#and it made me think of this scenario so I drew it

[mythicalninjas]

What are they?

Author's note: I was rewatching a few clips of Transformers One and that deer-like robots scene made me imagine an alternative scenario of what the group would do if they were face-to-face with a deer-like robot.

Rate/warnings: SFW

In the middle of the open field, amidst an orange haze, four bipedal figures walk side by side. The shortest of them sings an improvised song while the others remain silent.

"Four best friends who are walking trought the door! There's no door, we're outside." B commented the last sentence and kept humming his improvised music.

Orion Pax was the next to speak. "Hey, look! There's more of it over here." he reaches out to touch the various strange things that sway in the wind.

"It's not metal." D-16 observed.

"Like some kind of, uh..." Orion continued. "Weird nature."

"So are they..." Elita-1 pointed to a herd of yellowish quadruped creatures a few meters ahead. Some of these creatures were all grazing the grass and some moss on the ground, which was strange. Don't these things need energon to survive like other cybertronians?

As the group approached, a few creatures stopped grazing, raised their heads and watched them. They didn't seem scared. On the contrary. They just walked in opposite directions away from the group and continued grazing, without any discomfort.

B was the first to speak after a moment of silence. "What are they?".

"Don't know. I've never seen "bots" like them before." D-16 said.

One of the creatures seemed restless, looking at the four miners and to the sides, sometimes at the grass below it, as if it were undecided whether to continue mind its business or watching the strange visitors.

After a few seconds, the creature stops and stares at the group, causing them to be a little confused by it. Orion, D, Elita and B looked at each other.

Suddenly, the yellowish creature finally reacts, walking towards Orion. The poor bot didn't know what to do. Fear and doubt filled him as the creature approached very slowly, each step taken carefully.

They looked at each other, confusion expressed on their faces this time.

The creature stops in front of Orion, but keeps a safe distance in case of danger. If any. As the strange form drew closer, the group was finally able to take a closer look at its anatomy: purple eyes located on both sides of the head, long neck, two ears which turn to different directions at same time, four long thin limbs without fingers, bright yellow color (much warmer than the B's color) and two anteenae-like things on the head, with circles on the tips.

The creature moved a little closer to Orion and began to sniff him.

They couldn't believe what they're seeing.

"What the hell?" Orion thought, looking at the others and shrugging. It took a while for the creature to smell the red and blue bot, occasionally stopping and staring up at him and sniffing again. The poor bot didn't know what to do. Then the creature streched its neck to reach Orion's left hand and sniff once again.

D-16 tilted his head.

The yellow creature took a while to smell Orion's hand, sometimes startling itself out of nowhere, making the group giggle a bit.

"Why did it startle?" B whispered.

"Maybe it thinks Orion will do something." Elita whispered back.

Orion, with a soft voice, said: "We won't hurt you, buddy."

The creature stops sniffing and stares up at Orion, then at the others beside him.

Both cybertronian species were seeing and having contact for the very first time after many cycles. Surely at some point in history, before the Quintenssons took over the surface of Cybertron, there were many encounters between bots and these four-legged creatures. Maybe that's the reason why they don't feel threatened by the group.

Suddenly Orion have an idea, but he doesn't know IF It's a good idea. Taking advantage of the creature's distraction at his friends, he raised his hand slowly towards its neck, with the intention to touch it.

D notices. "What are you doing?" He asked, confused.

Orion didn't answer his friend, just concentrated on trying to touch the creature's neck. He was very careful not to frighten it. As soon as he touched it, the creature made a squeaking sound and backed away a few steps in fear.

"It's afraid of you." Elita warned.

"I think it never had contact with bots like us but the Quintessons over these many cycles we have hidden underground. Its instincts tell we are dangerous, but it clearly wants to know what we are". Orion held out his hand to the creature to let it smell again. "It's okay. We're just as curious as you are, buddy." His voice was gentle.

The creature seemed petrified at first, staring at Orion's eyes and then at his hand. Long minutes of silence have passed. Finally the creature approached Orion again, this time sniffing for a few seconds, then looking up at the red and blue miner and sniffing the air. It craned its neck to try and smell Orion's face, for some reason the group couldn't know why.

The miner took the opportunity to touch it and moved his hand to its neck. The wild form didn't back up this time.

"It's working!" B shouted, making the creature startle at his voice. Elita covers B's mouth.

Finally, Orion touched the creature's neck. He could feel that it was tense, but it seemed to trust him. He slides his hand up and down the animal's neck, caressing it.

"How…" D remembered not to speak louder so as not to frighten it. The creature didn't seem to be bother by the grey miner. "How did you do that?"

Elita was the next to speak. "It was… incredible."

B just nodded, Elita still covering his mouth.

Orion smiled at the creature. It enjoyed the pets it was receiving and leaned closer to Orion, its eyes closed. "Trust." He replied. "I have earned its trust." He nodded for the others to come closer. "Come on, I belive it will let you touch it as well. But just don't make any sudden movements."

"Or loud sounds." Elita whisperd to B's auditory receptors, casting a threatening glance as uncover his mouth.

The creature was a little apprehensive when it realised that the other three bots were closer than usual, but it knew they weren't a threat. They were with this strange gentle bot in blue and red.

B was the first to pet it. "Awwn it's kinda cute."

On that day, after countless cycles, two different species were able to coexist in harmony, until a strange sound rang out across the open valley they were, scaring the creatures away.

☆☆☆☆☆

(My work is original. Do NOT copy and past it! It's not cool stealing what isn't yours!)

This was my first time writing for Transformers One. Thank you for reading ❤️

Reblog to support and let more people read my work 🫶❤️

[calsappstore]

COLUMBINE ICEBERG (FINALE)

“Today is not a good day to be here”: The Rebel News was in charge of choosing a slogan for the day, and Erik Veik (a friend of both of the shooters) chose that one. This message was changed and “How can you expect us to be here on a day like this” became the slogan. However, many students recall the event for “Today is not a good day to be here”.

Mr Harris’ journal: Eric was not the only member of the family who kept a journal, his father, Wayne, kept track of Eric’s bad behavior, such as when Eric fought Brooks, or when they found the “secret stash for alcohol”. Despite this, he believes his son is innocent, while Brooks is quite manipulative. There’s another section dedicated to Kevin, this section contains about 2 pages, but the behaviours Kevin displayed seemed to be quite similar to Eric’s.

Brenda Parker: This girl essentially claimed to have had a “relationship” with Eric, she stated she met Eric and Dylan when they followed her and her friend around. She claimed that she talked to Eric on the phone everyday, and they would cruise on his mustang, and that’s all they talked about. She also claimed that she had a picture and a recording of Eric, I think unsurprisingly, it was confirmed by the FBI that were fake. Although, she confirmed later on that she was lying about it.

Klebob’s “A short story”: In February of 1999, Klebob turned this paper for a school assignment. The story is about a left handed tall dude who kills a bunch of college kids. The murderer in the story resembles Dylan quite a lot, and his teacher certainly knew this, so she asked Dylan to talk about the story; Dylan dismissed these concerns. The teacher also contacted the parents, that also ignored the “red flags”

Library CCTV footage: This refers to the myth/ theory that there is footage that contains what happened in the library. However, there is no confirmation of such footage even existing.

Unreleased CCTV footage: Similar theory, stating that there is similar footage of other parts of the high school that contain segments of the tragedy and caught the shooters from different angles.

Bomb CCTV footage: This refers to the footage of the two shooters planting the bombs (it’s in horrible quality but you can make out mostly Eric moving around the cafeteria).

Snapple Bottle Molotov Cocktails: Both shooters threw molotov cocktails in the cafeteria, in an attempt to make their pipe bombs go off.

“I was Mr. Cutter tonight”: On April 15, 1997. Dylan Klebob wrote a journal entry about his self- harm.

Five coffins: It refers to a drawing in Dylan’s journal, he drew 5 coffins. This is one of the most interesting things of the case for me. I made a post on random facts yesterday and I included it again, but Dylan was fascinated with the number 5, obviously the coffins tie into it because he ended up killing 5 people in a shirt that said “wrath” which, according to Dante’s inferno, is the fifth circle of Hell.

Wiped Hard Drive: Dylan did this the day before the massacre, which has led to an insane amount of speculation as to why.

Blue tent: This blue tent is where they kept the bodies of both Eric and Dylan before they got sent to JeffCo for autopsy.

Harris’ cuts: His autopsy revealed that he had “small cluster of punctate lacerations and cuts”. There is a debate on wether or not these cuts were self inflected.

Harris’ recurrent dream: For a class, it was given the option to submit anonymously about a dream they had, Eric detailed a specific scenario he kept dreaming about with Dylan. But, most people knew that this submission came from Eric.

Teenwitch: Album by Bones dedicated to Columbine.

We need to talk about Kevin: fanfic about the massacre.

Bang Bang, you’re dead: a stage play written in the aftermath of the attack, and drawing from the playwright’s own experience with school violence at his child’s school.

Bobby Patterson: Bobby Patterson was someone who committed suicide on April 29th, 1999 and he knew the attackers to some extent.

Columbinus: a show about the massacre.

This post is for educational purposes only.

Hopefully you have enjoyed the "mini- series" on the iceberg. I learned a lot and I hope you did too.

Disclaimer: I did not tackle every single concept within the iceberg. Columbine is such a broad case and plus, not everything is super relevant, so I covered what I think is the most interesting or not-so-obvious of the case.

Disclaimer 2: This post was kindly brought to you by "Restraining Disorder" on youtube and the Columbine subreddit.

Thank you so much for taking the time to interact with the posts, I hope you all have a wonderful day.

[earthlybeam]

Hello! I just wanted to say that I absolutely love your writing. Especially the way you write Elrond! So good. You've very quickly become one of my favorite tumblr posters :) I don't know if anyone has asked this yet, but if not, how would Elrond, Círdan, and Gil-Galad react to the reader rescuing them from being captured by orcs/bandits? Thanks!

Thank you so much for your kind words! It truly means the world to me to hear that you enjoy my writing. 🥹❤️‍🔥🫶✨

As for your question, I actually wrote something similar to this idea before the title called “Elves reacting their you saving their life’s” it’s on my Masterlist pinned at top of my page you’ll find it in their, though I haven’t explored a scenario with orcs or bandits specifically—so I’d be more than happy to write it for you. It’s such a fun and dynamic setup, and I love the idea of exploring how Elrond, Círdan, and Gil-galad would react in that kind of situation. Thank you for the inspiration! 🥺🤌

how would the elves react to this?

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Elrond, Gil-Galad Círdan Version below.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

Elrond might react to the reader/you swooping in to save them from a perilous situation like being captured by orcs.

The ancient woods of Eregion were silent, the kind of silence that came when predators were near. The golden light of dusk bled through the canopy, staining the forest floor in hues of amber and crimson. The wind barely stirred, as if the trees themselves held their breath. Somewhere within this tranquil facade, chaos brewed. Elrond Half-elven had been captured. The orcs had struck swiftly and without mercy, ambushing him and his small party as they returned from a reconnaissance mission. His guards had fought valiantly but were quickly overwhelmed. Now, bound and bloodied, Elrond knelt in a rough clearing, surrounded by the jeers of his captors. His silver-threaded tunic was torn, his dark hair matted with dirt and blood. Yet, even in this moment of vulnerability, his eyes shone like steel—cold, calculating, and unyielding.

The orcs had made a mistake. They had underestimated him. But even Elrond, for all his cunning, could not see a clear path to freedom. His hands were tightly bound behind him, the ropes cutting into his skin, a reminder of his helplessness. His weapons were gone, and though his mind raced with strategies, every scenario ended the same: with his blood soaking the earth. His pride and experience told him to fight, but in the quiet dark of the clearing, with the weight of captivity pressing down on him, Elrond knew he was out of options. For a fleeting moment, something close to frustration stirred within him—but he quickly pushed it aside. Anger wouldn’t free him, nor would it serve him here. He needed to think, needed to wait, but time was a luxury he no longer had.

The orcs were already bickering over their prize. One particularly large brute brandished a jagged blade and snarled something in their guttural tongue. Elrond didn’t flinch. He met the orc’s gaze with cold detachment, refusing to grant them the satisfaction of his fear. He had seen this before—death in various forms, and in many guises. If this was to be his end, he would meet it with dignity. But even as he steeled himself, he could feel the weight of his impending fate, the very real possibility of this moment being his last. And then, a sound—a faint rustle in the underbrush. The orcs didn’t notice, too consumed by their squabble, but Elrond’s keen ears caught it. His sharp gaze flickered toward the shadows at the edge of the clearing, where the fading light painted shifting patterns on the forest floor. For a moment, his mind raced. Was it a stray animal? A larger threat? No. The movement was too deliberate, too precise, to be mere chance.

A slight shift in the air, a tension, drew his attention fully. He felt a strange spark of hope—a quick, unfamiliar surge, like a breath after being submerged too long. And then, his senses sharpened, pulling his attention entirely to the darkness beyond. Something—or someone—was coming. Someone was there. Someone you. You had tracked the orcs for hours, following the trail of broken branches and spilled blood. When you’d come upon the scene—Elrond bound and surrounded—you hadn’t hesitated. There wasn’t time to formulate a grand plan or to consider the consequences. All that mattered was saving him.

From the shadows, you moved with practiced stealth, each step as quiet as the fall of a leaf. Your hand tightened around the hilt of your blade as you assessed the situation. The orcs were many—more than you’d expected—but their focus on Elrond gave you the element of surprise. It would have to be enough. Your attack was swift. The first orc didn’t even have time to scream before your blade slid across its throat. The second fell just as quickly, your dagger finding its mark in the gap between its armor. By the time the others realized what was happening, you were already upon them, a whirlwind of steel and determination.

Elrond’s head snapped up at the commotion, his sharp gaze locking onto your form as you cut through his captors like a storm. Surprise flashed across his face, quickly replaced by something else—something akin to awe. You moved with a grace that rivaled even the elves, your every strike precise, your every motion purposeful. The orcs snarled and lunged at you, but you were relentless. The clearing erupted into chaos as you danced between them, your blade gleaming in the fading light. One by one, the orcs fell, their cries echoing through the trees. Still, more kept coming, their brute strength and numbers threatening to overwhelm you.

Elrond, though bound and weaponless, wasn’t idle. He twisted his wrists against the ropes, his sharp mind analyzing every detail of the fight. When one orc charged toward you from behind, he shouted, “Behind you!” His voice, commanding even in captivity, gave you just enough warning to sidestep the attack and deliver a killing blow. Finally, the last orc fell, its body hitting the ground with a heavy thud. The clearing was eerily quiet once more, the air thick with the stench of blood. You turned to Elrond, your chest heaving as you hurried to his side.

“Are you hurt?” you asked, your voice breathless but steady. “Nothing that won’t heal,” he replied, his tone calm despite the ordeal. His eyes, however, betrayed the storm of emotions roiling beneath his composed exterior—relief, gratitude, and perhaps a touch of disbelief. You knelt behind him, cutting through the ropes with quick, efficient movements. As the bindings fell away, Elrond flexed his hands, wincing slightly at the raw skin beneath. He rose to his feet with the grace of one who had endured far worse, his imposing presence undiminished by his injuries. “You should not have come for me,” he said, his voice low but firm. “It was reckless.”

“Perhaps,” you admitted, meeting his gaze without flinching. “But I wasn’t about to leave you to them.” For a moment, Elrond said nothing, his piercing gray eyes searching yours. Then, slowly, the corners of his lips curved into the faintest of smiles. “Foolish,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But brave.” Together, you moved through the forest, leaving the carnage behind. Elrond insisted he was fine, though you couldn’t help but notice the way he favored one leg as he walked. When you offered to slow down, he waved you off with a faint smirk. “I am not as fragile as I look.” As night fell, the two of you stopped to rest in a small, sheltered glade. Elrond sat with his back against a tree, his eyes fixed on the stars above. You sat beside him, the silence between you comfortable but charged with unspoken words. Finally, Elrond broke the silence. “You saved my life,” he said, his voice soft. “I do not say this lightly, but I am in your debt.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” you replied. “I did what anyone would do.” “No,” he said, turning to face you fully. “Not anyone. Few would risk their lives for another, let alone against such odds. You have my gratitude—and my respect.” There was a sincerity in his tone that left no room for doubt. For all his wisdom and strength, Elrond was not one to offer his trust easily. Yet, in this moment, he looked at you not as a subordinate or even a savior, but as an equal. As the night deepened and the stars shone brighter, you realized that this moment—shared in the aftermath of danger—was the beginning of something far greater than either of you could have anticipated.

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

Gil-Galad might react to the reader/you swooping in to save them from a perilous situation like being captured by orcs.

