#and now i have to go back through my own tag for lore

[macchiatosdumptruck]

I think the reason LaKreese shippers like domestic!LaKreese is because John’s always alone, he’s lost everything partly due to his own fault—but we know how he was when he was younger, and how much he loved Betsy and how protective he was of her. He definitely comes off as this traditional type of guy, and I think Daniel could totally provide that domestic-comfort that John would like. He’s a great cook, a total family guy, and he’s got a cute personality. Plus Daniel’s so affectionate like a cuddly puppy—and that’s something that a grumpy bear like John needs even if he doesn’t want to admit it. Daniel would provide a lot of cuddles and John would eventually ease up and miss the affection when it’s gone. He’d probably go into protective-boyfriend mode too. And they both like kids...even if John goes about it the wrong way and makes them little karate soldiers. Lol. I guess that’s why they’re weirdly complimentary to each other.

They truly are a strange shipping phenomenon. In an au they make perfect sense. But looking at their actions in canon you're just like "how would they get from point A to point B though?" It would be so rocky. And trying to figure that out myself has been an interesting and frustrating experience.

How many talks have had to happen? How much of Kreese's internalized bullshit has he had to undo? How is he finally convinced to get help? What convinces Daniel to legitimately give him a second chance? To see him as something more than a helpful tool in his path of self destruction?

Luckily for people who claim Daniel as their fandom bicycle, canon has made him almost stupidly forgiving, which helps to suspend a fair amount of disbelief.

I can genuinely see Daniel looking at Kreese as this shell of a broken man, and deciding he's gonna fix him.

But what would happen when Daniel learned what went on in Vietnam? Is John even a reliable narrator in the show? Why am I thinking so hard about this when I can slap an easy au over it and call it a day?

I often see the relationship as a set of accidents. But for it to work (not in a fun au setting) there are several Very Purposeful things that have to happen.

John is protective and old fashioned, but to a fault. It could make Daniel feel stifled. Sure, he gets off on seeing John go into protective boyfriend mode, but then one day John actually does something stupid like hit a guy, and it causes them real trouble.

They fall together on accident, but then there has to be a moment where they realize they actually make each other happy.

And then they have to get over that mind fuck, to decide they're going to put actual work into it.

Anons making me rethink my hate-fucking ship.

But the possibility for cute domestic fluff is there! Which is why I think I probably ended up tying them together with a baby in an abo scenario.

(oh God. The band aid baby trope is dangerously close...)

I just wanted a big burly hairy man to absolutely destroy that twink and now I'm here.

Damn Daniel and his post tkk3 child-bearing hips.

I'm just gonna look at fluff prompts now because like imagine Daniel and Kreese taking a tiny Robby to baseball games. Smh.

[always-just-red]

A/N: Poured my soul into this a couple weeks ago, am dedicating it to everyone who's similarly torn between Sylus and their original LI- especially my fellow Rafayel girlies! This is not going to help! It's going to make it worse!! 🥰

Unspoken

Sylus x Reader 🩸 (implied Rafayel x reader)

Summary: You could fix all of this if Sylus would just resonate with you. Why won't he resonate with you?

Genre: Angst, so much angst, brace yourselves

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, injury detail, blood, swearing, possibly not lore-accurate (I've taken some creative liberties with Sylus' healing abilities and MC's resonance for the sake of maximum angst, because I like to suffer!)

| Word count: 2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Like the first, warm prickle of sunlight when you step out of a cold shadow.”

“Hmm?”

“That is what you said to him, right?”

Sylus’s eyes are closed, his head leant back against the wall and his whole body heavy with tiredness. He doesn’t move as he asks you the question. Doesn’t fix you with that suffocating, crimson gaze— like he usually does— and you almost miss it. There’s a pain to his tone, accentuating the gravel of his voice, and a part of you thinks it isn’t all for the injuries you’ve set about tending to.

If he was looking at you, you would see it, wouldn’t you? That flicker of melancholy that sometimes likes to betray the rest of him. Maybe that’s why he keeps his eyes closed.

You deliberate his words, trying to ignore the way he tenses as you press gauze to a wound on his stomach. They do feel familiar: a simile dancing at the edge of your consciousness, just barely out of reach. It’s hard to pursue the past with the present wetting your fingertips, fresh, hot, and red.

One clue: That is what you said to him, right? Him. Him? Who was—

Ah.

Suddenly the words are your own, at the tip of your tongue, because you're saying them in a memory. You were with Rafayel in his studio, reunited and safely returned from the N109 Zone. He had been holding you close, telling you he’d missed you and that he’d been waiting forever; he was so, so bored. You’d smiled fondly. Laced your fingers through his and resonated: wanting to lose yourself in his power, wanting to forget there was any other kind of warmth. He had sighed softly. The sensation was usually buried beneath blood and battle; you’d forgotten how intimate it was.

Then he’d asked you what it felt like.  

“You heard that?” you say to Sylus.

He hums a little. “Not directly.”

“Sylus.”

His name evokes a faint interest, or perhaps it’s the way you said it: chiding, stern— like you were just getting started. His right eye opens, regarding you warily. “Mmm?”

“We’ve talked about this.”

“You’ve lectured me, sweetie.” He leans back again, eyes closed. “There is a difference.”

You resist the urge to wring his neck, especially when it’s bared as invitingly as it is now. It feels calculated. Deliberate. You can almost imagine him lying there, anticipating the fatal vice of your hands. It was what he always seemed to want: to drag you into sin with him.

“I wouldn’t have to lecture you if you actually listened to me,” you reason, releasing a breath. “You can’t keep spying on me, Sy.”

He hums again: this time sceptically. “Can’t I? But you say such pretty things to him, kitten. It’s like watching a melodramatic film. I’d hate to miss it.”

“You’re jealous.”

“Maybe,” he admits with a half-hearted chuckle. “Then again, maybe not.”

You don’t know what to say, so you pretend it’s because you’re busy. Sylus’s hastily rolled up shirt has slipped downwards, catching the edge of his wound, and you lift it delicately, your fingers skirting over skin. His jaw clenches. His hands fist. His mouth is a tight line and you’re not sure what it’s holding onto more carefully: a short hiss of pain or the rest of his confession.

There are always things he isn’t telling you, but he comes closer to it at times like this, when you could do anything to him— cut his throat, collect on so many bounties— and instead you’re just… nice.

It’s the reason he doesn’t call when he’s slumped somewhere after a shootout, his Evol exhausted and his strength draining from half a dozen wounds he can’t quite heal yet. It’s the reason he lay here for who knows how many hours before you found him, rolling his eyes as you rushed to his side, because Luke and Kieran couldn’t keep their mouths shut.

You want to shout at him— want to scold him for being so goddamn stupid— but you don’t. Here you are instead, humouring him and playing nurse, when a simple resonance would suffice. He’d tried to force it before, but now, when you had thrust your hand into his and willed him to take? He’d snatched his hand back. Insisted on bearing his pain ‘the old-fashioned way’.

He was so fucking stubborn.

“What does it feel like with me?”

Sylus’s voice is gentle but his eyes are sharp— cutting into you like a blade striving for bone. It’s an unintentional violence, a jarring: I know what you’re thinking, but I’d rather hear you say it. Kindred spirits; he sees your mind and your heart and then looks at you like it isn’t a weapon. Like you should be grateful for the knife at your throat because you can trust the hand that’s holding it.

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, please,” he scoffs, “if you can conjure up a metaphor for your little artist, you can do the same for me.”

Something is stoked in you, and though you bite your tongue, your careful fingers slip for a moment, pressing into the tender skin at the edge of his wound. Sylus grimaces— hisses— though you could swear there’s a hint of a smile on his lips.

You’d sinned, hadn’t you? “You really wanna know?”

He nods, his eyes on you again. It’s your hand on the knife, and he trusts you implicitly.  

“It’s like… the ocean, I guess.”

“Inspired.”

“Shut up—” you flick his forehead— “just listen, ok? It was overwhelming at first. Zayne, Xavier, Raf… They’re all so powerful. But you? It felt like you could drown me. Like you wanted to drown me.”

Sylus is quiet. You’re running an antiseptic wipe over the smaller scrapes on his stomach, but he doesn’t flinch.

“It was consuming,” you carry on as you work. “Frightening. There was so much of it- so much you- filling my lungs, trying to take my breath away. The entire time I could feel how fathomless it was. I knew if I stopped fighting it I would sink, and that I would never, ever stop.”

You can remember it vividly, especially when you’re as close to him as you are now. Though there’s no more dark energy, twisting around you, dragging you closer, you can still feel its grasp. You can see it, too, when you look up at him: hunger, burning red.

It isn’t a command anymore; it’s a longing.

And you both know you can’t give him what he wants.

“But then I did stop fighting,” you continue, because you can at least answer his question. “And I could still breathe. I was still… myself.” You place a hand on his knee. “It doesn’t scare me anymore, Sy. It’s vast and intimidating, but it’s… exciting, too.”

You smile and give his knee a playful squeeze. “I wanna see how deep it goes.”

He’s stoic for another moment, an apathetic gaze dropping to your hand before lifting to your lips. Then he’s smiling too, leaning closer: “I want to show you how deep it—”

“Don’t ruin it.” You push him back to the wall.

He laughs, running a hand through his white hair, his eyes never leaving yours. There’s a place in his mind where he’s closing the distance again, and he doesn’t care if you know it. You feel the heat in your cheeks betraying you, so you focus back on the man’s injuries: the gash on his stomach has already bled through your bandages. It’ll need stitches.

You sigh, starting to peel back your previous work.

“Does it hurt?” Sylus asks. “Now that you’ve… stopped fighting?”  

You glance up, and he’s examining his hand like it’s a gun he hasn’t yet fired and so can't know the power of. He flexes his fingers, pale in the light. “A little,” you admit, thinking of Zayne’s ice and Rafayel’s fire. Resonating was always a trust exercise: it could kill you, could burn, and you had to be willing to let it. “But I can handle it.”  

Used bandages tossed aside, Sylus’s wound looks as dire as when you’d first lifted his shirt to find it. You lean back, lips pursed in bleak assessment; somewhere at the back of your mind, Zayne is insisting this is a job for a real doctor.

“That bad, huh?”

You huff in answer, exhausted. You shoot Sylus a look of defeat before gingerly offering your hand.

His eyes flit between it and you, and you have to give another nod of encouragement before he surrenders. He holds his breath— it’s slow— his forefinger gliding tentatively up your wrist, spelling a silent question, before tracing a circle in your palm. He closes his eyes. His long fingers spread yours and he’s claiming your hand with something between reverence and sin.

His touch trespasses delicately. His Evol doesn’t.

You bite back a gasp as power surges through you, dark and devouring. Your eyes snap shut and your hand tightens around his, not knowing if it’ll ground you or drag you deeper, not caring so long as there’s something in all this everything to hold onto. This could kill you— you would let this kill you, but it won’t. Your nails are leaving crescents in his skin and you know, you know, the world will burn long before you do.

This is different than the others. Better than the others.

Suddenly your hand is empty and the darkness is not a promise but a place where you’re alone. Your eyes flutter open, searching for an anchor. Your head is swimming.

“Are you alright?” Sylus is looking at you, his hand on your shoulder, steadying you, and it takes everything in your power not to grasp it again.

So empty. So alone. “I’m fine,” you manage, but your voice is shaking.

“Tch.”

He’s not a man who wastes his time, and he knows better than to push that particular lie. Rejuvenated, he sits up, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders— reacquainting himself with the strength of his body. He’s imposing again. Looming over you, again. His wounds have all healed, and you watch as the stains of his blood lift and disintegrate, like embers on a breeze.

His hand moves to massage his neck, and he yawns as he lazily tips his head from side to side. “Enjoying the show, sweetie?”

You don’t really hear him. He chuckles, pulling his shirt back down before waving a hand in front of your face; you catch it in a heartbeat. “Stop it.”

“There you are.” 

He twists his wrist free, but then your fingers are around his hand, turning it over so you can get a better look. Your thumb traces thoughtfully over the marks you’d made. “Aren’t you going to heal—”

“No,” he smirks.

He wants you to ask him why, so there’s no way in hell you’re going to. You both have your secrets: some worn on the sleeve and others, clutched a little closer to the chest. What does it feel like with me? You turn the question over in your mind as you tidy up wet gauze and bandages. You had told him the truth, just not all of it.

Like how you don’t lose yourself in him, but feel more yourself than you ever have.

Like how every time it gets easier, but so much harder to stop.

“So,” you mutter, distracting yourself, “are you happy with your metaphor?”

Sylus mulls it over as he studies you, a faint glow in his right eye. There are also things he wants to say, but he’s thinking of you and the artist, locked in a wistful embrace in a cluttered studio, so he keeps them to himself. His gaze tells you what he doesn’t: that he will bear it with a smile, for you, and that he will hold onto it long after it makes his hands bleed.

“It was a trifle trite, perhaps. Though… sweet,” he purrs. “Who knew a kitten could be so eloquent?”

“Fuck you.”

“Mmm.” He grins as he looks at your marks on his skin. “That’s better.”

[wholoveseggs]

Phantom Desires

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Daemon Targaryen X Reader} Harrenhal is tormenting Daemon, blurring the lines between what is reality and what is a dream. The damp, cold castle is driving him mad—until he meets you. You smell like summer, feel like a dream, and your lips taste like honey. If only you weren't a ghost.

♡♡ I was super inspired by Daemons bad time at Harrenhal and I decided he needs more trauma ~xoxo ♡♡

5.3k words - Warnings: smuttt, ghost!reader, oral sex {m! & f! receiving}, Harrenhal lore, spooky shit, fiery death, Daemon is losing his mild, ghost sex, Alys Rivers being Alys Rivers {I love her}, horrifying as it is horny ...

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

{Daemon Targaryen Tag-List}

@elijahstwink @starshipcookie @absolutemarveltrash @odairtrqsh @darkened-writer @cheneyq @fallout-girl219

My love, please… 

Daemon was woken by a voice calling him softly from across the room. It sounds like the breeze through the curtains, but when he opened his eyes, all was quiet.

He loathed this place, the damp made his bones ache and in every dark corridor he felt as if he was being watched. He could hardly sleep a full night in the cursed castle.

My love, come with me…

This time when Daemon's eyes snapped open, he could see a figure at the end of his bed, silhouetted against the moonlight that shone through the open window. He reached for his dagger, but stopped when the figure stepped into the light and disappeared.

"Fucking hell." Daemon cursed, rubbing his eyes with his palms. Maybe the damp really was making him lose his mind. He couldn't even trust his own eyes anymore.

He laid back down and closed his eyes again, pulling the furs around his body tighter. Sleep. He told himself. Go. To. Fucking. Sleep...

You stood there, watching him sleep from the foot of his bed. He was a handsome man, his blonde hair was tousled against the dark furs of his bed, the moon casting silver across his features.

You crept closer, kneeling down on the edge of the bed, your hands smoothing the sheets. You longed to touch him, to feel his warmth, to feel his hands upon you.

My king…

You whispered, tears stinging your eyes. He would never hear you, no one could hear you. You watched him stir a little, his eyelashes fluttering, his face frowning in his sleep.

Please, I'm begging you. I don't want to burn. Don't let me burn…

Daemon's eyes snapped open. He was sure he had heard something. There it was again. Crying. Someone was crying.

He needed some air, this place was starting to make him paranoid. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, pulled on his breeches and a jerkin before grabbing a torch and stepping into the hall.

The castle was quiet, his footsteps echoing along the empty halls. He wasn't a fool, believing in tales of ghosts and the like. But this place... he had seen things he couldn't explain.

Maybe it was the stress of the war. Of the guilt he was trying so hard to ignore. All the lives lost because of his actions. The lives of people he loved.

A sob cut through the silence, pulling Daemon back from his dark thoughts.

Don't burn me alive…

A voice, soft and pleading, echoed from the end of the corridor. It had to be a hallucination brought on by lack of sleep and the damp.

Please…

There it was again. Daemon turned on his heel, following the sobs until he found himself outside a small door. A woman's voice came through the wooden frame, crying, sobbing, pleading.

His hand went to the doorknob, he was shaking, terrified. What was happening to him? He had become so unmoored that he had lost his grip on reality? He knew the only way to get it back was to confront it head on.

When he pushed open the door, he saw you, standing in the dark corner of the room, your arms wrapped around yourself as you sobbed.

For a moment he just wanted to turn around and leave. He didn't have the capacity to console a crying woman right now. But then, he couldn't stop staring at you.

You turned, looking straight at him. Daemon felt a jolt in his stomach. Your eyes, they were beautiful. They seemed to glow with their own light.

"Are... Are you alright?" He asked you, cautiously, looking around the room for someone else. There was no one.

You wiped your tears, the reason you had been crying had already slipped your mind. The moment you saw the man before you, his blonde hair shining like the moon and his eyes, they were so piercing, like he could see right through you.

"I'm sorry, I must have gotten lost." You said, taking a step towards him.

He looked you up and down, his face twisted with confusion. You were dressed in finery, soft silks and velvets, the kind of thing a noble would wear. But this room, it was bare, cold and damp, not fit for a mouse let alone a woman of your beauty.

"I'm afraid I must have missed your introduction." He replied, giving you a curious look.

You smiled softly, it was the first time in so many years you had a visitor. He was handsome, strong, everything a man should be. You knew what he was, a Targaryen. A dragonrider. Born with fire in his veins.

You reached your hand out, and his eyes darted to it. He hesitated before taking it, half expecting his hand to pass right through you, but instead your fingers were warm, solid.

"I'm sorry for intruding, my lady. I thought this room was empty."

Your heart was pounding, the blood rushing to your ears. His touch, it felt like fire, power and there was an odd void to it. Like death rode beside him.

"It's alright." You whisper, not wanting him to let go.

"Are you a ghost?" He asked, his hand sliding up your arm, as if testing you, checking to see if you were real.

You laughed, how silly, "A ghost? No."

Daemon let out a shaky breath, "Thank the gods."

"Do you want something warm to drink? It can get so cold here," You asked, you wanted him to feel welcome, to calm the fire in his veins.

He seemed hesitant at first, but then he nodded, a small smile forming on his lips.

He followed you down the dark halls, keeping his torch aloft to light your way. The flames illuminating the damp, cold walls and the dust that floated through the air.

"You know, it wasn't always like this." You said softly, as you walked through the narrow passageways, your fingers running along the cold wet stone. "It was once a beautiful place, warm, welcoming."

He glanced around at the rotting floors and the moss growing along the stonework. He couldn't imagine it.

"My understanding is that it was always a cursed place, even before Aegon's arrival," he stated as the two of you entered the kitchens.

It was just as cold as the rest of the castle, but there was a fire going, and a basin full of fresh water. He lit the torches around the room and you began pulling out ingredients and preparing the tea.

Daemon leaned against the table, watching you work. You didn't look like you belonged in this place, you were too clean, too soft. Yet you behaved like you owned everything you touched.

"They say that before Harrenhal was built, it was a vast forest of heart trees," You said, focusing on putting some herbs and root vegetables into the pot over the fire, "That the trees themselves were Gods, and their roots are still underneath the stones, waiting to reclaim what is theirs."

"Sounds like a lot of nonsense," Daemon replied bitterly, his skepticism evident. 

"Yes," You agreed with a small smile, "But old stories often have a grain of truth to them."

He didn't understand why he was so drawn to you, why he sat and took the warm cup of tea that you handed him, or why he asked you to sit down next to him. He wasn't in the business of trusting people, but you... it felt like he had known you his whole life.

"The witch that resides here, Alys, said something similar," he added, remembering how she spun a tale about how this place was cursed. 

Your eyes darkened and your lips set in a line.

"Do not trust her," You tell him, your voice firm, "She sees things that are not there and hides secrets that are not her own."

He laughed and shook his head. "And what makes you so certain?"

You shrugged, "I see things too," you replied nervously, twiddling your fingers on your mug.

Daemon took a sip of his tea, an amused smile on his face and his eyebrows raised, "Is that so? Well, what do you see about me?"

You looked at him, your eyes studying every inch of his face, his hair, the scars along his neck. "You wish for things you don't really want," You whisper, "You seek violence, but deep down, you only want peace."

Daemon's face darkened, his jaw clenched and his hands tightened around his mug.

"Peace is for the weak," He replied harshly, his voice low, threatening, "Only the strong survive, and take what they want."

He looked so sad, so lonely. You wanted to reach out and comfort him, but you were scared. There was a rage in him, and a desperation that seemed to engulf him.

"I didn't mean to offend." You apologize, lowering your gaze.

You didn't look at him, your fingers running around the rim of your mug, until you felt him move closer to you.

"You didn't." He answered you, his voice softer, "Tell me more, about yourself. If you will."

You looked up at him and you could see his eyes had changed, softened, there was a curiosity there.

"How did you end up here?" He asked you, watching the fire dance in your eyes.

He could see a shadow of sadness in them, pain, worry. But then it disappeared, hidden behind a mask of a beautiful smile. You fascinated him, such a pretty flower growing amongst the cold unforgiving stone.

"My husband put me here." You told him, tracing your finger along the scarred wood of the table. "He's gone now, lost in smoke,”

You could tell he didn't know how to respond. But his expression told you that he had lost someone too. He just quietly nodded, taking another sip of his tea. He was starting to relax a little more, the warmth of the fire and the comforting smell of the drink was starting to put his mind at ease.

"Why did you think I was a ghost?" You asked him softly, your hand coming to rest on his arm, as though to remind him you were real, solid. 

Daemon sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, he didn't know how to answer that question without sounding insane. You could sense that a shadow hung around him like a stormcloud. His secrets coming to the surface.

"This place... It has a restlessness to it," he said, his voice low, cutting through the silence. "Some nights I lay awake listening to the walls groan, as though they are shifting and moving. I can hear... I can hear..." He trailed off, his voice getting hoarse.

You placed a hand on his cheek, his skin was rough and warm, and he leaned into your touch. You liked the way your skin felt against his, you wanted to assure him that you were trustworthy.

Daemon couldn't explain why he was telling you so much, but there was a calmness to you. When you touched him it felt like Dragonstone on a summer's day, like the feeling he got when he was alone in the clouds, flying far away from everything.

"Perhaps you are just lonely, and the castle is lonely too," You suggest to him.

Daemon couldn't deny the loneliness that plagued him. The nights were the worst, he had no one to confide in, no one to love him. He didn't want to think of his wife, his queen, far away and angry with him. Or his brother, dying alone and in agony. He had hurt them in ways that he could not atone for.

"Perhaps you are right," he admitted, taking your hand from his cheek and intertwining it with his own. 

You watched him, the firelight dancing across his handsome features. His blonde hair was like liquid silver and his eyes were beautiful, like a summer sky.

"Stay with me tonight," He told you, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand, his eyes pleading. There was a vulnerability in him, one that drew you in.

Daemon couldn't tell if he was being a fool, or if he was simply desperate to not be alone. The practical part of his brain told him that a good fuck would help him sleep, but this felt like something else. You were beautiful, there was no denying that, but you also felt like a dream, a figment of his imagination.

You didn't say a word, just stood up, still holding his hand, and led him from the kitchen, through the hall, past the courtyard, up the steps to his bed chambers.

The journey there felt like a blur, he couldn't take his eyes off you. The way your dress swayed, the way your hair bounced, the way the moonlight lit up your skin. It was like you were made of mist, or smoke, something that could fade away any moment.

The room was colder than when he left, the air smelled stale, and the curtains were flapping in the wind. It had a haunted quality, like a portrait whose eyes follow you around the room.

He had left the fire burning, but the warmth had been extinguished, and the flames were low. You moved to light the candles, giving the room a soft glow, but the darkness remained.

You turned to face him, he was watching you intently, waiting for you to make a move. You stepped closer, closing the distance between you, your hands sliding up his chest. He was so warm, so solid, full of life and power.

His hands tangled in your hair, pulling your face closer, and your lips met. It was a gentle kiss, hesitant, almost afraid. Like he was doing it for the first time.

His mouth was warm, the taste of the tea still on his lips. You could feel the desire building, the fire growing inside him. You pulled away, looking up at him. His eyes were dark, pupils dilated, a hunger in them.

"Please don't burn me," you whispered, the words sounding strange to his ears.

Daemon didn't understand what you meant by it, and his lust was too powerful to care. He captured your lips again, kissing you deeply.

Your fingers found the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over his head. The light of the candle flickered across his chest, illuminating the texture of his scars.

"You have seen battle," You comment, tracing the mark on his chest, a reminder of the war and the violence he craved.

"Many times," he said, his voice low, heavy with desire, "And I have many more to see."

"So much suffering," You whisper, leaning forward, kissing one that stretched across his chest, "So much blood."

He closed his eyes, letting the heat of your touch wash over him.

You moved down, dropping to your knees, pressing your lips against his stomach, feeling the hardness of his muscles. Your hands reached for laces of his breeches, untying them and freeing his cock from the confines.

He let out a shaky breath as your hand wrapped around him, slowly stroking his length.

"My king," you whispered, kissing the underside of his shaft.

Daemon let out a moan, his head falling back, his hand reaching out to grip the back of your neck. He needed more, needed to feel your lips wrapped around him.

You obliged him, opening your mouth, taking his cock into your hot, wet mouth. He groaned, his hips bucking forward, pushing himself deeper.

"Fuck," he hissed, his fingers tangling in your hair.

He looked down at you, his cock disappearing between your plump lips. The sight made him harder, and he was struggling to control himself. He wanted to fuck you, claim you.

Your hand reached down, cupping his balls, massaging them gently. Daemon moaned, his grip on your hair tightening, pulling your head forward, forcing his cock further down your throat.

He tasted like power, like a dragon made flesh. You could feel his pulse throbbing, the heat of his blood, the energy that pulsed through his body.

Daemon pulled you back by your hair, his cock popping out of your mouth, a string of saliva connecting you. He stared at you for a moment, before bending down and picking you up.

He carried you to the bed, dropping you onto the sheets. You looked up at him, his eyes were wild, and the smile on his face was pure lust.

He untied your dress, pushing the fabric aside, his hands sliding across your breasts. He bent down, his lips wrapping around your nipple, his tongue flicking over the sensitive nub.

Daemon groaned, his hands moving down, tugging on your skirts, pulling them up around your waist, leaving you completely exposed to him.

He continued kissing his way down, his lips trailing across your stomach, his hands lifting your thighs, pushing your legs apart.

He settled between your legs, kissing your inner thigh, gently nipping at the tender skin. You felt his warm breath against your cunt, a soft moan escaping your lips.

He chuckled, pressing his face between your thighs, inhaling your scent. You could feel his tongue licking the length of your pussy, his fingers probing, pressing inside of you.

You gasped, your back arching, your hands clutching the sheets. You had never felt anything like it before, the feeling of his mouth and fingers moving in tandem, making your whole body tingle.

"Don't burn me, don't burn me," you whispered, over and over.

He pulled away, his eyes filled with concern, but he did not speak, did not ask you what you meant.

Instead, he pressed his lips against yours, his tongue sliding into your mouth. You tasted yourself on his lips, and you moaned, wanting more.

His eyes were gentle, trying to convey a tenderness he did not have, and his voice was quiet, as he whispered, "You are not going to burn."

Your hands went to his chest, clutching his shoulders, and you let him spread your legs. He was still fully clothed, but his cock was free, the tip of his erection pressing against your entrance.

You gasped as he slowly pushed himself inside of you. You clung to him, wrapping your arms and legs around him, moaning softly as he began to thrust.

He moved slowly at first, allowing you to adjust to his size, but he quickly increased his pace, pounding into you, the sound of flesh slapping together echoing through the chamber.

"My king, my king, please don't-" you moaned, feeling him hit a good spot inside, sending sparks through your body.

He didn't listen, didn't understand what you meant, just continued to fuck you, his fingers digging into your thighs. He could feel his climax building, his cock throbbing inside of you.

You could feel him getting close, his breathing becoming ragged, his movements becoming erratic. You fell over the edge together, crying out as he released his seed deep inside you.

"My king, oh my king," you moaned, your nails digging into his back, leaving deep red marks.

He collapsed on top of you, panting heavily, his head resting on your chest. He didn't know why you kept calling him king, perhaps you were a bit confused about his status. But he wasn't going to correct you, he enjoyed the way it sounded coming from your lips.

You stroked his hair, his breathing slowly returning to normal. You could feel his heart beating, his warmth, his power.

"Don't leave," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"I won't," you promised him, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them.

You felt him slowly fall asleep, his weight comforting on top of you.

There was a strange peace in the room, the darkness and the chill receded, the candlelight dancing across the stonework.

You held him, running your fingers through his hair, humming a tune that was as old as the castle itself.

Daemon woke to the sounds of screaming. His eyes shot open, his hands grabbing for his sword that was always close by. He was alone in his bed, the fire long since extinguished, the only light coming from the full moon.

He didn't have time to worry about where you had gone, the sounds of people shouting and a dragon roaring had him jumping out of bed, quickly dressing.

He ran down the corridor, the stones were ice cold, and the air smelled stale, the shadows dancing menacingly along the walls. He had to push against a door, it was swollen from the damp, but when he burst through, the smell of burnt flesh was thick.

You were in the courtyard, standing in the middle, your white dress glowing in the moonlight. You turned to look at him, your eyes full of tears.

"Please don't burn me," you begged him, your voice breaking.

The roar of the dragon filled his ears, and the sky was lit up with orange flames. He looked to the sky for the source of it, had Aemond arrived with Vhagar?

He was horrified when he saw that the dragon was not Vhagar, but the largest dragon he had ever seen. It looked like Balerion, but it had three heads.

He watched as it descended, its wings so large that with every movement, the sound of the wind would change, becoming deafening, thunderous.

He turned to look back at you, to tell you to run, but you were now right in front of him. Your face was mere inches from his own, burned black, melted, half of it hanging off.

"My king," you cried, your voice a broken, raspy sound. "Why did you burn me,"

Daemon screamed, then woke up in his bed. His body covered in a sheen of sweat, his heart pounding.

The bed next to him was empty, cold, the fire still burning low. He could still hear the screams, the dragon, the pain and suffering, still smell the ash and the charred flesh.

The sun was shining through the window, the sound of birds singing. Everything was peaceful, the castle was still, silent.

He sat up, his breathing slowing, his pulse returning to normal. He looked around the room, there was no sign of you, no sign that the night had ever happened.

He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to calm himself. It had just been a dream, a vision. Nothing more.

But he could still smell you on the sheets, and the image of you was burned into his memory. He got up, dressing quickly, needing to move, to do something.

He spent the day meeting with vassals and lords, discussing matters of the realm. Trying to keep his mind busy. He felt as though he was slowly losing his grip on reality, he swore he could see you around every corner, could hear your voice in every creak and groan of the castle.

The sun had set, and the candles were burning low. The castle was quiet, the servants had gone to bed, the halls empty. He felt like he was completely alone, the only one left in the vast void of this wretched place.

He made his way down to the kitchens, looking for you. It was a foolish thing to do, he knew, but he had to find you, had to see if you were real.

He found Alys, sitting on a stool next to the fireplace, her nose buried in a book.

"Evening," she said without looking up, "Tea is in the pot."

Daemon didn't want tea, he didn't want anything other than to know you were alright.

"Have you seen the new girl?" He asked her, trying to keep his voice even, trying to seem nonchalant.

"Who?" She asked, still not looking up.

"She..." Daemon tried to describe what you looked like, but when he tried to picture you in his mind, the only image he could see was the one from his dream, your burned and melted face.

Alys watched him with a slight smirk, this dragon lord was unraveling so quickly, it was delicious. She went back to focusing on her book. "Doesn't ring a bell,"

He knew there was no point in trying to get more out of her, so he gave up and left the kitchen.

"Perhaps she is where you left her?" Alys suggested, her laughter echoing after him.

He walked back to his chambers, his heart pounding, his palms sweating. He stood outside the door for a moment, before gathering his courage and stepping inside.

The room was dark, the curtains were still closed, the air cold. There was a book lying open on his bed, one he did not remember leaving there.

He picked it up, holding it far away from him, like it could burn him. It was a book of the histories, of the conquest. Of Harren the Black and his sons burning alive.

He wondered who else died in the blaze, the nameless faces who were forgotten by history, the servants and slaves, the wives and daughters.

Daemon was sure he was losing his mind, the castle was haunting him, and it was only a matter of time before he became one of its ghosts.

Don't burn me… My king…

He remembered the fear in your voice, the sadness, the pleading. Anger and confusion bubbled in his chest and he threw the book across the room, the pages fluttering as it landed.

He needed sleep, this was all because he wasn't sleeping. Once he was rested, his mind would be clearer. He put no stock in dreams or visions, ghosts and monsters, that was for children and fools, this was all just because he was tired.

He got ready for bed, blowing out the candles, the moonlight casting shadows across the walls. He settled into bed and closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to take him.

You watched him lay there, his brow furrowed, his face troubled. He tossed and turned, his eyes fluttering open and closed.

You laid down next to him, gently placing your hand on his cheek. He calmed at your touch, his breathing slowing. You pressed a kiss to his forehead, his skin warm, and his hair tickled your lips.

"My king," the words fell from your lips, barely above a whisper.

He opened his eyes, nearly jumping out of bed when he saw you, laying right next to him, your head on the pillow.

"What are you doing?" He demanded, his voice harsh, his hand gripping the dagger under his pillow.

You sat up, your hair falling around you, your dress slipping off your shoulder. "I was just... I just..." You tried to find the words, tried to think of what you were doing, where you were. "...I missed you," you said, the words not feeling quite right, but they were the only ones that came.

He stared at you, his eyes wild, his hand gripping the dagger so tightly, his knuckles were white.

"How did you get in here?" He asked, his voice low, dangerous.

You thought about it, trying to remember, but it was like there was a fog covering your mind.

"I don't know, I've always been here," you said, your voice trembling, tears starting to form. "I just wanted to see you."

He let go of the dagger, and took a deep breath.

"What is your name?" He asked, his eyes studying you.

"I- I don't know," you stammered, the tears falling freely now.

He reached out and touched your face, wiping away the tears with his thumb. His hand lingered, his fingers brushing against your cheek.

"You're not real are you?" He asked, his voice full of sadness.

"Yes I am," you cried, grabbing his hand, pressing it against your cheek. "I'm right here."

He sighed, closing his eyes. "Who do you think I am?"

"You're the dragon king," you said, smiling through the tears, “the great conqueror,”

He stared at you, his eyes filled with sorrow. "What is my name?" He asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Aegon," you said, the word felt right, like it belonged in your mouth, but the fear in his eyes told you otherwise.

He pulled away from you, moving to the edge of the bed, his back to you. He felt your arms wrap around him from behind, your breasts pressing against his back, your head resting on his shoulder.

"You're not really Aegon," you whispered, "Are you?"

He shook his head, his eyes staring at the floor.

"I'm not real?" You asked, your hands clutching his shoulders.

"No, no you're not," he whispered.

Suddenly you were kneeling in front of him, your hands resting on his thighs, your head tilted to look at him.

"Then why can I touch you?" You asked, running your hands up his thighs.

