#beyond just being a mother and fighter I mean

[utterlyazriel]

let me keep you company

a/n: a wee break from the doom & gloom of wtssf! it's unedited so i want no flack for that thank u <3 enjoy <3 wc: 5.1k whoops synopsis: You're studying in Velaris and a certain Shadowsinger catches your eyes in more than one way. It takes a while to realise the shadow keeping you company means more than you expect.

For the record, you had never met a Shadowsinger before.

You'd never even seen one. Sure, you’d read about them briefly in your studies and almost every Fae in Prythian had heard about them in whispers and rumours.

Rumours that increased more so when a Shadowsinger rose to become a hand for the Highlord, his own personal spy. Then became the spymaster of the entire Night Court for the next Highlord.

But beyond gossip and unfinished chapters within the scripts of your libraries, the knowledge of Shadowsingers is far limited. They’re rare. For all you know, Shadowsinger’s are a ghost— moving as a shadow, disappearing in and out of the darkness of the world.

You had never met a Shadowsinger before—so it makes sense that you hadn't an ounce of a clue what to expect.

Staring at him now, 6 feet something of pure muscle, you're a bit embarrassed at your own surprise.

Because he's probably— no definitely— the most beautiful Fae you've ever laid eyes on. His hair is tousled and dark, his glorious tan skin that's mostly hidden beneath the black of his fighter leathers, and his amber eyes that laid on you for only one long moment. Breathtaking is the only adequate word for him.

All that beauty and he's a Shadowsinger.

And it's not like you thought he wouldn't be like, well, any other Fae. But also... you kinda did? Mother, you should've known Freya was tricking you when she said they were all just shadow-y corporeal forms.

But she's also not entirely wrong there. There are dozens of wispy shadows that hover around him in constant motion, dipping and flying around his shoulders and if you look close enough, you can see how he seems to ripple at the edges. Shadows blur the edge of his very being.

You wonder if he can disappear into them all together, if that was one of the abilities granted with them. Does he control them? He must, you think, if the title is Shadowsinger.

But looking at him now, his beautiful face turned to face the Highlord you should definitely be listening to, they flit about almost absentmindedly, as though they have a mind of their own.

One curls up by his ear and you watch it, fascinated, more and more questions springing up in your mind— what do they feel like on skin? Do they make any noise? Is that what they're doing now? Talking to—

A sharp elbow jabs into your side, making you jump.

Your head whips to the side, an instinctive scowl almost overtaking your face before you plaster it over with a smile, realising your mistake. Your mentor, Sergei, clears his throat and smiles awkwardly ahead at Rhysand. You blink and take another moment to realise you've been asked a question.

"I'm— I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" You try not to sound as mousy as you feel but the question comes out as a squeak anyway. He is the Highlord of the Night Court after all. You suddenly feel very foolish for being so easily distracted.

Thankfully, Rhysand regards you with an easy smile. He's leaned back in his chair, relaxed, and his violet eyes dance with humour as he flicks his gaze over to where you had just been staring.

"That's alright. Azriel is a piece of eye candy, I can't blame you for staring," He all but purrs, a hint of mirth pulling at his lips as he casts another glance at his Spymaster. You're taken aback by the casualness of his words.

Rhysand continues. "I was only saying that for the duration of your stay, you'll be hosted in one of my homes, the House of Wind. You aren't afraid of heights, are you?"

A smidge of fear pinches at your stomach because, honestly, you aren't overly keen on the idea. But you know better than to turn down the generosity of a Highlord.

You take another glance at the wings of his Spymaster and General and pray that it's not too high up.

"Not... much." You answer honestly.

There's a chuckle from the side of the room and your head swings around at the noise. It's not the Shadowsinger, though he looks as though he's politely trying not to smile, his chin ducked. It's the General, just as beautiful as his brother but in that more rugged way.

He flexes his wings out a bit, showing off their mighty wingspan. "We'll rid you of that fear in no time."

You try for a smile but it might be closer to a grimace.

"Fantastic." You say, not managing to put all your enthusiasm into the word like you hoped.

Another sharp jab of Sergei's elbow in your side. The Shadowsinger, Azriel, huffs a quiet laugh, his amber eyes flashing up to steal another look at you. You try your best not to fluster.

It's going to be a long two months.

—

As Sergei's apprentice, you're expected to shadow him through his allowed time within Velaris.

Which means if he goes to the library, you go to the library.

There's just one problem; the library is down in the city and your temporary home is up in the mountain. The quickest way down is with wings.

Rhysand— or just Rhys as he had told you to call him— had relayed the information that you could ask either Cassian or Azriel to escort you if you didn't wish to take the stairs.

Cassian, the General, had been the one to fly you down and back the first couple of times you had asked and you weren't in any particular hurry to relive the experience.

Cassian was nice and he was more than friendly but seemingly incapable of understanding any fear of heights. You weren't sure if that was just the only way to fly— swooping and dropping fast enough to make you shriek— but it certainly seemed to be Cassian's way.

Which leaves you with the option of either asking the Shadowsinger or taking the stairs.

You get down about two hundred steps before you start to regret your decision. But, also, how in the Cauldron were you supposed to ask him to take you? (Never mind that you had asked Cassian quite easily, albeit very nervously.)

Oh, hi Shadowsinger who I can't stop staring at for both your abilities and your handsome face—care to sweep me into your arms and carry me places?

As if, you snort to yourself.

You take the thousand stairs all the way to the bottom and trot towards the enormous library, pretending your thighs aren't aching with overuse or that you're out of breath. Thankfully, the library itself isn't too far from the House of Wind, carved into the same side of the mountain.

As expected, Sergei is less than pleased with your tardiness.

"Sorry," The word rushes out of you in a wheeze, probably too loud for the library, as you scuttle in the entrance. A few priestesses turn their heads to look at you and you cringe, raising your hands in apology. "Sorry, I'm sorry,"

You focus back on your mentor and try to catch your breath, all while you explain. "I took the stairs and it took—" You huff out a breath. "—way longer than I thought."

Sergei's face softens a bit at your explanation, his face taking on a pitiful smile. "Still not enjoying the flying?"

"You are?" You ask in response. The thought of Sergei, your old-Fae mentor, swept up in Cassian's arms as he dips and dives makes you chuckle just a bit.

Sergei shakes his head as if to change the topic of conversation, deciding you've wasted enough time already. He turns, beginning to head further into the library and you follow behind him closely, eager to brush over your early morning fumble. The cavernous structure within the mountain yawns out ahead of you and you get all of two moments to wonder just how deep down it goes, when—

"You did not ask for a ride this morning."

Azriel steps up beside you, seemingly from nowhere, his steps falling in time with yours with ease. You jump, startled, and your footsteps falter for a moment. You're relieved to say that you only make one embarrassing noise in your surprise.

"I— oh, it's— I mean, I just..." You trail off, feeling flustered. "...like to walk."

You chance a glance up at him. He's wearing that same polite expression from yesterday, as though he's trying not to laugh and you get too caught up in the swirlings of his shadows to remember to be properly embarrassed. Both of you walk in tandem behind Sergei, slowly descending into the lower levels of the library.

"If you insist," He says, his voice low. It sends something warm down your spine and you pray he doesn't notice how your body temperature is definitely climbing.

His amber eyes pin you with another look, his lips twitching into a small smile. "However, if Cassian is giving you trouble, I would be happy to provide a smoother ride."

You flounder for a moment. You don't want to get anyone in trouble.

"I— he's not giving me trouble," You stammer.

Azriel smiles a little wider as if he can tell how polite you're trying to be. He slows to a meander and you realise only after you walk past him, it's because Sergei has stopped himself, turning down one of the many aisles.

You skid yourself to a halt and turn back, praying your flaming face isn't as obvious as it feels. You're not entirely sure if Azriel is accompanying you today but you're sure that Sergei would've mentioned it if he was.

You dip your head in a strange, awkward bow motion. Then point to the aisle Sergei disappeared into.

"I'll be... going this way."

Azriel's smile grows, like you've told a joke, and he ducks his head. He peers up at you through his dark lashes and you wonder if anyone's ever told him how damn beautiful he is. Probably. You're probably the last in a long line of people. Mother, his eyes though.

"If you don't wish to make the hike the other way," He murmurs.

He extends one of his hands and you watch the dozen shadows swarm around it, one of them separating from the pack to dive to the ground. It shoots forward and spins around your ankle, almost happily. "Just let the shadow know. I would be happy to assist."

When you look back up, he’s already gone without a sound. You try not to look so surprised— you’ve seen someone winnow before but you’re almost certain that the way Azriel moved about silently was something else altogether.

“Y/n!” Sergei’s voice echoes down the shelves, reminding you that you’re still late. You throw a quick glance around to check but it's fruitless; you can’t see the Shadowsinger anywhere.

You turn and bustle down the aisle quickly, not wanting to keep Sergei any longer. It takes only a second to notice the sole, black shadow that dances along behind you.

Guess you have company.

—

Okay, so, the shadows are definitely their own little guys.

Mainly because you can’t imagine how Azriel would be controlling them when he’s nowhere in sight.

And this one shadow is being awfully helpful.

The first time you drop your quill, knocking it to the ground as you lean over one of the many intricately carved desks, trying to reach another book, you don’t even notice it fall to the ground.

In fact, you have no idea how many times it’s picked up your fallen quill that you’ve undoubtedly knocked over countless times— only that it had given you the fright of your life to have it hover before your face, gripped only by the wispy shadow Azriel left with you.

“Holy shit!” You gasp, your loud voice echoing in the quietness of the library.

Sergei's head whips up, his eyes narrowing at the intruding sound with evident disapproval. You quickly snatch the quill out of mid-air and sink down in your seat. Gods, the echoes in here were doing you no favours.

“Sorry,” You whisper. Your eyes dart down to the shadow that retreated to your side, flickering around your ankle more wildly. “Er, thanks.”

It feels a bit silly to give thanks to something you’re not sure can hear you. But you figure if it can pick up your quill, you're better off using your manners.

Sergei gives you a somewhat bewildered look and you try to appease him with an awkward smile. It works enough for him to continue his work but not without one more lingering glance of worry in your direction. Great. You're talking to shadows and your old-man mentor thinks you're a bit nuts.

The shadow continues its helpful endeavours, following you when you head down different aisles at Sergei's request. It dances across the shelves, dissolving occasionally just to puff back up somewhere else, pulling your attention this way and that. It's playful. Friendly.

You deduce by the end of the day that you know even less about Shadowsinger's than you had thought. The abilities and personality of just one shadow are uncanny; like a silent friend keeping you company. You imagine that Azriel rarely gets lonely with as many as he has. Maybe you'll ask him.

When Sergei and you wind back up the staircases and he dismisses you for the evening, heading into the city for his own further business, you stand at the mouth of the library and ponder if you'll be brave enough to summon the Shadowsinger.

The shadow is still with you, circling your wrist absently. You peer down at it and think of all those stairs. Somewhat nervously, you raise your hand and try to be as casual as possible about talking to a shadow on your hand.

"Hi." You start, trying not to feel foolish. "Um, well, I guess I'm done for the day. Could— could you, if he's not busy that is, uh, let Azriel know? I don't mind waiting if he is."

The shadow zips off barely before you can finish your sentence and your head swings to watch it go, disappearing somewhere to your left.

You can't help but be a little amazed at its speed—it must be an incredible networking system to have a thousand little spies running around for you. No wonder almost all Shadowsingers tend to end up in the same line of work, you think to yourself, still peering in the direction of the shadow when—

"Y/n."

Even though he's said your name soft and quiet, Azriel still manages to take you by surprise. You jump and turn, all in one motion.

"Mother!" Your hand holds over your chest, relief curling in at the sides as your fright ebbs away. "That was fast."

"You called," Azriel responds, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. He gives you an almost shy smile.

It makes you fluster a bit and you gesture to the exit awkwardly and wordlessly, if only so you don't have to come up with a response to his intense and endearing answer.

Together, you wander out from the library and creep towards the edge of Velaris. It's a beautiful city and more than deserving of its title, especially when viewed from the House of Wind. You turn and cast your eyes up the mountainside, your familiar nervous fear pitching up from your stomach.

Then you look at the warrior beside you, tall enough that he's got what feels like more than a head's height on you, with his wings reaching above even his own head. His jaw is sharp and his eyes are already on you as your gaze trails up his face. Fuck. He's really pretty.

Now you're nervous for an entirely different reason.

"We can still take the stairs if you wish," He says, his hand sweeping back to the path you had followed along this morning. His shadows move with his hands, a black vortex that whirls around and around. "I'd be more than happy to keep you company."

Mother, he's not helping you in the slightest, being so perfectly nice to you. You regard the stairs and think back to how many hours it took before your thighs stopped aching—and that was on the way down.

"No, we can- we can try flying again." You say, nodding to yourself as if it'll help quell your fear. It takes another moment to realise that means you'll be bundled up in his strong arms, held against his broad chest and you feel a little shiver run through your body at the thought.

Azriel notices it too, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "You're sure?" He checks.

You nod, not meeting his eyes, trying to keep your nerve. Flying is already something you're not keen on. Flying whilst being swept up in the arms of a Shadowsinger who you think is the most beautiful Fae you've ever seen? You send a silent prayer to the Mother that you don't do something embarrassing, like puking down his front.

"Let me know if you're uncomfortable at any time," He says softly and then he bends his knees slightly, one of his scarred hands resting on your lower back as the other scoops beneath your knees. He lifts you as though you weigh nothing.

It's impossible not to flush as you get nestled against his firm chest, your hands panicking for a moment as you try to think of a normal place to put them. Around his neck? On his chest? Either of them feels far too intimate for a man you've known only a week.

"You don't have to but I would suggest holding on," Azriel comments with a smile, his chest vibrating with the words. You nod, agreeing with him, but don't make a move to do so, only holding your hands out in front of you to indicate you're not sure where to put them.

The shadows adorning his shoulders move on their own, their friendly presence easing your nerves as they slither down to circle around your wrists. There's a gentle tug and you let them move your hands til they're wrapped around Azriel's neck, moving you much closer in the process.

Gods, your faces are close together. Another couple of inches and you could probably press your lips to his perfect ones—a thought that makes you fluster all over again. Was he getting prettier every time you saw him? For not the first time, you thank the Mother that it was Rhys with the daemaeti gift and not Azriel.

"Ready?" He checks, which is sweet. Cassian had just shot up into the sky the first time, without any warning.

