#but not so much in that that hadn't been the expectation instilled in him from birth as it had been for arthur

[fideidefenswhore]

i love watching twq and the tudors back to back for that reason though-- (and i wish we had a better bridge between them than twp, because...yikes)-- neither of them being perfect shows notwithstanding; they're the best and most intricate on-screen versions of those eras to date, imo, and you really cannot understand henry viii until you understand what came before him. personally, i have way less interest in what he thought, or didn't think, (i don't think royal children really...gave it much thought, tbh, unless their parents' marriage became obviously contentious- it would have just been a thing he took for granted: 'the worst i've ever encountered is apathy, where people simply accept the king and queen as they accept the sky above their heads') of his parents' marriage, what's far more interesting to me (and hardly ever explored), is how his sense of personal history would've shaped his young mind. what would it be like to learn that the only reason you're the (spare) prince of england is that your uncles were murdered? what would it be like to learn that threats to your brother's inheritance were convincing enough pretenders of the former to attract followings, convincing enough to gain the endorsement of other princes, and were executed for the presumption? what would it be like, to, retroactively, absorb that in fact, they were killed for the presumption of threatening your inheritance?

no one was going to argue god's will in a tyrant murdering young princes, but did he perhaps feel that there had been so many events that had led to him becoming king (the murder of his uncles, his father's conquest & victory, the scotched threats of the pretenders, his own brother's untimely death), that there was...an especially divine plan for his place in the world, and that he had a duty to fulfill this? how does that shape a person? it's easy to see how that could lead to an intractable disposition, at the least; easy to see how the result would be an amplified version of the divine right mandate all kings lived by, regardless. it's easy to see how the result was...well, henry viii.

[kpop---scenarios]

Take Me Home

Pairing: Song Mingi x Reader

Warning: Jealousy, Smutty smut. [18+ ONLY. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I forgot I had some of this written...so here you go lol

“Y/N…Y/N.” You hear, your body being shaken. You open one eye, seeing a man you didn't want to see. Your husband's bodyguard and the only person he truly trusted.

“What?” You groan, looking over at the clock. Shit. 6pm, your afternoon power nap had gone on a lot longer than you expected it too.

“Your presence has been requested tonight.” San says, holding up a dress for you.

“By who?” You ask, sitting up, rubbing your eyes.

“Your husband.” He says.

“My husband? My husband, who I haven't seen in the last few weeks since we've been married, that husband?” You ask.

San nods his head, while you stretch out your still sleepy body. “Where?”

“Club K.” He tells you.

“Is there anything specific happening tonight?” You ask, crawling out of your bed, the one you were supposed to share with your husband but you'd been sleeping in it alone.

“There's a deal. He needs you to get ready and meet him there.” San says, laying the dress down on the bed before exiting the room.

You hadn't even heard two words from Mingi since he'd been gone but yet he was able to just demand you show up somewhere? That's really fair. You would go, because you were a good wife, but you weren't going to be happy about it. It had been instilled in you when you grew up that what your husband asks of you, you do so without hesitation, and that's what you would do.

You'd fallen for Mingi over the short time your parents had you meet and get to know each other before you got married. And you knew he felt the same too, but unfortunately for you, he let his work take over his life, but part of you had expected to be a little more involved with him after the wedding. Maybe that would come, in time. You hoped but you weren't expecting much.

Over the next few hours, you took your time doing your makeup and your hair, until San began aggressively knocking on your bedroom door, trying to rush you.

“I'll be out in a minute. Just getting dressed.” you yell as you slip on the long black halter dress San had brought in for you earlier. It fits you perfectly, hugging the curves of your body just right, the long slit showing off your legs. You smile to yourself, slipping on your heels, feeling extra sexy tonight. You grab your bag, pulling open the door where San waited for you.

“Let's go.” You tell him, making your way to the staircase. San follows closely behind you, he was the best of the best and the only one your husband trusted to keep an eye on you when he was away.

“Just go in the front. Yunho is working at the door. He knows you're coming. I'm gonna park the car and I'll meet you inside.” San says, pulling up to the club. You get out of the car, adjusting your dress before you wave to Yunho, who opens the rope for you to pass and make your way inside, leaving the line of groaning people behind you. As you walk inside, you don't see your husband anywhere, so instead of trying to find him, you make your way to the bar, getting a few shots before you begin your hunt.

“Hey.” You hear from behind you. You turn to look, hoping to see someone you knew but it wasn't. “You're gorgeous.” The man smiles.

“I know. Thanks.” You say, turning around, walking past him to continue the hunt for your husband, but when you spot him, he's not alone. He's surrounded by a few men that you know, some that you don't and a beautiful woman, with her hand resting on his bicep.

If that's how he wanted to play things, you were more than capable of doing the same.

You headed back to the bar, ordering a few more shots, taking them as you glared at Mingi and the woman. This isn't something that was done, especially in public. You could feel your buzz set in almost immediately after the fifth shot. You keep your eyes on them as you make your way to the dance floor, feeling every beat of the song that was playing, rubbing your hands all over your body as you sway your hips. You watch as one of Mingi's men points you out, just as someone slides a pair of hands around your waist, holding you closely. You watch as Mingi’s smile fades from his face, anger quickly replacing it. He pulls his moves away from the group, yanking his arm from the woman, who stumbles slightly but the sudden movement. You turn around, seeing the man from earlier dancing behind you. “Get off me.” You scoff, pushing him away.