He didn't answer, just pulled you into his lap and pressed his lips to yours. You melted into him, his hands on your waist, his lips parting.

You tasted sweet, like honey, like a spring day, the flowers blooming. He needed you like a fire needs air, like a man needs water, his hands moving down to your hips, pulling you closer.

He moaned into the kiss, your hips rolling against him. You could feel his hardness beneath the fabric, the heat radiating from him. Your hands untied his shirt, pushing the fabric aside, revealing his bare chest.

You kissed his neck, biting and sucking on the tender skin. He groaned, his hands moving to your hair, tugging, pulling you away from his neck.

You stared at him, your eyes dark, full of lust, your lips swollen. He pulled you back in, his mouth crashing into yours, his hand moving to the back of your neck, holding you in place.

He lifted your skirts, his hand dipping beneath the fabric, easing a finger inside you. You gasped against his lips, his touch sending shivers through your body, your hands gripping his shoulders. He slipped another finger inside you, pumping slowly, then adding another. His eyes never left yours as the intensity increased, moving faster, your breath coming in short gasps.

Your lips brushed his, your voice a breathy moan. "Please my king.... Don't burn me, don't burn me,"

Daemon froze.

"I can't burn you," he said, his voice hoarse. "You're already dead."

Your face crumpled, the tears flowing freely, sobs wracking your body. The sound of you crying echoed strangely in the chamber, the shadows growing longer, the light from the moon turning crimson.

"I'm dead? You killed me?" You cried, trying to pull away from him, but he wouldn't let you go.

"I didn't kill you," he said, his eyes locked on yours. "That was someone else, in another time,"

You looked at him, your eyes wide, your mouth open in a silent scream. He watched in horror as your skin began to bubble and blister, peeling off in chunks. It was like you turned into sand in his arms, slowly crumbling, falling through his fingers.

You screamed, a blood curdling, terrible sound, like the screams he had heard in his nightmare. You were being consumed by fire, the flames eating away at your flesh, burning, boiling, the smell of burning meat filling the air.

He couldn't look away, couldn't let go. He was frozen in place, trapped, watching as you were destroyed. Then you vanished from his lap, fading into nothing.

Daemon sat in his bed, his skin clammy, his breathing ragged. He clutched his head, his fingers digging into his scalp. He couldn't take this anymore. He was going mad.

"Don't leave me here in this place," he whispered, he did not know why he had said it, but he did. It was a plea, a desperate, hopeless plea.

But you had left. Because you were never real.

And this wretched castle was just as lonely as before.

[saytrrose]

A post that Freakshow Au + Sm-Baby Fans NEED TO HEAR. READ IT.

—————

I cannot stand the people on tumblr in Mushys comments accusing her of so many horrible things. People have been stating that Mushy has been drawing “non-con” and supporting “abuse”. I will not go into too much detail on how it is affecting her and why but it is incredibly overwhelming for her, and she is not comfortable posting for the time being- and you people are making it hard for her to enjoy it anymore.

Mushy is portraying the au and characters how they would canonly work and that does not make her a bad person. The large amount of people trying to say that she has been drawing non-con of the late absolutely SICKENS me. You clearly do not have any understanding for that terminology and should not be throwing it around. Maybe if people paid attention to the au, the lore and how they are characterized you would come to the conclusion that NO ONE WANTS TO BE IN THE FREAKSHOW AU.

If you need a reminder of the definition, The TADC Freakshow Au is an Au where a horrible virus infects the Ai and twists their reality into a horror mindscape. THIS IS NOT CAINE OR ABLES FAULT. Caine and Able ARE AI. They are corrupted by the virus unwillingly and what Able puts Pomni through in the Able-Owned Pomni Au is yes, considered psychological abuse. HOWEVER why in gods name would you assume she supports that shit? Do you people just assume whenever someone draws a death scene they support murder?? or when someone depicts a scene of an animal getting hurt in a fanfic or movie that director/writer supports animal abuse?? Does that seriously go through your head?

EVERYONE in the Freakshow au in under some sort of psychological abuse- HELL in the original show they are. Like did you even watch it? And back to Freakshow, it’s a HORROR AU. People are killed left and right and no one seems to have a problem with that hm? THIS IS FICTION. PEOPLE NEED TO LEARN THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN FICTION AND REALITY BECAUSE WHEN YOU DO NOT DO SO YOU HURT PEOPLE IN REAL LIFE. Not the people producing fictional content, YOU.

People are quite literally, harassing Mushy right now and it is heartbreaking to see my friend experience this. If you do not like certain content that Mushy creates, BLOCK her or BLOCK her tags. People asking for her to tag her art with “abuse” makes her highly uncomfortable. If you do not like this, simply take responsibility for your own viewing and stop interacting.

People need to stop assuming that Mushy is also not trying to find comfort in drawing certain topics. You people need to stop assuming that Mushy lives some sort of cheery happy go lucky life. She experiences a lot, she is going through A LOT right now and you people dog piling these accusations onto her is not only just disrespectful as a person in general, but as her follower. It is truly just disappointing to see just how rude people can be when they are supposed to be your biggest supporters.

A tag MIGHT be arranged, something as simple as “Able-Owned Au” and if this is done then block it. It is that easy. It is so so easy and simple to take initiative for yourself and what you see and how you feel about it by limiting it on your own end than going out of your way to make someone feel horrible about themselves.

Mushys blog is HER blog. She can draw whatever she would like to and if anyone has an issue with this you can very kindly, FUCK OFF. The block button exists, use it. The block tags method exists, use it.

Stop harassing creators.

[evilminji]

Hey Minji! A thought for your Star Wars things!

Who ever said the SI-OC was the only one to get dumped in SW? Just. A Creche that has several Reincarnations/Transmigrants.

Oh? My god? Just... the FIRST thing that popped into my head? Was the image of one of those "we are so Unbelievably Overworked We No Longer Fear You Nor Death" Sort of office workers/team of workers(nonspecific)?

Just... fuckin EVERYBODY knows Star Wars. Not everybody focused on the same PART of it, but the DO know it. So OBVIOUSLY? The Force decided it should bring in an A Team.

It Did Not ASK the A Team.

They are... like? 4. And sitting in a soft foam, brightly colored Creche, in their lil Jedi rompers, all sitting in a circle, looking at each other like... ( -_-) (-_- ) you too, huh?

Yeeeeeep. (God does Jerry want a cigarette. Jerry gave them up in his 20s. But he's KINDA GOING THROUGH IT, okay?!) (Sarah is hyperventilating in the corner. Her KIDS! Oh GOD. Her KIDS! She was on the way to pick them up from SOCCOR PRACTICE!!!)

Just? This whole ass team of "yeah, we know the LORE, but buddy, pal, we had LIVES! What the FUCK. Star Wars was a HOBBY!" Type adults? No one is happy and everyone wants to choke the metaphysical concept of The Force with their itty, bitty lil baby hands.

They may RIOT.

And like? Do to sheer NUMBERS? They make up ALMOST a full Creche?

Almost.

There is like... one? Maybe two? Actual Jedi Babies™ in their group? It's A Team... plus our collective children. Whom we parent. The MOST baby of babies. Also the spokesperson when they want to fool anyone into thinking they're "normal".

I want Jerry to have a fake cigarette. He's looked up death sticks and like FUCK is he putting that shit in his body, but dear LORD are the oral fixation and mental effects of a past addiction still both real, and a pain in the ASS.

If you try and TAKE his fake ass, hand made, bespoke not-a-cigarette from his itty bitty lil baby hands? He will take your KNEES. These FUCKERS won't even let him have COFFEE. Let him HAVE THIS. *hisses from the walls*

I want them to be ☆~Nightmare Children~☆

They have the power of The Force, various past life skills, an uninterrupted access to the galaxy's BIGGEST LIBRARY, close proximity to FAR too many senator AND their living spaces, and? An actual negative number of fucks to give. They can take shifts. Tag team. Be creepy, horrible, terrible, God awful nightmare creatures climbing out from your WALLS.

Somehow they keep escaping.

Down through the lower temple as they examine the hidden tunnels and escape routes. Through the vents. Forcing other jedi to become VERY familiar with where those pathways are. Sure hope THAT won't someday save your lives! Ya ungrateful, "you're grounded, stop sneaking out younglings" BASTARDS! So rude!!

The camp out in the Corrie Gaurd office. Bring the babies.

Here, you seem stressed, random gaurd. Hold a Jedi Baby. They radiate sunshine and good vibes. Are literally the Anti-Old-Man-Sith. We brought caffeine and food from the temple. Are willing to follow you around like "adorable ducklings" on patrol under the excuse that we're "training" for when we get our own soilders.

Sure is INCONVENIENT for all these asshole senators to has a witness, huh?

You gaurd my back, I'll gaurd yours. And if a certain long neck trips near the stairs? You didn't see SHIT. I'm BABY. How could I POSSIBLY have the control to do that? Now excuse me... we need to practice our "we Jedi Children can stare into your SOOOOOULS, we See All Your Sins." Wide Eyed Unblinking Predator Stare.

(O.O) (O.O) (O.O)

[tinycozycomfort]

some quiet evenings

pairing: mike schmidt x f!reader

summary: If he wasn’t so far away all the time, working and worrying and wracked with undeserving guilt, you’d disassemble him completely—down to the fucking marrow.

warnings/tags: no use of y/n, sub!mike, the tone? they're in love, underwear play, c*ck grinding, finger sucking, pet names (baby, honey, etc), the socks stay on, criminally gratuitous descriptions of how good-looking this man is

word count: 2k

rating: explicit! 18+ only, mdni

a/n: huge thank you to @cupofjoel for these amazing fics that were a direct contributor to me watching the movie (and then subsequently falling into a lore hole) and to @pascalisbaby for listening to me fumble my way through this!!

main masterlist

Mike is always tired when he gets home. 

Tired like the weight of his body is too much to bear, eyes wet and just-open like a seam that’s freshly split. He hangs at the end of his own rope, slumped on the line of his spine, damp across his brow as he sits and undresses at the corner of the bed. 

You don’t question him when he says it’s nothing, when he mumbles something about work being a lot of pressure and just needing to make it through the end of the week. For something so mundane—watching unwanted property—it seems off; still you kneel at his back to help him shrug off the lip of his vest and hoodie and creased t-shirt with nothing more than a sigh.

“Didn’t mean to put this on you. I know you work as much as I do—more, even,” his head lolls down towards his lap, fingers sweeping his face as he shrinks with guilt, “I just need to figure out some money for another babysitter so I can actually sleep and you can actually see me and—” 

“It’s okay. Don’t know how many times I’ll have to tell you before you believe me.” 

He works at the clasp of his pants before you can—another thing he feels the need to take responsibility for, right now—bending at the waist enough to pool them at his ankles, socked feet tapping the ground inside their halos. Nervous, like always, high-strung and erratic for reasons you can’t begin to pull out of him. 

“And everything with Abby, she just… I worry about her.” 

“She’s asleep down the hall. Got her to eat and everything. You need to worry about yourself, too, y’know.” You widen your thighs, straddling the base of his hips, left hand curling to cradle the strip of skin between his shoulder and neck. He’s warm there, too, tacky and tense when you tuck your pointer up against his jaw. “Look at me, Mike.” 

He refuses at first, pushing back against your guidance, reserve strong in the face of shame.

In return, you press harder into him, doubling down, dimpling the underside of his chin in an effort to halt his retreat.

“No,” he whispers, insistent. 

Something hot swirls in the core of your spine at his defiance, as small as it is loud, the corner of your lip tugging up in response. He can’t see you, hiding like this, but it’s like he can feel it, knocking a shoulder up to shield himself even more. 

He likes this game, you’ve realized—where you let him have his fit just to reel him back in, to prove to him he’s wrong. That special kind of attention to detail—the laborious care of taking the time to peel back his doubts to get to the tender meat of his heart, just to string up your favorite pieces of him as you go. Declarations is maybe the most correct way to put it; he likes to earn the kind of love he can hang on the fridge.

You lean in behind him, cheek brushing the hair at his temple, and his guise falters, body unfurling on instinct. What a sweet man he is, naked save for the rings of fabric on and at his feet, the thin veil of his boxers—the latter failing to hide his own interest. Opening for you like he needs to.

You drag your nose across his lobe, the flesh there raising in little welts, “You do know how much I worry about you, right? How much I want you to relax? Don’t you want that, too?” 

He swallows hard, wrist twisting in his lap—restraint, you think, or warning; Mike, ever-courteous, letting you know he’s reached his threshold, fizzing over the top. 

“What do you think I could do to make you feel better, honey?” You run the bend of your free hand along his inner thigh, chest flush to his back so you can reach the fold of his knee. 

Mike shudders, short puffs of air jutting out of his open mouth. The grip you have on his neck tilts, wrapping your thumb over the knob of his jaw, longer fingers spreading out so you can curve one between his lips. He licks at it, tongue soft where he sucks you in, skipping the gentle work-up to get to his favorite part—more tired than you thought, then.

“I don’t want to have to choose for you, but I will.” You rub the inside of his cheek like you can coax the words out, “C’mon.” 

“You could—I want, fuck. I want to be inside you.” 

The papery t-shirt clinging to your back stretches, looped material around your hips tacked down by the trickle of slick that seeps out at his words. You were ready for bed when he arrived,  more thankful than ever to have nothing else between you and his body, now that he’s ready for something else.

You drag your wandering hand across where he’s straining, hot and heavy, his only reaction a gentle tug of teeth on your knuckle, a too-deep inhale that inflates his chest. Mike’s hands sit limp where they’re glued to his thighs, waiting patiently for your next instruction, seeing if you’ve decided to grant him his request. 

It’s not until you wedge your hand free to toy at the waistband of his boxers that he sets into motion, raising off the sheets and letting you strip him of his last shred of modesty, just the slouched cuffs of his socks left clinging to him.

His cock is hard—angry—coming down on his stomach with a dull thud, a sticky pull of precome following in its wake. The muscle under his torso jumps at the impact like he forgot it was even there, too focused on what’s coming next, sold on the prospect of something better. 

You guide a leg down the slope of the bed, planting yourself on the floor by his side. He takes the hint, pushing himself higher up on the sheets and resting his weight on the flat of his elbows behind him, quick to obey.

You take your time climbing along him, bracketing him from the front this time so you can take in the full image of his want. He’s flushed across his cheeks, his neck—even the little reliefs in the skin under his eyes are touched by pink. Lips shining, hair clumped with wet at the root—he’s the kind of beautiful he doesn’t even know he’s capable of, sleepy and misty and shaky when you run your fingers against his jaw—still damp from his own mouth—marveling at the rounded edges that find their way in his angular face. 

If he wasn’t so far away all the time, working and worrying and wracked with undeserving guilt, you’d disassemble him completely—down to the fucking marrow. Clip him off at every joint just to piece him back together. 

“Pretty,” you mumble, mostly to yourself, but you know he hears it when he preens, eyes fluttering and chest squeezing tight in a long exhale.

You loop a thumb through the center of your underwear, swinging it out to fit his cock in with you, settling into his lap more firmly so that the split of your cunt presses against him. He’s trapped there, between your heat and his belly, the whine that slips out of him involuntary but solid. 

When you start to move, working up a rhythm, he spits out something like fuck, fuck yes and you nod to feign understanding.

“Oh, is this what you meant? You wanted to be inside here?” You rock into his hips with purpose, the thick shape of him rubbing at your clit like it’s all he was made for, like being inside you wouldn’t even be an idea if he couldn’t take care of you in every other way first. 

“No.” 

“First yes, now no? You have to make your mind up, baby. You’re not giving me enough to work with, here.”

“Yes. This is–yes.” 

He starts to meet you halfway without thinking, grinding up into the cradle of your body in search of a better way to communicate than words. 

“So you don’t want to fuck me?” 

Mike whines at that, the breakout of red reaching the very edges of his face, bleeding down into his collarbones. He regains some sense of his own body, then, hands fumbling up until they slot above the crease of your thigh, rubbing firmly at your hip bones. Pleading.

You tuck your knees into his side to help him along, ribs stinging where your efforts begin to hurt, happy anyway to push him closer to the edge. A thick lick of heat rises in your chest, the seat of your pelvis, flaring white when you watch him fight for something to say.

“I do—I did, I just. This is perfect. You’re perfect.” He’s panting in between each word, pressing himself to you to punctuate his point, “I’m going to come just like this, if you’ll let me.” 

It’s not so spelled out, but he is asking for permission—as he always does—and it sounds like an apology more than anything else. For being selfish, you know he’ll say; for taking his pleasure exactly like you’d asked him to.

You swipe at the curls that are starting to twist at the base of his neck, both for leverage so you can match his pace and to point out another facet of him that falls perfectly into your liking, the glide easier with how much you’ve coated him in that same favor. 

The hand you’d hooked into him earlier finds his lips again, slipping in with no resistance, passing harshly against his molars and tongue. 

Mike is eager to glean as much fondness as he can off the skin, closing his mouth and sucking fervently. 

“Go ahead, then. Said you needed to relax, didn’t I? We’ve got all morning.”

Something flashes in his eyes that reads horribly like but what about work?, as if now would be the time to worry over your schedule—as if anything could be more important than the way his cock swells in anticipation despite the thought. 

You redirect the anxiety, not wanting his orgasm to fall flat after all the convincing it took to lead him here, “You have all morning to make it up to me.”

His grip around your middle tightens, suffocatingly so, brows drawing tight, tilting his head so he can take in more of your fingers to slide his tongue against the underside of your palm as he comes in warm threads of slip. 

He makes a mess of your chests and the already soaked-through film of your underwear, legs shaking under you as he breathes his way down. 

You release yourself from him with a pop, squeezing lightly at his cheek as he cracks a meek smile. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, freshly shy like he hadn’t been aware of what just occurred, so inside his mind he’d left his body, “I didn’t mean to not be able to, um—” 

“Fuck me?” 

He’s fully glowing by now, this time because of the weight of your accusation, loosening a little only when he sees you grinning back at him. You lean in, pecking at the corner of his mouth to not interrupt his irregular breaths, allowing him just a moment of error before appealing to the side of him that rids him of his nerves, “Get to it, then, if you’re so worried about it.”

[kckt88]

Byka rūklon II.

Summary:

Prince Aemond Targaryen has never given much thought to any of the maids who worked in the Red Keep, until he met Y.N.

In her Aemond found comfort and solace, the two of them kindred spirits until the Dance of Dragons forces them apart.

*Features an Aemond POV

Warnings - Angst, Drama, Secret Relationship, Discussion of Non/con Brothel Visit, Kissing, Smut - Oral Sex, FIngering, Loss of Virginity, P in V, Mention of Betrothal, Mention of Death, Vulnerability.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x Y.N

Word Count: 8382

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8

Aemond Targaryen strode through the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep, on his way back to his chambers after an extended study session in the library.

His mind swirled with the weight of the lore and histories of his ancestors. As he rounded a corner sharply, he collided with someone, a small figure who tumbled to the ground with a startled squeak.

Aemond looked down, his single eye narrowing. At his feet lay a young maid, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she scrambled to collect herself. “Watch where you’re going,” he demanded, his voice cold and imperious.

The girl’s eyes widened as she hastily bowed her head. “Apologies, my prince,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond’s gaze fell on a tatty book that had slipped from her grasp. Curious, he bent down and picked it up, the worn cover rough beneath his fingers. “What is this?” he asked, his tone carrying a hint of disdain.

The girl lowered her gaze further, her eyes fixed on the stone floor. “It belonged to my mother, my prince” she murmured.

Aemond’s curiosity piqued. “And where is your mother now?”

“She-she died twelve moons ago, my prince.”

“And what of your father?”

“He sold me as a maid to the Red Keep because he couldn’t afford to keep me,” she replied, her voice trembling slightly.

Aemond studied her for a moment, a mixture of annoyance and a flicker of something softer in his gaze. “What is your name?”

“Y.N,” she replied, her voice steadying as she looked up at him through her long lashes.

Aemond extended his hand, and she hesitated before reaching out, her fingers trembling as they met his. He helped her to her feet, the moment stretching out as she steadied herself. Handing back the book, he watched her clutch it to her chest.

“Thank you, my prince,” she said, her voice sincere.

Aemond gave a curt nod, a thoughtful “hmm” escaping his lips before he turned and continued on his way, leaving the young maid standing in the corridor.

Aemond stood in the training yard, the clashing of swords echoing off the stone walls as he sparred with Ser Criston. Each swing of his blade was precise, fuelled by a combination of rigorous practice and a relentless drive to prove himself.

"Good, my prince," Ser Criston praised, parrying a strike and stepping back. "Your form is improving."

Aemond took a moment to catch his breath, lowering his sword. As he did, the sound of jeering voices caught his attention. He turned; his eye narrowing as he saw a group of men gathered near the entrance to the keep.

In the midst of them was Y.N, her arms laden with food procured from the markets, her gaze fixed firmly on the ground as the men made lewd comments.

Anger flared within Aemond, and he gritted his teeth. Without a second thought, he shouted, "Don't you all have something better to do than harass the maid whilst she attends to her duties?"

The men immediately fell silent, their faces paling as they recognized the volatile one-eyed prince. "Apologies, my prince," one of them mumbled, and the group quickly dispersed, not daring to disobey his command.

Y.N looked up, her eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. She bowed politely to Aemond, her movements quick and respectful. "Thank you, my prince," she said softly before rushing back inside the Red Keep, the food still balanced precariously in her arms.

Aemond watched her go, his expression unreadable. He then turned back to Ser Criston, his grip tightening on his sword as he prepared to resume their training.

Over the next few weeks, Aemond found his attention increasingly drawn to Y.N. It began subtly, his gaze lingering on her longer than intended whenever she was in sight.

During dinners, as she moved gracefully among the tables, pouring wine, he noticed the quiet efficiency with which she worked, her eyes always downcast, her presence almost ghostly.

Unlike his older brother Aegon, whose hands were notorious for wandering where they shouldn't, Aemond had always maintained a respectful distance from the maids.

Aegon's unseemly behaviour brought dishonour upon their family, especially upon his wife, Helaena, a fact that irked Aemond to no end.

He was the second son, a scholar of history and philosophy, a dedicated swordsman, and the rider of Vhagar, the largest dragon in the world. His life was defined by discipline and a relentless pursuit of knowledge and skill.

Yet, despite this, he couldn't help but feel drawn Y.N. She was different, and that intrigued him.

He found himself observing her while she swept and scrubbed the floors of the Red Keep, her movements methodical and precise. There was a quiet dignity in the way she carried out her duties, a stark contrast to the bustling activity around her.

What truly captured his attention, though, were the moments when she thought she was alone. He noticed how her eyes would linger on the sky, a look of longing and wistfulness in them. It was as if she were dreaming of a world beyond the confines of the Red Keep.

He also saw the way she smiled when she took a moment to rest and read from the tattered book she carried. Her face would soften, and a gentle smile would grace her lips and he would often find himself wondering what she was thinking in that exact moment, if she ever thought of him the way he thought of her.

He wondered about the softness of her skin, the arch of her lips and the shade of her eyes.

Thinking about her was tormenting his mind, she was maid and he a prince of the realm, he should be focusing on his duties, but he couldn’t help himself.

Night after night as he laid in bed, he would picture her in various stages of undress, and the two of them laying with one another.

He felt ashamed, his thoughts were wrong, he prayed in the sept for forgiveness and understanding but none ever came.

Even escaping the confines of the Red Keep and taking to the sky with Vhagar did little to quell his curiosity over Y.N.

He did think that if maybe he stopped watching her and tried to avoid her, then his interest in her would fade and he would be able to resume his duties without suffering any further distractions.

Aemond was returning from a rigorous training session, his muscles aching, and his mind filled with the day's drills. As he approached his chambers, he heard an almighty crash followed by a raised voice, “Foolish girl!” The sound of a pained wail echoed down the corridor, drawing his attention. His steps quickened, his curiosity and concern growing with each stride.

Rounding the corner, he saw Y.N. slumped on the floor, her face contorted in pain. An older maid stood above her, a thin wooden rod in her hand. With a cruel expression, she whipped Y.N. on the back again, eliciting another cry of pain from the girl.

“What in gods’ name is going on here?” Aemond's voice was sharp and commanding, cutting through the tense atmosphere.

The older maid turned to him, startled. “My prince, this girl is a clumsy fool who has caused a mess. Her behaviour needs correcting,” she said, raising the rod for another strike.

Before she could bring it down, Aemond reached out and snatched the whip from her hand, his grip like iron. He threw the rod down the corridor with a forceful flick, his gaze burning with anger. “Don't let me ever see you do that again—do I make myself clear, or I will have you fed to my dragon.”

The older maid’s face drained of colour. She nodded fearfully, bowing her head. “Yes, my prince. I understand.”

“Good. Now get out of my sight. And from now on, Y.N. will be assigned to me.”

The older maid bowed again and scurried away, not daring to look back. Aemond watched her go, his expression stern and unforgiving. Once she was out of sight, he turned his attention to Y.N., who was still on the floor, her body trembling.

Aemond knelt down and gently helped her to her feet. “Come,” he said softly, guiding her back to his chambers. Once inside, he sat her down in one of the chairs and fetched a piece of cloth, offering it to her. She took it gratefully, using it to wipe her nose, her breath still hitching every so often.

“Thank you, my prince,” she whispered, her voice shaky.

Aemond nodded, his expression softening as he looked at her. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked, concern evident in his tone.

Y.N. shook her head. “No, my prince. Just my back. I’ll be fine.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened at the thought of the older maid’s cruelty. “You will not be subjected to such treatment again,” he said firmly. “You will be under my protection now.”

Y.N. looked up at him, her eyes filled with gratitude and something else—something like hope. “Thank you, my prince. I don’t know how to repay you.”

Aemond waved off her thanks. “There is no need for repayment. Just-rest for now.”

As Aemond sat in his chambers, the reality of his impulsive decision began to sink in. What was he thinking, demanding that Y.N be assigned to him? He was supposed to be avoiding her, not drawing her closer into his daily life.

This arrangement was bound to complicate matters, and the thought of Y.N reporting to his chambers every day, attending to him, drove him to the brink of madness.

Aemond leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair in frustration. His mother had been surprised at his request. She knew of her son’s wariness towards women being in his personal space. It was a trait that set him apart from Aegon, whose indiscretions were a constant source of shame.

When Aemond informed her of the caning incident, however, Alicent's demeanour softened. She had always trusted her favourite son, confident in his sense of honour and integrity.

She knew he wouldn’t hurt Y.N., nor would he violate her trust. Reluctantly, she had relented, allowing Y.N. to be assigned to him.

In the days that followed, Aemond found himself both anticipating and dreading Y.N.'s presence. Each morning, she would appear at his door, her demeanour respectful and quiet.

She would tend to his chambers, bring his meals if he chose not to dine with his family, and assist with whatever tasks were required. Aemond watched her closely, noting the way she moved, the way she carried herself. There was a grace and resilience about her that he couldn't ignore.

Despite his initial reservations, Aemond found a strange sense of calm in her presence. She never pried, never asked questions. She simply did her work with a quiet determination that he admired. It wasn’t long before he began to appreciate the small moments of interaction between them, the subtle exchanges that spoke volumes without words.

Alicent observed the changes in her son with a mix of curiosity and approval. She trusted Aemond’s judgment and saw that he was handling the situation with the same meticulous care he applied to all aspects of his life.

Y.N., for her part, seemed to thrive under his protection, her confidence slowly growing with each passing day.

Aemond, however, continued to wrestle with his own feelings. He couldn't deny the growing attraction he felt towards Y.N., but he was determined to keep his distance. He reminded himself of his duty, of the expectations placed upon him as a prince of the realm.

Yet, despite his best efforts, Aemond found himself drawn to Y.N. more and more each day. Her presence was a constant reminder of the delicate balance he had to maintain, the fine line he walked between duty and desire.

One day, as Y.N. was attending to her duties in Aemond's chambers, changing the bedding with meticulous care, she heard the door open. Aemond entered, his face contorted with pain, his hand pressed against the left side of his face.

With a sharp yank, Aemond pulled the drawer too forcefully, causing its contents to spill all over the floor—clean rags and various salves scattering across the room. He ripped off his eyepatch in a fit of anger, revealing the sapphire that took the place of his missing eye.

At that moment, Aemond noticed Y.N. standing there, her eyes widening briefly before she immediately lowered her gaze. "Apologies, my prince," she murmured, gathering the bedding, and making a move to leave the room.

"Stay," Aemond commanded, his voice strained but firm. "Help me."

Y.N. nodded, setting the bedding aside and moving cautiously towards him. He sat down, his head tipped back, his fingers still pressing against his eye. "The dirt from the training yard has aggravated my eye," he explained, his tone softer but laced with pain. "Clean it with the rags and salve."

She knelt beside him, picking up a clean rag and dipping it into the salve. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached up to touch his scarred cheek. Aemond hissed in pain when the rag made contact with his skin.

"Apologies, my prince," she said again, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Stop apologizing all the time," Aemond snapped, his frustration more with himself than her. He noticed her gaze remained lowered, avoiding his face. "-Look at me," he demanded.

Y.N. hesitated, then slowly lifted her eyes to meet his.

"Are you afraid of me?" Aemond asked, his gaze intense and searching.

"No, my prince," she replied, her voice steady despite her initial hesitation.

"Does my scarred face repulse you?" He scrutinized her expression, looking for any sign of disgust.

"No," she answered firmly. She took a breath, her eyes meeting his directly. "I think you are beautiful."

Aemond was taken aback, his eye widening in surprise. He had expected pity or fear, but not this. There was no trace of deceit in her gaze, only sincerity. Her words hung in the air between them, a stark contrast to the pain and anger that had filled the room moments before.

Y.N. continued to clean his wound, her touch gentle and deliberate. Aemond watched her, his earlier anger dissipating as he absorbed her words.

As she finished tending to his eye, Aemond caught her hand in his, holding it for a moment longer than necessary. "Thank you," he said, his voice low.

Y.N. nodded, her eyes meeting his with a quiet strength. "Anytime, my prince."

Without fully realizing what he was doing, Aemond began to move his face closer to hers. The world around them faded into the background, leaving only the two of them in that quiet, intimate moment. Y.N. gasped softly, her breath hitching, and he paused, searching her face for any sign of discomfort or hesitation.

Instead, he saw something else—a spark of anticipation, a flicker of desire that mirrored his own. Encouraged, he closed the remaining distance, his lips brushing against hers with a tentative, almost reverent touch. For a moment, they remained still, the kiss delicate and uncertain.

Then, Y.N. leaned in, responding to his advance. The kiss deepened, growing more assured and passionate. Aemond's hand cupped her cheek, his thumb gently tracing the line of her jaw as he savoured the warmth and softness of her lips.

Y.N.'s free hand came up to rest on his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic as she responded to the kiss with equal fervour.

When they finally parted, both were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting against each other as they tried to catch their breath. Aemond's eye searched Y.N.'s face, his heart pounding with a mixture of exhilaration and uncertainty.

"Y.N.," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "I-"

Y.N. placed a finger gently on his lips, stopping him. "It's alright, my prince," she said softly, her eyes shining with the same intensity he felt within himself.

"Y.N.," he began, his voice soft but firm, "I want you to call me by my name, not my title. Call me Aemond."

Y.N.'s eyes widened slightly in surprise. "My pr— Aemond," she corrected herself, her voice filled with a mixture of wonder and hesitation. "Are you sure?"

He nodded, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yes. When we're alone like this, I want you to see me as I am, not just as a prince. Can you do that for me?"

Y.N. smiled back, a warmth spreading across her features. "Of course, Aemond."

Hearing his name on her lips, spoken so softly and with such affection, sent a thrill through him. It was as if a barrier had been lifted, allowing them to connect on a deeper, more personal level.

He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, feeling a sense of contentment and clarity he hadn't known he was missing.

"Thank you," he whispered, his breath mingling with hers. "It means more to me than you know."

Over the next few weeks, Y.N. continued to diligently attend to her duties, her professionalism unwavering. In public, she maintained the expected decorum, her interactions with Aemond strictly formal.

She served wine during meals, cleaned the chambers, and carried out her tasks with the same quiet efficiency she always had, ensuring that no one could suspect the growing bond between them.

However, in the privacy of Aemond's chambers, things were different. There, they could let down their guards and be themselves, free from the watchful eyes of the court.

One evening, as they sat together in the dimly lit room, Aemond took her hand in his, his gaze earnest and sincere. "Y.N.," he began softly, "I need you to know that I will not take what isn't given willingly. It's important to me that you're with me because you want to be, not because you feel forced."

Y.N. squeezed his hand gently, her eyes meeting his with a steady, reassuring gaze. "Aemond, I feel safe with you," she said, her voice filled with conviction.

As they kissed, their connection a palpable energy that neither could ignore. Y.N. found herself fumbling with the fastenings of Aemond's tunic, her hands eager to remove the barrier between them.

However, Aemond suddenly pulled away, shaking his head. "No," he said, his voice strained.

Y.N. looked up at him, her cheeks flushed with both embarrassment and confusion. "I'm sorry-" she whispered, her voice trembling. "I thought we could take things further."

Aemond's eyes softened, and he took a deep breath. "I want to, Y.N., believe me. But I'm scared." He looked away; his gaze distant as he gathered his thoughts. "I-I need to tell you something."

She waited patiently, sensing the depth of his unease. He took another breath, then began to speak, his voice low and hesitant.

"When I was thirteen, Aegon took me to a brothel," he said, the words heavy with the weight of old memories. "He declared it was time for me to become a man. There was a woman there, Sylvi. She was much older than me. What she did, I didn't like it. It made me feel-dirty. Afterward, I returned to my chambers and scrubbed my skin raw in the bath. I never want to feel like that again."

Y.N.'s heart ached for him, understanding dawning in her eyes. She reached out, her hand gently cupping his cheek. "Aemond," she said softly, her voice filled with compassion. "I'm so sorry you went through that."

He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes briefly. "That's why it's so important to me," he continued, his voice steadier now. "The trust and willingness. I don't ever want to feel like I'm taking advantage, I need to know that you're with me because you want to be, not because you feel obligated."

Y.N. nodded, her eyes shining with empathy. "I understand, and we can take all the time we need," she assured him. "I'm not going anywhere."

As Aemond's name day approached, Y.N. found herself determined to present him with a gift. Despite her limited coin, she scoured the markets, seeking something meaningful and unique.

After days of searching, she finally discovered a small, intricately carved miniature of Vhagar, Aemond's dragon.

On the morning of Aemond's name day, Y.N. felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. She had carefully wrapped the miniature dragon in a piece of soft cloth, and now held it close as she made her way to his chambers. She knocked softly on the door, waiting for his familiar voice to bid her enter.

Aemond looked up from the book he was reading as she stepped inside, a smile spreading across his face. "Good morning, Y.N.," he greeted her warmly, his tone lighter than usual.

Y.N. took a deep breath, stepping forward and holding out the small, wrapped bundle. "Happy name day, Aemond," she said, her voice gentle. "It's not much, but I found this in the market and thought you might like it."

