#and to be clear: i am not judging. i have no stones to cast

[junewild]

look, i love the character art for burrow's end, and i love seeing everyone's fanart of it. but i think we have to acknowledge that someone is a warrior cats stan.

[voraciousartistry]

“I am the last of my kind, who are you to judge my actions?!” Lecra roared. The grip on his gavel tightening as his seemingly calm demeanor was quickly eroded away by an unrelenting rage. 

“I am the last Drah Ci’an, I survived the purge, the fall of my people, I alone was spared the destruction of my race.” His words filling with vitriolic hatred for the one standing before him, his own arcana spilling putin great waves, what had been a mist of light rain was now walls of near solid rain and ice. 

The soldiers were starting to falter, it was clear none had the fortitude or the constitution to withstand such an onslaught of arcana. Slowly they started backing away, some still firing their rifles at the walls of ice that encroached on them. And yet, their weakness only further enraged the towering ancient. How could such a pathetic species have replaced his mighty people. 

“I spared you out of pity.”

Lecra’s eyes widened sharply. The voice was emotionless, not cold but there was no feeling behind it, as though the person speaking barely accepted him as another sentient being.

Standing before him was a sight that he thought long buried. The long dark purple hair covering her right eye, her violent magenta eyes looking toward the soldiers. Her purple coat swaying gently in the chamber as the blade on her hip sat motionless. But the sight that shook him  the most was the dark purple tail that slinked out from under her coat, ending in a large sting. The soldiers behind her seemed to understand this was their cue to leave and slowly retreated out the many exits.

“You, you’re not possible.” Lecra stuttered as the woman stood. It was simply not possible for this creature to be before him, she was a memory, a terrible nightmare that haunted his dreams. How could she be standing before him?

“Yes now I see. You’re an illusion. One of those soldiers must have cast a human spell that shows my deepest fears.” Manic laughter filled the chamber as Lecra started to lose not only composure but all sense of reality.

Her head turned gently toward him, eyes glowing faintly.

“It’s clear that was a mistake.”

The chamber rocked as she unleashed her Arcana, Lecra’s waves of ice were instantly obliterated as a wall of dark magenta energy lashed out in all directions, tearing through the ancient stone as though it were paper. Looking toward his feet, the workings of a new arcana field had taken shape, his own field was nowhere to be seen, whether erased or consumed by hers there was no way to know. 

She hadn’t moved, she wasn’t even casting a spell, this was just her surface level arcana, she hadn’t actually done anything yet. This single thought sent a spike of fear through the now terrified Lecra. 

“Do you know why I chose them?”

As more of the chamber began to disintegrate, Lecra summoned what was left of his power, the Arcana storage below pumping out whatever remained of the stolen energy. If he could hold her back he might be able to escape, he would live, if only just.

A thunderous explosion rocked the chamber, a distinct blue glow appearing to rupture from under the stone floor, quickly becoming a gout of arcane energy that launched toward the chamber's ceiling. The woman smiled as she darted toward him, her blade drawn. Her arcana field was now tangible as it seared his flesh, his eyes wincing at the stinging pain. His power, or what was left of it, disappeared as the arcana storage vessels below ruptured one after the other sending more erupting gouts of glowing blue energy into the chamber.

“When hope is lost and they stare into oblivion. It’s the abyss that blinks first.”

She was right on him, her blade, the infamous Empires Oblivion drawn and ready to end his existence. As his strength withered under the relentless arcane assault forced against him, he roared and swung his gavel. If he could just stagger her.

In an instant she was gone, vanished from view. A shift in the magenta field drew his sight upward. He froze. Her wings glinted in the still erupting blue energy, her massive tail with the nightmarish sting swayed gently behind her. Floating deftly above ready to erase him was her, Miasta, the First Empress of the Drah Ci’an Empire.

He couldn’t let this be it, he had to survive, she wasn’t a Drah Ci’an anymore, he was the only one. He needed to run. As he turned, his vision went black as she dropped from above, her blade carving through him. Her voice calm, as though whispering on the wind.

“Hear the world ending.”

The chamber vanished in a violent magenta and shadowy inferno, the stonework disappearing as the sheer force of her power rent it from reality. A spherical blast stretching out, obliterating everything in its path as dozens of dark spikes of arcana launched from all directions, shattering the sky above, the world seeming to quake as the entire valley was ripped apart. 

Miasta’s arcana field lashed out across the continent, every person capable of sensing the magical power froze outright or shuddered in terror. Such a release of arcana was the equivalent of a star being born dozens of times over. Even those unable to sense the arcana stared in fear at the growing light show that pierced the sky above. A Skyship Captain would later testify that the Arcana field covered half the continent, the brilliant magenta glow lighting up the darkened night as tears in reality spread across the sky, waves of energy ramming his craft and threatening to capsize it. Through each tear never before seen stars and even other worlds were clearly visible as reality was broken and then remade over and over again.

The First Arch Magus, once thought to be the oldest living being on the continent noted down on that night that the world had once again borne witness to the force that erased the ancients.

Had this in my head a while, might refine it later.

[witchofthescions]

The sage's main armament were short staves known as nouliths. According to Lalah, they were originally based on objects known as adder stones, which harbored spiritual energy. Some of the more ancient whispers within the soul crystal explained that they would place them around their patients to create a confluence through which to channel magic. It reminded Lenar of the arcane geometries utilized by arcanists, scholars, and summoners. He found himself idly directing the nouliths as Lalah spoke, tracing out the familiar lines and patterns of his scholarly magic and feeling the way the aether flowed through it. Could he, perhaps, use the nouliths as an alternate means of weaving his scholarly magics? It was an intriguing concept to ponder as the duo made their way to Idyllshire.

"You said you hail from Ishgard, correct?" Lalah asked, shaking him out of his thoughts again.

"Hm? Yes, that is correct."

"Are you familiar with the layout of Idyllshire?"

"I am," Lenar said, with a hint of annoyance. Of course he was, he's spent so much time here over the past couple of years he could navigate this place with his ears covered and sleepwalking.

"Well, the tales do not do the place justice. Truly impressive what the goblins and their fellow scavengers have managed to build upon the ruins of our colony!" She cleared her throat. "To the task at hand, though... As I mentioned before, we have reason to believe that the fugitives have recently passed through this town, and may even still be here. For the sake of efficiency, I suggest we split up and search. I will see to the town's south, if you could tend to the north."

"Alright."

Asking around in the northern end of the city didn't turn up many leads, however. Either their fugitives weren't here, or they were more stealthy than Lalah thought. Lenar could hear Lalah's approaching footsteps behind him, but before she had a chance to say anything, a voice cut through the usual bustle.

"Help! Somebody, please—I need help!"

"Did you hear that?" The concern was evident in Lalah's voice. "That man is in trouble!" "Let's go!"

Lenar wasn't sure how many were present on the scene. He knew there were at least two people present—the helpless man and whoever was menacing him.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" This voice was different from the first one. Lenar wasn't in the habit of trying to guess gender based on voices. This voice sounded younger, with a dangerous edge to its tone. Whoever this was sounded less than pleased with the poor soul they were attacking.

Lenar heard the telltale whoosh of thaumaturgy. Different position than the one who just spoke—at least two attackers. Great. Perfect! Without even thinking, Lenar rushed towards approximately where the soon to be victim had called out from, reaching for his sleeve and beginning the process of casting Adloquium to place a barrier upon himself.

"Stop this at once!" Lalah called out to the attackers.

A moment too late did Lenar remember he had changed out of his usual attire, meaning his spells were not conveniently weaved into the fabric. He cursed under his breath as he realized he'd just placed himself in the path of an unknown mage's fireball without any sort of protection. Damn it, Erna was the worst influence.

Lenar flinched as he felt the heat of the flames reach him, bracing himself for the inevitable impact... which didn't come. There was an explosion, and he could feel the heat of the flames as if through... a barrier.

"A sage's barrier?" Lalah exclaimed.

"Loifa," murmured an unfamiliar voice. Judging by the position, it must belong to the mage that just attacked him.

"Too many eyes and ears," said another unfamiliar voice, bringing the tally up to three. "We'd best leave."

There was a soft, annoyed huff from the first attacker. "I don't know who you are, and I don't care. Do not get in our way again. You've been warned."

He heard the whoosh of a teleport spell being cast, and the telltale sound of it whisking all three attackers away.

"W-Wait!" Lalah called out in vain. She made a frustrated noise beside Lenar. "That was them—our fugitives. But why did their leader protect you?"

That was a good question indeed. The leader was a sage as well, wasn't he? Perhaps...

"Ack, such questions can wait," Lalah continued. "We must render aid to this man."

The two of them helped the man to his feet, Lenar using the most basic of healing spells to patch up whatever injuries the man might have. At least he could channel that without having to worry about tracing the right arcane patterns first.

"Thank you," the man said said. "Had you not intervened when you did, I dread to think what might have become of me. Permit me to introduce myself. Faldrinet of Sharlayan, at your service."

"Truly?" Lalah exclaimed. "I am Sharlayan too—a recent graduate of the Studium, in fact. Would you mind telling us what happened?"

"Oho, that an alumna should come to my rescue! Thaliak watches over His own! As to what happened..." Lenar heard the gentle rustle of the man's clothes as he shrugged. "What is there to say? I was going about my business when they set upon me, without warning or provocation."

"I see," Lalah said, with a hint of disappointment. "What is your business, if you do not mind my asking?"

"Healing," Faldrinet replied without hesitation. "The provision of it, that is. I am a sage, you see, and I travel the realm, providing treatment gratis to those who cannot afford it."

"A sage besides!" Lalah sounded enthused. "Speaking of which, one of your assailants─the Viera man─also wielded sage magic. Was he known to you?"

So that was the one who had spoken. Loifa, a Viera sage. Lenar noted that for future reference.

"No, I had never so much as laid eyes upon him before. I do have an inkling, however, as to why the villains have come here."

"Do tell," Lenar said.

"If they use the sage's art for ill, then their destination is like to be Saint Mocianne's Arboretum."

"The arboretum?" Lalah repeated. "What could they possibly seek in that abandoned place?"

"I'd assume they mean to track down some manner of herb within," Lenar said.

"Undoubtedly."

"I've been through the arboretum before in my travels," Lenar remarked. "Alas, I did not have a chance to examine the plant life particularly closely, as I was more concerned with fending off the less hospitable inhabitants at the time."

"Truly? What were you doing there, if I might ask?" Lalah said.

"Helping some treasure hunters secure a most precious treasure: seeds with which to cultivate new food supplies for Idyllshire."

"There are a wealth of various plants within the arboretum, both beneficial like those cultivars you found, and dangerous. Following the exodus, the cultivation of certain plants became forbidden in Sharlayan. But that which can no longer be found in the motherland still grows freely there."

"So you suspect they are after an ingredient whose cultivation has been outlawed," Lenar concluded.

"I see!" Lalah said. "That does stand to reason, and I daresay it was for your knowledge that the fugitives attacked you."

"Hmmm... You too are a sage," Faldrinet remarked, clearly speaking to Lenar, "yet you do not appear to be Sharlayan. How did you come by your soul crystal?"

"The good people of Physis Technon had entrusted the crystal to me," Lalah explained. "And when it exhibited a strong resonance in Lenar's presence, I in turn entrusted it to him."

"Lenar, you say?" Faldrinet said. There was a moment's hesitation before he followed up with, "You would not happen to be Lenar Nillefrant, would you?"

"Yes, I am."

"The very same Lenar Nillefrant responsible for single-handedly reviving the lost art of Nymian healing magicks?"

"I wouldn't say single-handedly," Lenar said, absentmindedly fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve. "I never would have discovered it had Alka Zolka not asked for my assistance in his own scholarly pursuits."

"Wait, that was you?" Lalah exclaimed. "So that's why your name sounded so familiar! ...I'll admit, part of me had wanted to run into you based on everything I'd heard about your skill with healing magicks."

"Then... you were chosen to inherit," Lenar heard Faldrinet mutter under his breath.

"Is aught amiss, Master Faldrinet?" Lalah asked. Whether she heard the muttering as well or simply noticed a change in his demeanor Lenar could not say.

"No, no, 'tis nothing," he responded quickly. "I was but struck by the remarkable providence to cross paths with both a renowned scholar, as well as other sages so far from home. Ours is a reclusive nation, after all; our policy to observe, not intervene. This did not sit well with me, and so I left Sharlayan behind—as the great Master Louisoix once did."

"A sentiment I find myself rather well acquainted with," Lenar said, "though my own nation's isolationism stems from a different source."

"Ah, yes, you are Ishgardian, correct? I've heard about their policies as well. I do not know what might have driven you to leave your own land, but I can speak for my own. Like Master Louisoix, I too believe it my duty to alleviate suffering in the world."

"So that's what brought you to Eorzea," Lalah said. "You are a noble soul, Master Faldrinet, and I commend your resolve."

"Well, I must return to the road. I thank you again for coming to my aid. Till next we meet, let us both endeavor to seek out new knowledge and possibilities—for the betterment of mankind."

"Fare you well, Master Faldrinet," Lenar said.

[leam1983]

I'd taken a holiday in France to see relatives and old family friends, and happenstance had it that said friends would have an AirBNB lined up for us in Pouppeville, just a stone's throw away from Utah Beach. The folks weren't too hot about visiting a cold and muggy beach in late November, so I gathered my cane and walking stick, charmed a local guide with my Québécois accent and negotiated myself a discounted rate for a very, very unsanctioned tour.

Officially, Utah is kept deserted. It's not the kind of place that you'd want to stop at for a soak in July - there's a sense of liminality to it that's deeply uncomfortable. You can sense the fury and death that unfolded, especially under steely skies like the one I had. You can see shadows left by the ramshackle German fortifications, and Pouppeville ranks up there with the Smithsonian in the amounts of Allied artifacts it managed to recover and memorialize. Just like some corners of Japan, it's a town of which some of the residents have a, well, a sense of Americana that makes sense-in context. Being Canadian, however, I'm left observing my guide, a charming fortysomething man by the name of Louis Lacoste, as he excitedly shows me both his private collection and discusses the route we'll take. He's more than glad to be able to speak to someone from across the pond who speaks French, too. Before long, that liminality I'd mentioned is made manifest to me, and Louis keeps a respectful few paces away as I try and project myself back to 1943.

