#and that has lived in the back of my mind ever since

[scribeofmorpheus]

Dragon Age Veilguard: Love, Wisdom and Pride

A very long Dragon Age post!

Warnings for: Veilguard Spoilers, Solavellan spoilers.

Okay, so I will preface this by saying that this ‘analysis’ primarily focuses on Solas’ arc; both romanced and unromanced. It isn’t intended to be a romanticised analysis, though it is very much enamoured with how a romanced Solas and his relationship with Lavellan foils (and informs my reading/reception of) that of Solas and Mythal’s relationship in Veilguard. There is a relationship I will address that I feel does parallel Solas and Mythal! Scroll down to “Reading Between the Lines” if you wanna skip my little intro below. Spoilers follow.

Truth be told, I wasn’t ever expecting much in terms of actually getting a sequel to Inquisition. The game dev market went through a tumultuous reshuffle before the remake madness breathed life back into many studios. Bioware game sequels (Mass Effect Andromeda) were underwhelming and not as fleshed out since the EA acquisition. I absolutely believe Bioware would have been shunted had Mass Effect Legendary Edition not been so successful. EA’s reputation was always lacklustre and underhanded, but laying off or losing several head writers attached to Bioware with almost two decades of work under their belts was the biggest red flag. Trevor Morris not being asked to return in exchange for a ‘bigger name’ was also a grave warning that returning to the atmosphere, ambience and world of Thedas that we knew was getting further and further away from a plausible reality. And on top of that, there’s the fact Solas was never intended as a romance interest during early development of Inquisition.

Solavellan seemed doomed!

Despite this, I still held out hope for a sequel, but I feared we’d always be in permanent Solavellan/developmental hell. Heck, I’m still waiting for a Beyond Good and Evil sequel—the game released in 2003! So, actually witnessing people play Veilguard, seeing reactions to it, seeing memes and gifs and essay pieces (like this one), it’s like my community has awoken again, and I never thought I’d see the day. Yet I am not blind to the fact we were robbed of so much potential. I knew thing’s wouldn’t live up to re-emerging expectations when Dragon Age: Dreadwolf was rebranded to Veilguard—the shift seemed to imply less of a primary focus on Solas (and apparently, according to the artbook, the early concept art proves this implication correct).

Things seemed even more dire when the devs revealed there was no tapestry mechanic. I had only one hope: that with the Inquisitor’s confirmed return, we’d get at least some form of catharsis for our Inquisitors (Lavellans and otherwise), if we couldn’t get the conclusions to so many storylines present in each of our worldstates. My main fear was that they’d go the clichéd Ultimate Sacrifice route (which happens anyway, but in a way that makes thematic sense given the stakes and heavily blighted worldstate).

Suffice it to say, there was a lot of evidence that Veilguard would disappoint me in the end. But it hasn’t. It hasn’t lived up to the many expectations and marks of excellence that the Dragon Age world built itself into with the first three entries, that’s for sure, but I am also just so deprived of conclusions, of endings (whether it be because TV doesn’t exist in a sustainable format anymore or that comicbook movies are made with a sequel in mind, never letting anything just “Exit Stage Left” gracefully; or the fact we live in a regurgitating content cycle with late-stage-capitalism where anything remotely profitable gets turned into a caricature of itself: Squid Game, Star Wars, etc.). The cycle is so exhaustive that I am actually at a point where I can say I am content with the ending we were given (on a Solas/Solavellan front), Veilguard gave me relief, and beautiful, achy pain to boot. Though I would absolutely be disappointed by both the "non-romanced Solas" endings, given that Solas winds up either "dying alone, forever" or turns to Tyranny.

Now onto the actual review of that Solavellan ending, Mythal and themes of Love!

Note: I have only gotten the ‘best’ ending in my first playthrough, but I also thought the consequences of not maxing factions would be more… dire? Another note, pls, if your romanced Inky swore to stop Solas, how does that ending differ, if at all? Let me know, I’m dying here!

Sidenote: I’m working on writing another review about my views on the ‘sanitised’ worldstate, the new companions (and why I think Varric was the wrong choice to have as an advisor in the game, given that the Inquisitor or Morrigan would have been more impactful; and not to mention that Cole or Briala should have been companions), removal of the tapestry and what it means for the future of stories in Thedas (The Story We Lost is such a poignant compilation of the sheer volumes of lost lore and depth that I honestly think I won’t go as in-depth on that review as this one), and why I think Veilguard is my final entry into Dragon Age.

Reading Between the Lines: What Pride Hath Wrought

One thing is for sure, Trick Weekes flourishes when writing within the ambiguities and complexities of meaning. This makes every word uttered by Solas so great to dissect, he's a god of lies not because he 'lies' but because he's so careful with how he phrases things, what he holds back, and what he reveals.

For instance, the famous Trespasser exchange where Solas mocks his own follies with sarcasm by saying:

“What is the old Dalish curse? May the Dread Wolf Take you.”

Then a softer, more saddened and beaten-down Lavellan replies:

“And so he did.”

This irks him. Because he then realises in that moment that he absolutely did take advantage, but for some reason he frames it around sex rather than power because that’s easier to address than the latter. And he rejects the notion, even though he brought up the expression he knows to mean nothing close to a sexual inuendo for being ‘taken’, and yet he has the gall to try and derail the conversation by pivoting and saying:

“I would not lay with you under false pretences.”

When I first had this dialogue exchange, I was baffled, because did this mean that there was another meaning to ‘Dread Wolf take you’ that Dalish clans lost through the years, or was it more of a self-deprecating joke Solas had with himself because he, the Dread Wolf, romanced (took) a Dalish Inquisitor (away from her people’s beliefs, histories, past), and he found irony in the saying?

On the surface, “wouldn’t lay with you under false pretences” could simply mean “we didn’t sleep together” or “we did sleep together, but I wasn’t taking advantage as the Dread Wolf, I was simply Solas in your presence”. But I have recently thought of a more… ambiguous reading.  Lay could have been used in a milder, more vulnerable way; to mean to be at peace, to be completely vulnerable, as if to sleep. In that sense, the phrasing becomes: “I could not be at peace with you because I was living a half-truth”.

I absolutely think the moment he feels he is truly beyond hope is when we see his expression of abject horror as Lavellan shouts: “I would have had you trust me!”. He realises then that he did fuck up, he did take the choice away from her because he thought he knew better, him and his pride led to a decision that hurt someone close to him, and he could finally see how wrong he was, how alike the entire situation became to Mythal’s treatment of him. Especially if Lavellan asks to go with him. Because he can see that despite the hurt, the lies and the betrayal on his part, Lavellan still wishing to join him draws too close to his first regret: following Mythal.

Whether he likes it or not, Solas’ love which could burn like a bonfire was directed at a powerful woman—a Herald, an Inquisitor—and inspite of her greatness of character, it still shaped her into someone willing to follow him on his dinanshiral out of love, much like he left the Fade and took physical form for Mythal. So now whenever I hear Lavellan shout “Var lath vir suledin”, Solas replying with “I wish it could, Vhenan,” changes drastically with the Mythal reveal, knowing he always walks away from the Inquisitor in Trespasser.

“I wish it could, Vhenan” sounds heavily like: “You would regret me, as I regret Mythal, and I cannot bear for that to happen us.” More poetically, it could read as: “I wish our love could overcome a duty that has lasted an incomprehensible amount of time, I wish I could change my nature, but then I’d be twisted into a demon, like the spirit of Wisdom in the Dales; and yet again, I would become your regret.” These two readings are very, very romantic. Realistically, given what we know of his kinship with Felassan, and how they were comrades and friends for centuries (“A story unfinished. His back turned!”), and given what we know of the complexity of Mythal’s will that presides over the creation of his very being, and yet he was still able to muster the strength to kill a fragment of her to fulfil his mission,  “I wish it could” was most probably a lament: “Do not ask me to hurt one of the two women I’ve loved on this journey, because if it ever came to it…” he would.

Knowing what I know of Solas, of how he was able to convince himself that Varric’s death (avoidable as it was) was just another necessary step, that it was just another sacrifice, another loss that would be worth something only if he completed his ritual, I have no doubt that Solas would also be able to rationalise hurting Lavellan (which is why in his mind, turning away from her, breaking her heart, leaving with no explanation and aiding her in Trespasser so she could live whatever few years remained in “relative peace” is actually an act of preserving that love). I partially think the reason he reveals the truth in Trespasser (especially for a romanced Lavellan) is in the hopes his ‘truths’ will push her away. But on a deeper note, I think he also thinks of it as some twisted form of repaying her for loving him to the point that he could have almost forgotten what it was to be the Dread Wolf, to just be with her as Solas, that night at Crestwood. Maybe his harsh truths would push her to the point where she’d give up her love for Solas, now that she knew he was the Dread Wolf, freeing her from the shackles of their love. He’s very self-flagellating, all about self-sacrifice for the ultimate goal, the ends always justify the means, he will endure any pain and punishment as long as Arlathan returns in the end.

What is his love of a mortal compared to the despair and loss of an entire empire? Solas views himself as selfish for falling for her, and that nearly broke him, if he was selfish enough to leave the dream of Arlathan behind for her, what would that do to his spirit then?

In his way of thinking, perhaps telling the Inquisitor the truth is a way out, a rationale they can use to justify stopping him or to make it easier to hate him as the Dread Wolf rather than love him as Solas (someone he hasn’t been in so long).

‘Masking’ as the Dread Wolf

During Trespasser, the Inquisitor has every right to despise Solas after all they’ve learned, and I think he half reveals the truth as a tactic so the Inquisitor can have an excuse to hate him, to be driven to anger and have less pull over his choices, once they learn the truth. Solas is particularly skilled at making other’s play the role that makes his own choices seem inevitable, he orchestrates a lot of events to play out in a manner where it's easier for him to talk himself into bringing down the veil.

He goads Elgar’nan to anger easily. He inspires the spirits to fight for him to the death as a necessary distraction during the war. He absolutely allows the Inquisitor to speak to him one last time so he can offer insight, yes, but also so he can easily frame his actions as just and inevitable. But, Oh boy does he get in for a shock if the Inquisitor shows empathy towards him, it scares him because he’s become accustomed to being seen only as the Dread Wolf. To be understood? That gives way to remorse. And remorse gives way to doubt. And he cannot doubt his purpose, twisted as it is, it is all he has left of his former self. Without it he would most likely change into something different. Someone he doesn’t recognise.

This fear intensifies more so if a romanced Lavellan asks to go with him, and in that case, he takes command and distances himself away (rejecting the help of someone close to him; the chance for a possible betrayal; the chance at another Felassan or Mythal [x]; the chance to twist Lavellan outside of her purpose, in this case, the purpose would be love/empathy) but not without showing remorse at having sacrificed yet another relationship for his crusade.

“Ir abelas.”

Sorrow for what cannot be is at the heart of why the Solavellan romance is so powerful, especially because even though both Solas and Lavellan love each other passionately, love alone cannot be enough when faced with regrets. Love would ultimately be stifled. Corrupted into something else over time. And so, for Solas, having loved and lost tragically is better than having loved and corrupted.

He will not do to Lavellan what was done to him, even if it is her choice, because she knows so little, her naivete cannot close the distance of a millenia’s old sea, and it would hurt him immensely to take advantage of her kind heart [x].

By leaving, he keeps her heart pure. And the yearning! Knowing the love is there, but on its own it cannot be invulnerable to corruption, so it is better to lose it than twist it. Ugh! Him leaving Lavellan is the ultimate show of love! IT IS A WISE DECISION. A rare glimpse into pure wisdom. Which is why he kneels beside Lavellan in Trespasser, he does not “Stand Tall” in the face of Wisdom’s heart. He kneels beside her. And when he stands tall again, he is Solas once more, filled with regret, and once through the eluvian, he returns to masking as the Dread Wolf.

Sidenote: It’s especially confounding that Veilguard allows Rook to push the Inquisitor to save or stop him after you’ve reached act 2 despite your world state choice (I think this was done in case they feared the Inquisitor wouldn’t stand by Solas after everything he was revealed to be responsible for in Veilguard, however it doesn’t work because the Inquisitor wasn’t an advisor, Rook never told them what they learned from the wolf statues, so having a stranger hold the ability to make Lavellan keep her promise or not rings hollow). Personally, I wish the Inquisitor’s presence had more weight in the non-Solavellan endings, too. I wish the Inquisitor could end up being the last friend/former love that Solas destroys (if you don’t collect the wolf statues) which then prompts Rook to fight him because Solas’ last tie to empathy failed to redeem him, that the Inquisitor falling is the last straw and Solas snaps, choosing to be a villain in the hopes of being stopped because he can’t stop himself, and not the ‘I am a God’ ending they gave us. Same for if your Inquisitor vows to stop him. I also wish the Inquisitor was the one to do the wolf statue missions. Would have been a nice secondary protagonist mission like the switching perspectives between Kratos and Atreus in GOW: Ragnarök (the old guard and the new; Inquisitor and Rook). I would have loved if they dedicated more dialogue to Inquisition days too, which is why I think Cole should have been a companion (if he wasn’t recruited, he could simply be a compassion spirit that ‘follows’ the greatest pain in the Fade that yearns to be healed, giving a compassionate viewpoint to Solas’ folly; recruited Spirit Cole could have a greater connection to Solas than even Varric, seeing as Cole was most likely a literal representation of Solas rewriting his own history by preventing a spirit from becoming too ‘real’; Human Cole would have a deeper connection to the world of Thedas, and could have been a great tool to prove how change was inevitable, not always a bad thing, and inevitably out of even Solas’ control. But alas, we live with what we are given! Even Imshael could have served in this role! Spirit/Demon of choice and it wasn’t incorporated into the game that supposedly asks you to make the greatest world-changing choice ever; redeem the Dread Wolf or end the age of the Evanuris entirely?!

Now onto the next segment: I want to talk about Solas’ regrets and how I read the ‘love story’ between Solas and Mythal, and why Lavellan (and what she represented) wasn’t enough to get through to him (and that’s a very believable thing, that’s what makes their love both tragic and epic!).

The High Price of Redemption

A romanced Lavellan has the most agency to see through his guises, if she resolves to save him, but even she cannot undo the shackles that still bind him to Mythal—the binds that twisted Wisdom so far from its purpose it became Pride, even when he burned (Mythal) from his face. (Likewise, A close friend Inquisitor who promises to save him is most likely a parallel to Felassan, again, they cannot undo the shackles of regret either.) I fully believe the vallaslin had a deeper magic than simply marking one as being committed/devoted to an Evanuris, I think it linked them magically, and since Solas was the first to burn the vallaslin away, he probably wasn’t as good at severing the link on himself as he was for other elvhen, so maybe a part of Mythal’s will still lingers in him, twisting him to Pride still.

In Veilguard’s final confrontation, I love the intention of showing how Lavellan approaches Solas slowly, as she doesn’t know who she’ll be faced with up those steps, Dread Wolf or Solas. But when she speaks to him, trying to get him to change his mind yet again, forgiving him for his wrongs, we are reassured that Wisdom hasn’t been completely consumed by Pride despite everything we’ve witnessed in the game because he bows his head at her in reverence as he apologises.

He shows humility towards her. He elevates her and her enduring love as worthy of his respect, but he does not consider himself worthy of hers. Thus, Lavellan pries open the door to acceptance but his heart is still not enough. Which is why love alone cannot turn the tide. He’s too broken to accept it. He doesn’t think he deserves it, so the only way out is through; to continue the ritual, to prove he was right. The shackles persist. Varric’s death weighs on his conscience now more than ever. Possibly members of Rook’s team too if they died on his crusade. But he is vulnerable enough for Morrigan to approach, and now Rook can use Mythal’s essence to make the final push. The only way he could be with Lavellan, the only way he could atone for the past and shed the weight of his armour (his crushing duty to the Elvhenan) is as Wisdom, fully restored, unbound by mistakes.

“Ar lasa mala revas.” He could only find absolution once Mythal (the angered and more brash essence of Mythal, the one unchanged by Flemeth and all the human women’s lives she’s been shaped by, but the closest iteration to that of Mythal in Arlathan, the version that he perceives as having every right to be angry at him for turning his back on her, for not going that last final stretch with her and subsequently, not being by her side when she died) severed the final connection: facing his regrets, showing humility and apologizing, while not taking away the blame but sharing it.