The night air was cold, and the sky overhead was shrouded in a blanket of clouds. The dark, twisted trees of Middle-earth seemed to close in, casting ominous shadows across the forest floor. In the heart of the woods, Gil-galad, the High King of the Noldor, stood tall—his regal bearing unshaken, even in the face of danger. The faintest shimmer of starlight glanced off his golden armor as he and his companions prepared for an ambush. His keen silver grey eyes scanned the surroundings, always vigilant, always prepared for what came next. But even the most vigilant of Elven kings could be caught off guard. The attack was swift. Orcs, crawling from the dark crevices of the forest, came at them like a tide. The clash of metal on metal rang out as Gil-galad led his warriors with strength and precision, a beacon of light in the chaos. His movements were fluid, his strikes calculated, but even he was not immune to the overwhelming number of attackers.

In the midst of the fray, one of the Orcs, taller and stronger than the others, launched itself at Gil-galad with terrifying speed. It knocked the King off balance, sending him crashing to the forest floor with a heavy thud. His sword fell from his hand, skidding away into the underbrush. For a fleeting moment, Gil-galad’s breath was knocked from his lungs, his vision blurred from the sudden impact. The sting of the fall reached deep into his ribs, and the sharpness of the pain reminded him that even a King was not invincible. The Orcs closed in, snarling, their eyes gleaming with malice. He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears, his pulse quickening as he struggled to regain his bearings. Gil-galad’s gaze sharpened despite the fog of disorientation, his mind already calculating his next move. He rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding a blade aimed at his heart. He reached for his sword, but it was too far away. There was a fleeting moment, a brief weakness—something unfamiliar—that passed through him. A flash of helplessness that he rarely allowed himself to feel. It was swiftly buried beneath layers of command and duty, but it lingered just a little longer than he would have liked. Just as the Orcs began to close in, something unexpected happened.

A rush of movement swept through the trees. In a blink, you appeared—your form silhouetted by the faint moonlight that filtered through the canopy above. Without hesitation, you leapt into the fray, your blade flashing like a streak of lightning in the darkness. The battle paused for a brief second as Gil-galad, still on the ground, turned his head in your direction. His heart skipped a beat—not from fear or shock, but from an overwhelming sense of awe. With swift precision, you cut through the nearest Orc, your movements an elegant dance of strength and agility. The creatures fell back, surprised by the sudden turn of events, their snarls turning to fearful hisses. But it wasn’t the Orcs that held Gil-galad’s attention. It was you. Your movements were effortless, your focus unwavering. You cut through their ranks, protecting the King as though you were born for this very moment. Gil-galad’s thoughts raced. He knew his warriors were skilled, but there was something about you—something about the way you moved, the way you fought with such certainty and grace—that left him speechless. A profound sense of gratitude and admiration swelled in his chest.

His breath was still ragged from the fall, but he forced himself to push off the ground, his hand gripping the earth for support. His eyes locked on yours as you cleared the final Orcs with a grace that could only come from an elf with purpose. The moment you turned toward him, your gaze filled with concern, his lips parted to speak, but no words came. For the first time in many long years, the weight of the battle felt distant compared to the relief that flooded him at your presence. He could feel the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, but it was tempered by an undeniable surge of gratitude. You had been there when he faltered—when the weight of the crown, the history of his people, and the perils of the battle had threatened to pull him down. You stepped toward him, your voice calm and steady as you spoke. “Are you injured, my king?” Gil-galad, still shaken but steadying himself, nodded. “I am unharmed, thanks to you.” His voice was low, but the words carried a sincerity that he could not conceal. There was no formality in his words, no regal distance between you. Only an unspoken appreciation. He would have never admitted it aloud, but in that fleeting moment, he felt an unfamiliar vulnerability, one he did not know how to shield himself from.

You bent down to help him, extending your hand. He took it, and as you helped him rise to his feet, a look of quiet admiration crossed his face. For a moment, he simply stood there, his gaze softening as he took in the full depth of your actions. A flicker of something more stirred within him—a warmth he hadn’t felt in ages. But it was the steadiness of your touch, the way you stood by him without hesitation, that left him in awe. The king, ever the leader, found his heart racing not with the weight of his title, but with something far simpler: a respect, perhaps something even deeper, for the one who had stood by him in the face of danger. “You have my deepest gratitude,” he said, his tone rich with meaning. “Without your intervention, I may not have made it out of this alive.” There was a weight in his words—an acknowledgement that, in this chaotic world of shifting alliances and countless battles, your presence had changed everything. He had long borne the weight of his kingdom, the responsibility of leadership, but tonight, that burden had been eased by you.

His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, the world around them faded. The sounds of battle, the crashing of blades, the cries of the fallen—all of it melted away as Gil-galad’s gaze softened. “Your bravery… it does not go unnoticed,” he added, his voice low and earnest. “I will not forget this.” As you stood by him, your hands still holding his, he felt the weight of the moment settle between you both. The connection was undeniable. He had seen countless lives lost in the wars of Middle-earth, witnessed the rise and fall of kingdoms, but in this fleeting moment, he felt something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time—trust. Perhaps, even something more. The night was still, the threat of the Orcs momentarily forgotten, as the two of you shared a brief but significant moment. It was then that Gil-galad realized the depths of your loyalty—not just as a warrior, but as someone who had saved him not for glory, but for the simple love of what was right. And as he returned to the fight, standing side by side with you, the King’s heart swelled with something he hadn’t expected—hope.

🌊 𝓬í𝓻𝓭𝓪𝓷

Círdan might react to the reader/you swooping in to save them from a perilous situation like being captured by orcs.

The salt-laden air of the Grey Havens stung the skin as the distant waves crashed relentlessly against the shore, their rhythm a cruel backdrop to the chaos unfolding on the docks. The normally serene harbor had become a battlefield, its once tranquil shores stained with the blood of the brave and the wicked alike. Orcs had struck swiftly, their guttural cries mingling with the clang of steel and the roar of flames licking the sky. A boat had been set ablaze, its wreckage casting an eerie glow on the water as smoke swirled into the darkening sky. Círdan, his silver hair flowing behind him like a banner, stood as an unyielding sentinel amidst the chaos. His movements were fluid, a dance of deadly elegance as he cut down the attackers one by one. Despite the ferocity of his strikes, his age was beginning to show. His breath, though steady, came with more effort now, and his movements were slower, less sharp than they had once been. The weight of centuries rested on his shoulders, and though his resolve was unbroken, fatigue crept into his limbs.

The orcs were relentless, and soon he was surrounded. A heavy cleaver struck his sword with a resounding clash, forcing him back against the stone wall of the harbor. The ground beneath his feet was slick, and for a brief moment, Círdan felt the full weight of age and weariness. His heart pounded in his chest, but still he raised his sword, determined to protect his people, to fend off the dark tide. Then, the sound—a rustle in the trees above, so faint it could have been mistaken for the wind. But not to Círdan. His sharp eyes flickered toward the movement, his heart quickening with hope. He knew what it meant. You were here. You had been tracking the orc band for days, following their trail with patience and precision. But when you had seen the smoke rising from the docks, when you had realized that the mighty Shipwright himself was in peril, there was no hesitation. You burst from the shadows, a whirlwind of action and determination. Your blade was already in your hand as you descended from the ridge above the harbor, landing with the grace of a predator.

The first orc never knew what hit it. You moved like lightning, your strike clean and efficient, the orc’s blood spilling across the stones before it even had time to scream. The second orc fared no better, falling at your feet with a single, well-placed blow. Círdan’s blue eyes widened in surprise at the sight of you, the flicker of disbelief in his gaze quickly replaced by something far deeper—recognition, relief, and perhaps even a touch of awe. You had come for him, risking everything to pull him from the jaws of death. “Stay behind me!” you shouted as you moved toward him, your voice firm and unyielding amidst the chaos of battle. For a moment, Círdan hesitated. He had always been the protector, the one to stand between others and danger. But as he saw you cut through the orcs with such deadly precision, the decision was made for him. He gritted his teeth, his sword rising once more to meet the next foe. Together, you formed an unstoppable force, a seamless unity that struck terror into the hearts of the orcs.

The battle raged on, but your combined strength was a force of nature. At one point, a brutish orc captain, wielding a massive axe, charged at you. Círdan saw it coming before you did. Without hesitation, he stepped into the line of fire, his sword parrying the deadly blow that would have otherwise struck you down. The force of the strike rattled him, but his gaze remained as steady as the sea. “You risk much for an old shipwright,” he said, his voice calm even in the midst of the battle. “I’m not leaving you here!” you replied fiercely, spinning to meet another attacker. “Not after all you’ve done for Middle-earth.” For a fleeting moment, Círdan’s expression softened, and his eyes lingered on you with a new respect. Few understood the sacrifices he had made over the centuries, the countless battles fought in the shadows, the weight of leadership that bore down on him. But you—here you were, putting everything on the line for him. And somehow, it stirred something deep within him.

With renewed purpose, you fought side by side, driving the orcs back, step by step, until their resolve shattered. The last of the attackers fell with a guttural cry, their bodies littering the stones of the harbor like discarded refuse. The once-bloody battlefield fell silent. The air was thick with the scent of salt and blood, but the clamor of battle had ceased. Only the gentle lap of the waves against the shore and the distant cries of gulls broke the stillness. Círdan stood beside you, his breath coming in measured, steady bursts. He was still strong, but the toll of the fight had left its mark on him. His cheek was bloodied, a thin cut running across his face, but his posture was unyielding. He looked at you with gratitude and something deeper—an understanding that had not existed between you before.

“You have my thanks,” he said quietly, his voice steady but filled with unspoken emotion. His blue eyes held yours, and for the first time in your presence, he spoke not as a leader, but as a fellow soul who had witnessed your bravery firsthand. “Few would have risked their lives for me. Fewer still would have succeeded.” You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. “You’ve spent centuries helping others, Círdan. It’s about time someone returned the favor.” A small, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips, rare and fleeting but filled with warmth. “Then I am fortunate it was you,” he said, his voice low but sincere. As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, casting a soft glow over the harbor, you and Círdan stood side by side, looking out over the water. The battle had been long and fierce, but the bond forged between you in the heat of conflict was even stronger. There was no need for words now. The understanding between you was clear.

Círdan placed a hand on your shoulder, his grip gentle but strong—a silent gesture of respect. “You have the heart of a mariner,” he said softly, his voice carrying the cadence of the sea. “Fearless, steadfast, and loyal. I will not forget this.” And as the light of the new day broke over the Grey Havens, you knew that, in your heart, you had not only saved a life—you had earned the trust and respect of one of Middle-earth’s greatest figures.

[pixelatedraindrops]

Edit (colored): Doodle I did of a sick child Makoto refusing to take his medicine, because it’s just too icky! 💊💦

Yuma is losing his patience but he won’t give up. The top detective is nothing if not persistent with his stubborn little mini clone.

I based the toys he has with him off his other/beta mask designs c:

The idea of Makoto being an actual 3 year old child that Yuma looks after is both funny and adorable to me.

[cuteniaarts]

Hey 🗑️🔥 gang (@katkastrofa @rokurookajima @shadelorde)…

Heard you guys like feral women 😏😏😏

[art]

Creator Spotlight: @themetalhiro

Hi, I’m Metal! I’m a freelance artist from good ol’ New Jersey. My favorite things to work with are a lot of bright colors, exaggerated poses, and candid scenarios. I try to farm sensible chuckles whenever I can, so I’m also big into comics. I love making them about my life, and the media I’m into, and one day I’d like to publish my own series!  Thank you to everyone who has gotten me this far!!

Check out Metal's interview below!

Did you originally have a background in art? If not, how did you start?

I guess so! It’s funny, I don’t remember a single time in my life that I wasn’t drawing as a hobby… somewhere in middle school (a little late, I know.) I put the pieces together that animated movies were made by artists, and that it wasn’t just for fun, they were paid to do it. The moment I discovered people could be paid to make art, I decided I would do that, too. Now I’m here!

How has your style developed over the years?

I think the best way to answer this would be with an example! Over the last few years, I have made more of an effort to draw more intentionally, which sounds silly. Now, I put more thought into my poses and step out of my comfort zone with shape language and composition. I had a phase where I drew everyone with a huge, perfectly circular head and no nose. That definitely did not lend much variety...

Which 3 famous artists (dead or alive) would you invite to your dinner party?

Ack! I’m so terrible at history! I’d love to give a well-thought-out answer about fine artists of old, but I don't think we’d have much in common… Most artists I admire and who have driven me forward creatively are the people behind comics I’ve read. Andrew Hussie, Bryan Lee O’Malley, Eiichiro Oda... these guys have inspired me greatly and had a heavy influence in developing my art style and sense of humor. I’d love to ask them questions about their processes and upcoming projects. I think it would make for an entertaining night!

Over the years as an artist, what were your biggest inspirations behind your creativity?

Outside of pure aesthetics like searing bright colors, layered clothing, and loud noises…. the best and most inspiring moments in my life were those surrounded by friends and loved ones! I cherish the hell out of memories of hanging around in fun locations, trying weird food together, and impromptu midnight walks... so I try my best to capture that atmosphere and my own memories in my work when I can, even if I’m imposing fictional characters on top of them. That’s always the core of it.

What is a medium that you have always been intrigued by but would never use yourself?

I would never permanently refuse a medium, but every time I pick up clay, I’m like a baby using its hands for the first time. Absolutely dreadful. If one day I could make and paint a figurine like the ones I admire in videos, that would be awesome... But for now, I’m not counting on it.

How do you want to evolve as a creator?

I’ve had an absolute blast drawing fanart over the years, and it’s certainly played a massive role in my growth as an artist. But my dream has always been to publish my own stories for y'all to enjoy! I have lots of worlds I want to introduce to you before I’m old and gray. I want to get faster, work harder, and get better at drawing interesting settings so I can get the wheels turning as soon as possible. I also want to stop avoiding the color blue like a coward.

What do you wish you knew when you first started out creating art that you know now?

Pay your taxes quarterly. Tablets will break at the exact moment you need them most, so have a spare. Wear your blue light glasses. You’re going to need to wear a brace on every joint on the right side of your body. It can be lonely sitting at your desk all day. The car on the side of the road that costs $1000 cash….. don’t trust it!!!

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

@cranity—They use absolutely beautiful colors and weighty line work. Everything looks so sharp and clean! I wanna put it all up on my wall!

@vewn—Their ability to crank out quality short films and illustrations packed with detail is incredible. The off-kilter perspective they use really sells disorientation and catches your attention like nothing else.

@nelnal—They have absolutely banger character designs again and again, I can’t believe one person’s mind can come up with so many creative ideas!

@jinx88kc—They have a beautiful and recognizable style, and the way they incorporate animation into their illustrations sometimes is SO cool!

Thanks for stopping by, Metal! For more of Metal’s work, follow their Tumblr, @themetalhiro! If you haven't seen their Meet the Artist piece, be sure to check it out here!

[hcneymooners]

⋆ arcane but it's a private university au ( for the girls: pt. ii )

ice princess!f!reader x multi. f!characters. men & minors dni.

synopsis: private university!arcane headcanons but it’s really specific bc it’s based on my time at catholic private school except this au is just a private hold the catholic.

cw: this part contains scenarios for jinx, sevika, & ambessa. writing for jinx was actually my favorite portion (ambessa, please forgive me.) suggestive content. notes: i love them so bad. you can find part one here. i didn't include the intro since i did it in the first one! i love you.

jinx : the "bad influence." 

୨୧ the two of you met mid-sprint, fleeing a party broken up by the police. it was one of those raw, electric moments where adrenaline surges and strangers become allies in chaos.

୨୧ in the frenzied escape, she tripped, her knees hitting the pavement hard. without hesitation, you yanked her up, kicking away an overzealous officer with surprising precision.

୨୧ all you caught were glimpses: two impossibly long blue braids swinging like a pendulum and wide, heavily-lashed pink eyes that lingered on yours, a strange curiosity etched into their neon stare.

୨୧ your fingers found hers without thinking, and together you ran—your heeled feet stumbling across glitter-streaked concrete littered with shattered glass and discarded red cups.

୨୧ the chase ended in a hole-in-the-wall thai spot, rain pouring in sheets outside. bundled in your oversized vintage fur coat, dark brown and impossibly warm, you glanced at her—soaked, shivering, and unapologetically smug.

୨୧ against every instinct, you shifted, lifting the bulk of your coat to drape over her smaller frame. pressed close, you felt the cold bite of her skin and the cherry tang of her perfume, thick and sharp. her stomach—toned, pale, and adorned with vibrant tattoos—drew your attention as it flexed when she flagged down the waitress.