It takes a while, but I soon notice that something's changed, in the air. Turning around, I'm met not with Lacoste, but with a man wearing what looks like cast-offs from WWII re-enactment enthusiasts. Clear blue eyes, sallow skin and prominent cheekbones - the man practically radiates desperate hunger. I realize he's wearing the threadbare remnants of a rank-and-file German grunt, paired with French-issued combat boots and a pilfered Russian greatcoat. I'm reminded of the fact that the Axis hadn't even sent their best to Utah, Omaha or Sword, and that they'd left conscripts ripped out of the locals or POWs and hastily equipped them to fend for the old dockyards, usually with cast-offs from enemy casualties or hand-me-downs. A wave of pity hits me, making me choke down whatever unease I might've felt.

Tentatively, I tried for French. "Qui êtes-vous? Que faites-vous ici?"

I didn't catch their response, but I did get the sense that the man was likely Polish, judging by the musical structure of his reply. So, tentatively, I repeated myself in English. That seems to light a fire in the man's eyes, something that makes him take his gaze inward as he cobbles a response together.

"My name... Kryztof. Soldier. Prisoner, I am. I... cannot leave."

I blink. "Did I miss a bunch of roleplayers on the way here, or...?"

Kryztof's hope visibly dies as he fails to parse my response, and he comes closer, pleadingly babbling at me in a language I couldn't possibly be expected to decipher. He grasps at me in supplication - and feels cold. Deathly so. I recoil, fall back and almost split my head on a stone. I grip my cane and walking stick and instinctively - stupidly, even - cross them together, yelling "STAY BACK!" at the top of my lungs.

By now, the soldier is anguished and desperate. Kryztof looks away, almost like he heard something that I didn't - and takes a step back as a man in a proper German greatcoat shimmers into view right next to him, barking orders in German. I likely showed up in his peripheral vision, as he takes a while to turn to me, leveling a Luger towards me. Fear short-circuiting my ability to speak English, I start pleading for my life in French. I hear a gunshot - and then nothing.

Nothing at all. I open my eyes, and find a bemused German, glancing down at his own firearm, realizing that it's done absolutely nothing to me. Kryztof visibly tries to interject - and it's only as these two argue that I realize that I can't entirely see their feet. It's like they're swimming through a low cover of green fog and someone's chroma-keying what I'm seeing to mask the covered, roiling and changing spots - and letting me see through them. My German sucks, but I understand enough to realize that Kryztof is pleading with a certain Von Schlieben - likely the man he's standing in front of, and is trying to have him understand that they're both dead.

I don't need a translator to make sense of that next part. Von Schlieben flies off the handle, his eyes wild, yowling Nein not as a form of denial, but as the sort of stubborn negation that, in retrospect, probably would be enough to keep a man out of the Hereafter.

"I'm not dead," he probably said, "you're not dead, you miserable fool - nobody in my division, conscript or soldier, dies until I say so!"

I must've blacked out for a second. The next thing I hear, Louis Lacoste is yelling my name and adding a few choice expletives as he rushes towards me. He hurriedly helps me back up, likely afraid that I'll press charges for negligence - and I notice that something's fallen off of me, from somewhere underneath my coat.

Carefully bending down, I recover a squashed bullet. The very same bullet the Generalleutnant had fired at me. Louis seems unimpressed, telling there's enough spent shells around to smelt down into a few ingots.

Something tells me this isn't just a local relic. As we're turning back, I slip it into one of my pockets.

Some people, it turns out, aren't allowed to leave this place.

“You’re not allowed to die without my permission!” The Captain had barked the night before the battle. We laughed then. 100 years later, it’s not as funny.

[biggest-stupidhead]

more modern au levi x reader!! is it okay where reader makes petra jealous???

Just a reminder: WE DO NOT CONDONE PETRA SLANDER IN THIS HOUSE!!!

with that said, I will write this heavily focused on Petra to make it a lil angsty, hope you enjoy!

Summary: Petra watches her ex fall for another

Word Count: 1.7K

__ 

It had been two long years since Petra and Levi ended things. It wasn’t messy but it was painful, she had seen it coming from a mile away. He had grown just as distant as he had been when they first met. Staying late at work, texting her dryly, and using terrible excuses. Although she had known it was coming, she still was a wreck when he actually ended things. She spent the months following the break up drinking wine and crashing at Oluo’s place regularly. After two years she was finally feeling better, dare she say, ready to get back into the dating scene? Or at least that’s what she thought, she was scrolling through her instagram feed when she stumbled across Hange’s page. It was someone’s birthday, someone she wasn’t familiar with. 

A woman with bight eyes and an even brighter smile was in the center of the group photo. On her right was Levi, who had an arm thrown casually over her shoulder, the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. Petra pinched the screen to zoom into Levi’s side, where she saw a feminine hand on his waist. She stared stupidly at the image. She shouldn’t feel jealous, she had no right. It had been two long years since the break up. But the picture only dredged up old memories of times when she would hold Levi that same way. When that smile was directed to her. She then turned her attention to the caption, which read: 

Happy Birthday (Y/n)! 24 never looked so good!

She then scrolled through the comments, many of them consisted of birthday wishes and support. She lost interest when she didn’t see Levi’s username and instead went back to the collection of photos, three of them in all. The group one that she assumed had just been taken, the second one was a picture of Hange and you on the beach, Petra felt a involuntary wave of self consciousness wash over her at the site of you in a swim suite. The final picture was the one that hurt the most though, it seemed to be a very old picture of you, maybe from your early years in college? You were sitting on a couch with younger versions of Hange, Erwin, Levi, and Moblit. Levi’s arm was casually thrown over your shoulders. Why had he never mentioned you before? Were you the reason that they broke up? No Levi had assured her that it wasn’t like that, said he wasn’t seeing anyone else. She tried to stop herself from going down that rabbit hole, but she couldn’t seem to. Before she really knew what she was doing, she had clicked on your profile which she was almost disappointed to find as public. This meant that there was nothing stopping her from judging every perfect image that was posted, and to her pleasant surprise, there was only one photo of you and Levi. The photo was posted the week prior, the two of you were hiking in the mountains, the dusty trial behind you. Your face was flushed from the exertion of the climb, Levi seemed cool as a cucumber, his face blank and void of emotion. She scrolled through the post and found a video, the sound of your shoes crunching and Levi talking behind you were clear as day. 

“I mean come on, who uses fucking Lipton? Have some god damn class.” Levi spat, as you snorted in amusement. Petra found herself chuckling along with you at Levi’s little rant. She felt a rogue tear slide down her cheek when you showed the phone to Levi, who’s face fell from being mildly animated to apathetic once more. You cackled as he swiped the phone and the video ended abruptly. It was so innocent, it was clear from the rest of your page that you were a private person, much like Levi. With little indication that you were dating him, it left her wanting to know more. More about the girl that had taken her place, had managed to worm her way into Levi’s heart of stone and make herself comfortable. As soon as these thoughts crowded into her head, she deleted instagram all together and powered her phone down, determined to wipe her memory of the images she had seen. 

__

The music was a nice distraction from the awkwardness that hung in the air. You had arrived uncharacteristically early to Hange’s party, and consequently meeting a whole group of people that you had never met before. The new people were about your age, three young men and one stunning young woman. It was early fall and Hange’s annual bonfire bash as you all had dubbed the event. Basically you lit a massive fire, when you were younger it was your past assignments from your pervious school year, then it became just regular old wood. You tapped your finger against the cool beer bottle as you leaned up against the counter, the men were laughing obnoxiously as they dropped the alcohol that they’d brought into one of the many coolers. The woman was looking at you almost nervously, she seemed extremely on edge, shifting her weight back and forth, eyes wandering around the room in a jittery manner. You frowned, wondering what was bothering her, but ultimately deciding that it was not really your business. Erwin shimmied behind you, his hands on your shoulders as he slide past you into the kitchen. You caught his arm, clinging to his familiar presence. 

“Erwin.” you hissed as he stooped to reach your level. 

“Who are these people?” you asked as you held his bicep firmly in your grasp. He pulled away and looked at you with a confused expression. 

“You mean Levi didn’t tell you?” He said slowly, clearly he was unsure if it was his place to speak on the relationship between Levi and these people. 

“No....” You said carefully, not wanting to make Erwin uncomfortable. 

“Oh well they used to work in the same department before Levi switched.” He said, he looked over to the men and motioned for them to come over, they ambled over with curious expressions. 

“What’s up Erwin?” the dark haired man asked as he looked between the two of you. 

“Just thought I’d ought to introduce you to (Y/n) here, she’s an old friend of ours from high school.” Erwin explained, his hand still comfortingly placed on your mid back. You waved shyly and smiled at all of them, including the girl. 

“Pleasure to meet you.” The blonde with a ponytail said, outstretching his hand to shake yours. 

“I’m Eld, this is Gunther, Oluo, and that fine young lady over there is Petra.” He said, pointing at all of them respectively. 

“It’s so nice to meet you guys!” you said sweetly as you struck up a conversation with Oluo about what they thought about the department that they worked in. It didn’t go unnoticed that Petra remained nearly silent, her amber eyes wide and a bit fearful. When the interns arrived, the men were quick to go help them carry in the alcohol that they brought, leaving you and Petra alone in the kitchen. You cocked your head at her as you poured some pretzels into a large bowl. The warm glow of the setting sun cast a halo over her head and you couldn’t help but voice your admiration for her. 

“You’re really pretty.” you gushed as she blushed at your words and turned to look at you with wide eyes. 

“So are you...” She returned the compliment and you smiled, feeling more at ease now that the two of you were alone. 

“So how long have you known Hange?” You asked conversationally as you crumpled up the bag and tossed it into the trash. 

“Hm let’s see...about four years now?” She responded with a bit of a wistful tone. 

“Really? I’m surprised we haven’t met sooner!” you chuckled as the two of you opened a bottle of wine and poured it into two large glasses. The two of you strolled out into the bark yard, where Hange and Moblit were chucking large pallets of wood onto the fire pit. You and Petra sat down in two lawn chairs watching as Hange and Moblit bickered over if it was safe enough to light the fire with gasoline. 

“I am too, you seem....like a really nice girl.” Petra said a bit downcast as she looked deeply into her wine. 

“So do you! We should grab breakfast ooo or maybe even brunch sometime!” You said excitedly and Petra sat there in awe, wondering if there was even a mean bone in your body. Or if you had any clue that she had dated Levi. 

“Yeah...this is kind of random but...are you dating Levi?” She blurted out, her face turning to look at you with a flushed expression. You nodded nonchalantly and took another sip of your wine. 

“Yeah we just started dating about a year ago.” You said with a shrug, Petra inhaled, readying herself for the next words that would either make or break the future relationship between the two of you. 

“Did...you know we dated?” she said, cringing when the words left her mouth. She sounded crazy and she knew it, but she felt obligated to clear the air between you before it got bad. 

“Hm I think he mentioned it once or twice, and Hange told me about you when you first started dating.” You said looking up thoughtfully, your tone held no malice or any sign of ill will. 

“You’re not...” 

“Insecure? Nah, and don’t take that like I’m being cocky! I just mean that...” 

“No, no let’s just not do this. I’m sorry for bringing it up. God I’m such a bitch.” Petra went to stand and you followed her, catching her wrist. 

“It’s alright really, I don’t care about what happened between you and Levi. It’s frankly none of my business, I just...wanna be friends with you.” you smiled at her sheepishly as she looked at you with wide eyes. 

“Oh” She managed to say dumbly. 

“That is if you want to be friends.” You said, letting go of her hand and giving her some space. 

“Yeah...I think that I’d like that very much.” Petra said with a bright smile. 

__

In honor of Women’s History month, I couldn’t bare to write something that was a stereotypical jealous ex, so I did the next best thing and wrote this more geared towards the reader and Petra bringing each other up instead of tearing one another down. As someone who was apart of the fandom back in like 2014 I am way too familiar with writers turning Petra into a psycho bitch, and I don’t like that. SO I hope that this is good enough to fit the prompt! 

[whaleofatjme1920]

[hullo ^^ this is for the strings of fate thing, i hope i didn’t write too much ^^;]

[Lex, any pronouns but usually she, mh/creepypasta, 18, romantic]

Dear Yue Lao,

i hope you’re doing well, with all the godly things and all. i write to you in hopes that you’ll help me out here a little. see, i am in search of a lover, and i have heard you’d be my best bet. with this letter i have given you a few offerings which i hope you will enjoy (disclosed at the end). i suppose i should tell you about myself.

i’m a little shy and timid at first, scared others will judge me, but once you get to know me i’m as loud and spontaneous as my social battery allows. i love cats, taking naps, wearing large hoodies, and having my fringe over my eyes for the aesthetic of it. i love anything arts related, such as illustration and music and writing. i write and read quite a lot, listen to music practically constantly, and i enjoy drawing and making music of my own (i play the flute and guitar ^^). i love dark colors and dark clothes, the alternative/punk/emo type of style as well. i haven’t had the happiest of lives up to this point, but i always persevere - even if it’s pure spite sometimes - and i keep pushing. im inside my own head all the time, constantly thinking and wondering and observing, and sometimes it can lead to my downfall, but it doesn’t stop me haha. when i love, i tend to love with all of me, and i want to do everything in my power to make sure my partner feels loved and appreciated and respected. i get distracted VERY easily, and i tend to ramble. speaking of, i should probably end this here before i write too much.

wishing you the best,

Lex.

[enclosed with the document: a pressed flower - rose, to be exact; a stick of lavender incense; a small ceramic cat figurine; my favourite pen; a draft page of some poetry; and finally, an amethyst crystal.]

Red String of Fate - The Event

[AN: so,,,,,, how are you doing,,,,,,??? I have literally no excuse why this is literally MONTHTS LATE. I'm really sorry. I never forgot, I just had a lot going on. I can't stand seeing this and not having it done so here it is, all this time later if you're still around to see it. My sincerest apologies.]

This event has been closed for months, Lex was my last.

Somewhere up in the heavens sitting in a courtyard is an elderly god that toys lovingly with the small cat on his lap. He's been busy, that much is true. Busy, a bit tired, but making connections like never before. A soft smile lays on his lips as his index and middle finger wiggle playfully to avoid her quick paws. He laughs softly when she catches him before he sees her ears perk. Curiosity piques on the elderly god's face. Something has caught her attention.

Bao leaps up from the old god's lap before scurrying off across the courtyard. A shadow is cast by Chang'e's light as her paws quickly move across the stone and gravel paths. Her nose twitches. She's forgotten something and she knows it. She mews softly to Yue Lao's servants, almost as if she's asking them to clear the halls before pushing her small body to the front of his palace. The guards, akin to decoration as Yue Lao's power is mightier than his form would have you believe, watch with amusement as the small cat nudges the doors open. She makes a small 'mrrrrow' at them before rushing through the clouds to the edge that usually overlooks one of the god's favorite places in all of China to see it's shifted. Her ears flatten against her skull before she moves her tail down, sweeping it across the earth like a gentle breeze. And she feels it - it's a woven basket.

