much more to be done. There is a damsel in distress and a knight working hard to keep her safe. Take care, won’t you?”

“Of course. You do too.”

Jake kisses your hand and bows his head, taking his leave.

As he leaves your home, you sit there with your hands neatly folded in your lap. There is a smile on your face and warmth in your heart.

The duke had no reason to bring you kindness. He was buying you time with a lie of being interested in you. You know it was only to keep your mother busy. If she thought the duke was interested, she would delay the engagement announcement for a bit. For this you were very thankful.

You would make sure to repay his kindness in some way.

For now, you had a ball to prepare for.

Your mother had you up on your feet as she gushed about what gown to wear. She would need a new one for you. One that was fit for a duchess, she said. You would need new ribbons, new jewels, new shoes.

You let your mother make a fuss.

She had no idea what was really going on.

Carole smiled at you from across the room.

Meanwhile, at the Kerner residence. Ron and his wife watch the duke as he looks out of the window, deep in thought. They had helped pull off his little stunt using Seresin, who serves under same regime as they had. Knowing fellow military men was handy in a time like this.

“Do you have any intent to court her?” Mrs Kerner asks, watching the duke with a careful gaze.

“I do not. I am just saving her from a fate she is trapped in.”

Ron shares a dubious look with his wife.

“Has she not touched your soul in any way?” Ron asks, taking his turn.

The duke falls silent. Ron smiles at his wife.

“If you are fond of her, why don’t you get to know her?”

“Because a life married to be is no better than the life she will have if her mother goes through with her insane plan. The least I can do is help her have the life she desires.”

Again, Ron shares a look with his wife.

“Are you not lonely, Your Grace?” Mrs Kerner asks, teasing him with formality.

The duke does not answer.

His silence speaks volumes to them. Ron sighs as he sips his drink and continues to watch the duke by the window.

The duke’s eyes watch the gates at the far end of the drive.

You wouldn’t want him anyway. No one wants a man with an ice-cold heart. You are far too kind and warm for someone like him. 

The least he can do is help you find someone like you before your time is up.

♡♡♡

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[foxys-fantasy-tales]

A Rival Most Vial - Book Review

Oh gosh, where do I start? I loved it. Let's make that clear. Ok, I'll begin with my one gripe before my overwhelming praise takes over because I cannot wait for more in this series.

R.K. Ashwick's second trilogy begins with this book, as The Stray Spirit began their first trilogy and was their debut novel as an indie author last year. Two books in so little time! I could never be that fast! Both are highly recommended by me so I wanted to mention the other book, now, let's pop open this juicy dumpling of fantasy fiction, shall we?

The one gripe is Ambrose and Eli are at odds for a good third of the book or so, and I mean heavily. As spoiler light as possible, events go from a boiling point that breaks the rules of the street their shops are on, then in the same day a character begins to look at the other with a wholly different kinda boiling point. -tugs collar- Ahem. As I said, the quick change left a bit of whiplash for me personally, but it's my only complaint for this wonderful novel that also captured my heart and made me tear up once or twice.

Ambrose is by far my favorite. I relate to his closed off nature, and boy does he also have good reasons for it. He's intelligent, gifted in his craft even, dedicated, and all mushy inside if you can get past that icy blue exterior of his. Eli, on the other hand, took me a minute to get on board with, though I have to admit the cutest automaton ever, Tom, and her wonderfully depicted stabby feet, mug body, fork arms, and broom head helped warm me to him. Eli has severe wanderlust and gets bored of things easily, though he is also incredibly gifted. He's reckless, but he's charming and bears good intentions.

All the characters are wonderful, really, but I won't name them all here and let you discover them yourself. They make themselves very much known in the first chapter after all. Big personalities and bigger hearts, these shopkeeps all stick together through thick and thin, even though some may make some really rash calls at times. In a magical world with exploding moss, dragons, and venomous moths that shoot deadly spikes the length of your arm, any rash choice could be deadly.

The romance is golden and the details on the kisses and awkwardness being described from both sides of the blooming relationship between Ambrose and Eli is just -mwah-. Ambrose is uncertain of a first relationship and so concerned with timing and averages like any A type personality would be, while Eli is tender with him and doesn't wish to push too far, all the while not knowing Ambrose may want just that. There is a short sex scene, but it's very blurry in depictions of physicality and hones in more on the back and forth and emotions between the two. I thought this was a good choice for this type of story, and it blended well to the emotional beats at the time.

The world-building, just like The Stray Spirit, is so carefully thought out, planned, drawn up in wonderful in book art, and exudes so much of Ashwick's character that you could tell it was an R.K. Ashwick book even without the name on the cover if you read their debut. Each of these worlds is mesmerizing and brings me back to when I would eat through fantasy books by the dozen. It's whimsical, but dangerous enough you have to root for the characters and fear for them at times genuinely. As Ambrose goes over his potion instructions and shortcuts to his partner on the commission, each detail feels like it just came from an actual text on the subject. I can't wait to discover more of this world.

Can we also state how gorgeous that cover is while I still have your attention? The colors pop so well! The details are stunning and I love the little silhouettes of our main duo with those tiny hearts above their heads.

All in all, this is my long-winded approach to saying GO BUY THIS BOOK! I assure you it is worth the time and money spent to travel through this world with these loveable fools.

This is an arc read and I’m leaving a review voluntarily. This review is honest all the same and I jumped at the chance to be an arc reader after reading The Stray Spirit shortly after it's launch. I've followed this project's growth even longer than that, and I am so happy to say I am so satisfied with how this turned out.

[askthepsychic]

Rey is floating high above Equestria, stationary, eyes closed as she reaches out with her mind to sense the thought patterns of the citizens and visitors, checking for any who may have intent to harm the kingdom. Suddenly, she senses a flash of intensely dark thoughts, so dark and evil that she actually experiences pain from the brief moment she senses them before they vanish again. She immediately focuses her senses in that location to see if she can pinpoint the individual with such intense evil brewing within them, but whoever they were is now completely absent from her perception. Unable to find the source of those dark thoughts, she begins to descend back to Ponyville, hoping to find Aaron so as to inquire about what she sensed.

As she makes her descent, she feels the air around her ripple strangely, then a portal appears in the air in front of her. She can scarcely believe her eyes when she sees who comes out of the portal. She knows the species, if not the exact individual in front of her. It’s one of the two species she owes her existence to. A mewtwo. Then two more individuals come out of the portal, one after the other. Another mewtwo and what she senses is a mew.

Rey gazes at the three before her, trying to think of what to say first when the first mewtwo to arrive, somehow different in appearance from the other though Rey can’t quite pinpoint how, breaks the silence first.

“Greetings. You are Rey, are you not? If you are, I would like to run my lesson plan by you after you acquaint yourself with those who came with me.” The voice sounds female, and Rey can definitely sense a feminine nature in the one who spoke, though she spoke only with her mind, using telepathy rather than her vocal cords.

Rey nods. “I am Rey. I guess your words indicate that you are the one Aaron contacted regarding teaching me more about mega evolution. As for you two” she indicates the other mewtwo and the mew “are you…?”

The other mewtwo nods, speaking, again telepathically, with a definite masculinity to his vocal tone “we are. Aaron thought you might like to meet us, so he insisted your instructor utilize her mega evolved speed to find and collect us before coming here. So, here we are. The ones whose genetic material was used to create you. I cannot speak for mew, but I can say that I at least am curious as to whether there is anything you would want to say to us. Any questions you might want to ask. Personally, I would give a great deal to have the opportunity you have. To meet my progenitor. To learn more about who I am, admittedly less than naturally, begotten of. To gain a new piece of the puzzle as to where I truly belong, what my existence truly means.”

Rey closes her eyes, trying to contain the threatening tears. “Your words resonate deeply with me. As to what I would wish to say to you, to ask of you, there is so much going through my mind. So many questions. So many words I want to say. I guess I’ll start with the first one that came to mind when I saw you. About the events on New Island. Was it worth it to either of you? One of you? Both?”

Mew comes to float around her as mewtwo sighs “I regret what I intended to do there. But for me, ultimately, it was worth it. I don’t know if I could have learned to respect all life any other way after the things that had happened to me before then, but I do know that I did learn to respect life on that island. So yes. Though it left me with a heavy weight to bear I do believe that event had sufficient worth from my perspective.”

Rey nods, then looks at mew, the small mythical Pokemon still circling her. In Pokemon language, mew then gives her response. “I… lost something prior to New Island. Something I missed dearly. My sorrow lead to me deciding to sleep. Just sleep the world away. From what I could tell, several decades, if not centuries, passed while I slept. Then I sensed mewtwo’s power. It brought me out of my slumber. I wasn’t sure any other Pokemon with sufficient power were near enough to stop what I sensed this power was being prepared for. I had to act. At first I tried to show him that we didn’t have to fight. I invited him to play instead. But he was determined that we were somehow meant to be enemies. I had to engage. My regret is that I failed to get through to him without violence. That not even the wisdom born of my millennia of life could reach him. And then he locked away the powers of his clones and the other Pokemon to try to prove a point. I hadn’t helped. I had made things worse. I couldn’t think of any other ways I could try to reach them, so I forced myself to unleash the power within me to fight him, hoping that the battle would somehow reveal another option to me. But… I never thought… that poor boy. By the time I realized what he’d decided to do it was too late to stop my own attack, much less mewtwos. He was caught in the middle. No human could’ve survived the force of our combined power. I could only watch on as I felt the weight of his death settle in my heart while his dear little pikachu tried repeatedly, futilely to revive him. The whole situation was just so very wrong, and I realized there was nothing I could do to fix it. But then… I didn’t have to anymore. As I watched on while the tears of all the Pokemon flowed, their restorative powers undoing what had been done to that boy, I sensed mewtwo coming to realize how much the same we really were. I knew everything would be alright. But I also knew that no matter how many millennia I lived, I would never forget that event. And I realized I couldn’t hide away from the world again. What if something similar came about and I was once again the only one close enough to resolve the situation. I decided the best thing I could do was to guide mewtwo and his clones to a place I thought they’d be safe. Then resume the vigil required of mythical Pokemon, required of those with power. And that is how I have lived my life since. Always watching for my power being needed, never forgetting any of my past experiences. In closing… as horrible as that whole situation was… yes. For me, it was worth it.”

Rey nods “I get where you both are coming from. You both came out of that situation with important lessons to apply to your futures. I guess that’s the real value of life. The ability to learn, and live by what you learn. That being said, I hope you don’t mind me asking but, what was it that you lost, mew? You didn’t say.”

Mew nods “I know, and that isn’t going to change. I only told you that I had lost something to explain why I was where I was when that situation began. Aside from that one moment, I have never spoken about my loss, and I prefer to keep it that way.”

Rey nods “understood. But another question came from your story too. Pokémon tears have healing powers? Enough so even to reverse death?”

Mew nods “if the situation is right, yes. But it takes a very grave situation for that power to be summoned from within a Pokemon. Aside from that moment, at the end of our fight, I know of only one other moment when that power manifested. It was before my time, but we mew, what few of us are left at this time, pass that tale down to our children. I won’t deny we can be childish more often than not, but we do assign great value to knowledge. Especially so if it’s of that sort of thing. Rare powers, strange events. Am I… making sense?”

Rey nods “you are. But again, you have given me a new question to ask. What did you mean by “what few of us are left”? Is something happening to the mew species?”

Mews expression finally changes to a rueful smile “well. Yes and no. You do realize the rarity we must exist in to be assigned the designation of mythical, don’t you? Last I checked, there were less than 50 mew left in the world we came here from. But that’s okay. One thing you should know about the mew species is that we are numbered among the oldest species of Pokemon. There are only a handful of species that are slightly older if not just exactly as ancient as the mew species. And there’s a reason for that. Unless I miss my guess, you have known the technique Transform your whole life, haven’t you?” At Rey’s confirmation mew reverently lowers her gaze, closing her eyes “that technique was essential to the purpose we were given at the beginning of our world. In the beginning, precisely 10000 mew were created by the god Arceus. They were born alongside Pokemon who were created to govern the elements of existence in our world. But the mew were different. They weren’t created for such grand purpose as the others. While the other Pokemon that Arceus himself created went to fulfill their roles, went to tame the wild forces of creation, the mew stayed behind, waiting for Arceus to explain why they were created. It wasn’t until the world was tamed that Arceus did just that. He told the mew that while they had no element of existence to govern, their role could be considered to be even greater than that. They were then shown a special flower. Arceus bade them “seek thee out these flowers in the world with healthy body and parental will. Diversify your forms after the flower has given you its gift. In this way, you may bring life on a grand scale to the world I have created.” The mew, their purpose now clear, went to work immediately. By their gift, the ability to reproduce without a mate, they were able to bring life to the world at twice the rate any other species could have. They used their natural born technique transform to choose the forms that life would take on a whim according to their own fancy. The rest is both history and myth.”