You grip your arms around his neck a little tighter and then nod. "Ready," You say, quieter than intended.

You catch just a moment of Azriel's demure smile, your heart swooping at the sight, before you're both launched into the sky with one flap of his wings.

The noise that escapes you is one you're less than proud of, a squawky sound noise of panic that you bury into Azriel's neck. You expect him to laugh like Cassian had, not meanly but playfully, but instead Azriel's arms just tighten around you. As if he was assuring you that he would not let you fall.

By the time you're up at the House of Wind, Azriel making a far more graceful descent than his brother, you're less freaked out and more ready to point some accusatory fingers in the face of the Night Court's General.

That bastard had been fucking with you! The flight with Azriel proved as much, considering how much calmer and smoother it had been. You couldn't help but say as much as you were placed down from Azriel's hold, glad to be back on solid ground.

"I have some words for Cassian, Mother above," You ramble, straightening out your rumpled clothes from the flight. "Did he think I was kidding when I said I was afraid?"

Azriel smiles at your fieriness, his shadows calmer than they were in flight, moving about lazily. His eyes take a fleeting glance at the house behind you before focusing intently back on you.

"Cassian can have a strange sense of humour at times. He means well." He says. Then he grins. "I should like to see you tell him off— not enough people do."

You hmph. "Maybe I will."

You suddenly realise the closeness between you and Azriel, close enough to feel the warmth of his body. His scent of cedar and mist swirls around you, tantalizing and alluring in a way you've never known before. You take a step back to contain yourself.

"I—uh, well, thank you very much." You say, as sweet as you can. "For the ride."

Your eyes catch on one of his dozen shadows and you smile, observing them for a moment. "And the shadow. It was excellent company."

Azriel brightens, an expression of surprise crossing his face before he schools it away. He smiles, brazen and breathtaking. When he speaks, he sounds a little disbelieving. "You like them?"

You nod quickly, noticing how one of his shadows has snuck off again and circulates your ankle speedily. You laugh at the ticklish feeling of it against your skin.

"They're incredible." You breathe, meaning every word. "I imagine you must've ge—"

"Apologies, y/n." A smooth voice cuts in, Rhys stepping up somewhere behind you and stealing both of your attention. He dressed in more casual clothes than you last saw, but not quite Azriel's fighting leathers. "Azriel here is needed for some brief business. Do you mind if I borrow him?"

The way he poses the question, as if Azriel is yours, does something wonky to your heart. You flounder for a moment, stepping back and waving your hand in the direction of the Shadowsinger.

"Of- of course, by all means." You trip over the words and hope you don't sound too eager to escape his company. That couldn't be more untrue.

You turn back to Azriel and fix him with a smile, hoping it's not as nervous as you feel. "I'll... see you around?"

Azriel steals a glance to the side where Rhys awaits before he nods with another reserved smile. Hold on, is that pink on his cheeks?

"Let me know if you need any more help getting to and from the library. I'd be happy to assist."

And then with a quick nod to you, he walks off to join Rhys, his wings tucked in tight, careful to not nudge you. You watch them go, unable to stop yourself from letting your eyes wander down. Damn, all that training did wonders. What was that saying? Hate to watch 'em go, love to watch them leave.

Ahead, Rhys abruptly laughs and peers back over his shoulder, letting you exactly how well you had shielded those thoughts. You flush and scurry into the house as if it'll save you from the embarrassment of what's just happened. You only hope he won't pass the message on to Azriel.

—

It continues like that for the rest of the week.

Azriel carries you down the height of the mountain and leaves you with a promise that if you need anything, you can tell the shadow and he'll come to find you.

The shadow keeps its usual playful company. Beyond retrieving your dropped quills, it helpfully turns the pages of books for you. When you're focused on what you're writing, it nudges back any loose strands of hair. Once it even brings you a flower from Mother knows where. One single Lily of the Valley, left resting on your desk.

It makes you wonder; are all Shadowsinger's shadows like this? You can't help but imagine these niceties are shaped by Azriel's own soft nature.

Today, whilst you study in the vast caverns of the library, you get an unexpected visitor.

As you take your time scanning through the books in one of the vast aisles, you realise the Fae coming down from the other end of the aisle is none other than the Highlady herself.

"Feyre!" You greet warmly. The two of you had met before when she had taken duties in your home court and if it weren't too bold, you'd say you consider yourself good friends. Feyre smiles, glowing like moonlight, as she realises who it is.

"Y/n," She says your name sweetly and her hug is just as such. She pulls away, ready to inquire about your studies when she spots the trailing shadow behind you.

"Making friends, I see," She comments. Her eyebrows raise almost teasingly as if she's made a certain insinuation. You take a moment to notice what she's referencing.

"It's nice," You say, a defensive lilt to your tone. You hold out your hand and the shadow jumps at the opportunity to skitter around it playfully. "It's like a little friend."

Feyre smiles at your words but chuckles a little. "Except Azriel is anything but little."

You pause at her words, glancing down at the shadow and back up at Feyre. "What do you mean? I thought— they're not- I mean, aren't they...?”

You trail off, unsure of how to word the question you're trying to ask. Feyre smiles, her gray eyes glittering with mirth as she realises what you're figuring out.

"They're all his. Azriel's. He controls them." She tilts her head a bit, watching the shadow that drifts about your hand and wrist. "True, they roam a bit on their own but... Not like this."

"Oh," You murmur, thinking back to that first day in the library.

The playful shadow that lead you back and forth, picking up your quill and turning your pages. It was him, all along.

Something immeasurably warm starts to glow in your chest, a thread that loops through your heart and sends the valves into overdrive. Its warmth grows, something molten hot beginning to bleed in your chest— and it feels wonderful. It feels right.

"Oh," You gasp as you figure it out.

Feyre grins, watching you piece together what the rest of the inner circle has clued together from the very first day. She stands to the side and gestures to the entrance of the library with a tilt of her head.

"Go on then," She urges you.

For a moment, you think back to Sergei who sent you hunting for a certain manuscript Cauldron knows how long ago but the thought is washed away in an instant. You can feel it now, the strong tug in your chest. The connection that binds you to another.

You stride past Feyre, giving a quick thanks! and all but run up the spiral staircases, heading for the entrance. The shadow pings along with you and as you near the top, you look down at it and say through huffed breaths, "You better go get him."

He's waiting by the time you get there.

Against the setting sun, for a moment there's only the silhouette of him— a warrior with tall wings, the edges of him rippling like a mirage. He might just be one; an oasis in your life, the answer that you've been searching for for centuries. You can't believe you didn't notice.

Your footsteps echo on the marble as you march right up to him and Azriel watches you closely the whole time, his amber eyes soft but his expression hinting at his nervousness. Gods, he's wonderful. You can't believe he gets to be yours and you get to be his.

"How long have you known?" You ask because it's the first thing on your mind. You're nearly panting from the exhilaration of your sudden exercise, from the dawning future that's blooming right in front of you. He's your mate. Gods, how could you have missed it?

Azriel smiles, that same tentative one that's been driving you crazy all week. His wings give a little shake behind him, a giveaway of his nerves.

"I... suspected from the beginning." He chooses his words carefully, wary of how you might respond.

You can't help your little gasp, feeling even more of a fool. You curse, ducking your head before you glare back up at him, no real heat in your gaze. You have the urge to give him a little shove, just for keeping you in the dark.

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

One of his shadows spins up unexpectedly, dancing across your shoulders and tickling your cheeks gently. You startle in surprise but something sweeter curls up in your chest at the tenderness of its touch.

"Believe me," Azriel says with a quiet chuckle, his amber eyes darting over your face intensely. "I've been trying."

You melt. Eyes locked with his, you move slowly, letting your arms drift up to drape around his neck like they've done every morning and evening since he began flying you around. You realise acutely that Cassian's behaviour, his shoddy flying, had likely been on purpose. You laugh a little, eyes creasing shut in pure euphoria.

Azriel's hands find your waist and you can feel the slight tremble in them.

"In my defense," You murmur, pushing up on your toes. You're close, so close, your lips hovering just an inch from a kiss—his shadows go wild around you both. It makes you grin. "I had never met a Shadowsinger before."

"Yeah?" Azriel breathes shakily. "Disappointed?"

He says it like a joke but you can hear the note of sincerity in his tone. His hidden worry that he isn't all you dreamed of. It's nearly laughable how wrong he is.

This close you can see his long lashes and every shade of brown in his eyes. You wonder if you'll ever get used to how beautiful he is. Part of you hopes you never do.

"Not in the slightest," You say, nearly a whisper.

Then his lips are on yours, pillowy soft skin against yours, and it feels like coming home. He kisses you, kisses you, kisses you til you're breathless and the glow in your chest could rival the sun in its warmth.

He kisses you and every atom in your body hums and fizzes and comes to life — and all you can do is hold him tight and kiss him back, just as fiercely.

Breaking the kiss to catch your breath, you pant and grin brazenly at Azriel, at your mate, happier than you've ever been. Faintly, you realise that you won't be heading home when the two months of your study are up after all.

Not when you have a man who looks at you so reverently, who kisses you like there's oxygen hidden in the plush of your lips, who holds you like there's nothing more precious in the world.

Not when you know that home is right here, in front of you.

[whisk3ysugar]

A Warrior's Daughter.

Pairing:

Emperor Geta x General's Daughter! Reader

Warnings:

Not really any yet, but next chapter shall be 18+, so proceed with caution.

Summary:

You assume that by being the daughter of a well respected general it allows you immunity. A breath away from the rulers and the empire as a whole. And oh how wrong could you be.

So, so wrong.

Emperor Geta sees to branding you if it’s the last thing he’ll do. If it means owning a general like owning a slave, he'd do it. And, if it means exploring the depths of unknown territory for the sake of power and greed, he would do it.

Authors Note:

This is my first time writing something in a WHILE.. It's not proofread and I wrote it on a plane ride. I was just wayyyy too caught up on Geta and I love him a ton but I wanted to capture that dick side of him (which is like all of him) and kinda write it out! Most of this is kinda backstory for reader, but the next part will be more shut and romance and tension.. Whatnot. Hope you enjoy!

The general served the region as a protector. A safe haven for the serfs and slaves whom lurked the corners of every street in Rome. Made for the people by the people, shaped to be a man capable enough to bare burdens and scars left by the empire. To be held accountable for the mistakes of the corrupt emperor, Geta. A horrid man who’d murder for the sake of entertainment. A man who’s veins ran cold with toxins more potent than venom. A poor excuse for a leader and an even worse human.

And a dangerous case to be noticed by. For fun, for pain, for greed, for it all because Geta never settled for less.

Being the daughter of a fighter, blessed directly by Gods of War, had given you false security. Something you’d conjured in your mind long ago in times of danger. To soothe you. Make you feel untouchable. Because in reality, that was the case. Back then, atleast, you’d been the daughter of THE General Acacius. Born with the blood of a real leader. A piece of someone with true power and courage who’d been loyal and an inspiration. The head of the Roman Empire beyond the grasp of Emperor Geta or Caracalla. In retrospect.

You had been someone. Protected. Praised. Seen beyond the façade which draped over the rest of Rome’s shoulders. Someone more, like your father. Looked upon like a woman unafraid of a challenge, despite your lack of royal status. A trained fighter, a kind soul, a brave heart, a person with morals held higher than the injustice of war and fighting.. You were everything emperors and empresses despised. Everything Geta lacked.

And although you could trace your attributes back to your father and your deceased mother, you’d always been bad at hiding true nature. Completely opposed to your father who valued safety over any personal opinion. A good man. Forever loyal to whomever sat upon the throne so long as it provided survival for the ones he held deep in his heart. For you.

A dog.

Commitment you admired but never wished to possess. Your rebellion engraved and scarred into your values forevermore, fueled by the promises of a better future. A better leader. And.. fueled by the fantasies of being safe. Or really, safer than the rest.

Something you’d grown to consider, contrasting your development into a real woman, had relinquished into realization. Realization that no one was safe. You weren’t, the city wasn’t.. Your father wasn’t.

It had been something you were quickly struck with when he’d been stripped of his title. Reduced to nothing more than a fighter, battling for another day to live, just for the entertainment of people more fortunate than he. Scarred and beat because that was his duty to his emperor. His duty to you, to ensure a life away from Geta and Caracalla. Away from the wretched mistakes that were the emperors.

Marcus Acacius had done everything humanly possible to keep you away from Geta. Or rather, to keep Geta away from you.

He’d lied, betrayed, gone against orders and cheated to keep your identity secret. Pure dishonor to his name merely for the sake of having you stay safe. He could handle it. The punishment, burden, everything. So long as you were alive, un-harmed, and out of the hands of not-so-noble nobility.

It was wishful thinking. As wishful as your fantasies of being safe, and courageous like your father.

There were suspicions that the general had been sheltering someone in secret. Perhaps a slave, maybe a new wife, but a daughter? No one could’ve ever suspected that. Much less the emperors. And, you supposed it could’ve remained secret if it weren’t for your own foolishness. For your mistake of unveiling yourself around the general.. in public. You’d never stood side by side with the man in view for anyone other than the most trusted.. So with your stupidity came the revelation that it was an unmistakable resemblance. Too genetically duplicate to the man to condemn. And as much as you’d prayed to every and any God to suppress the gossip, it’d been no use. To no avail.

You’d been caught. You’d both been caught. And matters couldn’t have gotten worse.

Except it did. Things got entirely worse.

Once word had been released that the general was harboring a daughter.. Especially since he was harboring a daughter.. and lying about it.. he’d been quickly suffocated with degradation. Bombarded with questions. Attacked with hate and pure confusion, because Gods forbid the GENERAL lies about anything, solely because he is the man that everyone trusts. Or the man everyone trusted.

Everything had gone from 0 to 100 in about a day. And from 100 to 1000 within seconds. When you’d lost your life and been stripped of your dignity, just like how your father had been stripped of his. All when the emperors in the flesh took it upon themselves to barge into the safety of your home, only to be greeted with the sight of truth. You. The daughter of a general, real, present. The consequence of love which everyone figured Marcus Acacius was too corrupt to conceive. The explanation to a general’s loyalty beyond the curtains of reality.

A rage to the nobles. A rage to the civilians. And an enrapturing woman to the emperor. To Geta.

The upper hand. The solution. Leverage to dangle above a superior’s head like bait. And a treasure far more priceless than any jewel or ore he’d ever been offered.