What is Benevolence without Wisdom if not Hubris?

We know Elgar’nan was twisted to Tyranny during the war, and I saw a post somewhere where someone wondered what led to his corruption, and what he was before (leadership/command). Likewise, Mythal was not above corruption.

So far, I’ve seen a lot of takes on Solas’ ties to Mythal, the power dynamic of being a student/disciple enamoured (could be romantic) with the benevolence of Mythal, but not how Mythal’s purpose was possibly also twisted towards hubris the moment she asked Wisdom to turn physical and build weapons from its knowledge, twisting it to Pride. Without Elgar’nan’s tyranny to rally against after the war with the Titans, Mythal would most likely turn a similar route, seeing her ruling as “necessary” for the people: “If not me then who?”. And that is a very short stop and quick drop to “I am your all-powerful ruler, I liberated you, and only I can guide the way”. Benevolence twisted by hubris can easily turn to Tyranny too, only one more subtle, a kind of cultish indoctrination compared to violent subjugation. If Solas had not turned his back on Mythal when she chose to be Evanuris (a god over her people) then they most likely would have made the worst (best) pair in the Evanuris. Pride is the Seventh Deadliest Sin. But imagine Pride next to Godhood?! That is frightening. So, when Solas burns the vallaslin, walks away and works against the Evanuris, I believe that he also inadvertently stops Mythal from becoming a corrupted version of herself. The sorrow at having lost her closest confidant and “love” grounds her, keeps her saintly in Solas’ mind, and in some ways, perhaps saves the Elvhen empire from a worse fate than him erecting the veil to begin with. But neither of them ever consider this. And I think that sort of self-blindness perfectly encapsulates how flawed both Mythal and Solas are. Now onto love.

Solas and Mythal – a Love too complex to simply classify as mortal ‘Love’.

There’s no doubt Mythal and Solas shared a deep bond, one that definitely had love in it, when we hear Mythal calling him ‘love’, without the possessive ‘my’ in front of it, it’s easy to misconstrue what type of love they share. A small nitpick, but like a thorn, it applies sometimes just enough pressure to change a perspective. Not calling Solas “My love” but instead choosing to simply use “love” works within those wonderful ambiguities/complexities that Weekes thrives in.

If one started out as a spirit, it’s safe to say concepts like familial bonds, romantic bonds, and blood ties mean little to nothing. There is no one type of love and there is every kind of love all at once. It is only once physical bodies are introduced, that physical touch, the ability to stab someone in the back, to kiss out of affection, to hug out of empathy, to strike out of anger, that love now becomes this twisted thing too. There are no spirits of love because spirits always possessed love, but there are demons of Desire (Gluttony) and of Rage (love denied).

I believe, from DGL’s acting skills, his soft whisper, his almost submissive smallness in the breadth of Mythal’s already soft voice, that Solas was in love with Mythal, devoted as a student, beguiled by her benevolence, content even in her shadow, and possibly star-struck. He was in love with someone who doesn’t have the possibility to love him back the same, it is not in her nature to love those beneath her in the same intensity that those who look up to her do. It’s like a priest being in love with God. The priest can devote themselves, sacrifice everything, but a God will always love their flock equally, but they can still play favourites.

Benevolence cannot be enamoured with Wisdom because to be truly benevolent they must possess Wisdom but there is also Pride to be had in walking beside benevolence, but they can never be on equal footing. Likewise, Solas’ love is not reciprocated entirely by Mythal, but she does love him back in her own way. While Mythal is definetly Solas’ first love, layered and complex, it is also strangled by regrets and twisted by uneven scales of power. It would never be a nurturing love, only a consuming kind.

When he speaks of Mythal during the Solavellan ending, he calls her his “oldest friend”, much like what Mythal says, (paraphrasing) “would you have me be angry at my oldest companion whose experienced so much with me”. Because friendship is perhaps the easiest way to describe their companionship. They went through many iterations, one certainly holding romantic tensions (specifically from younger Solas), but ultimately, with that much time shared, kinship/friendship becomes the easiest to surmise. You can love your friends, fall in love with them, fall out of love with them, only to love them again, be disappointed in them, etc.

Media today is flushed with romance as a linchpin for driving a hero to make dire choices, and that has warped our perception of how a platonic/non-romance-based relationship can be all-consuming, and sometimes more impassioned than strict romance. But, to make it easier for people to understand Solas’ motivations, it's easier to see their love in the light Taash sees it (an unreliable, somewhat “still juvenile” narrator, in that they are still growing into themselves and their culture and the world): “They were doing it”.

However, Bellara, a companion whose entire companion story is linked to her strong, deeply character-driving relationship with her brother (platonic love) refutes that reading by saying (paraphrasing here): “We don’t know if their ‘love’ is the same type of love we tend to think of in a masculine and feminine relationship.”

Felassan’s letter after the Mythal Dragon fight alludes to Solas having been in love with Mythal, but nothing about how she felt. This is why I consider the Solas/Mythal relationship to be more of a one-sided romantic love, but a requited ‘love’ relationship for them both.  

A parallel I find so compelling: Solas and Mythal vs Briala and Celene. Solas and Briala both hold deep emotions for people in great power with the ability to end a tyrannical cycle of subjugation, enslavement and classism, yet for both of these ruler’s charisma and well-meaning intent, they often are swayed to side with tyranny. For Mythal, that was Elgarnan, the Evanuris who made all the other’s worse tyrants; as well as her own hubris for believing her presence alone could dampen the ravenous hunger for power that the rest of the Evanuris held at the small prospect of leading the Elvhen in a time of confusion (being a North Star is hard when all the other lights around you aim to blind the flock into submission). For Celene, this is more about the nuances of retaining favour, pull and power over other noble families, their backing (be it financial, political or simply cut-throat), and their support so she can be the ‘lesser of two evils’ compared to Gaspard’s warmongering personality and Florianne simply being a puppet with no backbone. Both Briala and Solas are turned to pawns despite their immense strength and compassion for their respective elven plights; Briala is rendered a fangless lion (for lack of a better metaphor) if she is reunited with Celene, whereas if she is chosen to puppet Gaspard, there’s every likelihood her story could parallel a ‘power-mad’ Solas if he’d been tethered to Rage (at betrayal) and not Regret (at having not rejected Mythal when she asked him to take a physical body) throughout his tenure as the Dread Wolf.

Solas and Lavellan – a Heart that was never intended to be Given/Taken

Now I will compare the lack of possessives in front of Mythal’s “love” to Solas declaring Lavellan as ‘Vhenan’ and then ‘Ar lath, ma Vhenan’ vs ‘Ar lath ma vhenan'; again, the coma is the thorn, the pause that shapes the quiet unsaid things we can deduce. In the Trespasser cutscene DGL puts the pause after “Ar lath”, even though the subtitles construct the sentence with Vhenan as a proper noun since it’s a nickname often used by Solas: “Ar lath ma, Vhenan”. But I believe Solas actually says “Ar lath, ma Vhenan”.

With “Ar lath, ma Vhenan” the stressor is after the pause, so the line reads: “I love [you], my heart.” And with “Ar lath ma, Vhenan” it makes even less structural sense but can be inferred to mean: “I love you, Heart”.  

The possessiveness of “My” is what definitively differentiates the love Solas feels for Lavellan as one more of the romantic side, it is a love of yearning and desire and a wish to have one last good thing that is pure and incorruptible. The one thing he had left to give. His heart. But that does not mean his heart is enough! The rest of him is still bound to the love of Mythal that was twisted through the ages. That changed him. And given how Pride often comes before a fall, I absolutely understand why Solas is actually very brash and ill-considering when he’s romancing Lavellan (“The kiss was ill-considered”/”It would be kinder in the long run”/”I wanted to show you what you mean to me”). He's on a precarious cliff during Inquisition. His first plan failed. He's allowed ancient elvhen magic to fall into a blighted Tevinter magister's hands. Literally everything the Inquisition did could have been for nought if the Mark had fallen to the wrong person. Things could have easily fallen apart for Solas too, so why not indulge in something trifling and fleeting? Execpt it wasn't trifling. Nor was it fleeting. And when he saw that the fall could potentially not happen, that the Inquisitor could do it, save Thedas and retrieve the orb, he was struck by the gravity of his brashness, of letting impulses control him instead of acting according to a plan. But it was too late. They'd both fallen for each other.

Solas didn’t expect to form entanglements within the Inquisition. He was committed. He was angry at the world, “walking through a sea of tranquil”, called flat-ear by the Dalish that later chased him from their village when he proved he was the Dread Wolf. He was despised by people who looked like him. Spirits were constantly being abused and turned into demons. People erected monuments to heroes who slew demons. Mages were caged. Elves were subjugated. The empire fell. Humans razed the lands with their wars and petty squabbles of succession. The darkspawn tainted the land. The dwarves would never dream. Solas awoke to the worst possible fate; in his eyes, it was all his fault.

So when he kisses Lavellan in the Fade, impulsively, he isn’t kissing her there because it is less ‘real’ than if they kissed while she was awake, it makes it so much more real. He’s kissing her in the space where he is most himself. Where he can shed the body he was forced to build and trap himself within, the body of Pride. He is acting on the impulses of an enlivened Wisdom spirit that does not consider tomorrow, for the first time in a long time. It isn’t a long game with Lavellan, like so much of his life has been about always thinking to the future, always considering the outcome, machinating, scheming, the wiles and woes of every trickster god in mythology. It’s being in the moment with her that is all-consuming. It lowers his guard, leaves him vulnerable, and when she enquires about the Fade or spirits or histories, he gets to be useful as pure Wisdom again.

Lavellan challenging him when he first shows animosity or irritation towards the Dalish (a prideful act), and then him being taken aback when she explains that maybe the Dalish could be shown another way (making him consider her words, being given a morsel of wisdom back, reminding him of his old self), these are all small moments where Solas can begin to see springs of hope in the broken world. And that’s terrifying. It means he’s destroying not just himself, but the memory of Mythal and Arlathan too, all for the love of a woman who fell for an apostate.

The best, most genuine unmasking of Solas for me is during Wicked Hearts, when he’s tipsy on wine, has no inhibitions, and revels in the intrigue, the gossip, the dancing, the music (something we now know is important enough to have an entire music room in the Lighthouse), the sex! He is at his most relaxed, and then he asks Lavellan to dance, not caring about how it would look for the “Inquisitor’s serving man, Solas” to be intimate in a fucking Orlesian palace with the Herald of Andraste, right after stopping an assassination attempt! He finds comfort in the world of Thedas at that moment. Something he rarely shows so outright.

When he takes Lavellan to Crestwood to confess, I believe removing her vallaslin wasn’t entirely just for her, it wasn’t just to free her from slave markings or to simply reveal a form of a truth he wanted to tell her, it was to resolve himself of what his first purpose was supposed to be, what she distracted him from. Removing the vallaslin had been something he’d done for the slaves of Arlathan, it was what earned him the mantle of Dread Wolf. When he removes Lavellan’s vallaslin, he resets.

Thedas cannot allow Wisdom to truly exist without fear of corruption to Pride, Thedas the world he was responsible for shaping, literally the Maker of the Veil, and he falls for a woman Heralded as Andraste’s Chosen One, Mythal’s incarnation in the South. The irony. The cruel, cruel irony. The Inquisition is tied to his past, every Andrastian he meets, every Dalish person with vallaslin on their face, every slave or city elf. Tevinter worshiping the dragons that still have the essences of the Old Gods. His heart alone cannot withstand all of the punishing, gruelling, oppressive weight that is Thedas. Even for Lavellan. So he frames their romance as this tragic, short-lived tale that was beautiful but ultimately destined to end. He expects it to pass for her, she’s mortal after all. But he also leaves his heart with her, literally giving her power over the last uncorrupted part of himself. Think Will Turner and Elizabeth Swann at the end of World’s End, but metaphorically. He gives her his heart to safe keep as he goes on a journey that could corrupt a heart, turn it cold and bitter, destroy it.   

Ar lasa mala revas. You are free.

He frees his heart.

Lets it go.

Twice!

So only once he is relinquished of his regrets, once Mythal does the same for him, only then is there “Nothing left except their love”. Because Lavellan still held his heart there was still something left after. Something beyond despair and regret and loss. He had given his heart to her to safekeep. And she did. Lavellan returns his heart to him when he is freed. What Mythal had to break so Solas could heal right again (like a bone), Lavellan casts a splint around so it can be set and heal properly. This is the difference between Mythal’s love and Lavellan’s. Both Mythal’s love and forgiveness broke him, but Lavellan’s love gives him the strength to Stand Tall one last time.

Solas, before Pride alone, as Wisdom (perhaps Solas always meant both Standing Tall and Wisdom, for Wisdom can grant one pride to stand tall for what they believe in), finds contentment with the rare and marvellous spirit that endured (his Vhenan). Wisdom endured because of humanity, something benevolence is beyond.

Bellanaris

When Lavellan offers to go with him, to continue on the dinanshiral that she already considers herself a part of, Solas is legitimately taken aback. His expression is soft yet full of disbelief and awe. He actually stops walking a few frames before Lavellan says this, as if hoping Lavellan would say something to him!

And then she basically proposes to him! “Bellanaris!” I absolutely adore the fact that Lavellan promises them eternity. A vow as sacred as a death right, as protected as an ancient, elvhen, undisturbed burial ground in the face of Orlesian colonialisation. They endured and now they will have an eternity. For once, we have an elvish tale that is not a curse, it is a love story with reunion at its core, where both elves reclaim something precious that was denied them.

Lastly, i am absolutely frothing at the mouth that Solas and Lavellan primarily speak in elvish! And even more feral at the fact Solas does not try to talk her out of joining him (because this sweet talker very well could!). He simply tells her where he is going is terrible. And she shuts that shit down immediately. No repeat of Trespasser. She's standing beside him, the South has all but fallen, whatever ties yet survive are strained, and she has fought the good fight for 8 years. I think the Inquisitor was about ready to leave Thedas behind.

The last decisions Solas makes are of his own volition. Entering the Fade for atonement. Stepping into the Fade with Lavellan (It was confirmed by Weekes that Lavellan’s presence in the Fade prison would fundamentally change it in a way we haven’t seen!). Thanking Rook for giving him one last shot at getting happiness. All his own!

This is the look of a man finally reunited with his wife! So much emotion in ONE frame. God! There’s never been a character like him. A love story like theirs! I’m so happy I got to see this ending. Full circle!

P.S. If you read this far, woah nelly! That’s crayyzeee, so here are some more great pieces: Why it was important for Lavellan to kneel for Solas as he knelt for her in Trespasser in the Solavellan ending [x], and here’s a great deep-dive on Solas as a spirit of Wisdom [x].

[coffee-and-geto]

“CALL MY NAME FROM THE OTHER SIDE!”

“That’s it sweetheart, just listen to me.”

pairing: ghost! choso kamo x f!reader | kinkoctober

summary: on your wedding day, your husband died. ever since, when nothing goes right in your life, choso has to come into your dreams, and when you wish he’d show up for real, you don’t know that a curse has hit you. and that a certain choso haunts your dreams — even the hottest ones…

warnings: +18 MDNI, smut, nsfw, mention of blood, husband! choso, widow!reader, pet names (angel, my love, sweetheart, baby), kinda voyeurism (kink), fluff, slight angst, choso comes back as a ghost, masturbation, oral (f! receiving), erotic dreams, fingering (f! receiving).

wc: 1,402

On your wedding day, your husband died.

A tragic start to the rest of your life, isn’t it?

But how else could this story begin, when the stark memory of vivid crimson blood splattering across your pure white wedding dress still haunts you to this day? It’s impossible to forget.

That very night, after the briefest, most sorrowful of ceremonies, you tried to sleep, hoping to escape the nightmare your life had suddenly become. Just as it had started, your life had already fallen apart.

Choso was your first love, the one with whom you planned to build a family, to live a life full of joyful memories.

So what do you do now?

The shock hit so hard that you began seeing him in your dreams — Choso, with his jet-black hair tied back in little ponytails, resting against you after a long day of watching over his brothers. His warm breath, that adorable gaze, and his comforting presence…

God… Why was he doing this to you?

Was he haunting your dreams?