Rey nods “it’s admittedly hard to believe, but still, I don’t doubt a single thing you have just said. Hmm. ‘Seek thee out these flowers with healthy body and parental will’. That’s why the mew species is in decline, isn’t it? They’ve become too childish, making parental will exceedingly rare among a species that is already rare.”

Mew nods. “Exactly. We are capable of reproducing the other way too, but with so few of us wanting to be parents… it’s only a matter of time. We are immortal, but for us, that doesn’t mean we can’t die. We live exceedingly long lives, with one mew being capable of witnessing millennia of life, if not a full eon. But, eventually we too wither away and perish. And in all that time, it’s perfectly possible that we may never be in the right state of mind to bear children. So… we don’t. Our mission to populate the world is complete. We’ve done what we were tasked to do, fulfilled our purpose. But I think doing so sapped us of any desire to have children. Heh. Our progeny walk upon the earth… but they aren’t us.”

Rey nods. Then looks at the two of them, her genetic parents. “There’s one last thing I’d like to know right now. Did either of you… know about me?”

Mewtwo sighs “I sensed a new psychic presence at one point. Powerful, and I could tell by how it felt that it was connected to me. But before I could do anything about it, it was gone. I thought of my past battles. Realized it was likely that someone had somehow acquired a genetic sample. Since you had vanished from my perception, I assumed that the effort to create you had somehow failed. That you had died still in the incubation phase. But ultimately, whatever had happened to you left me powerless to do anything for you. So I decided it was best to leave it at the fact that you had existed and pray that you found happiness in whatever life came next for you.”

Rey chuckles. “Well, at least one part of that prayer came true. I am happy here.”

Mewtwo smiles, nodding in satisfaction before looking at mew. She nods “like you, I also sensed Rey’s presence for the brief time she spent in our world. I was on my way to find her when she disappeared. I was depressed for a time afterwards. Whatever or whoever I sensed, I could tell that their mind was in turmoil. I wanted to help them, but I had lost the opportunity without ever seeing them. Rey, I’m sorry I was too late to help you.”

Mewtwo nods “as am I.”

Rey smiles “what matters to me is that you both tried. You both sensed our connection and wanted to help me because you felt responsible for me. Mew, I can tell you’re the sort without parental will, but you were willing to take responsibility for my existence and come to help me. Mewtwo, you were likewise willing to take responsibility. Even if I had never come here, I would have had true parents sooner or later. Thank you both.”

The two nod, then the other mewtwo gets Rey’s attention “if all your questions are answered for now, shall we discuss the lesson plan?”

Rey nods. “Yes. But I do want to mention that you three are all welcome to stick around as long as you want as far as I’m concerned. Besides, having other Pokemon to train with could accelerate my development.”

Mewtwo nods “a good point. I don’t have any true obligations back home, so I believe I shall stay.”

Mew nods in agreement.

The female mewtwo smiles. “Now that that’s settled, here’s how I’m planning to teach you.”

[thesunshinebunny]

Can I ask for the dorm leaders reacting to their S / O asking them to join them in the shower for the first time???

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, oooookkkk, I can see what you did there dear anon.

In my great humble imagination, I'd like to take a dip in the huge bathtub that Kalim surely has in Scarabia. Let me dream, I like to relax in big bathtubs with foam, bubbles, music and incense. Before we begin, I warn you that all characters are +18.

Let’s goooooooooooooo

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Riddle

Oh dear, you don't know what you just did.

It was a decent proposal to be honest, you just wanted to spend a quality moment with our Queen, but I think the smoke got into his head.

"Riddle, I'm going to take a shower, would you like to join me?"

Puff red as a tomato and about to explode.

You stared at him in disbelief, until you realized your words. Maybe Riddle wasn't ready for that big step.

You entered the bathroom alone, but not before asking for forgiveness.

Now you left Riddle alone with his thoughts, that's much worse.

Your intention was to take a short shower, but with the event that had just occurred, you were eating your head as the water ran down your body.

The longer it took you to get out, the more your anxiety ate you up inside. You would have panicked if you hadn't heard the door open and close almost inaudibly.

Riddle stepped into the shower, standing behind you and circling your waist.

"Please don't turn around, it's still too embarrassing for me, but I can't help but feel calm right now"

Neither of you spoke or moved the rest of the time you stayed in the shower, even forgetting to wash properly. But that 'mistake' was the beginning of multiple long shared showers.

Leona

The lazy lion here wasn’t in his plans to get into the water, much less shower. If you had asked getting into the lounge’s pool, maybe he would have considered it.

He just lay on his bed, about to fall asleep, not caring about your figure in the middle of the room. He didn't care that you were getting irritated every second.

"I don't have the need to bathe, go alone"

He heard you leave and thought he was going to sleep peacefully before you get out of the shower… until an impact on his head dislodged him.

You had thrown dirt all over his hair, spreading over his chest and the bed.

“Now you have a reason to shower. You're dirty"

I recommend you to run to the shower, because the look Leona gave you… I highly doubt that you will make it out alive.

Arriving at the threshold, Leona grabbed you by the legs, placing you on his shoulder and getting under the faucet.

This fucker turned on the shower without letting you remove your clothes first, ending up drenched.

"Ah, my mistake, I think you're a little wet. Let me take off your clothes"

The malicious smirk on his face didn’t give you confidence, and didn’t disappear even when you were both naked under the water.

“You have courage to fill me and my bed with dirt, did you want to take a shower? Now you are going to clean me"

Ah… worth it?

Azul

Did he hear you well? Do you want to take a shower with him?

Oh dear sea witch, help him, he is about to have a neurism.

Azul wasn’t against your proposal itself, he was very concerned about his physique.

And what if you don't like what you see? would you are disappointed? And if it disgusts you to look at him naked or semi naked?

Thousands of questions ran through his head, making it impossible for him to give you an answer. If you looked closely, you might even see smoke coming out of his ears from the gears in his head moving; even tears were threatening to leak out of his eyes.

You placed your hands on both sides of his face, "Come with me"

You guided him into the bathroom, placing him under the shower head. You let go of your octopus and turned on the hot water before he could say anything.

Both were burned by the touch of the hot water, even Azul wanted to get out of there, but you stopped him by wrapping your arms around him.

The warmth of your arms on his torso made his heart skip a beat. He never thought he was going to be able to have this kind of intimacy with you, and I'm not talking about nudity.

It was literally like being in the rain in the middle of the courtyard, but in solitude inside Azul's room ... rather in his bathroom ... with clothes that were beginning to cling to the body.

"Do you feel better? Do you think you're ready to take off your clothes and really give us a hot shower?"

Azul never said a yes so fast in his life.

Kalim

A shower? A simple shower? What is that? Kalim only knows how to take big baths in tubs that could be the size of a house.

Either way he said yes, don’t be alarmed.

Wasting no time, he led you to the bathroom in his room, which you could swear was the same dimensions as the bedroom, apart from being very resplendent.

Kalim was very respectful at all times, he gave you your time to undress, he wasn’t invasive and he turned around when you asked him and thus enter the water.

Our sun here took the trouble to decorate the bathtub when you weren't looking, now the whole place was decorated with incense and scented candles from the Land of Hot Sands.

Even if you walked carefully, you might come across a few gold coins on the marble floor of the tub.

All very beautiful, but I think I would be very overwhelmed with such extravagance. And that is also your case, it’s better to tell Kalim directly.

Like before, don't worry, Kalim would understand your feelings a 1000% and if closing your eyes for the entire bath time makes you feel better, then Kalim would be willing to snuggle you on his chest and wash your head himself.

He ’s a gentleman, what can I say.

But, if you feel comfortable with all that, then I advise you to start a bubble war. Who said bathing with your partner has to be serious?

"Take care of your bubble ammunition, you wouldn't want to be left with nothing and for me to tickle you"

You made a mess in the whole bathroom, be careful when you leave, there is soap and water everywhere.

Vil

Oh no no no, dear, no dear.

One does not shower with Vil, one BATHES with Vil.

Like Kalim, Vil takes his bath quite seriously. He needs to follow his skin routine very meticulously and for that he needs oils, essences and… other things that my poor ass couldn't buy all the time, even if I wanted to.

His bathtub is not as gigantic as Kalim's, but it is much larger than average.

If for any reason you are embarrassed to bathe naked, don't panic. Vil has exclusively for you a bathrobe that you can use in the water, and one for him too obviously.

Prepare for a full-body massage session. The oils are not for decoration, they are to soften the skin and Vil would give the best massages of your life, you cannot argue with me

By the way, you also wash your hair with an equally expensive shampoo. There is no middle ground here: either you take a simple shower in your bedroom, or you go big with Vil.

That reminds me, the moment you take the first bath with this Queen of beauty, you have just signed a contract (not one of Azul's) in which it stipulates that from now on, every day you will bathe with it, end of discussion.

Vil may at first have been a bit ecstatic to the idea of ​​you giving him massages with his special oil and washing his hair; he has a very meticulous routine that he adheres to to the letter and your inexperienced fingers would not do enough magic.

Buuut, nothing like a good class in the middle of the bathtub to give good results.

In summary, taking a bath with Vil is like having a full day at the Spa, completely free ... well, almost free 😉

Idia

Idia.exe stopped working.

Jokes aside, Idia stopped reacting for a few seconds, he didn't even remember to breathe.

I can't tell if Idia is one of that kind of weeb that doesn't bathe, I want to believe that he does, please make me believe that he does, I implore you

Taking a shower with Idia can be a bit… embarrassing, mostly on his part. He isn’t used to so much human contact and that you ask him for such a proposal, is to get out of his comfort zone.

Nor could I tell if, when in contact with water, Idia's hair would evaporate, like the scene in Hercules blowing Hades’s head XD.

If so, it would be a lot of fun to watch, but you would have to reassure him because he would surely be much more embarrassed.

If that's not the case, maybe he would be around as long as the intimacy last with red hair, someone at some point mentioned Idia with red hair and now I can't help but imagine it

Many caresses from your part, hugging his torso from behind. Like Riddle, he would surely not be prepared to look at you for the first time or for you to see him.

Trie to calm the waters by asking him about his new inventions.

Also avoids telling Ortho all this bamboleo. He is too pure for this type of situation, let's not fill his head with indecent images of his brother.

Malleus

What a peculiar proposal, but it will be honored without a doubt.

He may have asked Lilia for instructions to abide by your proposal as well as possible… and Big Bear Mama Lilia may have asked him thousands of questions about it, perhaps embarrassing him a bit, but we will never know.

I have a slight suspicion that Malleus has a very rococo-style bathroom, in dark colors, but not necessarily black and green, do you understand?

Did you know those old tubs, from the Marie Antoinette years? Well, Malleus has one. He also has a shower, but to be honest, I see Malleus as a passionate lover, so the shower wouldn’t be in the game.

But, if you feel uncomfortable with the bathtub because it seems too much or you can’t step in (because, let's face it, hardly a person enters in that marble piece of furniture) then Malleus has no problem using the shower.

Whatever your decision is, the moment will be magical, and I mean it very seriously.

Our dragon daddy here would invoke any kind of magic to make the evening more enjoyable, like the little lights that fly around when Malleus is about to appear or disappear.

I recommend you don’t go around telling your intentions of take a shower with Malleus, we know that a certain lemon green hair is hanging around the corridors and he wouldn’t hesitate to listen to a conversation that has his young master as it’s center.

An uncomfortable moment if Sebek enter the bathroom screaming as always, demanding an explanation as to why a simple human is bathing with his young master.

[kindestegg]

Deltarune Theory: Ralsei is a guide for the script

It feels crazy that Deltarune Chapter 2 has only been out for like, what, two weeks? As of the time I’m writing this, and yet, there has already been so much secret hunting and speculation over this. Not even the full game, and people already go crazy over it. Naturally, I am part of this craze. In fact I was one of the people that played it as soon as it dropped.