Calloused hands of a man brush against her tail in an all too familiar fashion and Bao finds it fit to look down. There, down on earth handing the basket up to the winds is princess Zhinu's husband, Niulang. At his side is his most trusted friend, the ox with Niulang and Zhinu's two children resting atop his back. A smile rests on his tired, weary face from yet another day without seeing his love, but he offers the letter and its offerings up all the same. He'd found it at one of Zhinu's shrines. He knows it's wrong to peek, but the energy was not for her. Realizing the mistake, he found it appropriate to pass it back upwards.

Bao catches the basket with her tail and purrs down at the princess's husband before taking the handle gingerly into her mouth. She moves her way through Yue Lao's grand palace to where he awaits for her in the courtyard. She rests the basket in front of him before prodding at it. Yue Lao's eyes widen. How had he forgotten this one? He nods for Bao to get him a spool of red thread before reading over your letter. He reads it again and again, wondering just how long you've prayed to him only for silence. He mentally scolds himself before seeing the offerings you've left. Incense, a small ceramic cat, a pen that you seem to adore, poetry and an amethyst. They're all such lovely gifts! But the poetry, it seems so familiar. He hasn't read your letter until now, and he hasn't ever seen your poetry. How does he know it word for word?

Yue Lao wonders if you're the one he's been dreaming of. Or rather, if your soulmate is the one he's deemed familiar. He can see the form of a man in his eyes, a man who's repeatedly shown up yet he could not place.

When Bao returns, he takes the spool gingerly from her mouth and wraps one end tightly around your pinky as you slumber, the other for the man he's sure the god of dreams has been shoving towards him as a reminder for him to fulfill his marriage and love god duties. He sighs for but a moment before seeing him as he moves across the earth. This man is alone. Dark hair, dark eyes, he's tall and holding something in his hand. Yue Lao pulls a small face when he realizes it's a weapon. Is that really the man he wants to pair you with? Will you be safe?

Bao nudges his hand as she sees the man Yue Lao has his moonlight crested eyes set upon. Tim Wright was his human name, but he's something different now and goes by Masky. She nudges his hand once more before mewing in approval at how Yue Lao's hands tie the thread to Masky's pinky. She nudges his hand again and he sighs softly in defeat with a quiet chuckle. Tossing her gently in the air, Bao closes her eyes and finds herself land somewhere in the woods. Her paws crunch on late autumnal leaves. She can smell cigarettes, iron, and the unmistakable scent of a campfire's lingering smoke. Applewood, and graphite. She thinks it's funny that Tim is so close to you, and here he is, dumbstruck by how a glowing red string has materialized on his pinky.

Bao wastes no time in approaching Masky. Her tail swishes in a relatively friendly manner before she bites at the string. "Hey wait-!" He huffs as she tugs on it with a force no house cat should have. It causes him to stumble, and he almost falls from the sheer strength. He watches the cat as she tugs on him, much too impatient for him to figure out how the string works for himself when he recognizes her fur patterns. Her jade eyes, those are the same ones he's seen in his dreams. For months, he's been visited by a small cat and someone who looks more beautiful than what should be allowed. He begins to match pace with Bao, letting her guide him to a neighborhood through the woods. The red string glows brightly, and it is taught. It no longer rests along the earth, but upwards, as if leading to the upper floor of someone's home.

Masky moves quickly and silently. He does not wish to wake up the neighborhood as he follows the glowing string and Bao's soft paw-falls. And then he sees it. How his string leads up towards a window. He doesn't hesitate climbing, not caring how his teammates in the distance call out for him through their mental connection. Something deep within him has been calling to you. At the top, he peers into your window. You're illuminated slightly by the red thread, absentmindedly toying with it. There's an amused look on your face that it's finally appeared, but it is only when he tugs on it by waving that you realize your prayer has finally been answered.

[keshetchai]

Wait I found...something. Maybe not the thing I remembered. Or I misremembered. But this talks about the shared uh...entity/judgement of body & soul:

Sanhedrin 91a/b

§ Apropos exchanges with prominent gentile leaders, the Gemara cites an exchange where Antoninos, the Roman emperor, said to Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi:

"The body and the soul are able to exempt themselves from judgment for their sins. How so? The body says: The soul sinned, as from the day of my death when it departed from me, I am cast like a silent stone in the grave, and do not sin. And the soul says: The body sinned, as from the day that I departed from it, I am flying in the air like a bird, incapable of sin."

Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi said to him: I will tell you a parable. To what is this matter comparable? It is comparable to a king of flesh and blood who had a fine orchard, and in it there were the fine first fruits of a fig tree, and he stationed two guards in the orchard, one lame, who was unable to walk, and one blind. Neither was capable of reaching the fruit on the trees in the orchard without the assistance of the other.

The lame person said to the blind person: I see fine first fruits of a fig tree in the orchard; come and place me upon your shoulders. I will guide you to the tree, and we will bring the figs to eat them.

The lame person rode upon the shoulders of the blind person and they brought the figs and ate them. Sometime later the owner of the orchard came to the orchard.

He said to the guards: The fine first fruits of a fig tree that were in the orchard, where are they?

The lame person said: Do I have any legs with which I would be able to walk and take the figs?

The blind person said: Do I have any eyes with which I would be able to see the way to the figs? What did the owner of the orchard do?

What did the owner of the orchard do? He placed the lame person upon the shoulders of the blind person just as they did when they stole the figs, and he judged them as one.

So too, the Holy One, Blessed be He, brings the soul on the day of judgment and casts it back into the body, as they were when they sinned, and He judges them as one, as it is stated:

“He calls to the heavens above and to the earth that He may judge His people” (Psalms 50:4). “He calls to the heavens above”; this is the soul, which is heavenly.

And to the earth that He may judge His people”; this is the body, which is earthly.

However I did find this somewhat related discussion on the "shoteh" and psychosis/psychotic states that suggests maybe this isn't totally clear cut in regards to like, mitzvot obligations. So maybe again, I'm totally wrong about the body/mind responsibility thing, or at least, in terms of a psychotic episode, which would be very different from awareness of an alter fronting or co-piloting.

[...] they are lav benei da'at (lacking understanding).8 Thus, the shoteh is deemed lacking the critical judgment necessary for basic tasks of daily living and social adaptation, and the ability to assess a situation correctly and to act appropriately. As such, a shoteh is exempt from mitsvot.9 This includes positive commandments as well as negative ones, any transgression of which would be adjudged ones (performed under duress).10

[...]

Interestingly, it should be noted that while a shoteh is exempt from mitsvot when he is psychotic, once he remits from this state he again becomes obligated. For example, as stated by Rambam and more recently by Rabbi Moshe Feinstein, a shoteh in remission is obligated to eat matsa for a second time had he eaten the first amount in a psychotic condition, a state in which he is patur (exempt) from the mitsva. Once he is no longer in a psychotic state and is able to understand, he is hayyav be-mitsvot (obligated) and he must repeat the act even if he had performed it while psychotic.16

While it may be argued that the shoteh's exemption from the obligation of mitsvot contains an element of discrimination, one can also view this halakhic paradigm as demonstrating acute sensitivity. The functionally impaired shoteh is not unnecessarily burdened by obligations that in essence either add a further stress to an already challenged psychological state of mind, potentially exacerbating the clinical picture, or impede recovery from a current disabling psychotic illness.

https://www.daat.ac.il/daat/kitveyet/assia_english/strous-1.htm

So in the above example the person with alters who is aware of their system uh ...existing and can interact with themselves like that, I think is arguably not "lacking understanding" of themselves/reality around them, whereas a person experiencing a psychotic episode might be.

Which suggests the system is probably still obligated to perform mitzvot in the specific scenario here, but it doesn't suggest the body is separate from the mind in any meaningful way wrt to communal response.

hypothetical Jumblr question for anyone who might know of an answer to this or at least like, an argument that someone had about this or a time it was brought up

so you know how you're supposed to say brachot and certain prayers out loud so that someone can say amen and be sort of like a witness to it

would it count if someone with DID said the bracha in their head in a way where an alter could say amen, like while co-fronting or something

[shirophantomvox]

Analyzing Kars' Character

Hello everyone! FYI I am not ignoring your requests. I have tried for a week to get them finished and I keep losing motivation. Then I had the brilliant idea of writing something else about an interesting topic and then I’ll be able to finish a few requests! Today’s post is another character analysis. This is still a multi-fandom blog; you will see content related to other shows besides Voltron. Today’s character analysis is on Kars, the 10,000-year-old vampire. That’s funny. He, Allura, and Coran are the same age!

Overview

I watched JoJo’s Bizarre Adventures about a month ago when I became frustrated that there were only 4 seasons of Hunter x Hunter on Netflix. Remember the scene in the election arc when the citizens were casting their votes for chairperson and Hisoka walked up with his arms forming an “S”? Many people were posing the question of it being a “JoJo’s” reference and for the life of me, I never understood what they were talking about. Finally, I watched the show for the first time and by season 2 I could understand what they were saying.

I have to admit that by the second episode I was bored because the nature of season one took place in the 1800s England and nothing exciting happened. Though I worked my way through a few more episodes. I noticed a creepy stone mask on the way and how it never fell unless blood was splattered on it. I concluded the mask was going to play the role of an antagonist or help the antagonist succeed. Although this post is about Kars, I would like to take a moment and say that Jonathan’s death was very heart wrenching and it made me angry. Jonathan was unnecessarily nice to Dio and living in a privileged bubble lead to his demise. Jonathan was stronger than Dio and he should have kicked his ass once and for all. Have you noticed that after Joseph’s father, all JoJo’s (at least until season 5) could beat the antagonist in the show?

Anyway, the mask is a key tool in the bizarre adventures that each protagonist experiences.

Kars is a 10,000-year-old vampire that designed the Stone Mask and is essentially responsible for the horrific events that have happened throughout history. Dio being turned into a merciless vampire and his minions resulted from the Stone Mask. After discovering that he and his people could not be out in the sun, he concluded he needed the Red Stone of Aja to complete his transformation. Lisa-Lisa, a 50-year-old human woman, has possession of the stone given by her foster father Straizo. Kars, along with the 3 remaining Pilar Men (Wamuu, Esidsi, and Santana, can only survive in the sun if they two wear the mask with the Red Stone of Aja. After awakening, it is quite clear that Kars is on a mission to retrieve the stone and will destroy anything in his way. He was the only one wanting to live a life outside of the darkness. This was the driving force of creating so many Stone Masks and later discovering the need for the Red Stone of Aja. Kars understood the mask would only work on him partially because of his larger skull size, aka body manipulation. This created an increase in hunger. The Pillar Men did not like this at all and sought to eliminate him so he could not ruin the flow of nature. Kars retaliated; he murdered 99% of his people only leaving his friend Esidsi, and two children known as Santana and Wamuu.

Kars’ character is very interesting. A dog was about to have its life ended because of drunk drivers. I don’t know if this struck a nerve in his soul, but Kars nearly cut off the driver’s head, causing them to crash their car and the puppy was saved. After being defeated by Joseph the first time, he landed at the end of a snowy cliff, making sure he did not land on a few daisies. Given these unique interactions with nature and secondary species, Kars has some vendetta against humans. What did they do to him or his people for him to care only about flowers and animals but want to wipe out Harmon users? He insists that Lisa-Lisa drink poison instead of fighting her. Fighting women is something he and Wamuu don’t take pleasure in doing. When I heard this for the first time, I didn’t know if that was something to be proud of or if he was being misogynistic (you know the stereotypical view society has about women). Even if he genuinely did not want to lay a finger on Lisa-Lisa or any woman, his intentions are very questionable. He mimics politeness. If Kars offered to pay for dinner or a drink, run. Just run because if you don’t, you’ll probably be turned into a vampire or be eaten alive.

This is off topic but I wanted to pose this scenario. After watching Battle Tendency for the 10th time, I always like to bring out the “soft” side in villains. Being a sucker for Fluff isn’t helpful. I know that’s defeating the purpose of villains and antagonists, but I can’t help and wonder how it would show in Kars. As I’ve previously stated, Kars seems to care for animals and plants more than humans...so there’s a soft spot somewhere in there. I had a rather amusing and odd thought involving Kars and Lisa-Lisa. Since Lisa-Lisa is the leader over Caesar and Joseph and Kars is the leader over the remain few Pillar Men, I can’t help but wonder how they’d react to each other. When Lisa-Lisa is ordered by Kars to stay at their hideout while Joseph retrieved the Stone, I know she didn’t stand there like a statue for nearly 12 hours. I imagine Kars offering a drink, water, or juice just to get her talking. I mean, she has to warm up to him or it’s going to be a horrible 12 hours. Then he’ll try to engage in conversation and will only try to flirt with her to see how she responds. He may make a comment about how clear her skin is, how perfect her makeup stays intact, or how her legs look better than his (well, duh, you’re 9,950 years older than her!). This way, he can exploit anything he deems as a weakness, but she is a smart woman. She would reveal nothing about her that could be used against her. As OOC as this seems, it could be something he’d do. Remember, he mimics politeness; he has a trick up his sleeve. Although that may be true, at the back of his mind, he really admires how young and enchanting she looks.

Although Esidsi, Wamuu, and Santana are Pillar Men, they are ancient humanoid superhuman beings who lived on the American continent. They have supernatural abilities that leave them invincible while the sun is down. They look similar to humans, but they are much bigger and muscular. Among the 3 remaining Pillar Men, I seem to gravitate to Kars than the others. Before you judge me, I’ll explain. Kars, like many male characters in this anime and others, has a unique character design. Contrary to popular belief, I like Kars better in his head wrap or while he is wearing his hat and cape. That outfit reminds me of a ghost/monster from the remastered Scooby-Doo series in the 70s. The one thing in particular that stood out to me was his eye shadow and mascara. The earrings didn’t surprise me as every time I draw my male characters, they automatically get a pair of earrings. While being physically fit, he can make ANYTHING look excellent!

Just like any villain, Kars and Joseph are equally arrogant and can exploit their opponent’s weaknesses against them. Making jokes about Lisa-Lisa while she is unconscious nearly sets him over the edge and while Kars thinks he has defeated Joseph, he is launched into space.