The daughter of a supreme leader who wielded no real power. No real riches. Only the comfort of kin and a reason to fight.

The catch of the millenia.

Your life was ripped away from you. Your father was ripped away from you. You were left with nothing but the orders to obey, and to marry.

For the sake of your father. For the sake of your life. At the cost of your freedom.

The life you’d planned to live was left behind as a memory. A fragment of the person you hoped to be. Replaced with the promise of a ‘better life’, and the safety you’d always fantasized of. Promised to you by your own father.

“You shall live a better life, my sweet girl. I know,” he sighed heavily. His voice shakey and laced with regret as he uttered each syllable to you. Eyes brimming with disgraced tears. Disgrace in himself for failing you.

“—I know I will not be able to keep you safe myself, but I promise you.. you will be protected. The emperors will protect you, so long as you listen. Obey.”

He’d sacrifice anything to avoid having this conversation. To return to your lives without the notice of townsfolk, without the eyes of rulers searing into your skin, and without the torture of having to leave each other behind. But there was nothing he, nor you, could do. You were to be engaged. To be compromised. To a ruler with no sense of dignity, no sense of humility nor a sense of respect. Only a power feign with no remorse.

Your father thumbed at your cheek, wiping the tears which streaked and seeped into your skin. Sorrow filled eyes longing for a daughter to hold, only to be met with the familiar face of a forced bride-to-be...

“Please, I beg of you to save yourself, father—Fight and get out of this country. You could die.. You could be tortured or murdered and I—I can’t handle any more pain.”

Your voice came out breathy and silent. Barely loud enough for your father’s ears, but just enough. Enough to get your point across, and to urge him away from what was to come.

“I fear Geta. I fear him with every bone in my body, but I fear losing you far worse. I will marry him. I do not know what he sees in me, but I know he craves your demise, and I will not stand around and bare witness to a further downfall.”

You craved a minute more. A second to tell your father how you love him so, and you couldn’t blame him for a moment in your life for how things are to turn out. But you couldn’t. The guards had arrived, and that was your cue to be dragged away. To struggle and sob as you’d be ripped away from your father, once a general, now a helpless gladiator. To call out for him as you’re hoisted out of the room by guards too rough to handle, only to be faced with Geta. Your emperor. Your ‘betrothed’. Smiling. Baring his teeth like a rabid dog at its prey. He was proud of his work. Proud of that sliver of ‘kindness’ he’d dug out. And he’d awaited praise.. for allowing you to share your last moments with your father. Geta expected a string of ‘thank you’s’ or sobs proclaiming everlasting loyalty. He expected obedience and nothing more. But, he was met with none. Not a single mumble of praise because you’d rather die than give him any.

“You will be.. such a fine empress. You shall bear my children and produce an heir fit for the throne. And, your father shall be our entertainment.”

His words make you want to gag. Make you want to fall to your knees and sob, but you knew that if you were to do so, he’d only be spurred on. He'd feel powerful. He’d feel like a winner. And you were never going to allow him that pleasure.

“You will learn to be a good wife and do as I say when I say it, you hear?”

A quick nod was all you gave him. No words, no emotions. You were aware of how unstable you were at the moment, and your façade would soon crack if you uttered a single syllable.

And, he was not content with that response.

“Answer me. Let me hear your voice or you shall be punished severely.”

Your cheeks flushed pink. You wanted so badly to cry and flee forever. But you couldn’t. Your options were entirely limited. You could escape.. or ‘obey’, as your father had said.

And obey you shall.

“Yes, your highness. I hear—I will bear you a child and you—”

You were risking everything. You should stay silent, evaluate your options. Realize that you weren’t at liberty of speaking your mind any longer. But you are the daughter of a general, and his courage is your courage.

“You will ensure my father’s safety. You must.. allow him to be the most glorious gladiator..”

Always the challenger, never for peace. Just as your father had been. Forever a threat to the rulers and still with the promise of punishment for rebellion, you pursue. It angers him. Makes him seethe. He grinds his teeth and his jaw tightens as he considers how exactly to deal with you.

No room for murdering you like he’d normally do to other subjects in a fit of rage. No chance to attack you ferociously. No time to scream at you.

He’d settle for showing you how your power paled in comparison to his.

Your feet stumble as he lunges forward at you, quickly slithering his hand up the scruff of your neck to fist at your hair. A tingling pain sets in at the roots of your strands, stinging, and bruising as he handles you like a pest. It nestles uncomfortably, and it taints the feeling of abuse you’re enduring at his doing.

Yet, you’re forced to push it aside as he replaces the feeling with.. something different. The feeling of his lips crashing into yours. Latching on and gnawing gently in a battle of teeth and tongue. His saliva tastes different than any liquid you’ve drank. It’s almost heavenly, offering life to its victims. To ease the pain burrowed within you. It’s feral. Animalistic, really. But how could you have expected anything less from a tyrant.

After all, Geta gained power from making others submit. And it always worked. But forever the fighter, you’d always put up a battle.

Eyes pressed tight together as you inhale him, and everything that made him. His scent, almost musky but perfumed and pampered, his taste, a tinge of alcohol and deliciously fruity, just the feeling of him on you. Everything. He filled you with his presence. Geta overtook any space you’d left empty. And, part of you wished the circumstances could be different. Where in some other world this could be considered love, and Venus could watch upon your blooming romance. In some alternate world you’d drop your persistence, settle in his embrace without a care in the world and let him have his way.

But, you’re in this world. And in this world you haven’t the luxury of submission. Atleast.. total submission.

So with enough passion to fuel your senses. Your morality. You unravel from your sentience and glide your hands along the luxurious red that is his tunic, tracing upon the engraved designs, all the way to the treasures that were his jewels and golden accents, absolutely littered all over his garments. And, with a boost you swallow down the feeling of disgust to feel empowered rather than useless. To taste him back and contribute to the battle between your lips.

You fight for the power you deserve. The power your father earned for the both of you which should’ve never been retracted. You’d show this emperor who you were. How you weren’t a servant, nor a slave, and you’d never be reduced to a mere concubine. You were your own soldier, and you would not be conquered.

You pull away, his grip still firm on your neck. Its unsure if your bravery is attractive, or completely rejected, but the swell on Geta’s lips, and the saliva connecting you two is enough to tell you that regardless of what it resulted in, it was worth it. You had showed him who you were, and where you stood. He both loved and despised it.

“Get out of my sight. Go to your chambers. We will speak tomorrow.”

The tight grasp he had on your neck faltered, and you could feel the mark forming as he removed himself from you. His voice was as breathy as yours on the nights you’d pray to the Gods, pleading for forgiveness for whatever crimes youd committed. Breathy like your sobs for your father to hold you, keep you. Hell, you’d almost forgotten about how you were practically stolen away a mere few minutes ago. Deep down you hated yourself for indulging in the man you were to marry.. but you knew it had to be done. And if you enjoyed it.. well you’d convince yourself he’d corrupted you, somehow. Someway.

Regardless, you’d remained obedient. Like your father begged of you. Like Geta had reminded you to act. And if that meant scurrying off to your room.. your own room without his intoxicating presence, well then you’d do it in a heartbeat. It’d leave you to think. To plan. To lay in your bed and wait till you’d, (most likely), be called upon by a greedy emperor.

Most of all, though.. You’d remind yourself what you’d done, and how this was your fault. And you’d do anything to fix your mistake.

[echantedtoon]

Im just going to be doing this third installment for the rest of the most memorable demons (minus Rui's siblings, Spider Mother, Rui himself, Nezuko, Daki, and Genya again for VERY obvious reasons) on who I think is the best and worst dads/moms. No real order this time tho.

MUZAN:

-He would be a mixed up bag of good and bad traits tbh. When you first told him he flat out told you to stop teasing him. "Stop your childish games. It's a waste of time." You legit have to go get Kokushibo and have him look over your form through the transparent world and have him confirm to Muzan that you were indeed NOT lying or trying to prank him for Muzan to believe you.

-He's oddly silent for a long moment after just staring at you for a long while before going "Oh...Well this is a surprising turn of events."

-He can absolutely act like he's invested in his child and loves them. He's an asshole but a very convincing one to where even you couldn't tell if he was genuine or not. How he is towards the child is a mixed bag in of itself. He doesn't treat the child with harm or too much aggression. If anything he's actually more curious about seeing what a demon-human hybrid could accomplish.

-Look. Your child is either fully demon or fully human with your mixed genes. There's no in-between. If it's fully human then he's rather disappointed in the result. In turn he loses a lot of interest in the kid and just allows you to essentially raise them yourself without too much interference. He might change the child into a demon when they get older but overall wouldn't see much point in bothering with the tyke.

-If the child is demon THEN he will have a bigger interest. He's disappointed when you both find out that your child is in fact NOT immune to sunlight but he was already anticipating that anyways. He's very invested in making the perfect heir for himself.

-VERY strict perfectionist. Your child will be very smart, a good fighter, and as dangerous as a lower moon by the time they're eight because of their father's teachings. But at what costs?

-You wouldn't get to have a say in much of anything in their raising then.

-He plans out their schedule every day AND night for everything: Education, training, discipline, sleep, times they are to eat and who they interact with and when- He has very strict rules and if they aren't followed then they're training time is much more harsher. By default he also plans yours as the child's mother.

4½/10 Only because of the mixed bag of parenting style otherwise I'd score him much lower however an in between seems about right.

SPIDER FATHER:

-He's a good dad in Rui's opinion to Rui but no one else and honestly I hate how he treats practically everyone else.

0/10 for obvious reasons

YUSHIRO:

-Honestly not as bad of a father as one might assume. Whether the baby is between himself and Tamayo or himself and Y/n doesn't matter. He loves them all the same. Doesn't even care if they're human, demon, or a hybrid.

-Was shocked but not too shocked by the news of becoming a father, but it did take him a whole ass week to really come to terms with it.

-He's very skilled in medicine being Tamayo's assistant so he's able to help a lot with the baby's mother's pregnancy. Tonics to help her sore throat after they vomit, cures for aches and pains especially with swollen ankles, check ups to make sure baby's healthy. He's VERY attentive to his partner and their mental, physical, and emotional needs. Doesn't mean he's not a nervous wreck tho.

-Despite already knowing medical procedures including the birth, he still researches LOTS. Best educational toys, best fabrics to lessen the irritation of the baby's sensitive skin, etc- This man goes above and beyond so much it worries the mother. Tamayo has to get involved in order for him to be convinced to calm down.

-Is literally a nervous wreck when his child is born. Messy hair, bags under his eyes, nervous pacing- He doesn't faint but for a long while after the baby's born he'll just sit down and stare at the closest wall blankly and silently- "Yushiro, are you alright?" "Oh yes. Perfectly fine." "Then why are you just sitting there?" "Just...having a moment, Dear." Give him a moment. His brain is still processing the chubby sleeping mass in his arms after so long.

-Once reality finally slaps his brain into gear, he just cries. Good tears going down his face as he blubbers and holds his baby close to him on instinct. Praises mama too. Commenting on how baby is as beautiful as her and they have her eyes.

-Terrified and protective dad. He knows the dangers and keeps baby at home with mom safely tucked away in their hidden home away from danger. Only takes them out when both himself and Tamayo go somewhere. Strength in numbers.

-Loves holding his baby and sharing his painting hobby. Tamayo found him holding baby as they messily slapped hands full of paint all over a canvas. "Yushiro, what are you doing?" "Exploring their artistic skills of course."

-Man hangs all of his child's artwork proudly on the walls. Once nearly threw hands when one of Tamayo's patients said it wasn't that great.

-He can be very strict or hard on his child due to stress, fear, or stubbornness however and it has lead to some loud fights.

8/10 best father on this list no doubt

SWAMP DEMON:

-Have you seen how creepy he is in Kimetsu Gauken?? Absolutely NOT!

-0/10 Id rather take my chances with Muzan with a massive temper

TAMAYO:

-Is already an experienced parent having prior experience with her past family she lost. So she would definitely know what she's doing and what needs to be done. Already a good start.

-Is very calm and casual about the entire process as she's been through it before although Yushiro is practically worrying his entire hairline off fussing over her. Even though she tells him multiple times to stop worrying so much.

-Can really take care of herself through the entire process being a doctor and a previous mother before so there's really no complications outside of having to stay hidden for safety reasons.

-Has already prepared, planned, and set up a nursery with all the essentials on top of having an emergency bag in case they have to flee right away.

-Yushiro becomes the de fault uncle/dad figure worrying over the baby and crying when Tamayo allows him to hold baby and help care for it while she's busy. He becomes very protective and attached to mini Tamayo.

-Very good parent. Rarely if ever raises her voice to her child. Teaches them everything she knows about medicine and other skills so her child grows to be very smart. Has Yushiro help train them with his attack mode in case they ever have to fight anyone.

-Only downside is that she is unsure if she should offer her medicine to baby if they were born demon in fear it might harm them.

10/10 best mother out of all the demons in kny

[heliads]

Hello hey can you do some fluff with Thomas ? 🥰please

when they are talking in the safe heaven they was mutual pinning for them since the glade. She was all ways there for him and vice versa. They are a balancing personality. She was pessimistic and he was optimistic. But they have matching energy: one day he make a stupid joke and she says «  why I’m in love with you remind me «  but she didn’t mean to, and Thomas was surprised because they were in love it was obvious and didn’t stop teasing her for it.

Ps : Newt and Teresa are alive

i believe in newt and teresa being alive

masterlist

There is no such thing as winning over Y/N. That’s one of the very first lessons Thomas learned upon entering the Glade, along with the other crucial ones such as ‘don’t pick a fight with Gally,’ and ‘for goodness’ sake, Greenie, stop trying to go in the Maze.’ Still, he’s not inclined to give up yet. On any of those topics, actually. 

Thomas is not prone to surrender. He is a fighter, always has been. Or, he’d like to say that, if he had any idea what he ‘always has been’ in his life. There is Thomas now, Thomas when he first came up in the Box, and then a great expanse of nothingness before and after that. Blank emptiness is his past, unknowable odds his future. There is only Thomas in the present moment, so capable of changing his future that he doesn’t even know his past.

The nothingness makes it easier to remember the lessons. He has so few concrete memories in his head that the day-to-day events stand out in bright highlighter neon. Thomas can remember the sensation of a pen but never what brand he liked best nor what he might have written with it. Thomas does not know if he has ever worked in a garden growing up, but he knows what seeds can become and that he hates being a Track-Hoe, so he focuses on the last bit instead.

