#and now it's time for him to be a terror as god intended

[demetriandelibinaryboyfriends]

I hope he gets even worse 💚🤍💙

"demetri is being mean" umm ok. and. i think he's entitled

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Hello everyone! I'm back with another au! Enjoy! :)

This au picks up at the battle of Camlann, where Morgana uses a spell to deactivate Merlin's aging spell. All of Camelot's forces look on in horror as the old sorcerer on the ridge turns out to be Merlin. Merlin himself looks devastated by this.

Morgana then begins goading Merlin by loudly revealing all his secrets to Arthur, Gwen, and all the knights on the battlefield, intending to make sure that he could never return to Camelot. She reveals that he is Emrys, all-powerful, magic incarnate, the son of the Triple Goddess, and a god of the Old Religion in human form. He is the the most feared creature in all of Camelot, and they never even knew it.

Merlin, enraged by this, viciously fights Morgana with his magic. Mordred abandons his goal of battling Arthur to rush over to Morgana's side, trying to defend her from Emrys's wrath.

Merlin, still carving a path of destruction and death through the battlefield, doesn't hesitate to strike Mordred down with lightning. While Morgana was too busy being stunned and horrified by what just happened, Merlin takes Mordred's fallen dragon-forged blade and runs Morgana through with it, ending her for good.

The remaining soldiers in Morgana's Saxon army, now decimated and seeing that their leader is dead, killed by a force far more powerful than she herself, turn around and flee, desperate to avoid being slaughtered at the hands of a god.

With the Saxons gone, the battlefield of Camlann goes quiet, with the only sounds being the quiet whistling of the wind blowing through the valley. Camelot's knights are frozen in fear and shock, looking at Arthur for guidance for what to do next.

However, Arthur himself is frozen still too, unable to tear his eyes away from Merlin, the man who he trusted more than anyone, who was never even a man to begin with. His manservant, who was secretly a god the entire time!

But Merlin has his back turned to Arthur, and is simply gazing out into the distance. He turns around though, and he meets Arthur's eyes for a split second, before vanishing into thin air.

A second later, Arthur could swear that he heard Merlin's voice whisper along with the wind, "I'm sorry."

Staring out across the now empty battlefield, Arthur had no choice but to shakily order the knights to pack up and return to Camelot. There was nothing left for them here.

They returned to camp and started the journey back to Camelot in silence, everyone's minds reeling from what had just happened. The sudden revelation of Merlin's true nature had left Arthur, Gwen, and the knights terrified and unsure of everything.

Once back in the safety of Camelot, Arthur has a huge breakdown, wondering how the hell he's even alive if the man he's bossed around for the past ten years was actually capable of brutally destroying an entire army with a wave of his hand the entire time. How had he survived if he had been humiliating a god every day for years, a god whose followers had been slaughtered by his hand!

Their return to Camelot had been stressful to say the least, all of them on edge despite their victory. Yes, Merlin Emrys had ensured their victory, but who knew what plans the god had for Camelot now that his true nature was revealed?! What revenge would he enact on the kingdom responsible for the purge?!

These thoughts haunted Arthur even as he returned to his chambers, changed himself into his nightclothes (and ignoring the fact that the god of magic had been dressing him for the past decade), and fell into a fitful sleep.

Arthur was shocked and terrified when, in the morning, he was awoken with a very familiar "Rise and shine, dollophead! You have a full schedule today!"

His heart stuttered with terror as his eyes shot open and beheld the sight of Merlin, smiling and looking as he always did, as if nothing had changed. His heart pounded with sudden fear as he leapt out of bed, scrambling for something, anything to defend himself with against the man who had once been his closest friend. But, Arthur's mind hissed at him, what good would any sword do against a god?! He was as good as dead already!

Merlin Emrys, to Arthur's shock, didn't even bat an eye at Arthur pulling a blade on him and set the tray full of breakfast on the table, completely unphased.

"Come on, we don't have time for this, Arthur! Just sit down and eat your breakfast while I pick out your clothes for the day."

Arthur's however, didn't move from his place against the wall. Did he really think Arthur was stupid enough to fall for something like that?

Well, Arthur's mind hissed again, you were stupid enough to mistake a god for an manservant for ten years.

Emrys simply rolled his eyes, his impatience now showing, and Arthur braced himself to be hit with the full force of divine wrath.

Something in the air shifted, and Arthur suddenly found himself sitting at the table without having moved a muscle, with the breakfast tray in front of him.

"There we go! Now, please hurry up and eat. I didn't even steal one of your sausages this time! So, for today, do you want to wear your training gambeson or your more formal set?"

Arthur said nothing in response, too busy staring, petrified by fear and bewildered beyond words, at the god of magic lay out his clothes for the day.

The rest of the day goes on like this, with Merlin pretending like everything's normal while Arthur, and everyone else in the castle, is completely terrified by Merlin's presence alone. But, they can't really make him to leave.

Knights who draw their swords at the sight of Merlin find that their blades turn to dust as soon as he looks at them. The servants who see him, who have no doubt heard the disturbing news about his true nature as Emrys, scream in terror and run away at the sight of him.

Even Guinevere, who was sitting on her throne next to Arthur when she saw Merlin out of the corner of her eye, holding a pitcher of watered down wine like it was an ordinary day, tensed up with fright, her hands gripping the arms of her throne and her breathing picking up as her mind replayed memories of Merlin, her dearest friend, raining death down upon Camlann.

Eventually, Arthur gathers enough courage to ask Merlin why he's still here, what he wants from Camelot, and what it will take to have him spare Arthur's people.

And Merlin's response is to simply smile and tell Arthur that he will not leave. He is Arthur's servant, and there's nothing Arthur can do about that other than accept it.

TL;DR:

Arthur, fearing for his entire kingdom: Please, Emrys, just tell me what you want! I'm sorry about treating you like a servant! I'll do anything, just please spare my people!

Merlin, doing laundry and desperate to avoid his life changing in any way: I'm :) your :) servant :)

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Mango Bat behind the cut; “a fake cryptid and a real romantic”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

shines, Batman observes. kitten-ruby. Robin-nest.

Superboy blushes again, then grins sheepishly at him. Tim really wants to know what he’s hearing, because it cannot possibly be anything that he’s hearing. He doesn’t even know what he’s hearing, in fact, because he still needs to discourage the nesting thing, and also what do rubies have to do with anything? He’s having a very hard time figuring any of that out, though, because Superboy did in fact show up noticeably shinier than usual tonight, and it’s very–it’s distracting, alright? 

Actually, maybe the “kitten-ruby” thing is about the blushing, considering how brightly Superboy does it. 

Tim really needs it to be about the blushing, anyway, because if Superboy brought him another handmade gemstone worth more money than his entire house, he really is going to have to throw himself off a roof or thirteen about it, which he really just cannot do right now. 

“I swear I didn’t make anything on the outside shiny,” he promises the Batman, and Tim . . . pauses. 

. . . maybe just one roof, he thinks. 

“Shiiiiinyyyyy?” he asks warily, and Superboy blushes again. Normally it would be a lot harder to tell someone was blushing at night, even as lit-up as Gotham can get, but he really does blush that hard. The Batman twists his head around a few degrees or dimensions farther and also does something with his literal entire visual resonance that means Tim needs to stop looking at him before he gets a nosebleed inside his mask. Superboy doesn’t seem to notice anything happening. Or, well–

“Oh yeah, I did!” Superboy says cheerfully to the Batman. “Like you know, good surveillance and sniper perches and all? So I just scouted like I needed to do recon somewhere . . . no, it seemed kinda bright up there . . . yeah, that just felt, um, kinda too close to your–actually, do you even have one, that’s not a bat thing, right? . . . oh, yeah, makes sense. Cool!” 

Tim’s nose might be bleeding after all, but the headache is making it a little hard to tell. He didn’t actually hear anything himself, but the Batman has definitely been talking. He has no idea how Superboy is just, like, listening to that like it’s no big deal or anything. Superman definitely thinks it’s a big deal. So like . . . that’s weird, yeah. Super weird. 

. . . no pun intended. 

Tim is just gonna blame the headache for that one, yeah. Definitely he’s gonna blame the headache for that one. 

. . . . . . and maybe the potential nosebleed. That might also be a thing, if he actually is bleeding right now. 

“Could you please stop whatever you’re doing before my brain melts out of my freaking skull?” he mutters inside his mask without turning on the vocoder, so his voice doesn’t actually project out of it. It doesn’t matter, since Superboy doesn’t have super-hearing and the Batman can hear them inside their suits no matter what; the vocoders and all that are just for everyone not the Batman. “I can’t do Robin things with a melted brain. That’s not gonna work out for me.” 

Superboy’s already pretty brain-melting an experience, for one thing. Literal actual brain-melting is really not going to help him not embarrass himself here. Like not even slightly. He’s really just . . . not good at dating, honestly. Not even a little bit. He has no idea how he’s supposed to be good at dating when he has a melted brain and can’t even make a stupid nest. 

The Batman ignores him, because the Batman is the literal worst undying eldritch night terror of a weird neighbor. Tim glowers at him on principle. 

God, why does Superboy have such terrible taste in . . . uh, cryptids, technically. Just if Superboy had better taste, Tim wouldn’t have to be going on another date with him because Superboy would’ve thought better of all this after the first date and– 

It occurs to Tim that possibly it’s weird to be more nervous about the second date than he was the first one, but in his defense, he didn’t think Superboy was going to run around Gotham with him all night, watch him creeping around like a freak collecting evidence at three different crime scenes and also terrifying a crooked cop into rethinking all her terrible life choices and also tossing a pair of mob enforcers off the dock, meet Nightwing and the Batman at the same time, and then after all that actually ask him out again. 

Well, okay, he’d said “wanna hang out again next weekend?”, but he’d done that while making doe-eyes at Robin’s mask and blushing every five minutes and saying he was free all weekend, which clearly means he’d cleared his schedule again, and he just showed up for tonight all shiny, so like . . . this is definitely a date, yeah, and Tim definitely is not prepared for it. 

He’d spent so long trying to get the stupid nest to work that he hadn’t ever actually figured out if there was something he could bring Superboy for this, because like, obviously Robin cannot show up with flowers or chocolates or what the frick ever, and Tim Drake definitely cannot, like . . . make telekinetic diamonds or peel pieces of himself off to twist into a protective sigil manifesting as a net or like . . . just anything requiring either superpowers, magic, or whatever potential combination of the two. Like, he’s not Jason. 

And more importantly, he also kind of, like, doesn’t even know what Superboy’s really into? Because the guy talks a lot, but on their first date he mostly just talked about, like, superhero stuff–which, obviously, they were literally on patrol the whole time, what else would he have been talking about?–and the first time they met was pretty much just “hi I kidnapped a cat burglar for you and have been actively stalking you and also made you a literally flawless fifty-carat diamond with my superpowers; wanna go out about it?”

So like . . . yeah, Tim has not actually had too much of a chance to pick up too much about Superboy’s actual off-duty interests or anything like that. Like, aside from what he’s seen in interviews and stuff, which most reporters seem to spend talking more about Superman than Superboy and Tim can’t even assume are authentic anyway, given the whole teen idol superhero gig and all. 

He knew he should’ve done recon in Metropolis for this. At least Superman could’ve told him if Superboy likes chocolate, since “so like just wondering, Superman, is your half-your-physiological age but technically five month, four week, and one day-old clone more an orchids or a roses kind of guy, what do you think?” is not a question Tim is ever, ever going to ask. 

. . . actually, Superboy’s literally, like, two days out from being six months old, isn’t he. Should Tim get him something for being six months old? Is that a thing that Superboy would be into? Like, in theory? The guy hasn’t gotten to have a birthday yet, obviously, so like . . . maybe he’d think that was kinda cool? 

Or maybe he’d think Robin was a fucking weirdo tryhard who didn’t know how to human correctly. But like, to be fair, Tim isn’t all that great at human-ing without prep time. Like . . . he really, really needs to study for it, that’s all. 

Yeah, maybe he can just do his recon through direct observation tonight. 

“We go . . . now,” Tim hisses in Robin’s voice, mostly in self-defense at this point. The Batman is doing some weird things to the visual spectrum right now. And the auditory spectrum. Or maybe some other spectrum entirely; like just whatever long-shattered and ground-into-the-pavement one Tim’s life used to count as “normal” on. 

“Oh, yeah!” Superboy says, immediately zipping over to him with a delighted grin and beaming down at him all shiny and pretty and shiny. The electric city lights reflect sharply off his glasses and the brightly-polished studs and pins on his jacket and the moonlight glows softly on the leather of it and in his hair and across his face, and he looks eager and happy and excited and like he’s about to have the time of his life, and he’s looking at Tim like that. 

Tim would have an easier time dealing with the Batman-induced nosebleed, honestly. 