Aemond's curiosity was piqued as he took the gift from her hands. Carefully, he unwrapped the cloth, revealing the miniature carving of Vhagar. His breath caught as he examined the intricate details, of his beloved dragon.

"Y.N.," he said softly, his eye gleaming with genuine appreciation, "This is-incredible. Thank you."

She smiled, a mix of relief and happiness flooding her features. "I'm glad you like it”

Aemond placed the miniature dragon on his desk, then turned back to her, his expression tender. "You've given me more than just a gift," he said, reaching out to take her hand. "You've shown me thoughtfulness and care, and that means more to me than you can imagine."

Y.N. felt a warmth spread through her at his words, her heart swelling with affection. "You deserve it, Aemond," she replied softly. "You deserve to be celebrated."

Aemond pulled her into a gentle embrace, holding her close. "Thank you, Y.N.," he whispered into her hair. "Not just for the gift, but for everything. You've brought a light into my life that I didn't realize I needed."

As Aemond held Y.N. in his arms, he felt an overwhelming surge of emotion. He gently pulled back, his eyes searching hers for any hint of hesitation or doubt. Seeing none, he leaned in and kissed her, softly at first, then with a growing intensity that spoke of his deep, unspoken longing.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the intimate space between them. "Y.N.," he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of desire and tenderness, "I'm ready. I want to take you to bed."

Y.N.'s eyes widened slightly at his words. She bit her lip, her heart racing. "Aemond, are you sure" she asked softly,

“Yes-I want this. I want you” replied Aemond.

"I-I've never done it before” muttered Y.N.

Aemond cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs gently caressing her cheeks. "I promise I will be gentle," he vowed, his voice low and earnest. "I want this to be as special for you, as it will be for me."

Y.N. felt a wave of warmth and trust wash over her. She nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I trust you, Aemond."

Taking his hand, she allowed him to lead her towards the bed. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in their own private world.

"Tell me if you want to stop," Aemond whispered, his breath warm against her ear. "At any time."

Y.N. nodded, her trust in him absolute. As he began to undress her, his movements were slow and gentle, giving her time to adjust and ensuring her comfort. She did the same for him, her fingers trembling slightly but steadying as she felt the warmth of his skin beneath her touch.

When they were both bare, Aemond took a moment to simply look at her, his eye filled with awe and admiration. "You are beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

"So are you," she replied, reaching up to touch his face, tracing the line of his jaw.

Y.N had lost most of her senses the moment Aemond had pressed her onto the bed and knelt down between her legs.

“My girl-my sweetest-” whispered Aemond.

Y.N’s eyes rolled into the back of her head as Aemond’s tongue swept across her slick wet folds.

Y.N bit the back of her hand to keep herself from screaming as Aemond began using his long fingers to tease her entrance.

“None of that. Let me hear you” growled Aemond.

“A-Aemond. Oh god. Please” moaned Y.N.

“I know your almost there. Let it happen my sweet. Come for me” whispered Aemond, his tongue moving across her pearl.

Y.N arched her back and let out a loud scream as her pleasure erupted.

Aemond crawled up Y.N’s body, placing gentle kisses on her skin as he moved higher and higher.

Y.N blushed furiously when she saw that Aemond’s chin was shining with her slick.

“Calm yourself byka rūklon” muttered Aemond (Little flower).

“W-What does that mean?” asked Y.N

“Little flower-” whispered Aemond as he slowly reached out and ran his hands over Y.N’s breasts, marvelling at the stiffened rosy peaks.

Goosebumps erupted over Y.N’s skin as Aemonds hand then began to move lower.

“I-I need to prepare you a little more” whispered Aemond.

“P-prepare me?” whispered Y.N

“I don’t want to hurt you” replied Aemond.

Y.N gasped when she felt Aemond’s fingers rubbing her folds.

“Aemond” exclaimed Y.N as he slowly slipped a finger inside her, the slick from her first peak easing the way.

Aemond buried his face in Y.N’s neck as he began peppering kisses along her smooth skin as he added another finger, moving them in and out slowly.

“I-I think I’m ready” whispered Y.N

Aemond removed his fingers and then laid between her open legs, supporting his weight on his left arm as he reached down and took his hard cock in his hand and placed the tip of it against her slick entrance.

“A-Are you sure?”

“Yes-I want you Aemond-all of you” replied Y.N

Y.N shut her eyes tight and took a deep breath as Aemond sheathed himself within her.

“Your doing so well-” muttered Aemond trying to control himself.

“I-It hurts-“ whimpered Y.N

“If it’s too much I can pull out-“ offered Aemond.

“N-No just give me a moment” replied Y.N softly.

Aemond’s cock twitched and throbbed with need, and he released a shuddered breath while Y.N sighed in relief. 

“Are you ok?” asked Aemond.

“I-I think you can move now” whispered Y.N her hands running along the smooth plans of Aemond’s back.

Slowly Aemond withdrew and then moved forward, his cock reaching deep inside her.

“Are you ok?” repeated Aemond as he thrust inside her.

“Y-yes-I think you can move faster” muttered Y.N

Aemond rested his head in the crook of her neck as he thrusts faster, his quiet moans muffled against her skin.

“Ooh Aemond-that feels good” whined Y.N

“Your perfect-“ whispered Aemond.

Feeling a spark of pleasure Y.N dug her fingers into Aemonds back, holding him close.

“P-please Aemond. F-faster. H-harder” exclaimed Y.N.

“Y.N-“ moaned Aemond as he began to pound into her, his hips slapping against hers.

“OH-Aemond. My Aemond”

“Fuck-that’s it Y.N” muttered Aemond as he slipped his hand between their bodies and began rubbing her pearl.

“AEMOND” screamed Y.N as her peak exploded, making her entire body shake.

“Avy jorrāelan-Avy jorrāelan” moaned Aemond pushed into the hilt for one last time, his cock throbbing as he spilled his seed (I love you-I love you).

“A-Are you ok?”  Aemond as he gently pulled his softened cock from Y.N

Y.N nodded, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, wanting to keep him close.

As they lay together in the quiet aftermath, Y.N. felt a myriad of emotions swirling within her. She turned her head slightly to look at Aemond, her eyes searching his for reassurance. "Will it always be like that?" she asked softly, a hint of vulnerability in her voice.

Aemond smiled, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "It can be," he replied, his voice filled with tenderness.

Y.N. felt a sense of relief and happiness at his words, but another thought quickly surfaced. "I need moon tea," she said, her tone serious.

Aemond nodded understandingly. "Of course. I will have some brought to my chambers for you."

Y.N. hesitated, concern etching her features. "Is that wise? Surely the prince requesting moon tea is bound to raise suspicions."

Aemond frowned, considering her words. "You’re right," he admitted.

Y.N. gave him a reassuring smile. "I will sort it out when I return to my room”.

Aemond looked at her with a soft expression. "I trust you”.

In the months that followed, Aemond and Y.N.'s relationship deepened. Every night, Aemond would take her in his chambers, sometimes more than once. His appetite for her was ravenous and he revealed in it.

Sometimes during the day, Aemond would find her and then take her in the hidden alcoves within the Red Keep, her legs wrapped around his waste as he thrust deep inside her, his hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her screams of pleasure.

However, as the nights turned into months, Y.N. found herself troubled by thoughts of the future. Despite the happiness she found in Aemond's arms, a dark cloud of uncertainty loomed over her.

She knew that Aemond was a prince, bound by duty and expectations that extended beyond their private world. Eventually, he would be expected to take a wife worthy of his title, a woman who would stand by his side in public and bear his children.

The thought of Aemond with another woman, of being replaced in his life, filled Y.N. with a deep and aching sorrow. She could not imagine a future without him, yet she knew that falling in love with a prince could only lead to heartache.

Many nights, after their passionate encounters, Y.N. would lie awake, tears silently streaming down her face as she thought about the inevitability of their separation. She would cry herself to sleep, her heart breaking at the thought of losing the man she had come to love so deeply.

Despite her fears, she never let Aemond see her pain. In his presence, she remained strong, giving him all the love and devotion she had. She treasured every moment they spent together, even as the spectre of the future loomed ever larger in her mind.

Aemond, unaware of the depth of her inner turmoil, continued to hold her close, whispering words of affection and desire. To him, she was a source of solace and strength. He did not realize that each tender word, each passionate embrace, was tinged with the unspoken fear that one day, their love would be forced to end.

As the death of King Viserys plunged the realm into turmoil, Y.N.'s worst fears began to unfold with chilling clarity. Instead of Rhaenyra, the king’s passing saw Aegon crowned king, setting the stage for a bitter and bloody conflict known as the Dance of the Dragons.

Aegon's ascent to the throne sparked immediate unrest, with factions forming behind either Aegon or Rhaenyra, his half-sister and rightful heir.

Amidst the escalating tensions, Aemond found himself thrust into the heart of the storm. He was commanded to secure alliances, and so he flew Vhagar to Storm's End to offer his hand in marriage to one of Borros Baratheon's daughters in exchange for their support.

However, the political manoeuvres quickly turned deadly when Lucerys Velaryon arrived, seeking the same alliance.

In the skies above Storm's End, Aemond and Lucerys clashed, and in the chaos of battle, Vhagar tore Lucerys and his dragon Arrax too pieces. The act branded Aemond a kinslayer—a stain that would haunt him for the rest of his days.

Devastated by the consequences of his actions and fearing for Y.N.'s safety, Aemond made a difficult and heart-wrenching decision. He ordered her to leave the Red Keep immediately, to board a ship and sail across the Narrow Sea to safety. He gave her what money he could spare and promised that once the war was over, he would come for her.

Y.N. listened to his words with a heavy heart, knowing that their love had become a casualty of the conflict. Tears streamed down her cheeks as they spent one last night together, with Aemond making sure Y.N felt every ounce of his love and sadness, with every thrust of his hips and touch of his lips upon hers, Y.N was left clinging to the hope that they would one day be reunited.

The departure of Y.N. weighed heavily on Aemond's heart as he watched her ship disappear over the horizon, bound for safety across the Narrow Sea.

With her gone, a deep sense of sorrow and longing settled over him, but duty called him back to the Red Keep and the tumultuous affairs of the realm.

However, the peace he hoped for was shattered by a devastating blow—news of his nephew Jaehaerys' murder, orchestrated by Daemon's orders. Assassins had infiltrated the Red Keep, claiming the young prince's life as vengeance for the death of Lucerys Velaryon. "A son for a son," they had said, leaving Aemond reeling with grief and fury.

Amidst the chaos and grief, the war continued to unfold with relentless brutality. The Battle of Rook's Rest saw the demise of Rhaenys and her dragon, Meleys, while Aegon lay severely injured and Sunfyre crippled.

In the wake of these losses, Aemond found himself thrust into a position of greater responsibility and authority—he was named Prince Regent, tasked with leading the realm in Aegon's stead.

His first command as Prince Regent was clear and decisive: take Harrenhal.

Aemond knew the strategic importance of the ancient fortress, and he understood that securing it would bolster their position in the ongoing conflict.

As he gazed out over the waters of Blackwater Bay, thoughts of Y.N. lingered in his mind. He wondered if she was safe across the sea, if she knew of the turmoil consuming Westeros, and if she would ever forgive him for the choices he had made in the name of duty and honour.

Aemond and his garrison of soldiers, led by Ser Criston, arrived at Harrenhal with swords drawn and banners flying high. They had anticipated a fierce battle against Daemon and his forces, prepared to reclaim the ancient fortress at any cost.

Yet, as they breached the gates and entered the sprawling, desolate halls of Harrenhal, they found the castle eerily quiet and abandoned.

Confusion turned to elation among Aemond's men—they had won without striking a single blow. They revelled in their victory, boasting of their prowess and the cowardice of Daemon who had fled before their might.

Aemond himself allowed a fleeting moment of triumph to wash over him, believing that his uncle had indeed chosen to retreat rather than face him in battle.

But the taste of victory soon turned bitter as grim news reached Aemond's ears—King's Landing had fallen to Rhaenyra.

His uncle's apparent retreat from Harrenhal had been a ruse, a calculated manoeuvre to deceive and divert Aemond's attention while Daemon struck at the heart of the realm.

Enraged by the betrayal and the realization of his own folly, Aemond's temper flared into a storm of fury. In his wrath, he exacted a brutal reprisal upon Harrenhal.

The ancient castle, already steeped in dark history and ominous legends, became a scene of carnage and slaughter as Aemond unleashed his fury upon its strong inhabitants, determined to wipe out those who lived there, all except for one a healer named Alys Rivers.

In the aftermath of the harrowing events at Harrenhal, Alys became an unexpected presence in Aemond’s life. Despite the devastation and bloodshed, she had witnessed, she proved to be invaluable with her skills as a healer.

Her knowledge of herbs, poultices, and remedies helped tend to the wounded and sick among Aemond's soldiers and her ability to see things in the flames granted Aemond a number of small victories against Rhaenyra’s forces in the Riverlands.

As days turned into weeks, Alys remained by Aemond's side, a constant companion in the grim reality of war and turmoil.

Yet, one evening, as Aemond sat in his chambers, nursing the ache in his heart that thoughts of Y.N. brought, Alys entered quietly.

She carried a basin of warm water and clean cloths, her dark eyes watching him with an intensity that was both unsettling and intriguing.

"You should let me tend to your wounds, my prince," she said softly, setting the basin down and approaching him.

Aemond nodded absently, allowing her to clean the cuts that adorned his body.

"-My prince," she whispered, her voice soft and inviting, "you bear so many burdens-"

“I’m not-” said Aemond quietly.

Her hands moved from his wounds to his shoulders, her fingers kneading the tension there. She leaned in closer, her breath warm against his ear. "You don't have to be alone," she murmured, her lips brushing his skin. "I can give you what you need, you are a man, You have needs, just as any other. Let me comfort you"

Aemond stiffened, his mind instantly flashing back to Y.N. and the love they had shared. He hadn't laid with a woman since her departure, his heart belonging solely to her. The idea of being with someone else made his stomach churn and it felt like a betrayal.

"Alys," said Aemond, his voice firm despite the turmoil within him, "I appreciate your care, but this-this isn't what I need."

She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching his. "You don't have to be alone," she repeated, a hint of desperation in her voice.

Aemond shook his head, moving away from her touch. "I'm not alone. My heart belongs to someone else. I cannot betray her, not even in thought."

Alys looked at him with a mixture of sadness and understanding. "I see," she said quietly. "If ever you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Aemond nodded, his gaze distant. "Thank you, Alys. Your skills as a healer and your visions are valuable to me and my men. But being with you in that way-it is not something I can do”

She bowed her head slightly, acknowledging his words. "I understand, my prince."

From that day on, Alys continued to serve as a healer and discussing her visions in the flames, they never spoke of her attempts to offer him comfort again, Aemond remained steadfast in his loyalty to Y.N, his heart aching with the hope that one day, he would be reunited with her.

Aemond stood amidst the haunting ruins of Harrenhal, his heart heavy with grief and fury. He had received the news that Jaehaera and Maelor, were dead. His sweet sister Helaena, tormented by her grief and despair, had taken her own life. Aegon had simply vanished without a trace.

Rage boiled within Aemond, a tempest of emotions threatening to consume him. This had to end. The losses were unbearable, the pain unfathomable. With grim determination, he issued a challenge to his uncle, Daemon, the rogue prince.

Two weeks later, Daemon arrived at Harrenhal atop Caraxes. The tension between uncle and nephew was palpable as they faced each other amidst the ancient stones of the cursed castle. Aemond's eye burned with fury as he declared, "You have lived too long, uncle."

Daemon's reply was terse, acknowledging the bitter truth they both shared. "On that much, we agree."

With their words echoing in the air, the two Targaryen’s mounted their dragons and ascended into the skies above the Gods Eye. The clash of dragon against dragon, unleashed a spectacle of fire and fury that seemed to shake the heavens.

In the midst of the aerial duel, Aemond's neck seared with agonizing pain as Caraxes flames licked at his flesh. He writhed in agony, his vision blurred with tears and smoke. Through the haze, he saw Daemon descending upon him, Dark Sister raised for a fatal strike.

With a surge of desperate strength, Aemond drew his own sword and managed to impale Daemon through the stomach, just as Daemon’s own sword connecting with the side of his head. Their dragons roared and spiralled downward, tearing chunks of flesh from one another.

As Vhagar and Caraxes crashed into the dark waters of the Gods Eye, Aemond was still strapped to Vhagar’s saddle, the both of them sinking beneath the murky depths.

In his mind, he saw Y.N., her face a beacon of hope and love. Sending out one last desperate prayer for her safety and happiness.

But then, the strap binding him to Vhagar's saddle snapped, and Aemond managed to claw his way to the surface, gasping for air. He dragged himself to the muddy shore of the lake, his body battered and broken, consciousness slipping away.

Face buried in the cold mud, Aemond's world faded to black,

Aemond awoke in a dimly lit chamber, the flickering light of a single candle casting long shadows on the stone walls. Pain radiated through his body as he tried to move, but his muscles screamed in protest, and he let out a groan.

"Stay still," a soft voice instructed. He turned his head slightly to see Alys kneeling beside him.

"You took quite a beating," Alys said, her voice steady and calm. "I've been applying a salve to your burns and managed to stitch the wound on the side of your head. You lost a lot of blood, but you will live."

Aemond's mind raced, trying to piece together the events that had led him here. The battle above the Gods Eye, Daemon's sword, the plunge into the icy waters... He should be dead.

"I should be dead," he rasped, his voice rough and weak.

Alys met his gaze, her eyes filled with an intensity that belied her calm demeanour. "The realm believes you are," she said quietly.

Aemond's heart skipped a beat. "Daemon?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Dead-" Alys replied.

"Why did you save me?" he asked, opening his eyes to look at Alys.

Alys paused; her hands gentle as they applied a cool salve to his burns. She met his gaze, her expression unreadable. "Because everyone believing that you are dead is a chance for you to reunite with your lost love-"

Aemond's breath caught in his throat. The thought of Y.N., the woman he had been forced to send away, flooded his mind with a mixture of hope and longing. He had been so consumed by duty and vengeance that the idea of seeing her again had seemed an impossible dream.

"In death, you are no longer a prince," Alys continued, her voice soft but firm. "You are simply a man. And simple men can choose their own fate. They can live without the constraints or expectations that come with a title."

Aemond closed his eye, the weight of her words sinking in. The realm believed him dead, which meant the burdens of his name and his duty no longer bound him. He could be free, for the first time in his life, to make his own choices.

"But what of the war?" he asked, opening his eyes to look at her. "What of my duty to my family, to the realm?"

Alys' gaze softened. "The war will rage on, with or without you. Your family is all but gone or soon will be. You have given so much, sacrificed so much. Of course, you may return to Kings Landing, and you will be made King within the year, but with such a title as King there comes certain expectations. A wife to call Queen, you will lose yourself as the lords of the realm pick at you until there is nothing left”.

“Alys-”

“The choice is yours my prince, I only pray that you make the right one. The crown or your heart, but you must know that your Queen will never love you-not in the way your little flower does-”

“The choice is a simple one-“ muttered Aemond.

Alys's hands were gentle as she continued to tend to his wounds. "-Rest now," she said softly. "-You have been given a second chance, Aemond. Use it wisely."

Aemond stood on the shore of the Gods Eye, staring at the calm waters that now served as the grave for his beloved Vhagar. The weight of loss pressed heavily on his heart, mingling with gratitude and sorrow.

"Thank you, old friend," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the gentle lapping of the waves. "For everything."

With one last lingering look at the watery expanse, Aemond turned away and made his way back to Harrenhal. Alys stood at the gates, waiting for him.

"Farewell, Alys," he said, his voice steady. "Thank you for all your help."

She nodded, her eyes holding a mixture of sadness and understanding. "Where will you go now?" she asked.

Aemond smiled, a rare softness in his expression. "You already know," he replied.

As he walked away, Alys called after him, her voice carrying on the wind. "Be happy, Aemond. Enjoy the flowers' bloom."

He glanced back, offering her a small nod before pulling the hood of his cloak over his head, concealing his face and silver hair. The coins Alys had pressed into his hand that morning clinked in his pockets, a lifeline to the future he was determined to find.

Aemond made his way toward Duskendale, he  hoped the port town would have a ship, and that the coin he carried would be enough to secure passage across the Narrow Sea. Every step brought him closer to the promise he intended to keep, to the woman who had never left his thoughts.

Reaching Duskendale, Aemond kept his head low, avoiding the curious gazes of townsfolk. The harbour was bustling with activity, sailors and merchants shouting and haggling over goods. He approached a grizzled captain, offering the man a handful of coins.

"I need passage across the Narrow Sea," Aemond said, his voice firm despite the cloak of anonymity he wore.

The captain eyed the coins and then Aemond, a sceptical look crossing his weathered face. After a moment, he nodded. "We sail at dawn."

Aemond spent many weeks in Pentos, tirelessly searching for any sign of Y.N. The bustling city, with its narrow streets and crowded markets, offered little solace as he combed through every corner, asking questions and following every lead.

To earn coin, he worked as a sell sword, protecting merchants and nobles alike. It was far from the life he once knew.

His princely leather garments were replaced by more practical attire, and his hair braided and kept covered in public, he briefly considered cutting it but lost his nerve at the last moment, he felt foolish as it was just hair, but it was all he had left, the last remnant of the prince he used to be.

Without Vhagar, the search was infinitely harder. The vastness of the world stretched before him, and he often found himself wondering if Y.N. had simply moved on to another city.

The thought of her slipping through his fingers, and living a life without him, gnawed at his heart. Yet, he couldn't give up. He wouldn't give up. If it took the rest of his days, he would search every corner of the world to find her.

Dark thoughts occasionally crept into his mind—fears that some accident had befallen her, that she had died. But he quickly dismissed these notions. If something tragic had happened, he would feel it, he would know she was gone.

Yet in his heart, he knew she was alive.

One day, while sitting in a small, dimly lit tavern, nursing a cup of ale, a hushed conversation at a nearby table caught his attention. A woman matching Y.N.'s description, working as a seamstress. His heart pounded in his chest as he strained to hear more.

"Aye the seamstress, she's been there for months now, the high borns send her plenty of work-" one man said, his voice rough and low. "Quiet sort, keeps to herself.”

Aemond's mind raced. Could it truly be her? He had to find out. Finishing his drink, he stood abruptly, tossing a few coins on the table before leaving.

He made his way through the town and toward the hills, the landscape growing wilder as he left the city behind. Each step brought a mix of hope and anxiety. What if it wasn't her? What if it was just another dead end? But he couldn't let doubt deter him.

Aemond stood behind one of the trees, his breath catching in his throat as he watched a woman kneeling on the ground, her back to him as she dug vegetables in the garden.

His heart hammered in his chest; every sense heightened by the significance of the moment. Then he saw a small child sitting on the ground, playing with his toys. The boy’s silver hair shone in the light, a sight that made Aemond's heart skip a beat. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the child.

Was the child his?

When the woman turned toward the child, Aemond's heart stopped. It was Y.N. She looked the same, yet different—stronger, more determined, but with the same beauty that had captured his heart so many moons ago. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out from behind the tree, his movements deliberate and slow.

Y.N. paused, sensing his presence. She quickly straightened up and reached for the child, hauling him into her arms before withdrawing the small knife hidden in her sleeve. Her eyes were fierce, and her voice steady despite the fear coursing through her veins.

"Stay back. I’m no weakling woman—I will slit you from cock to throat if you dare lay hands upon me or my son," she commanded, her gaze unwavering.

"Byka rūklon-“

"Aemond”

[midnight-mourning]

*Taps mic* Heard y'all like Moon around here, you're in luck, this one's for you

massive, MASSIVE thank you to @lunarmoves for beta-reading this chapter!!

She put a lot of time and effort into making my BS readable for y'all and it's greatly appreciated <3 <3 <3

Shay also makes really good dca stuff (also sebastian solace but I know very little about the fish tbh) and you should check her out!

Also, happy 200k+!!! We're only 297k from truly becoming the 500k enemies to lovers slowburn of our dreams lmaoooo

But for real I apologize for such a delay with this one. If you'd like to hear my excuses/reasoning they're below the cut, or you can just go read the chapter whatever suits ya ^-^

Tag list (if you would like added please see this post for more info):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8

@luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @amarynthian-chronicles

@robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva

CW: medical stuff & additionally a bit of unreality mentions

Okay going to try and keep this simple bc I've said parts of it before

So as most of you know, I've been sick for 3 months now

I've now been on two rounds of steroids, and currently on my third round of antibiotics, which are basically keep me fucntional, not improving

besides general discomfort and pain, my memory has been pretty shot at times, I will go through the day and barely remember what I did/what I'm doing/what I need to do

as someone who had brain fog caused by covid a few years ago, this was genuinely a scary experience because ultimately, this has been worse

i've felt out of control of my body, having times where I'm mid thought and then instantly lose it

this is not my normal, I usually pride myself on my memory, so losing it has been incredibly devastating and scary

this was not helped by the fact that the quick care I went to (THREE TIMES for this) basically kind of sort of tried to gaslight me into believing nothing could be done and that it's not an infection

so not only has this entire thing has gotten dragged out so much more, which makes me sad tbh, but I've also felt like I've been going crazy bc it felt like no one was believing me when i said I was sick and not getting any better (including friends, family, coworkers etc, though unintentional on their parts to be fair)

I feel like I've lost three months of my life and coming to terms with that has been, yeah

on top of all that, I'm still in school AND doing grad stuff, and while the school side of things has been okay (thank god), grad's had it's moments, won't get into it but have had multiple issues with my advisor that have been at times just really tough to deal with

Confused spirit got pushed to the back burner, because i quite literally at times could not think, and when it comes to this fic, where there's multiple ongoing plot threads, characterizations, lore, and so on to keep track of, it was just, impossible to me to even consider writing for it

having shorter stuff like promptober, the oneshots and such was great to keep me writing, and also still interact with everyone in the community, plus i had a lot of fun with them so that helped too

this is all to say that I do sincerly apologize for the delay, and at the very least I should've clearly communicated about there being a hiatus, when this all started I thought i'd be down for two weeks max, then as that time kept increasing I just kept putting it off and putting it off because i thought i was going to get better, and then I didn't

I do this for fun and for nothing else, fic writing isn't content (it's engaging with fandom) and i have to remind myself of that sometimes but given that I've been around in some capacity on and off I feel I should've said something in some regard

Having said all that, I'm doing okay now! Still sick, but as long as I'm on meds I'm functional, stuff is getting managable with grad, and hopefully have some fun things coming up irl! Point is, the last three months haven't been the best, but they've been alright, due in part to all the support you all have given me, so thank you for that, can't say it enough :)

Okay, I think that just about covers it, thank you for taking the time to read all of this if you did <3

[thehypnone]

Wake the Dead

WC: 5k

Relationship: Rain/Mountain/Phantom

Tags: Transmasc Phantom & Mountain, Tentacle Dick, Improper Use of Gills, Vaginal Sex, Creampie, Bioluminescent Cum, Biting, Implied/Referenced Abuse (aka phantom has trauma), Vaginal Fingering, Anal Sex, Tail Sex, Face-Sitting, Aftercare, Cuddling, Not So Concealed HC Lore Drop

“I want you both to get inside,” Rain mumbles. “Both of you in my gills.” Or Phantom and Mountain fuck Rain's gills with their t-dicks...and so much more.

Notes: Commission for @midnight-moth! Thank you so much for your support, Dylan <3 Divider by @ghuleh-recs!!!

Read under the cut or on AO3.

Phantom has no idea how he ended up in there; what good he has done to deserve ending up in there. From the moment he got summoned he has seen how tight the ghouls are, how they are not only band and packmates, but that they are a family.

The quintessence ghoul did not dare think—did not dare hope—that he was special enough to become a part of it. He came as a replacement, who knew if he would even stay there and not get sent right back to the Pit after the tour? For a few hundred years of his life down there he had never gotten anything good, no reward for surviving that long.

He had been alone, lived in pain and sorrow for centuries. Getting summoned Topside seemed like a turn, like his life would finally get better, but he didn’t dare hope in case it all gets snatched away the second he believes it’s real.

But in moments like these, he does believe it's real.

Over a year and a half later Phantom still doesn’t know how and why, but he’s there with them and it’s all that matters.

They have been at it for hours…days, maybe; none of them knows. It’s slow, languid—an indulging slide of sweat and slick covered bodies against each other.

Phantom is floating, he’s somewhere far, far away, kept on Earth only by the gentle, yet somehow still firm, grip of…Rain, he thinks. His eyes are closed, he’s just sensation, he can only feel. The hands on him are pleasantly cold—just as the tentacle buried inside him up to the very hilt, filling him up nicely—but there’s warmth at his back, a rhythmic rub of knuckles against his spine.

An image flashes before Phantom’s eyes. Of the night he got summoned, of him lying curled up and shaking in the summoning circle; covered in blood, with shredded claws, and missing half a horn, half an eye, and half a tail. He has been afraid most of his life in the Pit, but it was nothing in comparison to the fear that paralyzed him at that moment—when he took in all those big ghouls standing over him, surrounding him, looking ready to pounce.

There was no real warmth in their eyes, then.

But warmth does flood him as he realizes how it all turned out. How…how loved he is, now, how he is finally safe. Exactly all of the things he never dared even hope were possible

Phantom opens his eyes and looks right into Rain’s, and even though the water ghoul’s gaze is like a window into the freezing ocean’s depths, it is warm and full of affection.

He feels as if he will cry and he just might when it all calms.

“You’re doing so good for us, batsy,” Rain smiles down at him, moving his hips as smoothly as only a water ghoul can manage; with the feel of water herself in it. The quintessence ghoul gasps and suddenly all of his body is a single raw nerve when Rain’s tentacle hits some secret place inside him and makes a bolt of electricity go through him.

“So good for us,” Mountain echoes from behind him, rasping it right into Phantom’s ears. His hand is moving under him, rubbing his fat clit with one hand and holding the small ghoul against his chest with the other thrown across his middle.

Phantom could die right here and now and he would be the happiest ghouls to have ever lived.

Rain moans and the quintessence ghoul sees his tail twitch where it’s coiled around his own thigh. He hangs his head and rests his forehead against Phantom’s and a purr breaks out of the younger ghoul when the other takes a moment to affectionately rub their faces together. 

“I love you,” Phantom mumbles, earning himself a big, wet and sloppy kiss in return. Rain licks into his mouth—runs his tongue over his fangs and gums, as if exploring. As if he isn't familiar with every single inch of him yet. The quintessence ghoul whimpers and opens up even more, letting Rain overtake him in any way that he might desire.

Mountain seems to be feeling left out. He hooks his chin over Phantom’s shoulder and leans up to press his lips against whatever he can reach. It just so happens to be the water ghoul’s fluttering gills and neither of them will complain about it.

The earth ghoul slides his unglamored tongue against the slits in Rain’s neck and revels in the sweet noise that he lets out; that is swallowed by Phantom right away.

His cunt squeezes around Rain’s cock and he loses a bit of the control he’s still somehow hanging onto. Phantom is so warm and slick and silky inside it’s maddening and Rain’s tentacle does what it wants with little to no regard to what the water ghoul wants from it. Paired with Mountain’s wet tongue on and in his gills, Rain’s absolutely losing his mind.

He kisses the quintessence ghoul as if he’s the last thing he would ever get to taste, sucking the breath straight out of his lungs and letting it out into Mountain’s mouth through his gills. It all feels sickly good, ecstatic, and none of them seems to be getting enough. They would spend hours, days, years in each other’s arms if only it were possible. They just might try.

Rain thrusts in and out of Phantom’s cunt harder and faster with every second, slapping against the back of his thighs and spreading his legs even more than they already are—held as such by Mountain’s own hooked over his knees. It’s a beautiful tangle, but when Phantom is going to regain his energy later, he will definitely need to sooth them all with quintessence.

It’s irrelevant now as they’re lost in pleasure of each other's bodies.

Rain punches a pretty little moan out of Phantom with every single thrust, josling him on top of Mountain who’s still rutting his stiff clit against the quintessence ghoul’s back and his own hand. It’s far from being particularly satisfying, but there’s no place he’d rather be right now.

He kisses and bites and sucks at the gorgeously splotchy purple-white skin of Phantom’s shoulder, turning the pale parts violet by worrying it between his teeth. Tiny scars that are littered all over the young ghoul feel like satin under his tongue and Mountain wishes there would be more words that he could mumble into his skin and mouth to make him realize how wonderfully beautiful he is.

There’s no way Phantom realizes, no way he sees himself like Mountain—like all of his pack, for that matter—sees him. If he did, there would never be any doubt in his seeing eye, no accusation of ugliness or wrongness.

Sometimes it is still, and the earth ghoul will work incessantly with all the others to get rid of any doubts once and for all. They all do that for each other, they are all the most gorgeous creatures to each other.

Mountain gets lost in thought despite the fire raging around him, the arousal thick like smoke in the air. They’re all choking on it and gasping—desperate for fresh air—into each other’s mouth, trying to breathe it out of each other.

One of Rain’s hands moves, stops gripping Phantom’s hip as if he would turn to dust the moment he lets go, and ends up on Mountain’s burning cheek. It cups it lightly, in a manner not fitting the sinfulness of their current endeavors.

The water ghoul pulls his mouth away from Phantom’s for a moment—his lips swollen and deliciously shiny with saliva—and graces Mountain with a smile before leaning down and giving him a taste, too. He always tastes so sweet, the earth ghoul can never get enough of any part of him. 

The involuntary growl that rips itself out of Mountain when Rain pulls away reminds him of the night Phantom got Topside. It was terrible, the worst summoning ritual he has ever witnessed and his stomach still turned uncomfortably at the memories. He growled similarly then—though way louder and with a different intention—and he knows he scared Phantom to death. If scaring him more than he already was was even possible then.

Mountain growled out of instinct at whoever did all that to him, though, not at the poor ghoul himself. The moment he saw him, he recognized him as pack and earth ghouls were considered the most territorial, protective and possessive for a reason. If not a tight grip Dewdrop has had on his hand, Mountain would launch himself into the closing portal and give Phantom’s abusers—whoever they were—similar treatment. If not worse.

It would have definitely been worse.

So much worse.

Now, though, the quintessence ghoul is so soft and pliant in his arms, and the noises spilling from his lips one by one are as sweet as they get. There are times where Mountain regrets not being as close with Phantom as some of the others have gotten over time, even despite his feelings, but when it really matters, the earth ghoul is there for him. And regardless of whether Phantom knows it or not, Mountain would rip apart everyone and anyone that would ever dare to raise a hand at him.

His thoughts wander too much, he realizes, but at least it gives him some more time before he blows. It would be a shame to do so prematurely and even though he knows it’s a certain feature of his that his packmates adore exploiting, he would rather hold out and be able to enjoy the act fully.

His position is awkward at best, but he manages to hook his hand down between his legs and sink two fingers into his creamy cunt. He can neither get them deep enough nor stimulate himself in any meaningful way, but stalling is his goal here.

Mountain’s other hand travels from Phantom’s waist to his thighs and down, between them, where Rain is fucking into him with abandon. The earth ghoul wants to feel, to run his rough, calloused fingertips against Phantom’s folds, the place where the other two are joined, slip one digit inside him alongside Rain’s cock.