And, I thought it was only me, but, at least for a little while, Ralsei’s behavior struck me as… odd. Not outwardly malicious, but just… odd. Particularly the first bit of the game, it was just so… happy and convenient? And Ralsei was at the center of it all, orchestrating it, making sure everything happened accordingly.

Eventually, that initial feeling of distrust went away, but… not quite. And it seems a lot of people began to feel the same way, pointing out bits about Ralsei that are just… out of place. Things that didn’t seem to stand out in the first chapter, are now popping out about him.

Questions include:

How does he know about what’s outside the Dark World, about the school?

How does he know about the game mechanics and call them out by names?

Why is he so interested in keeping the balance between only Kris acting and him and Susie doing magic?

Why does he seem so eager to dismiss what happened with Spamton NEO?

Why doesn’t he turn into stone or even get weak at any point during the time he spends in Cyber World?

Are the parts of his name and design connecting to the Dreemurr’s intentional, and if so, what does that mean for his relation to Kris?

How and why does he take player control away to look at what Susie is doing? Why must he wait until Kris is willing to do it? What does he tell them when he succeeds in this?

Now, I don’t intend to pose here “a supreme theory to rule them all”, I’m just a guy having fun and I’ve seen people voice particularly similar ideas to this one I’ve had, so I want to at least try to answer these questions through a relatively simple idea that would, almost entirely, immediately answer ALMOST all the doubts.

First, let’s start with some steps to build up this idea. For one, we know for a fact that Ralsei holds knowledge over game mechanics and may even break the fourth wall at times.

But we also know that Ralsei’s design resembles a lot of characters from Undertale we know and were fond of. For one, he can be likened to Toriel in the sense that he is the one to give you the first tutorial of the game and his clothes resemble her original outfit as well. Another connection, much more common, that people have made is that he is like Asriel, no doubt due to his name being an anagram, but also due to the fact he is also a cute young goat.

I would like to do a complete turn around here though, and say I do not think any of this points to Ralsei being related to Kris in the familial sense, for more than one reason, but my main one being that I don’t think Toby would be as frankly disgusting as to imply such a thing when there is so so much teasing in the direction of Ralsei possibly having a crush on Kris. I mean… really, Toby?

You know, I’m not too sure this would be the smartest idea, Mr. Fox, but alright.

However, I do think all these hints in his design and name have a purpose. And it has to do with how us, the fandom, see these two characters. For one, they are very beloved characters, and Toriel is one that we associate with her tutorials and guidance, whereas Asriel is one that people have yearned to see more in action. They are back, in a sense, but not present in our adventures so far.

What I’m getting at is that Ralsei is specifically designed to be the darling of the fandom. He is made to be loved, to be trusted, to cause feelings in us that make us want to protect him and accept his advice. This, in a way, also affects the in-universe characters who see him, as Susie put it: “as a big portable teddy bear”, whose job is “giving hugs”.

And I don’t just mean this in a character design way, like “oh wow Toby was so smart to make a perfectly marketable boy!” No. I think Ralsei exists as a meta element, his form being a direct manifestation of what we want to see.

He looks like that because he wants us to see him and lower our guard and expect his guidance. Remember how his form was shadowy and vague throughout all of chapter 1 until the very end of it and how he poofs into nothing but a pile of clothes in both chapters so far, no matter what form he’s in? What if he’s a shapeshifter? What if Ralsei isn’t even his real name? That certainly would explain why he says he doesn’t know what being Ralsei-like is like.

Ralsei? Ralsei? Oh God he’s gone.

Now, do I think he’s lowering our guard in the sense of leaving us vulnerable for an attack? Not exactly. I think it's so we learn to accept him…

Accept that he is a GUIDE for the game’s script. His entire existence hinges on guiding the main characters, specially Kris, throughout the story, and making sure the whole story, all seven chapters, play out exactly as planned.

You see, Ralsei isn’t evil. His goal is pretty simple, actually: guide us, the player, throughout the game, making us feel as safe and happy and secure. In that sense, of course he pushes so hard towards the pacifist route. After all, that’s the one that’s closer to a completionist route, as the sparing + recruiting mechanic adds more characters to your town, and therefore more content. He wants you to see all this content and get the most enjoyment out of it. His code urges him to bring you the best experience possible.

This would also answer why he does that thing with taking our control away from Kris and to watch Susie’s shenanigans. Because it’s satisfying to us. Notice how stressed out and pushy he gets in the alternate route when Susie comes out of Noelle’s room without being able to let us see what happened. He knows he messed up, something went wrong. He was supposed to let us see, so that we wouldn’t be bored, because God forbid the players be bored.

Just imagine this going through his head.

He also seems to genuinely care about Kris and Susie, and with good reason, as he knows these are the protagonists, and he is supposed to care for their well being too and ensure they reach their goal. I do think, however, there is a good amount of being genuine in his care, as he has no reason to react so boldly sometimes to either of them, showing outrage or affection in pretty telling ways. He isn’t heartless despite carrying out this job.

However it is also worth noting, for all his care, he cannot do the one thing that Kris would desire the most: free them from our grasp. And that is his ultimate failure towards them, and may end up creating conflict later on in the game.

From, here, there are two possible pathways:

Ralsei does not know about the dilemma Kris is going through, and believes Kris is entirely oblivious and passive towards being in a video game. He may even end up being the final boss to fight, as he desperately tries to keep everything on rails while Kris very much does not care for any of that.

Ralsei is entirely aware of what’s going on with Kris, after all, everything in a game’s design is planned, even the cutscenes, therefore even Kris’ struggles. Ralsei knows of the fate that lies ahead, that Kris will eventually be free, how it all ends. But to get there… is still a road ahead.

I think Ralsei’s affection towards Kris will definitely be explored in the later chapters. Not just because of the teasing we’ve been getting, but, if Ralsei really is a guide of the game’s code and script, what would that mean for him to get so attached towards the character the player is controlling?

Ralsei will have to make a choice. He will either recognize Kris is suffering and cannot wait any longer, or be faced with possibly having to fight them himself. This is why those two pathways matter as well. If he doesn’t know, his choice will come later and it will be an unpleasant surprise for him to find out the game universe is breaking apart around him with the self awareness of certain characters. If he does know, however, his choice is NOW, and waiting for the inevitable will be torture.

Just how long until he breaks? Or will he keep the facade until the very last chapter?

Like I said, I don’t intend this theory to be the biggest, most revealing and coherent theory. But… It could add a very interesting layer to Ralsei’s character, as well as answer many questions posed beforehand. He knows the school layout and game controls because he is part of the code. He can get to the other Dark World’s easily and remain unharmed because the game demands him to be. He looks like this so that we love him. He wants to give us the most fulfilling Castle Town so that we will love the game. He doesn’t protest even when Kris does things like try to give him the thorn ring, because to him, everything will be okay anyway. Everything he is, is for us. He isn’t evil or malicious per se, he just opposes Kris’ biggest need.

But he may have gotten himself attached. And that may be a clue to sparing him if he does become a final boss.

But! Tell me what you thought of this theory! Do you think it’s way too weird and farfetched, or do you think it’s possible that it could happen? Or maybe you agree with some stuff but not with other stuff? Go ahead and tell me!

[ashesandhackles]

Harry And Personal Conflict: A Meta On Evolving Dynamic With Ron and Hermione

One of my last metas on Harry was how his abuse at the Dursleys informed who he is as a person and a lot of his main personality traits. This time, I want to explore Harry's relationship with conflict, mostly in regard to his best friends - Ron and Hermione.

First things first, because of his abusive upbringing where he is constantly in conflict with his caregivers, conflict is seen as Bad Thing when we first meet him as a 11 year old. And it informs how he reacts to both Ron and Hermione at first. He instantly relates to Ron because Ron is an underdog - a boy who feels neglected and passed over in his large and boisterous family. Harry shares his own experience of neglect with Ron and they both bond instantly.

His initial impression of Hermione is that she has a "bossy sort of voice" . The bossiness is an important characterstic to his impression of her - she reminds him of an authority figure and he does not particularly take to her as easily as he does Ron. Before the troll incident, he is frequently annoyed by her interventions because "he can't believe anyone would be so interfering". It's her vulnerability and the fact that she may be in danger that makes Harry, and by extension Ron, go after her. And she pays it back in full with a demonstration of loyalty to them in front of people she wants to impress: teachers. This sets the tone of his friendship with Ron and Hermione.

There is sense of easiness to his friendship with Ron, especially in earlier books that he doesn't quite share with Hermione. This is a bit gendered as well, of course. His relationship with Hermione evolves as Ron's own equation with two of them changes, more specifically Ron's cognisance of his romantic feelings for Hermione. So how does this inform his relationship with personal conflict?

Let's look at it Book wise.

Book 1-4: Since Harry tends to see All Conflict As Bad, when Hermione becomes his friend, he tends to ignore traits of her that he particularly doesn't take to. Specifically her argumentativeness - which he usually leaves Ron to deal with. For example, look at when Hermione drags him off to the kitchens in GOF. When he realises what this is about, he nudges Ron, and Ron does the protesting: "Hermione, you are trying to rope us into that spew stuff again!".

Often, you can say he is amused by Ron's more ..let's say colourful.. reactions to Hermione being overbearing. So when Ron and him are not speaking and Hermione gets a Quidditch term wrong, it causes him "a pang to imagine Ron's expression of he could have heard Hermione talking about Wonky Faints". It's that deeply ingrained into the dynamic.

While Ron acts buffer and protects Harry from stepping into a potential conflict ("skip the lecture", "don't nag" he tells her), Harry's world view remains quite the same. Part of Harry's growing up is integrating conflicting points of view and gaining nuance. For example, he can't understand why someone like Snape, who seems to hate him so much, can also save his life at the end of Philosopher's Stone. This is his first venture into trying to integrate two conflicting things about a person into nuance. Dumbledore gives him a very easily digestible story, one that appeals to his ideal of his father and Harry is sated.

Again, Harry's world view is tested when he finds out that he relates with Tom Riddle - for their "strange likenesses". He doth protest too much at Dumbledore's office: "I don't think I am like him! I am Gryffindor!". And Dumbledore offers him a wisdom nugget: "It's our choices which define who we are" (paraphrasing). Harry is uncomfortable that he empathises with Tom Riddle, his parents' murderer, at this point in the story.

In the first four books, his only proper personal conflict has been with Ron.

It is depressing to think about in these terms - but Ron is Harry's first experience of unconditional love (we can even put Hagrid here, but he is not the one who spends most time with Harry). And when Ron and him fight, Harry is so hurt by the prospect that he proceeds to abandon Ron before Ron abandons him. (the whole chucking a "Potter stinks" badge at him and making a jab about having a scar is what he wants, or the fight in DH where he yells "then leave! Pretend you have gotten over your spattergoit and have your mummy feed you up"). It's an interesting defense mechanism and he feels "corrosive hatred" towards Ron during these times because Ron and him aren't supposed to be like this. Ron is a certainty in his life. It's also why when Ron comes back, Harry either doesn't need him to apologise (as in GOF) or quickly forgives him in DH - although I do think Harry thinks the locket bit was punishment enough. But even without the whole locket, I think Harry has trouble holding Ron accountable in general beyond few slaps on the wrist - especially if Ron and he are on good terms.

5th Book: This is the transition point for Golden Trio friendship. Harry has come back from an immensely traumatising night at the graveyard and his PTSD isolates him from his best friends. This is also the point where Ron, especially after GOF, is aware of his romantic feelings for Hermione ("the perfume is unusual Ron", Hermione tells him in this book). So in this book, we often see Ron and Hermione on one side, with Harry on the other.

Ron is unwilling (quite like Harry in that respect) to engage him in a direct conflict, but he is also unwilling to shield him from Hermione's nagging in this book. This is why, OOTP is the book where you see Harry ignore or avoid Hermione and lie to her more than usual to avoid conflict. For example, he tells her that Snape thinks he can carry on Occlumency once he got the basics - that is categorically not what happened. Or the entire day he spends ignoring Hermione's warnings about breaking into Umbridge's office. (The description here is comical - about Hermione vehemently hissing so much that Seamus Finnigan is checking his cauldron for leaks. ) If he cannot lie to her or avoid her, at the end of the rope, he will treat her to display of his frightening temper.