Jesus. Just . . . Jeeeeesus. He knows Superboy professionally looks good, obviously he knows that, he’s not an oblivious idiot who’s never seen the inside of his ex-girlfriend’s locker, but just literal actual JESUS. 

“Wanna ride, pretty bird?” Superboy asks, grinning wider as he gives him a flirty wink. Tim suffers. Extremely. 

“Robin . . . fly,” he says, and this time it is definitely in self-defense.

[see-arcane]

Something I’ve been chewing on for this go-around of Dracula Season is the fact that, for all that I am absolutely 110% on board with the whole ‘Dracula wants Jonathan for himself, calls dibs, wants first taste, wants to keep him as part of the castle permanently, I too can love~ et cetera’ deal, I can admit now that I’ve been overlooking one very key part of the whole Bluebeard wifery setup.

And that’s the unavoidable fact that Dracula fully intends to leave Jonathan Harker to be drunk and collected by the Weird Sisters.

Now there’s all manner of guesswork to make about what exactly these three’s relationship to Dracula really is. A personal harem is usually the go-to, and what I usually land on as explanation, considering how things will play out in the future regarding his usual choice of vampiric victim. But others have suggested familial connections, going by Jonathan noting a couple similar traits between the two brunettes, ala facial features, hair, the same red eyes and so on, leaving Blondie as a potential wife the Count turned along with their daughters. Or hell, maybe they’re all actual sisters. We never get to know.

All we know is that they accuse Dracula of ‘Never loving,’ while Dracula stares meaningfully at Jonathan, insisting otherwise. And claims that the trio themselves know it is so from the past. Whatever past that is.

To that end, the Weird Sisters matter to Dracula. Enough to keep them fed, enough to not even put up a full villain monologue at them when they go against his orders to try and snatch Jonathan out from under him, followed by laughing in his face. Beyond his far-too-intimate interactions and abuses with Jonathan, this is the closest we get to seeing Dracula trying to be close with and/or properly*** interacting with someone. An exchange that ends not only with handing over the poor stolen baby in the sack, but outright promising Jonathan to the Sisters once Dracula is finished with him.

And that’s sticking with me this year. Because for all that I’ve joked and memed about it in the past, it never really whacked me over the head with the import and terror that comes with Jonathan’s opening line in this entry.

God preserve my sanity, for to this I am reduced.

Reduced. That’s the key word here.

Even if he doesn’t know all the rules, he knows now that he is no longer just a temporary prisoner. Not even a mere murder victim waiting out the clock. No. He has been reduced to a living decanter. A possession there to be nursed from and used and given as a gift from Dracula to his companions. Like a toy or a new pet.

At the risk of slight spoilers (avert your eyes first-time Dracula Dailiers!), two important lines are yet to come during Jonathan’s stay in Vampire Hell. One from Dracula:

But I am in hopes that I shall see more of you at Castle Dracula.

(Yes, he does think he’s very funny. Prick.)

And another from Jonathan:

At its foot a man may sleep—as a man.

Two vital beats.

The first, because it is a winking confirmation to all that Jonathan has feared. Namely, that Dracula and the Weird Sisters mean to never let him leave the castle again, alive, dead, or otherwise.

The second, because it shows that for all Jonathan is not aware of, he does rightly suspect that there is more expected of him than being a mere meal to have and discard. He knows he is not due for a fleeting pain and escape, even via death. Because Dracula wants to ‘love’ him. To keep him.

And Dracula will do so because he keeps the Weird Sisters, and they will keep him. A parting gift from their loving lord of the castle. The conqueror’s playbook in miniature.

I turned you. You turn him. I have you all.

This, buried under the veneer of:

See girls? I care! Here, a fine new plaything to keep you company. Housebroken already.

(To this I am reduced. To this I am reduced. To this I am reduced.)

There’s time right now. However much time Jonathan can win by playing a good guest. But if he doesn’t get out by the time Dracula is done with him? He lives the rest of his human life as a wine bottle and then all of eternity after that as joint undead property.

Better hope your acting skills are up to the task, Mr. Harker.

[mielzu]

warnings. cheating (w zayne dw), not proofread im going insane thank you, all over the place this is pure word vomit

Nothing could have prepared Zayne for what he was about to see the moment you stepped in his office for a checkup. Weekly, perhaps it stretched on more than it should have — made a few exceptions and adjusted schedules knowing it was you who was occupying his time.

Then you brought him, Carter. Carter. From Xander Sciences. The one who gave you flowers to get close. The one he supposed to keep at bay— held your waist and kissed your cheek.

Was it enough to feel rage in his heart? Fair to judge and scold you for dating Carter? Who, God knows what he and his team are doing with those experiments and prolonging patients with a faulty heart like yours.

And it seems you too, were promised a cure for your heart. What Zayne could offer ten times over. Give up his life. His heart. Take his heart, oh please. Why give yours to another who isn't him?

Terror as it was, an added nightmare to numerous, neverending ones he usually experienced, was perhaps a wake up call to him. An eye opening as one say. Zayne is always up for a challenge, was this even one if he had already lost you? What of those moments stolen in the dark? In his own office. Zayne holds you more so dear than Carter does and time serves as it's reminder and proof of why he is so much a better candidate than Carter does. But then again.

What's a battle you've already lost? Does it hold such purpose when he knows in his heart he could never have you now that one knocked and opened yours. He doesn't hope it's locked. He prefer to believe it's still open. Ready for someone —Zayne, to properly close it and claim as his. Whatever... that could ever mean.

Time flies and Zayne was nothing but supportive. Gave you his regards after apologizing for implying that Carter is a person who cannot be trusted, someone who's face should be gone and beaten to pulp, frozen and thrown to break in pieces and never be meld in again. You forgave and forget. After all, Zayne is a long time friend, he knows what's best for you and sharing his opinion on the man you're dating is normal.

That's what you tell yourself.

Your weekly checkups became way earlier than expected and doubled in days when you're having certain problems with how you breathe or when it aches after such missions that left you calling on him for help instead of your boyfriend you can't even text a simple 'hi' these days. Zayne arrives fast and efficient. Tending to you the best he could, presents you with sweets and goods to take home. Even patting your head down to your ears sometimes, like an owner to its cat. Affection, was it. But that was just Zayne.

Nothing unusual.

As time goes by, Zayne can confirm you see him more than this boyfriend of yours. He doesn't say anything of the topic, only occasionally asking what Carter is doing, what is he up to? Does he love you—No. Of course, he won't ask that no matter how he's aching to do so.

Zayne was only being a friend. Lunch dates, dinner dates, checkups that lasts more than it was intended to, the way he touches your face, caressing the apple of your cheek so pretty he couldn't stop until you point it out. Those eyes of his pleading in silence that you became visibly confused because Carter wants to have a date with you but what about Zayne?

“You haven't finished your meal, I'm sure he can wait a few more minutes.” He's right, right? Carter can wait and he will, Zayne makes sure of that. Every. Time.

Every time Zayne tells you to stay you do.Carter's calling for a meet up near your house? Oh, you're shopping with Zayne for groceries! Another date because he missed the other due to work? Oh, Zayne has you occupied with the topic of the movie you're watching, letting you get it out of your chest why you think this character uses his girlfriend to get what he wanted. It's so... so obvious. You're upset at your boyfriend.

Most of the time Carter is working and missing in action, calling you after a day or hours to keep you hanging, kept you hoping.

All the while Zayne is delighted of this discovery he found. See, Zayne always makes time for you. Never once he left you hanging except for those he purposely led you astray because he didn't want to worry but you still do. You're adorable and he felt bad. His emotions were consuming him.

You were particularly disheartened about Carter once more as one does when a boyfriend promised a date for the third time and canceled last minute. Made you wait for hours on end only to call a friend, in this case, Zayne and expressed how you felt. You didn't cry, nor were you surprised, simply dissapointed your own boyfriend can't make time for you for one day you thought he's off work.

You weren't thinking much. Zayne is the closest friend you've ever had since childhood and now you're both adults and still supporting each other through thick and thin — it was so easy to give in.

Perhaps because you were vulnerable you let him comfort you in ways he does sometimes but it was different this time. His thumb brushing along your cheek, a soft snicker on his lips as he tells you to expect such negligence from a man like him. Carter is notorious for his work in Xander Sciences and Zayne had seen him work before. No man like him would give you the time in the world and stop his constant operations in sacrifice for a few moments with the woman he asked to be his.

“Why don't you focus up here,” Zayne breaks your train of thought, gently poking at your forehead with a soft smile. His finger draws on your skin so gentle it made you giggle, until he was cupping your face, giving you a look which could only translated as - “I'm here, am I not?”

A total mistake it was. But it kept happening. Again. And. Again.

Zayne asks you to stay and you do. Zayne asks to massage your shoulders and you said yes. Knowing what you two would be doing, you always comply to his demand.

A moment you're watching a movie and the next he's between your legs, groaning at your taste while your eyes roll back, fingers tugging at his locks all while the phone Zayne had thrown somewhere in the room vibrates alone with the sender 'Carter' calling.

Then to a party, to your place. At his office desk, you're beneath, now your turn to be between his legs. Face flushed with embarrassment and arousal, lips stretched with the thickness of his cock, cheeks hollowed, “So pretty, keep doing that,” and you do, swirling your tongue around his length before he guides your head to take him deeper before holding you to stay there for moments too long, nearly restricted of air before he pulls out with a hiss. His cock glistening of your saliva coating him through, a string connecting your tongue to his cock, raging and twitched at the sight of you.

Zayne can't help but chuckle low and deep as you part your lips again without his command, pushing his tip past your lips and watched in quiet awe how well you take him in, how you looked too damn good not to cant his hips just a little to make you whine around him, feel your warmth spreading once more before he's in deep your throat again. “There you go...” he leans on his chair a little more, eyes closed while his hands grasp your head firm and pushed forward, your nose squished as Zayne finally reached his peak and you drank it all. No waste.

And another event had graced you an invitation. Carter was late. Zayne noticed you were chewing on your lips, looking around, staring at every possible corner of the room, even the stage to see if your beloved boyfriend was there but to no avail.

Zayne, the caring friend that he is, reassurances you that he might come. might.

And if he didn't, maybe it's a sign.

“Dance with me,” he whispers to your ear, leading you towards the dance floor and ignoring your muttering of that wretched man. Zayne wanted to dance with you, that's what he's going to do. “It won't hurt to forget about him for a moment,” maybe he was right, with how much you were with Zayne this should be with no issue.

Who knew you'd end up losing yourself in his sheets. You weren't even drunk. Zayne was being clingy, wouldn't let you go until he was sure you were coming home with him because of some excuse you've already forgotten this moment. Hi body was hot and so was yours. Zayne says the liquor was at fault in this, it wasn't yours.

“I'm drunk, help me?” so you help him, in his bed, shirtless with eyes yearning for you. triggering the feeling you kept hidden for so long. He's making excuses and you're letting him.

Zayne grasps your hips onto his, you hide your face by nuzzling against his cheek. Tightly closing your eyes and thinking of how he feels inside you while Zayne gently utters praises and reassurance, poisoning your mind that this wasn't your fault.

“I got careless, we ended up drinking, don't we? I'm all the way in, has he reached this far inside you?” he grunts and groans directly in your ears, your moans echoing in his.

You never had a drink, and you're a hundred percent sure Zayne did not dare take one either. This was a nonsense, surely, not an excuse but you liked the way Zayne held you close with those sharp eyes of his you got lost in. The guilt fading away as the night progresses.

That morning you left his place faster than you ever could. going back to Carter to have a lunch date.

Zayne was disheartened but he knew you'd come back.

You wanted out immediately, telling yourself it will never happen again.

But it did. every time you say “This is the last time.” Zayne would agree with you, hold you again, and again, and again. Until the cycle repeats.

Zayne was getting more impatient each time you'd leave immediately so the moment you're by his door, looking down at your feet before gazing up to him— Zayne did everything to etch himself onto your skin, inside and out. He started to leave you sore and unable to walk for days turned weeks, literally. You'd call in sick, he would send health certificates to your team so he could have you again.In those days you were with him Carter was none the wiser.

Flowers would be at your desk, your home, takeouts when you forget to eat, lunch and dinner dates like before. Kissing by an isolated corner, heated touches during checkups even if there's nothing wrong with your heart—maybe there is, it wasn't his. But he knows he's getting close.It came to such a point where you'd be begging him to stop this. Zayne will agree, towering over you, slender fingers that has memorized your sweet spots already caressing your chin as he leans in.

“This will be the last time? we're over?” Zayne kisses your lips briefly, lifting your chin when you nodded at him.

“Carter— he's... he's getting suspicious,”

“He's not. I promise, I'll do something about it.” There he goes again, the same solution and miraculously it works. you don't know how and you don't want to ask.