“Mounty–” the water ghoul gasps and pulls back a fraction, just enough to give Mountain space to grab his cock. He smirks against Phantom’s neck and wraps two fingers around the base of Rain’s tentacles, caressing the soft, barely there, suckers on the underside of it.

The quintessence ghoul moans loudly and wiggles his hips, clearly not satisfied with the other pausing. Mountain hums and the moment he pulls his hand back, Rain is slamming himself back into Phantom’s cunt, so deep he feels him in his throat.

The earth ghoul grits his teeth and pulls both of his hands away to put them on Phantom’s skinny hips and grip him tightly, holding him against his chest so hard he bruises. They both might.

“C–close…” Rain cries out, shoving his face into the other side of Phantom’s neck and taking it—surprisingly gently—between his teeth.

“Uh-huh, fill me up, Rainy,” Phantom begs and even though it’s not meant for him, it makes Mountain groan. For the water ghoul it’s all it takes, he sinks his fangs deep into Phantom’s shoulder as his tentacle buries itself equally deep in his cunt. His hips twitch weakly as he spills inside the younger ghoul, filling him up with cum that will definitely make both him and the bed glow once it gets dark.

Not that it’s a disadvantage; Rain would lie if he said he did not enjoy marking his lovers with something inherently him that can’t be gotten rid of as easily as just wiping it off with a wet cloth.

Phantom and Mountain will glow with his cum—even if the latter just from it spilling everywhere—and Rain will take great pride in it. He can’t wait to stare at it leaking out of the quintessence ghoul’s pretty pussy, it'll match the galaxies of his skin perfectly.

“Fuck, feels s’good, Rainy,” he whines as he clumsily tries to hook his legs on the water ghoul’s hips and bring his even closer. He would have to quite literally split him open and crawl inside to do that, but it doesn’t stop Phantom from craving such closeness. Not after he spent centuries without experiencing a gentle touch.

Rain is breathing too heavily to be able to speak—his post-nut dizziness has to cease first—but Mountain is still there, still rutting his little cock against Phantom’s back.

“Come on, iris,” he hums into his ear, nipping at the shell of it with a fang. He gives up holding the quintessence ghoul down in lieu of pinching his nipples and pulling just enough to rip a pretty whine or two out of him. “Come on, make our dear petal even wetter. Soak us all.”

Phantom is unable to resist such a delightful image. His back arches so far it looks painful—it is for Mountain as he crushes his chest, even considering how much smaller Phantom is than him—as a loud wail falls from his lips. His cunt grips Rain’s cock like a vice as he cums and the water ghoul cries out quietly at the tightness on his overstimulated flesh.

“Oh–ah…shit,” Mountain swears under his breath, hastily getting one of his hands back on himself. He grinds against the heel of his palm for a few short moments more, letting out a series of breathy little gasps and whimpers, before he cums, too, folding in on himself as much as Phantom’s now limp body lying over him allows.

As soon as the earth ghoul goes boneless, Rain flops down right over Phantom, effectively turning the three of them into a very messy sandwich. They pant into each other, slowly coming down from their respective highs and back to reality.

The quintessence ghoul feels soft lips on his shoulder and he trills happily when he realizes it’s Mountain lazily kissing his splotchy skin and licking at the slowly bleeding bite left by Rain. He tips his head back and nuzzles against the other’s cheek.

In the meantime Rain does the same to Phantom’s chest, rubbing his face against him affectionately; not unlike a cat. It’s adorable—all of them are—even considering what debauchery they just indulged in. Still are; Rain didn’t even pull out.

Someone should move and reach for one of the water bottles on the nightstand, but it suddenly feels way too far. All their limbs burn, but it's a pleasant ache, one that they will revel in for the next few days, especially when all the memories come flooding back. Or when it will make them come flooding back.

Phantom purrs quietly between the other two—the ghoul loving to be stuffed full and squeezed above anything else. Rain giggles, all giddy out of nowhere, and kisses a tiny beauty spot just next to the quintessence ghoul’s nipple; resisting the urge to bite down on it. Another time.

They lay like this for a while, letting their minds float and their bodies relax and get back on the horny track. They have all evening and night, after all.

“I want you both to get inside,” Rain mumbles into Phantom’s chest after a while, his own having finally paused heaving with exertion. He’s obviously not done yet and he’s ready to go on. “Both of you in my gills.”

Mountain sighs—though not with exasperation—and wiggles an arm out from where it got squeezed between Phantom and himself. They will have to part if the water ghoul wants to go again, but for now he just blindly pats around looking for the gills on Rain’s ribs. He grumbles, though, wiggling on top of them both and making Phantom moan as the suckers of his cock pull on his hole where it’s still snug inside him.

“Not fingers,” Rain clarifies, sounding pouty. “Your cocks.”

“Oh,” Phantom whimpers at the thought alone. That would be neither very possible nor safe with an actual cock, but with their perfectly cute little t-dicks…well, Rain wants to have them everywhere that they can go.

He peels himself off of Phantom and rolls over to the side to sit up and help the younger ghoul up, too. He pulls him into his lap for a few sweet kisses and affectionate nuzzles as Mountain gets himself together. As much as possible in such circumstances, at least.

“How, petal?” he asks, but Rain simply lays down in his place instead of replying. He wraps his tail around Phantom’s slight waist and pats his chest in invitation. The quintessence ghoul scrambles to straddle him, throwing a leg over him; so eager to both please and feel good himself again.

Mountain hums, considering, before moving to Rain’s other side and kneeling over him, a bit lower than Phantom. He hands the water ghoul a pillow to support his neck in the awkward position and—the not-so-secret little shit that he is—lowers himself and drags his cunt over the frilly gills on Rain’s ribs as he tries to get comfortable.

He smirks at the wrecked noise that he lets out at that and settles himself over him more comfortably, waiting for Phantom to do the same.

“C’mon, boys, gimme,” Rain whines and even though the quintessence ghoul is terrified of breaking his damn neck, he braces himself against the headboard and leans forward to nudge his clit against the gills on the water ghoul’s neck.

Mountain goes first, though, wrapping an arm around Phantom for support and lacing the fingers of his free hand with Rain’s limply laying one. He rolls his hips gently at first, to get his little cock into one of the slits, and then with more purpose, to actually fuck inside.

It’s insane.

Rain moans loudly and lets his head roll to the side to give Phantom more space to slip inside, too, and—oh, Lucifer—does he. The young overeager ghoul goes right for it, pushing his fat clit into the water ghoul’s neck and humping him as best as he can while still trying to be somewhat careful. Though not for much longer, most likely.

All of Mountain and Phantom’s worries are quickly snuffed out by the delirious babbling and wrecked noises falling from Rain’s lips one by one. It shouldn't take long for him to start crying, the earth ghoul thinks.

Rain lays boneless under the two ghouls abusing the delicate organs of his that absolutely were not made for what’s happening. Satan must be proud of them sexualizing absolutely all parts of their human-ish bodies, though.

One particularly pained wail of Rain’s makes Mountain freeze and look over Phantom’s shoulder at his face, searching for what caused him the hurt. Nothing, it turns out.

“T–tentacle,” Rain whimpers in explanation and squeezes his eyes and the earth ghoul gets it. He looks behind himself to see that Rain’s cock decided it’s bored and that it’s the perfect time for it to slip inside his ass and help the other two ghouls to get him to cum. “Oh fuck.”

Mountain knows as well as anyone that Rain’s little friend loves to be a menace.

He pushes his clit back into the water ghoul’s gills and humps him in quick little thrusts, moaning at the bursts of cold air on his sensitive flesh as Rain breathes. His gills are cold and slimy and tight, and not a lot of things feel tight on Mountain’s cock—he’s losing his mind.

Rain squeezes his hand, moaning as his own tentacle and the two ghouls fuck the living shit out of him while all he can do is just lay there and take it. He wouldn’t have it any other way. Phantom whimpers above him as he’s rutting against his neck and with great effort the water ghoul looks up at him. He looks absolutely blissed out and that little crease between his eyebrows is positively one of the cutest things he has ever seen.

Rain wiggles his free hand from where it got trapped under the quintessence ghoul’s knee and shoves it between his legs, parting them to get to his cunt. It’s sopping wet with his slick and Rain’s own cum and he can’t help but blindly scoop some up and shove it back inside with three fingers.

The quintessence ghoul whines and his legs shake as he’s still doing his very best to fuck Rain’s gills properly. His clit isn’t long enough to choke him, but it’s fat enough to stretch the delicate slits on his neck and that in itself makes the water ghoul’s brain leak out of his ears.

Once again Mountain seems to be jealous. Just a healthy amount. He all but pouts as he whines, looking down at Rain and squeezing his hand to get his attention. He’s absolutely adorable when he's so needy.

“Petal, gimme…” he begs. “Feelin’ empty like that.”

“Oh, baby,” Rain coos, concealing the smirk that’s pulling on his lips. Somehow; he’s barely still coherent. He uncoils his tail from around Phantom’s middle and wraps it again around Mountain’s. Loosely, so the tip of it can dip between his cheeks and rub between his soaking wet folds before plunging inside to fill him up. The earth ghoul cries out and hunches his shoulder against the added stimulation. 

Out of nowhere Phantom whips his head around and throws an arm around Mountain, desperately trying to bring himself closer without pulling out of the tightness of Rain’s gills. The earth ghoul leans forward and smashes his face against the other’s in something that could barely be called a kiss. They lick at each other sloppily for a while, until a jab of Rain’s fingers inside Phantom makes him jolt and straighten back up.

The water ghoul would also demand a kiss from him, but even with Phantom’s bendiness it wouldn’t be possible. He’ll get all the kisses and more later. For now, Rain is satisfied with staring at Phantom—into his eyes.

As he does, he remembers his summoning day. It was a horrid sight. Smell and noise, too, it all went so wrong, even though, apparently, the ritual itself was the least of the young ghoul’s problems that day.

Rain was terrified, then, frozen against the cold stone wall as he watched with wide eyes as the mauled, barely alive ghoul literally crawled his way out of the Pit. Phantom probably doesn’t remember that, but it was the water ghoul who his eyes fell onto first. Or rather one eye, because the other was shredded and so his eyelid was shut. They saved it—Aether and Omega—but it remains blind; a milky white with a purple crack going right through the middle of it.

Still beautiful.

Rain tells him as much and watches the blush on his cheeks deepen impossibly.

So, so beautiful.

From the moment Rain’s fear for his life dissipated that day, he knew that he was going to take care of that broken little thing, that he was going to show him what safety and love means.

Looking at him now, he considers himself successful.

Phantom holds onto the headboard in front of him and the earth ghoul’s thigh behind him as he fucks Rain’s gills and rides his fingers at the same time and the water ghoul can’t get enough of him. His mouth feels dry and he’s worrying his bottom lip between his sharp fangs when an idea sparks in his foggy brain.

“Bat–batsy, come on,” he mumbles, pulling his fingers out of him and freeing the other hand of Mountain’s grip. The earth ghoul grumbles at it, but he’ll get a reward soon enough. Rain paws at Phantom’s thighs clumsily, scratching him some with his glamored claws as he tries to pull him forward.

The quintessence ghoul is confused for a moment, but when Rain lolls his tongue out and looks at him pleadingly it starts to make sense. Phantom grunts and fulfills the other’s request by settling himself over his face. Slick and cum drip from his cunt in fat drops right into the water ghoul’s mouth. He moans at the taste, tips his head back and pulls at his thighs to make him sit down.

Phantom is strong, but his legs have been shaking for a while now. He drops down concerningly hard, but Rain doesn’t seem to mind. The quintessence ghoul doesn’t have the time to worry about it either, when the other immediately plunges his tongues deep inside and starts to fuck him with it.

The quintessence ghoul leans back against Mountain and moans pathetically as Rain eats him out like a man starved, licking his own cum out of him. The earth ghoul keeps fucking Rain’s gills, but he manages to hook his chin over Phantom’s shoulder once again, to look down at how his clit twitches with every move of the water ghoul’s tongue.

He’s drowning in slick and Mountain can feel on his cock when he starts to breathe through his gills more. Rain’s nose nudges Phantom’s clit with every little roll of his hips, following the same rhythm that the water ghoul moves his tongue in, and if Mountain thought noises that were spilling out of him earlier were sweet, these are pure sugar; truly a music to his ears.

The earth ghoul feels something leathery on his stomach and when he looks down he sees it’s Phantom’s little tail wriggling against him, as if desperately trying to wrap itself around his waist in the typical affectionate ghoulish fashion. It’s too short, though, barely a half of what a normal quintessence ghoul Phantom’s age and size would have—and probably have had before the attack—and Mountain’s heart breaks.

He reaches down to caress the adorably eager little thing before prompting it to wrap around his forearm. Phantom doesn’t even notice, not really, but a happy chirp breaks out of him in between the moans pulled from him by Rain when the comfort of having his tail wrapped around a part of a ghoul he loves registers in his brain.

The soft moment is perfect, but it doesn’t last long—getting concealed by Rain bringing Phantom closer and closer to the edge. Mountain looks over his shoulder again, not being able to resist staring at how blissed out the water ghoul looks drowning in pussy.

Soon enough the quintessence ghoul’s claws dig into Mountain’s thigh and a sinful noise falls from his lips as he cums with a shudder, soaking Rain’s face, neck and chest. The amount of slick glistening on his steel blue skin makes the earth ghoul’s head spin and it takes no more than a few clumsy rolls of his hips and a burst of cold air on his clit as Rain gasps to throw him over the edge, too.

He goes rigid, squeezing the water ghoul’s middle with his muscled legs and moaning wantonly. Phantom falls back against him and the two of them might be crushing Rain under them a little, but he doesn’t complain. Quite the opposite, actually—his mouth hangs open in a groan as he takes in the debauched image above him and feels his tentacle wriggle inside himself. His orgasm crashes into him just a second later and a single tear of positive overwhelm rolls down his flushed cheek.

All three of them sag and flop down right where they are and they don’t move for a longer while, too worn down to even make a muscle twitch—just lying with their limbs all tangled together in a sweaty pile of content, fucked out ghouls. Phantom either passes out or falls asleep for a moment, because the next thing he knows is Mountain hanging above him stroking his cheeks with a soft smile on his face. Rain is nowhere to be seen.

“You did so good for us, honey,” the earth ghoul praises between kisses he’s peppering all over Phantom’s exhausted body now, wherever he can reach. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Rain disappear into a bathroom. He blinks slowly and tries his best to focus his gaze on Mountain and to smile at him. He manages—although rather goofily, making the other giggle. “You’re so adorable, iris.”

Phantom trills at the attention and scrunches his nose up at the other. He chuckles as he brings a bottle of water to his lips and cradles the back of his head, helping him take a few sips. It doesn’t take long for him to give in to the compelling urge that’s pulling his eyelids back down. Distantly he hears some shuffling and Rain and Mountain exchanging a few words. He also feels a warm, wet cloth being run all over him, cleaning him up with all the care in the world as he dozes off.

“I’lov’y’both,” he slurs, half asleep already. He thinks he hears chuckles in response, and maybe he feels some more soft kisses on both his cheeks.

The quintessence ghoul isn’t entirely sure of what happens then, but the pleasant warmth and a sound of happy content purring all around him must mean he’s engulfed in the others’ arms. He wraps his sore arms around a soft body next to him and clings to it with all his might, even though he knows they’re not going anywhere.

He finally knows.

When he does finally fall asleep it’s with a smile—knowing he is safe and loved as a part of a one of a kind family, and that no harm will befall him ever again.

A few hours later, when Dewdrop comes in to check on them and leave more water bottles and some snacks on the nightstand, he sees the whole bed and all three ghouls glowing faint purplish blue in the darkness. He smirks, noticing that the light is most concentrated where Phantom has his thigh hooked over Rain’s hip. And on Rain’s face, for some reason.

They had fun, then. Clearly.

[ceruleanangel]

The Diamond of Zaun- Chapter One

Pairings: Vi x Reader could be more later...

Tags: f!reader, performer!reader

Content Warnings: Alcohol, creepy old men, angst

a/n: heyy... how y'all doing? .... ik i haven't posted in a few years while, but I decided to finally share the absolute lore of my maladaptive daydreams. This first part is pretty introduction heavy, but the following parts will be more content heavy plus there might be chances for audience participation.

Chapter Two

“Do you think I could ever be popular enough to perform on topside?” you spoke, winding the dial on the old radio, slightly hitting the side of the box, allowing the voice of a woman to flow through the static. The pink-haired girl chuckled and shook her head, trying and failing to wind a white bandage around her knuckles post-fight.

 “Ugh, I’m serious! What do you think, Vi?” you move to sit next to her, thigh pressing against hers as you take her hand in your own and rewind the bandage to properly care for the wound. Vi looks away, thinking, as you finish tying up her bandage, a pout grows on your face as the pinkette doesn’t respond. You’re looking towards the radio before you feel two hands take hold of your face, turning your face to look into her blue eyes, 

“I think you’ll be so popular that everyone will be all over you… but I’ll fight ‘em off!

“...I’ll protect you.”

You smile against her hands, “You promise!?”

“I promise.” 

Current Time

The neon pink of the billboard reflects the wet in your eyes. The figure in the center of the sign stands posed on a stage, with bright glittering eyes, lush lips, blowing a kiss to any passersby who might look up at her image. Her hair and clothes flow about her, as she beckons with one hand, convincing anyone who sees her to join her, to join the party. The neon words on the sign flicker on and off against your face in bright shades of green and pink, until you feel a harsh shove against your shoulder. Crowds of people push past to get to their nooks and crannies of the Underground. You wipe at your eyes and dive back into the crowd, heading to your own dark corner of the city, glancing at the sign one last time,

Come join the Diamond of Zaun at The Last Drop!

Your body moves with the music, weaving in between the tables as the mic in your hand propels your voice all about the bar. Normally the patrons of The Last Drop go about their business, passively listening to whatever entertainment is provided, but not now. Not today. Today, with you on stage, the bar is bustling, tables filled, eyes on you. No one dares interrupt or draw attention from the Diamond of Zaun. 

Your sweet siren voice entrances admirers, while your body moves in tune with the rhythm, your sequined two-piece outfit catching the lights of the club, ensuring all eyes stay on you. You breathe out the last verse of your song, returning to the stage. And now for the time of the night that many have leaked forward to since you stepped on the stage. In between the songs of your set, the patron who spends the most during the duration of the previous song gets your exclusive, undivided attention during your cooldown between songs. 

You step off the stage and grit your teeth, forming it into a smile. You beg and plead to the gods that your ‘guest’ won’t be like the one from your previous performance, a man old enough to be your great-great-grandfather from Topside. Who paid just enough money to have your guards conveniently look away when he breathed his rum in your face and slid his wrinkly hands down your thigh. You followed your guards through the crowd to a table near the back, sitting with some middle-aged man who spent all his current and future wealth to have a few minutes with you. You laugh at all his jokes and flash your winning smile in his direction, asking him to buy you a drink, recommending the most expensive one on the menu, draining every last penny from his wallet. Though, once the well runs dry you blow him a signature kiss goodbye and make your way back up to the stage for the last song in your set. 

You start to move your body, ending the night with a jazzier, slower song. You’re almost done when you glimpse a flash of pink hair from the crowd. Your breath hitches as your eyes flick back to a familiar short, pink haircut, thinking that you imagined her face, and it will be some other rose-haired guest.

But no, It's her. It's Vi.

Her face can be seen as clear as day, the lights reflect off of your dress and into the crowd like a disco ball, placing a perfect spotlight on her face. She looks up at you from the back of the club, a look of confusion, sadness, and disbelief dawning on her face. “What is she doing here?” “I thought she was dead!” “Who’s that blue-haired girl with her?” Hundreds of thoughts and questions fly through your head but a nudge on your leg from your guard brings you back to the present: on stage, in front of a crowd of people who are watching your every move. 

You quickly snap yourself out of it and flash your smile about the crowd, winking at a few to wipe the memory of your mask slip from their minds. You continue the set, adding a bit more flare to your performance to recover from the slip-up, once enough time has passed, you glance back at the spot where Vi once was, to find an absence in her stead. You try to subtly look around, desperate to catch one more glimpse of the girl, finding nothing but disappointment. Despite being frazzled, you finish up the song and bid goodbye to your adorers. 

You make your way to the back of house and walk down the hallway, slightly leaning on the wall as you take off your high heels. You rub at your temples and rationalize what you saw tonight. 

I know she’s gone, there's no possible way for her to be here, so I must have imagined her… but why did I see her so vividly?

Head in your palm, you lean over and push open the door to your dressing room, head spinning. But what really makes your whole world spin completely off its axis, is when you open the door to Vi, reclining in the middle of your couch, toying with one of your sparkly mics.

“Hey, Diamond of Zaun, been a while, hasn’t it?

Chapter Two

[passengerprincessblog]

“Off Track” ~ Pt. 5 Franco x Reader

WARNINGS: NSFW, angst, arguments, sexting, cheating.

Summary: As tensions flare between Y/N and Lewis after a heated argument, Y/N finds unexpected solace in a late-night text exchange with Franco, her forbidden feelings reigniting despite her guilt. Torn between loyalty and the thrill of something new, Y/N struggles to navigate the boundaries of her emotions as her connection with Franco deepens.

(Note: this is lowkey a filler part, just trying to move the story along and plant some lore, if you will, for later. Thanks for liking and reading.)

The evening was winding down, the soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses signaling that the gala was coming to a close. People lingered, exchanging goodbyes and quiet laughter, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave just yet. Maybe it was the adrenaline still coursing through me from earlier, or the way Franco’s presence seemed to tether me to the room. Whatever it was, I wasn’t ready to go.

Lewis, however, seemed to have other ideas. His arm had found its way around my waist, his hand resting possessively on my hip as he kept me close to his side. It wasn’t unusual for him to be affectionate, but tonight, there was a different energy about him—an almost territorial vibe that made my heart skip, especially with Franco so close.

As we stood near the bar, Lewis’s fingers dipped slightly, brushing the small of my back in a way that felt almost like a reminder. He leaned close, his voice a soft murmur, “Ready to head home yet?”

I managed a small smile, trying to sound casual as I replied, “Maybe in a minute…”

Lewis’s hand tightened on my hip, pulling me just a bit closer, and I could feel his gaze on me, heavy and expectant. But I kept my eyes on Franco, who stood nearby, nursing a glass of champagne. There was a slight flush to his cheeks, his gaze flicking between Lewis and me, as if he was caught between his admiration for his idol and… something else. Something unspoken.

We struck up a conversation about the gala, the elegance of the setup, the cause it supported. Lewis seemed content enough to let me speak, but every now and then, his hand would drift lower, brushing over the curve of my hip, edging dangerously close to my ass. It sent a shiver through me, not entirely pleasant, because every touch reminded me of the guilt twisting in my stomach. I should be here for Lewis. But I just fucked Franco in the closet.

“Franco,” I said, my voice a little too bright, “it must be exciting, being part of f1? All the fans, the money.”

He chuckled, looking a bit bashful, his eyes darting between Lewis and me. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that kind of thing. It still feels a bit surreal. Besides, compared to you two, I’m just a rookie, tagging along.”

Lewis laughed, pulling me closer, his hand slipping lower until it rested on the curve of my ass, claiming me in a way that was impossible to ignore. “You’ll get there, Franco,” he said, his voice warm and encouraging. “Work hard enough, and maybe one day, you’ll be hosting your own events like this.”

I could see the admiration in Franco’s eyes, but there was something else too—a flicker of discomfort, or maybe jealousy, that he couldn’t quite hide. He took a sip of his champagne, his gaze shifting to me, a small, strained smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah,” he said, his tone light, but I could hear the underlying tension. “Maybe one day.”

The three of us stood there, a triangle of complicated feelings, each of us playing our parts but somehow teetering on the edge of something unspeakable. I could feel Lewis’s fingers press slightly against me, his silent message clear: I’m yours, and you’re mine. But my heart betrayed me, fluttering at the sight of Franco’s shy, slightly flushed face.

“Speaking of traveling,” Franco continued, trying to keep the conversation flowing, “You said you two might be going to Monaco soon?”

Lewis nodded, his smile proud. “That’s the plan. Got some events lined up, and it’s always nice to go back there. It’s the perfect place to relax.”

Franco nodded, but his gaze lingered on me, his eyes softening in a way that made my heart ache. “Sounds amazing,” he said quietly, and for a moment, it felt as though his words were meant for me alone, as if he wanted me to know he wished he were going, too.

The guilt clawed its way back, twisting in my stomach as I forced myself to look away. Lewis leaned close again, his breath warm against my ear. “We’re leaving. Now,” he murmured, his tone leaving no room for argument. I looked at him, slightly annoyed but he didn’t notice.

I swallowed, casting one last glance at Franco, who was watching us with a mix of longing and resignation. “Goodnight, Franco,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. “Goodnight, Y/N. Lewis.”

I could feel the weight of his gaze as we turned to leave, and every step away from him felt like a thread being stretched thin, holding us together by the faintest of connections. As much as I knew I should be relieved to go, the ache in my chest only grew, a reminder of the forbidden feelings I couldn’t seem to let go of.

Back at Lewis’s luxurious flat, the silence wrapped around us. I quickly made my way upstairs, into his huge bedroom. As I began taking off my jewelry, one piece at a time, the remnants of the night still swirling in my mind. Franco… me.. I felt a twist of excitement and couldn’t help but smile. Lewis watched me, his gaze soft but expectant, like he was waiting for something.

“So,” he said after a moment, breaking the quiet, “what did you think of the gala? It was nice, right?” He said, watching my face.

I smiled, nodding. “It was beautiful. You did an amazing job. Your speech was…” I paused, searching for the right words, “…inspiring.” I say as I put the earrings down on the dresser.

A smile crept across his face, his chest puffing slightly, pleased with my answer. I know exactly what to say. But as I slipped off my rings, my thoughts drifted, unbidden, back to Franco.

“I really hope Franco has a seat next year,” I said, almost absentmindedly. “He’s so talented, and… he deserves it.”

The softness in Lewis’s expression shifted, his gaze sharpening slightly as he looked at me. “Yeah,” he replied, his tone neutral. “He’s a good kid. But tonight wasn’t really about him.”

The subtle annoyance in his voice didn’t go unnoticed, and I bit my lip, realizing how my words must have sounded. “Of course, I know,” I said quickly. “Your gala was incredible, Lewis. You put so much into it, and I’m so proud of you.”

He stepped closer, his hands reaching out to gently rest on my shoulders, his gaze softening once more. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You have no idea how much it means to have you here with me.”

His hands trailed down my arms, his fingers brushing against my skin, sending a familiar warmth through me. He leaned down, pressing his lips softly to my neck, lingering as he kissed a gentle path across my skin.

I closed my eyes, trying to focus on him, to let myself sink into his touch and forget everything else. This was Lewis, the man I loved, the one who had always been there for me, who had shared his world with me. But even as I leaned into him, I couldn’t shake the faint pull, the thought of Franco’s hands, the lingering touch that had marked me in ways I didn’t understand.

Lewis’s hands slid around my waist, pulling me close, his lips trailing down to my collarbone. “Tonight was perfect,” he whispered, his breath warm against my skin. “But it would be even better if I reminded you how much I love you...”

I forced a smile, nodding, letting him guide me, his affection a steady presence I didn’t deserve yet couldn’t resist. But deep inside, beneath the guilt and the thrill, a part of me lingered elsewhere, caught in a quiet moment with someone I couldn’t have.

And though I knew I should be fully present with Lewis, the shadow of my feelings for Franco remained, a quiet, forbidden ache I couldn’t quite let go of.

Lewis’s kisses grew more intense, his hands tightening around my waist, pulling me closer as he moved hungrily against me. His tongue swirling with mine, sending soft shivers down my spine. His desire was palpable, the urgency in his touch unmistakable.

But as much as I wanted to reciprocate, to lose myself in him, my heart wasn’t in it. My mind was a mess, my emotions tangled and conflicted, and no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t muster the same energy he was pouring into this moment.

He pulled back, his forehead creased in confusion, searching my face for some sign of reassurance. “What’s going on, Y/N?” he asked, his voice quiet but tinged with frustration. “You’ve been… distant. This isn’t like you.”

I looked away, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I’m fine, Lewis. You’re overthinking it.”

He let out a humorless laugh, stepping back and crossing his arms over his chest. “Overthinking it? Really? You think I don’t notice when something’s wrong with you? It’s insulting that you’d even say that to me.”

I took a deep breath, feeling defensive, the weight of his scrutiny pressing down on me. “I’m just… tired. It’s been a long week, that’s all.”

He shook his head, his eyes narrowing. “No, it’s more than that. You’re not yourself, Y/N. You don’t call me ‘lovie’ anymore. You barely respond to my texts, and when you do, it’s like… it’s like you’re somewhere else entirely.” He paused, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re not affectionate, you’re distant… like you’re just going through the motions.”

I felt my frustration rising, the guilt twisting in my stomach, and before I could stop myself, I snapped, “Maybe you’re just imagining things, Lewis. Not everything is about you.”

His face hardened, his expression darkening. “Imagining things?” he repeated, his voice cold. “You think I don’t notice when my girlfriend is slipping away from me? When she’s acting like she’d rather be anywhere else but with me?”

The argument escalated quickly, our voices rising as the tension between us reached a breaking point. The words tumbled out, sharp and angry, the resentment bubbling to the surface.

“You think everything’s about you,” I retorted, my voice shaking with anger. “Every conversation, every moment—it’s always centered around you, your career, your achievements. You don’t even see what’s happening around you.”

He looked at me, his jaw clenched, and I could see the hurt flash in his eyes. “You know what?” he said, his voice dangerously low. “I may be a lot of things, but don’t you dare call me selfish. I’ve done everything for you. I’ve paid for everything. I bought you the best of everything, paid off your $80,000 student debt without even blinking, and you have the audacity to call me selfish?”

His words cut through me, a bitter reminder of the life he’d given me, the things he’d provided without ever asking for anything in return. And as much as I wanted to deny it, to tell him he was wrong, I couldn’t. The truth was, he had done so much for me, more than I could ever repay.

I felt a hot flush of embarrassment, my anger fading as the weight of his words settled over me. “I… I know, Lewis,” I said quietly, my voice barely a whisper. “I’m grateful, I am.”

He scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Grateful? It doesn’t feel like it. You act like everything I do means nothing to you. I give you everything, and you treat me like I’m just… some guy.”

I huffed, too overwhelmed to say anything that would make things better. I turned, storming out of his bedroom, my steps echoing down the hallway as I tried to put distance between us, to escape the guilt and shame that clung to me.

As I reached the door, his voice followed me, sharp and accusing. “You can be so childish, Y/N! I give you everything, and you act cold and distant with me?”

I spun around, my face flushed with anger. “I do not!”

He took a step toward me, his eyes dark and filled with something I couldn’t quite place. “Then prove it,” he said, his voice low and intense, the challenge in his words unmistakable.

The silence stretched between us, thick and charged, and I felt my heart pounding, the weight of his demand pressing down on me, leaving me torn between loyalty and the confusing mess of emotions swirling inside me.

“I don’t need to prove it!” I whined, sounding more like a petulant teenager than I cared to admit.

Without waiting for his response, I turned and marched down the long hall, my footsteps echoing in the quiet flat. I reached the guest bedroom, the room he’d told me was mine back when we’d first started dating, and slammed the door behind me, letting the sound reverberate through the walls. My chest heaved as I fought back tears, the mix of anger, guilt, and frustration bubbling over until I couldn’t hold it in any longer.

I spent the next hour sulking, feeling the sting of our argument replay in my mind. The things he’d said, the accusations… they all settled in like weights on my chest. I tried to brush it off, to convince myself that I’d been justified, but the guilt lingered, gnawing at me in a way that wouldn’t go away. Eventually, I dragged myself into the shower, hoping the warm water would wash away some of the tension, and changed into some old clothes I’d left here, remnants of the days when I used to spend more time in London with him.

As I curled up on the bed, my phone buzzed, and I looked down to see a new message from Franco.

“Hey, hermosa.”

My eyes lit up, a flutter of excitement rising in my stomach that I tried to ignore. I quickly typed back, my fingers moving almost instinctively.

“Hi, Franco.”

He responded almost instantly, and I could practically hear his teasing tone.

“Why are you up so late?”

I froze for a moment, hesitation prickling in my mind. Should I tell him? Should I let him in on what had just happened? After a beat, I decided to go for it.

“Lewis…”

A pause. I watched the typing dots appear, then disappear. Finally, his response came.

“Lewis?”

The single word hung on the screen, and I stared at it, my heart pounding as I wondered what he was thinking. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea, maybe I was crossing a line. But before I could second-guess myself, my fingers moved again.

“Nothing.”

I hoped he’d let it go, but Franco was persistent.

“Come on. What’s wrong?”

The concern in his words made my heart ache, and suddenly, I found myself pouring out a little more than I intended.

“Just argued…”

I hesitated, watching the screen as he typed, the anticipation building.

“Are you okay, hermosa?”

His words wrapped around me like a warm embrace, and before I knew it, the truth spilled out.

“I wish you were here.”

A pause, and then his response came, as bold and honest as ever.

“I wish you were with me.”

My stomach flipped, and I felt the thrill building, the tension between us reawakening despite everything that had happened with Lewis. The guilty thoughts from earlier seemed to melt away, replaced by the excitement that only Franco could bring out in me.

“Where are you?” I typed, my heart pounding.

There was a slight delay before his answer came, as if he were weighing his response carefully.

“My hotel.”

My fingers trembled as I typed, feeling the forbidden nature of the question.

“Where?”

His answer came quickly, but his words made me smile, a soft laugh escaping my lips.

“Hermosa… Don’t ask me that. I’m going to need you to come.”

“Fine,” I replied, smiling to myself as I felt the thrill of our conversation overpowering the guilt that had been hanging over me.

He replied almost immediately, teasingly pushing the conversation forward.

“What are you doing?”

I smirked, typing out my response.

“I’m just in bed. Giving Lewis the silent treatment.”

“Poor Lewis,” he replied with a hint of mischief. “You should be nicer to him.”

“Glazer.” I text back.

“Says you,” he shot back. I’m unable to stop myself from smiling.

“I don’t glaze him.” I rolled my eyes, shaking my head at his attempt to tease me.

“Sure.”

A laugh slipped past my lips, and I could feel my mood lifting, the heaviness of the evening melting away in the warmth of Franco’s messages.

“So you are just in bed?” he texted, and I felt my heart race at the subtle implication.

“Yes,” I replied, biting my lip as I waited for his response.

A moment later, his next message appeared, sending a thrill through me that I couldn’t deny.

“I would love a picture.”

My stomach twisted with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. Should I send him a selfie? This was already dangerous territory, pushing boundaries I shouldn’t be touching… and yet, the thrill was undeniable, a pull I couldn’t resist.

I glanced at the mirror across the room, debating with myself. My heart pounded as I weighed the options, the rational part of me screaming to stop, while the reckless side urged me to go for it. After all, it was just a picture, right? Just a small, innocent picture…

My fingers trembled slightly as I picked up my phone, my heart pounding in my chest. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. Just a picture, I told myself, nothing more.