If that were the case, why didn’t he just manifest himself already, goddamnit?!

But would you have truly wanted that if it somehow became real?

Because what started as a mere wish became a curse cast upon yourself.

Every night after that, Choso came to your dreams. He slipped into your bed beside you as though he were alive, keeping you company like the husband he should have been.

And every time the dream felt too real, you jolted awake, as though he had been there. But the empty side of your bed always reminded you that it was all in your mind.

Until one night, Choso in his ghostly form slipped into your bed like a thief, not just a figment of your imagination.

What began as a gentle kiss in your dream transformed into something far more erotic…

And then it became real.

Hovering over your bed, Choso’s ghostly figure watched you, his gaze tender as he observed you writhing slightly in your sleep under the covers, your eyes squeezed shut, lips slightly parted as you whimpered his name in soft, needy tones.

Choso laid beside you, carefully brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and in that liminal state of sleep, you could feel his touch faintly, like an impression of warmth and closeness that was all too vivid.

“Poor sweetheart,” he whispered gently.

And, unconsciously, your hand slipped beneath the waistband of your pajamas, fingers rubbing at your sensitive, needy clit — all part of the dream… right?

In the darkness of your room, you felt your body heat up, a dampness pooling between your thighs as you dreamt of Choso kissing every inch of your body, leaning down between your legs, teasing your most sensitive parts.

And it was in that same darkness that Choso loved watching you, his heart heavy with regret that he could not manifest himself since his death, not until you unconsciously summoned him.

So, you began having these erotic dreams about him each night, dreams in which he fulfilled his husbandly duties in every way you desired.

Every night, you would close your eyes and find him there, a perfect, comforting presence so close to you in your mind’s eye.

His expert mouth on your clit, his tongue sliding along your slick folds, and even more.

The first night, you had to use your own fingers, working yourself desperately as you moaned Choso’s name, pressing harder against your sensitive core, seeking relief for the ache that his memory alone ignited.

The second night, the dream intensified, and in your half-sleep, Choso lay beside you, his presence so strong that you whimpered his name, even as you felt tears slip from the corners of your eyes. He reached to wipe them away gently, but as he started to pull his ghostly hand back, you grabbed it, eyes still closed, guiding it under your pajamas.

Choso swallowed, startled, wondering how your half-sleeping self could still feel him so vividly.

“Please, Choso,” you pleaded quietly, your body’s need guiding his hand to exactly where you ached for his touch. “Please…”

If Choso could still blush, he would have turned as red as a ripe tomato. But he couldn’t resist you. He had so many questions, but he knew his priority was to make you feel better as he slowly traced his fingers along your slick center, stroking up and down as you squirmed beneath his ghostly touch, your legs falling open even wider.

Choso circled his index finger around your sensitive bundle of nerves, teasing it slightly before lowering his touch and slipping a finger into your warm, welcoming depths when you whispered for him to do so.

“Mmm… Ah, Cho, feels so good,” you murmured, brows knitting as you bit down on your lip. You rocked your hips forward, and Choso couldn’t ignore the hardness straining against his ghostly form as he fingered you slowly. “Don’t stop…”

“You like this?” Choso mutters, kissing your temple so, so tenderly.

You nod slightly, your eyelids still shut. “Mh-hmm…”

And you look so peaceful listening to him that he can’t help but encourage you by saying, “That’s it sweetheart, just listen to me.”

You squirm, your hands gripping the sheets as your dream-turned-reality completely intoxicates you. You sniffle softly, finally feeling that deep, aching pleasure that only your husband could provide.

Your gummy walls clench around his finger, gripping tighter each time he pulls out. The sensation is dizzying, intoxicating, almost obsessive. Choso’s breaths come in slow, ragged gasps as he watches your face contort with pleasure, and he can’t help but add a second finger, curling them the moment they reach your sweet spot.

Your back arches, and a soft, adorable moan escapes your lips. Your eyes flutter open, focusing on the ghostly form of your husband.

“Cho?”

“Sweetheart?” he murmurs, thrusting his fingers more slowly. “You’re awake?”

“Cho,” you mumble, realizing he’s truly there. You turn towards him, pulling his form close as you sob softly into the crook of his neck.

“Shhh…” He pulls his slick fingers from your warm center, returning your embrace. “I’m here…”

“Missed you,” you whine, feeling the warmth of your salty tears rolling down on your cheek and end up dribbling in droplets on Choso’s neck.

“I know, I know,” Choso soothes, his heart heavy with emotion. “I won’t leave you again, my love.”

A silence falls over you, only broken by the rhythm of your synchronized breathing.

“Were you dreaming of me? Sorry about my fingers; you took my hand and—”

“I know,” you whisper, gently guiding his translucent wrist back down to your soaked core. “Please, I need you again…”

He slides his two fingers back inside you, pumping them with a faster pace, hitting your g-spot with every thrust. The wet, lewd sounds of your arousal make both of you smile. Your walls grip his fingers, urging them to plunge deeper.

With deliberate, slow movements encouraged by your soft gasps, he adds his thumb to your puffy clit, circling and rubbing intermittently to intensify the overwhelming pleasure.

You grab his shoulder with a firm grip, digging your nails in — surprisingly, he feels almost real — and pant against Choso’s ear, whispering how good it feels to be touched by him.

“God, so good,” you mewl. “Feels so good.”

You tighten around his digits as he continues striking your g-spot with each thrust, his knuckles sinking deep into your needy core until you’re gasping his name like a woman possessed.

“Cho, ah, please,” you moan, hiding your face against his chest, and he only smiles, savoring your sweet pleas. “I’m so close…”

“Hmm? My baby’s close? You wanna cum on your husband’s fingers?” he purrs, dotting your neck with soft kisses as he intensifies his rhythm. “Then come for me. Cum for your husband, angel, okay?”

You nod helplessly, moaning his name in a broken voice as you tighten around his fingers one last time, riding out your high. He feels you pulsing even after you catch your breath, and a comfortable silence settles over you both.

You trace idle patterns on his chest with your fingers, resting your cheek against where his heart would be, while he wipes his fingers with a handkerchief nearby. Pulling you close, he rocks you gently, whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

For now, you have your husband back.

a/n: hey :D so, i admit it’s not like me to do such a short one-shot, but for choso’s, I didn’t really want to do too much. i wanted to do something quite smutty at first, but i didn’t have the strength to do more lmao

but now what i can’t wait to write is the next werewolf!satoru one-shot hihi! i’ve already got the ideas and— anyway. you guys will see, i’ll keep it a surprise :))

likes and reblogs are truly appreciated 💕

tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422 @whathappennedtobeenhappy-blog @drippymcdrippison @koshhin @v31v3t @wawuwe @cybersomniq @sanemistar @monokaix

[sarahreesbrennan]

I remember reading in one of your blog entries (years ago??) that in the new book you were writing, the main character's *sister* had cancer. Does that mean that Alice was originally the main character of Long Live Evil? Was she going to go into the book to save Rae, instead of Rae going in to save herself?

How extremely kind of you to remember!

No, that was actually a YA murder mystery that I wrote while ill, revised while recovering, and sent out into the world where it died on submission. (Which means we sent it out to about 12 editors and the editor either said no, or said yes and took it to acquisitions - a group of people at the publisher including sales and marketing - and acquisitions said no.)

One editor told me she really wanted and really tried to buy it. Another person who worked in publishing (and has since changed jobs, or I wouldn’t share this) said the response at her acquisitions was - if you like this writer, find the next her (implications about health and youth were made).

I was terrified my agent was going to ditch me too, but she said ‘We’ll sell that one day, for now let’s write the next thing.’

I remember another writer telling me she missed my work that wasn’t a tie-in, and I felt ashamed to tell her it wasn’t that I wasn’t writing other things - it was that I couldn’t publish them.

The tie-ins meanwhile were paying the bills (they still are tbh!) and I was and remain so grateful for them. But I also really loved writing them - especially my Sabrina tie-ins, you don’t forget the first, and it reminded me I want to write horror and poly one day - and how they got me to love and sympathise with so many fandoms.

I see the burnout of caregivers all around me, and I wanted to write the story of one. But maybe I also wanted to take a step back from cancer. I didn’t think I did, at the time. I had a whole lot of things I tried writing before Long Live Evil, and I think some of them were really good. One of my critique partners gave me a lipstick with the same name as someone in the murder mystery. There was a romance novel another critique partner said was her favourite thing I’d ever written. But none had someone with cancer at the heart of the story.

And even though Rae isn’t much like me, maybe I had to start there. You can’t make real magic using someone else’s liver. Maybe I had to wait to be brave enough to use my own liver.

I do get requests for advice on how to cope with rejection of your writing, and I always worried I didn’t have anything else to say, but I suppose my example says - if you can, (and I know it’s hard, you feel so terrible at writing and so useless) (and you love the work you’ve done so much and you don’t see a way forward to loving the next thing) (but still, if you possibly can) write the next thing.

Even if the first thing sells, you’ll want the next thing one day. Writing the next thing is more writing practise, so it’ll make you better. Write the next thing.

Ultimately I’m really glad Long Live Evil was my comeback book. I think it needed to be. It took the time it took.

But maybe it was a shade of that past book (where the heroine’s sister with cancer was six, so not much like any of the Time of Iron characters) that made me think of the YA version of this book, which I always had in my mind as something I was intentionally hewing away from - a more straightforward book, a book that might have sold better - in which shy reader Alice was the hero. She’s the one with the suggestive hero name - Alice through the looking glass - the heroine looks, and the more projectable-upon personality. She’d get called annoying less often (though still some, because she’s a girl), partly because she is (with love, Rae knows I’m right) a genuinely less annoying person. Much kinder, much sweeter, and much better at in-depth reading! Her sister being in trouble would’ve been a backstory, a catalyst point, and - you’re totally right - a great motivation for her to get the Flower. Saving a family member is a much more sympathetic and heroic motivation than saving yourself and one I do love (the Hunger Games, Labyrinth, Mahy’s the Changeover, and I write it a lot!). I think Snarky While Tragically Dying Rae would’ve been a pretty popular side character, too. I think it would’ve been a good book! Just not mine.

I love your question because I love thinking about POV, and all the decisions that are the building blocks of a story. To me, the Alice centric Time of Iron is a version that exists. As are several versions of the Lia centric Time of Iron. And versions centring other characters exist to me, too. (Eric, absolutely.)

Speaking of POV musing, I think Rahela the wicked stepsister featured more in the musical than the book. If the Time of Iron series ever became a TV show (and at this point in time I think I’d rather a movie because it wouldn’t… get cancelled…) and I got to write it (don’t know why I would…) I would start with the beginnings for three characters about to go on a journey to somewhere strange to them: Key in the Cauldron, Rae in the hospital, and Vasilisa in the icelands. There are so many possibilities! And I really wanted the sense that there were so many possibilities, too.

But I wanted the chronically ill one to be the centre of the story, and for it to be her villain origin story, and to ask a lot of questions (hence a lot of villains!) about who gets villainised and why. And I thought hers, to my mind, would be the most fun of all the possible stories.

So that’s the one I made. But Long Live Evil has a lot of origins. Thank you for remembering one of them! I don’t think I would’ve dared tell the story, if things hadn’t worked out for me (so far, fingers crossed).

And I also tell it to be clear my publisher was taking a RISK with me and Long Live Evil, and I really appreciate that, and I’m so happy it’s worked out for them (again so far, early days, fingers crossed, etc).

I hope some writers - whether in the process of submission, rejection or making the choices that are the building blocks of story - find this helpful, and some readers find it interesting.

Let this be one of the universes in which your story is told.

[kiame-sama]

Would Papa Hades mind if I rant to him my frustration over how people always make him a ‘Bad Guy’ in our world?

Whenever Movies that have Greek Mythology in it, it always pissed me off when they make Hades the Villain (I feel like it’s just because Hades is the God of the Underworld that automatically makes him ‘Evil’)

Literally out of ALL the Greek Gods, Hades is actually the NICEST of the Gods (He was willing to let a mortal man take his wife out of the Underworld but he must not look at her because she’ll be sent back during the journey until they leave his realm) and was never unfaithful to his beloved Persephone

There was a myth that he had ONE lover, but that was BEFORE he met his Beloved

Would Papa Hades appreciate that I don’t see him as evil just because he rules over the Underworld? (Because since he’s one of the Great Seven so he’ll naturally be feared for his powers and authority)

Warnings: Papa Hades in his 50ft form, comforting ancient Shinigami, daily allotted sunshine/shade garden time,