“Last time.” he smiles, humming before his lips brushes against yours again. “Try not to end up on my bed again, miss hunter.”

[thewertsearch]

As you must have gathered by now, my employer will enter this universe quite soon. I will then relinquish my custody to him, and she will serve as his Handmaid for an eternity to be specified. [...] Though her most common of blood should have let her expire in just a dozen or two sweeps, [...]

A dozen sweeps? Rustbloods only live to be in their twenties?

Thank fuck Aradia’s a god now, is all I’ll say – and Kanaya, when you finally make the neo-Matriorb, can you please remove that trait?

[...] his curse kept her very much alive. And she did not intend to stay that way.

Ouch.

She looks so cool... but she’s so tragic... but she looks so cool...

While I am his weapon of subtlety and precision, the Handmaid is strictly an apparatus of terror and suffering. We have both paved the road to his arrival, I in my way and she in hers. She would be present during every watershed moment in her civilization's development. Her recurrance in history would earn her the reputation of a demoness, more feared than even her master, a man though dreadful rarely makes himself seen. She stirred up class warfare and intensified bigotry in whatever era she haunted.

So what you’re saying, for the record, is that trolls are so resistant to this way of living that English had to subcontract a second time-travelling demon to constantly force them to be more evil, and they kept rebelling anyway. Just so we're clear.

She made sure the descendents would enter a world which prepared them well for the game, and took measures to see that they would play as they did.

Aradia did call the Voices her 'ancestors', after all. Sounds like the Handmaid was speaking directly into her ear, taking advantage of their familial connection to nudge her along the path Scratch had planned for her - which mostly involved nudging her co-Players along that same path. There really is no end to this web.

Now, six centuries later, she would be given one last order to follow before her curse was lifted. A simple recruitment job. The Handmaid will enlist the Condesce, extending the same bargain once offered to her. [...] The Condesce will serve as her new master's witch, carrying out his work in the places he cannot reach.

There are places inaccessible to English, which is very valuable information. He’s able to enter the troll universe, so he clearly doesn’t need an agent there – so where is he sending the Condesce?

Perhaps English is only able to enter a universe he has marked for predation. If he’s trying to mess with an unmarked universe – such as, to choose a totally random example, the kids’ universe – then he needs to send in a deputy.

I also didn't miss that the Condesce is noted to be English’s ‘witch’. We already know that her touch ‘extends life’, so it’s looking like she shares a full Title with her descendant.

[mtcloudsworld]

Can I please request a fic for Jason maybe how he would react to meeting a reader (black fem reader) who’s super confident so open about her attraction to him just out right saying he’s sexy/fine to their mutual friends idk I just need some Jason feeling wanted and knowing his feelings are reciprocated ❤️❤️❤️

𝐉𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐎 | j.todd x black fem reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 | I didn't give much description on the reader but it is black fem reader intended. I just got lost in the sauce is all lol. No warnings except that it's just fluff with some errors here and there probably. Just ignore them if you can.

⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁

Let's put a little spin on the block shall we?

I think in this case, Jason knows a little bit of you right? He knows just a portion of you because Roy talks about you like your next big thing. He finally gets to meet you at your best friend's birthday party. At first he was kinda on the outskirts like he usually is but when you come around, he'll admit, he sees what all the hype's about. Y'all hung out a few times after that. There have been some great conversations and what not, went as far as exchanging numbers and as of recently they've been noticing the shared glances, the smiles, jokes and what not.

And you're friends? Well... they're betting their money and a life time supply of ass kissing that something beautiful just might happen between you two.

Now Jason hasn't really put himself into the dating scene yet, now of course he's had a few crushes along the way but nothing too serious.

And as you sit back in the perimeter of his space, in this friendly medium size cafe, smelling the fresh scent of coffee beans and cologne, in the proximity of his warmth, with the sun beaming past his face, you gazed over that jaw dropping, god like face and into those baby blue eyes-- you can't help but to think: How could anyone NOT like him? How could he NOT have a girlfriend already?

The man is built-- massive, muscles and all. 6 ft something, prince charming material, top tier sense of humor, tempting, a whole ass meal, sensible, a gentleman, girl dinner, a lover, a protector, a man you'd let bend you over on the kitchen counter and fuck the living shit out of you--

I mean, the list could really go on and on and on and on honey

His behavior, personality and quirks were all so cute and attractive, and of course you haven't seen the night terrors or any scars he has to deal with, but trust and believe that's manageable. it's just enough to want you to get to know him on a deeper level.

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜⏜︵♡︵⏜︵

As you watched him walk to retrieve yet another book, you couldn't help but release a soft sigh in bliss. "God he is so fine." Roy and your best friend roll their eyes, smiling from ear to ear as they give shared glances. They knew your interest was peeked, they also knew you've been wanting to shoot your shot for sometime now, but strangely, you haven't had the courage to do so. "Girl just go over there and talk to the man."

You give them a shy smile and shrug, "I don't want to seem weird though."

Your best friend chuckles, head shaking as she nudges her shoulder into yours, "I promise you won't. Trust me, go talk to him."

You sigh in defeat, giving a curt nod before standing to your feet and walking over to him. You weren't close by for him to sense your presence yet. However he caught a whiff of your scent lingering nearby, he has recognized it, studied it and memorized it all once before and you were the only person who wore this distinct fragrance. So, naturally, when you came closer, his attention turns to you. The sight of his eyes glowing in happiness and the smirk that rises to his lips makes your insides twist in relish. Feeling your cheeks burn and lips curl into a smile as you stand close by "So, whose your next victim?" You'd ask playfully looking down at the book in his hand with cluelessness and innocence pooling in your eyes.

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜⏜︵♡︵⏜︵

And you? You're so beautiful. So, so beautiful. He could look at you for hours upon hours upon hours and could never get enough of you. The way your skin glowed in the sunlight was exquisite. The rich tone of your voice sent a sweet ring to his ears as he listened to you talk. Charming in every sense-- your charisma sent him blushing, every flirtatious comment and glare you sent his way made butterflies swarm in his stomach.

Your confidence was blunt. Bold in every way, inspiring and admirable. He found the things and the people you loved were drawn from deep passion. You were undeniably sweet, so sweet that it felt so unfamiliar to him. Your touch, gentle and warm, made a part of his shoulder or arm tingle with want and need.

He may look cool calm and collected on the outside but inside?

Baby that man's heart is punching against his ribcage 😭 his skin is hot and he's trying his damn hardest not to make a fool of himself.

And the way you say his name?!?! Uggggh, his heart, his poor little heart!

Effortlessly you've got this man wrapped around your tiny little finger. Your independence was attractive, the way you care for others wa tender and lovely. He liked how you thought about him constantly, your genuine care for him was sudden but expected, you never shy away from inviting him places, buying his favorite snacks and what not. Just, sigh, everything about you made him feel uplifted and seen.

But even when he's feeling all these emotions, and these little things are happening to spike his blood pressure, somewhere in the deepest part of his brain where insecurity dwells, he believes you're way out of his league.

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜⏜︵♡︵⏜︵

Where Jason resides, he stood and observed from a distance you and your best friend chatting it up with a mutual coworker you hadn't seen in a minute. Undoubtedly it was a guy and Jason couldnt help but feel a little jealous??? couldn't help but feel like yeah, you're beautiful and single and have every right to talk and cheese all in another guy's face.

Yet, he couldn't shake this mixture of feelings that although he wants you all to himself, he feels he's not worthy enough to be something more for you. He doesn't feel worthy enough to have you when he does all these bad things-- living a double life.

He's basically stuck between a rock and hard place, and Roy can see it. His brows knitted in dissatisfaction, pondering his choices as he burned holes into the guy's head, but still, he glanced at you with tenderness.

"I don't think I'm good enough Roy, not even the slightest." He murmured, seated at the table across from his friend, playing with the red solo cup between his fingers. "If I told her what I was all about, I bet you she'll walk away-- I know she would."

"But you don't know that," Roy argued, gently. "You can't just assume the worst if nothing has happened yet."

"You say you're not good enough and that she may not like you, but you don't realize the most energy she gives you than any other person out there. She's drawn to you, Jason, more than you think. You're worthy of having a relationship, of being happy, of being loved... you're worthy of all of that. Stop saying you aren't because you are."

And fortunately, Roy was right. He was always right.

Because as Jason was left to his thoughts (Still hesitating and having a hard time believing it all). There was a moment when you noticed him all alone, pouting a little. Ditching the duo to approach him instead made his heart clench. You were all smiles, reaching for his hand and suggesting for them to take a walk.

He could never resist you, even if he tried.

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜⏜︵♡︵⏜︵

He felt you could do so much better than him.

But you didn't want better, did you?

You didn't want anybody else.

You didn't have your eye on anybody else because you were too busy gawking at the physique and personality of a god who could have you folding in 2.5 seconds. You were starstruck, in awe and it was kinda hard to believe that Jason was oblivious to it all when you are so open and blunt about it.

Soooooo, what can you do? Hm?

What can you do to make this man understand that you are into him?

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜⏜︵♡︵⏜︵

"Looks like you've got something on your mind."

You blink.

Your head turns to him, humming in response once you come back to your senses. In the middle of the dance floor, all alone now, held by the waist as you swayed slowly underneath the starry night sky, dim lighting from the hanging lights along the tent. You give him a close-lip smile in reassurance and shrug, adjusting your arms around his shoulders a little.

"I hope you're not bored of me."

"Pfft, bored?" You snicker amusingly. "you're anything but boring, Todd."

"You're never this quiet though."

He notices your mood switches, "...I know." You've grown quiet, hesitant as you avoid eye contact now.

Jason frowns. Eyes trained on, his hands squeeze at your hips for a second, grasping your attention again. His thumbs begin to caress at your sides soothing the nerves bubbling from within, admiring the giant before you.

"What's on your mind?" His voice grew curious. Yet you couldn't shake off the caring tone in his voice. Blue eyes swirl with need and want. He spoke with deep vibrato, placing you in a trance of encouragement for you to speak.

You hum, gaze diverted elsewhere as you ponder in thought. Your cheeks start to burn, then a chuckle and next a groan. A sudden burst of bashfulness on your face grows as you lean into his chest, attempting to cover the embarrassment all over your face.

A helpless groan is heard, "I don't wanna say..."

Jason gulps, clearing his throat at the action. Trying his hardest to not freak out as your face practically nestles into him. "No, c'mon what is it? Clearly it's bothering you if you're thinking so deeply about it." He says causally.

There was a silence, one that was filled with anticipation. And then there was a sigh, one of defeat and submission as you start to speak again. "Have you ever... liked someone so much you wish you could tell them without dying inside?"

"A little dramatic if I'm being honest but yeah... I've had my fair share of crushes in the past." He humors, gazing over you. "Why you ask?"

"I may...or may not have a crush on somebody." You say, hesitantly

"Hm. Whose the lucky bastard?"

Your gazes locked, and for a split second you thought he was joking. You thought that maybe he'd give you a playful smirk and say, "what? you didn't think I know?" But he doesn't do any of that. He's seriously asking who this crush of yours was.

So you toy with him murmuring, "I doubt you'd know anything about him."

"Hm," he shrugs, clueless. "A little background check wouldn't hurt none." He couldn't possibly be this oblivious but he was. It made you smile, endearingly. It honestly made you want to laugh because this was just sickly cute and silly of him to think it was anybody but him.

"it's you.. Jason."

The smile on his face slowly fades away, realization hitting him like a ton of bricks when h recollects your words.

"...what?"

"It's you. I have a crush on you Jason." You admit confidently this time. You slowly feel yourselves pull away, watching as his eyes grow slightly wide in shock, brows knitted in confusion. "I've liked you for a while now. Ever since we met I've always thought you were the most sexiest man I've ever laid eyes on." Your bluntness makes him blush along the tips of his ears to his cheeks. "You're a sweet man, Jay. I find it hard not to think about you daily. You make me feel happy, you make me feel acknowledged when you consider me." You sigh, "I just don't understand how a man like yourself don't have a girlfriend already. You're not ugly, you're far from that. You're a confident charmer, flirtatious even. Even when you say you don't mean to do so intentionally, it just comes out of you naturally. I love how sensible and caring, you are. I know that vulnerability can be hard for you because of your past but I can tell, you wanted to be needed at the end. I wanted more. Even the way you look at me its.ljke you're begging for me to stay a little longer, begging for me to be yours only, begging for a chance." His eyes flickered shut to the feeling of your hand cupping at his cheek, nestled in the palm of your hand as if he was a cat begging to be scratched. "I like every aspect of you, Jay," you say sweetly, your bodies drawing closer till there was no space between you two to fill. "I don't want to lose this feeling, this connection we have? I don't want it to go away." You whisper cupping his face now, you're foreheads meeting and hooded gazes locked now.