I stood up and walked over to the mirror, taking a moment to adjust my appearance. My tank top had ridden up slightly, exposing a sliver of my waist. I tugged it down, but not before taking a quick selfie, capturing the tantalizing glimpse of skin.

Too much? Maybe it’s not enough…I wondered, biting my lip as I debated. But then again, Franco had asked for a picture...

With a flush creeping up my neck, I decided to take another photo, this time angling the camera to show off my cleavage. My breasts strained against the thin fabric of my top, the outline of my nipples visible through the material.

I hesitated for a moment, my finger hovering over the send button. What am I doing? I thought, panic rising in my throat. But then I remembered the thrill of Franco's earlier messages, the way his words had made me feel desired, wanted.

Before I could second-guess myself, I hit send, the picture winging its way to Franco's phone. I immediately felt guilty, my stomach twisting with a mixture of excitement and shame.

Oh god, what if he shows someone? What if Lewis finds out? My mind raced with worst-case scenarios, even as a part of me thrilled at the danger, the taboo nature of what I had just done.

I paced the room, my heart pounding as I waited for Franco's response. Minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. Maybe he didn't like it, I thought, panic rising in my chest. Maybe I went too far...

But then, my phone buzzed with a new message, and I nearly dropped it in my haste to read it.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous. You’re going to give me this while I can’t be near you? Evil." Franco had written.

I felt a rush of heat flood through me at Franco's words, my cheeks flushing with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment. I know I am doing.. and I hate that I’m enjoying this..

A thrill of excitement coursed through me, and before I could second-guess myself, I typed out a response.

"Your turn," I wrote, my fingers trembling slightly as I hit send. "I want to see you too."

Oh god, what am I doing? I thought, my stomach twisting with a heady mix of anticipation and anxiety. But I couldn't deny the thrill that shot through me at the thought of seeing Franco, of having something tangible to fantasize about.

After a few seconds, I get a notification.

It’s a picture of Franco, in the big hotel bed. His abs on full display. My stomach twirls.

I feel myself grow with need. Need for him.

I can’t respond.. what am I doing?! But my fingers are doing something else entirely, typing out another message.

“I didn’t get to see that tonight.” I text back. Even in the throes of our rushed closet moment, I didn’t get to see all of him.

“Well, I didn’t get to see it all either.”

My face heats up. Fuck….

“Would you like to pretty boy?” I hit send. I turn my phone off and throw it at the edge of the bed. What’s wrong with me?! Lewis is literally done the hall.

I felt a rush of panic as I threw my phone, my heart pounding in my chest. What the hell am I doing? I thought, my mind reeling. Lewis is right down the hall, and I'm sexting with Franco?

But even as I tried to talk myself down, I couldn't ignore the heat that still pulsed through my body, the ache that had settled low in my belly. God, I want him, I admitted to myself, biting my lip hard enough to hurt. I want to see more of him, to feel his hands on my skin...

I paced the room, my mind racing with possibilities. We could sneak away, I thought, my heart rate picking up at the idea. Meet up somewhere private, somewhere where no one would catch us...

I shook my head, trying to clear it. No, I can't, I told myself firmly. I can't do this to Lewis, can't betray him like this. Even if he did hurt me tonight, even if he is an asshole sometimes... I love him. I can't throw that away.

But even as I tried to convince myself, I couldn't deny the way my body reacted at the thought of Franco, the way my skin tingled with anticipation. Fuck, I thought, running a hand through my hair in frustration. What the hell do I do?

I glanced at my phone, sitting innocently on the bed. I should just leave it, I thought, my resolve wavering. Should just ignore his messages and try to forget this ever happened...

But even as I thought it, I found myself walking towards the bed, my hand reaching out for the phone. Just one more look, I told myself, my fingers closing around the device. Just one more peek, and then I'll put it away. I swear.

I unlocked the phone, my heart pounding as I saw the unread message from Franco. Don't open it, I told myself, my finger hovering over the screen. Don't do it, Y/N. Just put the phone down and walk away...

I stared at the screen, my finger trembling as I hovered over Franco's message. Don't open it, I told myself, my heart pounding in my chest. Just put the phone down and walk away...

With a shaky breath, I opened the message, my eyes widening as I read Franco's words.

“Please, baby.”

I hesitated for a moment, torn between my desire for Franco and my loyalty to Lewis. But even as I tried to convince myself, I couldn't deny the way my body responded to Franco's messages, the way my heart raced at the thought of sending more to him. Just one more picture, I told myself, my resolve crumbling. Just one more peek, and then I'll stop. I promise.

I pull my shirt up and over my head, letting it gently fall to the ground. I pick my phone up as I take a few tantalizing photos of my bare chest.

I hesitated for a moment, my finger hovering over the send button. This is crazy, I thought, my heart pounding in my chest. I'm really going to send him a topless picture?

I sat on the bed, my heart pounding in my chest as I stared at the screen, waiting for Franco's response. I can't believe I just sent him a topless picture, I thought, my cheeks flushing with a mixture of excitement and shame. What if he shows someone? What if Lewis finds out?

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Hey, sweetheart," Lewis called softly, his voice muffled through the wood. "Can we please talk?"

I froze, my eyes widening in panic. Oh god, he's here, I thought, my stomach twisting with dread. He's going to see me like this, topless and waiting for Franco's reply...

I scrambled to grab my tank top from the floor, my hands shaking as I tried to grab it. But it was too late. The door swung open, and Lewis stepped into the room, his eyes going wide at the sight of me. My hands drop the shirt, on the end of the bed on accident.

"Y/N, what..." he started, but his voice trailed off as he took in my state of undress. I could feel his gaze on my bare breasts.

I quickly covered my chest with my hands, my face burning with embarrassment and shame. I fully expected Lewis to be furious, to demand an explanation for why I was half-naked.

But instead, he just smiled and laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "What, you couldn't find a shirt in here?" he teased, his tone light and playful.

I blinked in surprise, caught off guard by his reaction. "I... um..." I stammered, my mind racing to come up with an excuse. "I was just hot," I finally managed, my voice sounding weak even to my own ears.

Lewis's smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face. "Hot, huh?" he said, his voice tight. "Funny, I just turned the AC up."

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. He knows, I thought, panic rising in my throat. He knows I was doing something, something wrong...

I could feel Lewis's eyes boring into me, his gaze intense and searching. I shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, my hands still covering my chest. He knows something's up, I thought, my heart hammering in my chest. He just doesn't know what.

"Come on, babe," Lewis said finally, his voice tight. "Let's go back to our room and talk, okay?"

I nodded numbly, my mind racing. Should I tell him the truth? I wondered, my stomach churning with guilt and fear. Should I confess to sexting with Franco, to sending him topless pictures?

But even as I thought it, I knew I couldn't. I couldn't hurt Lewis like that, couldn't betray him with the truth of what I had done.

"Okay," I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

I reached for my tank top, my hands still shaking as I pulled it over my head. Lewis watched me, his expression unreadable. He knows, I thought again, my heart sinking.

I followed Lewis out of the room, my steps heavy and slow.

As we walked down the hall, I could feel the weight of my guilt pressing down on me, threatening to crush me beneath its heavy burden. I'm a terrible person, I thought, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I'm a liar and a cheat, and I don't deserve Lewis's love or trust.

————————————————-

🙈😅 yikes. Lewis LEWIS HE KNOWS AHHHHHH … or does he? Hehe.

Next time Franco will be getting involved into some online drama 🙈

Please like and follow to let me know you want more!

I appreciate all of you! 💜

[katyspersonal]

In defence of Shadow of the Erdtree + Getting my grudges with the fandom's bad takes off my chest

(! if you are seeing this caption it means the post was shared via queue feature, thus I must be STILL on my hiatus! will respond to comments when I am back online and thank all 5 of you for waiting for me! )

*deep, tired sigh* Allllright so... Ever since SoTE came out, it has been a rocky patch for me growing past initial shock, absorbing new lore and above all, dealing with some conflicts that transpired over it! In the end my grudges, as well as disagreements with popular attacks on this DLC accumulated enough to make me feel like smoking volcano, I swear.. You might have observed some anger already slipping through the cracks, but I've decided to place ALL of my opinions in one easily skippable post instead of turning my blog into a toxic pool with endless negative posts, so I'll just get to it!!

YEAH YEAH I know, a TRUE comedy genius remaking my DLC predictions bingo post to structure what I want to address fdhhdsf This is basically a 'so how is checking Elden Ring tag going today? :)' bingo but... it is easier to put it like this. I just need some way to simply vent my own frustrations because I hate everything featured in this image with THE burning rage. Putting my opinions and everything under cut but fair warning, not only it is going to be very long as if anyone who knows me is surprised dfhshfsd, but also very ANGRY! ANYWAYS!

1) "They excused genocide by giving Marika a sad backstory"

Sigh… Instantly off to a terrible start, and it is truly the most Tumblr take out of all Tumblr takes imaginable. So let me suggest something actually ground-breaking here… Giving your villain reasoning not only makes for a more realistic and interesting character, but is also crucial because nobody is just BORN evil.

sorry I had to I understand the temptation of wanting a villain whose sole drive is power control preserving privileges etc because it resonates more with the narratives proposed in real life and people's struggles, but not only even in real life things are FAR not as often as simple… but even if they were, Fromsoft is always dealing with more complicated matters that touch the nature of existence in general, and not just power and control over it someone could gain! Marika was not "just" evil even in the base game either, giving off the impression of someone wanting to build a perfect world of light, life, safety and abundance even at the expense of oppressing "potential threat" species (Omens serving as…. well, omens of the threat of returning to the primordial state of things or Albinaurics, creation of Nox, who angered the Greater Will itself once).

She waged war on the Fire Giants who had 'evil god of fire', caused natural disasters and whose fire existed as anathema to the Erdtree and declared her victory the start of the "better age"! That already spoke of a lot of complexity, without forcing the audience to agree with her motivations and actions but instead understand what weight they held in the grand scheme of things! Again: much like Gwyn who destroyed Dragons thus creating time, light and life the way it is known now and who for all his agenda against humans had a pretty solid reason to fear the darkness within them, which effects we've seen across the trilogy!

What DLC did add was simply a lore on Marika's origins as a Goddess, and what made her vulnerable enough for the Two Fingers to seek her! Divinity is further stated to not be a great thing via Miquella's whole arc, but the wish to change the world to the better hits harder when you personally were a victim of its fundamental corruption! She did not instantly become a good person over DLC lore, nor she was just evil person and nothing else in the base game! War against Fire Giants (maybe Dragons?) was the means to topple the current powers and establish her reign, oppressing certain species was the mean to preserve it. She searched not solely to take revenge on the Hornsent, but to build a different world where what they did would not happen, ironically ending up causing more injustice ANYWAYS! Miquella fell into this trap. Heck, GIDEON fell into this trap!

Even then, her machiavellian character does not explain why even after Hornsent were completely defeated that war continues forever through Messmer and his forces. Could this be just what Messmer insisted on and THUS she cast him away, or she lost any and all sight of what pusher her to it initially? In either case, even the game itself makes it very clear that Marika/Messmer are not heroes here in the SLIGHTEST!

On a more general note, detached from the specifics of this game: I do still find it more strange to be angry about villains being given sympathetic traits, as a concept. People who are just "born evil" are such a minority that they hardly can say anything about nature of men. Bad people, by proxy, are a combination of some sort of unhappy event (trauma, bad upbringing, faced oppression, mental illness that was not treated if not had its negative traits amplified due to environment, growing in propaganda and ignorance, abuse etc) and person's unwillingness or even inability to heal and stop the cycle of pain by refusing to cause more of it. It is not that simple, and often, people who were hurt so are past the point of not letting it make THEM evil, or lack resources to do so, or have their attempts to change if they WERE bad actively sabotaged.

This IS the true horror of existence: freedom of will itself being put in question. We might be not defined by our pain, but how we will respond to it might be defined by prior events, information we had, circumstances and society around us. How can ANYONE tell what they would be like if they endured the same? Can we be sure that we "endured the same but reacted differently" wasn't predefined by other, nicer factors? To be angry at the fact that a bad person who did bad things had a reasonable, even sympathetic explanation at the core of it all is to be angry that one's privilege to use "born evil" to mistreat and emotionally distance from those people is put into question!

In any case, 'explanation is not an excuse' works not only as a tool to still judge someone's sins, but ALSO to explain that writers making a character more elaborate is not a demand to like this character or excuse their actions! Everything has reason… This is why no one is entitled to declare they know what is good and bad for everyone. Not just people like Marika or Gwyn, but even us.

2) "Hornsent are dangerous and deserved extermination"

…okay, look, yes this is another heavy topic, and it does deserve a separate post which I did make already in the past ( x )! It is another topic that sort of transcends the boundaries of this story (another common Fromsoft W for making people question life and society themselves)! To put it down simply, of course no race is inherently evil, what is the reoccurring topic here is the culture! And what is on the surface is that Hornsent as culture and species, in many ways, are victims of its own oppressive religious institution and questionable traditions. Bonny Village's potentates are hostile, dangerous cult serving as a the weapon of """justice""" and """purification""" within Hornsent! They possibly go back-to-back with their religion but except they are extremist. We cannot tell whether general face of the religion, the Inquisitor hags, would do anything about it had they have more control, whether they tolerate it for convenience, or whether they encourage and utilise its existence. But what we CAN tell is that not only "impure races" are punished/killed, but even "unfaithful" Hornsent themselves!

Yes, definitely there are also Hornsent children who would have no choice regarding their upbringing, information, nor much agency over their actions, and we know they did not spare the children either from the story of Hornsent NPC that we follow! But even then, it is clear that Hornsent that were in disagreement about their culture's demands had to be quiet about it either, or else they'd likewise be persecuted!

"Why could not they just have started a revolution" is a very unfair criticism towards a culture/place oppressed by corrupt religious (and military?) institution on many levels! As someone from the country ruled by a tyrant feeding the civilians propaganda excusing genocide and promoting xenophobia, as well as very corrupt and oppressive religious institution that yet is hardly a HALFWAY as awful as some countries I could explain how hard (impossible) it is to reliably as much as gather enough people to rebel (with no results but legal troubles down to getting imprisoned). Let alone gather enough people to go an die for the cause. Especially when almost everyone with ANY power and weapons is already by the government's side completely rotten by propaganda. Feeling outnumbered, not having any resources because they're all in the hands of people who ARE corrupt, knowing even out of other people who disagree most would not risk leaving their children and sick relatives and alike in trouble rising up against the enemy they can't reliably take down is already a huge problem here. Even considering the (very idealistic) sentiment that dire consequences doesn't erase the blame that comes from not speaking up, it doesn't change that there are real and reasonable people who don't agree! Let alone the separate topic of how even people rotten by propaganda deserve a chance for rehabilitation! Propaganda is a horrifying tool and not having immunity to it should not be automatic death sentence!

Shadow Realm is already full of burn Hornsent spirits questioning what did they even do wrong and claiming they only wanted to live and didn't do anything, further proving that they might not even be much aware of what their Inquisitors and Potentates do, let alone not being a solid monolith race of those who agree with extermination of the "impure"! They are people, living in conditions of the culture held by the throat of those truly evil! It were a bunch of civilians burnt, as well as Hornsent's (NPC) wife and child who 99.99% didn't do anything. To think of it, it makes it very bitter that Bonny's Village and Inquisitors in the Tower clearly were able to recover and bounce back, when it were civilians who payed the price. Very grim yet clever remark about the real world as well, but I am sidetracking. In general, yes, a culture that considers itself holier than others with extremist forms of it deeming them unworthy of living should be stopped and criticised, but genocide can NEVER be the answer!

^^^ It fact, something already suggests there was a different answer, an even obvious one. Marika's "betrayal" suggests a long social game on her part, as well as the fact that Hornsent culture were trusting her! Maybe they knew she was a shaman and things were happening past the point where they stopped persecuting them, maybe they had no idea. Yet, in any case, Marika held enough social power to bridge the gap between the cultures, to let them evolve beyond their past, traditions and prejudice against 'outsider' cultures and instead learn from them!

^^^ In fact, the gap was bridged, since Crucible, THE Hornsent thing, WAS considered divine even as Golden Order was established! That was like… after getting Elden Ring instead of Dragons (whatever the reason was), war with the Fire Giants and murder of the Fell God and removal of Destined Death from the Elden Ring? Nonetheless, with the power to stop vicious cycle and to let the horrible practices and past be buried and dissolve in her new order of life and radiance, so-to-say "civilization", she chose the path of genocide and revenge that has not ended even to this day! As well as essentially became "the very thing she sworn to destroy" by keeping those like Omens and Albinaurics oppressed!

And to bring back the previous chapter of this post, it is not an invitation to say 'aww then it is fair that she hates Omens so much 🥺', but a pointer that what she did was wrong. And so, yet again, the cycle continues, take Vengeance-Seeking Hornsent that swears to kill not only her and her family, but everyone affiliated with her in any way even if they were innocent and simply were born under such order! He mirrors how she/Messmer did not simply stop at punishing those who WERE guilty, how violence and revenge will always only birth more of violence and revenge, until someone decides to stop it and chose to solve the situation the pacifist way to their best ability. Even when some people claim that within this option those who will want their power back can survive and ruin everything again: likewise, if culture is exterminated, victims will survive and come back with revenge. Either way suggests the risk, but only one of these ways has even a CHANCE of better future! What IS certain is that humanity could never be at better place unless we as species keep trying peace over and over, that won't banish all evil from the first try, but we must choose peace and not genocide over and over!

3) "Miquella's character was assassinated"

No, it wasn't.

OKAY FINE but it is one of the topics that are hard to approach seriously, when someone mistakes the arc of the character falling from grace to a complete rewrite of the character's personality! How falling from grace inherently suggests there was no grace to BEGIN with? Character assassination suggests Chloé Bourgeois from Ladybug that the character has been written a certain way, but then deliberate effort was done by the writers to damage their image and make the audience hate them or no longer care about them!

What we learned about Miquella from the base game was all information about him from the times long before we, player, arrived in the game, and before his departure in the Shadow Realm! He was kind, he cared about his sister to the point of creating a new school of magic and then creating Unalloyed Gold all to heal her, he wanted a gentler order than the Golden Order and created his own tree that welcomed everyone but first of all those oppressed by the Golden Order, he wished his brother Godwyn could die honourably instead of being a growing virus to all living past death. At the same time, he naturally needed military force to protect his Haligtree, as well as was able to bewitch people with his powers!

In Shadow of the Erdtree, nothing that followed erased that information! In fact, he still boldly stated that he wanted Age of Compassion! What we DID witness though were two things: 1) the fact that he had to get a bit machiavellian, something that already was obvious from the base game because kindness alone is not enough to survive in this world and you HAVE to do some planning as the leader up against the current order with its own fans, as well as people who hate the compassion as an idea and 2) that he has been leaving behind what made him the person that he was, including his feelings and attachments, which logically included caring for Malenia for example! So, the dearest sister is 'loyal blade', because he abandoned his love! He does not still love Radahn either, but Radahn was a part of the promise; a very pragmatic thing and memory that did not have to go as his feelings did. He simply was part of the initial plan to ascend to Godhood; Miquella sounded scared of the idea when he asked Radahn to be there for him, but abandoning his fears and doubts would not automatically erase the OATH. Effectively, a "contract".

Miquella was hyped up as that kind, almost perfect, noble person, for us to find out that he is not anymore. The 'anymore' part here is crucial! Fromsoft have previously did the trick with hyping a character up to be great but us finding out they were not with Vendrick and Gwyn (and very briefly with Artorias who didn't DO anything yet was hyped as THE hero when he was in fact defeated)! Miquella repeats the trend with reveal that he did charm Mohg back then (was not perfect in his actions, but I'll get to it later), but also has the story of further descent from that not-perfect-yet-GOOD person that we follow! He is effectively the most elaborate incarnation of the concept, and we know Elden Ring includes Fromsoft learning from their previous games a lot, polishing the concepts they want to use! Miyazaki confirmed that Elden Ring is "close" to the dark fantasy game of his dream, yet is still not it (someone stop this madman fhfdhs)!

To suggest that revealing him as complex, as well as adding the tragedy of repeating Marika's mistakes no matter how much he was running from this sad fate, equates the devs wanting us to hate him (that is what CA is) is ABSURD! He REALLY did not want to be Marika, he was AVOIDING it, yet no matter what, it caught up to him... How comes you equate tragedy and imperfection with suggesting that you should hate him according to the writers' intention? I will go further and say that if your expected reaction to finding out your fav was never perfect in the world where perfection doesn't survive, and had road to Hell paved with good intentions is 'oh devs made him hateable' it only speaks of your own lack of understanding and compassion. Miquella is as much of the victim of this wretched world as everyone else, where you die a hero, remain a lazy fence-sitter or try to do something but only drastic means to do it make a change. Really, this is just Fromsoft's world and Elden Ring is in no obligation to change their philosophy of existential horror!

4) "Fromsoft failed fans by not making it [insert a thing from a wishlist]"

It could be a bit subjective, but personally I think this is simply not how creativity works as a concept. This kind of criticism suggests that upon deciding on the DLC, developers were supposed to look at the fandom's discussions, determine what would be most emotionally satisfying for them, and go that route regardless of what their vision of the story was or what…? It feels like a very entitled kind of thinking for me. Creator's one task is to bring their own vision to life and tell the story and messages they want to deliver! Not to cater to the audience, not to tell them what they want to hear, not to do what sells well or, god forbid, fanservice. (and you can probably see in which paragraph I will need to touch this one too!)

Miyazaki has a rather grim vision of the world and humanity, that is not completely nihilist and devoid of hope, but never gives the coherent answer to what the better future IS either. Character Aldia from Dark Souls 2 (and vaguely in DS3) is probably the best personification of his philosophy. The world is wretched, but the means to change it are so terrible that one might question whether it is even all worth it and whether the new world built on sacrifices is truly better, toppling the corrupt power just replaces it with the other corrupt power unless you decide to straight up destroy the world, but there must be something, right? We just lack insight to understand what it IS, but how can we obtain that knowledge without losing our humanity? Happy ending or blunt message about how if you remove corrupt authority things will magically be good are not his style.

And… regarding smaller things, honestly? He had a right to throw in a random ship that didn't have any foreshadowing if he wanted! It is HIS story and HIS characters! Creator must not obstruct THEIR vision and preferences for anyone, but it is OUR choice whether to take it or leave it. Just because we gave Elden Ring that kind of popularity and influence with huge amount of support and bought copies of the game doesn't mean that now Miyazaki is under obligation to serve us and think about our reception and tastes as sort of "gratitude" or whatever… And on a relevant note, it is his choice which topics he wanted to explore in SoTE and which topics he was done with and decided to leave be.

Again I might be different, as the very moment we had a DLC confirmed I emotionally distanced from Elden Ring knowing that any headcanons and expectations could get jossed at this rate! Getting invested into series that is still in development suggests obvious risks! No one is obligated to ENJOY whatever choices he made, but what we should do is to remember that he had RIGHT to HIS choices.

5) *claiming all hinted that it obviously should have been Godwyn*

I've heard it often that base game all foreshadowed that Miquella was departing in the Shadow Realm to bring Godwyn back to life, Eclipse thing and all, therefore SoTE "betrayed" fans by not focusing on Godwyn. Everything was supposedly set up for him to be prominent or maybe to be a final boss instead, even if he'd be a through and through failed attempt of resurrecting him! But…

Even in the base game, it was suggested that 'Eclipse' was already attempted, and failed. Nothing to suggest that they would go and try again via different means. And, in fact, there is another piece of evidence that Miquella was not going to attempt another way of resurrecting Godwyn! 'Please die a true death' suggests that Miquella wanted Godwyn to not exist as Prince of Death, but to die fully; with his body too, not only his soul.

This is certainly not about resurrection, so it is safe to assume that Golden Epitaph was made as Miquella gave up the hope of returning Godwyn's soul to him! 'Eclipse' was attempted, and it failed! Moreover, 'Eclipse' is a thing associated with the Castle Sol / Mountaintops! Nothing to suggest that it is properly done in the Shadow Realm, it is very much Lands Between's thing to do. (could it be relevant that Fell God of the Fire Giants was killed, and even before Furnace Visage thing his fire was shaped like an orb, so like a sun? no sun to eclipse to begin with? now Erdtree is THE source of light? some fuel for interpretations)

This is not the only reason, as we have a more bold one, that is Fia's quest getting broken! One of the endings is Fia laying with Godwyn and bearing a Rune to bring Those who live in Death back in the Elden Ring, and one of the remembrance bosses is Fortissax fighting within his dream! If Miquella's goal was to go and try to resurrect Godwyn, that would already remove his body from that area by the very existence of the DLC! So, should have Fia's quest/ending and Fortissax battle been timed events only for pre-DLC era? Or, again, if you say that event would only happen if we followed the entire DLC story to the final battle: Fromsoft's DLCs typically do not have any significant effects on the base games, it is usually just some extra dialogues here and there. And what would be about Godwyn's "virus" growing in Stormveil, as well as on some enemies and deathroots in the ruins where Mariners resided? What is considered his body goes FAR beyond just Deeproot Depths, should they have programmed removing of ALL that to not contradict their own lore, then? It really doesn't feel like the case even from technical standpoint already!

From narrative standpoint, both Godwyn and Radahn should (have) stay(ed) dead for the story and emotional weight, however, elaborating Radahn didn't make his presence overbearing for Fromsoft's standards! On the contrary, he got more role besides kinda 'just being there' compared to other Demigods! Godwyn had a lot of impact and presence all over the story in the base game and one of the endings being tied to him! I will get to it in the paragraph about devs allegedly 'abandoning' some things that needed elaboration though!

Yet even then, devs still added Godwyn bits with Knights of Death getting sort of rebranding to still stand by him in death and the bit about Godwyn having custom-made medallions for his special knights! It is very clear that devs have not forgotten or forsaken Godwyn but instead keep reminding us how much he mattered for the idiots living in this fictional universe! However, they know where to stop so the character isn't devouring the story too much as they have their own style with balancing characters' presence! Saying that "only" adding Knights of Death going to protect what's left of their Lord like sort of fucked up plant culture in Shadow Realm is some sort of grave insult to his fans is just weird, because in fact devs were not supposed to add this EITHER!

6) "Scadutree fragments is a cheap way to force players to explore the map"

I don't think there is anything wrong about rewarding the players for exploring the open world map that is meant to be explored! And, yes, it is rewarding, not forcing! The bosses COULD be beat even without Scadutree fragments if you know what you are doing! Like, what surprises me the most is that this take typically comes from the gamers! You know, THE people who would know a thing or two about imbalanced builds or weapons, or have enough time and patience to memorise every single movement by the boss, let alone liking to challenge themselves!

Even then, Scadutree Fragments are supposed to be discovered naturally as you walk around, check niche places on the map, do platforming and search for optional enemies and bosses! If all you wanted from this DLC was to run very straightforward to just beat the boss already with ease so you check the remembrances faster, are you sure that you actually like PLAYING this game? Getting into an open world game when you don't want the 'open world' aspect seems counter-productive to me :/

Bonus mention: some people finding Abyssal Woods sequence frustrating and annoying! It is somewhat relevant to this complaint! Losing Torrent in this area perfectly adds to the sense of not being able to escape, and stealth game with Aging Untoucheable is straight up horror stuff! How are you supposed to experience getting into the forbidden area infested by the force that every living (and dead!) being in the setting fears, if you just can run straightforward to the boss willy-nilly without any buildup or obstacle! It feels like the same sort of complaint as Malenia being unfair boss when she should be hard as someone who "never knew defeat"! Fromsoft is very good at using gameplay elements to confirm what the lore says! This "criticism" just looks like straight up impatience to get your dopamine injection already instead of enjoying the process of learning this story like devs intended!

7) "Miquella has always been evil"

I suppose it goes as a sibling paragraph to 'Miquella's character was assassinated', except this time from the standpoint of those who either liked the "twist" or were indifferent to it… I think this is just a confirmation bias at play from the people who assumed this about the character from the start, often including but not limited to Berserk fanboys. I agree that the fact he has never been perfect was plain to see either, with Bewitching Branches being a sinister power as a concept and Haligtree Soldiers suicide-bombing being a bit too fanatical, but yet again: nothing erases the notion that he had good intentions!

Ansbach kind of reminds me of the same effect Kenneth once had; Kenneth described Godrick as pathetic and everyone agreed completely ignoring the bits that suggested otherwise, and now Ansbach described Miquella as a monster and this is what some people believe! Honestly, how do I develop this level of charisma to make people believe me uncritically fhfdhhfsd In any case, the "unreliable narrator" effect is very prominent in the game, and it is important to remember that developers make the character say what the character would, not give us the directions on what opinion to have!

Miquella's power is further elaborated upon in SoTE, as not inherently brainwashing one but a very strong remedy for someone's problems! Leda's fanatical murderous fixation, Hornsent's obsession with revenge, Moore's insecurities and Ansbach's fixation on avenging Mohg's "honor" (which is likewise a very questionable concept lol) all were muted, giving them peace and friendship instead of attacking each other OR himself! The key to them being pacified and happier being to fix their love on someone else doesn't make Miquella evil megalomaniac wanting an army of loyal dolls.. on the contrary, often caring for someone else IS the feeling that brings out the best in us humans!

Again, this one is subjective, and of course people can read the character any way they want! But I start to take an issue with this reading when people claim that it is canon and dig at the base game saying how he never cared for the compassion but just was sort of narcissist seeking the oppressed to make an army of admirers from or whatever… The DLC accentuates on how he has been abandoning the 'humane' parts of himself, that were making him vulnerable and as Demigod more human than God, so we meet him at his "lowest". Even then, he states his motivation to make a better world full of compassion and free of evil! He would make everyone hold hands in more peaceful ways if he could, but even from the base game his arc was basically trying and failing to heal his sister. Besides, Dane's last and only words are asking him to make a gentler world, without his spell in the effect-

Like, there are enough things that show he had enough reasons to make people see him as symbol of hope even without MAKING them to. With Radahn, we are repeatedly told that "he and Malenia helped him to cosplay Godfrey" stems from the oath they shared and Radahn agreed to! Whether you see Caelid battle as him wanting to die (to go to Shadow Realm) in a battle, or him rebelling against Miquella's world of shining flowers and kissing bunnies in the end as a warmonger but twins not having this "change" it still doesn't straight up speak of evil intent. Could be taken as despair and reaching that 'giving up' state! With Mohg we are not sure either. Maybe Miquella just wanted to "heal" his pain but his personality persisted and obsession/kidnapping happened, so he knew he was beyond help and TOO soaked in blood and sin! Or he was beyond help / didn't want help from the start, so EVENTUALLY (key word) amounted only to sacrifice in Miquella's eyes on his path to Godhood as he NEEDED one, maybe it was even seen as 'mercy'. Help is to build a better world as a honor and all.

He very likely wanted to make a better world for him too! Both their goals were connected to "love" after all! The reading of the character as evil is not as cut in stone and evident as some people make it look like!

(In fact, shortly after BASE game released, Miyazaki confirmed that Martin wrote some nice characters and Miyazaki wrote the ways to corrupt them. So, Martin wrote the kind guy, and Miyazaki put him through corruption arc. But I will get to it in due time -_-.....)

8) *views Messmer as just another (boring?) victim of Marika* (and variations)

This one I kind of saw in two forms: people who dislike the character or not care about him writing him down as "boring" for this one, and simps who kind of lift agency off the character in order to be able to like him! This is to put it roughly, as again, there are various variations but with the same sentiment at its core!

I do think that Marika having enough influence over his actions, and even having abused him emotionally in some way, is entirely palatable interpretation! The nature of Base Serpent, as well as supposed connection with the Fell God, is debatable and can vary from truly harmful thing to simply a force of nature that exists to ensure forces like Erdtree can't live forever. Regardless of interpretation, would a kind, loving mother truly allow for her child to hate himself so much?

Marika has….. a problem with fire. Waging war to put down the Flame of Ruin because it could burn the Erdtree and removing Destined Death that was fire-affiliated power already showed it; as 'Eternal', she of course wanted to live forever, same for her Erdtree! Messmer manifesting fire element would certainly be a problem for her, but was it though? Base Serpent is malicious but for this reason Winged Serpent exists, no? Can another side of universal balance be something that must be removed from the scheme of things? Can fire, or death, truly count as 'evil' things? Are not they simply forces of nature that Marika being the MILF Gwyn that she is did not desire personally, in her vision of a brighter, bountiful world?

My point is, even though she created many Divine Blessings to help him, she did likely inflict some sort of negative self-image on him anyways. Maybe it was not her intention, but she always feared him and eventually that brought her to hide him away!

So like, how does this NOT make Messmer just a victim? Okay, so here is the error that kind of started it all:

User drenched-in-sunlight explained it better in this ( x ) post, but the point is that taking up the Crusade that Marika wanted was Messmer's own initiative and not something she forced him to do like English localisation made it sound! So, she was still possessed with the wish for revenge, but Messmer was like 'hey no need to make your hands dirty, I can do it'! Like drenched-in-sunlight explained, Marika's 'wish' here is the same as in the description of her braid (same symbols), so Messmer sees what is hurting her, and ASKS to be the tool of her vengeance! I'd say that even without this bit, simply the fact that he is a grown ass man should give him agency and hold him up to proper judgement, but nuance is always important!

This does paint an interesting picture though: Marika has been trying to "heal" him (which is a debatable concept considering her character and what fire, save for Frenzied Flame, means in the setting, but I don't insist), he asked to deliver her vengeance FOR her, but also despite having sealed the Base Serpent within him she was still scared of him and sealed him away making everything connected with him heretical and warriors standing by him still shunned, and Messmer lived in hatred, begging her forgiveness before crashing her seal yet cursing her name upon his death! It looks to me as though she grew truly scared of him and decided she wanted him gone BECAUSE of seeing him in action during crusade! Him hating her for ditching him implies that was not something he expected, so maybe seeing him in Crusade made her go 'wow, my son is actually more scary than I thought'!

That speaks of Messmer as someone who can get carried away with cruelty in blind, fanatical devotion! (that also makes Queelign an interesting mirror into his youthful, more """innocent""" self but that's not the point fdhfhds) Marika might have been horrified by it, or horrified by her own ugly reflection in the monster she (unintentionally) created with her parenting, but nonetheless it describes Messmer's personality more. Someone whose reaction to his mother's trauma and yearning for vengeance was to not only take such terrible plan in his arms, but also to go too far with it, maybe even too far for HER. Not everyone would react the same way. A better person would've probably focus on helping his mother to heal and move on, or maybe even turn around and refuse to comply with such harmful intentions. But he, being a grown man who could think and choose, chose to commit genocide. He is evil! He is not JUST evil, either. He is NOT boring tool of Marika with no agency, though!

And on a relevant note, for the simps..