For reference, this is approximately the current height difference:

~~~~~~~~

"-but I mean, why do they always have to make Hades out to be bad? I don't think my Hades is bad and I don't think you're bad either. You're probably the only one I've met in this world who didn't immediately try to make decisions for me. You haven't collared me, or taken me away from where I want to be, or tried to control me in any way. You're even letting me sit on your shoulder and talk your ear off in the garden because I wanted some time away from it all!"

The giant Shinigami was leaning his cheek on his hand, listening attentively to your every word. You both were seated upon a shadowy throne he had summoned in the stone and briar garden of Ramshackle. It was a good distance away from the building itself and no one was willing to tell the Shinigami he couldn't protect you.

Deep in the shadows, watchful eyes thought better of challenging a being of myth and power. Some were dissuaded from the prospect altogether, seeing such an ancient being so casually attending the soft Human prize. Not all who hunted sought harm, but even the insane knew better. Smaller predators will almost always give space to a bigger predator. No need to die this day.

The giant Shinigami was enjoying the history lessons from your world, curious that your own history had beings so similar to him that even shared his name. He also appreciated the fact you were so passionately defending his doppelganger in your world. Truthfully, the similarities between him and the Hades of your world was not lost on him. Perhaps the Humans of your world were originally from Twisted Wonderland and simply forgot over time after crossing to a different realm. If that were the case then he had much to consider.

Still, he appreciates how relaxed you are around him, now trusting in his willingness to act in your best interest. He had always afforded all of the Humans under his protection the ability to choose. The only difference now was he had to keep a closer eye on you than he did the Humans leaving his isle.

"I'm glad to be living up to your expectations, Little One. So long as it is your wish to stay here, I will aid you however I can. Young Idia has updated your phone to contact me directly should you ever have need. I must say, it is nice to hear of your home, you speak so little about it. I'm sure you have your reasons, so I won't pry. I'm thankful you trust me enough to share all of this with."

"Well, it's hard not to trust you. You've kind of been amazing."

It soothed the wounded depths of the old Shinigami's heart to hear such earnest words. You truly did trust him and he treasured that more than you would likely ever know. The mourning shawl had adorned him many long centuries. Those centuries were some of the most painful for him, yet that pain was lessened and balmed by your simple trust and affection. He treasured that.

[coyote-with-a-keyboard]

Babytrapping

a/n: back on my COD rants because my countries sooo cooked. Not proof read as always but enjoy

MINORS DNI

ever since Phillip has started ‘dating’ you, or more so seeing you at the night in barracks or wherever he could find you- he wanted more. Sure he knew it was wrong, you were a famous military commander- he was just your pmc company hire to get your dirty work done.. well he used to be- but age had worn out his use, hips feeling sore and arms wrapped in scars of past missions that made his men worry of his capabilities.. but he still wanted you. Wanted you to be his, wanted to be able to get spoiled by you, get adored by you, to get shown off at fancy military events he wouldn’t usually be even invited to anymore… to still be worthy and wanted. The fear of being replaced haunted him when he looked in the mirror or found a white hair amongst the blonde dusty hair he had all his life.

It took him a bit to plan something, but it festered in his brain, brewed like fine alcohol until his plans were set and ready. He had wanted a kid since he was 7 anyhow- so it wasn’t all too far off from the grand plan. His plan was smooth in exact execution; beg and whine and give you puppy eyes until you’ve said the famous last words of ‘one time without a condom won’t hurt if you’re sure.’ And then he knew his trap was set and ready

he let you bend him over your barracks warm bed, feeling your calloused hands ghost over his sore body and making him shiver in slight. His legs shook as he tried to spread them impossibly farther to give a show, feeling hot, bothered, and needy

he gasped and groaned when he felt your tongue against his clit, soft licks and suckles making his blunt nails dig into the textured fabric of said sheets. He was impatient, wanting for you to fill him to the brim already, to make his legs shake properly. But this felt much too good to stop- his head buried in a pillow as to not whine too loud though it did very little to help

he finally felt you pull away after how many orgasms he couldn’t count, his body feeling boneless and shaken already. He simply couldn’t think of a word to say other than pathetically crackling pleas of something he couldn’t quite name. To slow down? To speed up? To fuck him till his brains felt like mush? He wasn’t quite sure.

he shuttered a little at the quite usual feeling of the head of your cock sliding into his now well lubed walls, his body clenching around you like a vice and his mind swirling with the relief of the fact he could not be replaced. As long as the idea of getting pregnant worked, which it most hopefully would.

he let out gasped out moans as you finally bottomed out, one of your hands sliding up to cradle his throat before sticking two of your fingers in his mouth to silence him- no need to wake up your soldiers over a PMC commanders moaning. He whined at the obscenity, sucking on the digits as you bucked into him rougher than usual, using him like a living fleshlight. He could swear he felt it in his throat by now- his hips uselessly rolling into your thrusts even though you already had a pace set much faster then he could keep up with

His gummy walls fluttered around you with each deep grounding thrust, his back arched in a way sure to hurt later as you fucked into him senseless until you came inside him, feeling him bite down on your fingers to lot let out a groan as he squirted all over the fucking sheets- overstimulation washing over him like static as he pulled himself off you and lazily put the sheet into the hamper before tugging you down onto the bed and cuddling into your side- aftercare could wake, for the moment he had to silently celebrate being a permanent resident in your life.

[yappielestappie]

Some lestappen thoughts in these trying times:

I think Max and Charles have a bond unlike anyone else in F1, even though they’re not that close of friends. I’d even go so far as to say they’re trauma bonded.

We all know Jos was downright horrible. It’s quite reasonable to assume that this was very hard on Max as a child, and that he felt alienated and alone (recall the quote of him saying it would’ve been nice to be able to play football with kids his age, sometimes). The only times he got to hang around with kids his age was on the race track. And who was always there? Always at the top? Always challenging him? Charles Leclerc.

Charles, meanwhile, had the opposite. He had a entire support system built around his racing career. He had both brothers and his godfather with him, and a fathers love to guide him through. In his teens, he lost both Jules and his father, and suddenly, the only consistent familiar part of racing that remainder from his childhood, would have been Max.

Meanwhile, while Charles was suffering this loss, Max was in Formula 1, in a top team, doing quite well, and had picked up a support system (albeit a likely limited one) in Daniel Riccardo. I think Charles was extremely jealous of Max when he also got to F1 in 2018. Their whole lives, they’d been opponents, and then Max beat him to F1 by 3 years & had everything Charles did not (a good seat, a father, an older F1 driver to guide him). I also think that’s why the Austria 2019 podium ended up being such a big conflict. It was a lot more than just a win to Charles. It was proving himself.

Now, they’ve both matured (Daniel helped Max and Seb helped Charles). They can look back on their karting days fondly, and they both recognize that the only real supportive part of their karting careers that still remains, is each other. All the hatred they had for one another has turned into support, and a kind of respect that very few drivers have for one another.

They have something special. It’s undeniable. There’s no other drivers on the grid that have history anything like them (Pierresteban could be discussed but that’s a whole mess). And now I think they’re old enough to realize they have something special.

Max genuinely cares about Charles. It’s obvious. Their racing is so much different to anyone else Max goes wheel to wheel with. Leclerc is the only driver I’ve ever seen him apologize to. The whole “Charlie I’ve got a space for you!” Thing is still blowing my mind. Max talks about Charles like he’s the only one Max actually wants to race, like Charles is the only person worthy of challenging him. He rates Charles over everyone else even when he fucks up “come on Charles man, too many mistakes” comes to mind.

And Charles is the same way right back, he just usually has a bit more shame. It’s worth noting that he speaks highly about a lot of other drivers, but Max always seems special. He compliments max out the wazoo sometimes. It’s clear that he sees Max as the very best - as the benchmark to beat. But more than that, he defends Max just like we do. Charles always supports Max’s moves on Lando, even when they’re clearly in the wrong. He supports Max’s aggressive racing, claims to LIKE it even, when Max is being constantly harassed by the fans and media.

There’s something between them. Some unspoken reason why they support each other like this and the only conclusion I can come to is that the memories they have of each other are inseparable from their memories of racing. They’ve been competing at the top since they were 6 years old. They know how to be rivals better than they know how to do anything else in the world.

I don’t know if they ever hang out outside of F1. I don’t know if we’ll ever see them interact again once Max retires. But I do know that they’ve shaped each other in a way that will impact them until the day they die. Every untainted memory from their childhoods is about each other. All the memories of loss and abuse are separate to their memories of each other. They are the only thing that remains.

The most fundamental part of racing for Max, is beating Charles. And the most fundamental part of racing for Charles, is beating Max. Everyone else on the grid is irrelevant- an obstacle. They are two halves of the same story and I think that’s more beautiful than any romance book I’ve ever read.

oh anon you are so absolutely right. listen for me, it's the fact that we can talk all day about lestappen and ship them or let our imaginations and minds go wild with w/e but fundamentally? at the end of the day? there is also substance to it - even any form of fandom aside, there are simply facts about them that make them such a beautiful dynamic. there is something so mesmerizing about the level on which they drive, perform, their talents and skills and the way they grew up with and around each other in a sense. the beautiful juxtapositions, the red strings of fate, the way their paths kept crossing and intertwining even before they raced each other again (suzuka being max' first proper f1 test drives and then jules etc.)... there is just something cosmic about them that (as stated in some previous post) almost boils down to THEM BOTH BEING LIBRAS which is still driving me insane. the balance. the way this just screams UNIVERSE just as partners in life, as twin flames, as two sides of the same coin, two weights on a scale... again, not even saying this is related to the fandom angle of romance. like you said it almost runs deeper than that. and i, personally, refuse to be normal about it the same way the two of them are never truly normal about each other.

[hearts4werka]

NNN day 9 | Shattered Promises

summary: a dangerous war was declared, the one thing you feared would happen in your life ever since your husband Matthew joined the military. The fear of him possibly dying out on the battlefield without a proper goodbye always managed to deliver you nightmares and now your worst fear came true, Matthew had to go off to fight for his country. Is he going to make it and come back home safely, or maybe you’ll forever hold the weight of him in your heart even without him among the living?

warnings: ANGST, military, war, violence mentioned, possible murder, missing limbs, dark times, happy ending (or is it?), sorrow, depressive times, vivid nightmares, triggering content & possibly more! Viewers advisory is supervised and proceed with caution!

authors note: we’re almost there at the double digits! Kinda got this random vibe today and the idea just popped into my head, this is gonna take a lot of military vibe music to get me through this and keep me in the spirit, I’m sorry as this can be kinda inaccurate in some ways 😭, luv yall and hope y’all enjoy this one

no nut november | masterlist | guestlist

- a month before the war

Laughter fills the air as our joyful golden retriever, Danny continues to jump and deliver eager licks to the side of his face while he lays down on the couch next to me, the television shadowing a soft glow over our faces alongside sunlight pooling in the room, dancing along the shadows of the living room. “Hey, Danny! Calm down there buddy!” He calls out, chuckling between each word, I observe the playful fight, thinking nothing bad could ever happen to our small little family with our fur baby. My hand slithers its way over to pet and ruffle the hairs on Danny's spine.

The whole moment was filled with pure enjoyment and true love, my heart twisting with delight as Matt finally managed to lure Danny off from on top of him and shelds himself with my body, grabbing a hold of my biceps and pull me in front of him. My laughter only intesifying as now Danny begins devoting his attention off Matt to me, hopping onto my chest but this time without eager licks and just relaxes against me, Matt dramatically gasps but a sweet chuckle quickly overpowers it, "Looks like someone has a favorite parent." He jokes, slipping out from under my body and sitting down before me.

After another playful moment passing by, Danny begins to feel tired and snuggles into Matts lap and slowly drifts into peaceful sleep. A romance movie plays in the background as me and Matt starts to chat in soft whispers to not wake up our fur baby. Admiring how at peace and happy he seems in a simple moment like this, feeling like nothing could take away the joy we've build throughout these years of our relationship, I let myself rest my head down onto Matts shoulder, tiredness now shadowing my features. "I got two little cute sleepyheads now, wanna go to bed now?" I nod my head and murmur a positive response.

Slowly and gently removing Danny off his lap to stand up, straightening his legs and turning his head to look at my sleepy form that’s now beginning to fall asleep. He walks over and picks up my body, bridal style just like he had on our wedding and every time I was tired, as well as at unexpected times. I loved him dearly and would never let anything bad happen to him, I was always a deep sleeper but ever since Matthew decided to join the military I was afraid about him possibly dying on the battlefield and I couldnt bear the dark thoughts roaming inside of my mind, it started with simple flashes of him in my mind but then turned into full nightmares I couldn’t bear.

It started flashing his image as he carried me over to our bedroom and laid me down, covering my body with the duvet before undressing himself and sliding under it next to me, he wraps a warm arm around me and pulls me into his chest, nuzzling his face into my hair as a feeling of safety washes over me but when I close my eyes I can only see him, laying on the ground-shot and dead- while his buddies drag his limp to the side for shelter, trying to revive him back to live but without proper medical care it was impossiple for them to. My heart twisted with sorrow as my eyes immediately pop open, unable to fall asleep no matter how hard I tried. I shift my body to face Matt and hide my face in his chest while clutching onto his body as if I would lose him then and there.

- Present day

The morning approaches, sun barely rising over the horizon, casting a warm soft glow over our bodies as I throw the duvet off my body. Seeing Matthew is stil asleep so I make it my misson to quietly get dressed and exit the room, feeling like doing wanting to do something special I decided to make a hot breakfast for him when he decides to wake up. As soon as Danny catches a glimpse of me walking down the stairs he immediatly runs over and demands some head scraches as well as sustenance, chuckling at how much energy he has in the morning, "Oh you want some head scraches? I'll give you some head scarches, you little cutie." He follows me into the kitchen, grabbing his feeding bowl and placing it on the countet but as I was about to get his food I hear something weird from the radio, immediately turning up the volume to hear more context and its coming from the news.

"Welcome everybody, your news-reporter speaking. The United States Of America has declared war upon another country and we need every soldier we can grasp over the age of 18, this is not a drill but a serious war our country is under. Please seek immediate shelter and consider flying out of the country for safety if youre near any of there states..."

I immediately freeze, being unable to move as the other words coming from the reporter become irrelevant to my brain, "every soldier they can grasp" my brain cannot comprehend the state of fear I am before Im pulled out of my thoughts when Matthew comes rushing down the stairs, seeming like he just woke up telling by his messy hair falling over his forehead. He walks over to me, seeing how scared I have become and places a reassuring kiss on my forehead, “It’s going to be okay, darling. I'm going to be fine, I wont leave you." He softly speaks, assuming I've hear all of it on the radion while he got a call, cradling me in his arms and kissing the top of my head to calm me down in any bit, he's known this was my worst fear and the repeative vivid dreams I've woken up to multiple times and him trying to calm my nerves.

He pulls away from the embrace and leans down to be face level with me, his expression softening as my eyes become glossy and shiny with worried tears swirling around in them. "I promise I will come back to you as soon as I get back, you can come with me to the pickup bus." He reassures, wiping away the slowly sliding tear with his thumb on my cheek. My arms wrap around his neck and pull him back in, feeling as this could be the last time we speak and feel each others warm embrace. "I'll go get ready now." He pulls away before turning around and walking back upstairs to dress himself more properly and apropriate, my soul eternally freaking out and not wanting this to be real. Maybe its just a dream-yeah a dream-now I just have to wake up from this nightmare of a day, oh wait, its actually very much real life. Soon I follow Matt into our bedroom and dress myself properly as well, getting rid of the pyjamas and now in outside clothes.

- At the pickup spot

As we approached the bus, my heart ached and twisted in various ways that made me feel sick to my stomach. Other familys and couples surrounded the bus, saying goodbyes and crying as they got on the bus. Matt holds my hand before turning to face me and pulls me into a soft kiss which only lasted a minute before he had to pull away, "Be safe and please don't die out there." I stammered, full of worry and fear for his life. the news reporter stated it would be a dangerous and serious war which only heightened my pulse, for now I had to take his words and cling onto them as much as I can for them to be true. He gave me a last reassuring kiss on the forehead before he got onto the bus, some of his buddies recognised me and I recognized them since Matthew would have them over often and before they got onto the bus to join Matt, they walked over to me and suddenly picked me up into the air. "woah, guys, what are you doing?-" I questioned but without a response in return, they carried me over to where Matt was sitting, he popped his head though the window and suddenly kissed me, I melted right into it and kissed him back almost immediately. It was filled with pure true love and caring, the world around me disappeared and the happy cheers of others started to become more faint to my ears, all of my worries disolve into the air and my only value left was the moment right now.