He doesn't say anything, and you frown.

"Jason? Please say something. Anything? I promise you I won't get upset if you don't feel the same. I know it's a little sudden, I get it, but I didn't know how else to tell--"

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜⏜︵♡︵⏜︵

His lips smashed against yours that night, shutting up any doubts or hesitation you both might've had at that moment. While you were quick to submission and he was quick to need, your lips moved slowly yet eagerly, in tune with yours. His hands weren't hesitant to hold you close, wasn't hesitant to groan in the kiss as your finger tugged at his hair. Growing an obsession at the taste of each other, your both breathless, small moans are heard and internally his heart was fluttering to you clinging to him. You both didn't want to break the kiss. But you had to. You had to, unreluctantly catch your breath. Just in time to see heart eyes glare into yours, to see that smirk dance along his lips. You giggle, turning head to the side as you feel your cheeks burning again. His nose bumps into your cheek, strong arms deciding to wrap around you possessively as he kisses between your jaw and neck.

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜⏜︵♡︵⏜︵

Later that night, you had called him to let him know you made it home safely. The call was supposed to be short and sweet but...

"I'm sorry that it took me so long to realize..."

You smiled as you placed the phone beside you, laying on your side as you close your eyes for a moment. You hum, "I think you were just hesitant, had a a difficult time believing it. You chose to ignore the signs because you felt you weren't good enough, which is not true."

"...Maybe." silence. "It's just strange to me, unfamiliar to hear someone say they want me."

"Well...I want you Jason, I really do." He could hear the smile on your voice as you spoke with such sweet softness. Admittedly he felt he could die in that moment, as he smirked down at the phone in his hand.

"Then...you can have me, all of me."

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜⏜︵♡︵⏜︵

Let's just say in the end there was no keeping this boy away from you, he was head over heels for you. You gave him security, you gave him communication, the space to be vulnerable when he least expected it. He felt more spoiled than you did in the relationship and that was okay. He deserved every bit of it just as much as you did. It took some time to admit who he truly was, to understand why he worked so late and came to you with all kinds of wound and bruises. His past and trauma made sense. But it didn't make you view him any less of a boyfriend. Actually, it turned you on even more. It was more sexy to know you were dating a badass vigilante who gave two fucks about his reputation, but was willing to protect you at every cost.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 | sorry this took me a minute. I had soooo many ideas for this one and just couldn't choose what route to go on. Sorry if it's not what you wanted I completely understand.

Like, comment, reblog. Requests are open so if you have an idea you'd like me to write out, I'm all ears 😁

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃

𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 ©𝐦𝐭𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

[qqueenofhades]

"Radiant" is a perfect word to describe her. Gosh she's just fantastic.

I just.... am still FULLY in shock. At the start of July we were deep in the sordid depths of BidenDebateGate and the media feeding frenzy was fully underway and things looked bad. In the middle of July we had the Trump assassination attempt and the RNC and backstabbing Democrat stories every two minutes and things looked very, VERY bad. My mental health that week was a mess. I was terrified and could barely function and was seriously contemplating having to plan for the worst-case scenario.

And then. July 21. Biden drops out. 24 hours of terror, anger, and confusion, and then? AND THEN???

At the start of August (after the 6543 weeks of July) we were riding insanely high with the Kamalamentum, on August 6 she picked Walz and immediately launched a gangbusters battleground-state tour, here we are after a basically flawless convention that ran as if she was intended to be the nominee all along, and I just... wow. Thank absolute fuck that Biden decided not to listen to all the people who wanted the nightmare of an "open convention mini primary" and immediately endorsed Kamala. Thank fuck that everyone came in line right away. Thank fuck she picked Walz and the whole rollout has been beyond incredible. AND NOW???

After the soul-crushing trauma of 2016 and what looked like another generation of old white male Democratic presidential candidates before they would ever dare to try again, we have a brilliant and experienced woman of color as our presidential nominee. We could experience the absolute god tier karma of said woman of color both making incredible history and ending Donald Trump's entire career all at once. We just witnessed the four-day convention that was riveting and unmissable television. We are raising absolutely stupid insane amounts of money and volunteers and effort and... I just don't understand how this can happen in the Bad Timeline we have been living in, except to hope that if it is, we have somehow finally left it, or can leave it. God. Wouldn't that be nice.

People keep saying that we can't get complacent and we still have to vote, because we are all as noted still traumatized from 2016, but... quite honestly, I don't think that's the issue this time. People are raring at the fucking BIT to vote, in a way that I, who have spent 10+ largely bitter and thankless years on here telling people to vote, can't entirely believe. People want to do this. The younger among you have asked if this is what Obama felt like in 2008, and: Yes, but this is even more unbelievable. At least we could see him coming and had some context for it and watched him gain steam through the primaries, etc. But there was still considerable rancor and uncertainty around whether THIS GUY was going to be the nominee, and plenty of Democrats were pretty skeptical. They warmed up a bit as it went on, but things were still fairly neck and neck with McCain until the great economic crash. After that, Obama began to pull away and finally won in a crushing landslide.

By contrast, 2024 with Kamala is now the most united and excited I have seen the Democrats, EVER, and I have been voting for Democrats and paying attention to politics for almost 20 years. It's literally indescribable. Wow. That is all I can say. Wow, and of course, LET US FUCKING DO THIS. LET'S FUCKING GO. MADAM PRESIDENT. IT'S TIME.

[morgana-ren]

Astarion going a little batshit and embracing his yandere side is all I've ever wanted. Especially if youre his spawn because you are truely fucked. I think the first time he makes you do something, he does feel a little guilt, but it's gone quick enough.

The first time it happens, it isn't even intentional. It happens automatically— like some dormant power suddenly awakened in his blood. There is no magic, cursing, or even intention behind it. Only an effortless aura of command that your body bends to, yielding to him as second nature.

There's an argument. Over what, it doesn't quite matter-- something senseless and a long time coming. It ends with you storming off, trying to walk away before things escalate and things turn ugly between you. Abandoning the conversation before he's managed to say his piece.

Needless to say, he does not abide this.

He demands you to return, and you do not. You keep stalking off towards the entryway, utterly ignoring his protestation. Back turned, marching off, indignant and furious, clearly indifferent to his words—

And you do not ignore your Lord.

"Stop right there!"

Your limbs stiffen as if your flesh has suddenly hardened into stone, and fear spurs icy tendrils through your brain as you realize you are locked in place.

You cannot move. Even as you bid your bones, they do not heed your command. Your muscles are rusted iron, and your will cannot bend them. Your body is not your own any longer. It belongs to him, awaiting orders with bated breath.

He realizes what he's done as he senses your fury. You cannot move, even desperately try. You are wholly under his thrall, body and soul. He recalls the horror of his first time losing his autonomy to Cazador with staggering detail. The misery. The betrayal. The terror of it all, a prisoner trapped within your own mind, utterly helpless against the dark, primal magics stirring within you that highjack control of your form.

You have brought it on yourself. Had you just been as obedient as you are pretty—

"Now come back," snaps his fingers, blinking slowly with an unreadable expression and watching with interest as your legs move of their own volition towards the spot he now points at directly before him.

He can see you fighting it. See you strain and thrash against your very mind, wailing to be set free from this ancient trick of nature he's wielding against you. He remembers miserable nights of it-- centuries of it-- begging for freedom or a miracle from the forsaken Gods or even the sweet, saccharine release of death. He imagines your expression looks exactly as his did when he first discovered the intangible chains: a portrait of true, unbridled horror.

Something within him stirs and there's a small crook ticking his lips upward. Only slightly, but still visible.

You approach him once more, and he can feel your rage. Oh, how you long to strike him down.

As if you could.

"There's a good girl," The taunting lilt to his voice is unmistakable, cruel in his mockery. "See? Was that so hard?"

Your lip curls, so ready to spit venom right back at him.

"Ah, ah! Hush now, darling. Wouldn't want to say something we'd regret, now would we?"

Your words stopper in your throat, forcibly swallowed back into the flaming pit of rage that burns in your gut. You can taste the vitriol on your tongue, but you can do nothing other than choke on it.

"You don't want to fight, little love. Do you? Of course not. We can let bygones be bygones--"

A sharp glint in his scarlet eyes that sets your teeth on edge. You've seen it before, but he hasn't turned it on you before-- not until now.

"--If you beg my forgiveness."

If you were expecting him to return your autonomy, you are sorely mistaken. Anything that forms behind your teeth is immediately forced down. He has not relinquished control, and it's now that you realize he doesn't intend to. Not until he's satisfied. This is a punishment-- an object lesson to remind you of your place and the power he wields over you, even as he claims to love you.

The only words allowed to pass your lips are those he wants to hear, and you can feel them crawling up against your will, a spidery reflex he has total control of.

And yet, even as you go to speak, he stops you once more.

"I'll need to know you're truly sorry, of course. Go ahead and kneel, darling. A little show of supplication."

You drop to your knees so suddenly that marble bruises bone, drawn down as if weighed by a thousand stones. In his magnanimous glory, you are still allowed to look up at him, bleary vision clouded with freshly forming tears at this heinous betrayal.

"I'm so sorry, Master. I'll obey. It's not my place to question you. I'll never walk away from you again."

The words are not your own, and yet, you cannot bite them back. They slip the confines of your lips, spoken into truth by his will. That is what he wants to hear, so that is what your voice speaks even as you scratch and tear at the walls of your brain to rend them apart in your fruitless battle with primal servitude.

"I forgive you, dear one."

Your head lolls against his thigh, and he reaches a clawed hand down to card through your hair, petting your head softly like you are a dog begging attention from its master. Your neck strains to pull away, but you are drawn to him as a magnet.

"Silly, foolish girl. It's as if you forget your place is here," He tips your chin upward with a long, slender finger, looking down on you from above. "But that's alright. I have as long as I need to remind you."

Roiling hate flows from your body in waves, indignant and painful in its power. And yet, it is hapless against his tide of control. Eclipsed entirely under by his shadow.

"Now tell me you love me."

You fight with all your considerable strength, but again, the sentiment is choked out between ragged exhales and a soft sob.

"I love you. I'll never leave you."

He smiles down at you, all fang and ferocity, fingers weaving into your hair and tugging just hard enough to elicit a gasp from you.

"You're right. You won't."

He laughs derisively, grin growing wider as he pats your hair.

"I love you so, darling girl, even as you test me. Now, how about we put all of this nasty business behind us and move along to making it up to me, hmm?"

[kathlare]

jealousy, jealousy

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie joins Lando and a few familiar faces for a dinner that starts off light and full of laughter but slowly unravels into something more complicated.

Wordcount: 2.7 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

September 1st, 2020 - Milan, Italy

The table was loud—messy, full of drinks clinking and laughter that spilled out into the warm Milan night through the open terrace doors. George was halfway through a dramatic retelling of a karting accident when Amelie finally let herself relax into the cushion of the restaurant booth. The boys—Lando, Charles, Alex, and George—had been in town for media stuff, and she had flown in a day early for fittings, so Lando had convinced her to come out for dinner.

Well. Convinced was generous. He’d sent one of those stupid photos of his pouty face and a caption that said, “If you don’t come, I’ll cry in front of everyone and blame you.”

Classic Norris emotional terrorism.

So now here she was, tucked between Charles and Lando, sipping on a Negroni that was way too strong and trying not to look like she’d been specifically placed beside him.

They were just friends. Friends. No matter how warm her skin felt when their knees touched. No matter how her heart hiccupped when he casually leaned in to whisper something only she would hear.

—...and then George, the dumbass, decides to celebrate the crash,— Alex was saying, over a round of cackles. —Takes off his helmet like he’s just won Monaco, not flipped into a tire wall.—

George raised his glass in mock salute. —Still my most iconic moment.—

—I literally had secondhand whiplash from watching it,— Amelie laughed, then turned to Lando. —Did you see that video of it edited to Taylor Swift?—

—I sent it to him,— Charles grinned.

—Of course you did,— Lando muttered, but he was smiling too.

The waitress came back then. Slim, blonde, very Italian—and apparently very interested in Lando.

—Would you like another drink?— she asked, eyes laser-focused on him like no one else at the table existed.

Amelie watched as Lando glanced up, polite as ever. —Uh... yeah, I’ll take another Coke, please.—

She leaned closer. Unnecessarily close. —You sure you don’t want something a little… stronger?—

His smile faltered, but only slightly. —No, I’m good. Thanks.—

The waitress turned with a wink and walked away, but not before her hand brushed his shoulder. Lingering.

Amelie blinked.

Charles snorted into his glass.

Alex leaned in, stage-whispering, —Well, someone wants to ride in the McLaren.—

Lando looked mortified. —Oh my God, shut up.—

Amelie didn’t say anything.