It makes him lie awake at night, spending hours staring up at a sky utterly foreign to him in the hopes of remembering any more of it. The constellation over his nose could have been his favorite, once upon a time, it could have been taught to him by a mother or father, but now it is just a broad handful of stars somewhere beyond his reach.

With so little to fill his head except fear and paranoia of the day before, Thomas is forced to conjure up something better worth his imagination, and more often than not, that happy thing becomes Y/N. Y/N is probably what Thomas will become sooner or later, once the initial rush of finding himself in the Glade wears off and he just grows sick of everything in sight.

Y/N has been here longer than most everyone here. The only rivals she has in terms of tenure would be Alby or the dead boys lying in a grave somewhere in the Deadheads. All that time stuck in these stone walls, and it taught her the importance of never getting your hopes up. Thomas met her the first time and thought that he might make it his goal to get her to smile.

He reached that after a few days, but that didn’t stop him from trying again and again. So what if Y/N is a realist who’s given up on dreaming of a way to get out of here, Thomas has enough heart for both of them and he’ll wield it just the same. Thomas sidles up to her at meals and tells terrible jokes until she has to sip at her water to hide a smile. He listens to her talk about everything that goes wrong in the Glade and intersperses recollections of what went well that day as well.

Slowly, surely, Thomas swears that she’s coming over to his side. He can win her friendship like a battle, a round of cards, anything he can make his own with enough dumb luck and a good few twists of fate. He’s come closer than anyone else, so that surely should count for something, right?

Thomas knows he’s getting there when the other kids start intervening. Minho takes it upon himself to tell Thomas that this whole thing is a lost cause. Been there, done that, Minho says one day while they’re out mapping a sector of the Glade, you’re going to have to give up eventually, and you know that. Y/N doesn’t want to suddenly become an optimist. It’s not going to happen.

I don’t want her to suddenly become an optimist, Thomas argues back, I just want her to like being around me even if I’m one.

Later that day, while they were taking one of their few much-needed breaks, Thomas had dared to ask Minho more in between desperate sips of water.

You knew her at the start, didn’t you? What was she like? He’d prompted.

Minho had sighed, stared at the water in his hands. She was like you. I never thought she’d give up on the hope that we’d get of here, and then she did.

Thomas had pushed for more details on just what had happened to change Y/N’s mind, but he hadn’t been able to get any additional facts out of Minho other than a recollection of several Gladers lost without any monumental change in their slow slog towards getting answers out of the Maze.

Mainly, though, what had done Y/N in was time. She’s spent three years here now, three years without any sign that they’ll ever leave. Fine, then, Thomas decides. If Y/N can’t see a world in which they ever get out of here, he’ll forge a new one just to make her eyes light up again.

He’s good on his word, too. When Thomas finds the way out, when their entire way of life goes awry and Gally tries to exert his control over the Glade, Thomas fights his way out with his friends. He shows Y/N the door out of the Maze, and he takes her through it.

Thomas doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget the look on her face when they step out into the sunlight for the first time. The sun was still there in the Glade, obviously, but it isn’t the same when you can feel the shadows of the Maze walls on your back with every other breath. Out there in the real world, though, that was something else altogether.

It was good, even when they were fighting for their lives in the Scorch. They spent their days terrified of Crank activity, but when the sun sank beneath the horizon and they were finally able to rest in whatever meager shelter that crossed their path, Thomas looked at Y/N and he knew that her hope was back. It was enough to make him keep fighting for a better life. It was enough to make him feel infallible.

And they did it, didn’t they? They found their way out. Thomas is reminiscing about old, worse times from his hut in the Safe Haven, far away from harm. Cranks cannot reach them here, nor WICKED, nor anyone else. He is here with his friends and Y/N, and he could not want for anyone else.

The final fights were the worst of Thomas’ life. He lost allies, but he saved some, too. Thomas doesn’t know that he’ll ever experience a fear quite like the one ricocheting through his chest when Newt was bitten. For a few horrific minutes there, Thomas had thought that he might lose him, the one friend he’d had from the very start. 

Minho had made it back in time with the cure, though, and then Newt was blinking up at him with shocked eyes and asking what had happened. Thomas hadn’t been able to answer him, not for a while. He remembers standing there, clutching Y/N for support, knowing that without her there he might have collapsed to the ground by Newt’s side.

That was Y/N for him, Thomas supposes. Whenever he was low, she was high. They complemented each other perfectly. He held out hope when she couldn’t, and when he was in danger of losing himself, Y/N pulled him back from the brink. Survival does horrible things to us all, but sometimes it gives you salvation in the form of people. Y/N is his people. Y/N is all he has ever needed.

Y/N was the one Thomas was thinking about when he was fleeing Janson through a burning city. Y/N was the name on his mind when Thomas caught Teresa just before the roof caved in. When the explosion hit him too hard and Thomas passed out on the Berg carrying them away, her face was the last one that flashed through his head.

It is all okay, though. They have lived through the horrors, the desolation, the grief. All that is left for them now is a quiet sort of ending, an epilogue in which the heroes win and the villains are forgotten. Thomas rises with the sun and goes to bed with the moon, and slowly, carefully, he heals.

They do that together, too. Thomas hands over leadership duties of the new settlement to the others; he wants no part of that now, no forced maturity of any kind, and he runs away to the one person who will always want him now. It’s funny, looking back on the Glade, how Thomas had always operated with this slight fear that Y/N was just humoring him because they were both stuck in the same place. He knows now for a fact that was never the case.

She’s told him as much, both directly and through the little things. He picks a wildflower out of surprise that such a colorful thing could idly grow on the side of the road and she tucks it behind her ear for the rest of the day. He wakes with nightmares and she holds him until the dreams become just that, just dreams, just memories which can no longer touch him.

Thomas thinks for the first time that growing old sounds like something that he can finally ignore. In the Glade and Scorch, the thought of making it to infirmity was something of a dream, an impossibility he would never reach. Right now, though, Thomas wants all the time he can get his hands on. He’s desperate for it, greedy and drunk on every moment. He loves the little things. He is enchanted by the big events. All of it is his, and all of it is beautiful.

He finds Y/N in the mornings, the evenings, the afternoons. They walk until their feet ache and sleep until the sun has climbed far too high in the sky, laugh and cry and live. It is nothing like what he thought growing up would be like, but then again, he never thought he’d make it far enough to judge. Right now, he is happy.

Very happy. He turns to Y/N as they’re sitting by the edge of the water and tells some sort of stupid joke. He’s been prone to them recently, like some inner comedian has suddenly remembered it exists and dusted itself off for its fair share in his personality. Maybe the Thomas before the Maze liked being funny. He’s never had enough time to figure out who that was at all.

Thomas waits for Y/N to say what she usually says in response to his attempts at being funny:  laugh along, maybe, or swat him on the shoulder, or come up with an even better joke just to make fun of him.

Instead, she rolls her eyes fondly. “That was awful.”

“Great,” Thomas corrects, “I think you mean it was great.”

“I certainly do not,” she says, smiling, “Remind me again why I love you?”

It’s late in the evening, maybe she’s tired, maybe that’s why she slips up and says something like that. Neither of them have been willing in any way to put a name on what they have or what they feel, but it occurs to Thomas that he wants that label more than anything he’s ever wanted before.

Y/N’s face looks tight, as if the skin has been yanked up on her bones to expose the skeleton beneath. She starts talking about something else quickly, the words tumbling out in an attempt to hide what had been said before. It doesn’t matter, though, Thomas knows what he heard and he adores it.

“I love you too,” he says. He feels like shouting it.

Y/N stares at him. “What?”

“I love you,” he answers her. “I love you. And you totally knew that, by the way. You’ve known that all along, so you do not get to just pretend like that didn’t happen. I know what you said. Also, I want it remembered from here on out that you said ‘I love you first.’”

Y/N gives him a look, but she can’t stop her lips from twisting up into a grin, so even her fiercest glares can’t weather him in the slightest. “Why does the order of who said what first even matter?”

“Who knows?” Thomas says, shrugging as casually as he can, “Probably that you’re just, you know, obsessed with me or something. I wouldn’t blame you.”

This time Y/N does swat him, but she kisses him too, so Thomas supposes she could be forgiven. He already has. He’d do it in a heartbeat, even if she was stabbing him through the chest instead of toying with him. He loves her. He loves her, and he won’t do anything else but that.

requested by @hope92100, i hope you enjoy!

tmr taglist: @rogueanschel, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @thatfangirl42, @hiya-itsamber, @gods-fools-heroes, @23victoria, @w1shes43, @ilovexavierthrope, @fadedver

[mrsoftthoughts]

Will Solace headcanons

- He's TALL

Like, really REALLY tall, at least for his age, this boy is like 1,82 ( smt like 6'0 with ⅔ of an inch I think?) at the age of fifteen and always has been the kind of kid who was at the end when the lines where from height order.

-The kind of person that gets red like a tomato

He looks like Tinkerbell whenever he gets flushed, especially but not exclusively when he is mad or has been laughing too hard.

-He is the embodiment of a social introvert

He likes spend time with his family and Friends, but he gets drained very easily, sometimes if he can avoid being surrounded by more than a few people or none at all, he isn't hesitating on taking that chance, and for that, he used to love when the cabin was empty of with just one or two of his siblings instead of the little battalion (Ofc he only could find that comfortable when the emptiness just means that all the others were at their daily activities and no that he, Austin and Kayla were the only one to fill the place until a new arrival.)

-Ok with PDA in public spaces if he's dating a girl, but sometimes he is kinda more reserved and discreet if his partner is a boy

Hear me out, he knows that there is nothing wrong with him or his relationship with a person of his same gender, but he has heard the things that some intolerant people are capable of and sees the consequences of it in some summer-only campers (and back at his home too, Remember that this boy is from Texas of all places) and he is terrified of the mere tough, so he's very wary of where or how much PDA displays towards his partner.

-His relationship with Naomi is great, but not really" Mother and son" like, but more "cool rich older friend/sister and bestie/younger brother"

None of them seem to realize or acknowledge that this isn't necessarily a good thing or that can be directly a problem due to the fact that Naomi has this little "eternal teenager" síndrome which is certainly not the best rely-on figure for an ACTUAL teenager.

-Kinda related to the last one, but he was partially/mostly raised by his grandparents

Naomi still being there, but she never quit her musical career which grew exponentially during her pregnancy, so sometimes she was out for a kinda Long time, They're this little southern older and kinda wealthy couple who absolutely love their grandson ( of which they were convinced that was the second mesias or something like a miracle at least due to his really weir birth conditions) Mr, Solace is guilty of wills star wars obsession

-This boy was literally indetectable during his ELEVEN months of gestation,

Naomi entered the hospital thinking that it was a digestive problem and ended up with a baby (that surprisedly for a newborn is pretty, like almost perfect to the point that feels beyond humanity) that looked like this guy whom she had met the past year in a trip to Austin, except that he and her cut the relationship way long before that what a normal pregnancy should be, her family end up convinced that was some kind of God's will and that's why they aren't bothered by Naomi having a child without being married or even in a relationship

- Igaf on what canon says, even if Will isn't usually a fighter, he, like any other demigod has a weapon, o well three

He has a bow, not his preferred one tough, his reaction is a bit too slow so forget about shot at a moving objective, Wich means that is useless when it comes to combat (and even in the archery range he is average or straight up sucks if their siblings are fair comparison), but that leads us to his preferred one for the last year's

Remember that shotgun that is just randomly in the armory? Well, he has his version of it, a Rifle, which is kinda restricted of in use because he can't use that thing for everything, the bullets are one-use-only which is kinda impractical and the mist wouldn't do shit to cover it up ( since that thing is already one of the disguises for the swords in this universe) and how tf are you supposed to explain that a minor has a hunting weapon in a big city?? Yeah- but his aim shines with that baby though

Sadly it has been slowly replaced while Will learns how to use his photokinesis and fulfill his dream of having his own light sable ( Why we are sleeping on the fact that this is just the best weapon to give a star wars fan capable of manipulating the fuckin light?!)

[wlwinry]

could i know more of your thistlecaster thoughts/any hc’s??

YES sorry ive become insufferable about them im gonna list off everything off the top of my head

classic example of fell first/fell harder. after the breakup w zelda gorgug sorta gradually spirals into being in love w fabian but he's very much like "im not gonna put my crush on him, i'll tell him at some point but i don't wanna mess things up" and he's very...not casual but not constantly freaking out about it. meanwhile fabian gets hit by the metaphorical "in love with gorgug" bus and proceeds to be so uncool about it to the point where everyone BUT gorgug notices his crush. it's the "leans against a vending machine and breaks it" scene w mazey but 10x worse

they spar A Lot, because they're the two main melee fighters/the ones who don't rely heavily on spellcasting in combat, which means they work together on the field A Lot. as such they're very good at reading each other's body language

PDA couple alert. not to trackerbees levels there is no 69ing on the battlefield but fabian is constantly holding gorgug's hand or leaning against his side and gorgug is constantly hugging fabian from behind or resting his chin on his head. fabian is touch-starved (hallariel isn't exactly the cuddling type and bill's physical affection tends to come in random bone-cracking bursts) and just sort of melts into gorgug

he also melts into gorgug bc gorgug is very earnest and sweet and fabian "expressing genuine vulnerability is dangerous" does not know how to process this other than by becoming a ball of deeply enamored mush

you've never seen someone give as many gifts as fabian does. even if it's just smth like a coffee or tea when they meet up before classes bc fabian knows that he needs the extra energy. there's big gifts too, like the giant workshop and lab he converts one of the multiple training rooms in seacaster manor into for gorgug to artifice (state of the art, ofc), but also things like a special holster for drumsticks, pillows enchanted to maximize restful sleep, etc.

gorgug retaliates by making fabian Many Things. often accessories. several with tin flowers on them (he also makes the engagement and wedding rings, when it eventually comes to that. and it does. to me.)

fabian gets a little emotional whenever he's offered another flower

fabian is also big on terms of endearment and pet names but "darling" is very specifically never one of them. gorgug's favorite of the bunch is "flower"

gorgug loves watching fabian dance. fabian also loves watching gorgug artifice. there tends to be an admiring onlooker in their various workspaces

the hangman fully offered to throw itself into a ditch so gorgug would come fix it again if that would help fabian flirt w gorgug. fabian refused. the hangman kept asking and was only effectively stopped when reminded that gorgug owns the hangvan

speaking of the hangvan. good makeout spot.

idk i just think they're so in love and they match up so well i think about them always. fabian also goes to so many cig figs concerts with big ol glittery signs covered in hearts and gorgug is always flustered when he sees him in the crowd, much to fig's delight. when gorgug mentions wanting to write fabian a song she is immediately on board and insists he has to do it

fig needs to know details immediately and gorgug is. so bashful about giving them. meanwhile fabian WANTS to gush and riz is like ily im so happy for you i dont need to know all the details. this does eventually mean fig bugs fabian for details and fabian eagerly gives them

unlike his mother fabian knows loving someone with a human lifespan when you're going to live well beyond one means you have to treasure every single moment with them. so he does. and gorgug knows he will love him no matter what plane he's on, living or dead

i have more this is just. what i've got off the top of my head rn. thanks for letting me be completely insufferable

[bruciemilf]

What are your fav teen!Bruce headcanons? (Like, not de-aged, I mean just him being a teenager and making Alfred lose decades of lifespan every day)

Thank you!