No but seriously fdhfhdfds I understand how that sentiment could have left a sour taste after SA Mohg truthers kept saying 'hey guys you aren't real fan of Mohg if you ignore what he did 🙄' (that certainly aged…….), but I still want to remind that a fictional character doesn't need to be stripped out of his agency to be found attractive! With Messmer what he is doing is a bit more direct, and it is NORMAL to simp for the characters you could not stand in real life! What is the fun of engaging in fictional worlds if you turn it into a morality contest and sort of a "practice" for what kind of endeavours and relationships you'd want in real life? It is for going wild and satisfying curiosity and dark impulses. No limits needed. This is just an advice if anyone needed one like this, because we just never know really.

9) *"corrects" people's interpretations (especially of Nanaya)*

Sigh...

This kind of behavior in the fandom is certainly not exclusive for the past-DLC era, but it really felt more relevant to address again and- yes, like I said, with Nanaya thing it is something I've witnessed the most! Not long ago I said that despite hearing people question why there are so many uncharitable takes on Nanaya I haven't really seen any? But yes, like usual, it happened because Tumblr bubble is often different and you need to catch updates from Reddit and Twitter to have full fandom picture! An example: not reposting the art of course, but here is a cute comic of Midra reuniting with Nanaya in spirit after death ( x ). And do you know why the artist had to add a caption to ask people to not correct their headcanons? …..because on Twitter, they got pestered with people "correcting" them that Nanaya was aKtUaly evil / Shabriri / etc. 🤡🤡🤡

Honestly, I approve of correcting people when they legitimately, objectively contradicted or missed something stated in canon! I disagree with the notion that canon is just a suggestion and the whole fun is to just use names and concepts from it to create one's own thing! I am one of the guys that wears the T-Shirt that says "Just make an OC then" because primarily fandoms are about studying and enjoying the source material! A good headcanon knowingly differs from canon, know rules to break them at the right places, all that. It is especially relevant in Fromsoft's games because the information in them is very scattered and obscured. You WILL miss something, and so communicating with the fans, double-checking wikis etc is crucial! Similarly with fanart: there is a difference between giving a character heterochromia and more interesting look to add flavor in design and drawing them incorrectly because you haven't SEEN their datamined face and need a pointer (looking at you, white Henryk Bloodborne fanarts all because not everyone checked datamined faces!)!

As I got this off my chest that I am not an absolutist with the 'let fans do what they want' because if someone doesn't need canon that much they can always make OCs or original settings…. …when something is not canon but simply a popular interpretation, don't "correct" people! Midra asks Nanaya to forgive him when he succumbs, and it is anyone's own choice whether they take it as her never having wanted him to succumb when she was still alive or her having been secretly lyinh and ensuring long endurance would made him explode into more "sufficient result"! Fromsoft's lore often leaves bits of information that can be used to justify any interpretation! And discussions, even debates, to prove why your version is better are very interesting! Fromsoft's lore community at its best feels like we are all academics defending our thesis before the audience! But the whole "well aktualy" + "there is no proof so your headcanon is bad" + "let me educate you media illiterate casual" + "but [popular loretuber] said this" attitude just isn't it.

The last example is important! This problem IS also often the result of latching onto what a popular loredigger says. Usually Vaatividya (video lore), charredthermos (wrote a popular Bloodborne interpretation document), Lokey's Lore (has whole website with his interpretation of Fromsoft games bits) and so. And I often see people hate these popular Youtubers too, but I think that the blame lays on the crowd! It is none of these guys' fault that the crowd decided to promote them to the fandom's idols and give them this sort of influence! They were not loredigging to gain this kind of power, they probably never expected the popularity, and they would sure be unhappy to know that their work is used to shun creativity and start fights in the community that they care about! Yes, even when they 'lokey' (haha geddit?) speak in the manner that suggests being close-minded to other interpretations, they are not forcing and CAN'T force fans to idolize them.

In the end, they were just doing what they loved, and popularity probably came from them being pioneers. But instead of spilling vitriol towards them and saying how they should be "dethroned" as if they damage the fandom, why not turn our anger towards THE people who idealize them? We are all angry when we are "corrected" and they use lore of someone popular as a "proof", but this is the fault of THE people who "correct". Discourage this behavior, encourage thinking like individuals and not like sheep. No one asked for the popularity or the power to stomp out any curiousity and creativity. Don't hate the big guy AND don't take the big guy's word as a gospel. In the end, we are all just guys looking for answers in the places where they were NOT given.

10) "Mohg beating allegations made the story worse"

Sibling paragraph to 'they've failed the fans by not making it a thing from my wishlist'. Themes of sexual abuse and incest ARE quite interesting and important, but not inherently THE most important, or more important than any other themes! The information about Miquella having put Mohg under spell opens up equally interesting things to talk about and look for! How did he end up like this? Was it an accident of him trying to "heal" Mohg and it no working, and then he decided to just use what he had when he followed his plan? Had he written Mohg down as only working as vessel sacrifice for that mad plan from the start? What was the backstory between Miquella and Mohg considering this? There are still interesting things to work with, regarding relationship of the two, but now with added spin of Miquella's fall from grace arc that starts with following the plan with Radahn. Because, I remind you, requirement for a vessel, so, someone powerful dying and being used, was part of it from the start! Since Radahn needed to die! It is dark, just in a different way, and divided between two characters instead of just clear stated victim and abuser without shades of grey or nuance!

I say 'divided between two characters' instead of 'they've switched' because Mohg didn't instantly become a GOOD person over this reveal! I praised him as a valid character to point out that not all victims of awful childhood and mistreatment are automatically good people, which is a good way to diversify the characters! Make things more realistic than black and white thinking. Similarly how Rykard or Dung Eater are evidence that not all people up against the oppressive system are automatically good people. That benefit of Mohg as a character didn't evaporate, he still serves that point well enough! Nothing in the DLC said that all the kidnapping of surgeons, corrupting people with the blood and bringing in sacrifices happened because of Miquella's charm. Ansbach, in fact, confirms that the blood cult madness existed before Miquella's charm! When we admit to him that we killed Mohg, he also states that such were understandable risks of seeking Lordship, implying that Mohgwyn Dynasty, so, attempt to insert himself into Golden Lineage through mad, violent means, was also already a plan before! To think of it, SA accusation is the one and only thing he beat x) Reminds me of this meme: ( x )

Again, the story allegedly becoming "worse" solely boils down to 'they've made it about a starter point in Miquella's descent from grace and not about sexual abuse' that is simply not true. It is still interesting and valid story, just in a different way! I would normally argue that as far as fandom life goes, it should have in fact improved things; whereas Mohg was never addressed and explored as a character beyond "mohglester" thing, now he should get proper respect and analysis by the fandom, right? …right? WRONG, now people do often simplify him in a different way and forget that he DID do all that other bad shit! 🤦🏻‍♂️

And I can imagine that complaint about this reveal is not limited to but INCLUDES fans being annoyed by how people simplify Mohg and make him a good guy now! But fandom's habit of selectively reducing characters to just one trait ("mohglester" before, "victim of brainwashing" now) is not the fault of writers. How exactly the fact that we, as a community, are too shallow and unprepared for complex story and characters Fromsoft offers to us, is the fault of Fromsoft? Creator should not simplify their writing or direct it a certain way just because of the notion that majority will lack attention span or insight to understand it! We are the ones who should do better! Mohg offered enough complexity in SA allegations era, he still offers enough complexity now, it is right there in the source material for those who seek and care!

11) "Why some people are still coping instead of admitting the writing is bad???"

Yeah very mature of me to single out this paragraph by making the headline sound like the speaker is having a fit, I know. 🙄 In my defence, this particular one also truly got on my nerves, but it lacks the same huge gravity as the topic of approving of Hornsent genocide did so it is just… it is certainly something right.

Certain kind of fans that I lovingly call 'Twins Cultists' (as opposing camp to 'Chadahn Simps') has been terrorizing the fandom with the attitude of singling out and shaming other fans for "wrong" interpretations, saying how they "disrespected story and characters" with the awful sin of not reading characters Malenia and Miquella deeply enough while at the same time reducing Godrick and Mohg to a bad punchline and insulting fans that read deep into THEM, trashing everyone outside of their echo chamber, putting characters/ships malicious ragebait takes in the TAGS and then playing victims of the "toxic community" and such and such. And you would expect this kind of behavior to get significantly humbled up and them to self-reflect on how they were treating fans when THEIR takes were disproven? And I am glad that some people DID!

Full respect to the guys who reconsidered the attitude of swinging their One True Reading at the heads of "heretical" fans like a bat now knowing Fromsoft always has some cards up their sleeves! Especially if they apologised to the fans they were rude to! But also enough people didn't and now not only hate differing fans harder, but also are furious that writers sorta took away their privilege to be mean to "media illiterate weirdos". I wish I had the patience to accept the fact that of course people are angry, because something so important for them was……. no, fuck that lol I don't.

Okay jokes aside, yes I am aware that it is not possible to care about something passionately without at least somewhat slipping into the territory of defending your understanding from "threats". All we can really do is to draw the line between getting too carried away by our passion and outright obnoxious toxicity in the fandom and TRY to not cross it. To CHOOSE to not cross it when we see it, and step back if we did cross it. I do, however, take an issue with people who refuse to try and even encourages the mentality of seeing fellow fans as "enemies" and gets proud knowing they angered someone or discouraged them to check the tag. In Fromsoft fandoms, it is almost exclusively Tumblr behavior, we are sure luckier than every other fandom in the internets, but I still want to get it off my chest. Like I said, this particular attitude developed a new form after SoTE released, attacking the fans who seek reasoning within the writing decisions they deemed badly written or fundamentally wrong.

And these instances are EXACTLY where I put "just caring passionately" as their motivation into question. Because if someone says it makes sense to say that Miquella and Malenia admired Radahn's kindness when they all were younger and thus he likely faced a negative character arc since then into becoming obsessed with war instead, and you get mad at them for "coping when calling a warmonger kind is dumb and makes no sense"…? Sorry, but who cares about characters MORE in this situation: the person offering proper thought about them given some new information, or the person who is mad that their one-dimensional vision got broken?

People finding creative, interesting and reasonable ways to incorporate new information into lore, in the ways that do not contradict the base game (!!!) is not "coping" or "seeing through pink glasses" or "refusing to admit their fav dev can do wrong" or whatever you choose to call it. It is simply using analysis and imagination, it is adapting and accepting. If you can't do it, you are welcomed to do rewrites of SoTE reveals and characters and ending, it is not illegal! But don't go and say that the writing is so awful and broken that everyone who accepts it "never actually loved Elden Ring" or other nonsense just because for YOU this writing didn't work! The one and only unforgivable thing the devs did starts and ends at the fact that Radahn thing was not foreshadowed, and yet even HERE his relevance is EASILY incorporated and developed into backstory if you are willing to put in effort! This retcon is such a nothing thing compared to what some other writers do glares at Ladybug retcons for comparison. Like, working with it is possible, and if you don't want to it doesn't mean others shouldn't.

And in fact, at first I saw a lot of enthusiasm regarding the rewrites, AUs, "fixes", dwelling on pre-existing lore ignoring SoTE and all that. I really did, and it was valid. But then what I saw, personally, was that flame dying down and amount of such posts shortening but out of those who left this brand of toxicity followed! My interpretation of this change is that when initial shock and frustration waned, more people started to notice SoTE was not bad.. and THAT made people who continued hating SoTE feel less validated, in a way. When people started to warm up to certain plot twists and decisions, to elaborate new information into their vision of the lore… people that still hated and disapproved of the thing lost the image of being "the saviors of the fandom from Miyazaki's garbage writing" and became simply people who do their own thing. And for people who are driven with negative impulses, 'just enjoying the things they like' is usually not enough. They need to be "right", they need to "contribute to the fandom", they need to be "better" and so on. It is a known thing about fandoms even aside of SoTE and Soulsborne fandoms altogether, and I feel like this situation is the return of it, personally.

Of course, this is all speculation and the dynamic I've observed. Maybe someone observed different processes entirely! I just think it is safe to assume as I've seen absurd level of toxicity even despite staying away from 'active' fandom (no 'cool kids' circles, no following popular creators, no open Discord servers, no checking tag or Reddittube etc)!

Still, "I'll fix awful creators' writing because I actually love and respect the characters unlike they" is already a very questionable sentiment, but to attack the fellow fans over this is beyond any patience and understanding! Eventually there is no "right" or "wrong" way to love the characters and story and to be passionate, even if we are naturally inclined to believe in our own vision the most! Perhaps you express your love by putting in a lot of effort to give the characters different writing entirely, to "save" them from decisions of creators you don't agree with. But it is an OPTION, not the One True Way, and… really, it is strange to be mad at people for being happy and satisfied with the story and finding a lot of valid things in it and call them blinded Fromsoft dickriders incapable of critical thinking or whatever! Bonus points when such sentiments come from EXACT same people who resent the Youtube bros that bash every other new TV series AND insult people who dared to enjoy such aaaaawful product or whatever… You guys really hate the type of YouTube "critics" who take personal insult in people who enjoyed a thing and even reasonably justified the parts that THEY declared disgrace to the series and disrespect to true fans? Yeah most reasonable people hate them. We all know at least one modern TV show whose fans got this sort of treatment. But don't you guys see how you've became exactly the same type of "critic" at this rate? Unacceptable behaviour, not justified by 'but it comes from place of passion'! I am passionate about Soulsborne as you could tell and I disapprove of it, no correlation!

12) "Fromsoft became woke" (and variations)

For startes, I have to wonder whether we've been playing the same games all along. Where was it when Gwyndolin was intersexual and affirmed himself as a trans man later? Seath is also blind and has what is a disability for his species? Where was it when Pharis/Evlana was a very GNC woman in Japanese original, but for you she looked a trans woman because English localisation made Pharis a he/him a removed Pharis' nametag from "female archer" in the woods? Where was it when our good friend intersexual trans man was literally killed by the church? Where was it when they had female doctors, church leaders and scholars in Victorian era? As well as strong female hunters like Maria or Gratia? Gratia and Rom are also confirmed intellectual disability rep via Japanese script? Or when both male OR female hunter could propose to Annalise? Or positive sex worker representation in Arianna being the only kind person to step in Oedon Chapel? Where was it in the BASE Elden Ring with Ranni being bisexual, Malenia representing severe physical and mental illness, Miquella being GNC at least and trans+neurodivergent-coded at most, Dolores being a return of GNC woman, Blind Swordsman, Niall being another prosthetic-using fighter and Marika/Radagon? Speaking of blindness there were also Maiden in Black, Firekeeper, Irina 1, Irina 2 and Hyetta? Where was it when through their whole games they never sexualized their female characters and the ONE exception in Gwynevere was not even on purpose? WHERE WAS IT WHEN TRANS COFFIN???

...okay, I can continue and I'd love to be reminded of more examples. But on the serious note, this complaint has two ways to go about it: 1) an understandable fatigue with writers and stories placing pseudofeminist agenda on bland unsympathetic female characters, retconning pre-established characters to pretend to care for diversity and generally hating the audience for merely being born cis/white/male and 2) people being upset at diversity in the cast to begin with and complaining about "forcing the politics in art". And in both cases, this just doesn't apply to Fromsoft.

In the first case, they simply aren't hating their "privileged demographics" audience through characters and narrative, and doesn't seem like they will. They write very compelling, nuanced and even sympathetic characters, as well as the stories that make you ask questions to yourself! They insist on messages against corruption of religious institutions and fascism, but even THEN they'll give sympathetic characters on that side (!), show that not all people who oppose them are good either (!!) and make damn sure to recognise at the start of it all were good intentions (!!!!!!). From this angle, you could argue they are not woke ENOUGH, actually, because of how merciful, open-minded and non-forceful their messages are! They deliver their points through characters who are actual people, rather than writing characters as bland plot devices that hate you!

In the second case... Yeah, as memey as the phrase is, but "they've always been woke". Just because Miyazaki loves motherly woman archetype and and Fromsoft games always had compelling married hetero couples doesn't mean they are your allies in "preserving traditional values"! Again, messages against religious corruption and preserving long-overdue order of things fearing change are plain. Elden Ring had a slight increase in diversity, but to think of it, Elden Ring is also a bigger game with bigger cast. I do want to point out though that the very concept of worrying that with more diverse characters somehow cis and white cast will no longer be a part of From's stories is strange. They'll never make it all about JUST one demographic because they cover nature of humanity in general, but if anything, adding way more angles than their staple Medieval Europe culture route gives them more power for TYPE of the messages they want to tell! Because their power is, and always been, showing the situation from different perspectives.

13) COMMERCIAL BREAK LOL

14) "Devs artificially increased difficulty instead of WORKING to make battles"

This is very unfair criticism already from the very concept! Players had two years to advance through the base game, and if you play consistently, it is enough time to become ridiculously overleleved! Overleveled to the point of not being able to enjoy playing SoTE at all, as all enemies would drop dead instantly! It was easy to sabotage the challenge and simply not let the devs give us the fun experience they intended. But, no! Devs cared to make things so that even if you are 300+ level and have godly build, you'll be down in two hits by the first Furnace Golem, let alone bosses! So, yes, you either need to run around and collect Scadutree Fragments, or seriously study your boss and come up with clever strategy! I am still proud of a really smart way to fight Rellana I invented x)

This complaint did have a period of initial shock when it was really blown out of proportion due to the comfort zone of being overpowered broken, but this opinion still lingers and I just find it strange! Why NOT make sure that players of any level physically can't be too strong to actually PLAY SoTE, instead of just running through it with ease? Even then, how comes they "didn't work on bosses"? Boss battles like Messmer, Bayle and Midra are absolutely wonderfully well done on every level! Romina, Rellana and Putrescent Knight are really great and have super interesting battles even if not as epic and show-stopping, aesthetic and moves alone are immaculate. Non-remembrance bosses who are also very fun and beautifully designed! There are annoying bits about Scadutree Avatar and Gaius, but you can't seriously say they did not WORK on them! The bosses are challenging not only due to artificial difficulty, because even at high Scadutree Fragments level you still need to give them thought! And while you do… right, you can admire the sound and the battle design!

I am just really confused about this complaint because it could only be applied to reusing Radahn for the final boss.. but even then he is not fully reused, and sure not so reused for Stage 2 where you can't see shit because of Miquella's spells. One "kinda mid" boss can't and should not eclipse all those awesome bosses! If anything, he feels more like a hard to get joke! Fans have been saying things like 'oh if only we could fight Vendrick at his prime', 'oh if only we could fight Gehrman at his prime' etc etc… now, as they ALSO did want to fight Radahn at his prime, they got an option to do so, and he is not all that impressive, right? :p Let's be real he only sucks because Leonard isn't here hgfhhhgb

15) *admiring how fanatical Leda is while hating other (male) characters with the same quirk*

Sigh... I will just leave this meme by the user wraith-caller here: ( x )

Yes, fandom does have decent amount of simps for this type of male character, I know. Lautrec, Alfred, and D twins. (Coincidentally, all women-killers x) Even if Devin is actually justified) I suppose Queelign would go here too if people didn't write him down as a joke character by proxy over a cursed cleric haircut? 🤔 skill issue btw So of course it is not to say that they are not given enough love/lust/other positive interest…..

…but for some STRANGE reason, people who feverishly admire Leda and simp for her or at least hail her as such compelling character that ALSO hate Alfred or D for being such horrid fanatics are almost a staple by now! Why!!! This problem existed to a smaller extent with people who hated Alfred while simping for Adella and even shipping her with her victim- and no, it is cool and based, one does NOT get into a media with dark themes to demand healthy characters and healthy ships, but why so many times gender defines it? I don't care if you are a lesbian; whether you give character a justice should NOT depend on whether you are attracted to them, or else you are no different from straight girls that would like a male character and hate female character with the same issues! And sure I don't care if you are a feminist and are inclined to give "pay back" for years of misogyny in the fandoms by applying double standards!!

16) "Why could not we have JUST ONE genuinely nice character?"

Alllllright so… apparently, I was wrong this whole time about SoTE. I was convinced that it had no impact on the base game beyond like, Leda greeting us in Mohgwyn Palace, but I suppose I was misinformed very much? Because turns out that this whole time I was not aware that SoTE removed existence of Roderika, Hewg, Boc, Melina & Torrent, Latenna, Albus, Thops, Jar Bairn, Millicent and Enia from the base game!

….fine, okay, sarcasm is not my forte at all, but what I said still stands from both subjective and objective standpoint. Subjectively, I don't think counting out minor characters does any good for enjoying and analyzing the story! Should anything only "really" count when it is a significant, major character? This reminded me of that time when someone said it was 'incredibly fucked up how Bloodborne only had 2 non-white characters' when in reality it has 13 but minor characters supposedly didn't matter much…?

I want to specify though how this bit is more about how I interact with fictional worlds; I take them as just fictional realms that I enjoy exploring and "living through", I do not put much emphasis on how much 'weight' characters representing certain demographic OR worldview in the story as someone able to love every other minor gremlin genuinely! Maybe it is autism, maybe it is the fact that I am naturally hesitant to interact with the 'big guys' anyways with real people too. I enjoy tending to flowers and I suppose for most people the point or representation they want to see should be visible from every angle, like Erdtree x) With major characters, I think Rennala and Godwyn are the closest we have to good people, yet they were not able to be 100% good conceptually due to their high status.. much like Miquella himself, which brings me to a more objective point!

Conceptually, it is already impossible to be fully good when you as much as hold a lot of power! Some people have to be neglected if not straight up stomped out, for your own safety or safety of others, and it won't be a good thing *regardless *of intentions! Some sacrifices have to be made because if you are nice to everyone while having a lot of power, bad people will try to use you! Some social games, if not straight up violence, have to be applied if you want to make a change in the world! The big, important person can't be perfectly kind, because in that case they will no longer be big and important! It is just cruel truth about how society works! And Miquella HAD to be big and important. He had huge plans for the world, and as much as keeping himself and what tribe he has built within the Haligtree safe implied some morally questionable acts, let alone making his path through the position where he can change anything!

Pacifist character with unyielding principles who has a say in the fate of the world can often be portrayed from a very unpleasant angle, like, 'hug and forgive war criminals with unreal body count :3' angle (Steven Universe comes to mind first of all). Like, such decision make you wonder how this is being a GOOD guy here! But at the same time, is taking down those war criminals truly good either? When the character combines being the force of good AND being the force able to effect fate of the world, they inevitably are faced with the dilemma of either getting their hands dirty, thus sullying their grace at the very least, or making a decision that would feel like betrayal for the victims… which, again, sullies that grace but in another way. Miquella was already conceptually doomed to act Machiavellian by the virtue of being an Empyrean who wished change, much like Ranni except more subtly so!

And this is why true goodness could only come through the little guys. They don't have to make morally questionable decisions with no outcome that spares their innocence; their field of influence is to just care about their closest surrounding and to do their little tasks! They can't change the world, but they can change just the lives of their friends and their own.

Malenia, one of the key figures in the story, was faced with the choice to either "abandon her dignity" and nuke the continent to deliver Miquella's plan in full (the route she did end up doing), OR to preserve that "dignity" but thus hinder their plan that I remind you was against the Golden Order, to build a better world (which is also sort of morally questionable decision in the grand scheme of things)! She could not win and with all information we were given, more suffering in the setting would ensue no matter what! Do a drastic sacrifice for the greater good, or forsaken that greater good to preserve more lives but doom them to live in the same bad conditions forever was her picture! Yet Millicent, effectively a 'little guy' version of Malenia, had the privilege to die with her integrity intact without any big consequences for the world and great scheme of things! True good, certainly, can only exist in the smaller scale.

When it reaches the higher plane and higher decisions there is no way to remain 'unalloyed'. So, yes, we could NOT have 'just one genuinely nice character' out of people with huge power and importance. Not because Miyazaki allegedly hates hope and hates you! But because he is a writer that seems to understand such fundamental things and philosophical dilemmas from the track record of his games so far. ANY mature, insightful writer knows that the idea of someone 'important' forever being good might be a thing the audience wants, but not a genuine thing. "No matter how tender or exquisite a lie will remain a lie" and all.

17) *hating Radahn's inclusion because "dudebros got validated" and not over the story*

To be honest, this IS something I am also familiar with. I won't play the "unlike you snowflakes I don't care about online discourse uwu" persona because I SURE do! I used to dread Mariadeline ship because fans of it were easily the most toxic and unbearable type of Bloodborne fans, choosing to remain willfully ignorant about Gehrman's character actual lore, showing near-biphobia regarding Maria, having era of acting personally attacked when their ship was implied to be anything BUT cottagecore fluff dynamics without corners, playing victims of hate and "misogyny" when they themselves maliciously rage-baited fans that were just enjoying themselves, and doing that ableist 'no reading all this get a life' thing when shown where they were wrong! I had a period of really disliking Leda because she was an in-universe manifestation of aforementioned 'Twin Cultists' who act very similarly to common Mariadeline fans with spreading the "us CORRECT fans with MEDIA LITERACY who RESPECT story and characters vs them WEIRDOS" toxic mentality, with the whole joys of echo-chamber stuff, playing victims when they knew they were PROVOKING anger and feeling attacked when anyone dared to as much as to look at their favs as anything but perfect. I dealt with both and enjoy the ship now, and like Leda now. These are just two recent examples, but I faced a similar problem often, in previous fandoms as well. And I will be real here:

What helped me every time was to distance from the 'vocal' fandom, gather around a few friends to private chats and bounce around the ideas on our own. Without any outside influence, without deliberately skewing interpretation to "spite" anyone, without any motivation in it besides trying to look at things with clear gaze. The cure against the sour taste that bad fandom experiences have left is not to have the writers to "validate" you or to "spite" your opponents or whatever. The cure is ALSO not to completely abandon the ship/character/concept/etc giving up on it as if it was rotten and "not worth the stress". The cure is to hide away from this negative influence for a time being and build your own vision, that might have only like 3 other fans but be immune to everything! Us very few people here who like Mariadeline the different way keep FAR distance from its more 'common' fans, and we are pretty glad that we grew a Halightree in the contrary to their Erdtree x)

I do not really see why could not the same be done with Radahn as a character. In fact, it feels like there is an unspoken DEMAND for it. For 'reclaiming' him, even! My friend heraldofcrow made a post ( x ) about why Radahn is not 'Chadahn' at all but actually a sad character in his own right and just LOOK at the notes! Clearly, he does not have to remain a "mascot" of those dudebros and remain associated with the dumbest discourse you ever had to read!

I think the fandom really has lost the objective when prior the DLC you guys started to hope for certain outcomes based on the fandom experiences! People hoping for Miquella to be kind to make 'annoying Berserk fanboys' shut up, people hoping for Miquella to turn out evil to be vindicated after his annoying fans were toxic over "wrong" interpretations of him, people hoping for Mohg to be confirmed bewitched so everyone who called them media illiterate could eat their words, people hoping for the answer to Caelid battle to invalidate Malenia haters from Reddittube…… Like, how comes that we have forgotten that the first priority is to hear what the writer has to say and try to accept it as fans, or at least to have objective, reasonable wishes for the story rooted in our knowledge about writing and NOT in fandom discourse? It should not be a matter what group of fans gets validated or screwed over, it should be a matter of what it does to characters! It should not be important that now Malenia haters will NEVER shut up, but it SHOULD be important that we now have a better context for her moral failing and can work with it. She is not THEIR to trash on, she is YOURS to cherish as the girlfailure now with extra information!

There is a Russian saying: "Мышки кололись, плакали, но продолжали есть кактусы" (literally "(the) mice prickled themselves, cried, yet kept on eating the cacti"). It is a figure of speech describing someone who keeps stubbornly doing something that only brings them suffering without a reasonable purpose to it. This is exactly what those dudebros have been doing thinking about Malenia within the context of their fav and what they have been doing complaining about how hard it was fighting her when no one forced them to. But this is ALSO exactly what Malenia fans have been doing engaging in bad faith "debates" started by those guys and checking Reddittube knowing full well no good takes exist there!

If what you wish from it is effected not by your knowledge and tastes, but by your bias stemming from fandom experiences… really, distance from the fandom and heal. Characters are their own entities, not your tools to own other people in the fandom. It goes to both Reddittube AND Twitbr, to both people who started it and people who merely developed negativity as reaction. Fans are NOT part of the story and should never be, we are all just people observing it and reacting to it.

18) "They clearly gave Radahn spotlight because he was popular in (western) fanbase"

It is absurd to assume that Fromsoft would turn the planned story around because a lot of people on Reddit and their YouTube lore influencers declared 'Chadahn' their king. In fact, judging by the merch they're offering, Malenia is recognized as equally marketable if not MORE marketable! Besides, had they cared about Western fanbase's reception specifically (which IS where Radahn is loved), they would have likely avoided the potential backlash by that type of fans regarding making their fav LGBT+! With half-brother, no less. I've also heard a theory that they included Radahn as the very last moment solution, but I doubt that baking in Freyja into the story with her and Ansbach's questline, as well as creating Gaius, could've been something done in the last moment! I am not a game developer so correct me if anything, but it looks like a lot of work to do. Besides, there is not enough cut content in SoTE to suggest the plans were far different! And we all know that cut content always still lingers in the game's files with Fromsoft!

They can care about marketing- heck, using Vargram, an existing character with his own lore, to portray the "Tarnished" in promo materials because his set is more catchy than Knight/Tutorial set, for example! Or how replacing an option to murder Orphan of Kos as an infant with 'shadowy presence' because it felt too grim didn't undo the option to kill Arianna's infant and other celestial children, nor it undid how horrifying Fishing Hamlet was. They also obscured the fact that Annalise's baby got aborted, but not the fact that Queen Yharnam's baby was stolen while she has a bleeding wound where a big belly used to be. These are examples of making posters more eye-catching and dodging potential scandals about promoting abortion respectively, but nothing about nuking the plans for the story!

You know what sells even better than Radahn? Big boobs! Yet over and over they make their female characters have smaller chests, even Marika, and the ONE exception Miyazaki ever made, Gwynevere, was done because the guy who drew her concept was too happy! Heck, assuming that Miyazaki included Radahn because his coworker wrote a Miquella x Radahn fanfic he liked is more realistic assumption than him wanting to "sell better" jggfggfhgn In any case, my point is, they follow the vision they like and don't sacrifice integrity of the story!

(+On the relevant note, back then there was a scandal with press calling them "homophobic" for Mohg supposedly perpetuating a negative stereotype with incest/pedophilia accusation….. but while they debunked that impression, they've added consort thing with Radahn that falls for the exact same issues potential lol!!!! You know the only reason "Radahn is a groomer" takes don't exist is because people who care about Radahn aren't the discourse-starters of the fandom. They didn't escape certain side-eyeing even when they COULD and it is funny)

There is another thing I want to address though!

The screenshot is from this reveal trailer, and the excerpt is from Miyazaki's interview ( x ). I assume that this COULD be used as a reasoning behind thinking adding Radahn and final Miquella cutscene in the "last moment"; like 'you see, there was an ending where he 'reveals' (?) the Scadutree, but they cut it, and offered that unfinished clip of Miquella asking Radahn to come with him!' ..okay, sure, but you know what else was in that interview?

The confirmation that there would not be an extra ending for Elden Ring, of influence on the main game! Right off the bat, right after this trailer! Miquella "unveiling" the Shadow Realm or anything like that would have had consequences on the main game, certainly! They might have animated this prior because they wanted to add a new ending but then decided to not touch the main game under any circumstances but kept it for the cool trailer, or they animated it for the trailer from the start (like if Miquella is unveiling a new location for us, metanarratively)!

19) *refuses to use information and lore from the base game while looking at the DLC*

Yet AGAIN, "Free my man Mohg from SA allegations (he did do all that other shit though)". XD True, when it is not that people reduce (?) him to just a victim upon learning Miquella's Bewitching lore for the sentiment alone… it is then because they sort of forget. :clown: Ansbach's entire existence and what information we receive from him confirms that Mohg's scary bloody cult existed before Miquella's spell! It is up to anyone to interpret whether 'love' theme about his cult also existed before what Miquella did, or was, in fact, a side-effect, but kidnappings and sacrifices definitely were not caused by Miquella!

Another example off the top of my head is Maliketh and even Hoarax Loux / Godfrey basically evaporating from Marika's backstory, as though nothing ever existed besides her time at the Shaman village, Messmer and Fell God. And the latter one makes it especially odd, because base game hammered it down in every other Fire of the Giants' incantation that the motivation to put that fire down was because it was capable of burning the Erdtree and existed as anathema to it altogether, but now it got basically forgotten, as if all that ever existed about it was Messmer's presumed connection to it! I even got """corrected""" once when I stated that war with the Fire Giants happened to establish and protect the Erdtree, with something along the lines of 'we don't actually know what the motivation was but very likely to help with the curse that he caused on Messmer'! Also seeing the turning point of Marika's story in her becoming a God through Divine Gate, when in reality it was first her being chosen as an Empyrean by the Two Fingers! So, first someone now qualified to create the new order, and then actually creating it by entering the Divine Gate!

There were also Miquella things such as saying that he abandoned Malenia when she described his absence as "he will keep his promise", or saying that him forgetting Godwyn was a weird decision when the base game already suggested he failed and gave up with failed Eclipse and Golden Epitaph with words 'please die a true death'! To be honest, with Malenia one I myself fell for it at first, but… yeah, base game suggested he was going to return to her after/if his plan succeeded. Romina "creating" Scarlet Rot I also found to be often disconnected from (Outer) God of Rot existing 🤔

I suppose this could be justified because many people finished Elden Ring significant time prior the DLC, so many lore details got blurred and only general impressions of specific fixations stayed! It is just how memory works, and revisiting the source material from time to time is necessary! Even then, SoTE is so full of new information that it is easy to just completely fixate on it! I just think that it is important to remember that SoTE is still not just a whole game despite its absurd side and saturation with the new things, and things in it add into the base game! Not always like missing puzzle pieces but sometimes in a way that makes the puzzle itself bigger, but still. Gaius existing didn't replace Alabaster Lord that was Radahn's Gravity Magic teacher and Ogha, but he was also a "classmate"! Radahn being stated as an important sibling for Miquella and Malenia didn't replace Godwyn, but rather is added as someone also important! Hell, maybe he even became so close with them after Godwyn's assassination, but I'll get to the "it doesn't contradict stuff" in the meantime! Dryleafs and Needle Knights aren't supposed to make anyone forget about Loretta and the plan to find "proper" Haligtree Knights but never finding a master for such sword! They are just people who put faith into him after Erdtree started to die and his police force respectively! (Also no if I saw that Needle Knights are police then so have to you all, fuck you)

20) "How could they abandon [insert a thing that had enough place in the base game]?"

This kind of happens frequently, and usually it is about Godwyn! Sibling paragraph to 'it obviously should have been Godwyn' I suppose! Godwyn is not the first character who is very significant for the story yet everything happened behind the scenes, through descriptions and dialogues of other characters. In fact, meeting him in "person" is already a luxury by Fromsoft's standards! He had enough of spotlight already with his death triggering the VERY events of the plot with Shattering, one of Miquella's failed plans being about 'Eclipse' to bring him back, being grieved for by other characters, making peace with Ancient Dragons and thus a whole type of incantations in the game being linked to him, haunting the environment via Deathblight and being core figure in the questlines of Ranni, Fia and Rogier who are pretty significant characters all! He had enough development and presence in the narrative, I'd say to the point where bringing him into SoTE would overload the story with his presence! Not making him a core figure in the DLC and limiting new information about him to his most significant Knights rebranding into Knights of Death to protect the places where Prince of Death "grows", again, not some grave insult to his fans because what was there to tell about him happened in the base game!