“I just wanted to dance.” The man laughs, trying to go back to the same position.

“So did I, alone.” You say, rolling your eyes. Before the man can answer, Mingi slips past you, grabbing the man by his collar.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? Why the fuck are you touching my fucking wife?” Mingi spits, tossing the man to the floor. Minhi gets on top of the man, smashing him in the face with his fist, over and over again.

“Fuck, Mingi!” You yell. He stops, turning to look at you, anger still spread across his face. You roll your eyes, storming off the dance floor, heading towards the bathroom. You open the door to the ladies room, highly loudly as you lean against the sink. You look at yourself in the mirror, adjusting your makeup before you move back to grab the door. Before you can, the door is pushed in, Mingi steps into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

“Where do you get off letting other men touch you?” He asks, cocking his head to the side as he begins to roll up his sleeves.

“Me?” You scoff. “Where do you get off letting other women touch you?” You ask.

“That wasn't…” he begins. You put your hand up, moving past him, to leave the bathroom but he grabs you, pinning you against the door.

“You don't walk away from me when I'm talking to you.” He whispers in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. He pulls himself back slightly, staring you in the eyes. Your eyes dart from his down to his plump lips before back up. Mingi pins you against the door as his lips crash to yours. He pushes his body against yours as he slides his tongue into your mouth, the kiss becoming needy and passionate. Mingi's hands roam your body. You move your hand to his chest, feeling his hard muscles beneath his shirt, before moving your hand down over his stomach, feeling the rigidness of his abs. You move your hand lower, grazing your palm over the bulge in his crotch, making him moan into your mouth.

Mingi pulls himself away from you. "Open." He demands. You open your mouth, watching him as he places two fingers in your mouth. You close your mouth around his fingers, sucking them hard. He pulls his fingers from your mouth, turns you around,lifts your skirt up and moves your panties to the side. He takes his two fingers pushing them inside of you, making you moan.

He pulls his fingers from your mouth, turning you around to lift up your dress, and moving your panties to the side. He takes his two wet fingers between your pussy lips, pushing them deep inside of you, making you cry out.

"Shit." You cry.

He pumps his fingers in and out of you a few times before pulling them out, unbuttoning his pants, letting his cock spring free before lubing his cock with your juices. Mingi moves you to the counter, harshly bending you over. He lines his cock up with your opening, ramming himself into you.

You clench your teeth together as your pussy stretches out to fit his large cock. "Fuck." He grits, his hands holding onto your hips and he starts harshly thrusting in and out of you at a rapid pace. You can feel your pussy juices seeping from inside you every time he pulls himself out just enough, before slamming back into you. Mingi moves his hand from your hips wrapping his arm around your neck, pulling you into his chest.

“So fucking tight.” He groans, squeezing his arm around your neck tightly as he pushes his cock into you, even harder. His thrusts are fast and hard, your eyes roll back into your head with each thrust.

"Oh.. my.. god." You stutter, his arm squeezing tighter. His other hand reaches down between your legs, using two fingers to rub your clit quickly. "Shit. Fuck I'm going to cum." You cry out. His fingers rubbed quicker, moving his other hand up to your mouth, shoving his fingers into your mouth as he continued to rub your clit with his other hand. You suck on his fingers harder, your orgasm hitting seconds later, your body shaking as you work through your high, Mingi still pounding your pussy.

Mingi takes his hand from your mouth and away from your clit, bending you back over the sink, his fingertips digging into your hips as he works on his own orgasm.

“Cum in my pussy… please baby.” You pant.

Mingi grunts as his own orgasm hits, his legs shake as he shoots his load inside you. "Fuck." He groans, his cock throbbing, his thrusts slowing down as he milks himself, filling you up.

Mingi breathes as he pulls his cock out of you, tucking himself back into his pants before grabbing some tissue to clean you up.

“Thank you.” You murmur, your legs still shaking. Mingi laughs, helping you adjust your dress before throwing you over his shoulder.

“Let's get you home and in bed. You're not gonna be able to walk after round two.” He smirks.

“You think you're getting a second round?” You giggle. Mingi slaps your ass as he walks out of the bathroom with you.

“I'm getting a second, third and fourth round.” He murmurs. “San, cancel the meeting. I've got plans with my wife.” He shouts, walking out of the club with you draped over his shoulder.

“That's right baby, take me home.”

[nebuladreamerrr]

What about those ideas? You won’t post them anymore? I want to read the dad fic so bad 😭🥰

https://www.tumblr.com/nebuladreamerrr/754189019746910208/hiiiii-i-have-several-ideas-in-mind-and-although

I hope you enjoy it a lot, I had a lot of fun writing this, and I tried to do it differently, adding many more details. I think it's the story I like the most out of the ones I've written so far 💗💗💗

Fine line| Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

Summary: After three long years of constant changes and persistent fears, Kylian feels ready to show his son to the world, but he will not hesitate to jump and defend his family if anyone attacks them.