୨୧ she was so deeply beautiful and so fucking close to you and you’re shivering and wet together.

୨୧ silence settled between you as she grew overly familiar, stealing bites from your plate and feeding you egg rolls with a crooked grin. her nails scraped against your bottom lip, and she laughed when you blinked, stunned, swallowing more than just food.

୨୧ at some point, she leaned in, stealing a sip from your drink, her lips lingering on the rim.

୨୧ you paid.

୨୧ "thanks, ice princess," she murmured as you left. only then did it hit you—she knew you. you must’ve crossed paths on campus, and yet, she felt like a stranger from a different world.

୨୧ she pressed a glossy pink kiss to your cheek, saluted with mock reverence, and vanished into the seedy underbelly of the city.

୨୧ you thought about her for weeks.

୨୧ you didn’t expect to see her again. but days later, there she was on campus, leaning against the vending machine in your dorm building like she belonged there.

୨୧ “ice princess,” she greeted, that crooked grin pulling at her lips. “guess we’re neighbors.”

୨୧ you didn’t know what to say. it was one thing to pull a stranger out of trouble and share a meal in some forgotten corner of the city. it was another to see her here, part of your world, like she’d been there all along.

୨୧ she started showing up more often after that—slipping into your study sessions at the library, tagging along when you grabbed coffee. she was loud and reckless, her laughter echoing off the quiet walls, drawing stares that you pretended not to notice.

୨୧ it wasn’t long before she started pushing you out of your comfort zone. sneaking you into underground parties, dragging you to rooftop hangouts where the city stretched out beneath you, glittering and endless.

୨୧ she made you feel alive in a way you hadn’t realized you were missing.

୨୧ you couldn’t stop staring at her tattoos, the colorful, intricate designs that covered her stomach and arms. one night, without thinking, you reached out to trace a line along her skin.

୨୧ she caught your hand before you could pull back, her fingers curling around yours. “you like ‘em, huh, mama?” she said, her voice low and teasing. your cheeks burned, and you stammered something incoherent, but she only laughed, pressing your palm flat against her stomach. “gonna get one just for you. we can match.”

୨୧ she had a habit of being overly familiar—feeding you bites of her food, letting her fingers linger against your lips as you swallowed. one time, her thumb brushed your bottom lip, and you caught her smirk as she let her teeth graze her fork, slow and deliberate.

୨୧ you knew you were falling for her. it was impossible not to. the way she leaned in close when she talked, her perfume sweet and enticing, her lips always just a little too close. the way she made you feel like the only person in the room, even in a crowd.

୨୧ not everyone saw her the way you did. when someone from your social circle made a snide comment about her, you didn’t hesitate to defend her. “she’s smarter than all of you combined,” you snapped, your voice colder than ice. “and she’s got more heart than you’ll ever understand.”

୨୧ it was after that that she started pulling away. her laughter came less easily, her touch less frequent.

୨୧ “you don’t get it,” she told you one night, her voice brittle. “i’m… broken. you shouldn’t—”

୨୧ “jinx,” you interrupted, your tone firm but gentle. “i’m from a legacy family. and, according to my family, i "choose" to like girls. i’m definitely fucked up. so how could i judge you?”

୨୧ she stared at you for a long moment, her eyes softening, and for the first time, she was at a loss for words.

୨୧ your first kiss wasn’t rushed or reckless. it was quiet, heavy with the weight of everything building between you. 

୨୧ you were sitting together on the roof of her sister’s apartment, the city lights stretching out below, and she was looking at you like she wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

୨୧ “you’re staring,” you teased, your voice barely above a whisper.

୨୧ “yeah,” she said, her grin softer than you’d ever seen it. “so what?”

୨୧ before you could answer, she leaned in, her lips brushing against yours like a question. when you didn’t pull away, she kissed you deeper, her hand cupping your jaw, her thumb tracing your cheekbone.

୨୧ she tasted like strawberry chapstick and danger, and you never wanted to let her go. when she finally pulled back, her forehead resting against yours, she smiled.

୨୧ “told you,” she murmured, her voice soft and warm. “you’re stuck with me now.”

୨୧ you smiled back, cheeks aching. "i'm not stuck. i'm right where i want to be." ୨୧ she leaned back, dragging you into her lap. a slender finger dipped into your skirt's waistband and fingered the lace dip of your panties. your breath hitched, and she kissed your throat. "c'mon. lemme hear you, mama."

୨୧ from that moment on, you were hers—completely, irrevocably hers.

p.s you say fuck it, choose her over your fuck ass homophobic family, get disowned, get married, start a million dollar engineering empire, & have isha. 

sevika: the older student.

୨୧ you first noticed her in your advanced biochem lab—all sharp angles and calculated movements, her mechanical arm gleaming under fluorescent lights as she measured solutions with military precision. 

୨୧ sevika was notorious among grad students: brilliant, ruthless, and absolutely not interested in working with undergrads. which made it particularly unfortunate when professor silco paired you together for the semester's research project.

୨୧ she was older than most students—whispers said she dropped out years ago and came back after “handling some things.” no one was brave enough to ask what that meant, but her reputation kept most people at arm’s length.

୨୧ her expression when your name was called could have curdled milk. you lifted your chin, met her gaze steadily, and pretended your heart wasn't racing. 

୨୧ sevika didn’t bother to introduce herself. she just crossed her arms over her broad chest and grumbled, “you’re doing the talking.” her voice was low, almost lazy.

୨୧ "i'm not carrying dead weight," she said at your first session. you noticed a scar bisecting her left eye, the way her jaw clenched when she spoke. "if we're doing this, we do it my way." “thought you said i’d be talking,” you snapped back.

୨୧ 'her way' meant late nights in the lab, your designer clothes traded for practical cotton, hair pulled back from your face. she worked you relentlessly, expecting perfection in every measurement, every calculation. but beneath her harsh exterior, you caught glimpses of something else—the way she'd correct your form without mockery, how she'd appear with coffee when your hands started shaking from exhaustion.

୨୧ it was after one of these late sessions that it happened. you were walking back to your dorm, mind fuzzy with fatigue and feet stumbling, when rough hands grabbed you from behind. before you could scream, a low voice cut through the darkness: "let her go, or i remove your hands permanently."

୨୧ sevika stood there, golden eyes burning in the streetlight, her mechanical arm whirring softly. the would-be mugger took one look at her and ran. you stayed frozen, heart thundering in your chest, until she clicked her tongue in disapproval. “get it together, princess. come on."

୨୧ she led you to an alcove and watched you flutter with delayed panic like a bird, mouth twisted with an unreadable expression. "you need to learn to defend yourself," she said finally. it wasn't a suggestion. you opened your mouth to argue, but she cut you off. “gym. tomorrow. six am. wear something you can actually move in."

୨୧ that's how you found yourself spending your mornings with sevika, learning to throw punches and break holds. she was a harsh teacher, but her hands were surprisingly gentle when correcting your stance. "again," she'd say, and you'd try to ignore how your skin tingled where she touched.

୨୧ soon enough, she started showing up wherever you were—whether it was a coffee shop, the library, or your favorite bench on campus. “just passing through,” she claimed. still, the way she always ended up sitting beside you said otherwise. she knew you were anxious, your body tensing whenever someone passed by. your airpods haven’t been in noise cancellation mode for three weeks.

୨୧ her mechanical arm fascinated you. one day, you asked about it, your curiosity outweighing your hesitation. she shrugged, but you caught the faintest twitch of a smile when you told her you thought it was beautiful.

୨୧ the project evolved, and so did whatever was growing between you. she started letting you help maintain her arm, teaching you the intricate mechanisms. your fingers would brush as you worked, and sometimes she'd let them linger. "careful," she'd murmur, but you were never sure if she meant with the machinery or with her.

୨୧ in these moments, she had a way of looking at you that made your stomach flip—like she was sizing you up, deciding if you’re worth her time. 

୨୧ you began to seek her out. the first time you loitered in the parking lot of her condo, fingers twitching nervously as you texted that you stopped by. she opened the door and lounged against the doorway, thick thighs bared by her boxers and skin gleaming from a recent workout. she laughed as you gasped and turned away.

୨୧ “what the fuck, sevika!” “princess, we have the same parts. they probably would feel real nice pushed togeth—“ “SEVIKA.”

୨୧ she pushed you out of your comfort zone in quiet, deliberate ways. you’re dragged to the campus bar, taught how to play pool (and lose), and laughing when you scratch on the break. “you’re hopeless, princess,” she teased, her smirk revealing her perfect gap teeth.

୨୧ her teasing was relentless, and she always called you “princess” and sometimes “baby girl” like it was on your birth certificate. you flushed every time, which only encouraged her.

୨୧ the first time you successfully pinned her during a self-defense session, she actually laughed—a rich, surprised sound that made your heart stutter. "not bad, baby girl,” she said, still beneath you, her organic hand warm on your hip. you became acutely aware of your position, of how close her face was to yours. neither of you moved for a long moment.

୨୧ if you’re becoming way too possessive of her, sue you. you’re the only undergrad who’s smuggled yourself under her wing and you’d like to keep it that way, goddamnit. you were never good at sharing anyway.

୨୧ it came to a head at an afterparty, your eye twitching as you watched some bitch (sorry!) trace her talons across sevika’s waist, which was framed admirably by a dark pair of jeans that were practically painted on.

୨୧ it only took a few seconds for you to stomp across the room and root a hand around her neck, drawing her into a searing kiss. you kissed her like you were trying to draw juice from her lips, moaning as she tugged you in closer.

୨୧ she kissed like she fought—precise, demanding, taking no prisoners. she backed you against the counter, knocking over a bottle of malibu, mechanical hand cool against your hips. “didn’t know you had it in you,” she laughed. “shut up, sevika. my god.” you grabbed her collar, reeled her back in.

୨୧ "you're my special girl,” she'd tell you later, tracing patterns on your skin with metal fingers. “the only one i give a fuck about. no competition.” her voice was bleeding with affection, and you curled into her side. she pressed kisses to your hair and leaned over to set an alarm for the both you—one for her, four for you.

୨୧ it worked, somehow—your refined, gilded edges against her sharp ones. you learned to throw a punch; she learned that you would lock her out if she didn’t allow you to spoil her relentlessly. “princess, i already have a bike.” “keep talking, honey, and i’ll purchase the whole dealership.” “now—“

୨୧ "you're trying to kill me slowly,” she grumbled, watching you charm your way through department gatherings. but she'd be there anyway, a solid presence at your back, her mechanical hand resting possessively at your waist. and when you'd lean into her touch, she'd hide her smile in your hair.

୨୧ if anyone found it strange to see the ice princess curled up in the lap of the most feared grad student on campus, well, one look from sevika's narrowed eyes was enough to silence any commentary.

୨୧ you were a fucking princess, both in real life and in her bed, but fuck you were hers. and sevika protected what was hers.

ambessa medarda : the professor. 

୨୧ you first saw her across a dimly lit hotel bar. you were three drinks in, mascara smeared from crying after the worst fight yet with your mother. "disappointing," she'd called you. "ungrateful." all because you refused to date the son of her country club friends.

୨୧ “mommy, please,” you’d sobbed. “i’m not ungrateful. i just don’t love him.” she’d left you with the dial tone.

୨୧ you rubbed a fist across your face like a child, attempting to gather yourself. your phonecall was denied again, and you winced at the tinny voice of your mother’s voicemail, setting it down and turning it off. god, this was the worst thing to happen to you in a long time. 

୨୧ with a sigh, you glanced up at the mirror behind the bar. she was looking right back. 

୨୧ the woman was striking—white locs swept into an elegant updo, wearing a low-cut red dress that hugged her body tightly. she moved like a lioness, back flexing as she hunkered down over the glossy wood. her golden eyes met yours, and your stomach began to spin. you knew this was the beginning of a dangerous game.

୨୧ after a minute she walked over, hands bearing water instead of another drink. "crying in bars rarely solves anything, little one," she said, her accent rich and heady. when you tried to argue, she simply raised an eyebrow, and you found yourself downing the glass in its entirety. 

୨୧ you kept eye contact as you swallowed, tongue peeking out to lap at the remnants along your lips.

୨୧ you don't remember who moved first. but you remember her hands—strong, calloused—gripping your thighs. remember her voice, rough with want, whispering against your neck. remember the way she claimed you, leaving mottled marks you'd find days later.

୨୧ you remember waking up alone in her hotel room, a glass of water and two aspirin on the nightstand. no note. just the lingering scent of her perfume—spiced and earthy—on the sheets.

୨୧ you tried to forget her. tried to forget how she'd called you “sweet girl” when you'd bitten her shoulder, how she'd laughed darkly and pinned your hands above your head, called you “easy” when you sobbed out pitiful demands for her to go harder and faster, do destroy you from the inside out.

୨୧ then came the first day of advanced military history.

୨୧ "good morning, class. i'm professor medarda."

୨୧ your blood ran cold. there she stood—your favorite fantasy, your most well-spent drunken night—looking devastatingly beautiful in a tailored suit. her eyes found yours immediately, and you saw the recognition flash in them, followed by something darker, more primal.

୨୧ you tried to drop the class. she denied your request personally.

୨୧ "running away?" she asked during mandatory office hours, pouring tea from an ornate set. "that's not the fierce girl i remember. you scratched me all up.”

୨୧ your cheeks burned. "professor—"

୨୧ "ambessa," she corrected, sliding the tea across her desk. “i think we’re past the formalities.”

୨୧ you couldn't avoid her. she called on you in class, her voice caressing your name. kept you after lectures to "discuss your work." you told yourself the tension would fade.

୨୧ it didn't.

୨୧ "i need a teaching assistant," she announced one evening, when you'd stayed too late reviewing your paper. "someone sharp. strategic. devoted.” her fingers brushed yours as she took your empty teacup. "interested?"

୨୧ you should have said no. you should have viewed her wolfish grin as a red flag, grabbed your shit, and hauled ass. instead, you heard yourself say, “of course.”

୨୧ being her TA meant late nights in her office, her perfume making you dizzy with memories. meant watching her command rooms full of students while remembering how she'd commanded your body. it meant pretending you couldn't feel her eyes on you, hungry and possessive.

୨୧ "we should establish some boundaries,” you said finally, after weeks of delicious torture.

୨୧ "should we?" she moved like a predator, backing you against her desk. "or should we discuss how you keep shivering when i get too close?"

୨୧ your breath caught. "this is inappropriate."

୨୧ “mmm, entirely," she agreed, one hand sliding into your hair, the other around your neck. “now, tell me to stop."

୨୧ you didn’t. 

୨୧ “little minx,” she murmured and you kissed her, surging forward and into her lap.

୨୧ it became your secret—stolen moments in her office after hours, weekends at her apartment where she'd cook elaborate dishes and tear your papers to shreds, nights where she'd make you forget your own name and squeal hers.

୨୧ “good girl” she'd murmur against your skin, switching to noxian when you drove her too far. she ordained you with names that meant something far more possessive and crude in her native tongue.

୨୧ the whole thing made you feel deliciously stained and you sought her out to purify you time and time again. you kept it hidden until graduation. until you had your degree in hand and nothing left to lose.

୨୧ the scandal was delicious—respected professor medarda and her former student, now openly living together. your mother was horrified. society whispered.

୨୧ "regrets?" ambessa asked one morning, watching you sip the spiced coffee you'd grown to love.

୨୧ you thought of that night at the bar, of all the paths that led you here. "never."  it turned out some mistakes are worth making twice.

© hcneymooners.

[cupcakeeees]

“Steering Right Into Trouble”

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: what could go wrong with an F1 driver by your side? It’s just driving.. right?

word count: 1k

The first time Lando offered to teach you how to drive, you thought he was joking.

“Trust me, you’re in good hands,” he’d grinned, keys dangling from his fingers. “What could possibly go wrong?”

Famous last words.

It started with you sitting stiffly in the driver’s seat, hands gripping the wheel like your life depended on it. Lando sat beside you, far too relaxed for what was about to happen.

“Okay,” he began, his tone calm and reassuring. “Adjust your mirrors, check your seat position, and remember to breathe. It’s just a car..”.

You shot him a side-eye. He laughed.

“Alright, first thing, gently press the gas. Just a little. Remember, the car isn’t going to-”

The car lurched forward as your foot pressed harder than you intended. Lando’s hand shot out, grabbing the handbrake instinctively.

“Okay, not that much!” he yelped, his voice an octave higher than usual.

“Sorry! I’m sorry!” you squeaked, your hands tightening around the wheel like it was your lifeline.

“It’s fine. Totally fine,” he said quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“That’s why I’m here, yeah? Just.. maybe try pressing the pedals like they’re made of glass, not concrete.”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “Lando, I’m so bad at this!”