She didn’t need to.

Her jaw had tightened, but her expression stayed neutral. Calm. Only Lando could feel the slight shift in energy beside him, the way her fingers stopped playing with her napkin, the tension rolling off her like a quiet storm.

George glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. —You good?—

—Peachy,— Amelie said, smiling too brightly. —Why wouldn’t I be?—

Lando glanced sideways at her. He knew that smile. That wasn’t a real smile. That was a fuck you smile wrapped in lip gloss and fury.

And he knew exactly why.

The waitress returned with the Coke, setting it down in front of Lando like she was offering up a holy grail.

—If you need anything else… anything at all…— she purred.

Amelie didn’t even look at her. Just said, dryly, —Think he’s good, thanks.—

There was a tone there. Everyone at the table heard it.

The waitress didn’t.

Or maybe she did and didn’t care. Either way, she gave Lando another wink before disappearing.

—Damn,— Charles said under his breath. —She’s bold.—

—She’s annoying,— Amelie muttered.

It slipped out sharper than she intended, but she didn’t take it back. She just took another sip of her drink, this time not even pretending to enjoy it.

Alex blinked, clearly amused. —Someone woke up and chose violence tonight.—

George stifled a laugh behind his hand. Charles looked like he was watching the best episode of a reality show.

Lando, on the other hand, was trying very hard to pretend he wasn’t sweating.

—Ames,— he said carefully, nudging her leg under the table. —Are you actually mad?—

—Why would I be mad?— she replied sweetly, eyes still on her glass, voice like honey-covered razor blades. —You’re single. And apparently very popular.—

He blinked. —I’m not popular. She was just being… nice.—

—That wasn’t nice,— she snapped, finally looking at him. —That was desperate. There’s a difference.—

The boys let out a collective "oooh," like middle schoolers watching a classroom roast unfold.

George leaned over to Alex, grinning. —I thought they were just friends.—

—So did I,— Alex whispered back, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Amelie heard them. She didn’t care.

Because the truth was she was pissed. And she didn’t even fully understand why. Maybe it was the way the waitress kept ignoring her like she was invisible. Maybe it was the way Lando laughed, soft and polite, like he didn’t see anything wrong with it.

Or maybe it was the fact that no matter how many times she told herself they were just friends, no matter how many boundaries she pretended to put in place, she still wanted to grab that girl by the apron and tell her to back the fuck off.

And she couldn’t.

Because officially? She had no right.

So instead she turned back to the table, resting her chin on her hand and forcing herself to smile. —Anyway. Anyone want to bet on how long before she “accidentally” spills a drink on him? My guess is dessert.—

—You’re scary,— Charles muttered, looking vaguely impressed.

Lando was quiet. Too quiet.

Amelie didn’t look at him again. She couldn’t.

The food arrived a few minutes later, and the table shifted back into laughter and conversation, but something between her and Lando had frayed. Subtle. Tangled.

By the time dessert actually came, Amelie had barely touched her pasta. She poked at it for a while, forced down a few bites when Lando nudged her thigh under the table, but the appetite that had started fragile had vanished completely. Just like the little peace she’d had before Miss Ciao Bella sauntered in with her flirty smiles and wandering hands.

Lando didn’t talk to the waitress again.

Not really.

But he also didn’t say anything to her. Not after the little flare-up at the table. Not when she said she wasn’t mad, even though it was obvious she was. Not even when he caught her arms crossed during dessert, absently flicking her straw in her untouched drink like it had personally offended her.

He didn’t know what to say. And honestly? Neither did she.

So the dinner passed.

The group eventually wrapped up, paid, and made their way out onto the street. The night was cooler now, the kind of crisp September air that carried laughter and city sounds on the breeze. Lights glittered along the cobblestone alleyway outside the restaurant, the boys still chatting about whatever Charles had started yelling about inside—some bad sim race or something.

They all came in separate cars. George and Alex had both rented theirs from the airport, Charles took his own, and Lando had picked up Amelie at the hotel in his McLaren.

It should’ve been an easy ride home.

But as the valet started calling out names and keys were exchanged, Amelie quietly stepped back from the group.

George’s car was brought around first, and he waved a lazy goodbye before climbing in. Alex followed soon after, ducking into his black rental with a sleepy yawn and a —Text me when you get back, I don’t trust any of you idiots not to crash.—

Charles was still waiting with them when Lando’s car pulled up—the orange McLaren gleaming beneath the streetlights like it was built to be stared at.

Lando took a step forward to meet the valet, but paused when he noticed something. Or, more specifically, someone wasn’t beside him.

He turned back. —You coming?—

Amelie was still standing a few feet away, her arms crossed again, expression unreadable under her mask. Her eyes darted toward Charles, then back to Lando.

—Actually... I’m gonna go with Charles,— she said casually. Too casually. —He offered earlier. It’s on the way, so... yeah.—

Charles looked surprised. A little confused. But he didn’t contradict her.

Lando blinked. —You what?—

—Going with Charles,— she repeated, tugging her oversized blazer tighter around her. —You don’t have to wait.—

He stared at her. Hard.

Something about the way she said it. The coolness in her voice. The wall that had come up between them so fast it made his head spin.

Lando scoffed, shaking his head once, short and bitter. —Whatever.—

He didn’t argue. Didn’t push. Just turned without another word and climbed into the McLaren, slamming the door behind him a little harder than necessary.

The car peeled off into the night, tires humming against the stone street.

And Amelie stood there, heart thudding and throat tight.

Charles glanced sideways at her, hands in his pockets. —You lied. I didn’t offer.—

She exhaled through her nose. —I know.—

He paused. —You want to talk about it?—

—Nope.—

—Alright. But if you change your mind, I’m excellent at fake therapy. And I have snacks in the glovebox.—

She managed a smile, small and brief, before following him to his car.

But when she got back to the hotel—after Charles dropped her off with a kind squeeze to her shoulder and a “don’t let your overthinking win”��she didn’t go straight upstairs.

Instead, she sat in the hotel lobby for twenty minutes, scrolling aimlessly on her phone, biting the edge of her thumbnail and wondering how the hell she’d managed to sabotage herself again.

Because Lando wasn’t hers. Because she’d made it clear. Because she didn’t want to cross that line—right?

But somehow, watching that waitress practically salivate over him had flipped a switch. And she hated how easily jealousy made her unravel.

When she finally walked into her room, Björn hissed at her from the couch, then promptly knocked a glass off the table.

—Yeah, yeah, I know,— she muttered, tossing her shoes aside. —I’m a disaster. Thanks for the reminder.—

Her phone buzzed just as she was brushing her teeth.

Lan: Enjoy the ride with Charles?

She stared at the message for a full minute before typing back.

Ames: Thanks for dinner. Good night.

She didn’t press send.

She deleted it.

Typed something else.

Deleted that too.

In the end, she turned off her phone without replying and crawled into bed, pulling the covers over her head like it might block out the guilt brewing in her chest.

Because she could pretend all she wanted.

But lying to him about that ride?

That was the first time she realized she didn’t just want to be friends.

Not anymore.

And maybe she never did.

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

liked by quadgossipqueen, f1fangirldiaries, and others

f1teaofficial: 👀 SPOTTED: Amelie Dayman leaving dinner with Charles Leclerc in Milan last night… just friends or something more? 👁️🍝 The pair looked cozy as they exited the restaurant together — and let’s just say, the internet is spiraling.

View all 79,018 comments

lanlanfan69: i know lando just threw his phone across the room → mclarenfangirlies: @lanlanfan69 he’s 100% rage playing call of duty rn

f1wifelife: charles pls stop collecting brunettes with god complexes → softboilan: @f1wifelife he has a type and it’s terrifying → gridgirlenergy: @f1wifelife this man’s roster could win a BAFTA

daymanhoe: not charles entering the ring for the "friend" olympics too → quadgossipqueen: @daymanhoe it’s giving “who’s really her soulmate” energy → drunkonlando: @daymanhoe LANDO U BETTER WAKE UP BRO

pastaandpetty: they went out for dinner but now i’m the one who’s fed 😭 → lesleyformclaren: @pastaandpetty i’ve eaten nothing but their crumbs for YEARS

screaminginferrarired: charmelie? lecrayman? idk but i’m scared → bbyleclerk: @screaminginferrarired it’s the “maybe they kissed” delulu hours → landozbraincell: @screaminginferrarired this is just like when my sims start flirting out of nowhere

f1fangirldiaries: if i see them holding hands it’s over for me → pitlaneclown: @pitlaneclown catch me setting my phone on fire out of loyalty to lanmelie → heartbrokeninsector3: @pitlaneclown who do i even root for now 😭

formulaflirts: nah if i were lando i’d be SICK rn → landosexuals: @formulaflirts bro’s pacing in a hotel room somewhere whispering “charles? really?” → drsfordayman: @formulaflirts someone check if he unfollowed charles again 😭

wagscentral: i just KNOW lando opened this post and threw his phone

softieforamelie: she’s collecting drivers like infinity stones and i support her → f1girliesunite: @softieforamelie slay queen, break the grid → girlofgrid: @softieforamelie she’s literally the final boss of the paddock

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

The room was too quiet.

Too still.

Amelie lay in bed, staring at the hotel ceiling, heart pounding like it had something to say and no one to say it to. She hadn’t slept. Not really. Just drifted in and out of a shallow haze, haunted by the image of his face as she’d walked away. The click of the car door. The way his eyes hardened when she told him she’d go with Charles instead.

She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since.

And the more she replayed it—the sharpness in her voice, the way she couldn’t even look at him—the worse she felt.

She’d fucked up.

No, she was fucking up.

Silently, she kicked off the duvet, toes hitting cold floor as she crept across the hotel room. Björn let out an indignant meow from the couch, but she ignored him, grabbing the hoodie Lando had left in her suitcase weeks ago and slipping it over her tank top.

The hallway was dim and quiet, her bare feet silent against the carpet. Each step toward his room felt heavier than the last, her chest tight with the kind of panic she couldn’t rationalize away.

What if he didn’t open the door? What if he was still mad? What if she’d pushed too far this time—crossed a line they couldn’t un-cross?

But her knuckles rapped against the wood before she could talk herself out of it.

A pause. Then footsteps.

The door creaked open, and there he was—barefoot, hoodie slung over a t-shirt, hair a tousled mess like he’d been pulled straight out of sleep. His eyes were sleepy at first… then sharp as soon as he registered her.

He didn’t say anything.

Just stepped back and opened the door wider.

She slipped in silently.

The door shut behind her.

Lando didn’t move. Didn’t look at her. Just crossed his arms, jaw tight.

—You come to ignore me some more?—

Amelie stayed quiet. She could tell he wasn’t finished.

—Because if that’s the plan, let’s just skip it. Really saves us both time.—

Still, she didn’t speak.

He let out a dry laugh, but it didn’t sound amused. —You couldn’t even look at me tonight. Lied to me in front of everyone. And for what? Because some girl with fake lashes and a tray smiled at me? Seriously, Amelie?—

Her eyes dropped to the floor.

—You know what the worst part is?— he continued, voice rising just enough to sting. —I didn’t even do anything wrong. And you still looked at me like I betrayed you.—

Silence.

Her fingers twitched.

His voice softened—not kindly, but exhausted. —Say something. Come on. Say anything.—

She didn’t.

Instead, she took one step forward. Then another.

Lando’s expression didn’t change, not at first—still cold, still hurt.

Until she surged forward and kissed him.

Hard.

All of her frustration, guilt, jealousy—everything she couldn’t say with words poured out in that kiss.

He staggered back slightly, stunned. But his arms were already around her before he could think, lifting her up like it was instinct. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and he kissed her back just as fiercely, like he’d been waiting for this moment all night—hell, maybe all year.

They stumbled back toward the bed, mouths still locked, only breaking the kiss to breathe as they collapsed onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs and apology.

Lando's chest rose and fell beneath her, his fingers brushing her cheek.

She whispered, voice small: —I’m sorry.—

He looked up at her, breathless but teasing now. —Not gonna forgive you until you admit you were jealous.—

She groaned, rolling off him just enough to glare. —Oh my God, fuck you.—

He grinned, triumphant. —There she is.—

She buried her face in his hoodie, muttering, —You’re such a little shit.—

But she didn’t move away.

And he didn’t let her go.

They lay like that for a while—tangled up, quiet, no longer pretending.

Because it wasn’t just jealousy.

It was care. And fear. And wanting him so badly it scared her.

And maybe tomorrow would be complicated. Maybe the world outside this room would press in again.

But right now?

She was his.

And he was hers.

Even if neither of them had said it out loud yet.