With Fromsoft characters, THE tragic culmination of their story often happens behind the scenes and we are intended to meet the character at their lowest point, or just dead! With Godwyn, that culmination did happen behind the scenes, with such beloved, important, enigmatic figure getting assassinated and sending Marika over the edge, and we have a second emotional culmination for the character that we get to experience where we DO meet him at his lowest - an abomination on all living and mockery of former self, knowing Miquella did not get the wish to either return his soul OR let him die a true death! He did not have enough screen time, but he had enough presence in the story and feelings!

A similar complaint could be made regarding 'Well, Miyazaki said that Miquella would be a focus of the DLC, but we only meet Miquella in the end and he just sits on Radahn's back instead of at least fighting us himself'! (no not me making up a guy, it was an actual claim towards Miyazaki allegedly "lying") First, you people take it BACK about a very clever Dark Souls 3 reference and Miquella's spells not letting me see shit. Second, like I said, his presence is all over the narrative! All core NPCs talk about him, we follow his traces and find flowers growing from his blood, we learn more about him and his past, Radahn's story is now connected to his and Mohg's story with him given some insight, Trina is inseparable part of him, Dryleafs and Needle Knights are HIS covenants, we see effects with and without his spell… How is all this NOT 'being focused on the character'? Fromsoft's style of giving character time and space is not specifically to show them on screen or let us battle them or have dialogue with them!

Personally, I also at first wrongly assumed that they forsaken Miquella and Malenia's connection for the sake of Radahn, but this is, again, the case of one not excluding another! His connection had enough weight in the base game: he started Fundamentalism with Radagon primarily as a sort of magic to heal Malenia and abandoned it when it was not working, she always identified as 'Blade of Miquella' and it is the only thing she holds onto as she is falling apart, her clothes, prosthetics and armor pieces are made of his Unalloyed Gold and it even digs into her very body, all which he created for her, Ephael is full of statues depicting their younger selves holding each other, she was the one to have his needle (different from the gold needle) and she awaited him to keep his promise since he was "the most fearsome Empyrean"!

(Cut Rico's dialogue in the base game's files ( x ) ( x )) The original intention seemed to give Trina less of a 'personality', making her more inseparable entity from Miquella or even straight up just his disguise like with cut Merchants' questline, so the plan to ascend Miquella to Godhood was already in the plans! They have changed the dream realm thing since, recontextualizing Miquella going to sleep to ascend into presumed dream realm into Godhood with dream Trina persona to Miquella departing into the realm where rather all dead drift to, but the POINT of him leaving for that mad plan rather than mysteriously vanishing and Malenia not knowing why was there from the start! Writers didn't just "randomly made him abandon her" - he ALREADY did so in the very early draft of the story!

In the interview ( x ) about SoTE, Miyazaki also confirmed how many things that were planned from the start were cut from the base game's story because it was getting too big:

Miquella also abandoned not just her but everything, and Radahn logically got special treatment because he was part of the plan from the start! Miquella, who left every feeling that made him the person that he was, did not need to love Radahn or care for him to remember that a God requires 'consort' (in this setting's lore). It is not outlandish to assume that he wanted Radahn to share that fate (a fate so bad that Trina begged us to rather kill him that allow it, mind you!) and not Malenia because she already suffered enough for him in his eyes, for example. She depended on him for everything, so why not ask the other tough guy rather than a person that never knew independency and true agency outside of his influence?

My hot take is that not asking her to hold his hand through horrifying ordeal further proved him caring about her with all the context! He maybe ideally would not have asked Radahn either but if you need the Second Guy as a God, who will you rather ask: a person that already never knew life besides self-identifying as your tool or a kind tough guy who was the second most reliable figure for you BOTH after Godwyn? And would Godwyn be interested in the idea to abolish the Golden Order anyway? Radahn presumably changed his mind later in life, but Godwyn was THE Golden Order guy since the start! But my interpretation is not so relevant, it is subjective and again saying 'there is no glaring problem that people think there is, it comes down to interpretation'. There was still nothing else to add about how Malenia and Miquella were connected in SoTE, it was already all said in the base game!

I might be talking from the standpoint of someone who very much used to the way Fromsoft reveals information; they are very minimalist and precise, they give as much of it as needed to understand the gist, and bringing up something not in one description of an easily missed item but several times across unskippable lore is generous for them! They said enough in the base game for everyone to get the point and decided to not milk the same thing in SoTE, nor they erased or contradicted the information from the base game!

Wanting more information for the sake of it is valid and natural for fans, but Fromsoft doesn't give it just for the sake of it! They didn't abandon these topics, they simply finished talking about them! Even so, Godwyn got now got confirmed to have his version of Cleanrots/Redmines, and Romina offered a fantastic narrative parallel with Malenia as someone unable to bring Scarlet Rot to blooming from the buds state yet cherishing it, when Malenia wanted nothing more but to get rid of Scarlet Rot yet it kept getting through no matter what! They added some extras without exhausting the point itself!

21) "Sote was a mistake" (and variations)

YOU take that BACK about Thiollier and Ansbach. You take that back about Leda and her potential of interacting with Loretta, about Freyja, about insight on how Tanith looked like before marrying Rykard, about Moongrum having a twin sister- heck, about RENNALA having a super cool badass sister! You take that back about Midra and Nanaya and the whole cool Abyssal Woods location, about cool Midra's Manse lore and the best fucking boss battle and soundtrack ever. You take that back about Messmer and the Fire Knights. You take that back about cool battle mechanics additions with many two-handed arms, hand/legs combat mechanics and throwing weapons mechanics. You take that back about Romina and super cool insight on Scarlet Rot. You take that back about Ymir and super messed up cool cosmic eldrich stuff with cosmic fingers and Metyr being a return of Ebrietas archetype no one could expect. You take that back about how everyone finally pays more attention to the Fell God and worldbuilding in general. You take that back about immaculate aesthetic and captivating lore of Hornsent. You take that back about meeting Trina. You take that back about how significant and important topics they managed to raise- no, honestly, how cool is that that they got us to discuss the topics of fascism and genocide, as well as cycle of revenge and dilemma of limiting free will vs accepting cruelty of the world so hard that we FORGET to simp for [choose Messmer or Rellana or both depends on you] during such passionate debates? You take that back about coolest fucking sets ever and ability to become a dragon. You take that back about Igon, Florissax, finally getting an explanation about why Dragon Communion was a thing if Golden Order made a pact with Ancient Dragons and BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYLEEEEEEEEEE! You take that back about Gaius- actually no screw that man, remove his battle lol

…sorry had to add that punchline.

My point still stands: you cannot objectively say that SoTE was a mistake. Subjectively, you can; if you were a fan that solely cared about Miquella only through a certain lense and nothing else, then sure, SoTE fucked your headcanons over and all the cool stuff won't make you shift your hyperfixation. For you, it would have been better if SoTE never existed, you would've been better off in previous state of things, endlessly debating Radahn's fans and bullying people with charitable Mohg interpretations and whatever. But people like this do NOT represent the fandom as a whole at all! Not even in relevance to the gaming-only part of it, I am talking about artists-writers part of it as well! Objectively, SoTE contributed a lot of interesting lore and characters without breaking pre-established lore; as I stated earlier, importance of Godwyn and Malenia did NOT get erased just because Radahn had a retcon to also be important person! SoTE answered some questions that required answers, like origins of the Formless Mother, Dragon Communion, Trina's nature, what happened with Mohg, what was the reason for Caelid and what were these darn weird crawling hands enemies!

No I am not rofling, I was seriously very confused about them and made at least three attempts to solve the mystery of their nature, but SoTE finally freed me from that torment!!

Adding more characters absolutely was not a mistake! None of these characters broke pre-established things, they are merely more 'dolls' to play with! Answering some questions was also not a mistake; whereas people might not like what the answers ARE, tying some loose ends of the story was a good call! It is not as if they've written elaborate document explaining every single bit of lore to the point no one can make interpretations or create new stories anymore! All they did was putting an end to some arguments, however new questions arose in their place; questions more interesting than who is "misogynist" and who is "media illiterate".

From the gameplay standpoint alone, I do not understand this claim either. How exactly SoTE would ruin base game, which is intact and still accessible map without changes? Shadow Realm's map exists separately from the base game, none of it breaks the main game's locations and bosses! I doubt that new mechanics and weapons from the SoTE completely ruin the main game and make it imbalanced either! For most of them, having a strong weapon doesn't automatically make you skilled and even base game's bosses could still kick your ass. And as for "imbalanced" ones, gamer bros of the fandom have been doing great so far self-regulating themselves to shame people who used Mimic Tear, Comet Azur, Blasphemous Blade etc 🙄 Their field of creating artificial "honor"-based difficulty and challenging themselves would not suffer because of the weapons from SoTE! They are able to make the challenges and PvPs what they want within themselves, encourage or prohibit anything. It is not as if Miyazaki is holding them at the gunpoint telling them to use mechanics introduced in SoTE that they believe "ruin" the playing process! Simply not use new weapons or not go in the Shadow Realm altogether if you don't want to - and Elden Ring will remain what it used to be for you!

I guess I can only agree with the notion that aside of SOME story loose ends, base Elden Ring was not lacking in anything. It was a very huge game, with many characters, many locations, many worldbuilding things to touch upon and discuss, many mechanics, very contained and packed with things for years ahead to dissect, discuss and create art and writing and videos for! SoTE just made it even bigger! We were mostly living fine without these characters and new information, save for the frustrating arguments I've mentioned!

Mohg fans against SA interpretations could disagree entirely because as SoTE aired they all said "the night, and the hunt, were long…" But, like I said before, fandom experiences should not define what we want from the story! Some questions remaining unanswered was bearable from the STORY standpoint, but it is objectively NICE that they did get answers! And… just adding more characters is definitely not a problem. Not characters that break the story, just MORE characters. There is a Russian saying, "Кашу маслом не испортишь" ("you can't ruin the porrige by adding more butter in it"), and it applies here very much. Unless some people, for example, hate Messmer and are frustrated that they have to remember about him when writing Marika's backstory or anything.. I would not get it either way because giving a character a couple of sentences of acknowledgement and tossing them away feels like the easiest thing to do in my eyes. Fandom is always doing it, they have always been doing it, so why NOW this is something so hard to do?

22) *blames Martin for all the parts of the story they hate*

As funny as the joke about Martin being responsible for the "incest ship" is, considering his track record, Miyazaki actually confirmed in the interview right after the first SoTE trailer that Martin did not have anything new to add to the DLC story! But then, just because he didn't turn in to add new lore for SoTE specifically, how could we tell that he didn't write these "plot twists" previously? For this, we need to dial back to when his contributions to the Elden Ring were discussed after base game's release!

(Start watching from 6:00 to 7:25)

“Elden Ring was going to take place in, let’s say the present of their game universe. But what they wanted me to write was what happened like 5,000 years before that,” he said. “So I went back and wrote a history of what happened 5,000 years before the current game, and who all the characters were and who was killing each other and what powers they had. They had these runes that were at the center of the game, and the rune got split into many pieces, and that’s what screwed up the world. I laid all that out.”

So, he wrote the base premise for the backstory - what happened and existed before the Shattering, and up until that point! So, how characters got corrupted, how their plans changed and what happened to them later etc was up to Miyazaki to create! Take the concept of the character - who, what power, what status - and put them through the arc and development! Not Martin wrote the events that unraveled after the Shattering AND unravel as we play the game! Miyazaki himself also confirms this, according to this ( x ) interview:

“So it was more up to us to interpret this and say, ‘how did they become such inhuman monsters? And how did the mad taint of the shattered shards of the Elden Ring and its power affect them?’ So that was our job to take these grand heroes and sort of misshape them and distort them into something they were not.”

"…if we get a chance to show Martin and if he gets a chance to see the game and see these characters, I think he might be a bit shocked. When he wrote them, he was really envisioning something a little bit more human, a little bit more traditional human drama and fantasy characters. So I hope he gets a kick out of that.”

I recommend reading the whole page, but this is the gist of it! So, not only what events we are following are Miyazaki's work, but also their fall from grace, their sins, their mistakes and everything you might hate ('you' mostly as in, people upset that Miquella was not as perfect and pure as you wanted) is ALLLLLL on him! YOU leave Martin OUT of this! we also all know he only writes hetero incest fsdhfdghsfdg

23) "SoTE contradicted the base game's lore [example that doesn't contradict it]"

This one is less focused than it may seem, because it is not just about Godwyn and Malenia! In fact, it is rarer about them as complaints about them mostly do the "they got abandoned" route that I've already ranted a lot about! god it feels so good to finally rant lol I've seen some instances of people JUST throwing the 'ohh my GoD this new info is SOOOOO contradictory to [thing]' and refusing to elaborate, pouting and playing victims of blinded fanboys when questioned, which is in itself very infuriating! Regardless of how you are frustrated with SoTE, how it screwed your expectations and preferences personally, you are a garbage critic if you just waste your emotions without any real argument to your point, there is no way to put it lightly! That being said, for this particular reason, it would be easier to address concrete examples that HAD some explaining behind them from the critical people! But, it NEEDED to be said!

Personally, I've stumbled into a couple of things, in which I managed to add my say! The first was a claim that the whole story of the base game was not supposed to happen because if Marika got driven by the impulse of revenge and despair, she was supposed to succumb to Frenzied Flame but she didn't! And this is NOT some groundbreaking discovery about how the story is allegedly fundamentally broken, but simply a huge overlooking of pre-existing information, if not confirmation bias! Frenzied Flame and Three Fingers are very interesting topic in general, that I've covered in a couple of lore posts already, but for the subject: whereas the sickness of Frenzied Flame, aka the 'become too sad and you will start to burn' illness, is the case in the Lands Between and started because of Shabriri's crime, the story of Marika and Midra's Manse logically happened before Shabriri! Abyssal Woods and Midra's Manse have the eyeballs that are evidence of being directly grasped by the Three Fingers as the only eyeball items, whereas the Lands Between has Shabriri Grapes as eyes scorched from within but being grasped by Three Fingers became not a staple but an exception (Vyke)! Marika was contacted by the Two Fingers, not Three Fingers, to have the power that she does. Even then, is not it logical to assume that even after Shabriri caused his curse on the Lands Between, a God would be immune, especially if the "counterpart" of the Three Fingers is their guide? Not to mention how Messmer did take a lot of burden off her by doing her wish for revenge by himself-

Alright, you got the point. It is very easy to logically conclude why there is no glaring contradiction at all, and you don't even need to dig deep into lore to find out why! This is the brightest case from my memory that is best described as 'if you WANT to believe that Fromsoft completely broke the story, you WILL find a backup claim for it'! But unfair criticism that doesn't address the possible counter-evidence is not the way to analyze! When you want to make a claim, you need to scan the overall volume of information for possible objections to your claim and deal with them! Explain why they do not work, or why they are not truly saying anything! Sometimes, as you deal with the potential counter-evidence, you find that there are things you cannot reliably argue against and it might make your initial claim appear less solid or lose validity altogether! And this is fine! As big as the temptation to "prove" something is, the true purpose of having a claim should be to make sure that it is valid all things considered!

Just because you are already too upset with the story and the writers to give it proper effort and analysis doesn't mean you can just toss a bold, easily debunked statement and expect to not have any objection! This is not in particular to the 'Frenzied Flame makes Marika's backstory impossible' person at all, but about a behavior in the fandom I've also noticed; where someone's response to the information that deconfirms their criticism is 'well, but I am already too hurt and disappointed to dig deep and analyze, so…' No, not how it works. You are making a claim about existing piece of writing and thus put skill of the writer up to scrutiny, not writing your own AU/headcanon, therefore be ready to deal with counter-evidence if there is any!

Another example off the top of my head was that existence of Gaius allegedly contradicted the pre-established lore about oppression of Albinaurics! I want to point out though that the person who originally made this claim was nice and never denied validity of the counter-arguments! But as for the subject, I will repeat that it is very easy to assume that there would be some double standards put in action! Like 'oh yeah Albinaurics are cringe, but this one is nice to me so he is an exception'! Or 'yeah we all hate Albinaurics, but this one is HELPING us in the Crusade against those spurned of Grace, he is paying the price for being an impure species himself, let's be nice to him guys :)' (🤡🤡🤡).

In this case things are easy to explain not through digging into information in the game further, but through putting into consideration how humans tend to work! Though Messmer, for one, has his more humane traits stated with how he respected the wishes of his Fire Knights when some of them protested against burning Rauh Ruins, and Gaius might be an extension of that sympathetic side of him! Opinion that saying Radahn was admired by the twins for his kindness contradicts the lore falls apart even EASIER; it is not hard to assume he maybe used to be kind! Miquella even specifically revived his younger version, and it is very telling!

All in all, the writers do not need to overexplain every single thing to prove that there is no contradiction or things make sense! Elden Ring is entirely written in such a way where by just digging deeper, connecting the dots or even applying your imagination and experiences you can easily explain why things work! I just want to really, REALLY accentuate it that before you cry 'bad writing!!!' or 'contradiction!!!', give it SOME extra thought! And if you are not willing to because of disappointment/weak attention span/anger/etc, then don't make the claim to BEGIN with! What is the point of making a claim when you are not in the right state of mind to make SURE it is valid? Bashing a story or a writer while willfully not being fair to them with your effort and research is something better reserved for private chats with the friends just to let it all out, but not for the public blog for all other fans to read and REACT at!

24) "If fans have to fill the gaps and think themselves it's a bad writing"

Sigh… This is relevant to the earlier addressed complaint about fans 'coping', and somewhat relevant to the complaint about 'they should have given more information', AND reverse complaint to how they've answered some questions in SoTE, I suppose. For starters, this argument could not be further from truth at all! Do you really, genuinely, want to say that instead of provoking you to think, to express creativity and curiosity, to apply your knowledge or experience for understanding, writers should have just spoon-fed you every single thinkable bit of information as if you are a toddler? For sure, the discussion about how writers treat reading comprehension of their audience cannot come without addressing the demographics that supposedly would benefit from "over-explanation", so I'll jump RIGHT into it, skipping through the normies:

As an autistic person, I do have my own problems with sometimes skipping through a subtext or an "obvious" clue in the writing, this is true, and maybe people who want to state this are also autistic, I can't know for sure. But.. do we REALLY want to have our intellectual abilities insulted, as a group? Accommodating to autistic people should come locally, like in teaching the society to be more patient with 'stupid' questions and explaining the 'obvious' social cues! It SHOULD be about society being better! It should NOT be about quality of fiction in videogames and movies and TV shows dropping! It should NOT be about writers sacrificing the amazing language of subtlety, nonverbal storytelling and speaking through assumption that our own experiences as human beings will fill in the gaps! We can understand subtexts and unspoken lore, even if it might be harder. When we cannot, autists that did understand the subtext explain it to us! When THEY cannot, there will always be the guy on Youtuber or elsewhere musing about what they liked or disliked in the writing, revealing the information that we might have missed, and we will go 'huh'. We can help ourselves and each other!

Instead of being mad at the writers for not giving more spoken information and evidence, let's place the pieces of the whole puzzle that we did find together to discover a full picture and teach others AND themselves to be patient instead of screaming "reeee media illiterate!!!" at every sneeze! I have insulted another autist's intellectual abilities over not reading the clue I managed to. I had MY intellectual abilities insulted by another autist over not reading the clue THEY managed to! We should strive to be better and kinder as society, AND we should have pride in the ability to do so and ourselves, instead of implying that complicated, subtle writing is "too hard" for our "tiny toddler brains"!

Aside of the general sentiment that the writing that provokes you to use your brain/heart/both to fully comprehend it and gives fuel for debates and discussion, I want to address specifically Miyazaki and how he approaches writing, and why he does so. I want to link the video by Zullie regarding the topic, too:

To paraphrase it: Miyazaki, in his youth, loved reading English novels, but because he didn't have as great knowledge of English language at the time, some words or even sentences evaded him and he had to use his own imagination to understand what might have happened in the parts he could not read! The experience of having general layout and understanding of the story, but details being missed here and there and left up to you to think about, is precisely what he wanted to emulate! You might guess "the words lost in translation" correctly, or you might end up with a completely different meaning than the actual one, but what matters is the fun of this process! To include YOU, an individual, into completing the story! Bloodborne was the first Fromsoft's story I've gotten into, and even before knowing this information I had the feeling like, 'ah, they've written the full story, but then dragged an eraser across random parts'… and so, the hunch was correct!

Miyazaki doesn't just lazily drop ingredients in your direction expecting you to cook anything from them and then praise it as though it was HIS brilliant recipe, that some writers WILL do to sorta take the credit for your creativity! Nor he just cooks the full meal and gives it to you. He removes some ingredient from it so you CAN eat it and enjoy it, but you are always tempted to add something! Something feels missing, but it is up to you WHAT spice you add to complete it! Yet this meal is coherent enough for you to have a hunch on whether you should add something sour, sweet or salty, it is not quite JUST anything! But if you don't think hard about it and add what YOU like, regardless of whether you think it fits the meal or not, the meal won't necessarily taste bad… There IS recipe that exists. He DID write the story. He just lets you choose your own experience!

^^^ It goes in line with how he creates the games; he stated they are not adding the difficulty levels so players can overcome the challenge in some way that suits THEM as a player. Whether you want to cheat, or to grind levels until you become a God, or to cleverly use the tools and items you are given, or to study every move until you dodge them all or whatever! There is no "right" way to beat these games, though we could conclude from levels designs and tools what was 'intended' way to beat them! A 'suggestion'! You might end up going just the 'intended' way, or you might not! You might just happen to guess the missing story bits 'correctly', but also not, and this is okay!

We are endlessly teased with this feeling that if we think just a bit harder we will discover that hidden "right" way, and we all want to believe that we did! Fandom has two extremes between people who DO believe in One True reading of the story and stomp out every alternative suggestion AND people that claim there is no story and you can do whatever and canon doesn't matter and doesn't exist and all. The truth is somewhere in the middle, and it is so frustrating, it is so torturous at the times… but also, so clever and beautiful.

This approach is why discussion about the meaning of Dark Souls and Bloodborne is STILL alive a decade later and even "apparent" lore questions constantly get revisited, and Elden Ring will meet the same fate! Every boss will be beaten but there is always a different way. Every lore question will be answered, but there is always a different answer. Isn't it much better than if we just cOnSuMeD cOnTeNt in a short time and forgot it all, waiting the next one?

25) *frankly unfair toxicity towards creators, down to racism against Japanese*

(Jeez.. I am REALLY paying a hard price by not saving the screenshots of the terrible takes I am referencing, aren't I. -_-" Everyone will just decide that I've made up a guy because a take like this sounds too awful to be real, doesn't it…..) Look- Some lines should NOT be crossed. Say all you want about the writing quality, but how DARE you to bring in this sort of anime fetishes into this discussion? I am just without proper words, and I will not tolerate this slander of Miyazaki! Everyone, EVERYONE knows…. that his fetishes are feet and dying in absurd ways.

sdfjfdhfdsh OKAY OKAY SORRY I HAD TO, but in any case! Did you guys miss the part where Miquella's ever-young body was a curse, was acknowledged as a curse, was a counterpart to Malenia ever decaying as inability to change at all, and something he transcended when he became a God? At NO point his curse was brought up as something quirky and attractive, at NO point Radahn or anyone was addressed as someone finding guilty attraction to him! We had one (1) guy suggested to do that, Mohg, and they confirmed that his behavior was result of enchantment, but even if it was not: without the new information, it already looked like a BAD thing. Like a HORROR thing, even! Miquella wanted Radahn to be there for him as a consort/king, by STATUS, that we know as much! Nothing is there to outright state any of 'that' brand of attraction! It can range from 'yeah they kind of pulled the dynasty-preserving incest thing, very authentic to medieval royal dynasties vibe' to 'it was innocent and not romantic or sexual in any manner, consort is just a status of the second person after a titular God in this setting that doesn't have to be a partner'. You know what is missing from this range? This being a "fetish" that you could flail around in that 'well what else to expect from jApAnEsE developers, you know jApAn has a problem with such things right??????' (🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡)

________________________________

*long, relieved exhale*

So..... yeah, I am done I suppose fhhfds I know I forewarned it as sort of super angry and rude rant, but in a way, it turned out to be more of a love letter to SoTE than a hate letter to a certain kind of fandomry that I just was not able to avoid..

It is funny how it turned out, as at first I've had strong negative reaction of shock, and Radahn consort reveal even soured the first days of playing this DLC for me, heh. That disappointment hadn't vaned yet.. I do not vigorously oppose weird, problematic ships of course, I still stand by what I said about creative freedom. But I guess I kinda did not want Miquella to have any "ship" in canon...? It is hard to explain why, since I do not insist that he is mentally a child too. Maybe I've fallen for the person he WANTED to be, a 'God' that 'loves everyone equally / no one', so him singling out someone disagreed with that "possessive" streak more than I disagreed with how random Radahn felt?

Even so, aside of this, I've been slowly understanding writers' decisions more and more! And those I did not understand I've found to be valid and not broken at all as well! But despite warming up to SoTE more and more with every day and becoming a fan, I was not able to avoid the "window" to VERY toxic and awful takes, some from very toxic PEOPLE, that was my (ex) mutual abundantly reblogging them and.. I guess when I've finally snapped about how strongly I disapproved of that behaviour and how it was all passive aggression all along, my very only inhibitor was just- *snaps fingers*

Moral of the story: if something rubs you a very wrong way, do not keep it in and ADDRESS it. Because if you hope that the alert factor will go on its own, all you'll end with is telling each other very unpleasant things. Pent up aggression ALWAYS breaks through.

In this case, I just feel relieved after having finally written all these thoughts down SOMEwhere. They were eating me from inside, reducing my HP by randomly appearing in my brain even when I was busy and I just could not help but rotate them. Venting is good and healthy. I have some bad troubles with both mental and physical health these days, but at least now there is one LESS thing to siphon my energy away. 🛏️

[morganwrites12672]

1998 - Sixteen Years Old

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Gladys helps you sort through your feelings (and she meddles a bit). After that, Dean decides to stop by for a visit.

Word Count: 3.0k

Rating: PG-14

A/N: I really hope you guys are enjoying this series! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! 𝕆𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕐𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤 (there's the link to the master list). But, this can be read as a stand alone.

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South Dakota was miserable during the summer. September seemed to be the hottest month, even if it was supposed to have started cooling down by now.

Sitting on Gladys's porch, a glass of sweet tea in hand, the two gossiped. Gladys seemed to know everything about everyone despite living further away. Gladys owned one of the few properties in this part of town. Everyone had many acres, and avoided each other.

Gladys had begun babysitting Bobby's daughter whenever the girl had been a mere baby. It hadn't taken the older woman long to figure out what Bobby's real job was. Surprisingly, she hadn't been that shocked. There had always been something off about Bobby Singer.

The older woman took another drink of her sweet tea before looking over at the girl sitting on the porch swing. It slowly rocked back and forth. She had noticed how the girls gaze drifted to the apple orchards.

She enjoyed watching the branches sway in the light breeze. She felt Gladys's eyes on her and turned her head.

"There's something on your mind sweetheart," Gladys said, she could tell exactly what it was too. Even if the younger girl didn't even know what it was she felt.

She shrugged, "It's about Dean."

"I can tell. What about him?" Gladys asked with a small smile. She could read the Singer girl like a damn book. The girl wore her heart on her sleeve.

"I don't even know!" She exclaimed, leaning back on the swing. She set her iced tea down. "He's making me nervous and it's really weird," She mumbled, a light blush coating her cheeks.

Gladys chuckled, "Oh, honey. That's called a crush."

Her cheeks turned scarlet. She quickly avoided Gladys's gaze. "I don't like Dean!" She insists, crossing her legs. Her heart hammered in her chest. She couldn't like Dean.

"Mmmhhh. Sure you don't," Gladys replied with a roll of her eyes.

She sighed, looking out to the orchard again. The apples were all red and crisp. Gladys had mentioned going out to pick some to make a pie soon. She had offered to help the older woman. It's not like she had anything better to do.

It felt like her father kept her under lock and key. He refuses to let her go on any hunts with him. He's taken her a handful of times, but she always gets forced to stay in the motel room. The one time she snuck out to help, she was grounded. Now she wasn't even allowed to stay at the motel rooms!

It wasn't like she could go into town to make friends like a normal kid. Her family was considered the towns outcasts. People gave her weird looks of she ventured into town. Eventually, she learned to keep her head down.

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Her father had been out of town for a couple of days. He was working a case on the other side of the state, down in Edgemont. So, she was left to answer the phones and help any hunters looking for lore.

She was sitting in her father's office, reading through book after book. The phones had been silent for a while. She was about to go see Gladys whenever the regular phone started ringing. She frowned as she walked across the room to the landline.

She picked up the phone and put it to her ear, "Singer residence. Who's calling?"

"You weren't answering your cell," said a deep voice.

A small smile formed on her face. She would recognize that voice anywhere. It has been a few weeks since the last time she had seen Dean. Both of them had been busy.

"It's up in my room. I've been busy in dads office," She replied. She had noticed the hunt of concern in his voice. It made her stomach flutter. Maybe Gladys had been right.

"I'm a few hours away from your house. We were passing through Edgemont and found your dad," Dean explained. "My dad's staying to help him wrap up the case. And, uh, Sammy wants to help too."

Dean would be coming to see her. Alone.

The thought made a light blush creep up on her neck and cheeks. She knew she was being a bit delusional though. There was no way in hell that Dean liked her back. She probably wasn't even his type.

He was older and more attractive. He might only be two years older but right now it felt like twenty years. Anxiety curled up in her gut. She wanted him to like her, even if that was unreasonable.

"You still there?" Dean asked her. She had been silent ever since he had told her that he was on his way.

"Uh, yeah! S-sorry," She replied quickly. "I guess I'll see you in a few hours." And with that, she slammed the phone back down on the receiver. She wiped her now sweaty palms on her jean shorts.

Could she have been anymore awkward?

She kept herself buried in books for the next few hours. If anything could ease her anxiety then more books could. It was comforting to read them. They all reminded her of her childhood. She thought back to whenever she had thought that the books were only stories.

A small part of her was thankful that her father had lied. Even if she had isolated and alone, she had gotten to be a kid. She hadn't grown up knowing that the monster under her bed was real.

As she was grabbing a new lore book from one of the piles next to the staircase, she heard a cars engine. She placed the book back in the pile before running to the window. A small formed on her face as she saw the Impala.

Dean had finally arrived. Every second that she had spent waiting on him had quite literally felt like an eternity. It wasn't often that she was able to have a friend. She told herself that's why she's excited to see Dean. She ignored Gladys's words from earlier.

She didn't have a crush on Dean. No, that was ridiculous. She wasn't someone Dean would choose. He probably had his pick of any girl he wanted. Why would he settle for her? She was weird as hell.

The second Dean knocked on the door she practically threw the door open. It had been a few weeks since the last time they had seen each other. She stepped back from the door so that Dean could step inside.

"How was the drive?" She asked, there wasn't anything better for her to say. Her mind has practically gone blank at this point.

Dean stepped into the house before shutting the front door behind him. He looked as handsome as ever. She ignored the butterflies in her stomach.

"It was fine," Dean replied casually. "Your dad still won't let you hunt with him?" He asked with an amused smirk.

He thought that part was ridiculous. He had seen her with a shotgun. She was a damn good shot. Bobby keeping her on lock down made no sense. His own father had let him help with hunting as soon as he was old enough to shoot straight.

"Still grounded," She replied sourly.

"You'll be eighteen before you know it," Dean pointed out.

Even though he had already turned eighteen he still followed John around. He probably would until Sam was old enough to go with him. He wouldn't leave his brother with his father. He refused. Sam needed him. He had barely been willing to leave his brother with their father to visit her. But, he had really wanted to see her. Alone.

She sighed. Only two more years.

The pair made small talk for a while. Dean told her about the recent hunts he had went on with his father and Sam. She told Dean about possible weaknesses for some monsters she had read about. He agreed to try a few, if he found a way to do it safely. John would be pissed if he got hurt doing something stupid.

After an hour, the landline began to ring. She frowned before walking over to answer it. It would either be her father or Gladys. She hoped it was her father. He always let too much time go inbetween phone calls. She knew how dangerous his job was. Sometimes it was nice to know that he was okay with more than a quick text or email.

She picked up the phone and put it to her ear. Before she had a chance to greet the caller, a familiar voice began speaking. Well, more of demanding.

"I saw that damn car go down the street whenever I was checking my mail," Gladys said quickly. "If you and that boy come pick some apples, I'll bake a pie."

Dean gave her a curios look, unable to hear the voice on the other end of the phone. He wondered if it was either John or Bobby. Maybe even Sam. He doubted his dad would bother to call unless the older man needed something.

"Sure thing Gladys," She said into the phone with a small smile. Apple picking was something she enjoyed. Growing up Gladys would send her into the orchard with a little wicker basket, and a promise of a fresh apple pie.

She said her goodbyes to the older woman before hanging up. Glancing out the window, she noticed that it was almost sunset. It should have cooled down some since she had been over at Gladys's.

"Um, that was the neighbor. Gladys," She began. "She asked if we could go pick some apples at her orchard. She said she'd make a pie if we did."

"Pie?" Dean replied with a smile. He would do anything for a good slice of pie. The thought of a slice of homemade pie made his mouth water.

She let out a small laugh at Dean's reaction. She had known he would agree. Dean had always loved pie. It hadn't taken her long to figure that one out.

Dean grabbed the keys to Baby out of his pocket and began walking towards the door. She hurried to grab her cellphone off the counter before running out the door after him.

"Can I drive?" She asked, almost teasingly.

"Over my dead body," Was Dean's quick reply as he opened the driver's side door.

She had expected that. Dean was very overprotective of the Impala. It had been worth a shot though. She had mainly done it just to mess with him. Plus, it would have been cool to drive the car. She had just gotten her license, she'd only driven on her own a handful of times.

It was safe to say that she wasn't the world's greatest driver.

She hurried to open the passenger door before climbing in. She then carefully shut the door. Dean started the car and began driving down the road. She leaned back in her seat. It was peaceful. The soft hum of Metallica was the only noise in the vehicle. Until she spoke.

"It's about two and a half miles down the street. You'll see her driveway," She said to Dean so that he would know where he was driving.

Dean nodded, but didn't give a verbal reply. Driving was the most relaxed she had ever seen Dean. It was definitely something she noticed.

After a couple of minutes, Gladys's driveway came into view. An old red mailbox made it stick out. Well, that and the collection of gnomes surrounding the mailbox.

It wasn't long before the Impala was parked a few feet away from the house. Gladys was waiting at the foot of the porch, an old wicker basket in her hands.