By the time we pull away, the driver calls out for everyone to get on board as they will be driving away soon, they let me down onto the ground and hop onto the bus themselves, from a distance now I watch as they close the doors and drive away, a feeling of loss washes over me which I can’t brush away no matter how hard I want to trust his words that he’ll be okay but it seems thats a promise he can’t make. I leave the spot and get into Matt’s car in which be drove us here in, feeling his scent lingering still in the air as I drive off back home.

- a year after the start of the war

Everyday after Matthew’s gone off to fight for his country’s freedom, I’ve waited patiently for him to return back home, dreaded the time I would hold him in my arms again, feel his lips on mine or him holding me and calming me down after a terrible nightmare. They’ve only became more intense and I couldn’t bear being alone anymore but got used to it after awhile, everyday I would plant a single white rose in his name since he always loved gifting them to me to remind me of his love and now it reminds me of him, now that a year has passed I could have a whole garden of them.

I was sitting outside infront of my collection of white roses as the sun shined, the sun ever started to remind me of him, of how brightly his smile would light up any room he walked in. My poor baby, gazing upon the growing garden and every single time get reminded of him so I never forget him, I could never forget my poor baby. He was the only man I’ve truly loved and wanted to grow old together, now the only thing I have are reminders of him and dissolving hope of him still being alive out there. “Please come back, my darling.” I murmur under my breath before suddenly being ripped out from my thoughts.

My phone buzzes, indicating an incoming call, I pick up my phone and pick it up, putting on my professional voice and serious face instead of the broke woman I was, “Hello?” I spoke into the receiver, waiting for the caller to speak. “Hello, is this Ms. Sturniolo?” My eyebrows furrow in confusion and skepticism, it slowly easing into my voice. “Yes, this is she. I-Im sorry but who’s calling?” “A former friend of his from the army, I’m here to inform you that your husband Matthew Sturniolo has been pronounced dead duo to a fatal shot in the arm and bleeding out while on the battlefield”

I freeze, the words slowly sinking in before my phone drops on the grassy ground, here I was grasping onto the lasts of my hope that he’s still alive and now he is presumed dead, my hands cover my face as uncontrollable sobs leave my mouth. Tears staining my face and hands, I can’t believe this, he promised he would come back, he… is dead. The worst of my fears has now came true and it hit me like a thousand bricks, I feel something shatter inside of me beyond repair.

I feel… broken? Like a part of me has been ripped out of me without my permission, he has became a part of me and build me into the person I am today, but without him by my side I don’t think I can continue being the same person and living my life normally, he was the only man I’ve loved truly and now he has been taken away from me. What have I done to deserve such punishment? I continue to lay on the ground, consumed by complete depression and a feeling of loss. That night I haven’t returned to my house and slept outside in front of the white roses, the thing that reminded me the most of my dear husband.

- a month after Matthew being presumed dead

The sun slowly rose up over the horizon and I was off to go preform my mundane routine, getting out of bed has been the hardest part every morning and, every emotion has been wiped off my face after… you know after what, I slumped over to my dresser and thrown on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie I stole from Matthew, his specific scent still lingering on it. Walking downstairs, I walk into the kitchen and grab Danny’s bowl, filling it with food and placing it back down in its spot, he doesn’t greet me anymore, the only thing he has been doing besides eating was sit outside near Matthew’s grave in which I would join him every morning, I placed a hand crafted cross on the top of my white rose garden to indicate his grave, some of the older ones have started to wither and loose their beautiful white petals.

It reflects the feelings I feel, being like a withered white rose without him by my side, slowly loosing my color with each passing minute. I exit the house and drop down beside our dog, gazing upon the grave before I speak in a soft voice in hopes that he’s somewhere here, listening to the words I speak from my broken heart. “I wish you could be here with me, I can’t be the same person without you. If you’re listening to me, I love you more than anything in the world.” Every word stings the same amount, my throat feeling tight as I feel tears swirling in my eyes.

“Why wish when I’m right here?”

The sudden words take me out of my focus, the voice sounding too familiar to miss, looking around as my eyes catch a glimpse of Matthew. Wait… Matthew?- I stare at him as he suddenly is walking towards me but there’s something different about him-he’s missing an arm-so he isn’t dead after all? I could be imagining things, I wipe my teary eyes before he extends his arms, my body immediately rising from the ground and running into his warm embrace, feeling the touch I’ve dreaded to be able to feel again on my skin.

“I told you I would come back.” He happily cheered, holding me in his embrace and placing a lingering kiss on my forehead. I feel like myself again, the part of me I thought I lost forever has returned, Danny comes running at us and jumps up and down, wagging his tail aggressively in joy. “I-I thought you were dead, I thought I lost you forever… I-I seriously can’t believe you’re alive, you know they called-“ before I could finish my sentence, he smashes his lips against mine and stopped me from ranting for half an hour about what it was without him for all of this time without him. I slightly relax into the kiss, our dog barked and we chuckled into the kiss together, today I was put back together and felt like myself again now with Matthew beside me again. I’m me again, my other half has returned into its place, I’ll be forever grateful for the lord letting him live and stay with me in earth longer. My poor baby has finally returned and that’s all that matters to me right now.

Guestlist!

| - @sturnsxplr-25 - @strnzzvsp - @luvvs4chriss - @sturniolosweetheart33 - @pussypie456 - @choclatestarfishwithahat - @venusxsturnio - @bagsbyclair0 - @sturnstvs - @dykes4chris - @hoe4matt - @cayleeuhithinknot - @strnilolover - @marrykisskilled - @phone4pills - @emely9274 - @cupiidk1lls - @lily-strnlo - @nicksgirlfriend - |

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 86 (Family Drama)

The next evening, before Heather and Conrad left for their date, her youngest sister, Hazel, arrived in Brindleton Bay to watch her niece and nephew.

Ash excitedly called to her from the computer as soon as she walked in the door. "Aunt Hazel, Aunt Hazel, come check out my new game!"

"Thanks for driving out here so Conrad and I can have a night out," Heather said. "The security cameras are working and Conrad's getting the kids fed before we go, so just get them to bed at a decent hour and no horror movies."

"It's just food colouring," she protested, but with Heather's stern glance she nodded obediently. "Sorry, Ashy. No Moonlight Massacre tonight, after all."

Heather changed the subject before Ash could complain. "I'm sad you won't be in town when we're in Henford this weekend to meet River and Cass' new baby boy. Dad says you don't call home enough."

Hazel laughed. "Dad tells me you don't call enough! None of us could ever call home enough. River still lives there and Dad probably thinks he doesn't get to see enough of him, either."

"Missing out on Dad guilt tripping us to visit for a political conference in San Myshuno's pretty cool, though. Ash, that's enough game time. Conrad's almost finished making your dinner."

Ash moaned, but he turned off the computer and headed for the kitchen as Hazel picked up her niece for a cuddle in her unicorn onesie. "I'm kind of glad to be out of Henford for the night to get in time with Ashy and Lava. Has that weird old dude been a problem lately?"

Heather made sure Ash was out of earshot. "Not since the restraining order," she said, the relief on her face more than evident. "And you're stuck on those nicknames, huh? I thought nicknames were too corny for you."

"It's not my fault your kids are just as cool as volcanoes, big sis."

Heather grinned. Hazel, the baby of their family, could get away with anything and dripped charm to spare, but Heather could tell something was weighing on her mind. "Are you doing okay?"

Hazel took a deep breath, setting Lavender down before she moved to the sofa. "What made you realize you wanted to be single when we were in high school?"

Heather laughed. "It was just easier than having feelings. It's still easier than having feelings, but finding the right person is better. What's wrong?"

She frowned. "What if Nicola and I got married too young? We're different people than we were as teens. When her dad died of a heart attack a few months ago, it felt like I wasn't married to the same person anymore. I know she's grieving, but what if we didn't wait long enough into young adulthood to figure it all out?"

Heather could empathize with her sister's confusion over love and relationships. Not too long ago, Heather would have found it unthinkable to offer her siblings, of all people, relationship advice, but Conrad had shown her what great love could be.

"You know I've never been very flirty or romantic, and I held on to my relationship with Malcolm too long because I didn't think I deserved any better. I'd never recommend it, but I also know Nicola's not Malcolm Landgraab. If you trust her, you can tell her the truth."

Hazel nodded. "No, she's definitely not like Malcolm."

"If you're truly unhappy, don't force it because you think you're supposed to. But if you're asking me, I think it means there's still some fight in you to keep it together."

(Lovestruck's new relationship and chemistry features went after Hazel and her new wife, and I'm rolling with it to see what happens. I cheated their relationship back up a bit - as if what Heather said encouraged her to fight a little more - and we'll see how it goes with them.

The way I said that probably gave away what might happen but pfft you don't know!)

Grateful for her eldest sister's advice, Hazel turned her attention back to Lavender, while Heather joined Ash and Conrad in the kitchen.

"Tomorrow night we'll pack some things into your backpack for your weekend at your dad's," Heather said to her son. "He'll pick you up after school on Friday and take you to his place for the weekend."

"He'll probably send their driver like usual," he shrugged. "But Ray's cool."

"What do you mean, 'like usual?'"

Ash looked at her with confusion etched on his face. "Daddy's reporting til seven on the news every weeknight, Mommy!"

Heather stared at Conrad, wide-eyed. "He told me he does those hits pre-recorded."

"He always sends Ray, and Ray always takes me to get ice cream before we get to Daddy's penthouse. Why do you look pretend happy, Mommy? I love ice cream!"

"Your mom just hasn't met Ray, buddy."

"But Mommy, he's not a stranger. He's Ray!"

Heather plastered a smile, and Conrad reached under the table to caress her clenched fist. "I'll be at school on Friday afternoon when Ray's there to pick you up at three," she said. "If he's as nice as you say, I don't want him to be a stranger to me."

Ash smiled. "Okay, Mommy, that's a good a idea."

Heather felt constantly undermined by the Landgraabs. But there was little she could say without disappointing her son, and she didn't want bitterness to affect her night with Conrad. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: Their date continues Monday but tomorrow there will be a bonus post inspired by @purplesimmer455! 👀

NOTE 2: Also noting, since this is an episode where nothing much seems to be happening, there are a few subtle hints in here, too, about how Conrad is on a pedestal, especially when Heather compares him to Malcolm, even though we all know he's keeping this massive secret from her, too.

[getsuuna]

KNY Fandom so fucking insufferable I'm gonna start behaving like those GiyuShino and SaneKana shippers and go around spreading misinformation and say "no you don't get it SaneGiyuu was implied!!!" /j

because I'd actually have more content to mention without even mischaracterizing them

wanna talk about how they're a two-faced mirror? almost as if they were written to parallel each other and there's so much to talk about on this matter

or, since not everyone in this Fandom can dive into analysis, wanna mention how Shinobu figured Sanemi could've made Giyuu smile by inviting him to eat his fav dish with him? why not ask him directly instead? why Sanemi out of all people?

wanna mention Sanemi's pseudo-obsession on that man? he disliked his ass, but if we go back to analysis, his intolerance to someone feeling superior can be tied to a multitude of factors and one of which is being low-key reminded of himself, and he loathes himself while at the same time he puts on that strong façade. he can't face it though. and he wanted to understand why Giyuu felt that way SO BADLY he went to him for training and tried to speak with him, he wanted a contact, he wanted to understand, he needed Giyuu to speak up but he didn't.

on the other hand don't we wanna talk about Giyuu's perspective? Giyuu never hated him nor did he really feel sad knowing he disliked him, contrary to how he felt towards Obanai. not to mention he even got to be sarcastic towards Sanemi's dumb ass at least twice.

and the iconic ohagi scene? idk about y'all but between the hashira I think that's THE iconic scene, alongside Giyuu and Shinobu beefing and Shinobu almost stabbing him (don't get me wrong platonic GiyuShino has my whole heart)

the first time we saw Giyuu smile in the series is while imagining to befriend Sanemi??? and out of everyone he chose Sanemi? the hashira who is canonically the most difficult to talk with?😭 he only ever smiled either for food, for Sanemi or Tanjiro

oh and let's not talk about how Tanjiro, after getting knocked up, wakes up and the first thing Giyuu says is "yeah Shinazugawa left" ..? or the whole novel chapter in which they end up talking about him (supposedly right after that scene in the manga) and Giyuu cheered up. what

anyways, likewise, the first time Sanemi was seen smiling genuinely outside of his family was with Giyuu. Obanai and especially Masachika were both closer to him, not to mention the most important person in his life, Genya...yet here we are ig?? (after Giyuu he also smiled more in general, the scene of him smiling at Nezuko was one of my fav panels ever so keep in mind I'm taking in consideration the chronological events and not the impact of the scenes per se)

or let's talk about the most important part in their development which is when they fought together.

Sanemi saving him, telling him not to zone out while throwing the sword at him, it made Giyuu realize he's the water hashira, it was the first time Giyuu acknowledged it. Sanemi influenced Giyuu's character positively, and so far Tanjiro was the only other one who managed to. Sanemi saw him as his ally (rightfully so), and hopefully seeing him fight also made him realize he wasn't that much of a conceited guy, he was just like him, as he initially wanted Giyuu to understand (despite the fact it was a miscommunication)

Sanemi teaming up with Giyuu out of everyone, in such an impactful panel.... idk, if it was a straight ship that would've felt like a confession for the Fandom 💀

they impacted each other's character, they were the only two hashira surviving after facing the same war, they faced similar struggles during their lives (but let's not get into analysis, once again...), they could've understood each other better than anyone else would ever have, and they ended up bonding and eating together

that panel was there, in the middle of other panels all portraying important bonds, whether canon romantic bonds or platonic and sibling-like ones (Tanjiro and Nezuko, the Kamaboko squad, the swordsmiths etc.)

if it wasn't important it wouldn't have been there, but the funniest thing is that if either of them was a woman it would've been considered canon since it also included TanKana, ZenNezu and InoAoi🙏🏻

but oh, if we try to name either of these things and more, people will rightfully say "can't they be friends anymore?", which is valid, but I wonder why this doesn't apply to equally fanon straight ships.

a show so peak has so many fans that are so dense😭😭😭

[hannahssimblr]

Winter. 

When did this happen? Was I looking away for long enough for the season to change without my notice? I haven’t spent enough time here watching time, from this old velvet seat by the window that overlooks brutalist blocks, each building identical to the next. These utilitarian slabs might stand like this, grey cubes jutting from the asphalt, for five hundred years. I’m here for five months now. Thoroughly settled, used to this place, this apartment with the tarry flavour of cigarettes clinging to the furniture the landlady never took away. 

Jonas says she’s strange, this woman who has left all of her old things for us to live around. Her lamps, with sun-faded shades, her record collection, the chenille bedspreads stuffed into a closet, and the ancient television I replaced the day after I landed. I’ve never met her. Sometimes, I slip a dusty bottle from her wine rack in the cellar and serve it to my friends at dinner. Surely, by the time she ever notices, I’ll be long gone.

Through the vignette of condensation, the snow drifts, white flecks, across the beam of the streetlights. Kreuzberg is quiet. Sunday. 

I refocus my eyes to look into my face, a mirror reflection in the black window. I look older, perhaps, than in the photographs Jen posted to me in September, the ones from the summer, where the light is hazy and our noses are sun blushed, from that time that feels like another lifetime already, or like fiction. At Christmas, I returned to Ireland, and it rained for two weeks without stopping, and it felt something more like reality.

My grandmother told me that my hair was straggly, and she’s right. It’s been too long since I’ve cut it, but the ends of my hair spent the summer with me. Even though my skin cells have replaced themselves, the parts of my hair touching the collar of my coat and curling around my ears hold the memories that the rest of me is slowly losing. 

I haven’t stayed in touch with my friends from there as much as I would have liked. These days are busy, with friends, with college. I draw and paint more than I ever have, lashing out piece after piece, sketchbook after sketchbook, building a tower upon the desk in my cold little bedroom, though the women in my pieces don’t have green eyes anymore. Now, I choose blue.

The door buzzes, and I stand to answer it. 

My finger on the button, “Yeah?”

“Hurry! Open up, it’s fucking cold.”

I buzz her in, then stand waiting by the open door as she ascends the stairway. Three floors. I hear her the whole way, the snap of boot heels against tile. There’s an elevator in her building, and I feel acutely guilty about my building’s lack of one, despite being entirely powerless to do anything about it, as I am an art student, not an engineer, and was not yet actually born during its construction. 

She appears on the landing, shivering, with snowflakes clinging to her hair, and sitting on the structured shoulders of her trench coat. 

“Ugh, oh God, those stairs. I hate them.” She says. She unzips her boot and tosses onto the pile of shoes next to the door, and I notice immediately that she’s barefoot, toes balanced on the tiles like a ballerina. 

“You didn’t wear socks?”

She’s not wearing tights either. Her long, pale legs poke, completely exposed beneath the beige gabardine. 