OOO I'm glad you asked!! If I may be permitted to be an edge lord of preposterous proportions for a second--

I think teen Bruce would be a combination of Battinson, fanon Bruce, and old man Batman from Batman Beyond. He's there only in body. A ghost you can see.

the Waynes carved their name In Gotham's history books by being generous, and helpful, and oh so altruistic philanthropists. They build a pedestal of good deities and put themselves on top.

They wanted to fix the unfixable.

Bruce looks down at his blood covered fists and he knows, like a truth of the ages, he's nothing even close to that.

He's not a healer like his father. Or a fighter like his mother. Bruce, despite his best efforts, will only ever be himself.

What's a boy, if not a gun waiting to be loaded?

"You're not a weapon. You're just a kid. A good one, at that."

"Gotham doesn't need more good kids, Alfred," Bruce says. He stopped calling him "Papa" after turning 8. Still. He might not treat Alfred like a parent anymore, but he listens like a son.

"It doesn't need more apathetic rich boys, either."

Bruce takes that to heart. Or tries to. He has the tendency of learning everything too late.

Nevertheless, time doesn't wait on anyone. And before he knows it, he's a 17 year old wraith, moving through Gotham like poison water.

One time, Carmine Falcone, perhaps the only recluse more well known than Bruce, stops him at a town hall meeting Alfred made him go to.

Wayne Remembrance Day. Big Thanks.

"See, I don't really like comin' to these things. Makes me depressed. "

Bruce nods, flicking his cigarette up. " Me too."

Oz snatches it away from his mouth with a " give me that, Slick' and Bruce doesn't stop him. Alberto Falcone, just as mousy and lost as he was when they were kids, watch him like Bruce is Icarus falling from the sky.

He's taller than his father now. He can only imagine what that does to Falcone's ego.

" It ain't everyday I can say this about someone. But you really impress me, Slick. Carryin' on like a small fish. But boy, you got em fooled. I know another shark when I see one."

Bruce doesn't have anything to say to that.

" Maybe if you keep this up, you'll be the last Wayne standing."

He doesn't have much to say to that, either. He simply sends Alberto Falcone with a swift punch, and walks away.

Watching from the sidelines like a Colosseum spectator, little Tim Drake watches his grumpy neighbour storm away with a thunder in his step.

[greenerteacups]

Hi, hi! I never shut up in my fic comments, so I’m going to practice restraint here and quietly scream that I find everything about Lionheart delightful. It’s such a smart, witty, honest, beautiful, and deeply romantic story that honors a character arc for Draco that scratches so many itches in my brain. Every time I read it, I feel spoiled. 

I have SO MANY questions and general exclamations, but I’ll stick to one. I always love reading your thoughts, but there is zero, null, zip pressure to respond in any way. Just think of this ask as an energetic virtual wave. 

So, if your Narcissa and Molly were forced to name each other’s biggest flaw, what would they say? (I ask this knowing that what whatever they said wouldn’t necessarily be true, of course.) I’m endlessly fascinated by their parenting, but also the lives they lead beyond it. Molly and the Order. Narcissa and the pureblood circles she’s navigated her whole life. They both so obviously love their children, but I can’t ever decide if Molly’s dislike for Narcissa (I mean, I’m assuming she dislikes her) would include a stiffly admitted “you’ve raised a good son,” or if she’d say “Draco became good in spite of you.” 

<3 Tig

TIG!! Hello! I read your comments religiously, and by that I mean with the totemic reverence properly afforded to King St. Stephen of Hungary's right forearm. I hoard them in my inbox like Smaug's jewels and kick my feet like a schoolgirl over them. Or like a very schoolgirlish mixed metaphor of a dragon, that is. The longer, the more dragonly schoolgirling. To wit, I have been grinning at this stupidly for like, five whole minutes.

What would Narcissa and Molly say about each other? I wonder, I wonder. They're quite alike in being protective and (in their way) nurturing mothers. They both take pains to keep their children out of the war effort, albeit somewhat unsuccessfully. They're also very prideful, domineering, and intent on getting their own way. I think Draco acclimates to Molly's parenting style when he's around the Weasleys in part because it's so similar to his own home: you have a present and visibly dominant mother figure, who gives most of the orders, and then an auxiliary (or, in Lucius's case, absent) father figure whose name is usually invoked only to give force to the mother's commands. They also had children around the same time, though Molly was a mother years before Narcissa was, and so probably thinks of Narcissa as quite young. I expect there would be an element of mutual condescension, if not outright scorn. Both of them believe very strongly that their ideas are The Right Things, and if you disagree with them, it doesn't matter what your reasons are, you are simply Wrong. They have equally inflexible moral compasses that happen to be oriented around radically different poles.

They are also both — and I don't think it's a spoiler to say this, because everything I'm about to say is stated in the text — extremely competent fighters. Narcissa never fought in the first Wizarding War, but she's still an accomplished duelist, and formidable enough to have the respect of both Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore. She's an expert Occlumens, practiced Legilimens, and her husband was the Dark Lord's right hand. Molly Weasley, on the other hand, is one of the only people alive to have beaten Alastor Moody in a duel, and one of the few people in the Order who seems to feel comfortable giving shit back to him at Grimmauld Place. It's worth noting, too, that Molly is fairly bellicose as a person — she has a snap-your-fingers temper — and among her seven children, you have (canonically speaking):

a curse-breaker (one of the hardest/most demanding intellectual jobs in the wizarding world),

a dragon-tamer (holy fuck),

a Head Boy with more N.E.W.T.s than Hermione canonically has, who got a high-ranking aide position in Wizard Parliament straight out of high school,

two crackpot inventors who start a business selling bioweapons at age 17,

a chess prodigy who beats a 50-something master at age 11; hijacks a flying manual car, teaches himself to drive it, flies the fucking thing from Devon to Surrey, and kidnaps his best friend; subsequently flies it again from LONDON to HIGHLAND SCOTLAND; uses said car to bulldoze a horde of giant spiders; threatens a serial killer to his face, while nursing a broken leg; breaks into the wizarding version of MI6; blows it up; ensuingly helps prosecute a war effort to prevent a fascist takeover of Britain; and:

Ginny Weasley.

And on the other hand, you have Narcissa (in Lionheart), whose children, though few in number, consist of:

Draco Malfoy (prodigious, annoying, thus far remarkably hard to kill).

So regardless of your stance on the nature/nurture debate, you have to believe there's some fairly intense parenting happening on either side of the equation.

In my fic, they also both hold similar roles in the present: involved in the war effort, but not in the same way some of their colleagues are, either by choice (Molly being the de facto quartermaster for the Order safehouse, and hence the Order) or by necessity (Narcissa being unable to come out publicly on either side of the conflict without putting herself, and Draco, in danger). Those positions of "neutrality," which for both of them is really just a cover for their work as covert operatives, is made possible by the fact that they are mothers. No one would suspect the impoverished housewife Molly Weasley of running a guerrilla military out of her kitchen; likewise, few would suspect reclusive, tragic pureblood widow Narcissa Malfoy of being the pet huntress of Albus Dumbledore. Which is part of what makes them so effective. There's also something in the fact that they're both very feminine, both in their position and how they hold themselves, but they embody different aspects of femininity — specifically, the elements of femininity that are useful to their cover. Molly leans heavily into her role as the blustering, bossy, overworked mother, to the point that most of her children don't see her as anything else. Narcissa, on the other hand, leans into the "Mater dolorosa" angle, presenting herself as this demure, ladylike mistress-of-the-house, which is helped by the fact that her husband's death gives her an excuse not to go out often. The perception that she's a frail widow crippled by grief — which is anything but the truth, as becomes clear pretty much by her first appearances of Lionheart — means that people in her pureblood circles don't make the same demands of her that they would of Lucius, and she absolutely exploits that to her advantage. They're both Gen X women who grew up during (if not slightly before) the second-wave feminist movement; their relationships with sex and social position flow from that. They don't break molds; they flip them to their advantage.

Anyway, I've totally neglected your question. To wit: Narcissa would say that Molly's greatest flaw is her inability to conceive of an ideal more important than happiness. Molly would say that Narcissa's is cowardice.

[saltsicklover]

Part One - STCHT

Here's to a new adventure! Enjoy!!

Title: Someone To Come Home To

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2200+

Rating: R

Warnings: Talk of Secrets, Swearing, Jake's mothering being A LOT, talks of death and trauma.

Best Friends to Lovers Romance! Marriage of Convenience!

Disclaimer: I do not own Jake Seresin, or anything related to Top Gun Maverick within this piece. Not Proof Read or BETA'd. All mistakes are my own.

I do not consent for my work to be edited, reposted, or translated.

You are responsible for your own media consumption. This is a work of fiction that may contain mature themes. If you are sensitive to those subjects, please do not read.

---

The Dagger Squad is good at keeping secrets- they make their living under Top Secret clearance, their fighter jets being a means to an end, really. They fly with a prayer on their lips, they compete their missions, make miracles, and come home. That's the job. 

They do it, and they do it well, because that is the job. From the moment the step onto that aircraft carrier, it no longer matters what they are leaving behind. They may fight for what's behind them, who is behind them, but none of that matters the second they step into that jet. All that mattered from that moment on was the mission, the job, the next step or twelve they had to take in order to get back home. 

Maybe that's why they have so many secrets. 

They tell people it's so information can't be tortured out of them- if they can keep their personal lives a secret, they can damn sure keep professional information from falling into the wrong hands. They say it's because they are just quiet people, they don't like their personal lives out in the open for anyone to see. Sometimes they even say it's so they can focus on the job. If no one is talking about home, there will be nothing to miss on mission, on deployment, or while they are stationed across the country. 

Those were never the real reasons. Each Dagger had their own. Nobody ever questioned each other until they became a permeant detachment out of San Diego and things that were once kept secret slowly began working their way out. 

The secrets, physical fitness standards, uniform regulations, and bureaucracy were just added bullshit on top of the contracted nine to five job that Jake Seresin accepted when he signed on that dotted line. Again, and again, and again. 

The job was good, really good. It brought him all over the world, seeing things that people didn't even think to wish for. From the deepest blue hues of the ocean and their white crested waves that lap themselves up against the sides of aircraft carriers to the clearest sky that surrounded him each time he flew. No matter where he found himself, the world seemed to stretch so far around him and a feeling of absolute awe filled him. 

He swore up and down that there was nothing like it, the feeling that the ever expansive Earth was just beyond of his fingertips, and he ached to see it all. Seresin crossed his heart, claiming there was nothing more beautiful than watching the world form the seat of his jet- the sun cresting over the horizon, the blue from both the sky and sea being interrupted by a streak of brilliant sunlight. 

He knew the sky was where he belonged from the moment his Father's best friend took him up in his private prop plane. It was just a little two seater Cessna, but Jake sat in the back, fighting the the seatbelt the whole time. He wanted nothing more than to push his face flush up against the glass and take in everything the eye could see. It was that moment, his world broke open, his future crystal clear- he belonged in the sky. 

Getting into the Navy was all that mattered, so, he fought like hell to claim his place, to fly with the best pilots, to be a navel aviator. He started young, first with good grades and model planes before moving onto high school, his plucky neighbor in tow. 

Seresin had first met his neighbor, who he affectionately refers to as Spurs, when his Mother dragged him over to their home with a Bundt cake to welcome them to the neighborhood. The gesture was meant to be friendly, the Texans with kind hearts and hospitality to boot. 

The Jett family was less than impressed with the gesture, but, they took the cake anyway in an attempt to seem nice. It's never the best idea to upset new neighbors on the day you move in, even if the cake that Mrs. Seresin held out to Ms. Jett felt more like an excuse to snoop than it did to actually be kind. The thing the Mrs. Seresin didn't know was that her presence was more of an interruption than a welcome party. That, however, didn't stop the wide eyed girl from pushing around her mother's legs, sticking her hand out towards Jake with gusto and self confidence. 

"Good afternoon!" Mrs. Seresin's cheeks bore too much blush and not enough of a smile as Mrs. Jett opened the door about 45 degrees. She stuck her head out onto the porch, her daughter quickly hiding behind the door, a finger laced through her mother's belt loop. 

"Hi," The greeting is short and Mrs. Seresin pulls her lips into a tight line, still trying to keep the corners ticked up to allude to a smile in response to her new neighbor.  

Mrs. Seresin's blond hair is styled tall and proud, no doubt giving her about four more inches in height, adding to the extra couple she gets from her strappy heals. She wears a beautiful dress, one that wraps her upper body before flowing down into a skirt to hide her tummy and hips. Things that, no doubt wouldn't be considered 'lady-like' to show off. The neckline is modest, but there is enough room to layer a set of dainty pearls around her neck. Her blue eyes sparkle against her thick layer of makeup. 

Her son is clad in jeans that are just a hair too long for him, even with the little bit of height he gets from his cowboy boots. A t-shirt is tucked into this jeans, a belt buckle on proud display. His cheeks are rosy with heat, unclear if the cause is from the weather or the embarrassment his mother is subjecting him to. 

"My name is Patricia Seresin, and this is my son, Jacob," She runs her well manicured fingers through his hair. "We live just across the way and we wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood!" The cheeriness laced in her voice is fake but well rehearsed; a tone of voice that would sound wonderfully condescending with the right words. Ms. Jett takes note of the tone and the way her new neighbors lacquered nails stand out against her son's hair, the shining red paint against the bright blond of the boy's too long hair. Jacob's hair falls unceremoniously over his forehead, a hat line worn into his bangs, no doubt from the dark brown Stetson he cradles against his chest. 