Last but not least, I noticed how the first two protagonists form an unusual bond with their enemies. As many of you have seen, Dio calls Jonathan JoJo but does not acknowledge Joseph or Jotaro in the same way. He does twice towards Jotaro but not after that. Kars refers to Joseph as JoJo and I have to believe that even if he knew his real name, he’d still refer to him as JoJo. Wamuu stated that fighting Jospeh was worth his time as he did not waste it and fight fairly. Throughout their battles, they somehow remind me of childish games with the name-calling and all. I wish Kars was not a “onetime” villain. I wish he could roll over to the next season. This is a preference, as I hate seasonal villains, like Chrollo Lucilfer or anyone similar.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading!

[brodependent]

Sam loves Dean as much as Dean loves Sam: a meta

Much as I love reading good meta, I don’t often write meta. Thus please accept my apologies if this is mediocre, and let me start with a simple topic sentence:

Sam loves Dean as much as Dean loves Sam.

A little longer, now: Sam is even better at loving Dean than Dean is at loving Sam because of Dean’s profound and abiding love for Sam.

Confusing, right? But not really.

We all know how Dean lives and breathes SammySammySammywatchoutforSammy. It’s his defining mission, his ultimate purpose, or, as a therapist might say, his “core belief.” But sometimes I think that we allow adult!Dean too little autonomy. We assume that he can’t help himself: he’s locked into this single-minded focus, on loving and protecting the only family he has left.

That sells Dean short. (Hang in there, I promise I’ll get to Sam in a moment.)

Even people who have been forced into a certain way of life have choices. Even people who have been told who they are all their life have choices. Dean tells us, in Season 14, I’m good with who I am--and I, for one, believe him. Whether we follow canon all the way to 15x17, when Dean is finally brought back from the edge of his desire for revenge against Chuck by his love for Sam (the only thing that’s “real”), or whether we keep to season 1 when Dean said--that’s all we have...that’s all I have... and I want us to be a family again and as long as I’m around, nothing bad is gonna happen to you--Dean has always accepted his role as Sam’s big brother. Dean’s life is unabashedly Sam-centric. He’d change a lot of things, but in the end he’d change nothing, because he wouldn’t change that. 

Some fans get very het up about the codependent aspect of this. Others (in my opinion, rightly) defend it. There’s scads of meta on why the Winchester dynamic IS necessary for their mythic role in the narrative, and their human role in the narrative (more importantly), so I won’t write that meta now. All I’m saying is what I think you already know: Dean lives for Sam, his baby brother, and despite the grief, the growing pains, the occasional cruelty of desperate love, Dean said it all when he told Sam (and us), Don’t you ever think that there is anything, past or present that I would put in front of you.

So where does that leave Sam, and his love for Dean? Let’s start with that line I just quoted. Building on the above, Dean’s goal in life is to give Sam a life. He wants Sam to be happy. He wants him to be free. He also wants to keep him by his side forever, to control him for safety and comfort’s sake, and sometimes those instincts of a frightened-child-turned-traumatized-man win out. Dean isn’t perfect. Dean’s full of contradictions. But time and again he goes back to stone number one: what he can do for Sam. What he can offer Sam, by being the grunt, by standing in harm’s way. 

When we begin the story, Sam has succeeded in the path Dean helped carve for him. I’m not taking all the credit from Sam here, and giving it Dean: merely pointing out that Dean stepped into traditional parental roles and helped send Sam into adulthood, even though that meant Sam leaving him. We know that the night Sam left for Stanford was one of the worst of Dean’s life, but even in mid-season 1, Dean tells Sam he’s proud of him. You always know what you want. You stand up to Dad. Hell, sometimes I wish I--

(this, of course, is beautifully echoed in the series finale itself)

Dean is telling Sam what so many parents tell their children: you have gone places I never could, accomplished goals I never could, grown in grace and understanding like I never could. At least, I like to think that’s what the best parents tell their children.

To Dean, Sam is always the one with more hope. More wholeness. More options. To Sam, Dean is stone number one. 

You asked how Sam loves Dean, and my answer is: just look. Look at how Sam goes out into the world young, stands up to their father, makes his own decisions, fights back against Dean’s own nihilistic narrative through their primary losses and setbacks. Dean gave Sam the safety to build a better worldview than Dean himself has, and Sam turns that right back around and tries to give it to Dean. 

What do you think my job is? You’re my big brother--there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. 

I can’t lose you.

You’re not a grunt, Dean, you’re a genius.

This is my life. I love it. But I can’t do it without my brother. I don’t want to do it without my brother.

I am going to save my brother. And then I’m going to kill you dead.

If you ever need to talk about anything with anybody, you got somebody right here next to you.

I believe in us.

This is just a small collection of Sam quotes showing his love for Dean. A small collection showing the persistent theme of Sam’s persistence. He knows that pushing chick-flick moments and emotional conversations can get jokes for a dime a dozen, and even the occasional punch thrown his way. He keeps at it anyway. When Sam knows Dean’s hurting, he wants to help. He’d do anything to help. He won’t sit around and see his brother turn into an embittered killer (season 2), go to hell for saving his life (season 3), take on the Trials (season 8), be irrevocably corrupted by the Mark of Cain (seasons 9-10), let him despair (seasons 11 and 13), let him sacrifice himself to an archangel’s grave (season 14), or let him lose his goodness to the whims of a vicious god (season 15). Sam fights for Dean with full use of his considerable gifts--intelligence, rationality, resourcefulness, and yes, the occasional blind rage. Sam looks to Dean, first as a leader, then as a judge, and finally as an equal. Sam has been looking up to Dean since he was four, yes, but over the course of the show he comes to look at Dean. With love, peace, understanding, humor, pain...whatever their inimitable connection requires.

The quotes I noted above also reveal Sam’s own conflicts rear up. Sam and Dean (again, in my opinion) are equally developed characters. Both have flaws and inconsistencies. Both have struggles inherent to their personalities and upbringings, distinct from those imposed on them by supernatural forces. 

Sam had a glimpse of a different life, once. He had the smarts, he had the drive, he had the sheer stubbornness to live a different life than John or Azazel or hell, even Lucifer had planned for him. But also in Sam--innate in Sam--is his core of goodness and compassion and the principle of doing right, which leads him back into the life and to soul-crushing sacrifice again and again.

Sam breaks and is broken. Sam suffers and ages and spends more time in hell than even Dean, who went to protect him.

But what keeps Sam going? Dean. Dean can’t live without Sam. We know that. The flip side is that Sam doesn’t want to live without Dean. Importantly, I think, he has more choice in the matter. Dean focused his whole childhood identity on giving Sam a life that meant he had choices, even if Dean didn’t know he was doing that. Sam can move through more crowds, more roles, more relationships. He has a better education, he has a more powerful ability to intellectually reason and detach. He would have made a great lawyer. Yet he casts all this aside out of sheer willpower, choosing instead to love Dean and live with Dean through the chaos of their lives, and to go near mad when Dean is gone. Consider Sam in season 4, Sam in season 10...Sam in season 8 trying to atone for the very choice that Dean (the best part of Dean) wanted him to make, even if the real muddle of Dean’s psyche couldn’t forgive him, for a time, for making it.

All of this leads us to the finale. 

You said you wish Sam had said I love you back to Dean in the finale. I argue that he did. He made his love perfectly clear to Dean in that moment by holding his hand, by looking in his eyes. He said, you can go now, when all he wanted was for Dean to stay. 

The best part of Dean wanted Sam to have happiness and freedom. At the end of his life, Dean was finally able to communicate that without fear or reservation. 

But the bittersweet brilliance of that moment is that Sam--the Stanford boy who went to hell and back, who saved the world, brought down one god and raised another--no longer wanted any kind of happiness or freedom that didn’t include the one person who’d been by his side all along. Dean was giving his blessing for a path that didn’t beckon Sam anymore. And yet: Sam said yes to it out of the love for Dean. Sam went out of that barn, out of the bunker, out of that day and that year and that decade and into the next and the next, out of love for Dean. Sam loved Dean by living. He loved Dean by raising another Winchester. He loved Dean by holding all their contradictions, flaws, and heroisms in his heart (in their car), until he’d done what he set out to do many times over. 

Then he met Dean on a mended bridge, dressed in old clothes that said: I was happiest at the beginning. I was happiest when we could be brothers again. I took my time getting here anyway, because I know that was what you wanted. I took my time so that we could be happiest now.

If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.

[gloamingdawn]

May DWC Day 2 - Temperance/Gluttony

Lyn had never been a paragon of temperance, but every time she set foot inside the manor house on the Tel’vaiel estate lands she felt like she must be on par with the more reverent Sisters of the Light she’d heard humans talk about on occasion. The opulence was always a little staggering; there were enough rooms to house multiple families worth of people, and perhaps that had been the case at some point in its lifespan, but the past few years the only resident had been the Lady herself. 

Keranna Zerine, a former noblewoman in her own right, was head of house here and led Lyn through the still foreign corridors that glittered in the sunlight let in by the vast windows and open terraces. Chandeliers dripped with faceted glass prisms that caught the light and scattered it, casting brilliant rainbows onto the ceilings and gauzy silk curtains. The glassworks here were well known, most of the vials in the clinic bore the Tel’vaiel stamp of provenance and she’d seen pretty little suncatchers and stained glass pieces around the city that held the same distinction. 

She’d only been here a few times, most of those in the last couple of days, but every time she passed from the corridor and into the private drawing room it struck her that Lady Tel’vaiel’s personal quarters were bigger than her entire house. But she was here to work, and not to judge. 

Lady Tel’vaiel pushed herself up in bed a little as she and Keranna stepped in; her color was better than it had been previously, but she still looked tired. Drawn too thin among her nest of sumptuous silk blankets and vibrant plush pillows. Still, she’d put on a richly embroidered dressing gown, the metallic stitches accented with little sewn in gems and glimmering glass beads and sat as regal as her ailment would allow in the presence of outside company. Pride was something Lyn understood. “What news, then, Doctor Gloamingdawn?” 

Lyn had a seat in a chair that could probably keep her fed for a year if she sold it and settled her bag in her lap so she could get out the pages of written instructions and a small army of potion vials, “Nothing too alarming; your collapse wasn’t due to an onset of hemolytic anemia like you feared, your blood cell count is normal. There were higher traces of arcane oxidization, though, and I suspect overtaxing your reserves is the culprit. What are you working on for the Magistry right now?” 

“Ah, well, that’s better news than I was expecting. My work is for the Regency and is quite confidential,” the Lady fidgeted with a ring that had caught Lyn’s eye in Talon’s mercenary camp, the purple stone set in the center contained the fragment of a soul that longed to be set free and her Val’kyr calling itched to do so, but Fiorenze’s voice stayed bright as she continued, “What am I to do, then?” 

“Take a few days off and relax, try not to use magic if possible. I know you come from a storied line of magi but you found a limit and need to respect that if you intend to stay healthy and not have your hair color shift further,” the shock of white in the Lady’s bangs had already increased by an inch on the left, as clear a sign of arcane overuse if there ever was one, “I’ve written out a short treatment plan, and brought with me some low-dose mana potions that you need to take with your meals for the next three days. I also think you should break that soulstone, you’re not whole without that piece and it is going to continue to affect your health long term if you keep pushing yourself in your work the way you have been,” Lyn said, perhaps a little stearner than she’d meant to, as she set the papers and potions on the gilt nightstand nearby. 

Lady Tel’vaiel’s hand closed over her ring protectively as she shook her head, “Unless you intend to become my personal Val’kyr, similar to Sylvanas’ nine, it stays where it is as insurance. I take it that ‘relaxing’ is meant to limit my physical activity as well? No terribly strenuous work?” 

Her shoulders itched at the mention of the Nine sisters and Lyn frowned a little. She’d made the suggestion but couldn’t force the issue, “Correct, nothing strenuous until you’ve run the course of the potions. I am concerned that you could develop hemolytic anemia if you aren’t careful. It does run in your family and stress like this can trigger it, but for now it’s a lesser issue.” 

“Well, that’s agreeable enough. I’ve been meaning to do a little more reading in my gardens of late and it seems like now is no better time. Thank you, Doctor Gloamingdawn. Keranna will call on you again when you’re needed,” the Lady’s eyes flicked past her and to the door where her head of house was waiting, “If you could, please escort the Doctor out?” 

Lyn certainly didn’t need to be told twice.

@daily-writing-challenge

[therapardalis]

eightandonly​:

-

The Doctor took her words to hearts and closed his eyes taking a deep breathe, in through the nose and out through the mouth, before feeling relaxed. He focused his mind and concentrated on what was important. Others he had travelled with passed through his mind and he began to smile. It was painful, naturally it was, but there was a feeling of gratitude as well. Even though inevitably he would always end up alone he had cared for each of his companions. Despite the hurtful words, the pain of losing some of them, the mistakes that were made they made him who he was. He was the Doctor, a man who could bring destruction, but that never his intention. He wanted to heal the universe and bring peace to it. 

Slowly the Doctor opened his eyes and his features seemed brighter and calmer. He seemed a little more relaxed and his eagerness for adventure had returned along with something else. His eyes focused on Thera’s face and took in her features. He was sure it had been a long time since they had last met and yet her face made him smile. A warm smile that he had long since forgotten about along his long and lonely road. The Doctor became much more like his old self which he preferred as he eventually responded to her. “I want to clarify with you what I was talking about before” he stared with a little hesitant at first but he became more comfortable. He knew Thera would not judge him and even if she did she was the kind of woman who would understand. “I was in a bit of a dark place…actually I will rephrase that it was a hell I made for myself in my mind” he spoke gently with a sadness to it. “I came here to try and forget but it appears coming here was the best decision of my life” he grinned. “I found someone who understands” he said it with simplicity but it was a complex emotion he was trying to express in simple words. “I am glad I ran into you Thera” he remarked with a fond look “I would like to…well…” he cleared his throat. “If I am understanding what you just said that you are devoted to Gaia but have one else in your life currently than…” he paused for a moment wanting to make sure he used to the right words.

“May I ask you to go on a date with me?” he asked her his face becoming kind and yet serious all at once. 

Part of him was screaming that this was the most ridiculous thing he had ever asked anyone but another part of him was praising his braveness. He wanted to get to know her more and even if she rejected him they would still have the rest of the exhibit and the day together. That would be enough for him. 

Ironically enough, she’d been courted by ... well, nerds was a little bit harsh, even with the softening of the term since the 1990s. Academics. Brilliant, bookish sorts who could talk all day on their chosen subjects but fell completely to pieces when even approaching anything on the personal side. And Thera could sympathise, because she was a long way from immune to that herself.

But, yes, she’d been in this particular spot before, and was doing her best to make it easier for him as he floundered along - again, not something she could cast stones about at all. She hadn’t thought about the Doctor this way before, and was fairly certain he hadn’t thought about it either, not even up to the point where they first sat down and she’d started to make the tea.