“Did you take the U-Bahn like this? It must be five below zero.”

Her second boot hits the tile with a clatter, and she backs me into my apartment. As the door clicks shut, she pulls on the tie of her coat.

She’s wearing nothing but black lingerie. 

“Ah,” I am enlightened. This now makes perfect sense to me, in much the same way it does to her. Astrid has a way of bringing me around to her way of thinking. 

This was actually an excellent idea. 

“I was bored,” she says, which makes sense too. She is always bored. This is why she does what she’s seen people do in films. It’s a way to keep herself entertained. An unwelcome thought flashes into my mind, as I wonder if she has done this specific thing for previous boyfriends. I hop off that path. With Astrid, it is important to dwell only upon the present. Anything before this, now, me, us, is nothing worth worrying about. 

I slip my hands under her coat, onto the soft, downy velvet of her skin. 

“Nice and warm,” she murmurs. 

“Astrid, you shouldn’t have gone out like this.”

“It was only thirty minutes.”

“I know, but,” Her hands are freezing between mine as I heat them with my breath. “It’s too cold.” I’ll have to give her something of mine to wear when she goes home, but begin to worry that nothing is clean. I have been avoiding taking my dirty clothes to the basement since I flew back in ten days ago, too cowardly to face the seizing cold of the communal laundry room and that ever present leak in the ceiling surely turned to an icicle by now. 

These are not sexy thoughts. 

It’s like she can tell just by looking at me. “The point is, you will heat me up,” she says, a bit slowly, like I’m thick.

I don’t want to be the guy that lacks spontaneity. That would make me anxious. She pulls her hands from mine and pouts at me, as though at a little dog. “Look at you, you’re so nice.”

It’s not intended as a compliment, and I understand I should be doing something a bit wilder, like, I don’t know, taking my own clothes off already. Why on earth haven’t I started to do that?

Ah, because I am nice. 

“Okay, fuck your hands then. They can freeze.” Often, jokes are a mistake around Astrid. She rarely laughs at them. In fact, she rarely smiles at all, and only indulges us when she feels like doing it. It’s never to be polite. She knows her own mind. I’m obsessed with her. 

I’m obsessed to an ever greater extent now, because, once again, she’s not laughing. She’s not trying to please me. It’s me, always, trying to please her instead. I tug on her coat and it pools to the floor, then I kiss her. 

“God, I love you.” 

I murmur it, the truth. 

I knew it the third or fourth night we spent together, in November, as the last stubborn leaves clung to the branches. She wasn’t like anybody I had ever met before. She reminded me of nobody, and that was the point. 

I felt it, that weakness, my molten insides, and the deep fear of it in the early hours of one morning as she lay on the sheets with moonlight spilling across her back. She has a tattoo between her shoulder blades of a heart pierced by three daggers. She says it’s from a tarot card, and she was younger and stupider when she got it. That night, as she slept, I uncovered some kind of symbolism in it that moved me, but in the morning light I had forgotten all the profound thoughts I’d come up with except one: That I loved her. It surprised me. I ignored the tiny pang of sadness I felt, like mourning for a part of my life that was already long gone. It was useless to miss it.

I chose Astrid instead. 

I choose her now, love her in the same way I kiss her and touch her and fuck her, by doing what she wants me to do. It’s not a submissive situation. I’m not into that stuff. I am a man clocking in and doing as he's asked, thoroughly, diligently, excelling at his job. Eager to please. Employee of the month.

“Will you put your hand on my throat?” She breathes. Beneath me, her hands claw the bedsheets. 

Yes, I think. That would be nice. 

I am interested to discover that I like it too. I don’t think the other girls I’ve slept with would have let me try the things that Astrid does. They couldn’t picture themselves doing it, I’m sure, and neither could I. Back then I didn’t think about sex the way I do now, but Berlin has been bringing it out in me. 

She comes first. That’s mandatory. Then afterwards, when I have, and thoughts return to my brain, I’ll lay here, haunted by the years I didn’t know about this golden rule, and all the time that I thought I was good at sex but wasn’t. Dwelling on the disappointment I brought upon women and girls will make me spiral a bit, I’ll feel it rising, but I’ll feel better when I fuck Astrid again, in some new, fascinating position, and she’ll tell me I’m pretty good, in fact.

She’ll be loud enough about it that Klaus from downstairs may complain, and point out that such volume levels are forbidden on Sundays. He’ll threaten to raise it with the building management, so I’ll bring up the fact I know it was he who put cat food containers in the recycling bin. Neither of us will do anything, and the cycle will repeat until one of us moves or dies.

“Klaus is a miserable, jealous old fool,” Astrid says. “He probably doesn’t have sex, so he’s furious at people who do. I think it’s basic psychology.”

“He lives with his wife, you know.”

“Oh, that doesn’t mean he’s having sex. Married people don’t do it. Or at least hardly ever. That’s why I’ll never be tied down like that.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“You think Mr and Mrs Klaus are fucking like rabbits down there?”

I scrunch up my face. “I’ve never heard them. Maybe they do it very quietly while I’m out of the apartment.”

“They never do. I bet they hate one another. Surely they sleep in separate rooms and only speak when they have to.” Astrid invents this story with glee. She is describing what is to her an indisputable fact of life. Her parents, and her mother’s relationship with her stepfather, too. I think she believed these things about marriage before meeting me, but the confirmation that my parents are the same has solidified it. 

“I don’t like to think about things in such a black and white way,” I say, and hold my palm against hers. Her fingers are long and slender. “Just because a lot of marriages are bad, doesn’t mean they’re all doomed. I believe some people are happy.”

“Trapped,” she whispers. “Like canaries in a cage. Maybe they don’t know any better.”

“If I was married, it’d be because I loved that person completely. I wouldn’t do it unless I was sure, and if I loved someone that much, I think I’d still have sex all the time. I can’t really picture that changing. When would I ever not be doing it, you know?”

She hums gently. “So you would never join a monastery.”

“Ugh.”

“And if you married me, you’d want me like this forever?”

This isn’t a serious question about marriage. That would be ridiculous. This is a test for me to pass, and am about to, with flying colours.  

“Yeah, you’re so appealing in every way. I can’t imagine not being completely crazy about you forever.”

“You definitely wouldn’t get over me if I left you.”

“Nah, probably not. In my grief, I might even refuse to sign the divorce papers or some shit.”

She nods, satisfied, and rests her head on my chest. It slots nicely beneath my chin. “I want to go to sleep,” she says.

“Alright, me too.”

I switch off the light and listen to the pitter patter of the snow on the window, drifting slowly away with it.

Astrid shifts, restless. 

“Tomorrow, I have a lecture at eight.”

“Unlucky.”

“I don’t have any clothes.”

“Ah, yeah, probably because of the lingerie stunt.”

A pout. “It was a gift for you.”

“And I loved it. I can find you something to wear.”

“To my class? Your clothes? I’ll look ridiculous. Can you get me a taxi to my house so I can change?”

“Yeah, of course. If you wear my clothes in the taxi.”

“I won’t be naked under my coat in front of a strange man, Jude.”

“Okay. Good. I’ll arrange a taxi, then.”

“That’s sweet of you.” She adjusts her position again, and the subtle contact of our bodies sets off a chain of sensation. I rake my nails lightly over her back, and she shudders. 

“You’re so pretty,” I say. “Did you know that?” I know she does, but I like the smug way she always says yes. 

“It’s okay if I leave my underwear here?”

“If you want to, yeah. Why? Do you think I wanted to carry it around in my pocket or something?”

“So you can wash it for me.”

“Yeah,” I press my lips to the back of her hand. “I’ve been meaning to go to the laundry basement for too long now. I’ll just add them to the pile.”

“No, you need to hand-wash them. They’re made of lace.”

“Oh right. So like, in the sink, or something.”

“I thought you might have known that.”

“Nah, see, in Dublin, we had a cleaner who washed all of my lace underwear for me.”

“Mm…”

“... That was a joke about the lace underwear. We did actually have a cleaner, though.”

“You’ll take care of it? They were quite expensive. It’s not as though I have a lot of that kind, so if it got ruined…”

“I will.”

She slips a hand into my hair and seeks my lips in the dark. She kisses me with such affection that I melt into her. “I love you, Jude. Thank you.”

“I love you too.”

A low chuckle as I bite her earlobe. “You really would never be a monk, would you?”

“Oh, my God. The thought makes me sick.”

I roll over her, and we give Klaus one more thing to complain about.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

Hey, just wondering if you could give us some insight into how the sleepy kitten cafe staff met Alan/got close to him/what they think of him. Also curious to see what all the bats think about cardinal. Did they ever meet in costume?

P.S: Keep up the good work!!

Of course!! I touched a little bit in "Jerry the Raccoon" but that was mostly Tim & Zeek (and it was not my best chapter- but I refuse to edit it for my own sanity)

Also so far? No. Cardinal manages to maintain a distance 24/7 with bats (almost as if hes tracking them during patrol- wild right??) But overall

Bruce is tearing his hair out, but admits they are useful and more effort than they're worth.

Babs adores them, and is on a mission to find them out and take them under her wing

Dick finds Bruce plight funny- but is kinda unnerved how similar Cardinal is to a talon in some ways. (also just creepy in general)

Jason "Game recognizes game" but wishes Cardinal would stop running so he could ask him more questions

Cass never gets close. But not bothered by them.

Steph thinks Cardinal is badass but keeps her distance, doesnt trust the vibes

Damien acts like he doesn't care about Cardinal (He so does, hes obsessed- lowkey fanboy behavior)

Alfred thinks its nice Bruce has someone else willing to deal with Gotham, who ISN'T under his nagging control. Theres some respect there.

NOW Sleepy Kitten fam backstory (as of rn, subject to change as lore provides)

Well Alan Draper (Originally Alvin) was a normal civillian persona Tim had- but in order to MAKE a persona, people need to know you. Otherwise it takes a quick asking around to realize you aren't who you say you are.

So when Tim was Fifteen or so Alan "moved to Gotham" from Chicago and started taking classes at Gotham University. He started showing up at the cafe out of pure convinence before Obi and Gwen worked there (officially)

Obi's dad had a run in with a rouge, got injured, and couldn't work both shifts. So they turned to part time student and began running the store. They'd gotten used to Alan hanging around and they talked on ocassion but mostly enjoyed silence when the other was working. Slowly but surely Tim grew to love being Alan- one of the few times he could be stress free anymore and yet not be so alone. And Obi dealing with the stress of taking over family buisness had one customer whose ever presence was comforting.

A few months pass and they consider each other pretty close friends to the point Alan had a spare key to the cafe in case of emergencies. Soon after some of the other staff quit and Obi opened applications- Gwen showed up, nervous as hell having never worked a day in her life and already applying to like ten other positions.

But Obi was desperate and soon enough Gwen was at the cafe just about every hour of the day and night. It got to the point where she would hang out even after her shift.

Then by pure forced proximity, Alan grew to love her company just as much as Obi- though in a way that forced him out of his shell just a bit.

It was clockwork of Alan, Gwen, and Obi all at the Sleepy Kitten on random day hours chatting away while working.

Events of the chapter transpire, with Alan showing up with this guy who 100% belongs in a gang, but Obi takes "minding their own buisness" HARD and trusts both Alan and Gwens opinions (Gwen who just saw sad guy and forced to help)

Now Obi has basically permenantly taken over the cafe, but still takes some art school classes on the side with some of the profits that don't go back into the cafe.

Gwen and Zeek have an apartment together in the far narrows since Gwen was desperate to move out, and Zeek was company and free security, who also needed a place. Apartment is just a block or so from the cafe too

Alan lives outside downtown but commutes often, works odd hours but whenever he is free, will set up in the cafe and enjoy the peace for a bit with his friends.

Long story short- they were coworker friends, except Alan refused to take a job literally ever.

[colourstreakgryffin]

Blitzo (I love calling him Blitzo so much that I think he would kill me)) × Sister!reader.

Haha! He will, he’ll come out of your screen to shoot you so be careful— but anyway, of course. Just a scenario where Barbie’s willing to forgive Blitz and try again. Eh, kinda but also not really. To be honest, I already made an older brother OC for the Buckzo twins so love sibling stuff!

Blitzø- Restart and Reload

“C’mon! C’mon! Loonie’ll finally get to meet you!”

Blitzø eagerly speaks, so excited and jittery and his hand clung to yours as he leads you through the kinda dump-y dark apartment building to find a specific room where his own living quarters and his beloved Loona stations in. His fingers laced with yours, his younger twin sister…

It’s been a while since he ever saw you but now that you’ve been reunited. He plans to keep you in his life

You merely smile at your older brother, he hasn’t changed much since he was a teenager. You’ve noticed that he still has a rather dorky sweet demeanour behind those brutal steely walls he’s put up to protect himself but for you and Loona, he drops them because he loves you two too much to be a prick

Blitzø truly trusts you two… please don’t break his heart— he’s fragile and relying on you, he wants your love as he loves you

His flexible long tail is already clung around your waist like a pair of arms wrapping you up but it’s his subconscious fear of you disappearing, you didn’t mind it even when you were shocked by the sudden contact. He has finally gotten you back after the infamous fire incident had separated you from him. He missed you so much

“Loonie?”

You politely and curiously ask as you’ve never heard of such a person… is she his girlfriend? You always kinda thought your brother was gay, but you’re wrong. He’s a flexible man, he’ll date anybody. It just shows how little you really know your own sibling. Blitzø blames you and his father for this, that you don’t know what kinda person he is. Not what he was like as a teenager and eager to be a circus owner and infatuated with Fizzarolli

He isn’t that type of guy anymore and he is excited to show you his life, give you a new one where you’re no longer alone. Nor is Blitzø. His pretty ruby red eyes, which match yours perfectly, face you with an almost flabbergasted expression, in his mind. Everybody knows his beloved Loonie so you expressing your indifference has him more eager for you to meet his precious daughter

“Loonie’s my baby girl! I adopted her when she was seventeen!”

That surprised you as well since Blitzø is the last person you ever suspected to have a child and therefore become a parent but nevertheless, you think it’s a good thing since you always said he’d make a good dad when you two would play family as children all those years ago. But you don’t press on it long, smiling calm and happily as he stops before a specific apartment door and fiddles in his pockets to pick out his keys

“Oh…”

To Blitzø, your smile is so beautiful, even amongst any confusion or realisation you have. As beautiful as Loona’s smile. He wants to see more of it, especially since you’re his baby sister, his hand and fingers laced up with yours without a single inch of separation inbetween you two. His thick long clawed fingers flipping through the silver round keychain hooking all his keys on one item as he manages to find the right silvery metallic key to press it into the lock and open it up with a soft tap to the now opened door

Blitzø basically drags you across the floor to enter his dangy but suitable home, so excited and delighted to begin the bonding process with you that he doesn’t even give you the moment to process the apartment or speak up. You stumble up to your feet a bit hastily as your own long tail swish smoothly before flexibly shutting the door for your silly kooky little brother

Looking over at the many crossed out almost Polaroid-like pictures pinned on the wall consisting of two unknown smaller imps and a unknown tall grey wolf hellhound but himself is scribbled out with dark marker… it’s concerning but you don’t get a chance, once more, to ask him about it. Despite the fact you want to, because

Blitzø almost throws you onto the couch like he was trying to break a table with you, back down as he stuffs his keys into his business suit-coat pockets to be free-handed before jumping over the back of the old crappy couch to land basically right next to your head expertly. Smirking with his usual shit-eating grin as a cheeky little idea clicks into his head at your current predicament

He legit lays his hand over your face playfully like he’s trying to smother you, getting a response from you being to bite his blood red skin with your sharp clean fangs, yet not to prick out any thick black blood. Your equally big and thick hands reaching up to try pry it off in sync to your nipping

“Agh! Hey, ya lil’ shit!”

Blitzø coos out in a playful sense of outrage and disgust whilst you manage to rise up to your knees when rolling over upon him parting. It’s only been like… a hour since you ran into him and he glued himself to your hip until you submitted to his request and now here you are. You don’t mind, he still has your sense of humour and that’s relieving. That your big bro isn’t just a entirely new person now that he’s a grown ass man

You go right to try fling him over the couch’s armrest by his leg but he uses his tail to flexibly grab onto your wrist and try pin you down back. Just playful wrestling, you’ve gotten into it when you got his hints. You are his twin, of course. You’re like him, your tail swishing as you try to lunge onto him and it works when he miscalculates his movements

The sibling play wrestling you and him that are bound in by both of your pushes, ends almost instantly at the sound of the only bedroom in this apartment’s door swinging open creakily as that same tall grey and white female Hellhound you saw in that wall full of pictures, angrily huffing and rubbing her messily gray long hair with a hairbrush clutched in her paw, steps out without a word but a judgemental glare

Blitzø blinks in surprise for a moment or two when he looks up at the fluffy mess of a Hellhound but he melts into pure joy and euphoria at seeing his beloved baby girl has come out in a blink, he didn’t even need to try convince her to leave the privacy of her comfortable gothic room to meet you! This day couldn’t get any better, everything is going the way he wanted!

He hugs you passionately with almost all limbs to acrobatically sit up after unravelling himself form you with you clutched in his arms as he marches happily to his scowling Hellhound with his smile as wide as the arch of his mighty horns

Already introducing you to this Hellhound without even making a modicum of an effort to explain what the Heaven’s fuck is going on to his confused and annoyed daughter. Blitzø is far too excited and wants you and his beloved Loonie to bond, be best friends! He is so damn relieved that Loona hasn’t shut the door in his face yet and is genuinely letting him speak, even if she looks displeased

“Had a good nap, Loonie? Hope you did! Hey! Wanna say ‘hi’ to your aunt! This is your auntie, do you like her?”