She opened the door before practically jumping out of the car. She walked over the to Gladys and grabbed the basket with a smile. Gladys gave a mischievous smirk before looking between Dean and her. Gladys raised an eyebrow.

"You must be Dean," The older woman said before shaking his hand.

"It's nice to meet you, ma'am." Dean looked almost nervous under Gladys's gaze. He felt like every inch of his skin was being out under a microscope.

The older woman finally gave him an approving smile. "You two have fun in the orchard."

She began walking towards the apple trees. After a few yards, she felt Dean's presence. Looking over her shoulder she noticed that he was practically walking at her side.

The apple trees were all beginning to flourish. Juicy red apples weighed down the branches. But, she kept walking further into the orchard. The best apple trees were further out. Well, and her favorite one was further out.

It was the tree that she used to sit under and read sometimes. She had spent quite a bit of time out in the orchards growing up, and still did. She remembered whenever she was young and still clueless. Before a weight was placed on her shoulders.

She now knew what she would do whenever she grew up. It felt like she had no other option. She wouldn't be able to sleep at night knowing that people were being killed by super creatures. People she could save.

"What are you looking for?" Dean's voice interrupted her thoughts and she turned around a little bit so that she could face him.

"The best tree," She replied without missing a beat.

Dean let out a sigh but kept walking.

The air was much cooler than it had been whenever she had sat on Gladys's porch, drinking sweet tea. It was nice to have someone like Gladys to span with. The older woman have good advice.

A tree that was larger than the rest came into view. The apples on it's branches were a deep shade of red. They all looked crisp and juicy. She stopped walking a few feet from it and set the wicker basket down.

"This one."

She walks over to one of the low hanging branches and picked a bright red apple. She held it up, showing it off to Dean. He chuckled at the way she beamed. She was proud of the perfect apple she had picked.

"You're kind of cute right now," Dean said as he picked an apple before placing it in the basket. Realizing what he said, his nerves spiked.

She had a similar reaction. Her cheeks looked about as red as one of the apples now sitting in the basket. She stuttered for a reply and ultimately gave up. Butterflies weren't fluttering in her stomach, no. They felt like a swarm right now.

Dean looked at her with his signature smirk upon seeing her reaction. Oh.

She quickly went back to picking apples. Dean was too nervous to say anything about her reaction, or his admission. He had thought she was cute for a while. How could he not?

Sam had often pointed out how Dean seemed to stare at her. He couldn't help it. She was fucking perfect, and clueless about it. He had wanted her for a while. However, she was Bobby's daughter. The older man would probably shoot Dean for even thinking about his daughter.

The two spent a while in the orchard, picking apples in a comfortable silence.

As she was turning around to place another apple in the now almost full basket, she bumped into Dean. She would have fell if he hadn't wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her.

Their faces were mere inches apart. She stared at him with wide eyes and crimson cheeks. Neither one of them moved. They were stuck in this moment.

Until, Dean leaned in closer. His lips were hovering, barely even an inch away from hers. He couldn't keep his eyes off her lips. He brushed a piece of hair out of her face.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked quietly.

Instead of replying, she pressed her lips to his. At least her first kiss would be nice. She wrapped her arms around Dean's neck and let her fingers gently tug on the hair at the nape of his neck.

Dean groaned into this kiss, his lips pulling away from hers for a second. He looked down at her. He admired her pink cheeks and wide eyes. It was obvious by her nerves that she hadn't done that before.

He knew a bit about her lack of a social life. He had overheard Bobby talking to his dad about it. The older man has been concerned about his daughters refusal to try and make friends. Dean thought that there was more to the story.

She pulled Dean closer again, kissing him. Their lips moved together in tandem. Dean pressed her against the apple tree behind them. As the kiss broke, she leaned her head back.

Dean's lips softly kissed her neck. He was careful not to leave any marks. Bobby would kill him if he came home and saw a hockey on her neck. Dean would be the obvious culprit, and a dead man walking.

His eyes did linger on the soft curves of her breasts. He was only able to see a little bit with her shirt on. He debated asking to take it off, but decided that that would be something he could save for later. Maybe for whenever he wasn't kissing her in the middle of an apple orchard.

She felt Dean's lips leave her skin. She looked back at him and his hand went to her hair as he kissed her again. She smiled into the kiss.

After a minute, she pulled away. "We should probably get the apples to Gladys. . ." She said. The older woman would know what had happened. It was obvious. Her hair was now a mess and so was Dean's. Not to mention how both of their cheeks were flushed.

Dean cleared his throat, "Yeah, yeah. We probably should." He leaned forward quickly and left a quick kiss on her lips before jogging towards the house.

She mumbled a curse before grabbing the basket of apples and running off after him.

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A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Leave a reblog or comment if you enjoyed it. And lastly, thank you to @scott-is-now-online for helping me with some of the dialogue.

Taglist: @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @lmhf1 @espressovz @illicithallways @tranquilitybasegrunge

Join the Tag List: Tag List 

[spinnysocks]

hehehehe i'm glad you enjoyed my rambles!! i'll talk about Heatherpaw's mentor in the tags :3! i'm not planning to make Heatherpaw an official healer, unless the clan doesn't have enough then he would be a good option, but he will take up a campkeeper role methinks. instead of the usual campkeeper duties of fixing dens or ensuring walls are secure, i think he'd be checking up on every cat :]

i'm really glad you found the oddly specific relationship between Houndroar and Heatherpaw interesting! to be honest i didn't pay much attention to it before this ask, so for that i'm really grateful to expand on Heatherpaw's thoughts and feelings more!

ikr? he really respects the torties haha. i see that you've sent me an ask for Tumbleblaze and Azurite which i am so excited to answer!! i will give you the tortie ladies content soon :33

EHEHEE cookie!!! i hope she was/is happy to hear about her tortie siblings!!

😺🐀🐾🌟🌷🍀 for the clangen ask game for this guy(/gn)!! they look most like a tortie so I picked ‘em cause cookie’s a tortie too :3c

BOUNCING AROUND IN EXCITEMENT YIPPEE YIPPEE

i love how you circled him!!! /gen, silly, vpos. the little guy in question is Heatherpaw! to be honest i don't actually know all that much about him as he only joined 4 moons (months) ago but i am very excited to answer nonetheless :3

😸 3 random facts!

okie dokie! Heatherpaw is bold and oddly observant. he is the only one out of his litter who isn't ginger. his mentor was a suspected murderer at one point :]

🐀 favourite prey?

i think his favourite prey would be rabbit!

🐾 do they prefer a wide circle of friends, or a few close ones? who’s their best friend?

he doesn't have any friends :[ he has a lot of respect for the older warriors, and likes to do kind things for them, but he isn't friends with anyone yet. he's too new to the clan i suppose, and his bold personality might put off some cats haha. for now, his best friend is his closest sibling, Sagepaw!

🌟 do they have any special powers or abilities?

okay so when i read this question i immediately thought of superpowers, which none of my cats have, but now this thought is planted in my brain and i have IDEAS. time for superpower cats in my clan!!!. but not Heatherpaw sadly. maybe if he develops more of a role, but for now he's just a super observant apprentice with a lot to learn and a life to craft for himself haha

🌷what are some of their quirks and other mannerisms?

oooh, what a fun question! well, heatherpaw was born as a loner in the wild with only his mother and siblings, so his entire way of life used to come from just his mother. she, Tumbleblaze, actually used to be a travelling healer, so i like to think that Heatherpaw helps so many older warriors because he observed / heard stories about what his mother did to help others. she's a healer in SpringClan as well, so he definitely still copies her example :]

🍀 what is a secret they’re hiding?

oooo... i would say his only secret is that he hates a cat called Houndroar, who is part of a family line who are notorious for turning traitor and leading attacks against the clan. Houndroar is only 15 moons old, and his own mentor was actually killed by his uncle in one said attack when he was an apprentice, so there's nothing specific that Houndroar could have done to make Heatherpaw angry at him, but Heatherpaw hates him nonetheless. i think, in his youthful ignorance, Heatherpaw doesn't understand that it isn't Houndroar's fault that he comes from that family. he has a bias against them. i also think Heatherpaw is quite proud of his own family, especially because of his strict-natured but incredible mother, so in his mind he's willing to put down other families who aren't as great as his, y'know? .... sorry for rambling so heavily gsgfhdjs

also, COOKIE MENTION!!! /silly, vpos. also ×2, i am sorry to tell you that Heatherpaw isn't a tortie! he's just a dark brown tabby — don't worry, it was just the lighting from where i took the picture on my phone haha. have some actual torties for compensation! :D

Tumbleblaze (Heatherpaw's mother) and Azurite (a senior warrior who Heatherpaw is trying to befriend)! i really thought i had more torties but turns out they've all either died or are outside the clan 😭 Tumble and Azurite out here carrying the tortie population on their backs /silly

[fbfh]

Curiosity is a Wonderful thing ch. 10

wc: 1.8k

genre: slow burn, little angst, childhood best friends to lovers

pairing: slow burn bff!ben x fem daughter of alice!reader, previously audrey x ben, mal x ben???? yikes!

warnings: political lore and descendants world building from yours truly lol, I think that's it??? minor angst???

summary: determined to figure out what's going on with ben, you remember that many paws make light work.

song recs: dirty paws - of monsters and men, hartebeest - yaelokre, a world of my own - kathryn beaumont

a/n: HI HELLO DADDIES HELLO MY DADDIES HI HELLO also I started watching it's always sunny and every goddamn thing out of charlie's mouth is a vocal stim. I can't go more than two seconds without going HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY. LOOK AT ME GIVE ME EYES. COOL YOUR JETS. NOW GET OUTTA HERE. I love him.

ALSO!!!!!!!! happy 23rd b-day to meself!!!! does a little jester dance while I simultaneously give a thumbs down from the king chair, opening a trapped door and throwing my jester self into a deep dark pit full of lions and poorly made iced americanos.

tags @yesv01@magcon7280 @hopefullhearts @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sunshineangel-reads @dustyinkpages @inejsknifes @tulipmagnoliaisme @ev3ningrain @yokolesbianism lmk if I missed you and I'll add you to the tag list yell at me in the notes /j (also my dearest yokolesbianism!!!!! thank you so fuckin much for the feedback!!!!!! based on your tags I assumed you'd wanna be tagged?? just shoot me an ask or message if this is not the case lol <333)

You haven’t given much thought to anything besides your research since it began, but if you had, you suppose you would notice you’ve been holed up in the library for every hour it’s been open for a few days, at least. Each waking moment has been spent pouring through text after text, desperately seeking anything that could prove useful in answering the question of Ben’s behavior. 

The first few books proved to be utterly useless for anything besides sharpening your researching skills. You slam the most recent book closed and lean back in your chair, letting out a sigh of frustration. As much as you hate to admit it - even to yourself - you must begrudgingly admit that you need help. 

You let out another sigh, and stand up. A good long sigh seems to be your only weapon against the inconsolable frustration burbling within you turmoilously. You stretch your aching legs and arms, hoping your blood hasn’t stopped circulating entirely, and throw the window open. You take in a big, deep breath of spring air. 

The scent of gardenia and hibiscus floats along the breeze and into your chest, and you glance down at the flowering culprits below the window. 

Your mind wanders and races in a blurry stumble. There must be some way for you to get information, to get some extra hands on this without getting anyone else directly involved. You never expected to find yourself facing such a fragile, treacherous situation, much less having to navigate it yourself. Without Ben. 

You rub at your aching head, trying to make heads or snails of all this. Your mind reels in a blurry stupor at the dangerous situation your country has found itself in without even realizing this to be the case. You take another big, deep breath. 

“Alright.” You tell yourself with a note of finality, like perhaps if you say it enough things will be just that. Alright. 

There are two heads to this chimera of a situation you’ve found yourself in. Firstly, you have to figure out how to monitor Ben. His words, his actions, if he suddenly decides to shave his head and run about nude. Whatever it is, you must be the first to know. Perhaps if you find a way to stay on top of whatever his next erratic decisions will be, you can find a way to smooth things over, to fix things before they have a chance to snowball wildly out of control. 

The other thing you must consider - arguably, of more importance - is why? Why is he acting like this? As much as you resist confronting the feeling, you can’t shake the sense that this is some sort of political sabotage. It wouldn’t be the first time Ben was caught in the crossfires of political unrest. There was a very tense 8 days when you were both nearly too young to remember where Ben had been kidnapped by a group of radicalist former henchmen. They were convinced that Chernabog was sending them secret messages, and were responsible for the next villain uprising.

This, of course, was untrue and Ben was returned unscathed. The henchmen were understandably sent to the Isle, and Chernabog’s whereabouts are still unknown. There’s some debate over the nature of his crimes, if he’s truly evil or just appears to be scary. You and your mother know right where you stand on the issue - while he appears terrifying, and has incredible amounts of power, you have yet to find any evidence that he wants to cause harm. 

You understand why Overlandians are so quick to fear what they don’t know, but one cannot control their size nor the strength of their power, so your mother has urged the Auradon government to let sleeping gods lie. Besides, Chernabog hasn’t been around for half a century, and won’t be seen for another half century at least, so it’s really the least of anyone’s worries right now. 

You snap from your train of thought, returning to the matter afoot. You must keep tabs on Ben, and find some explanation for why he could be acting like this. You already have so many bites that are far too big, and you have no clue how you’ll chew your way through this by yourself. You’re about to go back when you see a bluebird sitting on the tree branch outside the window. She preens her feathers, enjoying the warm sunlight dappling through the lush green leaves that partially hide her from view. You lean out of the window, your sleeves rippling in the breeze. 

“Excuse me!” You call out. She chirps inquisitively as you get her attention. 

“I do hate to bother you, but I’m stuck in quite a muddling lurch. It’s all quite convoluted you see, and as much as I hate to admit it, I fear I’ve reached a point where I simply don’t have enough hands to handle it all.”

She quirks her head at you, hopping a little closer and lending an ear as you begin to explain the whole kerfuffle. You try to be as concise and clear as you can, but you take after your mother quite well. You get a little sidetracked here or worked up there, and find yourself rambling a great good deal more than you would have liked to. 

By the time you’re just about through with your explanation, you’ve had to pull out a lacy embroidered handkerchief, then soon after, another one for the bluebird. She’s grown quite invested in your woes, and it feels so good to be able to weep wetly over this with someone who shares your feelings. You try in vain to dry your eyes, and she holds her hankie tightly with her feathers, blowing her beak with a loud noise. 

“So you see, this whole thing is quite unusual. I just don’t know what to do, or how to fix things.” You look at her compassionate face, nodding and chirping in sympathy. 

“Do you think…” You begin, “Do you perhaps have any friends that could keep ears and eyes open for anything odd, or relating to all this? If you could possibly keep an ear to the ground - or sky - and let me know if there’s anything unusual, I would be most grateful.”

She nods, tweeting in agreement before you can even finish your proposal. She fluffs her feathers and wrings out your hankie, sprinkling salty tears onto the walkway below and hangs it up on a  branch to dry out. She salutes you, and you wave at her as she flies off to spread the word. 

“Thank you!” You call after her. She chirps back at you, and you watch her land a few trees over, discussing the topic with some other birds in the branches. You grip the windowsill resolutely. This is good. This was a good plan. Animal communication takes a great deal of work on both ends, so as long as no particularly gossipy stoats or chickadees get a hold of this, you’ll be alright. 

Besides, animals generally tend to prefer gossiping with other animals rather than humans. Overlandians never seem to understand the gravitas of the social politics of the forest. Despite the word traveling fast, you can’t shake the feeling you need more. More eyes, more ears, more furry feet and paws and claws spreading the word. You straighten up abruptly, returning to your table. You scribble a hasty note on a piece of paper, and prop it up against your stacks and stacks of useless - in this instance, anyway - books. 

gone for tea, be back in three 

You’re known for ducking in and out for tea now and again, and you’re sure this will come as no surprise to the librarians. You rush down the steps and out of the library, into the grassy courtyard. It feels like forever since you’ve been outside, and you miss leisurely strolls and reading in the dappled sunlight. But regrettably, now is simply not the time for leisure. You walk around for a few minutes, searching and looking until you see a cat lying on a garden wall, bathing in the sun. 

 “I beg your pardon,” you start, and the cat opens one sleepy eye. You take a breath and begin explaining the situation all over again. You’re pleased to find a little bit of the sting is gone this time. Just a little. Soon you have his full attention, and his tail flicks in sympathetic irritation for you, for having gone through all this. 

“So if you could spread the word to some friends, keep me informed on anything you think might prove useful” You ask hopefully. 

He pretends to consider for a moment, then agrees, hopping down from the wall and arching his back in a big stretch. He scurries off to spread the word as you make your way into the gardens for similar reasons. You traipse through the hedge maze, feeling a momentary solace in becoming lost so quickly. Soon you find just what you’re looking for, and after a similar conversation with a mother rabbit, you allow yourself to return to the library. 

You return to your research with more gumption than you had had before. You feel a sense of reassurance - a much needed one, at that - that all these kind animals and their friends and relations had agreed to help you and your cause. Soon after, nearly every cat and rabbit are doing reconnaissance for you. Dozens of bluebirds follow students and linger by windows in hopes of overhearing something useful. With all these ears to the ground and sky, you lose yourself in your fruitless research once again. 

When the words begin to look jumbled and meaningless (and not in the good way) you know you absolutely must call it a day. You close your books and place them neatly in the return cart, scratching out titles from your list of Potentially Helpful Books in your journal. More and more pages have become dedicated to this heart aching mystery, though you have few clues, and fewer leads. You ruminate on this as you begin to head for your dorm, nearly tripping over a speckled rabbit. 

He thumps his foot loudly to get your attention, and you startle. “Oh, hello,” you say apologetically, crouching down to speak with him. You listen intently to what he tells you, your stomach dropping in the early evening light. 

Ben and Mal are on a date at the enchanted lake as you speak. 

[realisticfanfictions]

Being Sanji's Girlfriend & Baratie's Head Waitress - Part 4.

Sanji x Waitress!Reader: Part One, Part Two, Part Three.

Working at Baratie wasn't without its challenges, and the fights that sprung up because of them weren't rare either. You and your boyfriend never sweated the small stuff, after all working in a high stress environment made you, well, stressed. But maybe some things can't be resolved that easily.

Tags: Sanji x Reader, Waitress!Reader, constant bickering, mostly fluff with some angst, (heavy) swearing.

A/N: Initially going into this, I was planning to have the fishmen come in and have the Mihawk fight, but it was a bit more important to set up some more character dynamics before I moved onto 5k words of action scenes. So here's a nice bit of LORE(tm) and a bit more about how Y/N thinks. Next part I promise is 100% action, and I can't wait to show ya'll what I've come up with for Y/N's weapon! It's so cool.

Word Count is 3,421. Hope you enjoy!

Tag list (comment to join!): @siriuslyblackonback @jvhoons

"So, you're really going to fight him?"

Zoro, not looking up from cleaning his swords, nodded. "It's my dream." He explained, observing the blades for any damage. After he challenged the swordsman, the next few things happened rather quickly. The scramble to get Luffy as if that'll somehow convince him to stand down, the captain instead supporting his first mate's goal, and Nami storming off upset. It all passed by in a blur, and now you were alone with Zoro in their ship.

You nodded and turned to look out of the porthole, observing the calm seas that rocked the boat. "I guess dreams are worth dying for." You sighed and leaned back in your chair. "Sucks you met Mihawk too early."

His jaw tightened, and set down his sword. "If I run now, I'll never become the world's greatest swordsman."

You hummed and watched him through the reflection on the glass. "Honour, huh?" You mused and nibbled on the tip of your thumb. "How ridiculous. You're just like Sanji, uncompromising."

"Don't compare me to that shitbag." He snapped and sheathed his sword, clicking it shut in its scabbard. "Speaking of, why are you with him?"

Confused by his words, you looked over at him. "What do you mean?"

"He cheats on you, doesn't he?" He questioned and turned to face you, leaning against the cabinet. "He seemed pretty friendly with Nami a couple hours ago."

You chuckled. "That's just Sanji. He's obsessed with women. It's more," You thought of the words. "It's like having a dog that you love and care for, and though you go up and pet other dogs, you don't abandon your own dog for some random one on the street."

Zoro's eyebrows raised. "You do realise you just called yourself a bitch, right?"

You rolled your eyes and flipped him off. "Shut up. He's just chivalrous, that's all."

"Well, I'd be watching him if I were you." He walked over, his long strides making it seem effortless to reach you. "Guys like that don't tend to keep only one dog."

You opened your mouth to retort, but shut it and stood chest to chest with him. "Just focus on not dying, alright?" His eyes squinted ever so slightly, and he leaned down close to you, gazing directly into your eyes. "What are you doing?"

He stares for a moment, and then straightens himself back up. "Nothing."

You quirked an eyebrow. "Alright, I'm going home to my boyfriend."

"Wasn't trying to make a move." He retorted and stepped aside, letting you walk past him. "(Y/N)?" You placed a hand on the door frame and turned. "Be careful."

You looked him up and down. "Try not to die."

Mihawk's eyes haunted you like a ghostly presence that you couldn't shake off. It was like you could feel those piercing eyes all over your body, every inch of skin was tainted and you hated it. You always have.

The door to you and Sanji's shared room creaked open, and you popped your head inside. You didn't know what to expect, but Sanji jolting himself upright on the chair that sat in the corner of your room wasn't exactly one of them. The door softly clicked closed behind you, and you slowly walked up to him, his eyes on you the entire time as you sat on his lap. You positioned yourself sideways and leaned your head against his chest, reveling in his warmth when he wrapped his arms around you and placed a kiss against your scalp. Sanji's thumb rubbed circles in your thigh, more of an anxious gesture than anything, as he pressed many more kisses against your skin. You sighed and relaxed into him. "I may have overreacted." You started, ripping the band-aid off. "And I apologise."

He nodded. "Thank you for that. Sorry for not finding you sooner."

You shook your head against his chest. "I was drinking, you would've killed my buzz." You paused. "But I guess it was ruined anyway."

"Oh, I'm sorry-"

He stopped when you held up a hand. "I didn't mean you, Sanji." You opened your mouth, but couldn't find the words. Or rather, you found them, you just didn't want to share them. "A man came asking after our new chore boy."

You felt Sanji tense under you. "Are you okay?"

Mihawk's eyes restraining came to mind. "I'll be fine," You picked at a loose thread. "But Zoro won't."

Your boyfriend's hand stopped and pulled back to look you in the eye. "Zoro?"

"Luffy's friend, the guy with the swords. The idiot challenged him to a duel."

Sanji's head tilted. "Why?"

You let out a small sigh and untangled yourself from him, walking a couple feet to your dresser and pulling out a change of clothes. "Because they're idiots with a death wish." You said as you peeled off your top with a groan. "Fuck. Thank God I don't have work tomorrow."

He watched you for a moment as you shimmied out of your clothes and slipped into some pajamas. "Sweetheart, I'm not really comfortable with you drinking with pirates. I mean, it's a bit dangerous-"

You scoffed, pulling an oversized shirt over your head. "They're not pirates," You said as you tugged the shirt down, barely bothering to notice it was a gag shirt with an octopus on a bowl of rice. "Hell, they barely qualify as sailors." But when Sanji didn't respond, you paused. "Oh, you mean was I drinking with Zoro." You turned around to face him. He was leaning forwards in his chair, leg bouncing. You sighed and walked over to him. "He was just my drinking partner, and he's most likely going to die tomorrow." You run your hand through his blond locks. "It'll be fine. You don't have to worry."

"I'll have to trust you then." He said with a smile, then laughed when your gentle pat turned into a frantic scratch. "Hey! Not the hair!"

A smirk split across your face. "I don't know, Sanji. You might just have to trust me!"

He chuckled and grabbed your hands, pulling you forward onto him and wrapping you in his arms. "You know what I mean."

"I guess I'll just trust you-"

"Yep!"

"And trust that you're doing a good job! And- Sanji!" You squeaked when your boyfriend ambushed you with a barrage of soft kisses pressed across any bit of skin he could reach. "You tasteless toad! You're two tablespoons of terrible!"

"Two tablespoons of terrible." He repeated in a strange voice and you giggled when he tried to tickle you. "Oh no! The tickling toad has come to torment you!"

You push his hands away and trap his face in your hands. "You twat." You smiled and gave him a lingering kiss.

When you parted, he gave a soft smile. "And you even ended it with a 't', brilliant."

You quirked an eyebrow. "You weirdo."

He mirrored you. "And I somehow love you."

"But weirdly, you love me very weirdly."

He nodded. "Birds of a feather."

"If we're birds, you're a flamingo."

"Why?"

"Because if I wasn't dating you, I'd think you were a bit of a flamingo."

He gasped. "Then you'd be a penguin, because you bring me rocks."

You leaned back and gave him a look. "Because I bring you rocks?"

He nodded. "Yeah, you even put them on me. And you help me get my rocks off."

He laughed as you hit him. "Sanji! That's so bad!"

Your hands were caught and you were pulled into his chest, both of you giggling and stealing kisses from each other while occasionally snuggling impossibly closer. Sure, you might be a bad person - but you liked who you were with Sanji. And that's all you really cared about.

You lied. That night you couldn't sleep with hundreds of thousands of millions of thoughts racing through your mind. You felt like you were a greyhound chasing down a slightly too-fast rabbit, every time you got close, sleep just slipped through your fingers. Your gaze drifted from the ceiling where you were counting the nails in the boards, and over to your boyfriend. His sleeping face made a million butterflies emerge from their cocoons in your stomach, your heart beating against your rib cage like an angry gorilla. But something about this wasn't right, and you couldn't go to sleep without doing something about it.

Careful to not wake your peaceful boyfriend, you slowly lifted his arm from around your waist and placed it on his pillow, heart aching at the sight of him trying to seek your warmth. Even in sleep he wanted to be close to you. Grabbing your pillow, you gently tucked it under his searching hand and he brought it to his chest with a soft groan, the smell of you satiating him.

You rolled out of bed and tip-toed over the squeaky floorboards, wincing every time the floor made a sound. After looking back each time and taking moments between each footstep, you made it through the door and quickly shut it behind you. The early morning's chilly air struck you, but you ignored the goosebumps rising under your skin and continued on. It felt strange walking without your heels clicking against the floorboards, but you weren't looking to make noise, or look fashionable in this instance.

The Overnights were rooms for guests who've either had too much to drink, or who pay extra to stay overnight to hookup, or just to stay, again, overnight. You passed by the many in-use rooms filled with snoring and other unseemly sounds, rolling your eyes at the disgusting slobs behind the doors. A room stood out amongst the others, however, and you knew it held what you were seeking. The aura that emanated from it was unmistakable.

You reached into your hair and pulled out a bobby pin, sticking it in between your teeth to open it and then jammed it into the lock. All the locks were the same on the Baratie, and you only had to jimmy the locks, moving the pins frantically within, to open it without much effort. The door clicked open and you gently pushed it open.

When you stepped inside, you felt it. The blade at your neck. Without a second thought, you pushed it from your jugular and grabbed the silver candlestick on the hallway table, holding it firmly as the blade was struck against it. It sliced through with ease and a sharp burning went through your cheek, knowing that if you hadn't moved your head, it would've went through your eye. "You're slow." Came the hauntingly beautiful, yet unsettling voice from your nightmares.

You hissed and shoved his sword away from your face. "You haven't seen me in seven years, and the first thing that comes from your mouth is criticism? How shocking."

"Six." He corrected, and the room was suddenly bathed in a low yellow hue. Dracule Mihawk was a terrifying man. His golden, ringed eyes glowed in the dim light and when they looked you over, it felt like he was observing your soul and picking it apart with the grace one would picking the petals off of a flower. Those eyes locked onto yours. "It's been six years."

You rolled your eyes and pushed past him. The room was a similar layout to your own, with the only difference being the minimalist design and abhorrent amount of red wine. You knew the latter didn't come from the room. Rather, they came from his personal stash that would deem any other man an alcoholic. But Mihawk was simply old-fashioned, born in the wrong non-vampiric century if you will.

He sheathed his famed black blade Yoru in one smooth motion and danced past you, sitting gracefully in his armchair and crossing one leg over the other. Your eyes drifted over to his hat hung on a hook and reached out to run your fingers against the silky feather. "Don't touch it." The old swordsman warned behind you, picking up his book and flipping over the next page. "I despise disorganisation. It needs to be acceptable for my duel tomorrow. Or rather, in the upcoming moments since you have woken me up at such an ungodly hour."

Despite your reluctance, your arm retracted almost on its own. "You were already awake, asshat." You turned around and crossed your arms. "And it'll be creased anyway, so it doesn't matter if-"

"Not necessarily." His words were as sharp as his gaze. "If we go by that barbaric logic, it doesn't matter if a man is murdered since we all die in one way or another."

You scoffed and returned his look with your own glare. "I'm not too sure, you're more experienced when it comes to murdering men."

Mihawk picked up his expensive crystal wine glass, and took a long, silent sip of his Tarapaca. It was placed back down onto the table with a clink. He leaned back in his chair which squeaked as he did so, and interlocked his fingers. "Why are you here, (Y/N)?"

"I was going to ask you the same question."

His head tilted for a moment, before righting itself. "I'm here for Monkey D. Luffy."

You hadn't realised your shoulders were tensed until they drooped down. "That's it?"

He nodded. "I am only here as an obligation to Garp to collect his grandson."

To your annoyance, your throat tightened. "I thought that was an excuse."

"It wasn't." The man you hated sat in his chair completely unbothered. His eyes lingered on you for a moment, before drifting back to his book. He flipped the page. "'But tell me, at the time of those sweet sighs, by what and in what manner Love conceded that you should know your dubious desires?'"

Pathetically, you felt stinging at the corners of your eyes. "'And she said to me: “There is no greater sorrow then to recall our times of joy in wretchedness.”'" You breathed in through your nose. "Inferno, by Dante Alighieri."

"From?"

You cleared your throat. "Divine Comedy."

"What year?"

You took in a breath and shook your head. "1321?"

He said nothing and turned the page. You stood silently, wanting to run but having no strength to do so. His gaze finally lifted to meet yours. "Is that all?"

A chill ran over your skin, and you were once again reminded of the kind of man he was. There was a lot you wanted to say to Dracule Mihawk. So much hatred and anguish that you had to endure, all the suffering handed to you by the well-manicured hands of the greatest swordsman in the world. You hated him. "Unless you want to say anything?"

His eyes held yours for a moment. "Goodnight."

"Go fuck yourself." You practically grew fangs and spat venom at him. Spinning on your heel, you kicked the wall where his hat hung and stormed out of the room.

A scream bubbled in your throat. Your nails dug into your palms, and your lips were bloodied from ripping them open. He had no- you couldn't- he was such a-

As you turned a corner, you felt something pinch the base of your skull and you whipped around. Pulling your gun and aiming it, you locked eyes with the other swordsman in your life. Zoro, bathed in moonlight, turned his attention from his swords to you. The rag he was cleaning his blade with stopped and he was focused solely on you. "I think I know who you are."

You scoffed and shoved your gun back in its holster. "Well, apparently most people don't, so I'll take anything at this point." He was quiet, and your lips tightened into a smile. "Want a drink?"

The door opened with a click and Zoro whistled. "Nice trick."

You put the bobby pin back in your hair with a smile. "Thanks." The Baratie after-hours was a sight to behold, but the bar was even better. You smiled at Zoro and guided him around the front of the bar where the shutters were closed.

"Thought you said it's open all night."

You looked behind you as you bent down to the latch holding the fish's mouth closed. "I said you couldn't get anything on tap around three in the morning," You unhooked the chain and pulled it free from the floor. "Didn't say that the bar was open. Come help me." You shuffled to the side to make room for him, and grabbed onto the shudders. He appeared by your side and hooked his fingers under the shudders next to yours, you both nodded to each other and grunted as you lifted the shudders. You expected it to be heavier, but with Zoro it lifted with surprising ease. The moonlight poured in and illuminated the bar, shining through the empty bottles of booze and creating a kaleidoscope of colours.

The green-haired swordsman chuckled and looked around. "I've never been in a bar after hours." He sat down on a nearby couch normally reserved for V.I.Ps. "It feels naughty."

You shrugged, walking over to the bar and reaching over. "Yeah well, if we're caught I'll probably get fired, so don't fuck around." Your fingers wrapped around the neck of a bottle and you hoisted it to eye-level. "You a rum guy?"

He smiled and gave a half-shrug. "I'm a booze guy."

"Good answer." You said and carried over two shot glasses for the both of you. Sitting down, you tugged off the cork with your teeth and poured yourselves shots. You raised your glasses. "To you dying tomorrow."

His eyebrows raised. "To me surviving tomorrow." He corrected and clinked his glass against yours, keeping his eyes on you as you took a shot together. He sighed, flicking his head and nodding. "That's good."

You nodded and sniffed. "It's very good." You filled your glasses again. "Only the best shit for the only guy that knows me." You gulped it down, and didn't wait for him to finish before filling yours back up.

He chuckled. "I'm the one dying tomorrow, and here you are drinking like it's the end of the world."

"Yeah, well," You sniffed and swirled around the liquid in your glass. "My life kind of fucking sucks at the moment. So, I think I deserve to get shit-faced."

Zoro tilted his head and licked his teeth. "I bet you had a miserable childhood."

You laughed and leaned back, tears pricking at yours eyes as you nodded. "Understatement of the century." You said under your breath and looked up at him, forcing a smile. "I grew up on some private land owned by nobles."

He nodded. "You said that."

"Yeah, but what I didn't tell you was I wasn't born there. My Dad, being father of the fucking year, didn't want to care for a baby so he dumped me with some workers. Then, when I truly got attached to my family and finally was accepted as a member of the community, he just came back and picked me up. Like I was some type of broken watch he left to be repaired." You shook your head and reveled in the burn of the rum as it slid down your throat and warmed your stomach. "And ever since then, he's just tormented me. Even when I got away from him, it's like he's always there just watching me - waiting for me to mess up. And you know, all the shit that I did to make him proud of me? Every late night reading libraries' worth of books just in case he quizzed me on it in the morning. Every lesson in combat styles, or how to sense others, whatever the hell that means. Most of the scars I have are from trying myself to him. But never once was I told 'Good job (Y/N)', or that he was proud of me. He never even smiled at me." You finished the shot and placed it down onto the table. "And you know what fucking sucks? After all this time, all the anguish he's put me through? All I want him to look at me and tell me that he loves me."

Zoro looked at his glass and his mouth tightened into a fine line. "I know the feeling." His eyes drifted back to yours. "To shitty parents?" He offered, raising his glass.

You chuckled and shook your head, but poured yourself a glass and raised it. "The shittiest."

A/N: Um, okay this was pretty heavy and it took me a while to write because I wanted to make it actually matter. I think there'll be a few more parts and then we'll be finished with the Baratie saga! Then, I might take a break and do maybe another series/one-shot while I properly plan the next part. We'll also be naming this series! The poll has concluded and within the next couple of days, we'll be figuring out the name! Comment down if you have any suggestions, or want to join the tag list! <3

P.S: When the Baratie saga is done, I'll release it all as one part so that it'll be easier to re-read. It'll be a bit of its own thing, so stay tuned haha.