[notablenotions]

Masks of Nobility – Chapter 14

Hans and Henry had gone off on their so-called “hunting trip,” and Jikta, to her mild surprise, found herself in possession of Hans’ seal of office. A gesture of trust—or perhaps, knowing Hans, a gesture of convenience, given his distaste for paperwork. Still, she didn’t mind. His office was warm, well-appointed, and mercifully quiet.

For someone who cloaked himself in bravado and wore the mask of foolish indifference like armor, Hans was... meticulous. She sat at his desk, rifling through the neatly ordered chaos of parchments and records. In the bottom drawer, she found a trove of documents—most completed to an annoyingly high standard.

Tax reforms, social programs, military requisitions—he had done the work, and well. But instead of submitting them, he’d clearly been drip-feeding them into circulation, hoarding the rest like a magpie with trinkets. Judging by the occasional sardonic note in the margins—“Let’s see if Henry notices this time”—he'd likely been hiding them for the sole purpose of irritating Henry, or baiting him into paying attention.

Jikta chuckled softly. “You idiot,” she murmured, amused. “Too clever by half.”

She hoped they weren’t getting into too much trouble. But trouble and Hans Capon walked hand-in-hand like lovers in a tavern alley. Henry, at least, had the good sense to keep him in check—most of the time. She just hoped it was Henry who remembered to pick the belladonna. Hans would return with a single, crushed leaf in his hat and some tall tale about being attacked by wolves. Henry would bring the entire plant, roots and all, carefully wrapped, ready for replanting.

Her gaze drifted to the door. Bartosch would arrive soon. Given the recent… difficulties with Hans and Henry, perhaps it was a blessing that no great scandal had unfolded—yet. Bartosch’s presence might prove stabilizing. He had known Henry before the titles and politics. And more importantly, he understood fear. What war did to a man. Jikta intended to ask him—subtly—about Henry’s condition. She could only do so much with balms and half-remembered remedies. Bartosch had seen the battlefield, and perhaps the aftermath too.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Mags, the longest-serving maid in the house, entering with her midday snack. By her records, Mags had served Hans’ father as a girl, and somehow, against all reason and odds, had remained in service ever since. She moved with the surety of someone who had outlived better men and knew where all the skeletons were buried. Literally and otherwise.

Jikta returned to the pile of tax reforms. Hans’ ideas were radical—beneficial to the common folk, no doubt—but financially unsustainable for House Capon in their current form. He clearly knew this too, judging by the scribbled side notes. “Find way to replace lost revenue without touching wine cellar.” Very noble. Very Hans.

Rolling her eyes, she dipped her pen and began drafting alternatives. There had to be a way to pass these reforms without sending the estate into ruin—or, God forbid, drinking bad wine.

That evening, Mags returned once more, clearing her throat with exaggerated formality.

“Milady,” she intoned, eyes glinting with amusement. “A guest has arrived. I believe it is the not-so-ladylike Bartosch.”

Jikta looked up, a smile tugging at her lips. “About time.”

The next few days were a delight. Having Bartosch back in her orbit was like slipping into a well-worn cloak. They had once been terrors at court—him with his sharp tongue and sharper sword, her with wit that could flay a man’s pride faster than any blade. Now older, only marginally wiser, they found themselves circling the same topics they always had: politics, philosophy, and the general absurdity of noble life.

It turned out Bartosch did know Henry—or at least, knew of him. He asked after him with genuine warmth, a gleam of mischief in his eye that suggested stories best left untold. Jikta made a mental note to keep an ear out.

By day, they labored over Hans’ reforms, poring over figures, drafting proposals, and debating the merits of taxation on imported luxury goods versus levies on landowners. By night, their discussions turned to broader ideas—scientific theory, political thought, and the occasional theological debate that veered dangerously close to heresy. Not that either of them cared.

Jikta had little love for the Church. She had once mused aloud—perhaps too often—why an omnipotent God would need a man-made system of pomp and corruption to uphold his will. Perhaps, she argued, God was no better than the nobles: bloated with pride, desperate for adoration, craving worship of his great deeds. And if pride was the greatest sin, then perhaps God himself had committed it. Bartosch only laughed, called her a blasphemer, and poured more wine.

It was comfortable. Familiar. And together, they managed to shape Hans’ reforms into something presentable—several options, each viable, balancing generosity with pragmatism. Enough to bring real change to the common folk, without threatening House Capon’s coffers—or, more importantly, Hans’ wine reserves.

Jikta leaned back in the chair, satisfied. Let Hans choose the one that suited him best. At least now, the reforms had a fighting chance.

She glanced at Bartosch, raising an eyebrow.

“These should soften the blow when Hans finds out Lady Bartosch is, in fact, Black Bartosch, former mercenary and current terror of polite society.”

Bartosch smirked, raising his cup in salute. “Let’s hope he doesn’t faint.”

Jikta chuckled, dry as dust. “Hans? Never. He’ll turn red, splutter, and ask if it means he has to bow.”

She swirled her wine thoughtfully, eyes distant. “He fears failure, you know. Thinks he’s letting everyone down. That he’s a disgrace.”

Bartosch nodded, surprisingly serious. “Then remind him. He’s not.”

Jikta smiled faintly, eyes glinting with something like affection. “Oh, I will. In my own way.”

And as the fire burned low, she thought—not for the first time—that perhaps, despite everything, they were all doing the best they could.

And sometimes, that was enough.

---

Hans pretending to have not done work enjoying an increasingly tense Henry is my head cannon.

[rainbowolfe]

Chaos

*cracks knuckles* finally, some fucking lore.

Here's the song for those who haven't heard it yet.

All of my time spent scouring for and trying to interpret symbols... trying to interpret the tarot cards... a conspiracy board of connected dots. It all pays off now, with this album. MY TIME HAS COME.

Before I get into analyzing the lyrics, I wanted to call attention to the tarot cards that appear in the music video.

True Sight, Strength From Within, Diseased Heart, Death's Door, Divine Curse, Hands of Rage, Gift From Below, Ambrosia, Weeping Moon, and two cards that haven't appeared in the game (yet).

I will make an in-depth analysis of what I think these cards mean for Leshy's fate in another post, cause it's gonna be huge. I also wanna see what cards the other Bishops get, as many of the tarot card's reference each other and have meanings that depend on the context from other cards.

But some quick surface level observations based on the notes I already have about the cards:

-whatever "it" is, it starts with the Blood Moon Ritual.

-Either Leshy or his demon were wounded, metaphorically or otherwise, putting him on a path towards corruption.

-Leshy has large reserves of Fervour. His demon receives strength/power from the Sun.

-He almost dies. A deal is struck to exchange something (or someone) for a boon.

-He was eating Gods for his immortality. A specific type. More on that some other time.

-Leshy is the receiver of a gift (of extra life)from TOWW.

The two remaining cards that are still unknown may relate to Leshy's eventual fall.

ON TO THE SONG.

Enough interpreting vague pictures and cryptic lore text. It's time what I've been hungry for. DESPERATE for. Very plain and straightforward text about what a character's been up to.

So there are four entities singing in this. There's the demon who starts the song off, the Green Crown, Leshy, and a fourth being related to the Green Crown.

The demon is marked by a specific, deeper (almost whispery? Dare I say... hissy) voice. We don't hear it again after it says it's peace.

I am the demon growing inside of you. I feed off all your fears and lies. It's so true. I can't wait to hunt you down, capture, and do the horrid things I must do to survive this.

This could very well be the creature that is literally inside of Leshy, visible only in his Eldritch form. But it could also be Leshy's heart. At the core of all the Bishop's actions was fear, and something had to be feeding that fear. Resulting in hearts cast in vile, impermeable, unrelenting terror.

Or it's Shamura.

It also plays off of what Leshy says to the Lamb. "I hear your lies and I smell your fear."

We then transition into what seems to be Leshy finding his Crown (while burrowing) and emerging from the dirt.

I claw my way out, My feet on the ground This horn atop my head... ...is my Crown.

We can know this part is Leshy's because the summoning circle that appears in this section is the one found in Darkwood. Thus, based on the summoning circle in the next section being the same one used by the Red Crown Snake, these lyrics are the Green Crown speaking. ((I would even posit. It's the Crown's original, intended owner. Someone had to put it in the dirt, and it surely wasn't on accident.))

I won't stay in line (I won't stay in line) I'm destined to die (I'm destined to die) The thunder rages on (The thunder rages on) (as night forever falls) As night forever falls

While it's Leshy's voice, they aren't his words. These words belong to the second voice echoing him which slowly reveals that it isn't repeating after Leshy. Leshy is repeating after it. As the 'secondary' voice gets ahead of the 'primary' voice.

The night falling means both an eternal nighttime and the literal "Night" falling. As in, dying. If the Light is the Sun, then the Dark is the Moon. And the decorations in the Heretic's pack would greatly suggest that the moon is dead (if not, then heavily injured).

The eternal night is a reference to the Old Faith, more on that later.

Next section!

True Name vs True Moniker. Moniker does technically mean name, but it's more in the sense of your "brand". Here I'm sure it's being used as a "nickname".

We know him as Leshy, he's representative of chaos (his ""brand"" lmao) and thus is known by that title. But he's not Chaos itself. Something I've pointed out before is that he's "he of havoc" and not "he of chaos". Havoc is not synonymous with chaos.

No, no. Chaos is the one on the other end of the Crown. Because the Crowns are just conductors of devotion. We even see with Narinder's Crown that there's something we make sacrifices to that gives us/the Crown power in exchange. And unless Narinder's hiding tentacles under those robes, it's not him. There's someone/thing higher.

The Old God. Maelstrom. Or Turua, they're both red-coded.

Know him as Leshy, the vessel of chaos. But the second voice (the one influencing Leshy without him realizing it) demands you worship him as Chaos. And only Chaos.

And the "me" here is strange but maybe it'll make sense after hearing the other Bishop's songs?

An important side tangent though. As this is "The Goat" album, there is of course going to be a slight difference in what's being described in this song and what actually happened in Lamb's reality. And that difference lies in the names of the songs.

It's Chaos, and not Leshy. I suspect it's a lot like how Narinder stopped being Narinder, and became The One Who Waits. A being his siblings regard as something indistinguishable from the Red Crown. Maybe even something more severe, as he eventually gets to go back to being Narinder it seems.

Daylight will come undone; as we eclipse the Sun

What I assume is going to be Kallamar's song was previewed in the Goat trailer/teaser, and that too makes an explicit mention to killing a representation of the sun. (or someone adjacent to it)

I said before that the Old Faith represents an eclipse. That's why those specific, but incomplete moon phases appear on all their stuff. They are the omen. They are the punishment for someone's misdeeds towards a higher power.

Destruction wastes at noonday.

[thecreaturecodex]

Great Old One, Mormo

Image © @chimeride, accessed at his tumblr here

[Monster Number 1900! And, in honor of that milestone, I am finally, finally, posting the statistics for Mormo, Goddess of Predators. She's been haunting this blog for about a year now, being one of the prime movers and shakers in the Age of Monsters campaign seed I sewed back last May, and have been teasing with NPCs and articles. She was intended to have been posted as a capstone to the "Monster Girl Summer" theme last year, but life got in the way.

She is also written in tribute to @abominationimperatrix. Of all of the people who I have met through my writing, she is the one who is most dear to me, and the Age of Monsters was inspired by us going from friends and confidants to lovers and soulmates last April. The Age of Monsters is intended to be a campaign that ties into our shared love of thinking with monsters, about deep ecology, weird creatures and world mythology, and of the importance of love and trust in a time of global chaos and destruction. I love you, Goddess, my Dearest Friend.]

Mormo CR 28 N Outsider This titan is a reptilian humanoid the size of a giant. She has a nest of writhing serpents for hair and six arms, each ending in long sickle claws. She is a serpent from the waist down, although a mass of scar tissue reveals she once had two tails that grew like legs from a pair of hips. Her remaining tail ends in a bushel of thorny spines. A pair of wings like those of a primeval reptile grow from her back.

Mormo The First Medusa, Goddess of Predators N Great Old One of ecology, reptiles and terror Domains Knowledge, Scalykind, Strength, Trickery Subdomains Competition, Fear*, Thought, Venom Worshipers druids, goblins, gnolls, naturalists Minions monsters of all kinds (especially hybrids) Holy Symbol a medusa’s head in profile Favored Weapon claw (or sickle) *clerics of Mormo can use the Fear subdomain to modify the Trickery domain

Mormo is the Goddess of Predators. She was born from the fear felt by the first animal with enough imagination to see a shadow and think it a predator. For millions of years, she was bestial, primordial, little more than a serpentine shadow, but as sapience developed and the gods began to take interest in souls, her mind sharpened, and she became as dangerous for her strategies as her teeth and claws. Mormo views the natural world as one to be studied in order to best determine what to hunt and how to hunt it, with the unblinking patience of a snake. Her hunts, and those of her followers, are focused to maintain the active equilibrium of ecological balance—reducing overpopulated species, controlling trophic cascades, and taking out species that consume more than their fair share of resources.