“No, you’re not,” he said with a chuckle, his voice softer now as he gently tugged your hand off your face. “You’re just learning. Besides, I’ve got the handbrake. Worst-case scenario, we spin out in an empty parking lot. No big deal.”

Over the next hour, Lando swung between being the calm, collected professional driver and a man on the brink of a heart attack.

“Okay, now let’s try turning,” he said, resting one hand lightly on the wheel to demonstrate. “Slowly, just ease into it.”

You started the turn, but as the wheel slipped from your grasp slightly, you panicked. “It’s moving on its own!”

“Yeah, because that’s how physics works,” he said, laughing as he reached over to grab the wheel and guide it. “Just keep your hands steady. I’ve got it if anything happens.”

“You’re regretting this, aren’t you?” you muttered, cheeks burning.

“No, no!” he insisted, though the way he adjusted the wheel with one hand and clung to the door handle with the other told a different story. “This is great!”

After several missteps, and a very close call with a stray traffic cone, you finally managed a smooth lap around the parking lot. Lando clapped his hands.

He leaned closer, putting an encouraging hand on your thigh. “You’re doing better than you think.”

“Really?” the tension in your shoulders easing slightly.

“Yeah,” flicking your nose playfully. “Now, want to try some parallel parking?”

Your groan echoed through the car, and he burst out laughing. “You really don’t want your car to survive today, do you?”

The peaceful atmosphere didn’t last long because the next disaster struck when you accidentally pressed the accelerator instead of the brake during a turn.

The car jerked forward, and Lando’s hand shot out to steady the wheel while his other hand reached for the handbrake.

“Brake!” he yelped

“I am!” your voice high-pitched with panic.

“Press harder!” he said, still clutching the wheel. “It’s not going to break, I promise - just PRESS IT!”

You managed to stop the car, both of you breathing heavily in the aftermath. Lando let out a shaky laugh, leaning back in his seat.

Despite your frustration, you couldn’t help but do the same, shaking your head at him. “Be honest. How bad am I?”

“Honestly?” He paused for effect, his grin widening. “Pretty terrible. But you’ve got potential.”

As the “lesson” drew to a close, the sun dipping low in the sky, you pulled the car to a stop and turned to him, your own smile faltering slightly. “Thanks for putting up with me.”

“Putting up with you?” he repeated, his brows furrowing. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling the keys from the ignition. “You’re lucky I didn’t crash your car.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t bail halfway through,” he shot back.

You were finally back in the passenger seat, where you belonged. Lando took over, effortlessly handling the wheel, every movement smooth and confident.

“See?” he teased, one hand lazily resting at the top of the steering wheel while he smirked at you. “This is how you’re supposed to do it.”

You shot him a glare, slouching in your seat exhausted. “Not everyone drives for a living, you know.”

He chuckled, eyes flicking toward you briefly, “You look a lot more comfortable here anyway,” he teased, tapping your seat.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing. Just.. you’re a pretty cute passenger princess. My passenger princess..”

You crossed your arms, trying to act unbothered while your cheeks betrayed you, burning bright pink even after all this time. “Oh, I see how it is, Norris! What? You didn’t like being my passenger princess?”

Lando only laughed quietly to himself, drumming his fingers against the wheel, as his other hand found yours across the console.

And so, the ride back felt easier than the whole lesson combined, even if your heart was racing faster than his car.

[geezmarty]

Curtain Falling BTS! ✨

We're halfway through the month, which means you still have a couple weeks to grab my 2024 Shortbox Fair Comic, Curtain Falling!

I wanted to thank you for your support so far (many of you said the nicest things about it and I'm really glad you liked it!! It's the work I'm proudest of yet!) and what better way to do that than show you a BIT of the concepts and history behind it.

I will try to be as spoiler free as possible but I can't stress it enough: I think this comic is best experienced going in completely blind save for the brief description on the site.

But you can do whatever you like, so read on if you want.

I came up with the first concepts for Curtain Falling in 2021. At the time I was itching to try my hand at a short visual novel on Renpy (something that I'm still itching to do and that I may do?? Maybe soon??? My biggest maybe. Stay tuned on this page) and so I sat down and wrote a little something that didn't end up going anywhere.

(Some of the very first concepts I drew!)

The idea for the visual novel was simple, and actually very similar to the final comic: you'd get to play out a different fairy tale at a time, the eye and the mysterious woman would always be there, and the more you played the more you would find out about the truth. I always knew what the eye and the woman were, I think the only thing that changed along the way was the very ending and some details here and there (maybe I'll do a follow up about that after the fair is over).

(I drew this one while actively working on the comic but I feel like if I had stuck with the visual novel idea, this could be considered a concept for the "pick your fighter" screen)

After I shelved the idea, the concept just sort of sat untouched in my WIP folder for a long time. I would occasionally pick it up to roll it in my hands but I couldn't find an ending that felt satisfying to me.

Proto designs from 2021. The mysterious woman didn't change much but the protagonist is kind of unrecognizable to me lol

Of course, at some point last year after being accepted into the fair I was like well you know which story I'd like to tackle again. That's right. The perfect ending actually came to me halfway through production (I was set on just using what I had written down because a project that's finished is always better than a project that doesn't exist even if it's not as good) but the idea just struck me and I was actually pretty divided between it and keeping what I had gotten used to.

It was only after I was on call with a couple of friends that I decided - I presented both ideas and they GASPED and went "You HAVE to use the new one!!" that I was like well you're right actually. Let's go. This is all very cryptic if you're still here without having read the comic so what are you waiting for? You could find out what made my friends gasp if you go read it now.

There's more BTS to share but I don't want to give away too much so I'll leave you with a bit of fanart I drew in celebration of the fair starting. Thank you for reading!

[loycos]

what did you make of the scene where caitlyn hits vi ? the timing of the blow was so unexpected to me…she was kinda steadying herself and then WHAM. What was going through her head ? Was she making some kind of decision ? Mind still reeling that she chose (?) to gut punch Vi to signal the end of their relationship.

well, i dont exactly know what made her make this decision. it looks like a momentary lashout based on rage. i think her rage comes from a place of betrayal, so she wants to make vi as hurt as that betrayal feels.

i actually think the "misunderstanding" thats happening here is very well written. clearly we as the audience see that caitlyn is becoming more and more unhinged. vi sees it as well. caitlyn might have missed the shot and killed a kid- her composure at that moment was very much shaken. most people, given this scenario, would choose to opt out. so to us, caitlyn being so insistent feels callous and irretional. which, it is. but lets look at it from caitlyn's perspective.

so, caitlyn feels a lot of guilt about the fact she didnt shoot jinx back at the dinner table. its very well established. she mainly blames herself, but i think a small subconscious part of her also blames vi- vi is the one who got her to hesitate, after all. the fact that she "messed up" last time and that caused so much grief and pain not only to herself, but to the 2 cities, makes her EXTREMELY determined to NEVER make that mistake again.

vi told caitlyn to not bring back up, so basically, theyre each other's only support. caitlyn agreed, that means that to her she put 100% of her trust in vi to help here and to have her back. vi told her, my sister is gone. when u have the chance, take the shot. caitlyn is convinced theyre on the same page here. so when vi turns on her, shes in utter disbelief, and she starts questioning whenever vi ever had HER best interest in mind.

thats why i think caitlyn is so obsessed with bringing up the idea of who's "side" vi is on. you could read it as "piltover vs zaun" but i think what she means is "me vs jinx". at the dinner party caitlyn didnt shoot because of vi, and she wonders whether or not the girl she sacrificed everything for would do the same for her.

and at that moment, after she missed her shots, again, because of vi, she comes to the realization that vi would never choose her over jinx. and she flips out.

now. thats how CAITLYN sees it, im pretty sure. we know there are other things at play that have affected vi's decision, and that caitlyn currently is not seeing the bigger picture. but that's what i think she felt that drew this severe of a reaction from her.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 4,988 Pairing: Negan Smith x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria, after the war, Negan is imprisoned Warnings: language, innuendo (duh, it's Negan), injury, fear and anxiety, frightening scenarios Summary: Returning after the run, Daryl gives Negan a talking to and things between Negan and the reader seem like they may have changed. A/N: oh shit, oh sHIT, OH SHIT Previous part

“Well, here we are again,” you sighed, tugging open the door of Negan’s cell.

“Home, sweet home,” he quipped, staring inside. He rubbed a hand over his short hair briefly, hesitating only for a moment before he stepped inside and turned to stand in the space where the door would soon close. “Can’t exactly say I’m glad to be back.”

You had your own mixed feelings again as you shut the door and the thunk of the heavy metal latch slid into place, securely locking him inside. What would be required for him to truly earn the next step of more freedom? He’d stayed when he could have run. Surely that was something, but uncertainty churned in your stomach. You paused, one of your hands coming to grip one of the bars. You could almost taste the tension like smoke in the air. “I—I just wanted to say—”

“—that you had a fucking amazing time out there with me and you’re completely heartbroken to see it end?” he interrupted, smiling at you. “Oh, and you regret not jumpin’ my bones while you had the chance, of course.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help smiling a little yourself. “I wanted to say thank you. I’m fully aware that the entire situation could’ve been—you could’ve made it much worse. You could’ve left. Hell, you could’ve probably killed me if you wanted to…”

Negan’s expression grew serious. “Like I said before, I don’t want to hurt you. And I have no intention of doing so.”

“Negan, if it came down to me or your freedom—”

“I wouldn’t,” he said strongly. “I already chose to stay, didn’t I? I’m—not even entirely sure why myself,” he laughed dryly. “Might regret that when I’m staring at these same four fuckin’ walls again in a few minutes.”

You felt your cheeks warm with an inexplicable flush again and you had to break the gaze between the two of you. “Well,” you said, dropping your grip on the bar, “thank you, Negan.”

He couldn’t help smiling when you said his name and he leaned forward on the bars now himself at the same moment you drew back. “Have I told you that I love the sound of my name leaving your lips, darlin’? Say it again,” he grinned. “I’m gonna imagine all kinds of scenarios in my head where you’re sayin’ my name as soon as you’re out of here…”

“Stop,” you reprimanded him.

“Aw, come on! You’ve gotta give me a little play here. Was I not a total gentleman on the outside? I kept my hands completely to myself on our dinner date.”

“Dinner date? That’s what you’re going to call heating up MREs while we were trapped in a basement with a mummified dead guy?”

He rubbed a hand over the stubble on his face, chuckling a little. “Yeah! It seems pretty on-brand for the apocalypse. And by the way—don’t think I wasn’t tempted to get a little handsy. You were wearing my spare layer after all, and it’s only natural that I thought about what it’d be like to take it off of you and keep going.”

“Enough, Negan!” you snapped, completely aware that your face had to be bright red from the feeling of the heat washing over you. “Jesus!”

“Too far?” he asked, still grinning.

You ignored him. “Daryl is gonna bring you lunch.”

“Daryl? Wait—why?”

You were already heading toward the door but you turned to look back at him, continuing your progress out with a few backwards steps. You shrugged. “Dunno. He said he wanted a word with you.”

Negan swore under his breath. “Shit… He’s probably gonna give me another lecture.”

You smiled and shrugged. “Probably. I’d behave if I were you, if you ever hope to see four different walls again. I’ll see you this evening.”

“Hey! Wait!” he called after you once more as your hand was on the door. “You should go get that hand looked at. Even if they can’t stitch it, you should make sure it’s not infected! I mean look at the state of the bandage, doll.”

You did glance down at it and it was grey with dirt and dust. “Yeah, alright. I will. I’ll see you this evening, okay?”

It wasn’t long before Daryl came thudding into the room with a tray for Negan. Negan looked up from his seat on his cot and rested his book (one of the ones you’d brought for him) over his knee.

The archer put the tray down and kicked it through the slot a little abruptly, sloshing some of the water out of the cup. Negan cast his eyes up toward Daryl’s scowl. He saw the muscle in his jaw tense. He couldn’t help smiling at him. “Problem?” he asked.

“Might be,” Daryl drawled, crossing his arms, “if ya ain’t careful.”

“Oh, I’m always careful, Daryl,” Negan said, leaning back as if at his ease.

“I saw the way ya were lookin’ at Y/N out there today.”

The smile on Negan’s face faded slowly. “How was I looking?”

“You know how and I know how,” Daryl growled, pointing at him emphatically through the bars.

Negan shrugged and tried to play it off, but his heart was hammering nervously in his chest.

“I dunno what happened out there or what you think is happenin’ with Y/N, but ya better watch yerself, asswipe. If I hear of the slightest thing that’s off, if I suspect any of this ‘good behavior’ shit is an act, tha’s it. It’ll be the end of all your free time outside of these bars. Ya can rot in here for all I care. Ain’t like ya dun deserve to. And if I find out that yer tryin’ to pull some bullshit over on Y/N, if yer tryin’ to manipulate yer way outta this cell—I’ll kill ya myself.” His blue eyes were fierce and sharp and Negan gulped uneasily beneath them.

“Daryl—”

“Nah,” he snapped. “I dun give a shit about a thing ya gotta say. ‘M just warnin’ ya, Negan. Got it?”

Negan licked his lips and nodded. “Yeah. Oh, I’ve got it hotrod,” he said, following it up with a smirk, just to annoy Daryl.

“Good.” And he stalked out.

The day got away from you, mainly from sorting through the supplies, helping with the rationing, and getting yourself cleaned up after the long ordeal outside the walls and a little better rested. It was already evening before you remembered you’d meant to stop into the clinic about your hand. Anyone in the clinic surely would have left for the night already, and since it wasn’t a pressing issue, you decided instead to change the dressing yourself and check in with Siddiq in the morning.

Instead, you got a tray of food ready and headed back down the dim street toward the jail. When the door swung open you saw Negan standing at the small window of his cell, trying to perhaps soak in the last bit of light as the sun went down. He had his small lantern lit already and it cast everything in a warm orange glow. He turned at the sound of your footsteps and greeted you with a small smile before ambling over toward the cell door, hands in his pockets.

“You alright?” you asked, sensing something in the air.

“Peachy, doll,” he said. “Daryl and I had a swell chat earlier.”

You sighed heavily and gave him an apologetic look. “I hope he wasn’t too tough on you. I told him you were a huge help outside the walls.”

“Oh, he just threatened to kill me again is all,” Negan said, sinking down on the floor close to the door, fiddling with the empty water cup on the tray. “No big deal.”

You set his full dinner tray down on the chair beside you and copied his position on the floor outside the bars. “He’s—just protective. We’ve been through a lot together.”

Negan chuckled. “Protective is an understatement,” he said, scratching at his beard thoughtfully, leaning back with his palms on the cold floor. “I can’t blame him though. A guy like me with a history like mine? I probably deserve more than a little threatening.”

You gulped, feeling torn about agreeing with him or not, so you stayed silent. That divided feeling that sat somewhere deep in your chest was becoming familiar. There was a beat of silence and Negan could read worry on your face. He wanted to pull you out of it.

“Hey—you look great, doll,” he said softly. It was almost a whisper.

You glanced up at him, one of your eyebrows arching up in a question. Then you glanced down at yourself and laughed. “I showered and changed into clean clothes. It’s not like I’m in a ballgown, Negan.”

“You don’t need to be. I’d take you covered in walker guts if the opportunity presented itself,” he said with a grin.

You winced. “Gross,” you retorted. “I think you have issues.”

“Unequivocally,” he agreed. “Doesn’t mean what I said isn’t true.”

You shook your head and sighed a little. Over his shoulder, you noticed the book sitting open on his cot. “Which one did you go for?” you asked, nodding toward it.

“Oh, the western, of course. Cowboys and damsels in distress? Shoot-outs? ‘This town ain’t big enough for the both of us?’ Fuck yeah,” he said, glancing back at you, still smiling. “Thanks again, for bringing me those by the way. It’s a big improvement over the one I’ve read fifteen fuckin’ times.”

You hated that you noticed the crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled and the deep dimples in his cheeks, nearly hidden in the scruff of his beard. You ducked your head, nodding and trying to clear your throat of the inexplicable tightness that had materialized there. “No problem.” Your eyes landed again on the lunch tray sitting by the slot. You were about to reach for it when you caught sight of the pebbly red shapes still on the plate. You frowned. “You didn’t touch your raspberries,” you said, nodding toward the tray in front of Negan.

“Yeah, actually, I saved them for you,” he said, nodding toward them. “You said they’re your favorite and since the crop was bad this year from the drought... you should have them. You deserve them more than me.” He nudged his tray slightly back toward the slot so you’d be able to reach them if you slipped your hand through.