Interestingly, OOTP is also the book that his world view goes through a tremendous upheaval: mainly, his ideal of his father and having empathy for Snape. It is unnerving for Harry to see Snape being the "boy who cried in the corner" when his father shouts at a cowering woman. Similarly unnerving is that his intense empathy for him - "he knew exactly what Snape felt when his father taunted him and judging by what he had seen, his father was every bit as arrogant as Snape always told him".

While he is placated that his father grew out of it, this memory of his father being a bully is something he cannot bear to watch again in DH. Few chapters later, he grins at Ron "sweeping his hair" back to make it look more windswept, just like his father - suggesting that Harry is beginning to integrate two conflicting things he knew about his father: from the people who loved him vs the people he was cruel to.

6th Book onwards: It's interesting to me that his better appreciation for Hermione comes after OOTP (one, because she is the one who challenged the whole Ministry plan and she followed him into a trap knowing it was one anyway) but also the timing of it is in line with Harry having a more nuanced understanding of his father. He struggled to hold conflicting information about him into one cohesive person - the boy who was a bully vs the man who joins Order of Phoenix to fight a war he could very well have sat out. The pedestal crashing helped Harry gain nuance (he thinks of his father and mother with pride in HBP - of them walking into an arena with head held high). HBP also sets up his deeper understanding with Snape in DH. There is lovely meta by about this by thedreamersmusing. Read it here. HBP is also the book he feels "sorry" for Voldemort and also feels "reluctant admiration" for him - both of things he is less defensive about.

And this nuance informs his relationship with conflicts - especially the kind he has with Hermione. He is more confrontational with her and does not lie or sneak around her as much as he did in OOTP in the Half Blood Prince. ("Finished? Or do you want to see if it does back flips?" He asks her when she takes the book from him to check if it's jinxed. Or the "I hope you enjoy yourself" he calls out irritably when she declares intention to find out who HBP is. And "do you want to rub it in Hermione? How do you think I feel now?" He tells her when she says she was right about HBP).

The fact that he is willing to be confrontational with her is a big step in his character - a step up from his unregulated outbursts in OOTP, which is a function of him not knowing how to put his anger across in normal ways. He is also more willing to stand up for her in front of Ron too - "You could say sorry" he tells Ron bluntly. This is in contrast to his more quiet standing up for her in POA: "Can't you give her a break?" Harry asked him quietly. In POA, he lets the subject drop after Ron flatly refuses. Here, he presses on more : "What did you have to imitate her for?" "She laughed at moustache!" "So did I, it's the stupidest thing I have ever seen".

His relationship with Ron is an interesting contrast to his relationship with Hermione, which functionally teaches a very important lesson for an abused child who thought all conflicts are bad: That his friendship with her is challenging, and frustrating, filled with conflicts but their love for each other isn't disputed. It's a very important thing for brain development in general - to hold conflicting information in one space. The defense mechanism abused children do to avoid this is called splitting.

So, Ron allows Harry to be the age he is: a teenager and it's foundation for his further development, and Hermione teaches him how to be an adult, and therefore, spurs his growth. (In esoteric terms, if you look at Ron and Hermione as proxy parents - Ron is the Mother archetype, the one who offers unconditional love. Hermione is the Father archetype - one who demands best of him, and guides him).

Additional reading: Harry, Prongs and Prince - Harry's Inner Struggles For Forging An Identity. By u/metametatron4

Harry Identifies, and Reluctantly Admires Snape Even Before The Prince's Tale by thedreamersmusing

[roger-that-cap]

all the flowers will bloom

hades!natasha x persephone!reader

summary: you would have never tried to leave your mother if you knew that bringing that pomegranate tree back to life was your ticket to the underworld. or, maybe you would have, because it turned out that hades was quite the opposite of the evil goddess that you had been drilled to know.

warnings: my own take on greek mythology (apologies to greek people who may possibly see this), usage of both persephone and y/n, angry gods, this is a short series, angst and fluff!!

word count: 4.2k

this is part one!!

please guys i’m so excited for this one, already have so much written and planned!!

You were born from your mother thousands of years ago without so much as a whimper, and when you arrived after a particularly peaceful and short labor,, flowers bloomed for miles. You grew quickly, and you had gained the power of life within everything that grew. Your domain was everything that the light touched and below in the soil, and soon, you were the young goddess of nature and growth. If anyone wanted to find you, they could surely look at the trail of bright flowers that you left with every step of your feet.

The name you were born with was Persephone. But just as the humans wanted to make names for themselves, you wanted one of your own, too. One that was not overshadowed by your mother being Demeter, one of the twelve Olympian Gods, and the ever kind yet harsh Goddess of the Harvest. And so, you changed your name, like many of the others much older than you had done, and all but your mother and the nymphs that she charged to take care of you called you Y/N.

“Lady Persephone,” a soft voice called from behind you as you dipped your toes into your favorite pond, and you sighed when you looked over your shoulder even after recognizing the familiar voice. “Your mother wants you home soon.”

You knew that your mother did. She always wanted you home, away from the outside world- where you truly belonged. She didn’t want you anywhere that she couldn't walk twenty steps to get to you, despite you being two thousand years old. Your mother’s idea of a good day was when you stayed inside, and it wasn’t fair. When you could convince her to let go of your leash just a little, she sent nymphs to watch you, girls you weren’t even close to. They were so focused on not angering your mother that they hardly cared about what you thought. But deep down, you understood. Your mother’s hand was just as gentle as it was harsh, and like the harvest she watched over, she only gave you what you gave her to work with. If you produced her mind with the equivalent of dry soil and broken land, she would be unruly, fickle, quick to fall apart in frustration. If you watered her and gave her the amount of sunlight she needed, she would bless you. She had been that way since the dawn of her time.

“I don’t feel like returning, I’ve only just gotten here.” You weren’t looking at them, but you could practically feel the way that they were eyeing each other, getting more nervous with every passing second. You felt the bottom of the shallow part of the lake that you were in with your foot, and you smiled at the sound of silence, knowing that it would only last for a few minutes.

“Your mother will be quite angry if something happens to you, my lady.”

“Nothing is going to happen for that reason,” you sighed, and when you got a few moments of silence, you knew that they knew you were right.

You walked through life practically fearlessly. From birth, you were deeply connected to every animal . You had no reason to fear even the most vicious bear or boar, and you could not die from poisonous plants of any kind. No minor or major god who knew your mother would even dare come close to you with any ill intent, and humans never came where you liked to be. You were probably the safest god of them all, besides Zeus himself.

“Please don't make me return to that house so early,” you pleaded softly, making sure to not sound too whiny. “I need fresh air. I need to feel grass under my feet. How am I supposed to be the goddess of vegetation if I cannot even see the vegetation?”

If you had been paying more attention, you would have felt the way that the grass started to sway and the whispers of plants all around you. And you surely would have felt the way that part of the ground opened up to reveal your mother, who had heard your entire small speech. “My, what a talker you are.”

You turned around to face her, and she was already giving you a look before she started to talk to you yet again. “I have already told you to not guilt these kind nymphs into doing you any favors. You’re lucky that they still want anything to do with you, you trouble maker.”

“It’s not my fault that you don’t trust me.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s that I don’t trust men,” she said, her voice hushed. “They are cruel, and they are disgusting. And you are not to be alone when they could be around.”

“There are none here.”

“You wouldn’t know until it’s too late,” she reasoned, and she held a hand out for you. You grimaced when she pulled your legs out of the water and dismissed the nymphs kindly, and they jumped into the water themselves and disappeared. “I cannot trust many with you, my flower. Do not be rude to the very few that I do.”

You scowled as she turned her back, a face that you had never quite grown the courage to make while she was still watching you. You could rattle off many people that your mother had scared away and told you to stay far away from, and that included humans, most men, and a few of the gods that she didn’t trust to not attempt to take you away.

That was her biggest fear, though she never said it explicitly. It was clear that her fierce protectiveness came from her terror. Young girls were always at risk by being taken, by gods and men alike who had no regard for the opinion or feelings of women. It seemed that every hundred years or so, a huge war would break out on earth, and typically, it was because one man’s wife became another’s hostage. And between gods… it was not unheard of for them to take young goddesses and make them bear heirs. None of the ones that you were close with ever did anything like that, but that didn’t make the threat less real. Your mother made sure that you knew of that.

“Don’t speak to Hermes alone,” your mother would say, her voice half full of fondness. “He means well most of the time, but he is capable of fast talking you into selling your time and your soul.” And then there was another string of advice, such as, “ Never go too far out in the sea. Poseidon is moody, and he may not spare you if you start to drown. It takes a village to anger him, but go out of your way to not push Zeus. He is the mightiest of all, and if he wishes to strike you down, he will.” And with every single harsh word about them, she would always say that she doubted that anyone would truly ever wish harm towards you, the youngest of the young gods, the harmless little Goddess of Growth.

Except for Hades.

“She is pure evil,” your mom had hissed out, and you remembered flinching back at how angered she suddenly was by just the thought of the ancient goddess, and you knew from stories that the nymphs used to tell you that your mother and Hades went way back. And though you didn’t know the full story, you certainly understood that they knew each other not in the best of ways.

“She is capable of murdering anything with even a sliver of life in it, and she reigns over the dead. Anyone who is condemned to have such a gloomy job for all of eternity must be evil, and that she is. If you ever see her, or ever start to feel the choking feeling of death in the air and are not with me, you are to run until you cannot run anymore, do you understand me?” She had made you nod and tell her that you understood verbally, and still, even as days passed, the tension never left her body.

Days later, while nursing a flower as slowly as possible from its bud, you called for her. “Mother,” she turned her head and smiled when she saw what you were doing, and then she responded softly, urging you to continue. “What really happened between you and the Goddess of the Dead?” Her smile dropped instantly.

You never really got the full story about what happened.

§§

You had seen what was happening to you happen to others hundreds of times, mostly humans. Your favorite humans were the ones just like you, young women with parents who were worried sick about everything. And soon, you realized a pattern. Every single one of those children had rebelled in ways, some more drastic than others. It took you two thousand years and a few extra nights for you to realize that it was your turn. You were going to sneak out from right under your mother’s nose, and you were going to be back before the morning. Unless, of course, you found something worth staying for. Something worth risking the wrath of your mother for.

It took weeks for her to leave you alone, even if it was for a second. And for that one instance while she wasn’t breathing down your throat, you shot off like an arrow, out of her sight before she even realized that you had been brave enough to run. You hadn’t ever had to run, but it felt exhilarating. You could feel the wind against your skin and the petals of each flower lovingly brushing against your legs. It felt more freeing than growing wildflowers by your cabin, under the watchful eye of an Olympian and her guard dogs that came in the beautiful form of nymphs.

You had never felt so good in your entire two thousand years.

Feeling life had always been something you could do, and you could feel it even more now that you were running, breathing in through your nose and out of your mouth like you had seen soldiers do. With every breath that expanded your lungs, you felt like you could feel trees swaying, or hear leaves singing to you. It grew more addicting, and before you even knew it, you were running until you didn’t recognize where you were. You slowed down with a smile on your face, chuckling to yourself when you thought about how furious your mother was going to be. And then you felt it.

Something to the left of you was terribly, terrifyingly wrong. The life in the area was thriving, but something, a cave it seemed, was crawling with the scary and breathtaking feeling of death. You had felt it before, while discovering lifeless dear or helping your mother bless crops that humans thought had no hope. But you had never felt death on the scale that you were in that moment, and even though the feeling was making you more and more sick by the second, you couldn’t help but approach the cave, the darkest thing in your vision while everything else had enough colors to satisfy your eyes for the rest of your life.

You didn't know what was in the cave. It could have been a dead person for all you knew, but your gift was more or less affecting the cycle of life. You could help. And help, you would. So, you trudged towards the cave and stepped in, your hand covering your throat once you felt the constricting feeling come back even stronger than before. And then, in the dim light, you saw it.

It was a tree, one so dead that it was nearly unrecognizable as one. It had shrunk into itself, almost to the size of a bush, and you could see that the fruits on it had shriveled up, and like the rest of the tree, lost all color. You frowned and uncovered your throat, stepping forward as you watched the dry thing in pity. You reached out for it, bottom lip jutting out as you tried to understand what on earth had happened for it to appear like that. Before you could even ask yourself why you did it, you reached forward and touched the thing with your hand, and like it had known you all along, it started to slowly grow.