Or perhaps he had, and the TARDIS had simply grown tired of rolling her eyes?

Regardless, impulse seemed to have caught hold of them both, and she felt a hint of warmth growing in her cheeks as he spoke - as always using fifteen thousand words where a score of them might have done. A man from outer space and a woman who might have seen centuries but was still all too human. Damn but she hoped they were both meaning and anticipating the same thing when she smiled at him and gave a nod.

“I’d like that very much.”

[ur-favorite-queer-queen]

Second Chance

For Maribat March day 12 theme second chance

Master List

Sometimes Marinette really wished Penny and Jagged hadn’t adopted her. It’s not that she didn’t want to be a Rolling-Stone, no that wasn’t it. In fact, she was grateful that they had saved her from the horrors that Paris now held for her. It’s just they dragged her to stuff like this, some rich man’s gala. 

She had slept for a full 12 hours after finishing Penny’s dress, only to wake up to the news she was coming with them. She probably should’ve seen it coming. Although she was hoping this would be one of the lucky cases where she didn’t have to go. Despite her protests they insisted she needed to interact with other humans who weren’t serving her coffee. In Jagged’s words, “Who knows, you might make a rock n roll friend!” 

Now here she was, in her black and purple dress that matched Penny’s and Jagged’s outfits. Letting a bit of her anxiety out as she fiddled with the strap of her matching purse. Watching her parents mingle with the rich folk while she stood off to the side. Every once in a while they would cast her a ‘go make a friend’ look but it never bothered her, she just needed to wait until they stopped turning to look back at her.  

After about 10 minutes they stopped, perfect. She casually asked a waiter where the bathroom was and made her way there. Once inside she slipped off the pearl anklet that was Daizzi’s miraculous, letting the kwami make her way into her purse, before pulling out a familiar nose ring. Now that Jagged and Penny were letting her do her own thing, she could go back to scaring people into not socializing with her. While she would’ve loved to keep Daizzi’s miraculous on so that it could combat Stompp’s miraculous side effects, she learned that it took too much energy to do so. And she didn’t want to explain why she was so tired after the gala if she wasn’t talking to anyone. 

She schooled her features before making her way back out sending a cold look to anyone who tried to come up to her. She pulled out her phone only to see that 2 hours had passed, she still had 4 more to go. Time was moving much too slowly for her liking. 

A clearing of the throat brought her out of her thoughts. She rolled her eyes, putting her phone back in her purse, getting ready to glare at the person who was going to try to talk to her, only to stare in shock at the green eyes that were watching her. The same ones that had bumped into her just days before. The same ones she had sworn she probably wouldn’t ever see again. 

Her mouth moved without her permission, again she blames Stompp, “You.” 

He smiled or maybe it was a smirk, responding with way too much amusement, “Me.” 

She once again schooled her features to look bored, but she’s pretty sure her eyes gave her away with the way he reacted, “What are you doing here?” 

Just like before it took him a moment to reply, his smirk growing just the tiniest bit, “I’m always invited to these things, I’ve never seen you before though.” 

“With any luck this will be the last time you see me.” She remarked. She didn’t mean to be so rude again she blames Stompp but she really hadn’t expected to see him. To his credit he didn’t seem deterred by her cold vibe, if anything he seemed more determined. 

“Why would you say that?” 

“These types of things,” She waved her hand around, motioning to the room, “Just aren’t my thing. My parents make it look so easy, but I’ve never been one for this kind of scene. Plus I leave Gotham in a few days.” 

“Desperate to get out here?” 

“You could say that.” 

“Who are your parents?” 

She raised an eyebrow, “Wouldn’t you like to know.” If this was the game he wanted to play she would play it. Trying to find out who she was by asking about her parents, real subtle. Well Mr. Hot shot, she’s letting Stompp take the wheel now.

“You know, you make trying to have a conversation pretty hard.” 

She rolled her eyes at him, not even trying to stop them from rolling, “Who says I wanted this conversation?” It was a rhetorical question. She turned to leave only for him to grab her wrist. 

Suddenly she was brought back to that night. The night that changed everything. Three pieces of jewelry in her hand, two brooches one ring, her earrings 2 beeps away from her transformation leaving her. 

A pale hand holding her wrist, keeping her from running away. Green eyes and blond hair belonged to the owner of the hand. 

It had happened too fast. One second she was getting ready to run and detransform. Then someone had stopped her, she turned around to meet hungry green eyes. She froze as she felt lips pressed onto her own. It was only the beeping of her earring that brought her back to reality. A knee to the groin, and she pushed him off of her. Letting the police deal with the trio as she fled. 

She turned to the owner of the tan hand that was holding her back and could only register green eyes. She wouldn’t stand still this time. She twisted her hand so that he was forced to let go. A knee to the stomach had him holding his gut and as she raised her arm ready to punch him was when she finally registered that this wasn’t Adrien. It was just some weird stranger who was persistent in getting past her walls. 

She could hear people talking around her and when she dared to glance around they were all staring. She forced the embarrassed blush that wanted to grace her cheeks down, she wasn’t 13 anymore, she was 16 god damnit! Locking eyes with the mysterious yet persistent guy again, she ran. Ran until she found herself on a balcony, the cold air brushing her face as she gripped the railing. 

Why did she react like that? Why did she always have to be so aggressive? Why couldn’t she just let go of the past and take this damn nose ring off so she didn’t have to go and do stupid shit like this?  Why couldn’t she just be normal and let people in? 

Oh yeah, because she had a bunch of shitty friends that all turned on her because of a liar. The same liar turned her already neglectful parents against her. So Jagged and Penny got custody of her in order to get her out. Her parents didn’t even put up a fight about it, too busy gushing about precious LILA! And now she has major trust issues despite wanting to open and trust people again. Man, she is a wreck. 

“Hey, are you out here?” The mystery guy spoke from the entrance of the balcony. 

“No, I’m not.” She didn’t see the point in not acknowledging him, he could probably see her from where he was standing. 

“I’m sorry about earlier, you were obviously uncomfortable and I pushed your limit. So I really am sorry.” He apologized. 

“Yeah, sorry about kneeing you in the stomach. I thought…” She cut herself off, she didn’t need to pour her whole life story out to a stranger. He probably didn’t even want to know either. 

“It’s okay, I deserved it.” He made his way to the railing, he was a good distance away that she still had her own space, but close enough they could still talk. She relaxed a little thanks to the distance, resting her elbows on the railing. He leaned his back against the railing. They stood there in silence and Marinette decided she wouldn’t mind seeing this mystery boy again. Wait she didn’t even know his name. 

It seemed like he had the same thought since he spoke up, “I don’t think we ever introduced ourselves.” 

“We didn’t.” Damn her being so cold, she should probably take this nose ring off. So that’s what she did, took the nose ring off and placed it in her purse. Maybe this would be good for her. 

“Well, I’m Damian Wayne.” He stated, holding his hand out to shake. 

“Wait, Wayne as in Bruce Wayne? As in the Ice Prince of Gotham?” She questioned, shocked. 

“Oh, so you’ve heard.” He seemed a bit disappointed. 

“Yeah, but I won’t judge if you don’t judge.”

He raised an eyebrow at that before she continued, “My name is Marinette Rolling-Stone.” Now he looked surprised. 

“You're the elusive Diamond Stone?” He asked, disbelief made its way into his voice. 

“That’s what they’re calling me now. At first it was Sapphire Stone. Guess that’s what happens when I stay out of the media too long.” She chuckled a small smile making its way onto her face. 

“Wait, where did your nose ring go?” He looked around as if expecting it to magically appear. 

“I took it off.” 

“Why?” 

“Well at first I wore it to scare people off. People are scared of people that have piercings. I was thinking of getting a tattoo but I’m too young and they’re too permanent.” 

“Why would you want to scare people off?” 

“I have a complicated past. Sometimes putting your trust in someone takes too much risk, I tried to avoid it altogether.” She pulled her sketchbook as she wrote something down.

“Tried?” 

“Why do you think I’m talking to you?” She tore the paper out.

“You're putting your trust in me?” 

“No.” She quickly answered, “But maybe one day.” She handed him the paper and left. 

As she walked away she released a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. Maybe giving people a second chance wouldn’t be such a bad thing. But right now she just needed to find her parents so she could head home. 

-

Damian hated galas. He hated having to talk to the stuck-up rich folk who thought they were better than everyone just because of their wealth. The girls who would try and flirt with him in order to gain his last name. And their parents who tried to push them together. 

Yes, he definitely hated galas. What made this worse was that his family wouldn’t stop teasing him about the girl who he knocked over that one time. Threatening bodily harm did nothing but amp up the teasing. It was times like this where he truly wished there was a not a no kill rule. If only to give Jason Todd some revenge. 

2 hours into the gala and he was already done. 4 girls had already tried to drape themselves over him and it took all his self-control not to hurt them. He was ready to storm out of this gala when he caught sight of her. 

The mystery girl he had bumped into days before. She was here, at a Wayne gala. Her outfit certainly looked the part of a rich socialite, She wore a long halter dress that flared out at the waist. It started out black at her neck before turning purple at the waist. The bottom of the dress had black music notes dancing across and she had a matching black and purple purse hanging off her shoulder. 

Her hair was down and she seemed to be wearing a little bit of makeup. The only reason he was able to tell it was her was because of the black nose ring that stood out against her fancy look. It looked so out of place compared to everything else. 

He watched as a man tried to approach her only to receive the same glare he had gotten days before, quickly moving on to someone else. Seems like he wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to be here. 

He made his way over to her, perhaps to give himself a second chance at a new impression. She proceeded to pull out her phone and look at something before deflating the tiniest bit. 

He cleared his throat to grab her attention, she looked at him with the same glare once again before her eyes took on a look of shock. 

“You.” She seemed surprised that she had stated this as well. 

He couldn’t help the smirk that spread on his face, she remembered him and still had the same spunky attitude, “Me.” 

Her features took on a look of boredom, but her eyes looked only curious yet cautious, “What are you doing here?” 

The fact that she didn’t recognize him as a Wayne was surprising. He thought that she was only in a hurry before that’s why she didn’t register it was him, but now he knew she truly didn’t know it was him. Perhaps he could use this to his advantage. “I’m always invited to these things, I’ve never seen you before though.” 

“With any luck this will be the last time you see me.” She said it with such confidence he felt inclined to believe. It was strange. He seemed to be the last person she wanted to talk to and yet he still wanted to talk to her. He didn’t want her to leave. So the next best thing is to get answers.

“Why would you say that?” 

“These types of things,” She waved her hand around to motion to the room, “Just aren’t my thing. My parents make it look so easy, but I’ve never been one for this kind of scene. Plus I leave Gotham in a few days.” 

Well that sucked for him. “Desperate to get out here?” 

“You could say that.” 

“Who are your parents?” Maybe he could try to get his father to arrange a meeting with them.

She raised an eyebrow, “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Nevermind. 

“You know, you make trying to have a conversation pretty hard.” He didn’t mean to say that, that was rude. 

She rolled her eyes at him, it looked like he was meant to see that, “Who says I wanted this conversation?” She turned to leave, but he grabbed her wrist. He didn’t want her to go just yet. He felt her freeze then tense when he touched her, her breathing became a little more forced, and she seemed to shake a little. 

Suddenly she twisted out of his grip and kneed him in the stomach. She raised her arm and looked ready to punch him. Her eyes looked far and distant and afraid. They seemed to refocus on him as she dropped her arm and glanced around the room. Of course, people were talking about them.

She locked eyes with him once more before running. He ran after her before his path was blocked off by Dick Grayson. “Damian what-” He didn’t get to finish that question as he dashed passed him, determined not to lose the one girl who wasn’t a stuck up brat. 

He thought he had lost her but then he heard someone taking deep breaths from out on one of the balconies. He was about to go up to her, but from the way she reacted to his sudden hold on her arm earlier, it was probably best to give a warning. “Hey are you out here?” 

He walked out onto the balcony. “No, I’m not.” She likely didn’t want to talk to him. 

“I’m sorry about earlier, you were obviously uncomfortable and I pushed your limit. So I really am sorry.” He apologized. Which was so unlike him because here Damian Wayne was apologizing to a stranger. The weird things she made him do. 

“Yeah, sorry about kneeing you in the stomach. I thought…” She cut herself off, it looked like she wanted to say more but wasn’t going to. 

“It’s okay, I deserved it.” He walked over to the railing, making sure he was a good distance away that she had her own space, but close enough so they could still talk. She seemed to relax a little thanks to the distance, resting her elbows on the railing. He leaned his back against the railing. He quite liked the silence, her company was nice. Oh god he didn’t even know her name.

“I don’t think we ever introduced ourselves.” 

“We didn’t.” She stated in what he was pretty sure was a cold tone. Maybe she wanted to stay mysterious, so he would just introduce himself. 

“Well, I’m Damian Wayne.” He held his hand out to shake. 

“Wait, Wayne as in Bruce Wayne? As in the Ice Prince of Gotham?” So she recognizes the name, not the face. Great.

“Oh, so you’ve heard.” 

“Yeah, but I won’t judge if you don’t judge.” Why would he judge her?

He raised an eyebrow at her before she continued, “My name is Marinette Rolling-Stone.” 

“You're the elusive Diamond Stone?” He asked, disbelief accidentally made its way into his voice. He couldn’t help it. She was claiming to be the adoptive daughter of famous Jagged and Penny Rolling-Stone. The girl that made Jagged’s stage outfits from scratch and managed to get the ferocious Fang, Jagged’s pet crocodile, to love her. The media could only ever get a hold of the back of her head, but those that had talked with her said she shined as bright as a diamond. Hence the nickname, Diamond Stone.

“That’s what they’re calling me now. At first it was Sapphire Stone. Guess that’s what happens when I stay out of the media too long.” She chuckled, a small smile had made its way onto her face. Sapphire Stone, he hadn’t heard of that nickname but he could always do some stalking research. That’s when he noticed. 

“Wait, where did your nose ring go?” He looked around trying to see if it had fallen off her face and she hadn’t noticed.

“I took it off.” 

“Why?” He was truly baffled. 

“Well at first I wore it to scare people off. People are scared of people that have piercings. I was thinking of getting a tattoo but I’m too young and they’re too permanent.” 

“Why would you want to scare people off?” That seems like something he would do.

“I have a complicated past. Sometimes putting your trust in someone takes too much risk, I tried to avoid it altogether.” She pulled out what looked like a sketchbook as she wrote something down. Wait what did she mean by ‘complicated past.’