You looked at him curiously for a moment, a little surprised by this particular consideration, and then reached your hand through to grab one. Before your fingers could touch the ruby red fruit, you let out a small gasp of surprise as Negan’s hand closed softly around yours. He hadn’t moved quickly. On the contrary, it was slow and fluid but you were somehow still shocked by the sudden contact. His touch was warm and gentle. His thumb smoothed over the back of your hand and slipped underneath to your palm. He turned your hand palm up so it rested in his and his thumb traced the lines from your wrist up toward your fingertips then drifted back down and pressed lightly into the concave center of your palm and ghosted up the graceful shape of your thumb. You were frozen, stunned by his touch, your lips slightly parted and your eyes a little wide, a little hesitant and questioning. You felt as if your heart had stopped and your lungs refused to work. You were finally able to tear your eyes from your hand in his, back up to meet his gaze. His expression, his hazel eyes were astonishingly soft.

“‘M sorry, doll. I didn’t mean to startle you. I couldn’t help myself,” he whispered, drawing his hand back from yours. His eyes searched yours, trying to read what you were thinking. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that since I bandaged up that other hand of yours. You have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve really had any human touch?” Your hand hovered in the air for a moment once his fingers left, and Negan picked up the remaining berries and dropped them into your palm. Your skin was still tingling from the contact and you couldn’t be sure if your heart was beating or not.

You blinked, trying to break whatever spell had settled over you, and then hurriedly grabbed his empty tray and got to your feet, nearly stumbling back from the bars.

Negan rose slowly, watching you carefully, suddenly anxious. “You alright, doll? Was that—”

“I’m fine,” you cut him off quickly. “I just—I should go,” you said hastily. You grabbed the tray with his evening meal off the chair beside you and pushed it through the slot where it hit the toes of Negan’s boots.

He nodded, his eyes narrowed as he tried to read what was going on in your head. “Okay. Hey—before you go, what’d the doc say about your sliced up hand anyway?”

“Oh, uhh—I didn’t get over there today. Just—got busy. I’ll go by in the morning,” you said, already backing out toward the door.

Negan nodded. You looked half-frantic and he felt another pang of anxiety. Perhaps that had been too much… “Y/N—Look, I’m sorry if that was—”

“No, no. It’s fine. I’m fine! It’s all fine,” you said hurriedly, your heart racing now. You felt slightly light-headed.

“Are you sure? Because I think you turned those raspberries into jam,” Negan said, glancing down at your hand and there was red juice dripping out between your fingers and dotting the floor. In the low light, you could’ve mistaken it for blood.

“Shit,” you swore, looking at the remnants in your hand. “Fuck me, what a mess… I—I’ll clean that up… later.”

Negan watched, perplexed and worried as you hurriedly left without another word, his brow furrowed heavily over his hazel eyes. Fuck. Had he royally fucked up? Maybe he’d be seeing Daryl sooner rather than later…

_ _ _ _ _ _

You’d hardly slept. You were overwhelmed by what you’d felt when Negan had simply held your hand in his, had run his fingers over the underside of your wrist and across the back of your hand. Your stomach was churning and you were unsettled all night, tossing and turning on your mattress and staring up at the ceiling watching the shadows change while sleep evaded you.

Fuck. This was a mess. What the fuck were you thinking? No—better question: what the fuck were you feeling? This was Negan. The man who had psychologically tormented your entire group, who had wielded the bat and murdered two of your beloved family members in front of you, who had tortured Daryl and nearly starved your community, who had ordered his men to shoot your people with poisoned arrowd.

But another voice answered. He’s not the same though, is he? He’s not him. Not anymore. You know he’s different.

It doesn’t matter. He still did all those things.

It does matter. Or do you not believe in redemption? In rehabilitation? In hope? If there’s no chance of redemption, shouldn’t you all have just killed him after the war? Why keep him alive now if there’s no future for him even if he is changed?

Fuck!

You kicked the covers off and rubbed your hands over your face as you sat up on the edge of the bed. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You looked down at the bandage on your hand and remembered his concern outside the walls, not just for himself but for you. And he stayed. Surely that meant something.

Fuck.

You headed into the bathroom and poured some water into the basin, splashing it as best you could over your face with your uninjured hand. Better just start the day. Sleep wasn’t coming. You just needed to put what you felt, whatever that was that you felt, aside and do your job. Compartmentalize. You could do that. Right? You were wracked with self-doubt. Maybe you should stop before this went any farther… Maybe you should go back to Michonne and Daryl and tell them—tell them… what? That you somehow were developing feelings for Negan? Fuck. No. No, you couldn’t do that. You could handle this. It wasn’t a big deal. It was one touch. You could compartmentalize. It’d all be fine…

Your train of thought was interrupted by a throbbing in your injured hand and you were grateful it gave you something else to focus on. Right. You’d better get it checked out. You pulled on some clothes and headed for the clinic.

The door was unlocked, which was a good sign that at least someone was in. You heard movement from the back as you walked in and Dante called out, “I’ll be right there!” from somewhere among the supply shelves.

You paced around for a moment and finally settled against a nearby exam table. He came breezing out in his white coat with a clipboard in his hand and greeted you with a smile.

“Sorry about that! Inventory, you know? Still my least favorite chore, but pretty important nowadays. So, what brings you in?”

“Oh, um, is Siddiq here by chance?” you asked. You knew Siddiq well from the council and generally were more comfortable with him.

Dante clicked his tongue. “He’s not in yet. Between the two of us, I’m the earlier riser so I usually come in first. Must be left over from my time in the military,” he explained with a good-natured smile. “If you’d like to come back later today, he’ll be in for sure. Otherwise, I’m happy to help now if you’re comfortable with that.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s no big deal. We’re just close from the council and everything. Thought I’d say hi. I’d rather just get it looked at, I guess. It’s just this gash on my hand from the run the other day and I just figured I should get it checked out and make sure it’s not infected or anything.”

“Alright,” he said, grabbing a pair of gloves and pulling them on. “Let’s take a look.” You started to unwrap the bandage as he set out a few items. “What’d you cut it on?” he asked.

“A sharp corner or something on a metal bracket,” you said.

“Oof,” he said, peeling off the last bit of gauze as the injury came into view. “Got yourself pretty good there! Well, let’s clean it up and have a look. This may sting a bit.”

“We flushed it out and cleaned it after it happened. It did take a while for it to stop bleeding. I was worried it'd need stitches.”

“I’m not surprised! It’s pretty deep!” he said, tossing aside the used alcohol swabs. “Any pain still? I mean, when you aren’t bumping it or trying to use this hand?” he asked, giving you a knowing look.

You shrugged. “Maybe a bit. It’s throbbing a little this morning. It’s not infected, is it?”

He examined it more closely and finally sighed and shook his head. “I don't think you have an infection, no, but it does look a little inflamed and irritated. You should be taking it easy with this,” he instructed you. “Try to limit use while it’s healing. And I’m gonna give you some anti-inflammatory pain meds that should help with any discomfort and the swelling—”

“Oh, no. Really, it’s not bad. I’m fine,” you tried to argue.

He smiled and shook his head. “Always having to act like a badass, Y/N. You and Daryl! Never taking medical advice,” he laughed. “Come on. Doctor’s orders,” he said. “I’ll be right back with them. Trust me. It’ll help.” He returned quickly with a cup of water and a couple pills for you.

You relented, seeing that he was going to insist, and took them before he re-dressed your hand.

“Big plans today?” he asked, skillfully finishing the bandaging with clean dressings.

You shook your head. “No. The usual. I need to head over to get Negan’s breakfast to him.”

“Good. That shouldn’t be too strenuous on the hand,” he laughed. “Alright. All finished up. Do you want me to let Siddiq know you were looking for him?” he asked, pulling off his gloves.

You waved him off. “No, no. It’s okay. I’m sure we’ll bump into each other soon. Thanks for your help.”

“No problem. And I mean it, take it easy with that hand! Let it heal up! Come back and see me if you have any more problems.” You waved goodbye to Dante and thanked him once more before you left. Alexandria was just starting to wake up, and you headed to grab a few things from the pantry and prepared something to take down to Negan. You wondered if he was even awake yet. He hadn’t slept while you’d been outside the walls. He might be sleeping still. Maybe you should wait… The sun was just streaking the morning sky with pinks and oranges. Your stomach flipped as you again thought of what had happened last night and you did your best to swallow down your anxiety. Were you just trying to postpone seeing him? You groaned internally at yourself.

Fuck it. What did it matter if he was awake or not? You had his damn breakfast ready you might as well just drop it off.

You unlocked the outside door and pushed inside. Turns out, he was already awake, laying on his back on his cot and bouncing a tennis ball off the wall and catching it on the rebound. He sat up hastily as you came in and looked at you hesitantly, like he was trying to read your expression carefully.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hi,” you returned. You set the full tray down on the chair outside his cell and retrieved the one sitting empty from the night before. Negan got up and slowly wandered toward the bars, tossing the tennis ball back and forth between his hands. You swapped out the empty tray for the one with his breakfast on it and straightened up, surprised to see him maybe a little over a mere foot from you, separated only by the bars. His eyes were flickering over your face and his expression was heavy and serious. You cleared your throat and gulped. “What?” you asked nervously.

“I just wanted to say—about last night—”

You lifted a hand to cut him off. “Negan—”

“—if that was too much or too sudden or—I’m sorry if—”

“Negan, let’s just forget about it,” you said, crossing your arms and avoiding his brilliantly hazel eyes.

He stopped trying to talk over you and licked his lips, pursing them thoughtfully for a moment. Your posture was guarded, but he forged ahead anyway. “Is that what you want? To forget about it?”

“What?”

He shrugged. “Is that what you want?” he asked again.

Just answer. Why couldn’t you get the answer out. Just say ‘yes.’ “I—”

His eyes were still flickering between yours and then journeying down to your lips. Your heart started to pound in your chest. “It’s just a simple question, doll. If that’s what you want—” he shrugged, “then we’ll forget about it.”

You were trying to answer, trying to dredge up a response when you suddenly felt dizzy and lifted a hand to your head, squeezing your eyes shut. You felt sick. You felt off. Something wasn’t right.

“…Doll?”

You reached out to grip one of the bars of Negan’s cell to steady yourself. It felt like the floor was slanting.

“Hey, hey—look at me, darlin’. What’s going on?”

You shook your head in an attempt to clear the growing fog. “I—I don’t know. I feel—dizzy and—”

Negan’s alarm increased as all the color seemed to drain from your face in an instant. “Hey, why don’t you sit down? You don’t look so good. Y/N? Can you hear me?”

Negan’s voice sounded like it was coming out of a drain in another room. It was warped and muffled and your equilibrium seemed to have all but disappeared. You were having a hard time keeping your eyes open and staying on your feet. The whole room was tilting.

“Hey! Y/N? Talk to me! Can you hear me? Sit down! You look like you’re about to faint! Look at me, darlin’!”

But Negan watched with horror as your body suddenly went limp and you pitched forward. He did what he could to try to stop your fall through the bars, but there wasn’t much he could do. He was in no position to be able to support you as you fell. Despite his best efforts, your head collided with a bar near the bottom of his cell and then you lay still on your stomach, crumpled on the floor.

“Oh, fuck! Shit! Y/N?” Negan shoved his tray out of the way and knelt down, reaching through the bars to caress your hair away from your face and lightly pat your cheek in an attempt to rouse you. “Y/N, you’ve gotta wake up, doll! Come on! Wake up! Open those beautiful eyes and look at me!” He gently lifted your head and his stomach clenched as he saw blood running down the side of your face and dripping onto the floor. “Open your eyes, darlin’! Look at me! Come on!” There was no response from you, no sign that you could hear him or were at all coming back to consciousness. “Fuck! Fuck!!” he growled, panicked, looking around for something to help—but how could he? He was locked in a fucking cell.

That’s it! Keys! You had to have your keys! Maybe he could get them and get out and help you—get you to help. He was about to start patting your pockets when he caught sight of them out of the corner of his eye sitting on the seat of the chair outside his cell, well out of reach.

“Fuck!” He hung his head, his mind spinning frantically. “Y/N? Come on, you’ve gotta wake up!” He gently shook you by your shoulder, but still, you didn’t rouse. He trained his eyes on your back and could at least see that your breathing seemed steady, if a little shallow. He was afraid to move you too much. He rushed to the small window. “HEY! HELP! WE NEED HELP IN HERE!” he roared as loud as he could, banging on the glass, but unless someone happened to walk by, there was little hope of anyone hearing him through the thick pane. The window was shut and locked up tightly. “FUCK!”

“Okay… Okay,” he breathed, rubbing his hands over his face. “Keys. I have to get the keys… what can I—what can I use?” He stood and searched his cell. He had nothing. He had nothing that could reach… He needed something long enough to reach the chair and it wasn’t like he had a walking stick or wire hangers or even a goddamn belt in his cell. His eyes finally settled on his cot. He quickly snatched the wool blanket off the top and ran back to the bars. He extended his arm out between two of the bars as far as he could and flipped the blanket up onto the seat of the chair. It landed on his empty evening tray which you’d set aside there. He pulled back slowly and the tray moved slightly before the blanket slid off. The keys were still sitting behind the tray near the back edge of the seat. He had to be careful not to knock them off the back… if he did, it’d be completely hopeless.

He tried again with the blanket, frantically. And again. And again. And, finally, the tray fell to the floor with a clatter, but your heavy ring of keys was sitting stubbornly still.

He constantly stopped and checked on you, called your name, smoothed his hand over your hair, and tried to wake you. But you stayed totally still, unconscious. He grabbed another blanket off his bed and cushioned your head but was too afraid to try to move you much more.

He returned to the wool blanket and had just flicked it onto the chair again when the outside door pushed in. Negan froze and looked up at the figure that had just entered. At first, he felt a wash of relief. “Hey—doc! You’ve gotta help her. She just collapsed—fainted or something,” he said, straightening up. “It wasn’t me, I swear. I don't know what the hell happened.” He dropped his blanket by his side and gripped onto the bars, his voice and expression urgent.

But Dante didn’t rush into action. Instead, he stared down at your crumpled figure on the floor and then casually checked the time on his watch. Negan looked on, confused, as Dante smiled.

“What the hell are you doing?” Negan demanded. "You're suppose to help her!"

“She’s right on time,” Dante said, casually pacing forward to stand over you.

Negan’s teeth clenched together. “Aren’t you going to help her?!” he asked, incredulous.

Dante only laughed, a chilling sound, and walked over to the chair, scooping up your ring of keys off the seat. “Were you trying for these?” he asked, jingling them at Negan.

Negan stared back, a heavy shadow falling over his face. “Yeah,” he nodded. “I was.”

[flowerbunnyboo]

RIDE OF VICTORY | back

starring: jake x male reader

summary: having sex in the car after your boyfriend hits the winning shot is a great way of celebrating his victory, right ?

nsfw

As the sun began to set, casting an orange glow over the campus, Jake made his way out of their shared dorm room, already dressed in his athletic gear. "Hey babe," he called out to Mn, who was lounging on the bed scrolling through his phone.

Mn looked up, flashing Jake a warm smile. "Hey yourself. You heading out now?"

Jake nodded, ruffling Mn's hair affectionately before leaning down to capture his lips in a quick, passionate kiss. "Yeah, gotta get to the gym early for some extra practice. Coach wants us to be at our best tonight."

Mn pouted slightly but understood the importance of preparation. "Alright, be careful out there. I'll see you after your match, okay?"

Jake winked at him. "You know it. Love you, beautiful ."

"I love you too, babe,"

With that, Jake headed out the door, his mind already focused on the upcoming game. He spent hours at the gym, honing his skills and visualizing every possible scenario on the court. Throughout the day, his thoughts kept drifting back to Mn - imagining how proud he'd look cheering Jake on from the stands, the feel of his strong arms around him after a win.

As the evening drew closer, Jake could barely contain his excitement. He showered and changed into his uniform, the familiar fabric feeling like a second skin. As he arrived at the arena, he scanned the crowd, his heart skipping a beat when he spotted Mn waving enthusiastically from the bleachers.

"Fuck, he looks amazing," Jake thought to himself, a surge of adrenaline coursing through him as he took to the court. The game was intense, with both teams giving it their all.

Just as Jake prepared to serve the winning point, his gaze locked onto Mn once again. Their eyes met, and in that instant, Jake felt a rush of emotion so powerful it almost threw off his focus. He grinned widely, putting everything he had into that final serve.

The ball sailed through the air, landing perfectly on the opponent's side of the net. Jake pumped his fist in triumph as the crowd erupted in cheers. His teammates rushed over to congratulate him, but all Jake could think about was getting to Mn.