It took you a few long minutes to grow it to a point where you recognized the tree, and saw that it was growing pomegranates. The fruit grew redder by the second, and the feeling of death and decay was leaving, but for some reason, traces of it still lingered below, and you figured that it was in the soil. You grinned as you nursed the tree back to life, and the inside of the cave seemed to be just a little brighter.

“I wonder how long you’ve been left here to rot,” you murmured to yourself, your fingers itching to grab one dark purple pomegranate and bite into it, but you knew better. You had just brought it back to life, and eating a part of it would have been cruel. “I wonder if you were even prettier back before-” the ground beneath you made an odd noise, like the earth was taking its first shaky breath, and you braced yourself against the wall of the cave. You gasped when it came back even stronger, and a short scream left your throat when you felt the ground open up beneath you and swallow you whole.

§§

You must have screamed the whole way down, because when you landed harshly on your back, you heard echoes of yourself. You turned and coughed, shaking your head to get rid of the stars that flooded your vision. And then, the second your airways opened, they tightened again, the feeling of death so strong that you thought that you were well on your own way.

You coughed again and clawed at your throat, and then turned on your side as you fought for even just a sliver of breath, and then even with your blurry vision, you saw something huge and dark barreling your way.

“What’s she doing here?” You couldn’t answer. You hardly even knew if they were talking about you. You were still losing it on the ground, gripping at your torn dress and clawing at your throat like that would make it open up.

“She's not human.”

“Wait, wait, she’s not even dead!”

Somehow, the feeling of dread and darkness got even darker, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the overwhelming feeling of death surrounding you like a heavy blanket. “What is all the commotion about?”

Wherever you were grew silent. You heard people scrambling away, leaving you alone with the newcomer. The owner of the voice commanded everything, and you heard the distinct sound of heeled feet coming your way, clicking against stone. And then, right before you lost consciousness, there was a feather-light touch on your throat, right where you felt it was constricting the most, and then you felt the weight on your chest lift off all at once.

You barely got in three breaths before someone shook you, and you blinked rapidly before turning your head towards whoever was grabbing you so boldly. Your eyes focused, and then you almost lost your breath all over again.

You had no time to ogle over the obviously powerful woman and the way she looked. Even if you had time, it would have been ruined by the way she was scowling at you like you were the bane of her existence. “How did you get here?”

You took in a choppy breath. “I don't know. I don’t know where I am.” You looked away from the angry woman and saw your surroundings, and immediately, your heart dropped to your toes.

It was gray. Gloomy. Without any sign of life, not even little buds of grass. There was no color besides a lazy river that was the lightest blue you had ever seen, and it added barely anything to the sight in front of you. The entire place seemed to be made of rock, like one big cave, and the feeling you were getting made you sick. You could breathe again, but something was right. Wherever you were, you were absolutely not supposed to be there.

The woman’s eyes were still narrowed on you, but you didn’t miss the way that her face lit up in the slightest of ways, and then rested at a look of understanding. She let go of you. “You fixed my tree, didn’t you?”

“Your tree?” You repeated, shaking your head and hiding the trembling of your hands by playing with the hem of your dress, something that your mother said that you should never do. It dawned on you seconds later, and you frowned. “The pomegranate tree? It was yours?”

“Of course it’s mine. How were you unaware?”

Before you could let yourself get offended by the woman’s harshness, you crossed your arms for a different reason. “How dare you let something die like that? You left it to rot, I could feel the death from miles away,” you exaggerated, but it still didn’t move the woman. “If you plant something and call it yours, it’s your responsibility to take care of it, not to let it die.”

“My plants never grow, young god.”

You scoffed, even though your mother would be embarrassed that you made the sound with such confidence. “Young god?” You straightened your posture even as your fear grew, and the stranger seemed to grow more and more amused by you. “We’ve never met. It’s bold of you to assume my age.”

“I’ve met all the Olympians, so tyou can’t be one of them, and you’re no demigod, either,” she said, and your heart clenched at the fact. You knew no one who had met all twelve of the major gods that wasn’t one. The woman was certainly a god, it was as obvious as anything in the world, but you had no idea of what. “And you glow like the morning sun. You’re a young god.”

“Maybe so,” you said softly. “But I request that you take care of the things you decide to create.”

“Most people don’t get brave enough to request things from me,” she mused, and then her crossed arms went to her side. “Do you lack the skills to look around you and infer?”

“I suppose I do today,” you shrugged, and she gave a light smirk, almost like you were her entertainment for the day. You could hear your mother’s voice in your head though, telling you to run and that this woman was no good, no matter how at ease she seemed in the moment. In fact, the closer she got to you and the longer she stood there, the more you felt death swirling in the air and trying to pierce through some sort of protection and finish you off for good.

“You’re in the Underworld, young god.” Your breath was stolen right out of your chest, and you could barely see the faint look of triumph on her face. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know what that tree was,” she said, and for some reason, her voice seemed to tease you more than reprimand you.

You knew vaguely of what it meant. Now that you knew it was the tree, the one tree on all heaven and earth that you had no business touching, you knew who it belonged to, and what it did. It belonged to the woman before you, the god whose presence was making you more and more terrified by the second. Now, you knew exactly who she was. “You?” You sputtered, and she lifted a perfect brow. “You’re Hades?”

You don’t know what you expected. Maybe a woman dressed in all back wit long, dark hair, and a sickly smile. Maybe you expected for her to look as terrifying as the thought of death was. You expected some one who looked much more terrifying than the red headed woman before you, even though she was without a doubt intimidating. 

“I prefer another name, but that will do from you,” she said, and your jaw dropped. “And you saved my tree.” You knew you had, but the consequences of the far ff tale that you had never imagined would apply to you were running around in your head. You were kicking yourself for being drawn to the tree in the first place, and for your morbid curiosity and the way that you ran straight out of your mother’s suffocating but protecting arms. “Do you know what that means, young god?”

Your voice was shaky, almost not even there when you muttered the word “yes” and stared off into the distance, cursing yourself for not listening to what your mother had told you ever since you could remember.

“I hope you have enough strength for the entire garden, young god.” 

You were bound to Hades and her realm by age old magic, and there was nothing that you or your mother could do until you found a way to do the impossible; make the Garden of Hell grow.

Your blank stare must have made her uneasy, because she snapped her fingers in front of your face. When you blinked, you saw something huge come barreling your way, and once you realized what it was, your heart fell into your stomach. She had summoned a huge, three headed dog to come and lean over the both of you, eyes yellow and staring at you with intrigue that made you want to screech. Instead, you swallowed. “Please. You can let me go, I won’t tell.”

“Its magic almost as old as I am, placed by Hecate. You may know her as Wanda.” She gave you a shrug, but she hardly looked bothered. “Her spell cannot be broken, not even by herself.”

Your breathing was accelerating, and you saw Hades look at you strangely, and you were sure she could sense your extreme fear. You locked eyes with the dog, the dog even you had heard of despite your mother cursing the owner’s name. “I don’t know how I fixed your tree, and I doubt I could do it again. Please, let me leave.”

“By bringing that tree back to life, you’ve made your decision and signed your name in blood.” You both ignored the pitiful sound that escaped your throat. “There’s nothing that I can do about it.”

You gulped. “My mother will come looking for me,” you said, and you watched her unbothered face drop just a bit, and then she tilted her head to the side. You had gotten her. “She won’t stop until she finds me and brings me home.”

“You say this like I should be afraid of your mother, who is no doubt a nymph of some far off forest.” You made a face. She simply shrugged, her shoulder length red hair bouncing a bit. “She’s nothing to me.”

Being a nymph was the furthest thing from dishonorable. They were loyal and always very beautiful. You almost cried when you realized that you would never see your overbearing nymphs again. “My mother is not a nymph.”

“I do not care for whatever minor goddess birthed you, young goddess. Not even Zeus could break this, and you’d best understand that.”

“My mother is friends with Hecate. She will make her find a way to release me, Hades.”

There was a pause in the conversation, but none of the tension faded. If anything, it only built on the silence. “How is it that you’re a god, yet I’ve never seen you?” Hades asked, a frown on her face.

“My mother keeps you far away from me because she despises you.” You spat, and you saw a flash of light behind her eyes, and she breathed out harshly. “I was never supposed to meet you.”

“The Fates have spun your destiny a different way than either of us have hoped, then.” She said, her voice rough as she looked you right in your eyes. It was then that you noticed how pale her blue eyes were, and the emotion that lacked. Her pink lips curled down all of a sudden, and then her eyes were narrowed. “Demeter, isn’t it? She’s your mother?”

You gathered all of the courage that you had left after everything that happened. The feeling of death was still intimidating, and even worse was the way Hades commanded the space with her hellhound. “Yes. And she will find me, and she will take me home.”

“This is a one way ticket until you can fix my garden, flower girl. Believe me, I don’t particularly want you here, either.” She looked you up and down, eyes lingering on the crown of flowers on your forehead and the way you had bands of them wrapped around your wrists and ankles. You were the brightest thing down there, and it was obvious that she wasn’t used to seeing things so… alive. “Your mother is just going to have to be upset.” She gave you one last look, her eyes on the dress made of fabric and flowers for a second too long to be categorized as a fleeting glance. She muttered something in a language that was foreign to you, and her unimaginably tall dog stood all the way up at attention, slightly baring its teeth at you until you forced yourself to look away from it.

And then they were gone. And you were alone. By yourself in the Land of the Dead, the one place a flower would never grow. In the one place where you could truly perish.

                                                 *******

hi guys! i really hope you guys liked this one, this idea has been like swirling around in my mind for months and i can’t get it to leave. it’s s much fun right now to write though, so i hope at least one of y’all enjoyed this lol

if you happen to like this and would like to be placed on one of my tragic tag lists, it’s a definite yes for me! thank you guys for reading this 

[dreamteamspace]

They really went there huh

/rp (good lord I rly hyperfixated on this essay huh)

torture tw, abuse tw, manipulation tw, gaslighting tw

So the Dream SMP built a character, once maybe morally gray, who slipped straight into villany with little to no desire to change, and willing to cause a LOT of pain to get his way. Despite this, he doesn’t question what he does enough to stop, justifying his actions with a good intent that doesn’t come close to justifying what he’s done.

C!Dream is unremorseful of what he’s done, he’s quite literally manipulated and gaslit (like actually, not in the way everyone keeps throwing the word around) c!Tommy, almost drove him to take his last life- like, jesus christ. That’s not even to mention blowing up L’Manburg three times, encouraging c!Wilbur, wanting the discs JUST to have power over c!Tommy, etc.

SO, he gets thrown in a box for it so he doesn’t hurt anybody anymore, making his own hubris his downfall (narrative consequence my beloved). This leads us to a good finale - the bad guy, the person who’s caused objectively the most pain and destruction, is now unable to do so anymore, taken down by the person whom he tried to weaken. It is also revealed he was planning on blackmailing and threatening pretty much everyone, but now everyone gets their stuff back.

Good, right?

Especially for the finale, yeah! The message of the finale is good, c!Tommy manages to escape his abuser with nothing more but his clothes on his back and fights his way back to c!Tubbo and his home.

He doesn’t let his trauma (which is still very present!) let him become a terrible person (arguably the way that c!Dream DID let his frustrations make him a terrible person, c!Tommy, despite bearing quite a heavy weight, recognizes when he begins to turn that way and actively works against it).

It shows that while alone, c!Tubbo and c!Tommy were outfought by Dream, but because c!Tommy went the length to ask for help (which he didn’t even really seem to be relying on actually showing up), he wins! It truly is a good message.

C!Tommy escapes his abuser and manipulator, refuses and fights his trauma to not become someone he doesn’t want to be, and defeats his abuser by asking for help and receiving it, even more than he thought he’d get. He refuses to play c!Dream’s “game”, refuses till the very last moment to let c!Tubbo die, to surrender and say goodbye to him.

So, great! Good finale! C!Dream The Villain is boxed like a fish in a prison of, quite literally, his own making. It sent a good message to people. C!Tommy wasn’t expected to forgive him and did, in fact, axe him down twice, causing c!Dream to finally fall from his high horse.

Most media would stop at this point, say the villain is now defeated and never show them again, or have them come back another one or two seasons later, escaped and seemingly unharmed and worse than ever.

Alternatively, there’s a throwaway line, (or, in good media, a genuine, reasonable backstory, complete with remorse and bad role models and complicated situations), that allows the villain to be redeemed.