Patricia holds the cake out towards Ms. Jett expectantly, her eyebrows inching up her forehead as she shakes the plastic wrap covered dessert at her new neighbor. Patricia mutters something about it being a "Bundt" and so, with a sigh,  Ms. Jett pulls open the door a bit further, trying not to notice the way her new neighbor's eyes rake over her form. Her hair is tied back, bandanna tied tightly around her head, almost obscuring her dirty blonde hair. Her white t-shirt is tucked beneath a pair of cutoff overalls, a pair of high tops adorn her feet. 

"I'm Lizzy- Elizabeth Varon Jett" She introduced herself as she took the cake being presented to her. Once she let go of the door, it swung open the rest of the way, her daughter's hand on the knob. Her daughter is still hidden a bit behind her legs. "This is my daughter, Captain," Lizzy introduces her daughter with a little smirk.

"You named your daughter, Captain?" The judgement leaks through Patricia's voice and Lizzy can't help but laugh.

"Heavens, no! But she won't actually respond to anything but Captain, so that's what we go with. My late husband was a Naval Lieutenant, and used to call her Captain because it's a superior rank.  It's silly," She dismisses with a wave of her hand, a light wash of tears flooding her eyes. "Captain, this is Mrs. Patricia, and her son, Jacob," 

"Mrs. Seresin,"

"Jake," 

The neighbors speak at the same time.  Captain's eyes drifted from Mrs. Seresin to the boy standing next to her. He smiles widely at her, a couple of his front teeth missing. She smiles back, showing off a tooth gap of her own. Lizzy laughs at the exchange, Patricia doesn't. 

"Captain starts at the Elementary school just down the road in a couple of weeks," Lizzy says, more to Jake than to his mother, "Fourth grade, a big year! What about you, Jacob?"

"I will be going into fourth grade as well, Ma'am," He informs her, a smile playing on his lips. 

"That's very exciting, maybe you two will be in the same class!" Lizzy nudges her daughter a bit with her hip, a smile on both of their faces. The words go unspoken between mother and daughter, a new friend. 

Captain looks Jake up and down before making a decision. She moved out fully from behind the safety of her mother's legs, a new confidence taking over. She didn't even bother to give her name, real or the nickname she had been using since she was seven, instead opting to ask a question, one that would stick in the back of Jake's mind for the rest of time, "Where are your spurs? I thought everyone here in Texas wore spurs!"

The laugh that escaped his lips sealed the deal for her. Jake would be her best friend. Jake's mother nudged him between the shoulders, apologizing for his inconsiderate attitude. As their mothers continued their conversation, Spurs stuck out her hand again, this time, he took it in his own, grip firm and assured. 

With a few more spoken words between the women, they bid each other a good afternoon, each mother having to pull their own child into the house and off the porch, respectively. Captain knew form that moment on that didn't plan on letting anything get in her way, not the new house, the new school, the new life without her father, nothing. Especially when it came to the green eyed boy who lived across the street, who was in her new fourth grade class. The moment she laid eyes on him life swept them up, tangling them together, whether they like it or not- but little did each other know, they would like it an awful lot. 

---

Over the years, Jake and Spurs came to know lots about each other, probably more than they knew about themselves. Jake's family owned a large ranching business but after his father, Richard, got injured, they moved into town leaving the ranch in their employees capable hands.

Jake learned how Spurs' father, David, died. He was in a helicopter that went down, the ocean swept the wreckage under and no one made it out. They shouldn't have been flying with the storm, but the Navy remains adamant that there was appropriate weather when they took off. Spurs doesn't speak about her father, much to her Mom's dismay. 

Jake loves math even though he would never admit it, and Sunny was fantastic in history. He could spell, she couldn't. She always slipped him her carton of milk in exchange for his grapes. They balanced each other out, the way best friends should. 

Their mothers took photos of them together every year, the first day of school, and the last, posed in front of the large tree outside the Seresin house. They traded birthday gifts and homework. They got caught cheating in the sixth grade as they slipped each other answers for the reading quiz. Neither of them cared for the books they read, so they each read half and swapped answers. It wasn't a fool proof plan, but they didn't find that out until they were sitting outside the principals office, bumping knees and waiting for their furious mothers to get through with the principal. 

The years went by quickly, between school work and first time job, first kisses and parties. Not before long, it was graduation and the pair were happy as could be, posing for photos together. They were clad in cap and gown, hanging off of each other, smiles brighter than the Texas sun. Jake was headed for bootcamp a few weeks later, more than ready to begin his Naval career. 

Spurs was headed north, school in Minnesota calling her name. She didn't really want to go, but she promised her Mother she would give it a try. When she finally made it to the tiny college town, nestled right up against the Mississippi river, she barely lasted through the first winter. Between the homesick feeling that never left her chest and the fact that Jake was due home for Easter before shipping out to his first duty station for Flight School, she was itching to get home. 

She told herself she didn't need the fancy degree anyway- it wasn't what she wanted out of life in the first place. Spurs wanted to travel, to work with her hands, to meet new people and figure out what life was outside of her little corner of it all. She was ready for whatever the world was going to dish her- at least, she thought she was. That was until she walked through the front door of her house, bags in hand, only to find the Seresin's and her mother waiting for her, each wearing a more intense look than the last. Absolutely nothing could have prepared her for the words that left Richard's mouth. 

[whoreforsplatasha]

Jealousy (Jinx x Female r)

Part 4

series contains- smut, violence, obscene language

After what seemed like hours of constant struggle I was finally able to get some sleep until... "time to start your training, get your fucking ass up y/n" I grunted while trying to get ahold of my feet; I felt a sharp pain in my lower back, most likely from the uncomfortableness of the mattress I had to endure all night.

I glanced at the short, foggy window that was placed at the very top of the room; not a single ray of sunlight mirrored form the outside. "What time even is it?" I complained. "3:45" my jaw dropped and I felt a bit of anger boil up inside me. "YOU SAID 4! WHAT HAPPENED TO 4?" I shouted as I did some angry hand gestures. "watch your tone. and rule one of being a fighter, always submit before the due date" I stared at her in annoyance and dusted my pants off.

fuck it, she's going down with them too that heartless bitch.

at 'The Last Drop' (the bar previously owned by Vander)

                                                                     . . .

"ARGH" I wailed as I tumbled to the floor. Sevika pumped more shimmer into her robotic left arm as she readied her next punch. I struggled getting up from my current position, before I could get on my feet she pounced at me grabbing my shirt and tossing me to the wall like trash. "hm" she scoffed. She walked closer to me and provoked  "weak"

weak? the taunting voices of my mother echoed through my head. “ you are nothing you will always be nothing until you stop being so god damn weak y/n” she scoffed and muttered, “what a pathetic excuse for a daughter”

With the new found energy burning inside me I gave an unpredictable kick in her stomach causing her to stagger a little giving me enough time to knock her off her feet and pin her to the floor with my fist. I gave her a self praised looked and she nodded her head in approval . "not bad kid, not bad at all" "woohoo! bravo!" I heard a voice say from behind me. I cringed as my mind processed who that annoying but kinda hot voice belonged to.

"What do you want Jinx?" she gave me puppy eyes "What's the matter sugar? I just came to see how my partners doin'" "uh huh" I replied. Sevika got up and was about to leave when I stopped her "woah woah woah where do you think you're going?" "I'm starving I'll bring you back something but I don't have the patience to deal with that brat right now " "So you're just going to leave me with miss crazy pants?" I said while looking over at Jinx; she just smiled and waved at me enthusiastically. "Please don't leave me with her" I begged. "Sorry y/n someone's gotta deal with her and you agreed to be her friend so that's your job now, thanks". " I DIDN'T HAVE A CHOICE" sevika just shrugged and walked away.

great. you just earned yourself number one on my assassination list

I grudgingly walked back inside to meet a smiley Jinx

oh boy

I put on my best fake smile and sat down beside her. "How's training with SEVIKA" she said Sevika in a princess like voice. "Actually it's pretty nice, she pushes me way beyond my limits but it's actually shaping me into a good fighter" "pft I could've done that a gazzilion and a billion times better than SEVIKA" again saying her name in a princess like voice, obviously mocking her.

i don't think a gazillion is even a real number, but i'm not trying to get slaughtered right now so i'll just keep that to myself

I nodded at her statement and wiped some sweat of my forehead when she blurted out;"what's going on with you and Sevika" she bit her lip nervously looking into my eyes. I almost choked on my own saliva. "ME AND SEVIKA? YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING NOTHING IS GOING ON I DO NOT AND WILL NEVER LIKE HER LIKE THAT! PLUS SHES LIKE WHAT? 40?" I laughed at my own protest and jinx smiled a bit. "So you're single, right sugar?" "uh I mean, well yeah but-" she cut me off my leaning close to my face, her lips inches away from my mine. She touched my bottom lip with her thumb "good"

She leaned back and I silently cursed myself. Did I want her to kiss me? Surely not, I don't even like her like that plus I have Jayce at home. Jinx saw that I was frustrated, "What? Did you want me to continue." I felt myself blush uncontrollably. "N-no why would I want you to" "Soo you don't want me to kiss you" "Well I didn't say that either" i mumbled under my breath. "What was that sugar?" "Nothing" I quickly replied. She smirked at me and got close, even closer than she was before. She looked at my lips and leaned in but didn't kiss me. "Alright then I'll see ya tomorrow sugar." she rerouted her position and gave me a kiss on my cheek instead.

why was i mad? why was i so frustrated. did i really want her to kiss me? maybe i did but i can't let myself get attached, i have to kill her or my mother would never think i'm good enough. i need to do this quick before my feelings get stronger.

(hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! i'll try to update more frequently) also top or bottom jinx

[whumpusgumpus]

GUYS!!! Formally meet my DND OC Konr/ad. featuring SNZCANONS🌸 I played him in my group’s previous campaign and am still playing him, but this is specifically abt his previous self cus he’s a lot diff now:)

🛡️Here r some basics before I get to the snz stuff

Mercenary fighter (battle master)

Lawful neutral

Human

Gender: male (he/him) Age: 26 Wt.:230lbs Ht: 6’

Stats: lvl5: Strength(20)>Dexterity>Wisdom>Charisma>Intelligence>Constitution(9)

Konr/ad's earliest memories are of relentless training in his mother’s yard, driven by Odilia's harsh determination to mold him into a strong and capable individual. Despite his frail health and constant exhaustion, Konr/ad endured grueling physical labor and rigorous training, pushing himself beyond his limits to meet her expectations. As Odilia's fortunes improved, she sought to provide Konr/ad with a better life, enrolling him in an academy where he struggled to fit in among the wealthy students. After being expelled for defending a friend, Konr/ad continued his physical training and took on work to support himself and his ailing mother. Following Odilia's sudden death, Konr/ad's grief led him to alcoholism and bar fights, where his formidable strength caught the attention of the Wings of Resolve mercenary guild. Joining the guild, Konr/ad quickly became a standout member, his incredible strength and resilience making him a key asset, though he remained unaware of the extent of his abilities and was often exploited by the guild leaders for their own gain. In this campaign, Konr/ad and a group of adventurers like himself fight a bloody war in the Feywild against impossible aberrants and save mankind, barely escaping with their lives.

Kk so now for the snz canons 😏

🛡️He’s immunocompromised, so he gets sick a LOT and gets hit HARD. When sick his sneezes sound more desperate, usually causing him to gasp before each one

🛡️He usually sneezes in singles because he gets a lot of fits. So they’re not actually singles, they’re just spaced out lol. When not having a fit it’s either singles or doubles.

🛡️His sneezes are surprisingly soft. It irritates him because no sneeze is truly satisfying.

🛡️His buildups look like this: he kinda just stares off into space with his lips slightly parted, then gasps.

🛡️His sneezes usually make no mess, and he covers with his fist. His buildups give him enough time to cover.

🛡️His eyes are bright teal so they’re sensitive, so the light definitely sets him off.

🛡️On a bad allergy day or when he’s sick he knows the mess is coming so he carries and handkerchief.

🛡️He has a very sensitive nose, especially cus it’s broken. He always has tho. Just rubbing his nostril the wrong way can cause him to sneeze or hitch.

🛡️He has mean seasonal allergies and sneezes so much sometimes to the point he gets comments on it. Ex. “You’re running out of bless yous”, “are you still going?” Etc.

🛡️He has fits almost every early morning in the spring, and scattered throughout the days during other seasons.

K that’s a lot super sorry but thank u for reading and I hope y’all enjoyed :)

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Henloo! ^^ I was thinking about Charybdis reader stopping the third round. It was said that Adam was told by Brunhilde to keep the reader from watching the fight between Kojiro and Poseidon. But what if she somehow manages to free herself from Adam's grasp and runs up to the arena with the sole purpose of stopping the battle because: 1) Reader doesn’t want to see Kojiro getting hurt anymore and 2) Perhaps catching a glimpse of Poseidon's genuine remorse makes her own heart soften, ever so slightly.

Charybdis, even knowing the risks of getting involved, stands between the two to prevent them from fighting any further, and forces Poseidon to abandon the fight so neither of them dies, begging him to just give up before it escalates any further.

You could always make a recap for context but I would personally like for the request to be about the aftermath of the round, with father and daughter interacting. Charybdis' relationship with Poseidon would definitely be strained and damaged beyond return, but after the reader gives him a harsh (but sincere) speech that feels like a punch in the gut for him, he's granted the chance to make things right; not as a father, but as a God (since she now has Papa Adam). And with no room for any mistakes, by the way!

-Despair and guilt were the only emotions that Poseidon could feel, as well as anger at himself.

-You, his little daughter, was lost. You had found a new family, a new papa and mama in Adam and Eve, calling them such.

-You now had a massive family, between your new parents, the human fighters, the valkyries, and Hercules.

-You no longer needed him. You no longer wanted him.

-He wallowed in his own anguish, all of which was his own causing, hiding away in a private room that he trashed within moments of entering, then sat for what felt like hours.

-Poseidon was in a fog, unable to comprehend any thoughts other than you, what he did to you, and what he didn’t.

-As a king, he kept all emotions locked deep within him, hidden away from the eyes of others, from the eyes of those who look up to him and respect him, even if it is respect out of fear.