“Tried?” 

“Why do you think I’m talking to you?” She tore the paper out of the sketchbook.

“You're putting your trust in me?” He asked, she didn’t seem like the type to trust people quickly.

“No.” She quickly answered, he thought so, “But maybe one day.” She handed him the paper and left. As he looked down at it he saw it was her number. There was a message attached below ‘My number. Maybe we can meet up somewhere before I leave.’ He certainly wanted to take that opportunity. 

He tucked the paper into his pocket and made his way back to the gala only to be met with his annoying family. By the curious look in their eyes they wanted to know what just happened. This was not going to be fun to explain. 

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

Hi, I have not disappeared, just didn’t want to write for prompts 8-11. I was honestly going to do prompt 8 but then stuff came up and I didn’t have the time to write. I was also planning to write something for tomorrow’s prompt but then I found out I have something I need to do tomorrow so nothing for tomorrow either. Because I had a specific thing I wanted to write for tomorrow I’m changing it to fit day 14′s prompt. Which means it’s not going to be mega angsty like I originally thought was gonna be 14. You have escaped mega angst and now it will only be medium angst. 

On another note that was a bitch to write and edit. And the fact I had originally planned to write more for it baffles me. I feel like I left it kind of open ended so if you want a part 3 to what I have going on here go ahead and tell me. I’m still trying to decide if I should do a part 3 yet. For those who are confused today was a part 2 to day 6′s prompt, miraculous side effects. Go to my master list and you can find it. 

You can also see on my master list that there are days that are crossed off, which means I won’t be doing those days. I can’t do every single day if I want to still get decent grades. Why I skipped days 8-11. Sorry for that long explanation/rant. Also sorry for posting so late again. I do these things all the way to the last minute. Let’s see if I can break that habit throughout the month. Probably not but a girl can hope. Anyways hope you enjoyed. 

@maribatmarch-2k21 @birdiesthings @buginetye 

[cozycryptidcorner]

Kinktober 3: Naga/Semi-public

Tags: naga, semi-public, is there a word for female cockwarming? pussy warming??? idk, uhhh, yeah

You don’t know why you find the upper levels of the library so enticing. Once the archives are closed, no one very much cares to venture up to the near-attic, the scent of carefully dusted wood calming after a day of stressing over whatever class you feel like you’re falling behind in. Up here in the rafters, surrounded by ancient scripture and stories of lands almost forgotten, you can slip out of your mind and focus solely on what you must.

Okay, well, scratch that, maybe you do know why you like it up here. Thunder roars in the near distance, shockwaves of sound vibrating against the windows and stone of the walls. It doesn’t take too much of a temperature shift outside to suck out all the heat through the thin sheet of glass separating you from the raging storm, and by the way a frigid nose pokes beneath your skirt, someone doesn’t find the cold as enticing as you.

With a steady hand, you turn the page of your textbook, eyes scanning the page as a scaled tail wraps around your ankle. Tapping your pen against your notebook, you practically glare at the illustration, trying to ignore the imploring fingers slipping beneath your underwear. All you offer in response is a quick shift of your hips to ease his struggle, his breath almost cool against the wetness between your thighs.

“Malak,” you half-whisper, tangling your fingers in his white hair. “You said you would help me study.”

“I’m cold, baby,” he hums in response, hiking up your skirt further up to your waist. Teeth graze against your inner thigh, nothing more than a playful nip, but it melts your insides down to a boiling point. “Let me warm up first.”

Swallowing thickly, you only turn back to your schoolwork, trying to angle yourself on the chair in a way that lets you spread your legs as far as necessary. Focus, focus, focus, your mind chants as his tongue slowly teases the skin around your lips. Intention when casting runes is just as important as the markings themselves; to fully produce their desired effect, one must-

A burst of pleasure runs up the length of your spine; you have to catch yourself before you let out a sobbing whimper. Malak’s tongue has graced your clit with its presence, his bright blue eyes looking up from under the table with a sly triumph. Clamping your mouth shut, you turn back to your work, trying to focus on making a flashcard with the proper vocab words as he spreads the skin of your pussy out.

Trying to keep your voice steady, you say, “what are the three virtues one must exhibit while casting runes?”

“Clarity,” he kisses your slit, “focus,” another kiss, “and aplomb.”

“Good,” you manage to get yourself under control, taking a sip out of your thermos, “glad to see you’re keeping up.”

He makes a purring noise, flattening his tongue and licking from top to bottom, little sparks of thrill running through your core. Then, just to be infuriating, you think, he lets out a small whimpering noise that sets your entire being on edge. Still, there’s no one around to hear his little show of subjugation, so you decide to let it slide.

Up, down, up, down, a smile on his face as you wrap a leg around his cool back.

Keeping your voice under control, you look over your notes. “What is considered the rune for this modern age?”

He waits for a beat, flicking his tongue against your opening, then says, “Synthetic Moderna.”

You shudder as he delves back down, but you have to nod your head. “Ri-right. What about- what about the Acadian Revival?”

“A period in the nineteenth century revolving around the idea that older magicks were somehow better than modern- do I have that right?” Without waiting for your answer, his mouth closes on the upper part of your pussy, slowly pushing his tongue between your folds, sliding it back and forth against your clit.

You suck in your breath. “Y-yeah, that’s it exactly.” Trying to convince your quivering core that everything is alright and you don’t have to pay attention to what’s happening between your legs, you turn the page, eyes dancing over the chapter for more important information. “And what put the Acadian magic back into obscurity?”

You think you can feel his eyes rolling, but you’re so focused on the letters in your book that you don’t look. “Older magic was useful for the older world. New technologies mean new uses that don’t coincide with those ancient concepts.”

“Yes, that’s- that’s correct.” You don’t understand how he can be so very casual about everything while his tongue slowly probes your entrance, nor could you ever fathom why he might not insist you pay his own body any mind. Still, you suppose that you’re grateful for the release.

“Have I earned my prize yet?” He asks, batting his pale, thick eyelashes at you.

“Not yet,” your chest is tight, your core even hotter. “We need to get through this unit first.”

“Mmph,” he complains against your pussy, taking one of your lips and nipping gently with his fangs.

You don’t want to ask him for any more information, mostly because his face feels awfully nice against your throbbing core, but you also don’t want him to flunk out, no matter how much he seems to know his stuff, he has a nasty habit of not showing up to exams. “Who is an influential figure that began the development of Synthetic Moderna?”

He shivers against your body, tail wrapping up your shin and closing in on your knee. “Alphonsa Rodrigez.”

For being at the mercy of someone hellbent on making you cum, you think you’re doing an outstanding job at ignoring him… until his fingers become involved. Your vision blurs despite your desperate attempts to focus on anything and everything but him. Clearing your throat, you continue, “and what exact discovery did Doctor Rodrigez discover?”

He moans into your pussy, his throat rumbling low and sweet. Now that his fingers are involved, the stroking of your clit doesn’t cease when he looks back up at your face, “isn’t she the one who came up with the three virtues?”

You inhale sharply as he presses his thumb into your slit, but say, “no, she wasn’t the one to finalized the three virtues into mainstream practices… it has to do with the idea of clarity, though.”

“Oh,” he says, realization in his eyes as he offers a kiss to your thigh, “right, wasn’t she involved in the development of neural observation when it came to the actual casting?”

“Ye-Es!” Your voice lilts and almost becomes a whine as Malak, the fucking bastard, closes his mouth around your clit and sucks just as you open your mouth. You clap your hands over your mouth, face red, hoping desperately that no one heard. Judging by the lusty smile on his face, he knows what he did, and you feel the urge to smack him upside the head. ” Malak!”

“Careful, baby,” he says, infuriatingly quiet, “someone might hear you.”

As though the universe heard his words and decided that it would be super funny to turn against you in the worst way imaginable, you hear footsteps. Sucking in air, you’re quick to fix your posture, wrapping your legs around Malak’s neck in the hopes of keeping him still. Despite the hazy layer of sweat on your temple, you think, you hope that you don’t look like… well, like someone is mouth fucking you beneath the table.

“Are you alright?” A head pokes out from the back, eyebrows raised. A grad student you recognize, he’s one of the TA’s in your least favorite class this semester, though you’d never tell him that.

Silently, you thank every god who might have brought the desk you’re sitting at because it’s one of the older fashioned ones, the kind that closes off and hides whatever might be underneath from passersby. Briefly, you wonder if the person who first made them had this exact reason behind it. Malak’s tongue doesn’t give you an ounce of reprieve, working almost harder to flush your face, hoping with all the power in his fingers that you might squeal with pleasure.

But you’re stronger than that, more determined than he, so you offer up a casual smile and a noncommittal shrug. “Sorry, Martin, I saw a spider. You know how I am with those.”

“Ri-ight,” he says, drawing out the center syllable for longer than you would like. Maybe he’s just mocking you for the phobia? “Of course, sorry for interrupting.”

“Oh, I’m just studying-”

“Of course, goodbye.” And just like that, his head ducks back between the books, gone and embarrassed for reasons you don’t want to think about. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a tail poking out from where the wooden board almost meets the floor, thrashing about like in some kind of distress. Or some sort of perverse pleasure.

You don’t have time to feel shameful because Malak is attacking your body with a much more vicious gusto than you had thought him capable of… okay, well, maybe not, but you did think he would at least wait until the study session was over. Steadily, with so little mercy, he sucks on your clit directly; you have to bite down on your hand to keep from crying out.

Even if you offer up a meager question, you know that he’s so focused on your pleasure that he couldn’t be bothered to answer. You’re almost afraid that you might be squeezing his head too tightly, but he doesn’t seem bothered in the least, arm snaking around one of your legs to shift and position however he needs. Out away, then back closer when a chill of coldness threatens his delicate skin.

He’s sucking now, sucking on your clit, except it’s not like those quick, kissing motions; it’s full-on, and your vision tangles with a web of black. Everything in your core is tight, hot, yet Malak is cool enough to tie your body down to the mortal plane, even if he’s relentlessly licking like his life depends on your orgasm. And there, you can feel it coiling in your stomach. You have to bite down on your sleeve lest you start whining like a pup. With your other hand, though, you rake your fingers through his hair.

Now he’s looking at you, crystalline eyes filled to the brim with smug satisfaction. Still, his tongue moves against your lower regions with the skill of a well-seasoned whore, a kind of his own desperation on his face. Almost like his very being depends on your pleasure. He gently pushes a finger into your pussy, curving it slightly to hit that one specific spot, then slowly begins to massage your inner walls, and you are over.

You can feel the beginning of the orgasm creep up inside your core, small tendrils of pleasure reaching out through your nerves. The steady building turns into waves, though, morphing from a modest sort of feeling to something large, bright, and overshadowing everything else. Something slick and hot rushes through your pussy, trickling out and into Malak’s eager and waiting mouth.

The sounds he makes while drinking your cum are obscene, even though he tries to keep quiet, just as you asked. But he doesn’t slow down and instead lets you ride out your orgasm on his face, tongue still licking and mouth continuously kissing despite your body’s slow decline off that high. Everything in your body seems to shut off, muscles relaxing as the final rolls of pleasure ebb away, until you’re barely nothing more than a shivering, boneless mass on the chair.

He crawls up your body then, every movement with purpose and vigor. He kisses your stomach, a shiver pulsing out from it, then up your sweater, pausing at your collarbone, then goes to your neck. You wrap your arms around his torso and your legs around his waist, snuggling up against his solid, large body to ground yourself.

“Babe?” He asks.

“Yeah?”

“What leap of advancement does Synthetic Moderna have over its many predecessors?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Incorrect! That's a penalty."

[brandonwritesstuff]

Queen of Nothing

Dark, cold, bitter and lonely

This is the world that we’ve made

Don’t turn your nose and act like you’re holy

Slowly we all see your façade start to fade

No different than me

You are a sinner

Soon you will see

The pain that you have delivered

Why do you want to hold me

Does it really give you a rush

Sitting high on your throne with a broken crown

Looking at all the dreams that you’ve managed to crush

Gone are the days I help when you fall

To make your skies clear

In this delusion where you think you have it all

Losing this power is what you fear

You’ve become the Queen of Nothing as you stand there alone

Judging those who come before you

Silently casting your stones

Knowing that they can accomplish what you could never do

You are no longer a problem that I have to care for

Thankful that I am under your control no more.

[chockfullofsecrets]

Critical Role: Waiting For My Mind To Go To Sleep

(Read on AO3)

Rating: Teen & Up for Caleb having a pretty bad day

Summary: He levers himself up from the little nest he’s made of his arms, his sudden suspicion the only thing keeping him from stumbling over the word. “This does not tickle one bit, by the way.”

“Okay,” Caduceus says. “Did you want it to?”

Caleb can't sleep. Caduceus decides to take matters into his own hands.

Wordcount: 5.3k (SAVE ME)

A/N: so this turned into... something... i think it’s safe to say in general that if you ever feel like Caleb, please take a deep breath and do something nice for yourself <3 

For anyone who's trying to keep track - set after Difficult, with a bit of reference to Staying Warm.

---

Caleb has not possessed a desk in a long time, so it is a shame that he is currently wasting his new one as a place to rest his head while he waits for exhaustion to take him.

He’s counting off the end of twelve minutes, growing increasingly frustrated as the simplicity of the numbers fails to stop his brain from running itself in ragged circles, when slow footsteps sound out from the hallway. “Oh, you’re still up.”

It’s Caduceus. Caleb peels himself off long-dried sheets of spellwork and tries to make himself look a little less like an empty shell of a person. “Ja, I am up, what can I do for you.”

The slight downward tilt to Caduceus’ eyebrows in an otherwise placid expression radiates disappointment. “You said you were going to sleep, earlier.”

Earlier being an hour and forty minutes ago, when Caduceus passed by him with a full teapot on his way to the roof. Strange, given that the kitchen is just next to the staircase and his study is on the opposite side of the house. He sighs and rubs at his face - there is a chance, however slight, that this time pressing at his temples will actually help with the headache even if he deserves the fucking thing for getting them here in the first place. “I am working on ah, a new spell, I am a little distracted.”

It’s not a lie, exactly. Studying is distracting him from sleep, and the cold comfort of possessing a house and certain debt gifted to them by a major political faction of the Kryn dynasty is distracting him from studying, no matter how nice his desk is. The last time his life took such a turn, he was a young man recently arrived in Rexxentrum with his two best friends in the entire world - he can think of many, many good reasons to prise the jaw of this particular gift horse open.

The problem, then, is stopping. Easy enough, when he can turn himself into a bat, but his distracted attempts at study and the resulting failures have removed even that avenue from him today. It is lucky that the Dynasty has yet to ask a new favor from them that would require him to cast.