In GOOD redemption arcs (See: Zuko from avatar tbh), the villain was already never quite as heartless, or stressed their good intent, or felt remorse for what they felt they “had to do”. Then, ideally, the villain takes a looooong time adjusting their habits, regretting their actions and changing until they’re considered redeemed.

Not on the Dream SMP, though.

They don’t stop at c!Dream’s defeat.

He doesn’t dissapear off-screen and is never spoken of again. His life continues on, everyone’s does, just like it would in reality. He doesn’t magically want to become a better person, far from it. So no redemption. But he doesn’t dissapear, either.

They go on to, slowly, stress how awful the conditions in Pandora’s Vault are. c!Bad says c!Dream should be imprisoned, but at least at slightly better conditions. We’re in very VERY morally gray territorry here. Nobody says c!Dream is a good person, of course not, but even c!Bad - who knows Dream was planning on keeping c!Skeppy in a cage to control him with - goes, “yeah, he should stay boxed, but does he really need to like... suffer suffer?”

Still, c!Dream seems to be kindof inconsistent in his behavior. Is he faking his pain? Is he not? His actions don’t fully make sense for either take. He acts differently to each person, but at the same time some things he does don’t make sense if he were just fishing for pity.

Then c!Sam admits to trying (and thinking he succeeded) to “break Dream’s will”, to quite literally starving him for weeks.

Okay, so now we’re a step further. C!Dream is now suffering even more, although already boxed and unable to hurt anyone. Pandora’s Vault is one thing, but now c!Sam just seems to be out for revenge and nothing more. Instead of spending his time with c!Tommy, he spends his time pickaxing(?) c!Dream.

C!Sam isn’t an angel, and we should all know that by now. He does what he thinks is right, but he’s deeper than that, all characters on the DSMP are.

He cares deeply for the Badlands, and would always choose them above anybody else. He’s a capitalist. He built the prison because it would benefit the Badlands resource-wise, despite knowing Dream would probably use it on his enemies, and it was no secret that ALL members of L’Manburg, especially c!Tommy, are his enemies. C!Sam, undoubtedly, knew that. He still built it.

Arguably, he didn’t know about c!Dream’s attachment obsession at the time, but the point still stands.

People have already latched onto the untold story happening between c!Dream and c!Sam, and frankly, we barely know enough about it. Does c!Sam torture him regularly? Do they talk? Does c!Dream try to verbally fight back? CAN he fight back? We don’t know! We’ve gotten proof for both, between c!Sam saying that c!Dream is terrifying even in prison and c!Dream going silent to go on strike. We don’t have enough of an idea how bad or how good it truly is.

So the people who prefer to humanize c!Dream and explore morality imagine c!Sam to downright torture him, people that prefer to see c!Dream as nothing but evil due to his actions imagine prison on the DSMP to not be equivalent to real life prison, and thus nowhere near as torturous as people are making it out to be.

Now all that is thrown out the window as c!Quackity quite literally tortures him.

So now the internet is faced with a question that, judging by some of the impulsive reactions *cough cough* celebrating torture *cough*, it didn’t turn out to be ready for.

Tell me.

How far do we go?

C!Dream hurt a LOT of people. He did a lot of things that caused irreparable damage. Now what? Do we torture him forever? Why? Because he deserves it? How do we determine that without comparing one kind of pain to another?

It’s custom and kindof generally respectful not to compare people’s pain too accurately, because different things vary greatly in severity depending on the person that experiences them.

At what point do we say he’s suffered enough without comparing exile to the prison?

And if we DO compare, does that even make the question easier to answer?

And if he’s never suffered enough ever, killing them would be a mercy...

At what point has a person done enough damage that they “deserve” to die? What if someone only did half of the things c!Dream did. But if c!Dream gets infinite punishment, and half of infinity is still infinity, do they ALSO deserve endless suffering?

Do you think every person that did something you can’t emphasize with deserves to suffer for eternity and die?

I’m not saying we SHOULD emphasize with c!Dream. He did things we cannot justify, that NOTHING can justify. He did things that were, by their nature, unjustified.

I’m also not saying anybody should forgive him. I think it’s a GOOD thing that c!Tommy doesn’t want nor is narratively pushed to forgive c!Dream.

But c!Dream doesn’t need c!Tommy’s forgiveness to be... a person.

There’s a saying that I’m sure you know, that goes “I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”, because there’s things you wouldn’t want any human being to experience. Not because you like them, not cause you think they’re right, but because they’re human.

And perhaps this is my personal opinion, but I don’t think c!Dream being a bad person justifies dehumanizing him, because then we get into an area where someone needs to meet criteria just to be human.

-

I met someone once, whom, because of outside circumstances I knew I probably wouldn’t meet again. We’d been getting along just fine for people who just met, and were both getting into an interesting discussion about morality. They kept insisting upon something I kept refuting, so they said they needed to get something off their chest.

They proceeded to tell me that they had, years ago, while a teen, manipulated someone in a relationship, pushed boundaries and tried to convince them to do things they didn’t really want to do to get what they wanted.

They cried, while telling me, too terrified to tell anybody they know, terrified nobody would ever speak to them again, insanely regretful of their actions. They didn’t know whether to go back and apologize or just stay as far away as humanly possible, didn’t know which one the right thing to do is.

It had been years, by then, and I talked them through it. I said that what they did was bad, and there’s no going around that. But I also said what I saw, which is someone who would never do something like that ever again. I saw a human being. Someone who regrets a mistake they did and now, after enough time has passed, would do anything to make it undone.

Someone who is too terrified to be close to anybody in fear that they would do it again. I don’t remember if they already went to therapy or not, but it was definitly on the table, or in the near future.

They asked me how I could possibly even keep talking to them after they told me all that. They implied they felt like some kind of monster despite literally chocking back tears, firmly convinced they don’t deserve to be close to anybody in their life ever again.

I never swerved from the fact that what they did was wrong, and harmful. But I also told them they’re human. The universe isn’t keeping score. They want to be a better person now, and they were never going to learn how if they never let themselves be close to anybody.

I told them to seek therapy, and to slowly, carefully, try. Assured them that the fact that they regret it so strongly will at least help them in not falling back into the same pattern, and if they do, they can learn to recognize that.

They thanked me after the conversation, genuinely, especially for the fact that I didn’t sugarcoat what happened, because I know otherwise it would’ve felt like I was lying, like I was just sparing their feelings. I wasn’t. I was thinking about how to make sure they get to live without hurting anybody.

As per the circumstances, we didn’t speak again after that, which we knew basicly from the very start.

-

I still think about that conversation a lot.

Do you think they should’ve been locked up for life after it happened, instead?

Do you think this real human being, that I spoke to, that took years to realize their mistake - and never would have realized it if they hadn’t had the time to, if they’d been killed right afterwards - deserves to suffer forever?

Let me tell you something, from someone who’s been in more than one abusive situation: People that hurt you are human.

That doesn’t mean you have to forgive them. That doesn’t mean you have to like them. That doesn’t mean you have to make an effort to understand them. That doesn’t mean you need to go anywhere near them ever again.

You can hate them. You can be angry at them. You can (and should) go as far away from them as possible, and/or defend yourself.

But that doesn’t mean you have to dehumanize them.

You’re allowed to hate and dislike people that are human, because you’re human, especially if they hurt you. That’s how life is.

And to go back to my original point - c!Quackity torturing c!Dream is not something that should be celebrated.

There’s a difference between necessary measures (locking c!Dream up so he doesn’t hurt anyone), and torturing people for fun.

It’s not right. It’s never going to be right, and do not justify literal torture on human beings, and do not make someone lower-than-human to justify torturing them.

Taking revenge on someone for what they did tenfold is romanticized, I know, but I promise you it’s not actually as cool as it sounds.

[slashxrose]

Surprise, love -Duff Mckagan-

Title: Surprise, Love.

Warnings: explicit content. 

Summary: I don’t use to do summary of my stories, y’all is gonna love it anyway; enjoy. 

Dirty reading~

Duff Mckagan is the last person I expect to see on my doorstep, wet from the San Francisco mist, a faded green duffle bag at his feet.

Even years removed my heart still clutches at the sight of his hair, the boyish grin on his face. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes the way it used to, but I’m not able to catch much more of him before he’s pulling me into a bear hug and lifting me off the ground.

To put you all in context, Duff was my best friend ... and the best boyfriend someone could ever had, for most of my life, he was my neighbour when we were just born, little kids, getting to know each other from there and living a whole life together; I watched from when his first tooth fell out to when he had to take his first flight to go with the band to San Francisco, the place where I currently live now.

It surprises me, and it shocks me to see him, so changed after so many years, so many years without looking him in the eye, without knowing anything about him; today he is finally here, standing in front of me.

Trying not to break down in tears the emotions hit my being in a wave; remembering the day he left me at the airport and then never see him again; exactly in 1991, after his great "Use your illusion." I never heard from him again.

“Babe,” he breathes, I press my face into his neck, a laugh bubbling up out of my throat, “I missed you.”

“Yeah,” I manage.

I can feel my eyes pricking because I have missed him, too much. We’ve kept up as much as we could over the years, but with him overseas and my steadily making my way around the country, it had gotten difficult. I haven’t heard from him in a few months, and I haven’t seen him in a few years – probably eight, if I think about it. Instead of thinking about it, though, I wrap my arms tight around him and try not to let myself cry at the feeling of him engulfing me.

“I missed you too, Duff.”

I get him up to my apartment and let him settle onto my couch before I ask him any questions, mainly because I can’t quite find my voice and I can’t believe Duff is in my apartment, right now. He beats me to the punch, settling back into my couch and peeking over at me in the kitchen.

“This place is really nice.”

I nod, filling a glass up with water for him and then looking up at him, a smile on my lips.

“It’s alright,” I shrug, shutting off the tap and making my way over to the couch, handing it to him before I sit down, one leg tucked beneath me. “I got lucky.”

Duff sips the water and looks around, shaking his head. My apartment is nice – it’s got floor to ceiling windows and sleek, modern appliances and a killer view of the Golden Gate Bridge.

“Not luck,” he shrugs. “You deserve it, you worked your ass off for this place.”

I swallow, smiling over at him and feeling my cheeks flush – in part, because he’s right, and in part, because he’s wrong.

“Duff,” I laugh my voice soft. I tuck some hair behind my ear and looks up at him. “How’d you find me?”

Duff shrugs, setting the water glass down on my coffee table and turning to face me, leaning his arm over the back of my couch.

“I went home, first...talked to your mom, she gave me your address for if I ever wound up out west. Figured,” he shrugs, laughing, “It’d be more of a surprise if I didn’t tell her I already knew I was coming out this way.”

I shake my head, pressing my fingertips to my face.

“Oh god… I cannot believe my mum did that after all the things I told her, honestly.” I sigh, dropping my hand and raising my brow. “So, she didn’t know you were coming out here...but you did?”

Duff nods.

“Yes, I did… I’ve gotta come back to the hotel in a couple of hours… We’re flying to Europe, we’re gonna start a new tour I guess, we don’t really know, but I figured I could make a stop before I check into my hotel.” I swallow, watching his fingers flex against the couch cushion.

“Another tour?” I raise my brows. “You’ve been on tour the last eight years.”

“That’s what happens when you’re a famous rockstar babe, you never stop….” he laughs, his voice low. “I’m thinking I’ll be out here a bit, actually, trying to convince the boys to stop a little, I want to see you more often.” I try not to let my reaction show on my face, but this is Duff, so I know I’m not exactly subtle.

I chew on the inside of my cheek as I think about it, about Duff, just half an hour away instead of across the world.

“Wow,” I breathe, smiling over at him. “I’d get to see you, then?”

“If you want to,” Duff shrugs, and I roll my eyes at him, reaching over and swatting at his arm.

We cover the basics with his hand on my knee: I moved to San Francisco alone, I work for a newspaper, and I’m a runner now. He’s been back on tour and he’s not going to go so far away again, and he’s thinking about stop touring a little bit.

Wow.

I slide my hand over his and look down at it, brushing my thumb against the back and humming softly as I look up at him, a smile on my lips.

“So you’re telling me,” I say, my voice soft, “you’re a big enough deal the boys to stop touring, what they’re supposed to be doing?”

Duff rolls his eyes, glancing down to our hands and then back up to mine, his gaze soft. I try to focus on anything other than the look in his eyes and settles on his mouth, chewing on the inside of my cheek, because I know it’s a mistake immediately. Bad things tend to happen when I look at Duff Mckagan’ mouth.