"Let's go!" he exclaimed, practically sprinting off the court with his teammates trailing behind. He burst through the tunnel leading to the exit, not stopping until he reached Mn in the stands.

"I did it! We won!" Jake shouted, pulling Mn into a tight embrace as the crowd continued to chant their names.

"I'm so proud of you, baby," Mn said, beaming up at Jake with adoration. "You played incredible."

Jake leaned in, capturing Mn's lips in a searing kiss, the taste of victory mingling with the sweetness of their love. The world around them faded away as they lost themselves in each other's embrace.

After a moment, Jake broke the kiss, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Come on, let's get out of here," he urged, taking Mn's hand and leading him towards the parking lot.

Once inside Jake's car, they couldn't resist the urge to touch, to claim each other after such a high-stakes performance. Clothes were shed hastily, bodies entwined as they found solace in the heat of their passion.

"Fuck, I need you,"

Jake growled, his hands roaming over Mn's sweat-dampened skin as he pushed him down onto the passenger seat. Mn wrapped his legs around Jake's waist, pulling him closer.

"Me too, baby," Mn moaned, nipping at Jake's earlobe. "I want you so bad right now."

Without another word, Jake lined himself up and thrust deep inside Mn, groaning at the exquisite sensation of being buried to the hilt. They moved together in a frenzy of lust, the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh filling the confined space of the car.

"Oh god, yes," Jake panted, his hips snapping rapidly as he chased his release. "You feel so good, Mn. So fucking perfect."

Mn clung to Jake, his nails digging into the muscular planes of his back as he met each powerful thrust. "Harder, Jake! Fuck me harder!" he cried out, his voice raw with desire.

Jake complied eagerly, pounding into Mn with reckless abandon. The car rocked violently, the sound of the engine drowning out their primal grunts and moans. Sweat dripped down their faces, mingling as they kissed fiercely, tongues tangling in a dance as old as time.

"So close…fuck, I'm gonna come," Jake gasped, his movements becoming erratic as he neared the brink. Mn's inner walls clenched tightly around him, urging him onward.

"Do it, baby! Fill me up!" Mn begged, his own climax building rapidly.

With a roar, Jake drove deep one last time, his cock pulsating as he spilled his seed inside Mn. The sensation of Mn's body milking him dry sent Jake over the edge, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over him.

"Oh fuck, Mn…yes, just like that," Jake managed to gasp between shuddering breaths, still buried deep within his lover's heat. Mn's body convulsed around him, drawing out Jake's orgasm even further as he filled him completely.

Finally, Jake collapsed on top of Mn, their chests heaving as they struggled to catch their breath. Jake pressed soft kisses along Mn's jawline, murmuring words of love and praise.

"That was incredible, baby," Jake whispered, slowly withdrawing from Mn's spent body. "But we're not done yet."

Mn smiled lazily, reaching up to stroke Jake's cheek. "I wouldn't have it any other way, stud. Take me home and show me what else that mouth can do."

Jake chuckled, a wicked glint in his eye as he helped Mn sit up and straighten his clothes. "Oh, I plan to, baby. And maybe later, if you're lucky, I'll even let you return the favor."

With a playful nip to Mn's earlobe, Jake started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, already looking forward to round two. As they drove, Jake reached over to rest his hand on Mn's thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"You know, I never thought I'd find someone like you," Jake said softly, his thumb tracing circles on Mn's skin. "But I'm really glad I did."

©️ flowerbunnyboo 2024. all rights reserved to me. please don't copy my work or reshare without my permission and credit

[nadas-dirthalen]

Dragon Age: the Veilguard Was Packed with Lore — But Many of Us Overlooked It

— PART TWO —

[ 1 ]

Welcome back, friends and travellers. If you've been here a while, you'll know that I wrote 30,000 words of predictions in the week and a half before DA:tV released. But here's the most surprising thing—I was right, for the most part.

I spent my first Veilguard playthrough grinning (and then sobbing) at all the lore reveals. And here's the thing: I think most of us missed a lot of them, including even me.

So let's unpack some more.

Titans and Spirits: Dark and Light, Abyss and Fade, the Eternal Hymn and its Endless Listeners (2/2)

This is your warning: This post will contain spoilers for the entirety of Dragon Age: the Veilguard, and all Dragon Age content made before Veilguard.

I've spoken a lot about the titans before. In fact, they make up the bedrock (lol) of many of my pre-Veilguard theories. While a lot of what I said a month ago has since become canon in Veilguard, there's a lot that remains as speculation.

Today, I'm going to talk about why I still stand by my theory from October: that the titans and the spirits have far, far more in common than we think, and that this is of vital importance for the next game(s).

Today's Discussion:

What Solas' Creation and Harding's Personal Quest Have in Common

Not Only Do Titans Behave as Spirits... Spirits Behave as Titans

The Dark and the Light, Sundered

Atonement Solas' Promise: He (Still) Seeks Regeneration

What Solas' Creation and Harding's Personal Quest Have in Common

Thanks to Veilguard (and the hints that came before it, if you're coming here from my previous posts), we know that Solas and Harding have far more in common than they think. Both are inexorably connected to the titans: Solas because his body was crafted from lyrium, and Harding because of how her Stone magic awoke after touching Solas' lyrium dagger.

I've theorized before that I think Solas is still connected to Isatunoll, but that the creation of the Veil altered or harmed this connection somehow. Veilguard touches on this with its implications: Solas says the blight senses his presence during the Minrathous portion of the endgame, and says during his Atonement ending that he is able to soothe the titans' anger. It also asserts, during Solas' Memory #3, that the ritual to create the Veil went wrong, wounding Solas in the process.

Both Solas and Harding, then, have to do with both the titans' past and their future. The Temple of Solasan is referenced when this codex in Trespasser mentions the titans needing to be forgotten, and we know now that Mythal and Solas would come to sunder the titans with the lyrium dagger. Solas is the reason the titans were forgotten, and is likely the source of the song "I am the One."

Harding, by contrast, is one of few dwarves whose magic has awoken. The Titan Shade in her personal quest demands that the world remember the anger and pain it has forgotten: the titans' sundering (as well as her own anger). The titans have no future without acknowledgement of their past, and so both Solas and Harding have instrumental roles to play going forward (assuming both are alive and have agreed to this).

It is evident, also, that the pain of being forgotten is traumatic to the titans. Cole mentions this several times in Inquisition, as referenced in the last post. Songs that once sang the same; titans stuck asleep, forgetting how to wake.

And here is where Solas and Harding's parallels really come to light.

This trauma forces Harding to make a choice with her Titan Shade. In every scenario, she acknowledges the Shade's pain. Her choice, then, is to embrace that pain and carry it in Compassion... or embrace the titans' anger, as well as her own. In other words, as is referenced by Stalgard...

I drew close, and the sound became something more. I could feel it, Lace Harding…. Rage, sorrow, and a vast loneliness. — Codex: Letter for Lace Harding

Rage. Harding must choose between Compassion and Rage. We've seen this before. It comes up in Down Among the Dead Men, a story in the Tevinter Nights anthology:

Following a trauma, spirits are pushed toward changing. For so long in this franchise, we called these changes "demons," and still do. But the creature itself is not different—it just exists in a different state.

Emmrich says exactly this, equating spirits and the Titan Shade.

I once communed with a soul who shared a tale of deep sorrow from his youth. "So that the truth wouldn't be lost," he said. Interestingly enough, he could only bear to recall the event after death, when the memory had lost its sting. (l cannot share the tale. A Watcher must keep the confidences of the dead.) Your experience with what you call "the Titan's Shade" brought this anecdote to mind. As you say, in the first moments of your transformation, you were unable or unwilling to confront the depth of the Titans' sorrow. But unlike my friend, this pain was never quite your own. Instead of being trapped within, it fled elsewhere. — Codex: From Emmrich, on Sorrow Denied

We see, now, that the titans do the same thing. The only difference is that Harding is connected to the titan through Isatunoll; her spirit is not, itself, inside the titan. Put through a trauma, though, the titans turn. This is something I theorized as happening to Solas' titan upon his creation, because the trauma of the elves making bodies from its lyrium caused the titan to lash out and fight back, just like Cole says in DAI.

This is why both Solas and Harding are capable of soothing the titans' anger. It doesn't matter that Harding is a dwarf and Solas is one of the elvhen: both are still connected to their titan.

But as much as Veilguard tells us about the Titans being more similar to spirits than previously thought, it does not stop there. No: if you listen closely, Veilguard whispers to you that this similarity goes both ways. Spirits are more similar to titans than we ever could have imagined.

Not Only Do Titans Behave as Spirits... Spirits Behave as Titans

Something caught my eye during my very first Veilguard playthrough, super early on. Of course, I played the whole game through the lens of my own theories, wondering if there could be a connection between titans and spirits.

Immediately I saw, on the floor of a cell in the Ossuary:

I am Nyrys I was Nyrys I we were we are Nyrys — Note: Inmate Scribbling

Immediately, I was reminded of Harding's description of Isatunoll: "It means 'I am here.' But no, not 'I.' 'I' is singular. But it isn't 'we,' either. 'We' is multiple, but also separate... Isatunoll is the eternal hymn that encompasses all time. All spaces. I am. We are. This. That. Here. There. Now. And forever."

That seems to suggest that Nyrys, an inmate who was probably turned into an abomination, might be connected to Isatunoll. The note is written almost the exact same way that Harding is speaking. "But Lore," I hear you saying, "Couldn't that just be an abomination thing, a spirit struggling to share a body?"

I thought so, too. Right up until this.

Late after— (the handwriting abruptly alters:) a PEACE cut from the ALL golden stranded weaves PROTECTION CAGE keep them OUT keep me IN (Drawn below is a decagonal diagram of perfectly even, intersecting geometric lines.) — Codex: Lucanis' Logbook, 2

Understanding that Spite is likely writing with a phonetic understanding of the common tongue, we can interpret his words as 'a PIECE, cut from the ALL.' While I cannot say for certain what the rest describes (it could be Spite's opinion on the Ossuary, a reference to the titan's sundered dreams, or anything in between)... I know that these two first lines clearly talk about a spirit who has been cut away from something larger and grander than itself. The "all."

Now that sounds like Isatunoll, to me.

If you've been here since my October posts, you know where this is going. I've got to find a way to check this idea against other sources. And the first place I go, usually? The Chant of Light, for all the Chantry's evident faults.

I'm reminded of the creation of the Maker's first and second children.

Then the Voice of the Maker rang out, The first Word, And His Word became all that might be: Dream and idea, hope and fear, Endless possibilities. And from it made his firstborn. — Threnodies 5:1

That exact phrasing—"dream and idea, hope and fear, endless possibilities"—is used both in the creation of the Maker's first and second children. The spirits and the second children's souls. It is not used anywhere else in the Chant of Light.

At last did the Maker From the living world Make men. Immutable, as the substance of the earth, With souls made of dream and idea, hope and fear, Endless possibilities. — Threnodies 5:5

I've said before that I believe that all spirits originate as thoughts—namely, the thoughts of one or more of the titans. I think that even the souls of living people apply, here, despite what some of Emmrich's codices discuss. When you consider how Solas speaks about the Inquistor's spirit in DAI, it seems apparent that (at least to Solas) spirits and souls are interchangeable terms, when they belong to a living person.

Additionally, there is a manor in the Hossberg Wetlands that features an Obsession demon locked away that Rook must kill once they get to its location. The party speculates how the demon may have gotten there, and (I believe Rook) comments on how it is possible that the person from the manor themself may have become the demon.

That would imply that their soul was capable of doing so.

Now, let's go back to how spirits (the Maker's first children) and dwarves (the Maker's second children) are in possession of the same souls, per the Chant of Light. Understanding that the Chant of Light is flawed and that I do not believe that Solas is the Maker (rather, that Solas may have come from the titan that Andraste spoke to), I want to draw attention to this verse.

Then the Maker said: "To you, My second-born, I grant this gift: In your heart shall burn An unquenchable flame All-consuming, and never satisfied. From the Fade I crafted you, And to the Fade you shall return Each night in dreams That you may always remember Me." — Threnodies 5:5

It's important to note that the Maker says to his second-born (the dwarves) that they shall return to the Fade each night in dreams. Remember: the dwarves were once able to dream. More than that, though, the Maker says that the dwarves may visit the Fade each night in dreams to be able to connect with the Maker. They were, in fact, crafted with the "flesh of the Fade," a reference made to lyrium.

That implies a direct connection between the titans and the Fade. It suggests that, once, the titans also shared the Fade with other living creatures—or, perhaps, even more. I still believe that the Fade is the collective consciousness of the titans, and that reconnecting with the Fade is part of reconnecting with the titans because of that fact.

The Dark and the Light, Sundered

In a previous post, I theorized that, because Solas created the Veil and it seemed to have sundered the titans in addition to separating the Fade from the waking world, the Fade must be the titans' shared consciousness. We know now that those were two separate acts: Solas sundered the titans and put part of their dreams into the orbs that became the Evanuris' foci. For a time, I thought that this theory must be wrong.

However, in the same series of memories, we learned one more fact: his ritual to create the Veil went wrong. In Memory #3 (Blackened Hearts), he cries out in pain during the moment the Veil is created. This not only hurt the world, but exhausted Solas. Hurt Solas.

"He broke the dreams to stop the old dreams from waking. The wolf chews its leg off to escape the trap." — Cole dialogue

This refers to the creation of the Veil. We know now that Solas created it, in part, to stop the blight from escaping—that would be the old dreams waking that Cole refers to. What's interesting is that Cole refers to this as Solas chewing off his own metaphorical leg to escape the trap. There was always a personal consequence for Solas referenced here.

But why? Why would being cut off from the Fade outside of dreams hurt him? Spirits exist on Thedas all the time. It is only the trauma of being pulled through the Veil against their will that turns them to demons.

To understand that, we must understand what the Fade even is. How it relates to the titans, and what that means going forward.

First, I want to take a look at this codex from Inquisition, which suggests that the water in the Abyss (the realm of the titans) may be the exact same thing as the emerald waters in the Fade.

It is possible—even likely—that the "emerald waters" Andraste refers to are the substance of the Fade, which began as an "ocean of dreams" (Threnodies 1:1) and was reduced to a well—bottomless but limited in scope—by the Maker's creation of our world. —Codex Entry: Here Lies the Abyss

There are other similarities between these two things that come up in Veilguard, if you're looking for them. The first, for me, is a codex.

What determines which sections of the physical world are echoed in the Fade? Is there an underlying logic, or glacial patterns past comprehension? Do our collective fears and longings craft what we see? The will of a mage is especially potent. We may learn to shape the Fade's pathways, if we are ever-mindful of the dangers this invites. — Codex entry: The Obverse of Reality

The phrasing here is very interesting. We know that Shaping is something that the titans once did. The dwarves, to this day, have the Shaperate, in charge of the Memories. To see that language applied to a mage's influence on the Fade implies that mages may exist the same power to manipulate the Fade as the titans did on the Stone, which suggests that the Fade and the Stone can be Shaped in the same ways. The similarity here does lend itself to a theory where the titans and the Fade are parts of the same being/collective.

The second is that one of the revenants—the Slaughtered Pillars, from Elvhenan's Haven—have a line of dialogue that jarred me the first time I heard it.

"Light and song, stolen."

We know that the titans being sundered took their songs away, for the dwarves (save for a few, now) do not hear the titans' songs anymore. It's the word light that gave me pause.

Three guesses as to where I looked for more instances of the word light. If you guessed the Chant of Light, the gigantic piece of lore with light in its title, you are correct!

The first mention I want to note is the very early in the Chant

Opposition in all things: For earth, sky For winter, summer For darkness, Light. — Threnodies 5:4

Note that Light is capitalized here, implying significance. Again, it appears here. Here, we're implying that capitalized Light refers directly to the Fade.

(11) Above them, a river of Light, Before them the throne of Heaven, waiting — Threnodies 8:11

And, lastly, and most prominently in Veilguard: the Lighthouse. Its name, in the elven language, is "Vhen'Theneras." Translated, though, that would mean, "core of dreams." Unless, of course, dreams and Light are the same thing.

But if the Light is indeed the Fade, and there must be opposition in all things according to the Maker, then where have we seen dark before?

We've seen it in the Abyss—aka, the Void. We've seen it in the darkspawn. Those blighted beings that emerge from the Deep Roads, aka the Abyss/Void. Remember that the blight itself is the escaped maddened dreams of the sundered titans. Darkspawn refers to the product of those escaped dreams—the ones not in the Fade/Light.

Crucially, the darkspawn behave in much the same way as anything connected to Isatunoll. They hear a Calling that, at first, belonged to the archdemons, but Antoine now says is coming from somewhere else, as well.