Mormo was once called the Mother of Monsters, and many species of monster found throughout the planes are her descendants. Mormo’s descendants tend to be creatures that combine mammalian and reptilian or avian features; griffons, medusae, chimeras and dragonnes are among her creations. In the past, she had many lovers and created new species with their lineages. The most notorious of these collaborators was Typhon, a Lord of Hell and former asura rana, created from the divine mistake of allowing dragons to proliferate. Despite his evil nature, Typhon truly loved Mormo, and spread cults of her under the alias “Echidna”. Mormo cared little for her humanoid followers, preferring the worship of the powerful individual monsters who hunted by her side. But Mormo also had enemies. And she was gazed upon with hungry eyes by Lamashtu, then a demon of infanticide who sought to become the Lord of Beasts and Queen of Demons. And Mother of Monsters.

Lamashtu ambushed Mormo, and was victorious after a battle that lasted for a full day. Lamashtu ripped the baby from Mormo’s womb and raised him as her own; this is Typhon’s last son, Abraxas. Lamashtu tore off one of Mormo’s twin tails, which regenerated into a cancerous creature on its own right. This was the origin of Geryon, who spread treacherous lies suggesting that Typhon and Lamashtu were lovers. This got Typhon demoted and murdered by Asmodeus; Geryon took Typhon’s place as a Lord of Hell and spent millennia erasing his predecessor from history. The blood that spilled from both combatant’s wounds grew into creatures with serpentine and humanoid traits; Mormo’s blood became the first nagas, and Lamashtu’s the first mariliths. And Mormo was slain, reborn as a mundane snake to regenerate in the First World for centuries, and maintaining her cosmic sulk for millennia more

But now Mormo stirs in her slumber. And she is ready to take her revenge.

As befits a Goddess of Predators, Mormo is a terror in combat. Millennia of dormancy and a closer tie to the natural world than other Great Old Ones has stripped her of an unnatural presence, but her fourfould gaze can petrify, paralyze, terrorize or merely strike enemies dead. She is extremely venomous, and those that have survived her venom report, chillingly, that it induces euphoria even as it breaks down tissue into a bloody mess. She uses her fangs (both in her own mouth and those in her serpentine hair) and claws in melee, and can fire the spines from her tail like arrows. One of Mormo’s most recently developed talents is witchcraft. She has made an arcane bond with the phouka Gigi, and Gigi treats Mormo as a patron even as Mormo treats Gigi as a familiar for storing spells. Gigi spends most of her days separate from Mormo on the Material Plane, and so Mormo usually maintains a small spell selection through Spell Mastery. If she is encountered with Gigi, Mormo has access to a much wider variety of spells (all witch spells from the Core Rulebook at least).

The cult of Mormo is small and scattered, but the First Medusa pays it much more heed than she did in her youth. Religious rituals include studying nature and monsters (either through texts or in the field), hunting for food, and mock chases and hunts among the congregation. Supplicants often use makeup, costumes, and illusion and transmutation magic to appear as different types of predators and prey for these hunts. Once someone is “caught”, the result is play fighting, sex or both instead of actual killing or consumption. Mormo’s worshippers value diversity of all kinds, and are often allies of other divinities with portfolios involving nature, scholarship and hedonism. As goblin and gnoll societies break free of Lamashtu’s influence, they often find Mormo, and her cult is growing fastest among these two species.

Mormo CR 28 XP 4,915,200 N Huge outsider (Great Old One) Init +22; Senses all-around vision, darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision, Perception +42, scent

Defense AC 45, touch 26, flat-footed 37 (-2 size, +8 Dex, +10 insight, +19 natural) hp 688 (32d10+512); fast healing 20 Fort +26, Ref +26, Will +27 DR 20/epic; Immune ability damage, ability drain, aging, cold, death effects, disease, energy drain, flanking, mind-influencing effects, paralysis, petrification; Resist acid 30, electricity 30, fire 30; SR 39 Defensive Abilities freedom of movement, immortality, insanity (DC 38), otherworldly insight

Offense Speed 30 ft., climb 30 ft., swim 30 ft. fly 60 ft. (average) Melee 2 bites +44 (2d6+14 plus poison), 6 claws +44 (1d12+14/19-20), tail slap +39 (3d8+21 plus grab) Ranged 6 spines +38 (1d8+14) Space 15 ft.; Reach 15 ft. Special Attacks constrict (2d8+21),devolutionary nightmare, favored enemy (+6, +4, +4, +2, +2), fourfold gaze, poison, powerful blows (tail slap), rend (2 claws, 1d12+21) Spell-like Abilities CL 28th, concentration +40 Constant—freedom of movement, true seeing At will—cloudkill (DC 27), dream, fear (DC 26), greater animal aspect, greater scrying (DC 26), greater teleport (self plus 50 lbs objects only), nightmare (DC 27), pernicious poison 3/day—quickened baleful polymorph (DC 27), quickened bloody claws, finger of death (DC 29), polymorph any object (DC 30), reincarnate, stone to flesh 1/day—discern location, maze, moment of prescience, plane shift (DC 29), shapechange

Spells CL 20th, concentration +32 9th—quickened cure critical wounds (x2, DC 27), dominate monster (DC 31), shapechange (x2) 8th—quickened divine power (x2), quickened enervation, horrid wilting (x2, DC 30), mind blank 7th—extended greater heroism, heal (DC 29, x2), quickened vampiric touch (x2), waves of ecstasy (DC 29) 6th—quickened bull’s strength, greater dispel magic (x3), greater heroism (x2) 5th—cure critical wounds (DC 27, x2), extended divine power, feeblemind (DC 27, x2), quickened mage armor 4th—extended arcane sight, divine power (x2), enervation (x3), neutralize poison (DC 26) 3rd—arcane sight, ray of exhaustion (x3, DC 25), vampiric touch (x2) 2nd—bull’s strength (x2), cure moderate wounds (DC 24, x3), perceive cues (x2) 1st—comprehend languages (x3), divine favor (x3), mage armor 0th—detect magic, read magic

Statistics Str 39, Dex 27, Con 42, Int 34, Wis 24, Cha 35 Base Atk +32; CMB +48 (+52 grapple); CMD 66 (cannot be tripped) Feats Combat Reflexes, Deadly Aim,Extend Spell, Greater Sunder, Improved Critical (claw), Improved Initiative, Improved Sunder, Iron Will, Point Blank Shot, Power Attack, Precise Shot, Quicken SLA (baleful polymorph, bloody claws), Quicken Spell, Spell Mastery (x2) Skills Acrobatics +44, Bluff +47, Diplomacy +44, Fly +38, Intimidate +47, Knowledge (arcana, dungeoneering, geography, local, religion) +44, Knowledge (nature, planes) +47, Perception +46, Sense Motive +42, Spellcraft +44, Stealth +35, Survival +45, Use Magic Device +44; Racial Modifiers +4 Perception Languages Aklo, Draconic, Infernal, Sylvan, telepathy 100 ft. SQ no breath, planar acclimation, swift tracking, thagomizer

Ecology Environment any land or underground (First World) Organization unique Treasure double standard

Special Abilities Devolutionary Nightmare (Sp) Any creature affected by Mormo’s nightmare spell like ability must succeed a DC 38 Will save or be affected by a primal regression spell for the next 24 hours. Favored Enemy (Ex) Mormo gains the favored enemy ability of a 20th level ranger, except that she can change what creature types and subtypes count as her favored enemies after resting for 8 hours. Fourfold Gaze (Su) Mormo has a gaze attack with a range of 60 feet. She may change the effects of her gaze, or suppress it, as a free action once per turn. The possible effects are: 1. panicked 1 minute (Will DC 38) 2. paralyzed 1 round (Will DC 38) 3. petrification (Fort DC 38) 4. 200 points of damage (Fort DC 38 negates) This is a mind-influencing effect, and the saving throw is Charisma based. Immortality (Ex) If Mormo is slain, she is reborn as a viper on the First World. Every 100 years, Mormo gains a size category until she reaches Huge size, whereupon she molts her skin and is reborn in her true form. Planar Acclimation (Ex) Mormo is always considered to be on her home plane, regardless of what plane she finds herself upon. She never gains the extraplanar subtype. Poison (Ex) Bite—injury; save Fort DC 42; duration 1/round for 6 rounds; effect 2d4 Con damage and stunned 1d4 rounds; cure 2 consecutive saves. The save DC is Constitution based. Spells Mormo can cast spells as a 20th level witch with the Strength patron. The spells listed above are the ones Mormo has taken Spell Mastery feats to prepare. Spines (Ex) As a standard action, Mormo can fire six spines from her tail. Treat each spine as a ranged attack roll with a thrown weapon with a range increment of 100 feet. Each spine deals 1d8 damage plus Mormo’s Strength modifier on a successful hit. Swift Tracking (Ex) Mormo does not suffer a penalty to Survival checks made to follow tracks at her normal speed, and only takes a -10 penalty for following tracks at double speed. Thagomizer (Ex) Mormo’s tail slap attack deals bludgeoning and piercing damage.

[amasec]

For the first time ask! First time Runa realized she had feelings for Heinrix?

She was out of her depth.

The Lord Captain was not ignorant to the fact that the confirmation of her ascension to the position of Rogue Trader required a degree of formality; but she had enormously underestimated just how much formality that would include.

Runa had almost resorted to pleading with the Dargonus palace tailors to allow her to attend her coronation wearing her usual leather breeches and synskin, but the talented couturiers had shut down her suggestions immediately.

How funny – that she had once detested noble-borns and all that they stood for. There was no shortage of rich and wealthy elites, lords and ladies who sought endless power and wealth beyond their means, building their endless palaces of marble atop the shattered bones of the underhive. She had thought herself honourable as she assumed the mantle of responsibility, striking terror into the hearts of those that considered themselves above even the God-Emperor himself.

But as she had learned rather quickly, it had all been for naught. Endless cycles of nobles would rise and thrive, and peasants born into slums would be destined to toil and die, all under the God-Emperor’s watchful gaze.

Now, as the ex-pirate leaned against the balcony wall of the palace she would learn to call her own, she acknowledged how entirely out of place she felt; clad in a beautiful gown of burgundy silk, standing in pearl-trimmed stilettos. She was a rotten hypocrite. Women like her were not deserving of such elegant luxury; especially not at the expense of another poor woman’s calloused fingers.

As the God-Emperor had intended.

The ceremony itself had been conducted without incident. Runa’s ascension to Rogue Trader had been confirmed before millions of her subjects, her trustworthy seneschal remaining by her side at all times, guiding her, silently pointing her in the right direction. For his guidance, she was endlessly grateful. For a woman so headstrong and confident in her control of the situation, Runa was enormously out of her depth here; lost and floundering in an endless ocean with no land in sight.

The hills and mountains of Dargonus were beautiful from the palace balcony, if not a little overwhelming; especially for a woman who had lived the majority of her life within the reassuring darkness of voidships. But the dusky expanse high above her was peppered with the light of billions of glittering stars, and that would be enough for Runa. Despite everything, the stars had remained a forever-comforting constant.

The new Rogue Trader had silently hoped that she would have been able to witness the sunset, although she had broken away from the crowds too late to catch it.

Now, for the first time in what seemed like days, she found herself alone. The balmy warmth of the summer afternoon had dissipated as soon as the sun sank below the horizon, and the slight chill that accompanied the evening had not been entirely unwelcome.

A quiet yet deliberate throat-clearing behind her brought her back abruptly into the present, and Runa turned to greet her visitor.

She was surprised to see Heinrix standing by the balcony door, unwilling to venture closer without her acknowledgement. His dress uniform wasn’t too dissimilar to his usual attire, although his boots had been shined, and his gloves were trimmed with gold.

“Lord Captain,” he greeted solemnly, bowing his head in deference.

The more she studied him, the more Runa recognised the gradual irritation beginning to build within her gut. Despite how much work they had put in to be more civil to each other, the appearance of the Interrogator out of the blue often meant a disagreement was on the horizon.

“Let me guess – is my presence required?”

“No.” He stepped over the balcony threshold carefully, averting his eyes and glancing out across Dargonus as he approached. “The buffet is progressing as well as could be expected, and the guests are enjoying the Rogue Trader’s hospitality.”

“Then why are you here?”

Her words sounded harsher than she had intended, but Heinrix did not seem to mind.

“You were missing from the festivities,” he spoke simply, joining her at the balcony wall and resting his elbows against the stone. “I wanted– I needed to ensure your wellbeing.”

Gloved hands clasped together loosely, the Interrogator gazed out across Dargonus, the gentle breeze catching the fabric of his mantle. The weight of the day rested heavily upon his shoulders and his drawn brow.