But then, he has never held much hope for luck - and, oh, Caduceus has moved much nearer at some point.

“I will sleep,” he acquiesces, nodding in the vague direction of a flowing sleeve, and refrains from adding any sort of incriminating time frame. “You should get some rest as well, mein freund.”

Caduceus clears his throat, somewhere miles overhead. “Your arms are going to get sore, if you keep doing that.”

He looks down. Takes a deep breath and lets it out as he pulls his hands away from the scars and lays them flat against the fine wooden grain of the desk. “Thank you.”

That should be the end of it, he thinks, and he can go back to counting miserably, but the smudge of pink in his peripheral vision stays stubbornly present. “Is… is there something else?”

“You know,” Caduceus says with that unruffled serenity of his, “I think I’m going to make some more tea. I’ll bring you a cup, and we’ll sit for a while.”

Caleb winces.

He is fond of Caduceus, very much so, as he is of all his friends. It is just - it is not that he doesn’t know he is terrible, anymore, he has revealed all but the worst of it in Felderwin and their group has decided that his contributions are worth the trouble of associating with him anyway. But Caduceus, who cares so naturally and unselfishly, who operates with a faith in everything around him that Caleb cannot begin to understand - something about his knowing gaze is unsettling, when Caleb cannot tell what he knows or how he is judging him.

The part of him that is tired would welcome a friendly presence to lull him to sleep, instinctively knowing by now that they are safer here than nearly anywhere else in the world. The other part, bitter and exhausted, trusts no one. Least of all himself, when he cannot even think through political machinations.

He’s waited too long to respond - he can feel Caduceus’ gaze now, prickling at the side of his head. “I can bring some of this to the kitchen, if that is where you are going.”

“Oh, I was thinking we could use your bed,” Caduceus says. The visual of Jester waggling her eyebrows suggestively springs to mind, and he bites the inside of his cheek before he can smile. “Why don’t you go lie down, and I’ll be there in a minute with the tea.”

It sounds more like a command, really - Caduceus wanders off, and there’s nothing to do after that but to retreat to his room. He begins the rote process of shucking his boots and socks in deference to the warm night and reaches up for his holsters.

His fingers close around the buckles, and suddenly he is frozen, possibilities of disaster everywhere. It will be safer if they stay on him, even though they are in the middle of a residential neighborhood, he has to keep them close-

He breathes out, slowly, through his nose and strips them off as well. It feels like a punishment, but then, maybe that is how he can stop himself from thinking too much. Not that it has ever worked before, piling discomfort upon discomfort like a stone wall, but if it is what he has to hand at the moment then so be it.

Next, the bed. He takes a step towards the bed, knowing that is where Caduceus will expect to find him - but his mind is still spinning with a dozen different threads, spells and spycraft and a sudden curiosity as to what the Kryn stuff their mattresses with, surely they do not grow hay or cotton here-

He’s still standing there when Caduceus ducks through the doorframe, large fingers wrapped with delicate care around the handles of two mugs, and shuffles one of them forcefully into his hands. “There we go. It’s not too hot, is it?”

He gulps the first sip down inelegantly. It’s the perfect temperature to warm his throat without burning his tongue, as Caduceus’ tea always is, but it feels - wrong, somehow - “Is there something in this?”

Caduceus blinks down at him. “Oh, did some of the tea leaves get through the strainer? I mean, they’re probably pretty tiny if they can do that, but I can try to pick ‘em out if they’re bugging you.”

“Ah - I mean - it tastes-” He pauses, proceeds more delicately. “There is not anything in this meant to put me to sleep?”

Caduceus looks surprised, for a moment, before patient amusement washes over his face - Caleb glances down, awkwardly, and hopes that the gentle steaming of the cup in his hands hides the way his face flushes. “It’s not drugged, if that’s what you’re asking. But with how tired you look, I’m not surprised that’s what it feels like.”

“Oh,” he says. Maybe if he downs the entire thing in one shot, it will do him the mercy of knocking him out here and now anyway.

Suddenly Caduceus’ hands are on his, gently pulling the empty cup away from his fingers and setting it down next to his holsters. “Mind if I sit?”

“No,” Caleb says, and then “Uh-” as Caduceus takes him by the elbow and starts leading him in the direction of the bed. “Wait, what are we doing?”

“C’mere,” Caduceus tells him, easing himself down at the edge of the mattress and folding his legs up beneath him.

He stares stupidly. “Where?”

“On the bed, ideally.” Caduceus says, and tugs him a little closer. “Didn’t seem like you were gonna make it there yourself.”

He should walk around to the other side and lay down there, he knows, but months of travel with these people have ruined him - he sits automatically next to Caduceus and leans into his side as he might if they were stopping for an hour of rest before realizing what he’s done.

He jerks away. “Ah - you meant to lay down, of course, I will just-”

“Nope,” Caduceus says, and promptly snakes his arm around Caleb and pulls him over into his lap.

His back hits Caduceus’ knee with a solid thump - he flounders for a moment, trying to figure out where all his limbs are among the tangle of long firbolg legs, and then he realizes that Caduceus is watching him.

Their eyes meet. Caduceus smiles down at him, seemingly unbothered by the presence of an idiot in his lap. “There, you’re laying down,” he says. “Comfy?”

“Hnnnng,” Caleb whimpers. He rolls over as best he can and buries his face in his arms, unwilling to bear the eye contact - how many more things can he do wrong today?

Caduceus hums thoughtfully.

The next thing he feels is softness as gentle fingers undo his ponytail, combing through the strands, and arrange his hair to lay loosely around him - they smooth the last of it down and start massaging the back of his head, rubbing gently behind his ears.

It is so completely unexpected that it undoes him; he spares a single moment of thankfulness that he’s washed his hair recently and succumbs to the simple bliss. “Oh, Scheisse, that feels good.”

Caduceus’ belly, pressed warm against his side, shakes in quiet amusement. “Thought it might,” he says. “You’re not easy to calm down, are you.”

“No,” Caleb says, honestly regretful. Even as the rush of tingles from having his scalp scratched washes down his back, he still cannot make himself stop thinking - about whether he has manipulated Caduceus into doing this by being too lazy to take himself to bed earlier, about what he can do to return the favor-

“I know you think that I am neglecting myself,” he says finally, groaning a little as Caduceus drags a thumb firmly down the back of his neck. “I know I need to rest so that I can cast, I just - ah - it is tricky-”

Caduceus pauses, rubbing at the edge of his shoulder blade for a moment. “Of course you can take care of yourself.” He punctuates the statement by untwisting Caleb’s spine with a loud crack that leaves him gasping in sudden relief as a good amount of the tension in his back disappears. “Doesn’t hurt to have a little help, though.”

He scratches lightly at the backs of Caleb’s ribs. It’s pleasantly sharp, little pinpricks of sensation rushing up and down, and Caleb squirms happily for a moment into his hands before he realizes.

He levers himself up from the little nest he’s made of his arms, his sudden suspicion the only thing keeping him from stumbling over the word. “This does not tickle one bit, by the way.”

“Okay,” Caduceus says. “Did you want it to?”

Squirming a little more, he bites back the traitorous yes, please that forms on the back of his tongue. “No.”

“Then be good and stay still,” Caduceus says, and keeps scratching.

Caleb huffs and sticks his nose back into the crook of his elbow. “You are very bossy sometimes, you know that?”

He tenses as soon as he says it - there is a reason he keeps these things to himself unless he is talking about Beauregard, who seems to prefer his annoyance to most other things that leave his mouth.

Caduceus just chuckles. “You don’t have any siblings, do you.”

“No,” he says - and then, if only because they have been on his mind of late as he thinks about politics and consequences - “old friends, though, growing up.”

“Shame,” Caduceus hums, hands sliding down to scuff at his sides. “Then I guess you’ve never been in a tickle fight.”

There is the familiar, guilty, sting, thinking of the past - but one more thread of thought could hardly make the tangle any worse, could it? Of course Astrid and Wulf had known he was ticklish, they knew everything about one another. In the beginning, when there was still time for such things, he remembers them abusing the knowledge at times when Ikithon’s clear favoritism rankled a little too much, or, more rarely, to play - it had been much easier, then, to make him smile.

And then Molly, with his infernal grin and equally devilish fingers prodding for every sensitive spot he could find, the teasing - and that night by the fire, just before Hupperdook, his arm blazingly warm around Caleb’s shoulders in the winter chill as he jostled him around and assured him that it was perfectly normal to want such affections.

They are kind memories, even with the bitter regret of his own blame in their ending, and -

Verdammt, his ribs are starting to get sensitive.

He tries to breathe through it, but his lungs are fidgeting as badly as the rest of him would like to, startled and giddy; instead, he presses the edges of his fingernails into his palms and tries to see reason in the dark cradle of his forearms.

This will not help him sleep. He is wasting Caduceus’ time, if he lets this continue. It does not matter what he wants, when he has no right to ask for any of it.

“Caduceus,” he starts. The syllables shiver on his lips, too close to laughter for comfort. He tries again. “Caduceus, I - I am feeling much calmer now-” His heartbeat pounds loudly in his ears. “-if you would let me up-”

“Hey,” Caduceus says. “You got all tense again, stop doing that.”

“I just-” The path of Caduceus’ ministrations drifts over his sides, sending already-tingling nerves into high alert, and he panics. “Let go of me!”

It is the exact worst thing he could say, made worse in the harsh tone in which he spits it - the hands that have been chasing pleasantly up and down his spine still and lift away, the simple action radiating just as much disappointment as Caduceus’ furrowed eyebrows earlier, and his back arches in a miserable attempt to follow them before he can stop himself.

He bites his lip. He needs to apologize. He needs to crawl away and back to his desk like the worm he is, as heavy as Caduceus’ judgment is weighing down on him. He needs to do something other than lie here-

“Well, you don’t look very calm,” Caduceus says mildly. “You okay?”

“I am fine,” Caleb grits out automatically. He cannot be incapable of even the simplest of thought, he cannot-

“Huh.”

One of Caduceus’ hands makes its reappearance, suddenly, at his neck, two fingers slipping along the stubble under his chin to rest on his racing pulse and catch him in his lie.

The other, even more inconveniently, reappears just by the exposed hollow of his left armpit.

Suddenly, he cannot think of anything at all - he jumps and squeaks and curls away as best he can, fighting back the tremulous ah-ah-ah-! of burgeoning laughter that bubbles up behind his teeth as five fingers flutter merrily against the thin cotton of his sleeve.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Caduceus says placidly. He stops moving his fingers, but they just stay there, just barely touching, as if he is daring Caleb to try and crush them under his arm and see what happens.

Things seem very dangerous in a completely different way than they did seconds ago - if he was at peril of sinking, before, the feather-light presence against tender skin makes him feel like he might float away. He holds as still as he can, waiting.

Still, he shivers all the way down to his toes as Caduceus clears his throat. “You know, I have a sister - had? - uh-”

“May have, if you are uncertain,” Caleb says automatically, decades-old Common grammar lessons rushing to the forefront in lieu of any instinct that might actually be useful, and promptly bites his tongue.

“Sure,” Caduceus concedes, and gives his armpit another good tickle. Caleb squeaks again and tries fruitlessly to wrap his arms more tightly around his head. “She’d swear up and down that she wasn’t ticklish too, when she didn’t want to be. Not that it helped her much if you got a hold of her feet.”

Caleb becomes suddenly, horribly aware of his own exposed soles - he is facedown on the bed, his knees will not even bend the right way to let him hide them against the mattress-

Caduceus must catch the involuntary scrunch of his toes - he laughs, low and pleased, and pats him warmly on the back. “I think your ribs were working out just fine, but if you’re curious-”

“I am not.” Caleb says hastily.

Something swoops, low and excited, in his belly.

It really isn’t fair how tall Caduceus is, especially when it means that he can keep one threatening hand pressed to Caleb’s ribs at the same time he reaches for his feet. Caleb, still bundled facedown in his lap, only realizes what is about to happen when he feels a soft, fuzzy palm close around his heel. “Oh - oh, bitte-”

The first pass is a single fingertip, drawing tiny circles on the calloused ball of his foot. It hardly feels like anything at all, and for one foolish moment Caleb lets himself relax.

Then the fingertip drifts down to the softer arch, wriggling into a crease as his foot curls reflexively, and it tickles like a motherfucker.

“No, no, NO,” he yelps, and scrambles blindly through the next few moments -he jabs something solid with his elbow, cool air rushing on his face as he twists and pulls his knees in, but all that is secondary to the rush of relief as he gets something beneath his feet and jams them against it. He squeezes his eyes shut and pants, clutching his chest as if he can will his lungs into proper behavior.

Something knobbly vibrates against his shoulder.

He freezes. “Um.”

It takes a long moment for him to realize that he is, somehow, still in Caduceus’ lap - his shoulder is pressed to homespun cloth and a bony chest, his feet are crowded up against one of Caduceus’ thighs as the rest of him perches on the other.

His seat shakes a little as Caduceus continues to laugh at him. At this point, Caleb can hardly blame him.

Caduceus lets out a long, happy sigh just above where he’s pressed his face back into his hands in blatant embarrassment. “Oh, we’re going to have to hold you down for that, huh.”

He says it so matter-of-factly, like it is a foregone conclusion that someday Caleb will find himself with his ankles pinned and teasing fingers coming for him, helpless to stop them. It’s far too easy to picture, just now, and despite himself anticipatory giggles start to well up in his chest.

Unacceptable - Caleb presses his lips together, burrows as far into his hands as he can and tries fervently to pretend that he is not still well within range of someone capable of doing all of these things. What is wrong with him? Nothing is happening, no one really wants to tickle him, it is not funny-

Caduceus’ fingers, though, are still moving - one hand is dancing over the tops of his feet now, hardly touching, worrying at his ankles and the sparse hair on his toes. It doesn’t even - it shouldn’t tickle, but he can’t stop thinking that it might, or that Caduceus might reach for his ribs again, and he is too tired to redirect his thoughts anymore, he feels halfway to dreaming already, and - “Hnnmm - heeeh -”

His cheeks are already warm from the desperate effort of not laughing, but they burn even brighter as the giggles start flooding out.

Caduceus can surely hear him, for all that he is hiding his face and never intends to reveal it again, and besides that he is squirming, winching his arms to his sides and scrubbing his feet uselessly against the rough fabric of Caduceus’ trousers to try and get away from his fingers without lifting them. “Heheeeh - ahaha - oh, stop, stop, help, I cahahan’t-”

Curling up in a ball doesn’t seem to help at all - a small part of him knows that he’s more or less tickling himself at this point, but all that means is that there’s nothing to get away from as he twitches and begs, no mercy from his own overtired brain, no one to help him get out-

Just as the panic really starts to choke him, something warm and grounding wraps around his shoulders.