It's the description of Isatunoll that ties this all together for me: titans/their children and spirits, Abyss and Fade, dark and Light.

In a letter from Dagna to Harding, she describes Isatunoll — but in that description, she focuses on this idea that beings connected to a hivemind "know their purpose." Purpose is a word used by Solas all the time in DAI. Spirits have their own purpose.

Think about ants. Ants know what they are. They know their purpose, and they must understand, instinctually, how that purpose fits within the whole. But what if it doesn't end there? What if their consciousness isn't just individual? What if the nest itself knew what it was? A collective sentience of some kind. Nothing says the ants don't have a collective sentience. We just assume they don't, because they're ants. Ants. Or bees. Or darkspawn. Now, there's a thought. — Codex Entry: Thoughts on "Isatunoll"

What if consciousness itself is not individual? asks Dagna. What if the nest itself knew what it was? This explains the darkspawn, after all: the blighted beings who are all connected to the song of the Calling, and the maddened dreams the blight originates from.

The nest, except for that small trickle of escaped blight, is the Fade. The Fade, which is a place that responds to the collective wants and memories of those inside it. The Fade, whose pathways are shaped by the thoughts and wants of the people—especially mages—within it.

My theory is this: the creation of the Veil may have hurt Solas because Solas was still connected to his titan, and to Isatunoll. Some of his love of the Fade may be because he misses the titans' shared dreams—and, by extension, the shared dreams of every living person on Thedas (except the dwarves, and we know why that is).

Atonement Solas' Promise: He (Still) Seeks Regeneration

We know that the Fade is the collective consciousness of the Titans. Their shared dreams. We also know that not all titans are blighted, because the one in Descent is not. Harding's titan also is not, by the end of DA:tV. I posit that this is why much of the Fade, according to Solas in DAI, is far preferable to the Nightmare's domain that we get to see in DAI. Some of that shared consciousness is still healthy.

Easing the titans' anger, therefore, means fixing all of the Fade. Reconnecting the two might mean that the collective consciousness between all spirits could return to Thedas—and since at least elves' and dwarves' souls likely come from the same origin, it could do a lot to bring some of the people of Thedas together.

This, to me, is part of Solas' grand plan. It is not only to bring back the world from Mythal's time—it is to bring back the world before they broke so much of it, before the titans were sundered by his hand. After all: Solas seeks... regeneration. And that's something he promises us after Mythal leaves.

It's important to me, therefore, that Solas says the blight can feel his presence during the fighting in Minrathous. Not that Elgar'nan can detect Solas through the blight, but that the blight itself can feel him. Neve/Bellara, depending on who is taken, can reach out to protect Solas the very same way: by communing with the blight itself, feeling what it wants, and redirecting its course. We see, here, a hivemind in action.

We also know that Atoned!Solas promises to "soothe the titans' anger." This is something he promises to do from Fade Jail, implying that he is able to interact with the titans and their anger from the Black/Golden City. This implies that the Fade itself, as a realm, is a means of communing with the titans, not just a specific spot within it.

The Veil coming down was always going to un-sunder the titans, and that was always one of the true aims of Solas' goals. Even if it meant blighting the world at first and effectively causing the apocalypse, the titans would eventually feel soothed. The Veil is a wound inflicted on this world, Solas has said before... and we know now that it was.

This section, short as it is, is just me telling you that Solas is still able to achieve those ends from Fade Jail. Just because the Veil is now bound to Solas' life force does not mean that the titans can no longer heal.

This buys us valuable time, allowing the titans' anger to soothe before their consciousness is restored, so that the transition is gentler. It promises hope for all of Thedas going forward. It might even promise a healthier, more stable Fade, shaped by dream, idea, and hope more than fear.

But what will that mean for future games? What could the Fade have to do with what's to come?

Why is now the time that the Executors and "those across the sea" want to make their big planned move on Thedas? Why is now when the "poison fruit" has ripened?

Like many of you, I hope to figure it out—and I feel that every day, I get closer.

Stay tuned. :)

___

If you read this far, you're a hero, now and always.

Like I keep saying: I have to absorb this lore day by day! I cannot inhale the entire wiki in a day, much as I'd like to believe I could! That means that future posts can't adhere to a strict schedule, as they depend on me unearthing enough codices, notes, and connecting threads to provide a post's worth of material.

In future, I'm hoping to learn more about: the Forgotten and Forbidden ones, as well as the connections between them; the Executors, those across the sea, and the connections between THEM; the areas across the sea; the Devouring Storm and what it could mean for Thedas' existence... and maybe how Ghilan'nain was ever connected to any of it.

Stick with me on this journey, if you like. It's fun to keep theorycrafting and yelling with you all. <3

[fettiowi]

Broken heart

So basically, ive been thinking abt what it would be like if spinel had her gem cracked and drew a lil thing. Heres some fun stuff i thought of:

Obviously, her limbs get uncontrolably noodly like amethyst's did, goes all over the place. Her limbs give out and she falls to the ground like sad spaguetti

Her pigtails stop defying gravity and are always down

One of her eyes is always in those crazy spirals, while the other is blanc (i imagine she might not be able to see very well)

Her tear streaks keep running

Her mouth movements become a lot more exagerated whenever she speaks. I like to tuink her accent gets a little thicker as well and harder to understand. Also maybe she starts speaking backwards like ame did as well?

I had like a whoooole scenario where she got her gem cracked, and started thinking up ways where it would mess with her.

(It also reminded me of an idea i had a while ago of an AU of the movie where she had her gem cracked and it just made her crazier lol) i think its a fun thing to explore

[cowboyellies]

- Bad Habit | e.w.

were you not not too good for me, my dear?

funny you comeback to me my dear

PART TWO OF "You're Not Good enough"

pairing: college player!ellie x fem college!reader

warnings/themes: angst!!!, ellie is v emotionally unavailable (my type <3), she's a teensy bit manipulative, reader mentions past toxic relationship, slight mention of ellie's past trauma, lots of jealousy, small amount of abby x reader (sorry abby), reader is kind of stupid (just like me fr), slight mentions of violence, small amount of smut (just a heavy make out)

word count: 3.8k

synopsis: you finally end things with ellie and months later you couldn't feel any better. ellie on the other hand is losing her mind without you. when she sees you at a club one night on a date with another girl, she's determined to get you back no matter what cost.

a/n: I didn't originally plan on making a part two but a few people asked so here it is! I hope you enjoy (below I'm tagging everyone who asked for a part 2)

 🏷 🏷 🏷: @shortcake22341 @harrysslutsstuff @robinismywifee @gizzzi

you and ellie hooked up three more times before you finally called it quits. for real this time. seriously. you blocked her on all platforms and even started avoiding spaces you knew you would see her at. 

the final straw this time for you was the fact that the third time you were hooking up she got a text from another girl during, and she answered it. once she finished sending her text back she rolled over to resume eating you out but you were already grabbing your shit and bolting for the door. that wasn’t the first time ellie williams had humiliated you but you made a promise to yourself that it would be the last. 

now it was two months later, the longest you’d gone without seeing her in about a year. you no longer thought of her, for the most part. there were times where you longed to unblock her number and go crawling back. but you didn’t. you finally felt actually single for the first time in forever and it was exhilarating. you now could do whatever you wanted, hook up with whoever you wanted without feeling the weird guilt and shame ellie left you with every time you’d walk out of her apartment. and now that your spring term had ended you were most certainly using this freedom to your advantage. 

ellie on the other hand was losing her shit. the night she fucked up again was actually a misunderstanding this time. yes, she did receive a text to hook up while you were fucking each other. and yes she did answer it. but it was only to tell the girl to fuck off. she tried to explain that to you but you had already slammed the door in her face before she could get the words out. 

she had tried everything she could think of how to get you to talk to her, even stooping so low as to show up at your door, begging for you to open up. this actually might have worked on you if she hadn’t gotten your apartment number wrong. you two spent most of your time together at her place so she ended up scaring the living shit out of your elderly neighbor mrs. flenderson when she showed up knocking on her door at one a.m. drunk.

now all she could do was sit alone with her feelings which she hated. she hated knowing she cared about you and all this time apart was just giving her more time to think about it, so much so she even began fantasizing how she would confess her feelings for you. she drafted long speeches in her head for different ways she’d make you hear her out. 

when the opportunity to actually confess arrives, things don’t go as smoothly as they do in her imagined scenarios. 

the night you two finally see each other again you happen to be on a second date. the first second date you’ve been on since you started seeing people again. you had become accustomed to your one night stands but something about this girl drew you in. abby and you had met through a mutual friend and you actually got along really well. she’s funny, kind, doesn’t seem to share the same emotional incapabilities as your exes, and she’s pretty fucking hot. 

your night starts out amazing, she brings you to a club where she happens to know the owner, getting you past the entrance right away and straight to the bar, where she showers you in free drinks and many, many compliments. you flirt and laugh and blush like you haven’t in a while and you realize what you really want to do is dance. as you’re on your way to the floor, that's when you see her.

ellie’s at the entrance of the club with her two friends you vaguely know, dina and jesse. you stare at her for a few moments, taking in the features you had tried so desperately to brush from your memory. her auburn hair is shorter and you can tell from the rolled up sleeves of her black button up that she got more detailing done on her tattoo. her head starts to turn towards your direction so you suddenly switch positions with abby, moving so if ellie looks your way she’d only see your back. 

“is everything okay?” abby asks, leaning down towards your ear so you could hear her over the loud music. you nod and try to continue dancing as if nothing is bothering you, which is hard to do considering that you suddenly feel the urge to vomit. abby doesn’t seem convinced so she pulls you off to the side of the dance floor, luckily away from where ellie had gone to sit with her friends. “are you sure you’re alright, you look a little green,”

“yeah I’m fine!!” you insist, trying not to give ellie the power to ruin your night like you’d done many times before. “I think I’m just a little lightheaded,” you say, hoping it’ll make her drop it.

“oh shit, let's go to the bar and get you some water,” she replies, frowning in concern, grabbing your hand to lead you back there.

“no!” you suddenly shout, knowing that’s where ellie’s sitting. “no um- I just really like this part of the club! do you think you could just bring some for me over here?” you ask, even though the “area of the club” you’re referencing is just a dark corner near the bathroom next to a trashcan. 

abby looks at you questionably but eventually turns and does what you ask, probably figuring you definitely need it now. once she’s gone you start plotting how you can make your escape from here without ellie seeing, hopefully not further ruining your date. you know you’re being immature and that grown ups don’t hide in corners from their exes, but you’re pretty tipsy and you never claimed to be a grown up. 

a minute after abby leaves you see dina and jesse make their way to the dance floor. before you can even think to conceal yourself, dina makes eye contact with you and you notice her eyes widen in recognition, which makes you realize ellie had definitely told her something about your breakup. while that made you go into further panic it also made you pause. when you first met dina it was when you and ellie had run into her at a coffee shop the morning after one of your sleepovers. ellie had introduced you to her as “a friend” even though you’d been hooking up for four months at that point. if ellie had gone from that to now confiding in dina about your messy break, it made you think about how much your split had actually affected her. 

as you see dina move to go and tell ellie about you lurking in the shadows, abby starts to walk back in your direction, glass of water in hand. now you’re screwed. there’s no way you can convince abby to leave before ellie comes to find you.

while you’re being overcome with sudden doom, ellie from the other side of the room feels her heartbeat pick up in a way it hasn’t in months. as soon as dina had muttered your name she jolted out of her seat. now as she makes her way over to you, confident to win you back, she notices something dina hadn’t mentioned, her.

abby stands next to you brushing a hair behind your ear, gently stroking your shoulder as you down the glass of water she brought you. ellie feels a sudden rage flow through her whole body. just when she thinks she’s getting you back she sees you with another girl. this is different than with the couch girl from the party who was just gonna be a random fuck, she can tell from your body language you’re already getting comfortable with her beyond that. she stops suddenly a few feet in front of you, causing you to choke a little on your water. 

as you’re now standing face to face with ellie you notice that familiar jealousy plastered all over her face. as much as you know you have nothing to be guilty about, you can’t help but start to sweat a little as she resembles the look of a rageful girlfriend. you realize that’s exactly what abby might think she is as you look up to see her shocked expression. just as you’re about to explain, ellie beats you to it. 

“can I talk to you?” she asks, more of a command than an actual question. 

“no!” you shout back over the music, hoping that will send her away but knowing from past experience it won’t. 

“who is thi-” abby starts before she’s cut off 

“I’m ellie. who the fuck are you?” she yells, turning her direct attention to abby for the first time.

“her date, who the fuck are you? are you two-”

“NO!” you yell, wishing you had opted for the dinner and a movie date you previously discussed. “let’s just go!” you yell, at this point you weren’t even focused on salvaging your date but instead on getting the fuck out of there. 

“I need to fucking talk to you please,” ellie begs stepping in front of you, this is different than the last time at the party, you’ve never heard her voice sound so desperate. 

“she said no, back the fuck up,” abby shouts, pushing ellie a little on her shoulder. before you can say anything, that small little push turns into ellie flinging her fist into abby’s jaw. you knew she had a temper but have never seen her actually fight someone until now. the two of them begin full on fighting and instead of doing the honorable thing and trying to pull them off of each other, you simply leave. you know doing this pretty much guarantees no third date with abby but you can’t really find it in yourself to care. you’re so over with this night and the constant shit show that is your love life so you find yourself just exiting the club. 

they don’t notice you’re gone until a few minutes after, around the same time the security begins showing up to pull the two of them apart. before they can restrain ellie she makes a break for it, bolting after you towards the door. 

she finds you a few blocks away sitting on the curb waiting for an uber. you notice her shadow looming over you and you turn your head up to face her, groaning once you see her bruised face.

“ellie you’ve done enough, can you just please leave me alone,” you plead, the weight of the night’s events finally starting to hit you, making you feel exhausted.

“i’m sorry, I can’t,” she replies, lowering her body to the curb next to you. you look at her confused for a few moments, realizing that’s the first time you’ve ever heard her use the words “I’m sorry”

“why?” your voice cracks and your eyes starting to brim with tears on impulse. you aren’t sure exactly why you’re crying but it’s making you feel small and stupid. 

“you know why,” she replies, unable to give anymore. after all this time she spent building speeches, she still found herself scared to say the actual words.

“no, I don’t ellie. I have no idea why you treat me like this,” you reply, the tears beginning to spill on your cheeks. “I don’t know why you act as if you don’t give a shit about me but still can’t let me go, you never fucking tell me why,”

her heart is racing now. she knows if she doesn’t say the right thing she’ll lose you for real. this is the last moment she can avoid her feelings or she’ll crush yours once and for all. 

“It’s because I-” she starts at barely a whisper, her eyes beginning to water. “its because I fucking care about you!” now she’s almost yelling, the words escaping her mouth like a sob. “and I haven’t felt this way in a long time and it fucking terrifies me,” you look down at her hands and notice they’re shaking. you want so badly to hold her but a part of you stays restrained, knowing after everything she’s put you through you can’t just grant her forgiveness that easily.

“you don’t think I’m terrified too? ellie it took me a long time to get over my ex and you know that. but I didn’t dump you on your fucking ass the second I started to get feelings for you. and I certainly didn’t text another girl in the middle of us fucking!” the memory of that night starts to overcome your sympathy for her, replacing it with anger instead

“I texted her back to tell her not to message me again, and I tried to explain that to you and you wouldn’t let me. I know i fucked up and had shitty timing but you have to believe that I would never hurt you like that,” she was fully pleading now. you had never seen her so much as shed a tear and now here she is baring her soul. 

“ellie, you know I want to trust that but why should I? you’ve done nothing but give me reasons to believe otherwise,” you’re sobbing now too, your face turned towards the pavement in front of you watching your tears drip on the floor. you feel her fingers gently pull your chin upwards to look at her again, you notice a complete sense of somberness in her eyes now, this could possibly be the last thing she’d ever say to you.

“I know you don’t have any reason to believe me but you have to know that I…” she pauses for a moment to collect herself. the three words on the tip of her tongue were something she hadn’t said out loud in over five years. “I love you. okay? and I know I have a shitty way of showing it but I do,” 

out of everything she could have said to you that was the last thing you were expecting. you had known for a while that ellie had rejected that feeling because of something that had happened in her childhood which she never could fully tell you about, and you weren’t sure if she was even capable of it anymore. it’s at that moment where you know for certain she’s not just saying all this to get you in her bed. 

you’re truly looking at her now, the two of you facing each other with tearfilled eyes not able to say anything. this is when ellie finally breaks out the material in her fantasy speeches. “I love how you look when you’re sleeping, you get this cute half smile on your face when you’re having a good dream. and I love how obsessed you are with pickles, even though you refuse to eat a cucumber which I have explained to you many times is what pickles are made out of-”

“they’re not the same and you know it,” you interrupt through your tears. you had always wanted a big love confession like the one she was giving you, filled with specific facts and details, you said so while watching when harry met sally after one of your first hookups, you were shocked she remembered.