-But seeing you, his child, terrified of him and calling another man, a human man of all things, your papa.

-Poseidon longed for a second chance, to go back in time to that point where he walked away from you and your mother, to take you with him instead of abandoning you.

-He longed to be able to go back and defend you against Zeus; Poseidon clutched his chest over his heart as he could only remember your face when you told him that you were just so hungry, and for it, you were severely punished.

-When the first tear landed on his hand, his hands lifted to his face, finding himself crying. He couldn’t remember the last time he cried.

-When it came time for him to fight, none mentioned his bloodshot eyes, the skin rubbed raw around them as he had to regain his image.

-He entered first, hearing the cheers of many gods, but many who were terrified of him, of his notorious temper and ruthlessness.

-The same ruthlessness that drove you into the arms of another papa.

-Kojiro took a while to come out, as you had wrapped your arms around his knees, making him unable to walk as you sobbed, begging him not to fight Poseidon, or as you called him, The Mean God.

-You were being held back by Brunnhilde, her heart breaking as you were reaching out to Kojiro, calling out for him, sobbing loudly.

-Brunnhilde took you back to Adam, telling him to not let you watch this fight.

-Kojiro made no mention of Poseidon’s eyes, he could tell the god had been crying, but he knew of your past, he knew what Poseidon did to you and what he didn’t do.

-Kojiro respected Poseidon enough to acknowledge that he felt regret for his actions, but he also knew that he was in a fight for his life.

-Poseidon was fearsome, his anger turning on Kojiro, all of his negative emotions coming out all at once.

-It made him powerful, but it also made him very sloppy, reckless, within minutes Poseidon had lost an arm already and had a deep gash in his side, but Kojiro was worse off.

-The samurai had a deep gash in his stomach, as well as a stab wound in his shoulder, and was bleeding heavily from a deep slash in his chest.

-You had managed to get away from Adam, and you had seen Kojiro being hurt, startling you so badly that you didn’t breathe for a few long moments before you ran, rushing down the stands while Adam and Brunnhilde were chasing after you, calling out your name.

-Both Kojiro and Poseidon heard Adam scream out your name and they both turned, seeing you leaping from the stands to land hard on the arena they were fighting on, rolling a few feet.

-You weren’t hurt, just a little disoriented, but you quickly stood as the crowd was alight with cries, seeing a child rushing out so recklessly.

-You leapt in front of Kojiro, despite Poseidon being stunned stiff and not moving, your arms spread, “Don’t hurt Kojiro anymore!”

-Kojiro was gasping softly in pain, “Charybdis!” and quickly the whole arena knew who you were. Poseidon looked conflicted, you could see the sadness in his eyes which surprised you, but you remained firm, you weren’t moving- he wasn’t going to hurt Kojiro anymore, “I’m not going to let you hurt anyone else!”

-Your declaration broke Poseidon’s heart, as it was a jab at him, for him abandoning you so long ago, and Kojiro was fully prepared to grab you and run, to protect you.

-Neither of you were prepared to see Poseidon lowering his weapon, his posture relaxing, “Charybdis- daughter, why are you protecting this human?” he couldn’t understand it.

-Your eyes were like fire, feeling so angry, despite the tears flowing from your eyes, “Kojiro and the other humans are nice to me- much nicer than you ever have been or any of you gods, like Zeus! You are all mean and treat humans like they aren’t worthy of protecting! I’m going to protect Kojiro, and if you want to hurt him you’ll have to hurt me again!”

-The cries of outrage were immediate, hearing your pain, as many knew of your past, and what had happened.

-Kojiro kneeled down, dropping his sword as you broke down into sobs and you turned, rushing into his arms and he hugged you softly, stroking your hair.

-Poseidon believed that should have been him comforting you, but you were right- he had done nothing but drive you away and there was no chance at getting you back…unless…

-“I forfeit the fight!” Poseidon’s declaration had everyone stunned stiff and silent, completely shocked and you turned, your eyes wide as Poseidon spoke down at you, “You are right daughter, we haven’t been very good gods. Perhaps it’s time we learn how.” And with that he turned, demanding a meeting of the gods.

-Nobody had ever seen Poseidon looking so serious and seeing this determination had the other gods scrambling to have an immediate meeting.

-You were taking backstage with Kojiro, crying the whole way as he had been hurt and he was patting your head, laughing lightly, “You’re gonna get puffy eyes if you keep crying!” Brunnhilde couldn’t help but smile as well, seeing your bravery, albeit foolish bravery, in stopping the fight and in turn, stopping the whole tournament.

-Poseidon was the one who came to inform you that the tournament was off and that the gods were going to do better, promising that to you. You were hesitant to believe him, and you were surprised that he didn’t try to come back into your life as a father, as he knew he lost that to another, to Adam.

-The others were just as surprised, seeing him respecting your space, reporting to you like you were his boss, showing you that he was being honest with his words and his actions.

-Poseidon’s heart ached, knowing he would never get a chance to have a father-daughter relationship with you ever again, but being with you, showing you that he was trying to be a better person, earning your smiles and praise, was enough for him.

[phyrexian-phucker]

So o just stumbled on this and I have no clue what it is other than being incredibly hot so could you please explain? I’ve just come from some human domestication guide and this popped up and idk how related it is but I’m intrigued if you can explain or send me some I places that I can find the info that would be fantastic

thank you very much and have a lovely day!!

Welcome!

This is a primarily TF kink blog focused on the Phyrexians, a type of creature from Magic: the Gathering. Very briefly, they are biomechanical hybrid people (though non-sapient life very much can be Phyrexianized, it's outside the scope of this explanation) that can turn non-Phyrexian creatures into more Phyrexians, through a process called compleation. They do this with the use of their reproductive/mnemonic bodily fluid, glistening oil. (Notably, the canon states that ALL bodily fluids of compleated organisms are replaced by glistening oil. I take that to its logical conclusion here.)

Exposure to glistening oil initially causes a condition called phyresis, which is the slow, infectious process of becoming more and more Phyrexian. (Metal grows out of you, you start crying black oil tears, etc. That's the process this post expands on.) This is usually concluded by a highly invasive surgical procedure that comprehensively augments and replaces the body parts of the subject with Phyrexian ones, the compleation itself. Newly compleated Phyrexians are often designed and intended for a specific purpose, determined by the one who performs the procedure. In general, though, Phyrexian body parts are very resilient and modular, easily changeable as long as one has access to replacements.

Notably, phyresis and compleation are not purely physical processes. The oil is a mind-altering substance, and the dominant ideas contained within it--which it passes on to anyone infected--usually concern the overarching Phyrexian religion and imperative to spread Phyrexia across the Multiverse. In the most recent incarnation of Phyrexia, this includes loyalty to the self-proclaimed Mother of Machines, Elesh Norn. She is dominant, haughty, arrogant, cruel, and a big fan of yonic imagery. Make of that what you will. She is also 12 feet tall, titanically strong, and forces people to worship her, sometimes by shoving them into walls.

So as a result, those who find their bodies changed by phyresis often also find their minds changing to crave and desire Phyrexia, and yearn to spread its glory by infecting others. (Disclaimer: Phyrexians are still very much sapient and free-willed people, and being Phyrexian by no means requires this blind loyalty. There are vast numbers of freedom fighter Phyrexians who oppose Norn's regime, also beyond the scope of this explanation.)

Some kinks that Phyrexians play in the space of include: corruption, transformation, body horror, surgery, mind control, hypnosis, cum/blood play, femdom, religion/worship kink. Not an exhaustive list--there is so much going on in this setting. This blog focuses on the first four but it's hard not to at least touch on the others occasionally due to the setting's nature.

For learning more, I compiled a list of some resources for a previous similar ask here.

Enjoy your stay >:)

[thegorydamnreaper]

Symbolism in Red Rising: Hair (Darrow)

So this started as a conversation about why Darrow should be drawn with long hair, but then I started having Thoughts anddddd here we are. Spoilers for the whole series up until the end of Light Bringer, so you’ve been warned!

(Also putting it under the cut, because this accidentally turned into an essay.)

In the mines:

He has long-ish hair, enough that it’s held back by the sweatband but not enough to tie up. He could keep it short and avoid the hassle, so why let it grow out? Because hair is deeply important to Reds culturally! Reds use hair for their wedding bands, because they place value in it. That value can be taken from a few things - it’s theirs, and not something that can be taken away, it shows their Color, it’s a part of themselves that they can share with another, growing hair/having healthy hair is a sign of being fit. All of this means an early cultural emphasis on hair for Darrow.

It’s also interesting to note that Darrow is pulled away from Eo by his hair right before she sings.

From Red to Gold:

One of the final steps in his Carving is Mickey transplanting his hair, and interestingly enough that seems to be the final mail in the coffin for Darrow on his transformation into a Gold:

“Mickey takes my hair next. Everything is changed.” (Red Rising, Ch 12)

So not only is hair deeply rooted in cultural importance, but it’s also a visual symbol that ties people to their family as seen here:

“You have made me give up the hair Father gave me, the eyes Mother left me, the Color I was born to, so I will keep the name they granted me, and you can make it work.” (Red Rising, Ch 13)

The caste system in RR means that these visual markers are critical to self identity, something that Darrow really struggles with for a long time.

As a Gold:

His first haircut comes after his final transformation into a Gold, and is done by Evey. This is the “fresh start” moment, the point where his Gold status is at its lowest and he has the most to prove - but he also has a clean slate. He’s physically and mentally more capable than ever, but hasn’t been put to the test. Where other Golds have entire histories to live up to, at face value Darrow has nothing to lose.

In the Institute:

Hair styles are taken very seriously at this point, and in a way they end up being signatures of who these characters are, even as the plot takes them on far-flung journeys. It’s interesting that at this point Darrow let’s his hair grow out, and keeps it long whenever possible. But unlike the others he doesn’t adorn it in any way, but just by having it long he’s making a statement about his strength. His hair is long because no one has cut it (taken it as a trophy), and he’s a good enough leader/fighter that he can afford to wear his hair in such a way that an enemy could grant it. The Howlers also begin taking scalps at this point - beyond just a painful and humiliating tactic, it’s also akin to taking the “crowns” of their defeated foes. Golden hair/golden crown - and Darrow has his through the institute. It’s also interesting to note that his duel with Cassius is one of the few times hair isn’t involved in his defeat, and I think that’s because on some level Darrow believes that it was an earned punishment, so I wouldn’t categorize it as a true defeat.

The Academy:

His hair is still long, pulled back simply once again. To some degree this is to emulate Nero and the Peerless trends, but it also shows that he’s still winning. Until of course we get to the garden and the Bellonas shame him and Cagney chops his hair off - symbolic of cutting him down from his seat of power.

“She smiles in my face and looks at my hairline, lips parted with excitement of dominating another person.” (Darrow about Cagney, right before she cuts his hair, Golden Son Ch 3)

This all has a lot of parallels to the Samson & Delilah story (hair cut/power lost in a moment of weakness, is able to regain power when he’s back on his true path), which we see play out as we get to…

The Gala:

We’re back at long-ish hair (~2 months after the Cagney incident), like in the mines. Back at square one with Darrow once again at almost-rock bottom. But it’s at this point where he reveals his razor training, has a rematch with Cassius, takes the Morning Star, and overall just has a great time becoming a living legend. Until, well, he’s stabbed in the back by one of his closest friends.

Rescue (Morning Star):

Once again Darrow is being forced into a haircut, though in his choice of words it’s a “scalping.” Once again, hair being taken as a trophy to humiliate someone.

“Dirty blond hair puddles onto the concrete as the Gray finishes scalping me with an electric razor. ” (Morning Star, Ch.3)

Also interesting to note, this is the first time we get the very controversial ~beard~. My take on the beard is that it’s symbolically not good, and signals a lack of control/autonomy over Darrow’s world down to even his own appearance. He’s at a loss with how to proceed, and is very nearly broken by his time with the Jackal. So I’m sorry, but if Darrow is sporting a beard, he’s not in a great place.

Stick with me, because after the time skip more Things are happening.

Iron Gold:

Chapter one hits us with this:

“These Gold eyes and hair feel more my own than those of that boy who lived in the mines of Lykos. That boy grew, loved, and dug the earth, but he lost so much it often feels like it happened to another soul.”

Even ten years later there’s a part of him questioning his own identity, and his outward appearance is a huge part of that. Is he a Gold, destined for cold brutality, or is he still a Red at heart? Personally I believe that defining himself by either is limiting, but it’s sweet to see his inner struggle to avoid becoming like the monsters he’s fighting.

Then there’s this scene with Virginia:

“She reaches up, dragging her slender fingers through my hair.” (Iron Gold, Ch. 3)

It’s the only time on-page his hair is touched with a loving gesture, not with any force or blunt practicality.

Later on in IG we get this near miss:

“He grabs my hair with an armored hand and saws on the front of my forehead to claim my scalp.” (An Obsidian attacking Darrow, Ch 54)

Literally immediately after this he’s saved by Apollonius. Near miss in battle, near miss in losing his hair again.

Dark Age:

The main theme of this book is a slow defeat, and once again Darrow’s hair parallels this. With the constant radiation his army has all lost their hair by chapter 32, and continues to feel the effects as the book progresses. This book is one of the few times in the series where Darrow actually suffers a huge loss - Alex, his legion, his ship, his best friend, his wife, his son - are all taken from him by the end.

Light Bringer:

The first physical descriptions of the characters we get is this:

“Nearly all of us are bald and those who can wear beards in remembrance of Ragnar.” (LB Ch 2)

This sets the tone of the book in a lot of ways. There’s a remembrance and acknowledgement of the past. There’s also a sense that they’ve just been through hell, but hey at least they’re alive. And it’s a sign that they’re healing and recovering from the horrors of Mercury, which is a slow and at times ugly process.

We get this take from the scene with Apollonius:

“Hardly meriting a glance for Cassius, his eyes search me, relish me, devour every last centimeter of me, noting my diminished size, my grizzled beard, my pale skin, and shortened breath.” (LB Ch 8)

And these quotes from Virginia:

“He’s encountered radiation, and his hair has only started growing back. He has a beard, a terrible, hairy beard. But the change I sense runs deeper than the physical. His restless anxiety is not gone, but it is muffled by a solemn maturity. Nothing grants wisdom like loss.” (LB Ch 34)

“But I look at Darrow and I don’t see a savior. I see an exhausted, bearded survivor stumbling home without the ships or the men to turn the tide. ” (LB, Ch 34)

I think that she says enough about what the beard outwardly signifies. Not one to mince words here our Sovereign.