[twoidiotwriters1]

Chapter 1. Fun Times & Potty Rooms

Summary: Dearest Gentle reader, as another season starts so do the surprises. Masterlist // Next Chapter Words: 1,517 Listen to: What's Up? -by Non 4 Blondes A/N: Don't forget to leave feedback, please! -Danny

Dear Diary,

Mother insists I write even though she knows this isn't what I meant when I said I wanted to write. I'm not a self-referential lady who enjoys talking to herself; in fact, I believe it is quite silly and embarrassing. But alas, I am writing. To myself. 

Why, you ask? Well, for the first time in my five-and-twenty years of living, I'll spend some time away from home. Mother thinks it's time I do so, otherwise I'll be a perfect stranger to other royals and no one will know of me once I become Queen. When I said in jest that it was my intention, Mother didn't laugh. Which hurt plenty, because she usually laughs at the nonsense I spit. Which means she must want me to mingle and socialize. Lord have mercy on all of us.

Mother used to be just like me when she was my age, but she is so regal nowadays that you wouldn't believe she used to trip over armour and set fire to gentlemen's suits. My father fell in love with Mother because she was fire, he often jests.

Are these the things one writes in a diary? I must admit I'm doing this with half a mind since I'm also watching over my twin brothers, Richard and Rowan, and my younger sister Marie, so they do not fall off of the moving carriage. I wish I were more like Marie, graceful and charming, she's all dad. 

I'm boisterous when careless, with my head in the clouds and unable to land swiftly... How is this journey to England going to change that? A bunch of mummies live in that palace. My maid said they are the most rigid crowd I'll ever meet.

The fun awaits.

Benedict rises from his slumber tangled in two different bodies, with the sun streaming down on his face and immediately heightening the dormant headache. When he props himself up, the man on his right rolls over groaning and covering his head with a pillow, then the woman on his left curls away from him, pulling the covers closer to her bare body, baring Benedict and showing the marks all over his body. He used to find satisfaction in them, but lately, the day after his love affairs has been causing him a most unpleasant irk.

Maybe it's time to... settle down?

Benedict shrugs off the thought with a grimace. A boring aristocratic life accompanied by some sensible woman sends him reeling, it's all a bit too serious, and deep within his heart, he's always felt that he could not possibly abandon this type of life. Such a wide variety of companions to love... Why would he quit it?

No fun at all.

You step out of the carriage and your foot slips. Helped by the footman, you give him a soft thank you and offer him a kind smile, but he doesn't look up at you at any moment. You sigh, realizing this trip is bound to be exactly what you imagined.

Your siblings hurry after you and you chastise them. Even though you're around the same age, the twins are just entering their twenties, therefore it's hard to make them understand being loud and bold isn't cute anymore. Your sister holds your arm as she looks up at the castle with curiosity.

"Ample..." Marie says bemusedly.

"All that wasted space," you sigh. "They don't have toilets here, so you'll have to go in your room in a pissy bowl—"

"Y/N," your mother, Queen Amelia, stops beside you giving you a look. "Don't even think about complaining in the Queen's presence... but call it a potty if you are to be funny. Pissy bowl makes you sound five."

You and your sister giggle, which makes your mother send a conspiratory wink your way. A lovely woman. Your father, King Nicholas, comes up the steps and presses his hands to your backs, urging the two of you to enter the castle. 

"In girls, it looks like rain..."

"Are we to spend all of our time indoors, then?" Your sister pouts. 

"That is less than ideal, considering Y/N is here to be outdoors for a change, but I suppose it depends on the weather," your father glares at the sky. "England wishes to give us a proper welcome."

"No, thank you!" Marie picks up her pace.

"I spend time outdoors," you argue under your breath.

The man smiles. "Let me rephrase, then. To meet new people and spend time with them outdoors."

As you enter the wide hall you're welcomed by the Queen of England and her many children. A few are closer to your age, but you do not like the way the male part of the bunch eyes you and your sister. Or the way the Princesses look at your brothers, for that matter.

"Your Majesty, Queen Amelia of Genovia. King Consort, Nicholas Devereaux, and their children— Princess Y/N Devereaux, Princess Marie Devereaux, and the Princes Richard and Rowan Devereaux."

While the girls curtsy and the boys bow, the queens greet each other. Queen Charlotte spares a brief glance toward your father and a little 'hmph' escapes her lips with no further comment. King Nicholas, a man with a sense of humour, glances your way and pretends to loosen his cravat anxiously while gulping, which makes you giggle.

"Ah, Benedict, there you are," Violet surveys her son over the teacup she's holding. "Took you long enough to join us. Where have you been?"

"Morning, Mother, I apologize," he smiles and sits next to Gregory. "I woke up early and walked around Hyde Park hoping for inspiration to strike."

"Seems to me you were the one striking," Colin mutters across the table, eyeing his brother's neck with a grin. Benedict pulls his cravat higher up and glares at his brother to keep quiet.

"Benedict, did you hear the news?" Hyacinth speaks, almost shaking with excitement. "A royal family is attending the first ball of the season!"

"There is always some royal family at balls, isn't it?" He retorts without interest.

"The Queen and King of Genovia are staying in London for the whole season," Anthony says carefully. "Along with their two daughters and sons. I expect you to keep the family name as pristine as ever."

"Is this why you're here and not at home with your wife?" Benedict asks. "You came to scold us ahead in case we were planning to make a fool of ourselves?" Anthony doesn't dignify the question with an answer, he looks at his brother with a steely glare for a few extra seconds before he goes back to his food. Like I care about flimsy princesses, Benedict thinks with disdain.

"Whistledown says this will be the first public appearance of Princess Y/N!" Hyacinth continues, unbothered by her brothers's lack of excitement. "I wish I were old enough to attend the ball..." She turns to Francesca and Eloise. "Will you try to befriend her for me? She must be your age."

Eloise scoffs. "Befriend a princess? If she's anything like ours, she'll be all night fanning herself looking down at every poor mortal that dares walk within her breathing distance."

"They're not quite like us," Colin points out, just as fond of gossip as his sister. "Ever since Queen Amelia ascended to the throne, Genovia has been known for their... er... forward thinking."

Benedict snorts. Whatever royalty considers "forward thinking" is not even halfway there. Eloise, however, leans on the table wanting to hear more of it. "What do you mean, brother?"

"Women are encouraged to get higher education. They participate in sports, hunts, arts— and can wear male's clothing—"

That pulls a gasp from their mother and Eloise, although they're both different sounds in nature. Violet blushes and replies in a shy voice. "Oh, well... if it works for them..."

"They're well on their way to becoming a leading nation," Colin continues excitedly. "Which is why the Queen has invited them. Whistledown made a joke last month... something about England living in the Dark Ages and being the reason why people branch out and leave the country, claimed that Genovia would double in size thanks to us... it was quite merciless."

Anthony shakes his head. "You let women do stuff they're already doing in the privacy of their homes and call it revolutionary. Please."

What would the Queen of Genovia think of people like Benedict? Maybe he should visit the country, perhaps this very season, he would try anything just to escape the usual horde of debutants and dull social events...

"Well, there is a great deal of difference between having to be private and choosing to be," Francesca argues. Benedict smiles at her, a silent compliment he gives every time she outwits Anthony.

"There are other things happening in Genovia, it's not all about women," Colin shrugs it off. "I was just giving an example I knew would interest Eloise the most."

"And which ones were left out of your consideration?" Eloise grins.

"The potty rooms," he states, making Gregory choke on his tea.

Next Chapter –>

Taglist.

@babypink224221 @Booknerdlife @djsporks @lght-roastcoffee @marii-ren @mythical-goth @omgsuperstarg @creepytoes88 @sarahskywalker-amidala

[violetwanderer]

Target Practice

Din Djarin x Female Reader

Summary: Reader wants to learn how to shoot, and only Din can teach her. He finds a great way to motivate her to hit the targets

Warnings: Smut, fingering, vaginal sex, creampie, slight breeding kink, size kink, dirty talk, praise kink, shooting

Word Count: 4.4k

Author's Note: It's been a while since I've written a fic, so hopefully this isn't too bad. Also I had to look up some of the gun stuff lol

Do not copy or translate my works

"Will you teach me how to shoot a blaster?"

Din doesn't move from his seat in the cockpit, not even to look at you when you ask the question, but you know he heard you. He doesn't answer either, making you shuffle awkwardly and look down at your feet, feeling embarrassed to ask such a thing.

"Please," you beg, trying not to sound too pathetic. "If I'm going to be traveling with you, I should know how to defend myself, even if I'm just meant to stay on the ship."

You only met the man a few months ago when he came to the shipyard you worked at. The job paid very little, and honestly, not many ships landed there, leaving you stuck in a dead-end job until one fateful day when a Razor Crest landed in front of you and out stepped a Mandalorian looking for extensive repairs. You did the best you could with the limited supplies you had at work, improvising when you didn't have important parts. Thankfully, he was impressed with all the things you fixed, which led to him coming back a few more times and asking you specifically to fix his ship when it was damaged during his bounty hunting trips. After the fourth time, he asked if you would be willing to travel with him and become his mechanic while he tracked down bounties. The pay was much better than what you were receiving on that backwater planet, and it gave you the opportunity to travel the galaxy, so you said yes, even though you didn't even know his name. You only learned it a few weeks ago.

"Fine," Din answers curtly, still not looking back at you, even though the ship is in hyperspace and he doesn't need to pay such close attention to what's in front of him. "Next time we land, I'll teach you to shoot before I go after the quarry."

A smile spreads across your face, and you're glad you didn't have to try and convince him to teach you. Despite his gruff demeanour, Din has been pretty good to you. He's patient when repairs sometimes take a while or you don't have the right parts because it's been a while since you two have landed somewhere that sells them. The only rule he is strict about is his creed. You haven't even seen him without his gloves on, let alone his helmet. It's not a difficult rule to follow, though. He seems to only take it off when he's in his bunk.

Despite not knowing what he looks like, you can't help but feel attracted to him. The beskar armour makes him look large and intimidating, but you don't feel afraid of him. Watching him intimidate others, however, always has your thighs clenching together and wetness pooling in your underwear. This started about two weeks after you began traveling with him, and ever since then you've found yourself growing more and more turned on around him.

“When will we be landing?” You question eagerly, clasping your hands together.

“Soon,” is his only answer. You have gotten used to that, too. Din barely speaks, only relaying information when it's necessary. There's never any small talk with him, which you've learned to live with. Sometimes the silence is nice.

Landing can't come soon enough. You buckle in as Din prepares to drop out of hyperspace, and you see the planet you're going to land on. It appears to be quite green, covered in dense forests, and as you get closer, you can't see many settlements. You have a feeling he will have to travel quite a while to find the bounty while you stay behind and mind the ship. You'll feel safer now that he is going to teach you how to protect yourself with a gun.

Once the ship has landed, you remove your belt, quickly leaving the cockpit with a giddy feeling in your stomach. You've wanted to learn how to shoot a blaster for quite a while, but you didn't have access to any at your old job and you have always been too nervous to ask Din until now. He has plenty of weapons, and you're sure he won't mind you keeping one on your person while he's out of the ship. It would be pretty inconvenient for him to lose his live in mechanic.

You hear him slowly follow you down to the ramp, opening it for you and walking down first to quickly scan the area to make sure it's safe. Once he's satisfied, he turns back to where you're still standing on the ship.

“Wait out here,” he instructs you. “I'll get the blaster and some stuff for you to aim at.”

You nod and descend from the ramp, waiting patiently as he enters the ship and gathers what you will need.

Only two minutes later he returns, carrying a blaster that's smaller than the one he usually carries and some empty cans that the two of you haven't gotten rid of yet. Walking over to a log about 15 feet from where you stand, he lines the cans up on it, evenly spaced out, before returning to your side. He then holds out the blaster for you to take.

“You see this?” He taps a little switch on the side of it. “This is the safety. You turn it on when you're not using the blaster. Understand?”

You nod eagerly, buzzing with excitement and nerves. The weapon doesn't weigh much, but your hands feel weak just holding it.

Once Din has shown you this, he grabs one of your hands in his much larger one, placing it on the gun.

“Keep both hands on it for now,” he tells you, positioning your hands correctly. “It will help you with your aim.”

You try your best to soak up all this information, but your mind keeps slipping to how good his large hands feel over your much smaller ones. It would probably feel even better if he wasn't wearing gloves, but you'll take what you can get.

Din steps back finally once he is satisfied with how you hold the gun and has instructed you on your stance.

“Now, just aim and shoot,” he says, as if it's really that simple. Although for an excellent bounty hunter and fighter, it really is that simple. You're sure he's been doing this for years.

You take a deep breath, looking at the first can that rests on the log, and you slowly pull the trigger. The shot goes way above the can, hitting a tree behind it and leaving a mark on it. The force of the shot nearly makes you drop the weapon, but you manage to keep your grip on it. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment at how bad you did.

“It's fine,” Din states from beside you. “Not everyone hits the target on their first attempt. Try again.”

You line up the shot again, aiming for the second can now. Once again, you pull the trigger and miss the target entirely. Your grip on the gun feels unstable as your hands begin to sweat. You quickly wipe them off your trousers before trying again, this time hitting slightly closer to your target.

You're growing frustrated with your constant failures, especially since Din is watching you intensely, seeing your mess ups each time. You repeat the process three more times before he lets out a sigh of irritation, making you feel humiliated. You must look like a fool to him. What if he thinks you won't be able to protect yourself and won't want to travel with you anymore? You could be a liability if you're unable to fight back and need to rely on him if things go south.

“Stop thinking so hard,” he orders you, approaching you and standing behind you. His hands reach out and move on top of yours, setting your aim right and moving you into the right position. His beskar-covered body is pressed right against yours, with his chest against your back and his hips brushing against your ass. Your breathing stops, feeling every part of him against you, and all you want is for you two to be like this under different circumstances.

“Pay attention.” Din's voice distracts you from letting your thoughts go any further. “We don't have all day.”

You do your best to ignore the feeling of his body against yours and take a deep breath, allowing his hands to guide yours to point the blaster at the target. You pull the trigger and hear a ping as the bullet hits the can, and it falls from the log and hits the ground.

“Good girl,” Din breathes in your ear, making your legs go weak. In an attempt to steady yourself, you lean back against him, but this just makes you more unsteady. He's pressed against you completely now, and you can't help but arch your back slightly, pushing your ass against his hips.

You can feel his bulge pressed against your behind, and it feels so good. Embarrassment burns through your body at what you just did, but before you can try to pull away from him, Din's hands grasp your hips and pull you right against him, his hands keeping you in place as you hear his breathing pick up and feel his cock grow harder in his flight suit.

“Stay right here,” Din hisses, his grip tightening. “If you hit every target, I'll give you exactly what you want, pretty girl.”

Your hands tremble slightly over the grip of the gun with excitement. You've wanted this for so long, and to hear that you're so close to getting it has your pussy soaking your underwear. With everything he has taught you kept in your mind, you aim at the can next to the one you have already shot, pulling the trigger and miraculously hitting it.

Din's hands move up from your hips to just below your breasts, his thumbs brushing against the underneath of them teasingly. You whine desperately, wanting his hands to go further, but clearly he has no intention of moving them.

“Just three more,” he reminds you. “You can do it.”

Once again, you line up the shot and take it, hitting the third can. This one just about knocks it off the log, making you groan quietly in frustration. Din's hands on your body have you completely distracted, your mind focusing too much on his promise to give you what you want if you do well for him.

“Focus,” he reminds you, his hands moving up to gently grasp your breasts before moving back down to your waist, wrapping around your form to keep you against him. You feel your nipples harden when he brushes against your chest, which doesn't help you stay focused at all.

“Come on, you're so close,” Din whispers in your ear, the voice modulator making him sound more intimidating. A shiver runs down your spine.

You repeat the process all over again, taking your time to try and calm yourself down before making the next shot, which thankfully hits the can in the centre this time. You smile gleefully at the sight, then sigh in longing when Din pulls your hips flush against his.

“Just one more, pretty girl,” he mumbles, close enough now that his helmet touches the side of your face.

With every bit of self control you have, you point the gun one more time at the final can and take the shot. By some miracle it hits, even though you can't focus on it anymore. Once the can hits the ground, the blaster is wrenched out of your hand, and you're quickly spun around and lifted. You find yourself being thrown over his shoulder, making you squeal and whine.

“Din,” you gasp as he begins walking back into the ship.

Once inside, he puts you down in front of a crate and immediately starts pushing your jacket off, which you help him with. Once that's gone, he tugs at the hem of your shirt slightly, and you get what he's telling you to do. Soon enough, that's on the floor next to your jacket, and then joined by your boots and trousers, leaving you standing before him in your bra and underwear.

It feels a bit awkward to not be kissing him or touching his bare skin at least, but you know that won't happen. You don't even ask if you can remove some of his armour, worried that he will end this whole thing before it's even started. You're much too pent up to handle him doing that.