“I love how you never let me finish my sentences,” she replies with a smirk, her cockiness beginning to return after the intense few minutes of vulnerability. “I love how you do that thing with your lips when you’re cum-”

“okay you’re done now,” you stop her, a blush beginning to take over your face. you were starting to forget that at the beginning of the night you hated her guts and were likely going home with another woman.

“are you sure? I have a lot more,” she teases, you know the rest are all sexual. you realize after a moment of silence you never told her you love her back, and you realize you aren’t sure if you even do. obviously you still have strong feelings for her, otherwise you’d have already stormed away from her by now. 

as you’re about to say something to break the silence the uber you’d ordered earlier appears in front of you. you look up at her and contemplate what it’ll mean to invite her in with you. is it still stupid to fuck her after one night of seeing her again? does the fact that she loves you make a difference in that? 

you aren’t really sure and you don’t care. you pull her yourself up from the curb, dragging her along with you towards the backseat of the car.

–

after a tense fifteen minute uber ride which consisted of the two of you trying your absolute best to keep your hands to yourself and spare the sweet little old man driver, you finally arrive at your apartment. you’re now the one dragging her towards the elevator, recreating the same passionate makeout against the metal walls as the time after she cornered you at the party. the only difference being the fact that now you were no longer shoving down feelings of regret and shame. 

after you exit the elevator and you’re opening your apartment door you hear her laugh at the unit behind you, mrs. flenderson’s apartment. 

“oh my god ellie, stop,” you whisper shout at her, remembering the fear in the little old lady's voice as she told you about ellie’s drunken escapade. “she has heart problems, you could have killed her!” 

you feel her arms reach over your sides, gently resting on your stomach as she begins to lean into your neck “are you jealous thinking about me confessing my feelings for another woman?” she teases, the embrace making it harder for you to open your door.

“no ellie, the thought of you trying to seduce my 78 year old neighbor does not make me jealous,” you reply with an eye roll, finally managing to open the lock. as soon as the two of you are inside she’s pushing you up against the door, her lips trailing all over your body, desperate to show you how much she meant what she said earlier. 

“you have no idea-” she says in between kisses. “how hard it was-” she’s gripping gently at your hair now, her eyes traveling up and down your body, taking you in fully for the first time in months. “to see you dancing like that with someone else,” you think about what she’s saying for a moment, the memory of abby making you trail your fingers down a bruise she had left on ellie’s cheekbone. you realize then that you could find it in yourself to forgive ellie for using you, because that’s exactly what you inadvertently had done to abby.

you pull her towards you by the jaw, her ear just centimeters away from your lips as you whisper “good.” you figured if you had accidentally used someone to make her jealous there's no harm in using that to your advantage now. you see ellie’s jaw tighten a little and her lips are back on yours in seconds, this time harsher than before.

you make your way to your bedroom, her hands on you the entire time as you’re leading her there. when you reach the bottom of your bed you begin to sit but you feel her pull you up, her hungry hands clinging to the fabric of your dress around your thighs. 

“look at this pretty little dress,” she mumbles while running her hands up towards your breasts, the skin tight fabric clinging to you in all the right places. “you got all dressed up just for her,”

you roll your eyes at her jealousy but deep down the pool of heat in your core was growing stronger. she responds to your eye roll by yanking the dress down your arms. she then makes her way to the clasps on your bra, unhooking it and throwing it to your floor. she begins kissing you again, starting at your neck and trailing down towards your breasts, a moan escaping you as her mouth met your nipples. instinctively your hand grasp onto her hair, clinging to the roots as she laps at your skin. your grip on her hair tightens as your pleasure increases when she stops suddenly.  “could abby’s tongue make you feel that good baby?”

you’re about to reply when she breaks away from your skin, now firmly pushing you towards your mattress. as you lie back she begins to take off your dress completely, staring down at you cravingly. unable to stand the lack of her lips on you, you’re suddenly sitting up and pulling her down towards you, gripping at the fabric of her shirt as her lips are crashing down on yours. 

“somebody’s eager,” she teases, smiling in between kisses. as you’re making out you begin to feel her remove your hands from her neck and pinning them to the bed above you. you lean up towards her to continue your kissing when she pulls back, the sudden lack of contact causing you to let out a small pathetic whimper. she laughs at you and begins to take you in. her eyes linger over your mussed hair and pink lips that are wet from her kisses. “you’re so fucking beautiful,”

this comment catches you off guard. ellie had never said anything like that to you before. yes, she complimented frequently while you were together calling hot and gorgeous especially when you were on top of her, but this was different. this was more intimate. you smile brightly beneath her and use all your strength to lift yourself by your elbows to deliver one frenzied kiss onto her lips, plopping your head back down on the bed afterwards.

you realize then that the hot jealousy filled sex you two were headed towards had begun to change. all thoughts of abby, of any of your collective exes, or anyone else in the world for that matter have disappeared. this is about you and her. 

she resumes kissing you, this time gentler, and you think back to the last time you had slept together. after your breakup every time you fucked was more feverish than the last. that sex was a dirty little mistake you couldn’t stop making, and you made sure to make it as quick and emotionless as possible. now as she’s on top of you, slowly stroking your hair as she moves her lips across your neck you are overcome with a sense of closeness for her that you had been trying to repress since the night she broke your heart on her dingy old couch. 

“ellie,” you whisper, her mouth slowly detaching from your skin as she adjusts herself to look at you. 

“yeah?” she asks, moving a chunk of hair near your face behind your ear. 

“I love you too”

[cherubfae]

𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔶 𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫, 𝔟𝔞𝔟𝔶 {𝔩𝔢𝔬𝔫 𝔨𝔢𝔫𝔫𝔢𝔡𝔶}

Happy Halloween, my loves! And a blessed Samhain to my fellow pagans! Please have a safe and lovely holiday no matter what you do or don't celebrate! Now then, care to spend some time with Mr. Kennedy? Please, mind the tags! Thank you!! (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡

|| 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐔𝐁𝐅𝐀𝐄'𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 ||

tags: ghostface!RE4!Leon, fem!reader, masturbation, voyeurism, unprotected sex, fear/domination roleplay, consensual, fake home invasion scenario, Leon is kinda mean, dirty talk, pet names, breeding kink, perverted call trope, killer x victim trope, consensual dubcon (just in case), predator/prey dynamics, dumbification, dacryphilia, aftercare

"Bend over, sugar. I wanna see that pretty little pussy." The modified voice growled with a fiery hunger. The stranger's words made you wet soooo easily. You shift forward, hiking up your skirt and wiggle your ass in the direction of your window. He growled with pleasure, breathing trembling. Faint slick noises echo from the mysterious caller's line. Was he...?

"Yeah.. Fuck.. Look at that cunt. You're so sweet, doll. Your panties barely cover your pretty lil' pussy lips... Just beggin' for a fat, thick cock inside ya, huh?" The man snarled. "Say it. I wanna hear my pretty prey beg me to fuck her."

Heat rises to your cheeks, your teeth worrying at your lip. "P-please, mister... Please, come fuck me. I wanna feel you stretch me open."

"Fuckkkkkk..." He drew out the word with a deep, breathy growl. You could practically feel his breath tremble through the receiver. Curiously, you seem to find yourself grinning at the conversation. Hell. You were enjoying it. You liked the idea of this stranger jerking off to you. You wanted to be used by him. Defiled.

The old floorboards creaked behind you. "Don't mind if I fuckin' do, dollface."

You quickly turn with wide eyes, blinking rapidly at the sudden imposing male in your living room. The rubber mask he wore was shrouded in black, like a hood, the face was stretched in a ghoulish, eternal scream. The empty black eyes were soulless and terrifyingly hot. Through the thin silver of mesh that covered the eyeholes, you could barely make out stormy ocean eyes; the pupils large and black.

The rest of his attire wasn't too impressive, but his stature was. Broad shoulders and muscular arms stretched the polyester inky robe taut, well defined pectorals and, fuck, even his abdomen was perfectly sculpted. Every hard angle of him outlined against the slightly shimmery fabric like tiny silver stars splashed onto a pitch black night sky.

"Fuck, you look even sweeter in person." His head cocks to the side, huffing deeply through the mask. He lowered his face to you, the mask cool against your heated skin. "Looks like I caught myself a willing pup."

Heavy, wet smacks of the masked stranger's swollen balls thudding against your ass rings round and round in your ears. Tears drip down your cheeks, your thighs burning under the strain of having them tucked to your chest for so long. You vaguely hear him chuckle cruelly, his large hand keeping you pinned to the coffee table--which had been nearest surface.

"Fuck, look at ya, doll. You're not gonna be able to see just how I wide I'm stretchin' ya if you cry too much... Not that I mind one fuckin' bit. You're the real Halloween treat, aintcha? Sweeter than any candy." He pressed his mask face against your heated cheeks, the rubber cool on your skin.

You're almost painfully lying at an angle against the low wooden table, unable to think of anything but his impossibly thick cock pistoning in and out of your wet channel. You've gone numb to your own lewd noises, you crying, your moans, the wet squelch of your pussy. Faintly, you can hear the wood creak and groan beneath the added weight.

Slowly, your eyes lift to the stranger, your mind clouded with a dense fog, slowly dragging them down the muscular outline of his shoulders and torso, to where he'd yanked up the hem of his robe and bared the slightly tanned, taut muscular skin of his stomach and his neatly trimmed pubic mound; the girth of his flushed cock a centerpiece in the course curls of ashen blond hair.

The stranger's muscles flex tightly, too enraptured in his own movements to notice your stare. The hazy, lustful admiration you send his way. He'd pulled his cock free from his pants. Of average length, beautifully flushed, and already glistening with pre. His cock was deliciously thick and heavy. Like it weighed him down. Like it hurt to be gifted such a perfect cock.

He fits inside of you so well. It's overwhelming in the most pleasing of ways, how he seemed to be able to stroke places inside of you that you'd never seemed to reach. The second he slipped inside, you knew you were a goner.

Sound rushes back and crashes into you like a tidal wave, like you'd been plugged back in. Your moans and sobs bounce off the walls of your living room. The stranger's laugh resounds in your ears, pulling you out of your own mind for a second.

"Pftt.. You even moan like a little slut, don't you? Hear now needy this puffy pussy is for me? Pathetic, princess, really... If I had been any other killer, would you have put out for them as easily as you did for me? No?" He mocked the last word, breath coming out in deep, shuddering pants. "Tell me why I don't believe you, princess."

Swallowing thickly, you arch upwards into him, loosely rolling your hips to meet his pounding thrusts. "No one... No one makes me feel this good, Mr. Ghostface, sir..."

"Ghostface?" The stranger cooed, full of faux sweetness. "Oh, I like that. I think I'll use that for the next pretty kitty I spray against the walls. Why the long face? Nothin' to get upset about. This is the only cunt I am interested in." He bowed over your body, hips snapping with visceral force.

You grunt, eyes closing as his cock repeatedly nudges at your cervix. "Everyone else is swine as far as I'm concerned. But you, sugar, you're the real fuckin' deal. Gonna make me marry you, huh? Is that it? Gonna make a filthy fuckin' killer marry you because of you and your sweet pussy?"

Everything was starting to feel a bit too much. He was hitting a bit too deep, talking a bit too much, and your mind was spinning like a top, way too fast, and about to topple over.

A pained whine leaves your lips faster than you realize and you feel the man above you stutter, his movements stilling for a second as he looks down at you; deep blue eyes more visible in the soft glow of the table lamp. His facade was slipping, little by little.

He's waiting, you realize, waiting silently for you to give him the go ahead. Asking a million questions with just one look at his crystalline eyes. You nod your head, feeling a bit like jelly with how numb your legs have gotten.

"Words." His tone brooked no argument. Swallowing thickly, you shift up the table a little. Your bare, sweaty skin squeaking against the polished wood.

Managing a soft, reassuring smile, you nod again. "You can move, Leon. I'm okay."

With a fierce growl, Leon yanked off the mask, his hair sweaty and disheveled, and scooped you up and off the table, carrying you through the hall towards your bedroom. The mask lay forgotten on the sofa cushions.

Curling into his embrace, you softly nuzzle him noting how your roles were most definitely forgotten by this point. Leon wasn't fond of accidentally hurting and even in roleplay, he would never do so intentionally.

"M'not gonna risk that again." Your boyfriend grumbled, tucking your head under his chin. "We're gonna do something different, baby."

"Okay, honey." You nuzzle him, sweetly. He looked down at you with a slight smile, his eyes visibly softening and pupils slowly widened. "I really was okay though."

"I know. But that was more than enough for me." Leon grunted next to your ear and splayed his warm palm across your back. Your delicious cunt is still snuggled tight around his thick length, every jostle sinking you down deeper.

Kicking the bedroom door open, his heavy stomping echoes as he hurls his boots off of his feet and settles your naked body atop the crisp sheets. Holding himself above you.

"I'm gonna make it up to you. Gonna let me taste you, baby?" Cupping your cheek in his large hand, his touch is sweet and reverent. You smile and lean into his touch, giving him a little nod. Leon's lips quirk upwards. "Good."

Leon kisses a trail between your breaths, mapping out a path across your skin. His lips slide gently over your stomach and finally lower to your aching core. Parting your folds with two fingers, he dives in.

He's a messy eater. Lapping and sucking and moaning against your skin, furiously swiping the tip of his tongue against your bundle of nerves; two fingers knuckle deep inside of you the entire time, curling into a language 'come here' motion. And you know he won't be stopping any time soon.

It seems like hours have passed when Leon pulls himself from your warm cunt. He replaced his tongue and fingers with his cock. The soft, plush tip sliding to part your lower lips for him, gathering your spilling nectar with a rapt moan.

"This pussy was made f'me, wasn't it, baby?" Leon looked down at you tenderly. Easing his hips forward, it's not long before his thick length sinks into you fully. Leon settles into an easy push-pull motion, rocking himself into you. His hand grappled for your hip, hiking your leg slowly to rest on his shoulder. And then the other one.

The bed rocks and creeks violently under the animalistic motions. Leon's snarling is borderline feral, you have half a mind to wonder if he was actually a werewolf this year. Round, heavy balls snap wetly against your ass and the coarse hairs surrounded dick feel like heaven as he fucks you dumb.

"Give it to me... come on, baby. I know you got in ya." Leon stroked his hand down your tummy to toy with your wet clit. Making tight, quick circles, Leon sends you careening off the edge and crying out his name.

With a loud shout, Leon's hips snap flush to yours. He's cumming, cumming, cumming. Cock throbbing as he gives you every last pent-up drop he has to offer. Until you're dripping in his seed and it overflows; leaking out of your poor, soft hole. Sweeping his tip across your clit, Leon prolongs both your pleasure for a couple more seconds. His softened cock slides between your folds, guiding himself back in to feel your nice, warm heat around him once again.

"Did it feel okay? It wasn't too much?" Leon asked, gently running a warm washcloth between your thighs. He tenderly cleans away every drop of your combined fluids. Aftercare was something he enjoyed just as much as the main act itself. "I felt like, maybe, that I was getting a little too into it at times..."

"No, no, I'm so glad you had fun. I promise I had fun too. I was a little sad that we ended it so early into the evening." You smile and shake your head. "It was perfect. You were perfect. Thank you for trying it out with me."

Leon chuckled, the corner of his lip crooking into a smile. Leaning down to you, he kisses your head and gently runs his knuckles down your cheek. He finished up and helped you slip into some extra comfortable pyjamas. It was still Halloween for a few more hours.

"Well, maybe we'll continue it next year?" A hint of hopefulness glimmered from his words. Guess the tough-guy agent really did enjoy letting loose and being the big, bad guy sometimes. Especially if it meant he was balls-deep inside of you.

You lay back among the strewn pillows and messy sheets, humming in agreement. Leon settles against your side on his tummy, propping his chin on your shoulder.

"I didn't realize ghosts were non-binary."

Leon's statement came completely out of the blue. You snicker softly and look at your boyfriend confused. Raising a brow, you motioned for him to continue. "I'm sorry-- they what?"

He grinned, "Ghosts. No matter their gender they're all wearing dresses!" He waggled his eyebrows, clearly impressed with his joke.

You groan, tossing your head back in mock exasperation. "Leonnn!"

Leon's laughter echoed throughout the house, full of mirth, more than content to be in his own little bubble with you while the town enjoyed the hauntingly fun festivities.

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