Further into the book while Darrow is putting himself back together there’s this:

“My mass is returning like the hair on my head. I’ve kept the beard. For some reason it helps me to feel like I’m on a mission.” (LB Ch 37)

He’s on a mission for an army/ships etc, but he’s also on a mission to heal himself. The beard is a part of that.

Matteo’s comments on it:

“Darrow of Lykos. You have a beard!” (LB Ch 37

“Matteo surveys my injured limbs, my sun-seared-turned-sun-starved skin, my fresh scars. Instead of looking away, as most do, to preserve his image of the invulnerable Reaper, he admires my imperfections, catalogues the wounds to understand my narrative, and then loves me all the more for them. Though I can tell he doesn’t like the beard.” (LB Ch 38)

It’s worth noting that Matteo is accepting of everything else, but specifically disapproves of the beard - which means it’s not just vanity. This is a man who’s known Darrow since he was Carved, and has spent his whole life dedicated to interpreting mannerisms and outward appearances, and had spent a lot of time with Darrow specifically. He knows that the beard is not a good sign.

Lyria (who is very observant throughout the books) chimes in here:

“Unlike Sevro, he still has his beard. He seems a different creature than the commander I saw in the war room. Tired, smaller somehow. His left hand has a tremor. His neck’s stooped, body contracted.” (LB Ch 63)

Sevro has processed what he needs to, Darrow still has work to do.

Which brings me here, to what I think is the best way to conclude this analysis:

“I catch myself in one of the room’s mirrors. I look like his ghost. But I’m not. In his bathroom I search for a razor. Then I laugh, because I remember one of the old stories about him. When he was a lancer, his Praetor told him to go shave because Peerless are beardless, boy. Lorn pulled out his razor and did it right there. I shave my beard with Bad Lass in his bathroom mirror. In this way I say goodbye to him and Ragnar both. I do a sloppy job and cut myself a few times.

“Wait. Who are you and what did you do with the ancient mariner?” Cassius says when I exit without a beard.”

Darrow has beaten Fá and exposed Atlas’s plot. He’s basically secured the Obsidians back to his cause. He’s made peace with himself and Athena about the Sons of Ares he turned in. He’s got the beginning of an alliance with the Rim. He’s made peace with Lorn’s ghost about Alex, and peace with himself about it too. Pax is safe, Cassius and Sevro are back at his side. He’s finally himself again.

There’s maybe a few quotes that I missed or chose not to include, but I think this timeline is a pretty extensive timeline of Darrow’s symbolic hair journey. If anyone has further analysis or thoughts, please add!!

[mask131]

Thinking about it, I do believe that the big misunderstandings of the Greek gods on the Internet today (or in media recently) is due to a problem of... let’s say “character VS personification”. 

People have grown too much accustomed to the consumption of Greek myths and legends as... not so much “stories” but... as fiction. Which leads them to treat the Greek gods as characters of tales and stories. Which leads people to treat them like... well, like people. Like full humans. Thinking about their actions only in terms of human/social/psychological reasons and consequences. And people forget the very essence and nature of the gods...

The Greek gods are personifications. They are allegories, and their actions always reflect their actual nature as a part of the world or a human phenomenon. It is true that when you read the Greek myths as they reached us today, you will read what seems to be stories about super-humans, because said stories were given to us through epic poems and theater plays. But there was a whole theology and religious thinking behind those myths (to the point some of the ancient litetature of the Greeks was criticized by religious authorities for deviating from their actual beliefs) ; and there was an entire philosophy surrounding those myths. Literal philosophy - with Ancient Greek philosophers not only re-reading and interpreting the myths in the lights of their teaching, but also inventing their own “philosophical myths”. The Greeks had time to read and rewrite and discuss their own myths and stories for centuries and centuries - and thus these stories ended up with numerous layers of meaning and interpretations woven through them.

Which is why to fully understand a myth, one must look behind the simple story. A god in the story is never just a character, but always something else. Poseidon is a grudge-holding, monster-birthing deity prone to mood swings which place him alternatively as an ally or an antagonist - but it isn’t just because “he is like that”. He is like that BECAUSE he is the god of the sea, and the Greeks, as sailors and explorers and island-dwellers, knew very well that the sea was a changing and treacherous thing, the sailor’s best friend and worst enemy at the same time. The fact that Apollo is at the same time the god of truth, the god of beauty and the god of art isn’t just because it’s his hobbies - it is because for the Greek all these concepts were inter-connected, art being beauty, the truth being beautiful, the best art being the truthful art, etc... And as a result myths are always about something else than their own story. The most famous case being Persephone’s abduction. People keep treating it as just being a love story - forgetting that, beyond the story of a guy in love with a girl and a mother worried for her missing girl, it is actually also a fable for the brutality anf unfairness of death striking young people, and how a mother can deal with her grief. It is literaly the story of “Kore” (which isn’t a proper name, but just means “maiden” or “young girl”), being ravished by Hades (whose name is ALSO the name of the Underworld), of a young girl plunged from the world of the living to the world of the dead, and a distressed mother crying for her disappeared daughter... 

I can list on and on the examples, but I think you get my point. Yes, it is nice to know the story. It is better to try to understand them. The topic came when I read something about Zeus recently... It talked about the gods embodying “order” - and it listed Zeus, for after all he was the ruler of the cosmos, punisher of wicked ones and fighter of monsters, the god of justice overseeing all oaths and the basic principles of Greek society... But this text added that however, his behavior character wise was “much more chaotic”. Notably pointing out towards Zeus’ wild behavior around females of all kinds. It is true that a serial cheater with a HUGE number of lovers of all kinds, and lots of “bastard children” everywhere seems to contradict his role as a god maintaining order and morals... But again, the key is looking beyond that. Yes, Zeus is massively unfaithful on his wife and seemingly can’t keep his thunderbolt in his pants - if you pardon me the expression. But the question that nobody asks is... Why is he like that? Why does he do that? Just because he is a horny guy? That’s the superficial explanation, that’s the joke explanation. That’s not what the Ancien Greeks would have answered you. This precise topic is one I like to reuse frequently because it illustrates perfectly something that feels natural to those that read about Greek mythology from experts, and yet can seem like a sudden mindblow for those that only know Greeks myths from popular fiction. 

I do not recall where exactly I read this explanation - but I am certain it was in one of the books about Greek myths written by famous French experts, so it was probably from Jean-Pierre Vernant or Pierre Grimal, or someone of those waters. Why is Zeus such a horny dog? We have to think about his titles. “Father of Men and Father of Gods”. It isn’t just a nickname or a title, it describes what he does: he birthed most of the major Greek gods, and he birthed many ancestors of humanity. It also makes you think: what was Zeus’ first action when he became king of the cosmos, when he took over the world after fighting the Titans? He married, several times, and had numerous lovers, with which he birthed some very important gods. Through sex he actually created important elements needed for the world. Not counting the other Olympian gods, he gave birth at the beginning of his reign to the Arts (Muses), the Seasons (Horae) and Fate itself (the Moirai), basis for the civilized world and an ordered, stable cosmos. And who are the other children of Zeus, all those “bastards” children he got out of being unfaithful? Heroes. Heroes who build principles of civilization, heroes who destroyed monsters, heroes who threw down criminals and tyrants. Good things. That’s the thing with Zeus: he constantly lusts after women, yes, and he constantly has sex, yes... but most of the time, if not always, it is to create something good. He keeps procreating beings, things and people needed for the universe to form itself, for civilization to form itself, for the world to get better and evil/chaos to be defeated. Herakles and Athena and Perseus... Even through his unfaithfulness, Zeus keeps creating new agents and champions of order, law and justice. 

It is in fact quite interesting to look at Tumblr here, because on Tumblr there are favorite deities who are depicted right because people love them enough to go dig into their symbolism and their religious festivals and their philosophical meaning. Dionysos is the one that comes to mind. And then other deities whose deeper meaning gets thrown out of the window. 

A good counterpart to Greek mythology, in the approach of “character vs personification”, is Norse mythology. Because the Norse gods, as depicted and represented in mythological texts such as the Eddas, are actually “characters before the personifications”, the reverse of Greek gods which are “personifications which were given character”. I am not saying that the Norse gods aren’t personifications, that would be a stupid claim. But what I am saying is... Often people try to enter Norse mythology asking “So, this god, what is he the god OF?” because they assume Norse gods are like Greek gods, defined by their field of action and what they represent or rule over. When in truth, the Norse gods are defined by who they are, not so much by what they are. Odin is the one-eyed wanderer, and the eight-legged horse-rider king of the Aesir, and the cunning rune-master ruling over Valhalla. Thor is the very strong god, and the hammer-wielding jötunn killer riding on a goat-chariot, and the red-haired hero of Asgard who fears nothing and fished Jormungandr out of the sea once. Everybody knows today that Thor is the god of thunder and lightning - but it isn’t said, or explicitely spelled out in most of the Old Norse texts. It is not like Zeus who is explicitely said to use thunderbolts on his ennemies - Thor’s hammer doesn’t have lightning shooting out of it. To get this, to get what a Norse god is the “god of”, there is a work of research that needs to be done. For a Greek god it can be obvious due to their attributes and names (Hestia for example - her name literaly means “hearth” and she started out as the hearth being venerated, before being personified). For a Norse god, to get the “what” of the deity, you will need to look at the archeological remains of the religion and cult of Norsemen, you will need to theorize based on the etymology of the deity’s name and its relationships, you will need to collect the kennings and local expressions and other folk-sayings and interpret them. It is a para-characterization that isn’t obvious, or sometimes doesn’t even appear, in the Norse texts per se. Because in the Norse legends as they came to us, the gods are mostly defined as characters - by their function (guardian, warrior, king), by what they do (power to see far-away, power to know the future), by what they look like (missing one hand, or golden hair)... For exampe, for a very long time it was thought that Loki was the god of fire. It was a strong, popular and famous interpretation - but research and experts have proven that it is a late re-interpretation of the deity, who originally probably didn’t had anything to do with fire and was just mixed up with other fire-figures (like Logi) with time, the same way Loki was mixed with Utgard-Loki as a “master of illusions”. 

This phenomenon of inversion can be summed up quite easily. In Greek mythology, we have TONS of secondary and tertiary deities who are basically personifications without any kind of legend or myth to them, uncharacterized allegories that sometimes are just a name appearing in a list of concept. In Norse mythology, you have tons of secondary and tertiary deities without myths or legends, who are just names in a list - but this time, we have their names, we have a basic characterization, we know who they are, and the problem is that we don’t know what they are supposed to represent. You have tons of small Norse gods about whom people keep asking and searching “What did they embody? What did they personify?”. The character without the personification. 

[simlit]

Chosen of the Sun | | forest // eighty-one

| @sani-sims

next / previous / beginning

KYRIE: Mm. She takes her job personally. Not that she really ever cared for us. Being entrusted with our guardianship went to her head years ago. I always remember her arguing with the council about what we ought or ought not to be doing. She never liked sharing the responsibility. Guess it made her feel important lording over God’s chosen. EVE: She acts as if you’re still a child. KYRIE: I don’t think she could ever see me otherwise. EVE: Do you ever miss your real mother? Don’t you… wonder about her? KYRIE: Hard to miss something you’ve never known. I could say I wish I’d had the chance to know her, but then… I wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t been complacent in surrendering us to the church in the first place. EVE: I never knew my mother, either. Yet, I often dreamed of how my life would have been different had she lived. When I would see other children with their mothers, the happiness they showed… it made me yearn for something I, too, had never felt, but still wanted, deeply. KYRIE: In a way I envy you. I haven’t the imagination to fathom things like that; Whatever it must have been like to grow up as someone else. EVE: But you had your sister. KYRIE: Yes… I had her. EVE: Kyrie, you shouldn’t give up hope that she might still be alive. Tell me, honestly. Is that the real reason behind your decision? KYRIE: I don’t know… Maybe. I just don’t see the point anymore. I had hope. But I can’t feel her. It’s just… silent. Is it better to think she’s out there somewhere, in pain and alone? I don’t know. Everything is so dark. EVE: Surely, she wouldn’t want this for you. And she’s not the only one. There are people who care for you now. KYRIE: I could hardly believe that. EVE: It’s true. Don’t you think I worry for you? KYRIE: You’re… different. EVE: I’m not the only one. Kyrie there’s… something you should know. KYRIE: What do you mean? EVE: I… was nervous to tell you. I don’t know if this is something you should hear now, considering your condition, but if I don’t… If your sight returns, perhaps just saying so now would be kinder. KYRIE: Eve? EVE: It’s Tayuin… He’s gone after that witch. The one who cast the curse. KYRIE: He’s… what? EVE: He, Eira and Lord’Tevus left sometime in the night. Only a few of us know they’ve gone. I expect that’s for the better. KYRIE: But… how… Why? EVE: Isn’t it obvious? To save you. KYRIE: That’s— I’ll… I’ll go, then. I’ll go after them, I— EVE: You’re in no condition to do anything. And certainly not the type to go traversing dangerous terrain. KYRIE: I can’t let them. This is all— EVE: It’s done, Kyrie. You’ve nothing to do now but accept that. KYRIE: How can I? If something happens to them— EVE: Calm down. You’ll exert yourself too much. KYRIE: But… EVE: You know they’re capable fighters. And clever. Well… KYRIE: laughs Some more than others. EVE: If for no other reason, I will acknowledge Lord Tev’us is a powerful force. Though, I would be lying if I said it didn’t concern me greatly to hear he’d gone along. On the one hand, his abilities are nearly unmatched. On the other, it’s hard to know where his loyalties lay. If he has any at all. I admit, part of me thinks he’s only gone for selfish reasons. He’s shown us well enough he cares for no one but himself. KYRIE: I know your experiences with him have been unfavorable. However, I… don’t know if what you say is the heart of it. EVE: What do you mean? KYRIE: Lord Tev’us is… complicated. Perhaps, not easy to like. EVE: Not easy to like? He’s callous and self-serving. Do you forgive all that he has done? KYRIE: I didn’t say that. But I needn’t forgive him to understand that he and I have wildly different perspectives. That doesn’t mean I agree with his, nor that I think he’s absolved of judgement. But do I think that he is beyond redemption? Do I think him incapable of caring for anyone outside himself? KYRIE: My answer to that is…