“I’m telling you I could do it,” he shrugs, and I watch intently as he runs his tongue over his lower lip, his fingers pressing lightly against my leg. “We’ll find out, I guess; Steven’ planning to go to rehab…” He probably saw my intrigued face, so he immediately keeps talking. “I’ll tell you in a bit about it.” He smiles at me and I nod. “Slash has two little annoying but cute kids… so he’s gonna be busy with that, and Izzy… Well Izzy fucking left the damn band, so there’s no problem with him.”

I nod, feeling my lips shift into a soft smile, Wow, it’s surprising how everything changed since the last time I saw him, every one of them were idk… almost 30 years old, playing and joking around, being drunk and high as fuck, I never… I mean, we never thought that the band was gonna become this famous.

“Well,” I say, “I’m happy for you, Duff. You’re all grown up.”

Duff laughs, pulling his hand from my leg and rubbing his hand over his jaw slowly, swallowing.

“We’re both grown up, honey,” he chuckles, and I let myself meet his gaze. I stuck in a slow breath, feeling how heavy his eyes are on mine, letting the feeling wash over me easily. “Easy to see that, right?”

I nod and sit up a bit, settling my hand on Duff’s forearm, brushing my thumb slowly against his skin.

“Easy,” I say my voice barely above a whisper. “Too easy.” I don’t know why sitting here with him like this makes me feel like I could cry.

I squeeze my eyes shut, sighing out a slow breath and tightening my grip on his arm.

“I really missed you. I know we,” I shake my head, “I know we covered that, kind of, but...god, Duff.” I swallow, heavy, keeping my eyes shut so I don’t have to look at him as the words tumble out of my mouth, “I really didn’t know if I would ever see you again, you know? No matter how safe you told me you were, you almost had a fucking overdose… too much alcohol, too much shit.”

Duff doesn’t say anything, but I feel him shifting on the sofa. I feel him scooting closer to me. His breath wisps over my skin, and I feel like I might be shaking. I should stop him – I knows I should, I knows it’s the right thing to do with all of us history, all of the feelings that stretch out between us – but there’s an ache in my chest that I don’t think will let me. I squeeze his forearm, holding onto it with my fingers and hear myself let out a soft noise as his nose touches mine.

“Babe,” he murmurs, and I nod, my eyes still squeezed shut. “I’m good; you don’t have to worry anymore.”

“I know,” I breathe out, and I slide my hand off his arm and slip my fingers into his hair. I pulling him towards me, kissing him in the way I had imagined doing for years, for a lifetime, even. I’d never kissed him like this, so tender and slow, so intentional, so full. I whine into it, feeling tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

It feels like my heart is whole, even for just a moment.

Duff’s always been the boy I turned to when I was hurting, always been the person who knew me the best, who could make me feel good. This, though, is different – this kiss isn’t sweet, childhood tenderness, its gut wrenching in the most wonderful way. My stomach twists into a knot and then settles as his arm wraps around my waist, my ears rush harshly as his tongue moves against mine, my heart pounds in my chest as I feel both of our cheeks, touch against each other.

This is Duff, the man, safe in his arms, telling me he’s here, telling me I’m his. He hasn’t said it, but I can tell...I can tell from the way he’s kissing me that this was him, standing on her doorstep, asking me to let him in and keep him.

For tonight, at least, I can do that.

I crawl into his lap and press my fingers into his hair, my thumbs dragging along his face, my breathing ragged against his skin.

“Duff,” I whisper, brushing my lips against his, “I have a bed.”

Duff’s breathing is possibly more laboured than my own as he slips his hand beneath the back of my t-shirt, his fingertips pressing lightly into my skin.

“I assumed,” he mumbles, his mouth praying for mine, “This is a big apartment.”

I nod in a smile, grinning against his lips;

“Want to,” I tip my face down, my forehead pressed to his as I move slowly in his lap, my lips just out of his reach, “take a look at it?”

Duff lets out a low laugh, nodding and mumbling,

“Smooth,” against my mouth as he keeps his arm locked around my waist. He stands up, lifting me with him, I wrap my legs around him as he settles me in his grip.

I direct him to the bedroom, settling my feet down on the ground and swallowing as my eyes fall on a picture frame settled on my nightstand.

“Shirt,” I breathe, looking at Duff, who’s sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at me with a dazed smile on his lips, “shirt off, rockstar.” He lets out a low laugh, and I takes a moment to flip the picture frame face down while his shirt is obstructing his view, then tugs at the hem of my own shirt before taking a step forward, pulling it off as I stations myself between his legs.

I settle my hands on his bare shoulders, dragging my hands down along his skin slowly, then moving it back up and cupping his face in my hands. I slide my thumb over his lower lip and hiccups, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“God,” I whisper, letting my eyes move over his face, taking him in. I’d never felt so full before. My vision blurs as I watch him, feels his hands settle over my waist.

He had changed, years without seeing him… without feeling him, I missed his touch, his kisses, I missed him so bad.

“Honey,” he says, and his voice has that lilt to it – the what are you crying for lilt, and I don’t have an answer. I bit down on my lower lip, shaking my head and trying to stop myself. His hand reaches up to my cheek and I lean into his touch, feeling my tears seep onto his skin.

I want to tell him...about the photo, about the man in the photo, about the way their timing is truly, continually, terrible. Instead, I lean my face down and kiss his palm, swallowing hard as I hear his own breath going wet.

“Come here,” he says, his voice thick, low.

I don’t need him to say it twice. I crawl into his lap and he shifts them back onto the bed, his hands moving shakily along my skin.

He flips them and undresses me carefully, his eyes moving over every new part of me as it becomes exposed. He unhooks my bra and pulls it slowly down my arms, unbuttons and unzips my jeans and tugs them over my hips, hooks his fingers into the waistband of my panties and tugs at them, slowly, his lips pressing to my stomach as he does, the gasp tearing from my throat involuntary, I swear.

Something in my brain tugs, that I should be embarrassed, being so naked in front of this man who’s known me for my entire life, but no. I can’t be, with the way he’s looking at me, with the adoration and want in his eyes. I let my hands slide along his arms, breathing slowly as he looks at me, takes me in, and then I settle my fingers against his belt buckle.

“I can’t be the only one naked here, baby,” I say, my voice soft, and the smile on his lips is so soft that I feel my cheeks flush.

I unbuckle his belt shakily, watching as he gets himself out of his pants, pushes off his boxers. I bites on my lower lip at the sight of him, half-hard for me, then drags my eyes up to his face, smiling at the way his cheeks are flushed. I sit up a little, wrapping my hand around him gently, dragging my fingertips lightly along his length and shutting my eyes, leaning my forehead against his chest because I don’t think I can take the look on his face, the pure emotion rippling through him.

“Fuck,” he bites out, and his hand slides to the back of her neck, his thumb dragging along the base of it slowly. His voice is shaky when he says my name, and I twist my wrist slowly, smiling as I feel him growing harder in my hand.

Yes, honey, I know you like this.

He shifts my back on the bed, pressing my legs apart so he can settle between them and leaning down to kiss me, drawing his tongue slowly over my lower lip as his thumb drags over my inner thigh. The mixture of sensations has me shaking, already, and he hasn’t even touched me where I want him to yet.

He’s gentle with me, at first. His fingers press lightly against my wet folds, testing the waters, working slowly as I breathe out heavy sighs to keep myself calm.

He’s driving me crazy.

His lips press over my collarbone lightly, dragging against my skin slowly as he dips a finger into me, then another. He hums against the hollow of my neck as his thumb circles my clit lightly, and I feel my hips lifting off the bed to find more of him, knowing he isn’t giving it to me yet.

“Oh god-” I groaned.

I come apart on his fingers, shakily, one of my hands gripped tightly into his hair. His mouth is on my neck and I whine, searching for his face.

“I need you.” I breathe, and he lifts his head slowly, grazing his lips over mine.

“You keep driving me crazy as the first day we met.” he murmurs.

I stop him, slipping my tongue into his mouth. I can’t hear him, like this, not right now. I need him to fuck me, need him, before I get too rational and stop him entirely.

This is too much, I can feel it – I’m going to break the both of us, but I can’t possibly end it before I feel him, before I know what it’s like to have him inside me, again.

“Duff,” I moaned against his mouth, lifting my hips and hooking a leg around his waist, trying to pull him closer. “I need you.”

He nods, slow, just once, and I love him for it. I love that he isn’t trying to tease this out, that he’s listening to me, that we both want this so badly that dragging it along isn’t appealing at all. I slide my hands up to his face, holding it and keeping my eyes on him, my heart still hammering. He locks eyes with me as I feel his tip pressing at my entrance, and I suck in a hard breath, watching his face.

He cracks the softest smile, and I feel my resolve breaking.

“Duff,” I breathe, my voice full, my eyes stinging, “please.”

I want him in a way I can’t understand – it’s something about the way he knows me, I think, absently, as his eyes trail over my face, down my body.

It’s about the way he held my hand when I fell off the jungle gym and broke my arm when we were six, it’s about the way he shoved an old friend of mine for calling me a bitch when we were eleven, it’s about the desperate way he kissed me back in her car when we were sixteen, it’s about the way he made me and makes me feel right now. It’s about the fact that he’s the same Duff he’s always been, but something else altogether, too. The boy I’ve always known, and the man I’ve always wanted, hovering above me, about to make me his, even when I belong to someone else.

But I didn’t care.

One of his hands brushes my cheek, and I slide my own to press over his, to keep him there. I hold his gaze as he pushes into me, slow, filling me. I let out a soft laugh, turning my face into his hand and rolling my hips.

“Please,” I murmur against his skin, “I want to feel you, Duff.”

He’s slow, but not in a torturous way. His eyes stick on mine as he rocks his hips into mine, as the fingers of his free hand trail along my leg, over my hip, tracing little shapes. I feel him, all of him, and my legs tighten around his hips to keep him as close as I can. His strokes are long, deep, and I know neither of us is going to last long, regardless of the speed.

“As my queen commands.” Duff softly replied, smirking before kissing my lips deeply as he thrust deep inside me.

The sudden feeling of being filled with a cock as big as him made me cry out in pleasure breaking the kiss as my back arched, I felt his fingers holding my hips lightly, making the movements to go harder. His own groans of pleasure mixed with mine as they filled the room, he started to move slowly, taking his time as our lips re-joined together with our tongues dancing and warping round each other, as our hands roamed each other’s bodies just feeling blindly in a that need to be close.

I feel my walls constricted around him, he started to move faster and found that bundle of nerves that made me touch the sky with my hands, his moans made an echo in my ear, they were loud, he was really enjoying this, making me instantly lose all the control, all sense of who and where I was, right now it was just the two of us; the world outside didn't matter, the day ahead didn't matter everything I can focus on was in him and nothing was going to stop that.

“Oh shit babe, yes.- ” I moaned. “Keep doing that oh god-” I wrapped his curlers in my fingers holding him, his thrusts collided with my body causing a lack of control in all my senses, damn I had missed this.

His movements were wild and erratic but so perfect precise, he knew all the right buttons to press. I open my eyes again to see him above me, his face the clear picture of pleasure and need, I never had seen anyone become so desperate and undone for me. A man like him with such talent showing a side of himself only to me that so few ever got to see, but in truth he would only ever truly become this undone and this vulnerable for me.

My hands slid down from his hair, trailing down his back across his slightly sweating skin as they found that perfect ass of his. His lips moving to my neck again as tears of happiness, love and pleasure fell.

“Oh my sweet babe.” Duff moaned shakily as he continued thrust deep into me, all I could do was cry out with pleasure and need.

“Oh Duff I love you.” I gasp thrusting up to meet his own movement's.

He’s nothing like I’ve ever felt, before – there’s something about the presence of him, of his body over mine, of his eyes watching me, his breath mixing with my own.

“Babe,” he breathes, his face tipping down, his lips finding mine. I sat up a bit, my hips shifting to meet his, to hit at a new angle. I weave my fingers into his curly hair and grips onto it as I kiss him, our tongues pressed together as I feel the heat pooling in my stomach, knows I’m closer than I’d even like to admit.

His hand moves from my leg to dip between them, pressing against my clit slowly, tracing over my nerves delicately before finding a pattern. I can tell he’s close, too, his breathing getting heavier, his thrusts more erratic.

“C’mon babe” I murmur against his mouth, “I want to feel you, Duff, I want to know what you feel about me.” my words fade into a whine as I feel him pressing more firmly to my clit, rolling it between his fingers.