“Always knew you were so pretty,” Din breathes, his gloved hands trailing down your curves. Your breathing becomes heavy as he does, and your cunt is soaked now, leaving a wet patch on your underwear.

You feel his fingers begin to undo your bra, and soon it's forgotten on the floor as his hands cup your breasts, thumbs rubbing your hardened nipples. A moan escapes your mouth, and your head tilts back, eyes closing in ecstasy.

“Look at me, pretty girl,” Din tells you. His tone is soft, but it still feels like an order, so you obey him, opening your eyes and looking straight at his visor.

One of Din's hands travels down your body to between your thighs, cupping your sex, causing you to whine and buck your hips into his touch. All too quickly, his hands pull away, and you are about to reach out to grab them again, only to see him tearing off the gloves, revealing his tanned and lightly scarred hands.

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight. It's the most you've ever seen of him, and a part of you can believe how big his hands are even without the gloves. You have always wondered if it's just the armour that makes him look so large, but now you get the feeling that this isn't the case, especially when you look at his clothed cock. You feel tiny compared to him, and that just makes your body yearn for him even more.

Din slowly peels your underwear down your legs, leaving you completely bare in front of him. For a moment you feel bashful, wanting to cover yourself to hide from his intense gaze, but before you can think to do anything, his hands are on your hips, turning you around and pushing you down so you're bent over the crate.

His hands push your thighs open, leaving your glistening cunt exposed for him to see. You hear him let out a soft moan at the sight, and you can't help but smile shyly, happy that you're already pleasing him.

“So pretty and wet already,” Din mumbles, running his fingers through your folds, gathering your wetness. One thick finger circles your tight hole before slowly pushing in, drawing a deep groan out of you. It's only one finger, and it's already stretching you out so much. You have no idea how you'll manage to take his cock.

“It's too big,” you whine pathetically, pressing your face against the cold metal of the crate. Behind you, Din chuckles, curling his finger inside you.

“You can take it,” he encourages you, his tone soft and teasing.

His finger pushes against that sweet spot inside you, making you moan louder than you did before and causing your cunt to clench around his digit.

“Look at you, taking me so well,” Din muses before pushing another finger in and thrusting them both in and out of you quickly, stretching you out for him. You can't help but blush at his praise, feeling your pussy leak even more. The pleasure builds in your stomach, but you're still not quite there. At least, not until you feel his thumb rub your clit in slow, gentle circles.

You're too caught up in the ecstasy of this new move to notice him lining up a third finger until it's pushing into your warm, wet cunt, stretching you out until it hurts a bit. Thankfully, Din moves slowly, being careful with you. His free hand caresses your hip sweetly, soothing your body as it accommodates his thick fingers.

The mix of being stretched out and the feeling of his thumb rubbing your clit pulls an orgasm out of you quickly, your juices soaking his hand in the process.

“Din!” You whimper, your body trembling and shaking on the crate as the aftershocks run through you. You can't do anything but pant and grip the sides of the crate for support.

Din keeps pushing his fingers in and out of you until you whine from the overstimulation, then he pulls away from you entirely, giving you time to breathe. Your cunt clenches around nothing, sensitive but still longing for more, but you're not left desperate for long.

There's a rustling sound behind you, and soon you feel his thick, hard cock pressed against your twitching hole. You open your legs further subconsciously, eager to be full of Din after desiring this for so long. He rubs his cock up and down your slit, gathering your wetness on the tip and slowly driving you mad. You want him inside you, and you can't take anymore teasing.

“Please, Din,” you whine, your words full of desperation. You are truly thankful that Din seems quite willing to indulge you today in anything you ask for.

One hand grasps your hip gently while the other guides his length into your wet pussy, filling you slowly until his hips are flush against yours and his cock is deep inside you, stretching you out much more than his fingers did.

The pain from the sensation takes a little while to get used to, even though it adds to the pleasure you are already feeling. Din, even though he must be just as aroused as you are, waits patiently for you to adjust to his size. In the meantime, both of his large, rough hands caress your hips and waist, giving you comforting squeezes as he waits for you to get comfortable. Soon enough, the pain ebbs away and is replaced with a growing need, which draws out a whine from you and has you pushing your hips back as much as you can, giving him the signal to move.

Din starts off slow, pushing into you gently so you can get used to the feeling, and you're thankful for that. It's been quite a while since you have been with anyone. His hands grip your hips tighter though as he fucks you.

“You're so tight,” Din groans, leaning down to be closer to you. “Even after I stretched you out.”

All you can do is hum in agreement, unable to answer him properly with the pleasure coursing through your body with each thrust of his hips. Another orgasm is already building up inside you, but you know him fucking you isn't enough to make you cum.

Your hand shakily grasps one of his and leads it down to between your legs. It's an awkward position, given that you're pressed against the crate, but Din manages to manoeuvre his hand between the crate and your cunt, pressing two fingers against your clit and rubbing it rough and fast, fucking you faster at the same time.

Groans and moans spill from your mouth, but over that noise you can hear his soft panting, barely detectable, but his modulator is just able to catch it. Something about knowing that you have the same effect on him as he does on you has your cunt tightening around his length, making him groan and drop his head against your back, the cool beskar providing some relief for your hot and sweaty skin.

“You take me so well,” Din grunts through the helmet. “It's like you were made for this.” His words draw another whine from you, and he chuckles. “You like that? You want me to fill you up, pretty girl?” You nod at his words, though you can't even take them in fully, too distracted by how close you are to cumming for him, your body shaking from how sensitive your pussy is with his cock filling you up and his fingers harshly rubbing the little nub between your legs. “You'd look so good with my cum leaking out of you. Bet you'd look even better with your belly full of my child.”

It's those words that finally have you letting go, cumming around his length and crying out with tears in your eyes that soon run down your cheeks. Your body shudders with the intense overstimulation brought on by two orgasms. Din keeps fucking into you, rubbing your clit slower as you spasm around his thick cock.

“Good girl,” he cooes, his hips still snapping into yours. “You feel so good around me.”

All you can do is whine and blush when he praises you. Words have never made you feel so good before, but it isn't surprising that a man you have craved for so long would have you feeling this way. It would be even better if you could feel more of his skin against yours, but you're in no position to complain when he can already make you feel so good like this.

You slowly begin to come down from your high when all of a sudden Din pulls out of you with a hiss, and you want to whine that he should cum inside you. Just as you're about to tell him that you have an implant, however, Din begins to lift you up by your hips and turns you around, making you sit on the crate with your legs spread, your juices leaking out of your cunt onto the surface below you.

“I want you to look at me when I cum inside you,” Din orders you, but despite this, his tone is tender.

You spread your thighs open more as he once again pushes his cock into your wet folds, causing you both to sigh in bliss as he fills you up once again. You look directly at his visor as he starts thrusting again. His pace is fast and rough, as one hand grasps your hip while the other digs into your thigh. Your hands keep gripping the crate as your overstimulated cunt accommodates his thick length.

“Din,” you gasp, feeling sore already, but you don't want him to stop yet, not until he's cum deep inside you. You wrap your legs tightly around him, crossing your ankles to keep him close.

“Gonna fill you up, pretty girl, and you're gonna take it,” Din growls as his thrusts grow sloppy, showing how close he is to his own orgasm.

“Yeah, I'm gonna take it all,” you gasp, keeping your eyes on him.

With that, Din groans as he cums, his cock twitching inside you as it fills you with his seed. He pushes himself flush against you, looking at your face as he pants and groans. You can't see his eyes, but you get the feeling that they're trained on you, watching you bite your lip and gasp as you feel him fill you to the point you're sure that it will leak out when he pulls out.

Din keeps thrusting until he has nothing left to give, and then he stops moving, pulling you close to his beskar-covered body. Even through the armour, you can feel him tremble slightly. Your arms hesitantly rise up to wrap around his shoulders, looking for some comfort after being fucked so good. Din wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer.

“That was amazing,” you whisper as you rest your head on his shoulder, appreciating the cold beskar against your warm skin. Din chuckles quietly at your words, squeezing your waist affectionately.

“It was,” he replies, and you get the feeling that he's got a grin on his face.

You stifle a yawn as your body grows tired. Din sees this, and his hands move to your thighs, gripping them tightly as he picks you up. You keep your legs wrapped around his waist and allow him to carry you to the bunks. Surprisingly, he puts you in his bunk instead of yours, slowly pulling out of you and laying you down on the bed. You detach yourself from him, and he pulls away for a few moments, leaving your line of sight.

Din comes back with a wet cloth, gently wiping your thighs and sensitive pussy, drawing a small whine from you due to the stimulation. You can see he tries his best to be softer then, and soon enough you're clean. He proceeds to clean himself up then and fix his flight suit to look presentable once more and puts on his gloves. Following this, Din pulls the blanket over you and pats your thigh comfortingly.

“Get some sleep, little one,” Din cooes to you. “I'm going to go after the bounty. Take care of the place while I'm gone. You know how to defend yourself now.”

You laugh tiredly at that.

“Yes I do, but extra lessons might be nice.” You smirk up at him, rubbing your foot against his groin to tease him. He groans at that, but then chuckles and catches your foot before you can rub it against him anymore.

“I'll make sure you get them.”

[melancholicstation]

God bless America and all the beautiful women in it —husband!jack schlossberg comfort headcanon's

jack schlossberg fan fiction is for the lovers

WIFE!READER returns and is the orion carloto archetype, who balances modelling and writing, and i imagine her making tiktoks in the same vain of alanabananaxox (she's been my no.1 tiktoker since 2021) and sotce on tiktok.

taglist: @obsessedwithjohnjr @candyneckl6ce @rocker-chick-7 @ultr4v1ol3nt @violetharmonsfavgf @strip-weather-forecast @darcyspirits @fortheloveofjos @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @h-l-vlovesvintage @bluelancergirl @snowsgames @salvatoresablondie @dulcegal @kennedyism @bloxholden35 @kimcrystal123 @absurdlyvintage @jackiesgirl @chemicalw0rld @remotewatch @starsprangledgirl

no matter the stressor husband!jack literally treats it as a top-priority emergency

immediately goes to start a bath for you in your gorgeous copper bathtub (cause of course you have a copper bathtub ... duh) with some suzzane kaufman bath salt's that he picked up down in greenwich after a meeting with vogue's magazine department.

husband!jack is a freak for baths and it's rubbed off on you ... seriously like that man takes baths multiple times a week, on top of daily showers

if he had to be out on a day you were particularly anxious for whatever reason he would come home with a laundry bag of new tasteful yet cute stuffed animals from loewe and never tell you the prices cause he knows you'd crash out

is great at being a body pillow and has no shame just laying in silence together for hours

would try to make you feel better by getting the overpriced (not in your opinion) criterion subscription just so you could watch vintage halloween movies without running a risk of getting hacked on some third-party sketchy website

would 100% let you live in his clothes while he was out of the house so you could feel comforted even if he wasn't physically near

would absolutely try to distract you with light comedy, despite his cockiness he is indeed a funny guy so it helps slightly

husband!jack would be such a proponent of a healthy mind is a healthy body so he'd make you go do jump rope with him (cause why does jump roping have to be so humiliating) or even worse takes you out to paddle board, like imagine your knee-deep in that melancholic state where you only read plath novels and listen to unreleased lana and your boyfriend drags you out to go paddle boarding???? like cmon now

you do feel better afterwards but you would never tell him that

if you guys owned any pets together he would without a doubt tell you he's going to be out for a couple of hours and come back with one of those portrait paintings of house-pets to cheer you up (editors note: vang olsen mimi does the most delightful pet paintings if your in greenwich!)

he would absolutely NOT be above trying to self-medicate your problems (within reason) by smoking w*ed with you or sharing a cigar being the chicest couple ever!

would 100% smother you in delightfully soft cashmere blankets in the pattern of gorgeous tapestries

would earnestly read poems (robert frost, emily dickinson, and shakespeare) to you to get you to sleep on the especially hard days

is a devout optimist and routinely talks you out of your doom scrolling

always holds space for whatever emotions you are feeling but always wants to provide solutions to your problems

and when he encounters a problem he can't so easily fix he invests time into getting your mind off it and plans steps you can take to lessen the hold whatever your stressing about has on you

writes mini impromptu love letters/pep talks on the empty spaces in your agenda notebook (wife!reader would totally own more than 1 of these louise carmen organisers in an apropos shade of autumn scarlet )

encourages you to do self-care rituals with your staple skincare products by letting you do the exact same steps on him

while husband!jack cooks for you both you read him your favourite chapters of "democracy" by joan didion in the kitchen every night and it remains a pillar in your routine despite the tumult

during your hard times jack is serving peak husbandry doing the washing, cooking and cleaning

when he's on his lunch break at the office you get text messages like this:

always makes sure that you take your medication (if you take any) at the exact times its supposed to be at and has little alarms on his phone

husband!jack would increase his acts of service to 1000% like that man would be taking your row boots into the cobbler for a new sole

would bring home flowers without a special occasion, just cause

would without a doubt bring out those STELLAR accents just to see you smile

disclaimer: this is all obviously fiction and i do not know this man nor how he calms anyone down, this is all for some fun distraction in these trying times.

to anyone struggling with the results and its ramifications (same here) i would really encourage you to read this beautiful (free) essay from alanabanaxox on patreon: https://www.patreon.com/posts/i-miss-dancing-115580140?utm_medium=clipboard_copy&utm_source=copyLink&utm_campaign=postshare_fan&utm_content=web_share

[shyshyshyz]

Got a request: Caitlyn x astronaut reader who arrived to Runeterra via a wormhole and crashed in the harbor resulting in them being a celebrity among the locals. One day Caitlyn sees the reader trying to fix their radio and phone which they do as it begins singing things from their world.

Echoes from Beyond

Summary: After crash-landing in Piltover, you’ve drawn quite the crowd as the city’s first extraterrestrial visitor, but you’re more concerned about fixing your radio and tuning out the attention. Still, Caitlyn Kiramman’s curiosity—and her sharp wit—keep pulling you in. When she catches you trying to repair your old radio late one night, the device starts playing a song from home, and the sarcastic exchanges between you take on a different tone entirely.

Word Count: 6,500

W: Sci-fi elements, sarcastic humor, homesickness, slow-burn romance, tension.

Sparks flew from the radio, and you winced, pulling your hand back. The device sputtered, wires twisted and exposed, and the panel you’d jerry-rigged threatened to fall off altogether. “Perfect. Yeah, go ahead and fall apart on me,” you muttered, glaring at the radio like it might fix itself out of sheer guilt.

“Talking to your equipment?” a familiar voice broke in. “I’ve heard it’s not the most effective strategy.”

You glanced up, a smirk forming as you found Caitlyn Kiramman watching you with an amused arch of her brow. “Well, you’d talk to it too if you’d crashed on an alien planet and had exactly one broken radio to your name.”

She chuckled, stepping closer. “Good to know sarcasm is universal. You do realize half of Piltover’s harbor has been talking about you since the day you arrived?”

You gave a dramatic sigh, feigning a look of exhaustion. “Ah, yes. My lifelong dream: celebrity status on a world I didn’t even know existed. Truly, I’m living the dream.”

Caitlyn laughed, a real, warm sound that seemed out of place in the cold harbor air. She leaned down beside you, peering at the broken radio. “Does it ever work, or is it more of an… ornamental piece?”

“Oh, it works. When it feels like it.” You poked at the wiring, the sarcasm creeping back into your voice. “It’s a little temperamental, just like me, I guess.”

She tilted her head, giving you a sidelong glance. “I suppose I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

You smirked, glancing up at her. “Careful. Next thing you know, I’ll be making demands. Like… what’s a proper breakfast here? Any weird Piltover customs I should be aware of?”

Her lips quirked as she held your gaze. “Maybe you’ll find out if you stop playing with broken radios in the middle of the night.”

Just as you were about to volley back with another jab, the radio sputtered to life, static giving way to a faint, haunting melody from your world. Both of you fell silent, the sarcasm fading as the music filled the air, bringing a rare quietness to your typically witty exchanges.

For once, Caitlyn looked genuinely speechless. “That’s… that’s beautiful,” she murmured. “It doesn’t sound like anything I’ve ever heard.”

You cleared your throat, attempting to hide the sudden vulnerability the music brought. “It’s just a song from home. They—uh, they play it a lot back there. It’s about… finding beauty, even when you’re a million miles from home.”

Caitlyn’s eyes softened, and you felt her presence in a way that startled you. “I think I get it.” Her hand brushed against yours, and your sarcasm melted just a bit. “Maybe you don’t have to be so far from that kind of beauty. Maybe Piltover has a little of it, too.”

You let out a scoff, though it came out weaker than intended. “Yeah? Well, jury’s still out on that one.”

But as her hand stayed near yours, and her gaze held yours just a moment longer than usual, you felt a warmth that wasn’t just from the music. Maybe, you thought, Piltover had more than you’d given it credit for—especially if Caitlyn was part of it.