“Did Abelard put you up to this?” she pressed, and the Interrogator exhaled loudly, snapping his head to look at her.

“By the Throne, woman – I am simply making sure that you are well.”

Runa froze outright at his frustrated outburst, her eyes wide, her irritation suddenly all but forgotten. Their interactions may have still been fraught with distrust, but the Lord Captain had not been expecting to be on the receiving end of his concern.

“Oh.” She glanced away from him, feeling the unchecked heat begin rising to her cheeks. “Right. Of course.”

There was a moment of awkward silence that lingered between them before Heinrix seemingly mustered the courage to step closer, reaching into his inside pocket.

“Here.”

From his pocket, he produced a small, white box with golden detailing, immediately sparking Runa’s curiosity. She took it gently from him, sliding it open to reveal ten perfect cylindrical lho sticks.

She glanced up at him in mild surprise. “I didn’t realise you smoked.”

“I don’t.” A satisfied smirk threatened the corner of his mouth. “I confiscated these from an acolyte.”

Runa couldn’t help the grin that had begun to spread across her face as she used a long fingernail and thumb to pluck a lho stick from the box. A smoke would do her the world of good. Sliding the box closed, she noticed Heinrix reach into his inside pocket once more, producing a gold-capped lighter.

“I always carry one,” he offered, and Runa smiled genuinely at his words, balancing the lho stick between her lips and allowing the Interrogator to provide the flame. She leaned into his shadow, shielding the flame from the breeze with a hand as his mantle whipped about her silk-clad shins. Close enough now to smell the musk of his cologne, she felt an unnatural chill descend upon her shoulders, shivering against the barrier of thin silk that adorned her skin. After what seemed like far too long standing against the warmth of him, the rolled paper caught the flame, and Heinrix carefully stepped back as she pulled the first draw into her lungs.

Her face suddenly aflame with the heat, she turned to lean forward against the balcony wall, focusing on the smoky brume of the lho and trying not to think about just how fervently her heart had stuttered at the Interrogator’s proximity. It was if he knew that she would feel out of her depth here, and the entire purpose of him seeking her out was to help her feel more at ease.

She stole another glance towards him, watching as his dark hair was mussed by the unforgiving breeze, a darkness lingering within the hollows of his cheeks as he gazed out upon her protectorate.

Oh, shit.

↳ First Time Prompts

[stargirl-writes]

promises

pairing : f! reader x rots! anakin skywalker

word count : 1k

masterlist | ao3 link

summary

ever since anakin had killed dooku, your anxiety has never settled. for you were watching him slowly lose himself in the war. and you lie late at night lost in the idea that maybe, being with you didn't make any difference at all. so, you watched him sleep, at peace, stealing what little time you could have with him.

tags : angst, comfort, love, flangst (?)

warnings : pretty much none, just angsty stuff to cry to hehe

notes : hello beautiful people! i finished the film past lives and there's this one line that just shattered me 😭 so i just wanna share this little imagine before i go to sleep :) hope ya like it 🪽🩷

likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated ! (and fuels me hehe)

Anakin Skywalker is your secret.

Your beautiful little secret.

Here wrapped in these sheets, where everything softens. Hushed. Kissed by the gentle rays of the moonlight.

You have been awake for some time now. But you didn't dare move. Anakin was still deep in his dreams exhausted from the day before. Despite his slumber, his arms wrap around you protectively.

You placed your head on his chest, following his breathing and listening to the soft thuds of his heart.

Your gaze lands on his peaceful expression.

How can someone look so beautifu?

You thought, he looked like the people in the paintings. Like how an artist would imagine a being with the perfect proportions. And he'd move as if each stroke is intended with grace.

The force made him. You'd sometimes catch yourself lost in his eyes, staring, studying the way it'd crease at the ends when he smiles. Is he even human? You'd think to yourself. He is the galaxy made flesh. That has to account for his prettiness, you think.

You take a deep breath; the scales of the ongoing war are further tipped to the Republic's advantage after Anakin had killed Dooku.

It was so close. Even the air itself has shifted. You can feel it, the end. You can almost visualize it.

Maybe then, things will change...

Selfishly, you feel your heart ache by the little amount of time you could share with Anakin. You can't help it, you have always belonged to him, and for that, you have suffered.

He is the Jedi Order's first. Before you can call him yours. You're not even sure if he is his own's anymore. Because you've watched how this war takes so much of him.

Be smarter, Be more cunning, Be more ruthless. Offer yourself again and again and again.

There's so little of him that remains.

You blinked, sighing once more. You reminded yourself that you are here, tangled in his embrace. It was enough to know that here he lies, with you.

Anakin shifts and you hold your breath. You begged the Gods to not wake him, not yet, let me have him, just for now.

Anakin mutters something. Huttese, the language he grew up on. Your eyebrows furrowed, you never really got to understanding the language even after studying it.

His heart paces under your touch. You kept your gaze on his face, deciding whether you should wake him up or have him rest.

He has been having so many nightmares lately...

His eyes abruptly open and you lent your weight on your elbow to better survey him.

"It's alright, Ani, it was just a dream" You spoke softly, careful not to startle him.

Anakin's wide-eye terror softens at the sight of you, his chest heaves trying to catch his breath.

"It's alright" You coo once more, placing a kiss on his forehead.

He presses his eyes close, and his eyes are intent in yours as he follows your breathing.

You can't help but feel a sting in your heart. He is reaching his limit, and it worries you that whenever he's away, he is close to blurring the lines and crossing it.

Anakin presses his face to your clavicle, and your hands find a way to tangle in his hair. Noticing his silence, you spoke soothingly "What's on your mind, Ani?"

Anakin's breath felt warm against your neck. You used to be able to read Anakin's thoughts. Like he'd write it down in words on pages of a novel for you to be able to understand him. But now, he's been more distant, more incoherent, and you feel as though you have to decipher every little thing that he allows you to see.

"mmm—just tired" Anakin's voice was gravelly and of resignation.

Stop turning me away. You wanted to say. But you already know that the more you try to push him, the further he'll hide away.

You take a deep breath, wishing you could take away some of the weight off his shoulders. "You know you speak in Huttese when you're asleep"

"I do?" Anakin tilts his chin, his eyes are still half-asleep.

"Yeah, I could never understand it though" You managed a wan smile.

"That's probably good for you, Huttese is a very coarse language" He claims.

"Still—" You held back your tongue, deciding it would only drive him away if you asked about his dream.

"I fear that you dream in a language I can't understand"

The silence hung. Anakin must be asleep.

Your gaze moved faraway— deep in contemplation. Wondering if you being in his life made any difference at all.

"You know, I only ever feel like myself when I'm with you, right?" Anakin speaks, voice barely above a whisper.

Your cheeks flushed scarlet, realizing your force signature may have revealed your anxieties.

"I know"

Anakin shifts his head, eyes latched on to you like he was memorizing every detail of your face.

"Ani" you began, "If there's a life after it all, will you come with me?"

Anakin's eyebrows flashed at the suddenness of your question.

"What do you mean?" He places his hand on the small of your back, tracing small circles.

"Well, I'm only wondering, will you come with me, even then?"

Anakin's expression softens, recognizing your fears. You were losing him, slowly, bit by bit. And if you're bound to him in this life, why not in the other?

When you can finally feel like you're not constantly the only one holding on.

He doesn't answer for a while, you feel the need to ramble, to withdraw.

It was silly of you to ask, he is free to choose whatever life he wants to live after it all, besides, if he decides to want to rest, you won't take that away from him, if he ever wants to—

"I'll go wherever you go" he declares, halting the thoughts plaguing your mind.

His eyes drift away from yours "I can't... I know what my duty requires of me and I'm sorry if I haven't been here for you."

"But, I'll love you in a time that isn't stolen" he promises, tucking your hair away from your face.

You felt tears glistening in your eyes. You smiled, leaning in to tenderly kiss Anakin.

The hope of it all would be enough to keep you going.

Just a little while longer.

© to @cafekitsune for the borders as always !

[proheromidoriyashouto]

Rookanis Accidental Baby Acquisition AU

Zara Renata was about to call Illario "amatus", right? Lover? Wouldn't it be fucked up if they had a child. Like in a back room or office or something and Rook's team and Lucanis found them before they left the Ossuary.

Assuming Zara had real feelings for Illario, maybe she felt bad to had "killed" his beloved cousin and was like "Here. Another of your bloodline to love." Which for blood mages is probably of some significance.

And Illario couldn't bring this bastard Dellamorte home to Caterina. There's too much at stake at the moment. He'll come for them after making himself the First Talon and eliminating the threat of the Crows. His regime was going to align with the Venatori anyway so it's just a waiting game. His claim will be stronger when he reveals an heir with Venatori ties, too.

Except maybe Zara locked their child away before fighting Rook's party- for protection- so Illario had to make the call to leave them behind, intending to return after they'd left, only to find that Rook and company have already come to the rescue.

What does he do? He can't accuse Rook and Lucanis of having his secret Venatori bastard in their possession. He doesn't even know that for certain. Another Venatori could have made the rounds and taken them along to another facility.

He's panicking because his cousin he tried to have assassinated is very much alive, furious about it, and his own infant child is out in the world somewhere lost, possibly in the possession of mages who work for the Blighted gods, and the Crows are bound to find out--!

Meanwhile, Rook and company have a baby now. Even if they can't be 100% sure Illario is the father, they can't just leave this kid at any orphanage. Their mother was Zara Renata, infamous Zenatori blood mage, with no shortage of enemies who could possibly do something terrible blood-magic-fucked-up-style to a baby.

Despite Lucanis absolutely denying Illario's possible paternity, the child is obviously Antivan with big dark brown eyes and the thick wavy hair. Lucanis cannot handle the much more at this point. He was just freed from imprisonment after a year of being tortured and fused with a demon, certain someone in the Crows has betrayed him, he does not sleep, he's so tired. He's a man on the brink. He can just agree that the child is better off with his new employer than a blood mage prison or without protection out in the world.

He does not stay up at night thinking about the familiar features of his cousin brother on a small round face just a few rooms away. He has enough on his mind, Spite! And if he thinking about the baby, it's only because he can't comprehend how a monster like Zara Renata had such an innocent creature in her clutches in that gods-forsaken place.

The team is hesitant on how to even start taking care of a baby, but Rook is into it. They're so cute! And sure babies cry and poop and test one's patience, but it there's anyone who is going to understanding about it, it's going to be the optimistic team leader who made the call to take the child with them in the first place. Rook made that choice and they're going to stand by it. Besides, the child needs someone to be a consistent caretaker right?

While the team helps in the day time, nighttime feedings and diaper changes are mostly Rook's responsibility. And the milk station is in the kitchen where Lucanis just so happens to be most nights.

Reluctant baby bonding with Lucanis every night. Talking in soft tones over the sounds of infant suckling at a warm bottle in Rook's arms. Lucanis offering to burp them over his shoulder, nose buried in their soft hair, Spite quiet for once. Rook sitting next to him and telling he's good at this, taking care of others. Something he's never been allowed to do with Caterina all but caging him within the confines of Crow duty and terror as surely as any mage's prison.

Hands touching as the baby is transferred from one another. Rook catching Lucanis' soft, unguarded smile looking down at the babbling baby, little hands reaching for his face. Lucanis scolding the baby in a playful voice when they tug at his beard and hair. That kind of dexterity will be good for handling kitchen knives later.

Maybe he could teach them to bake? They might make a good kitchen assistant if he starts tutoring them now before the team can pass down bad habits. He tells them never to follow Harding's cooking advice or develop Neve's preference for Tevinter coffee. They will be a good little Antivan chef, yes.

Shared glances over late-night coffee and cioccolata calda and an empty milk bottle. Giving unhelpful advice on how to properly change a cloth diaper, knocking shoulders. Exasperated sighs as they take turns bouncing the crying baby trying to soothe some unknown hurt for hours. Spite's wings fascinating the baby, who stops crying to reach for black feathers that disappear as they brush against their skin. A first kiss shared over a sleepy child cuddled to Lucanis' chest.

Even after accepting the truth, Lucanis can't bring them to Caterina. Can't stomach this child going through the same conditional love and training to be a Crow that he went through, and that will inevitably happen if he, or Illario, come forward about it.

So he makes the decision to lock up Illario just so he can approach him in private to imply that the child has been found and is safe in Rook's hands. Because Lucanis still loves Illario, and Illario does care somewhere deep down about his child's life. Lucanis can't afford to lose the family he's finding for himself now, not even for the family he used to have. It's a tenuous balance.

And in the years to come, if that child lives in a Lighthouse in the Fade, and squeals a delighted papà! as soon as they see Lucanis returning from Treviso. Well. That's Veilguard, not Crow, business.