I come hard, around him, feeling him spill into me moments later, our moans mixing together as he presses me down into the mattress.

“Oh damn.” He moans loudly in my ear.

We lay still, for a long while. I scratch sleepily at the back of his neck, Duff start kissing my neck softly as we cling to each other, trying to calm down. He pulls out of me slowly, smiling to himself as I groan at the loss, and I hum as he lays back down, still pressing his weight down against me.

“You’re not allowed to go anywhere,” I whisper, my lips pressed against the side of his head, “until I say so.”

Duff nods. “Got it, you’re in charge,” he murmurs, “so nothing’s really changed, huh?”

I laugh, but I feel the pang in my chest, knowing the truth – because yes, almost everything really has changed, and he doesn’t even know the half of it.

I must fall asleep, because when I woke up it’s dark outside and I hear him moving around...somehow, I just knew in that moment that he knows, now. I sit up slowly, pulling the sheets to my chest and pressing my hand over her face.

“Duff?”

He pokes his head out of the bathroom and smiles at me softly. When he steps through the door, he’s got his boxers on, and I feel my heart clench in my chest.

“What’s his name, babe?” He sits on the edge of the bed and pull my hand from my face, lacing his fingers with mines. “He’s got some nice pomades, in there...expensive.”

“Duff,” my voice is hollow, I look up at him with pleading eyes. “I can explain all of this, okay?”

He nods, brushing his thumb over mine.

“I know,” he swallows, his voice thick. “What’s his name?”

I sigh out a breath and casts my eyes upwards, trying not to cry.

“Daniel…” I answer, quietly. “We’ve been...I moved in a few months ago, but it’s been a little over a year.”

I don’t let myself close my eyes, making myself look at him as he swallows, processing my words and looking around the room.

“You love him?”

“Duff,” I don’t know how to answer that question, not right now.

He’s been away for a while, and came here making me feel lost and complete at the same time, now I don’t even know where or who I am.

“Does he make you happy, hun? That’s,” he lets out a soft, wet laugh, “that’s really...what I’m asking you.” I nod, looking down at our hands. “Good.”

“I didn’t,” I croak, and I hate myself for it. “I didn’t know when you...if you,” I shake my head. “I didn’t know, Duff. I didn’t know if I...if–,”

“I didn’t want you waiting for me,” he supplies, shaking his head and looking at me, straight on. “I’m glad you didn’t, I... I slept with a lots of girls too… I can’t blame you for this.”

I feel desperate, scoots myself closer to him and settles a hand on his cheek.

“I’m not,” I breathe, wanting to press my face to his and hesitating. “You’re here, now, Duff.”

Duff nods, and bridges the gap. He presses his forehead against mine, finding my eyes.

“I’m not leaving,” he says, his voice low. “I told you,” he swallows, “I’m not gonna go away without you next time. If I convince the boys…damn.”

I nod.

“And I’ll be here,” I murmur. “But someone else is gonna be here with me…”

He shuts his eyes, squeezing my hand.

“For now,” he shrugs, “and maybe for good, but,” he opens his eyes and looks at me, fully.

My feels tear pooling in my eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere. I...I believe in this, babe. I wouldn't be here if I didn’t.”

I take a long breath, nodding slowly. I realize he doesn’t mean here, my apartment – he means here, in San Francisco...that he wouldn’t be considering this job if it wasn’t for me. I understand his meaning, here: I’m in charge.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and he shakes his head, but I stop him. “No, I should’ve told you.”

“His shoes were by the door, babe, I saw them.” he says, his voice soft. “I’m not an idiot.”

I feel something break in me, and I find Duff’s mouth, kissing him softly.

“God,” I laugh, my voice low, my lips pressed to his, “we really can’t get it right, huh?”

Duff kisses me, soft and slow, his tongue tracing my lip before he pulls away. He stands up from the bed and I watch, my eyes wide and soft as he moves around, grabbing his clothes and pulling them on.

“To be determined,” he decides, as he’s buckling his belt.

I chew on my cheek, getting out of bed and finding my robe. I wrap it around me and follows him out into the living room, watching as he grabs his duffel bag.

“You can stay,” I say, my voice hoarse, and he looks over his shoulder at me, shaking his head.

“I won’t leave,” he swallows, and I shut my eyes for a moment at his words. I nod.

“Okay,” I whisper. “So when will I see you?”

Duff sighs out a breath as he pulls the bag over his shoulder, then wraps his arm around my waist. He walks me over to the door before he pulls me against him, leaning his face down, kissing me softly.

“I’ll be here another week,” he says, his voice low, “and then...depending on things, I’ll be here for good. So,” he finds my eyes, “up to you, okay? You call me.”

I nod, my head spinning.

“Don’t disappear on me, okay?” I beg.

He shakes his head, softly, kissing me lightly.

“Promise, I won’t.” He replies.

I feel him pull his arms away, and I wrap my own around myself so I don’t do something stupid, like pull him back into my bedroom. I watch as he grabs the doorknob, opening the door and taking a step through it.

“Call me when you get to your hotel?”

He nods, leaning down and kissing me gently.

“I will,” he breathes against my mouth.

By the time I open my eyes, he’s gone. My phone buzzes on the kitchen island and my heart drops, but when I flip it over, it’s Duff.

‘Miss you already, you know that?’

I press it to my chest and shut my eyes, taking deep breaths – in part, to calm down, and in part, because I did.

[mmvalentine]

Pomegranate pt 6 | Feysand

Hades/ Persephone inspired AU. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 7

Rhys has them dressed in a flicker of magic, pulling Illyrian leathers from a pocket realm, and then crouches on the floor listening intently to the minds beyond the door. Feyre braids her hair with deft fingers, and looks sombre.

Rhys thinks vaguely that an enemy invasion is not exactly the afterglow he had planned after their first time, but he supposes that is not the most pressing matter at hand.

Now he is picking up more familiar voices. His army is here, and he has never been so glad to hear them. He speaks to Feyre in a quick, low voice.

"Alright. I have five hundred soldiers on the ground and more coming. I'm going out to meet Cassian but I'll send Mor to come get you. She can winnow you to the Night Court."

But Feyre puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Rhys," she says. "These are my people. I'm not leaving them alone while they're being attacked." Rhys wants to argue but then her canines are lengthening and her fingers turn to talons, and he remembers the power of the High Lord of Spring.

"You're a shapeshifter," he realises, and then feels he should be less surprised.

Feyre's beast is both like and unlike Tamlin's. She has gold markings around her face but her fur is velvety black. She is muscled and powerful, but sleek and streamlined. Her eyes do not change at all. Rhys takes her in, and is only more sure than even that she is made for the Night Court.

Feyre speaks directly into his mind.

When it's all over, come find me, she says. And then she slips past him and out the door, tail flicking through the air.

Rhys thinks for a moment that her creature is very beautiful, and then a Hybern soldier lumbers through the door with a broadsword, and the battle is begun.

Rhys locates Cassian shortly afterward, and the general is efficient as he is ruthless. The two brothers stick together for the most part, and although they are not defending their own home, Rhys thinks that in the end, all wars feel the same.

Hybern's army is surprised as Tamlin's at the sudden arrival of the Night Court allies, but even so they manage to cut a devastating path through the Spring Court. Rhys does not see Feyre for hours, but he does run into her father.

"What are you doing here, whelp?" The High Lord snarls. He's brandishing a bloodied knife in each hand, and his hair is falling in face.

"I was expecting something with a more grateful flavour, but I suppose it's difficult for you to muster manners of any kind," Rhys replies, brushing dirt off his shoulder.

"You sent the Hybern bastards to prove a point, didn't you?"

"Oh you really have lost it, old man."

"Don't even think about taking Feyre," Tamlin says, ignoring the jibe. "I've sealed her door. She's not going anywhere, not this day."

Rhys pictures her feline form slinking off with fangs gleaming and her tail flicking through the air, and says nothing.

"Call off your dogs," Tamlin growls.

"We are here to help, you geriatric ass."

"Why?"

"Because if Hybern gets a foothold in Prythian, we're all at war."

"Fine," Tamlin barks. "But stay out of my way."

He stalks off, and Rhys hopes Feyre's beast finds him and eats him.

///

The battle is over by sunset.

It is not swift, and it is not easy. Despite Rhysand's reinforcements and the element of surprise, the Hybern armies are strong and great in number. Cassian and Azriel stand dirtied and bloodied, their heads bowed together as they discuss what implications this might have for the safety of Prythian at large.

But Rhys doesn't care. Not now. He is weary and covered in filth, and he wants to be home. He trudges up the cracked staircase and goes in search of Feyre.

When it's all over, come find me.

Rhys casts his mind out wide, and wishes they had made a more concrete plan.

Feyre? he sends out softly. He's never spoken into Feyre's mind before, and doesn't want to scare here.

Then a reply comes, drifting across like a scent.

Here. Rhys receives the image of a dark room with slate flooring. He follows the thread through the house, until he finds Feyre in her fae form, curled around the body of a stout female.

Rhys crouches down in front of them.

"Hello love," he says softly.

"There are so many dead, Rhys," Feyre says. She has blood under her fingernails and dirt on her face, except for where the tears have tracked through it.

"I know."

"He could have stopped this, he could have evacuated or prepared or something."

"I know."

Feyre begins to rock back and forth, clutching the dead fae closer to her. Rhys lets her. It is long moments before she looks up.

"It's over, isn't it?" she asks him.

"Yes. It's over."

"And Tamlin?"

"He's fine. The Night Court soldiers offered to help clean up but he declined, so we're on our way out now."

"We?"

"Yes. All of us." He holds his hand out. "It's time."

Feyre looks down at the female in her arms, and back up at Rhys.

"Take me," she whispers. Rhys lifts the fae away, placing her gently on the stones a little way away. Then he kneels in front of Feyre and wraps his arms around her, tucking her head under his chin while she hugs him back as tight as she can. A second later, he winnows.

////

Feyre spends three days in Rhys's bedroom.

Initially, he gives her her own room. When they arrive in the Night Court, he helps her clean off then puts her to bed, and strokes her hair while she lies there unable to cry. She falls asleep eventually, and Rhys thinks he might give her some privacy. He pads back to his own room, but when he turns around she's following him with a fist in her eye like a tired kitten.

And so Feyre sleeps next to Rhys. She does not eat much, and does not say much; there are many of her kin she is mourning. And despite her being captive in the Spring Court all her life, she is also mourning her home.

On the fourth day, the inner circle intervene.

They creep into the room and perch around the bed, where Rhys is sitting with his back against the headboard and Feyre's head in his lap.

"Hello," Mor says shyly. The corner of Rhys's mouth lifts, because Mor is never shy. "My name is Mor. This is Cassian, Azriel, and Amren."

Feyre's eyes track around the circle, but she doesn't say anything.

"I know you don't know us," Mor goes on. "But I think we know you, a little. And we really want to be your friends."

Mor shuffles a little further up the bed, and looks to Cassian. Cassian blinks and then startles forward, emptying a bag over the mattress. He clears his throat.

"Rhys told us you haven't eaten much," he said. "So ah, we've brought you some things we thought you might like."

Feyre sits up slowly. Rolling over the covers are what seem to be an array of fruits, although she doesn't recognise many. There are flowers too, and the ones she does know are edible.

"We'll give you some space now, if you like," Mor says. "We just wanted to introduce ourselves."

"No," Feyre says. Her voice is scratchy from not being used. "Stay."

Mor beams at that, and Rhys knows it's her most winning, most luminous smile. No one can deny Mor when she smiles like that.

"We're really glad you're here Feyre," she says.

The others shuffle closer too now, and when Feyre picks up a fruit and rolls it in her hands, Azriel carefully plucks it from her fingers and slices it open with a black blade from his hip.

"This is a pomegranate," he tells her, handing it back. "It's an autumn fruit."

Feyre pulls it apart in her lap. "It looks like rubies," she marvels.

Rhys picks up a couple of seeds that have fallen on the bed, and places them on her tongue. "Welcome to the night court," he says by her ear, and the juice bursts bright and sharp between her teeth.

****

Argh sorry I know that was a clunky chapter and I CANNOT write battle scenes, I normally wouldn't try but I had to get Feyre out of the spring court yet without being helpless. So, bear with me I'm going straight back to my comfort zone I just had to move the plot along 😬

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