He regains just enough awareness to feel Caduceus’ huge palm cradle the side of his head and pull him into his chest. “Shhhh,” he soothes, so low that it rumbles through the both of them. “I’m here, I’ve got you. Breathe, breathe.”

Caleb comes back to himself slowly, like the tide pulling back from the rocky cliffs of Darktow - the exhaustion is still there, burning behind his eyelids, but the thunderous crash of his heart in his ears slows to a steady echo under Caduceus’ touch. He takes in a tentative breath and nearly buckles from relief as it stays in his lungs.

Caduceus murmurs something to himself, pensive. Caleb hears it more through his chest than his ears. “Better?”

He sucks in a few more breaths before he feels calm enough to answer, slumping further against Caduceus and drawing his hands cautiously away from his face. “I am fairly sure that is not how ti- ah, how that is supposed to work,” he says tiredly. “But at least it is over. Caduceus, I am sorry-”

“Oh, I’m still going to tickle you,” Caduceus says, and Caleb nearly starts choking again.

A thousand startled exclamations catch in his throat. “Why,” is the one he gets out, and oh, he does not even begin to know what to do anymore with the excited little twist in his belly at hearing Caduceus’ words.

Gentle fingers take his chin and tilt it up until he can see Caduceus looking back softly back down at him. “You’re not being very nice to yourself, are you.”

That wrenches a rueful little smirk from him. “And why should I be?”

“Don’t do that,” Caduceus admonishes. He doesn’t - frown, exactly, just looks at Caleb more intensely until he has to fight the urge to wriggle himself loose.

“You were disappointed, earlier, when it didn’t tickle, don’t think I didn’t see it.” He tries to shake his head, but Caduceus holds him still. “I saw how you looked when I said we’d have to hold you down later, too - you want me to tickle you, Caleb, so I’m going to. That’s enough.”

Caleb opens his mouth to tell Caduceus that he doesn’t want it, that he has long since accepted that tickling is a happy and childish thing for those who do not have to try all the time to not be terrible, but he can’t quite get the lie out under his steady gaze. “I shouldn’t,” he says instead. “I should sleep, I am just wasting your time.”

Caduceus huffs, cuddling him impossibly closer and rubbing a thumb over his cheek, and Caleb has to close his eyes - he does not know, sometimes, how these people can be so careful with him, so willing to offer affection, unless he has tricked them somehow. He does not know how to repay it, either. It is hard to tell which piece of his ignorance is worse.

“You’re not. We’re going to talk about that, someday, when I’m not trying to put you to bed,” Caduceus tells his eyelids. “But that night after the dragon, a little tickling put you to sleep just fine - and you were doing all right until you decided you were going to be stubborn.”

Caleb has to smile at that, just a bit - Caduceus sounds openly affectionate, if mildly frustrated, and even though he does not deserve that it is a little funny to think that he might be as much of a troublemaker as Jester or Beauregard simply for refusing to sit still in Caduceus’ lap.

Caduceus pokes lightly at the slight round of his cheek. “There, that’s better.”

He loosens his grip, then, letting go of Caleb for just long enough to loop his arm around his chest. Caleb opens his eyes, curious - Caduceus is smiling at him, slow and mischievous, and his elbows automatically twitch halfway to his sides before he realizes that Caduceus’ arm is in the way and blocking him from getting them all the way down.

That tricky, light feeling takes hold of his chest again. “Ah - Caduceus?”

Caduceus adjusts his grip a little and raises his other hand, wiggling his fingers in a way that might be considered thoughtful if they were not pointed distinctly in Caleb’s direction. “Yeah?”

Despite everything, Caleb finds that he is fairly good at reading people when he needs to be. Which means, in this case, that he can tell - Caduceus is trying to make him more ticklish.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop it from working.

He widens his eyes entreatingly. “I was not being stubborn! I - I just panicked-”

“I told you to be good and stay still, didn’t I?” Caduceus’ arm is more than long enough to wrap all the way around his skinny chest, especially without the holsters - his hand curls carefully under Caleb’s arm, and he has to press his lips together tightly to avoid laughing then and there.

“I couldn’t!” he pleads. “You - you were-” He stumbles over the word itself, half hoping Caduceus will interrupt him again - but he doesn’t, just holding him steady. “I was trying,” he finishes lamely, willing himself not to blush and failing entirely.

Caduceus is grinning at him now, through his beard, smug in that gentle way of his. “And I was trying not to rile you up too much.” he muses, “Suppose we’ll just have to tire you out instead, how’s that sound?”

Caleb gapes. Caduceus is the nicest and gentlest of all of them; surely he is not about to trap Caleb in his lap and tickle him until he cries. And surely he should not want it, the traitorous squirmy feeling in his belly up and fluttering like a live thing.

The long, downy fingers of Caduceus’ free hand pluck his shirt loose from where it’s just barely still tucked in and slip underneath to tease at the fuzz of hair on his tummy, and such logical reassurances suddenly lose much of their weight.

“You - you planned this,” he accuses breathlessly. “You did, I didn’t - hm! - even do anything-”

“I mean, I don’t plan a lot of things. Dinner, mostly.” Caduceus prods at his belly button and he jumps, completely off guard for what comes out of Caduceus’ mouth next.

“You’re just really, really ticklish.”

Caleb whines. Just saying it makes every nerve in his body hum with anticipation, now, and when Caduceus pokes his belly button again he’s sensitive enough that he can’t hope to fight back the peal of laughter. “Don’t.”

Caduceus snickers and just keeps poking at the same spot, sending him into a tumble of frantic laughter as he twists this way and that and fails to escape. “Oh, that helped, huh?”

“No, no, oh nohoho-”

The hand holding him in place tickles gently through his shirt at the softness just above his ribs - usually he is protected by layers of leather and paper there, enough to hold off one of Veth’s crossbow bolts, but all he can do now is whimper.

Caduceus’ free hand sneaks up his other side and repeats the process under his shirt, and he shrieks.

“Heh,” Caduceus chuckles, and eases off for a moment. “You gonna be good if I’m not holding on to you?”

Presumably he wants to get his other hand under Caleb’s shirt and torture him even more, but that’s not the reason Caleb reflexively clings to his arm. “No, no, I need-”

He cuts himself off before he can say that he needs Caduceus to hold him, largely because he does not want to admit it even to himself.

Luckily, he does not need to say more. “Okay, I’ve got you,” Caduceus says easily, and squeezes him a little tighter. “Let me know when you’re done, yeah?”

Before Caleb can ask what that means, Caduceus’s fingers spider under his shirt and start kneading, gentle and merciless, at the top of his ribs.

Caleb breaks instantly. He can’t get his arms far enough down to protect himself, can’t hope to get loose - he tries to bite his lip for a moment to stop himself from laughing, flinging his hands back over his face, but all his breath rushes out in a sudden squeal as the first shock of ticklish sensation hits him in full. “Ahahaaaaa - aaa!”

Caduceus tickles one side of his ribs until he’s sobbing and kicking, completely insensible, and then lazily spiders down over his sides and belly and back up to the other side to tease and tickle as he pleases. He tickles up into his armpits, around the soft curve of his tummy, and rubs his thumbs into the bony outcrop of his hips through the pockets in his pants - he goes back and forth, back and forth, until Caleb loses track of time and numbers and which language he’s begging in and can only measure how much air is left in his lungs before he starts wheezing again.

At some point, he can’t hold himself upright any longer - he sinks down against Caduceus’ bracing arm, but it only stretches the skin over his ribs further. He wails.

It goes on until all he can do is gasp and snicker weakly as Caduceus prods his way back up his side, stopping to trace at each ribin turn. His eyes drift shut, at some point. He doesn’t think he’s ever been tickled so badly in his life.

Still, it seems that there is the possibility for it to tickle even worse - Caduceus’ hand finally, finally slips out from under his shirt, and he just manages to gasp out a sigh of relief before it closes gently around his ankle.

His eyes spring open. “Mein Gott, bitte, bitte, not there,” he hiccups. “I’ll die, I’ll die, please!”

Caduceus hums - held upright, he can just see Caduceus’ wrist pinning down the top of his foot as his index finger traces a light, tickly circle around the thin bone of his ankle. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

Caleb grasps for the threads of his thoughts, heedless of confession in the face of being tickled more, but to his surprise there is little left to worry about - even the exhaustion feels far away now, his whole world narrowed to the warmth of being held here.

“Nothing,” he says honestly. He giggles a little as Caduceus’ fingers keep moving. “Ankles, maybe.”

Caduceus laughs aloud at that, letting go of his foot and untangling their arms as he briefly nuzzles his forehead. Caleb’s seen him do it to the others, before, but never to him. He sighs at the warm, fuzzy pressure against his hairline, the light huff of breath that stirs the mess of his hair. It’s nice.

“Alright. Off to bed with you, Mr. Caleb, come on.”

He’s already dreaming, he thinks - Caduceus has to help him over to the pillows, where he flops out and curls contentedly into the blanket tugged over him. Maybe it’s that he can barely move from exhaustion, cheeks still sore from laughter, but the bed has never felt better.

Drifting off, he allows himself to hope foolishly that this might not have to be the last time.

[captain-magicalkitty]

009 Mission Report

As usual, Team 00 rises to the challenge of Fest with our usual skill. For Celandine’s photo prompt

I give you;

Testing the Waters

The stream reflected the sunlight in glittering diamond shards. The trees overhanging the path were clothed in the vivid greens of high summer. The route Bond followed led down a gentle incline from the rustic cottage to the stream and the quiet pool that widened out before the water continued it's steady flow down to the main channel.

In an urban setting, he could move all but soundlessly. Here, that was impossible. The trick in a woodland environment was to randomize the noises he inevitably mad. Wildlife didn't make regular noises when moving and he did the same, making certain to make any detectable noise intermittent. He halted at the treeline, scanning the surface of the pond and the opposite shore. The drone of insects and the occasional birdsong broke the silence and there was an underlying mechanical rumble that might be farm equipment carrying on the still air.

A faint splash drew his attention, a dark haired slender figure seated on a rock on the bank, bare feet in the water. His head bent at a pensive angle, Q contemplated the pond, sunlight casting patterns over his bare shoulders. “I know you're there, James,” Q remarked quietly. “You're meant to be a bodyguard, not a babysitter. Unless you plan on assassinating that dragonfly.” He pointed a finger at the jewel toned insect darting around his chosen seat.

Bond advanced in slow measured steps, judging the space on the flat rock and deciding it was large enough for two. He eased down and Q obligingly budged over so they sat shoulder to shoulder. Bond looked down at Q's feet planted on the smooth polished stones at the edge of the pond, deposited there by the stream over centuries. Q was not quite as pale as he generally seemed. He had been wandering around the MI6 secure property in shorts and often barefoot for the past few days. He seemed oddly content to ignore his tech, checking in twice a day. Q had been completely indignant when ordered to vacate his branch for two weeks for some long overdue leave. He seemed only resigned when advised he would need a bodyguard for that time. He had largely attempted to ignore Bond since their arrival. And that was also odd. Q was as attuned to the people around him as any agent. Bond had become used to Q watching him even when it was not mission related. And maybe that was part of the answer.

Bond was not nearly as emotionally obtuse as many of his colleagues assumed. He was also used to being a focus of sexual interest for all kinds of people. It was an essential part of his job after all. It didn't take a genius to realize Q was interested and was putting a great deal of effort into not allowing that interest to show. And in this isolated place, it was more difficult than ever. Bond had been confident in his theory and had angled after the bodyguard assignment to see if he could verify it. Now he was sure he was right. He had also realized that there was more to his theorizing than an academic interest. The more he contemplated the matter, the more desirable Q seemed. Bond's dreams had featured Q in erotic scenes that had him jerking off more than he had since he was a spotty teenager. And Q was not just an object of fantasy, he was a complete challenge to every aspect of Bond's personality.

Which was why he was sitting here silently contemplating a pair of slender bare feet in a pond. Q was worth so much more than a brief fling, an opportunity to satisfy an itch. Bond had a feeling that Q might be addictive even in small doses. Next to him Q sighed and wiggled his toes, flexing them against the stones. Bond slid his own feet out of the deck shoes he'd been trudging about in and dipped his own feet in. The water was sun warmed but cooler than the air and felt very nice. He slid his left foot over incrementally until he could brush it against Q's. Q froze and them twitched when he did it again, watching the water ripple and cast patterns on their skin and the rocks.

To his credit, Q's voice was steady and as carefully modulated as usual. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

“More in the way of asking you something. I've rather got an idea you might be interested in more than a professional relationship. Are you?”

Q wriggled his toes at tiny fish and tadpoles that darted around the rock crevices. “Interest doesn't mean it's advisable. You don't do relationships. And I'm shit at them as well.”

“You don't think that both of us being bad at it might cancel each other out?” Bond suggested hopefully.

Q turned his head to focus that sharp green gaze on Bond. “You're serious.”

Bond nudged Q's foot again gently. “I am very serious. I'd never have said a thing if I weren't. You have my life in your hands every time I go out. I'd never jeopardize that for a sudden impulse.” He studied the faint crease between Q's eyebrows and decided it needed to be erased. He moved very deliberately forward and pressed a gentle kiss on the spot. Q sat back and nudged his glasses back up his nose. A pink tongue tip passed over his lower lip and Bond could not resist placing a second kiss there.

“Are we really doing this?” Q's voice was whispery in the quiet of the clearing.

“I think I have to leave that up to you,” Bond replied cautiously.

Q's face creased in a small smile. “I know what I want. I'm just not sure it's wise.”

Bond mirrored Q's smile. “There are no guarantees I can give you, except we'll be in this together. I grant you it's a risk. I'm willing to take the risk.”

Q looked out over the water, gaze distant and unfocused. Bond waited, calling on his professional experience for patience. Q finally turned back to him, studying him as minutely as one of his clever gadgets. He nodded sharply once before leaning in to press a soft kiss to Bond's mouth. The one kiss became many, Bond pleased to have Q taking the lead. Q eventually drew back and smiled more easily. Bond mirrored the expression. “Decided to dive in with both feet, eh?”

Q's laugh chimed in the still clear air. “Yes, and at the deep end. But I'm sure you'll be there to catch me.” He slid his feet into his own shoes and Bond followed him back to the cottage, leaving the pond to the dragonflies and the fish.