Warnings: English is not my first language, and mentions of a kid suffering from blindness

You couldn't help but feel a wave of emotion as you dressed your son to attend his dad's match. The Real Madrid stadium was gearing up for an epic night, and the thrill of seeing Kylian on the field was always indescribable. However, this time it was even more special. Not only because Kylian was in his best form and ready to fight for the Champions League title, but because Jayce, your little one, would be there to witness it.

Ever since you told Jayce, just two weeks ago, that he could go to the place where his dad worked, he hadn't stopped talking about it every chance he got. He wore the Real Madrid jersey in every possible situation, even while sleeping, and practiced singing the anthem for when the match started. His enthusiasm was contagious, and every time he talked about his dad, his words reflected a mix of admiration and love.

It seemed incredible that the little Mbappé family hadn't set foot in the stadium to cheer on the footballer in almost three years. This had fueled numerous breakup rumors in the media, as you had always supported Kylian, not only by going to the club's stadium but also by traveling to different countries to be his "lucky charm." However, when little Jayce was born, everything changed.

Kylian adored his son, and it showed in every daily interaction he had with him. From teaching him to walk, to making video calls when he was away so Jayce could hear his voice while hugging the personalized stuffed toy shaped like his father. Gradually, Kylian was instilling all the values that would make Jayce a great man. But Kylian was terrified that someone might harm his little boy. He knew all too well how the journalists and the press operated, and they wouldn't hesitate to hurt his son just to get to Kylian.

Since the beginning of your relationship, Kylian had always been overprotective, fearing that the press might overwhelm you or that the crowds might drive you away from him. However, he slowly discovered your strong personality and understood that you could handle those problems on your own. But Jayce was still too young to face all those challenges, so, as his parents, you had to protect him.

From the moment Kylian found out you were pregnant, he had been dreaming about the day he would meet his son: how tall he would be, how much he would weigh, whether he would look more like you or him. Although doubts sometimes crossed his mind about what would happen if something went wrong, he always found comfort in the fact that you had a great team of professionals by your side and that you were a strong woman capable of achieving anything you set your mind to.

The delivery seemed to go smoothly, and everything appeared to have been a success until they began examining little Jayce. Initially, they noticed that he was barely opening his eyes. They thought it might be due to the strain of the birth or that the light might be bothering him, but as days passed, Jayce seemed to have problems with his eyes. It was then that they discovered the little one was blind.

You had never expected to have a child with a disability, but you knew you would love him with all your heart. However, it pained you to see how Kylian felt guilty about everything. He couldn't help but feel responsible for the criticisms his son might face for being his son, for being the center of attention even if he didn't want to be, and for always standing out. Through tears, Kylian confessed that he preferred to keep his son away from the public eye, and crying, he begged you to forgive him for complicating your lives.

During these past three years, you had learned not only how to be a mother—deciphering what your son needed when he cried, what stories Jayce preferred, and how to find the perfect balance between motherhood and your professional life—but also to be the emotional support and rock for Kylian during this time, especially in the most difficult moments.

At first, it seemed like Kylian was sinking deeper and deeper. His joy was fading, consumed by worry and sadness. However, the start of the new season was a breath of fresh air for him. The adrenaline and passion for football allowed him to release all those pent-up emotions, and Jayce's first year of life became the year Kylian was crowned the league's top scorer. This achievement was not only a milestone in his career but also a crucial step in his emotional recovery.

Gradually, Kylian learned to manage his emotions and realized that he couldn't let fear and external pressures dictate his decisions. He learned to be the best dad possible for Jayce, accepting that raising his son wouldn't be as he had imagined, but also discovering that he wouldn't change it for the world. He loved how Jayce would touch his face to get to know his features, and how he would get excited about doing chores like setting the table on his own. These small moments showed that Jayce was a strong child and that in the future, he would be as independent as any other kid.

Undoubtedly, one of Kylian's most cherished memories with his son was when he started teaching him how to play football. He bought special balls with sand inside, which allowed Jayce to locate them by sound and feel as they moved. With these balls, Jayce learned to kick and score goals that filled his father with pride. Each time the little one scored, Kylian's joy and pride grew, strengthening their bond and giving him another reason to keep going.

These years hadn't been easy, but they had strengthened your family in ways you never imagined. The challenges had been numerous, but love and determination had prevailed, showing that together you could face any adversity. Now, as you dressed Jayce for the match, you felt a mix of pride and excitement. You knew that no matter what, your family would always find a way to move forward, and today was a celebration of that indomitable spirit.

After making sure you had everything you needed for the match, like snacks for Jayce and various toys, you decided to drive to the stadium. Kylian had informed the club in advance about the importance of this day, asking for his family to feel comfortable and well taken care of. So, when the security staff noticed that you had arrived by car, they didn't hesitate to help and guide you through the stadium, giving Jayce a team scarf and small stickers. The little one, grateful, responded with a huge smile.

Upon reaching the designated box, you showed Jayce around. Kylian had commissioned a relief recreation of the stadium's silhouette so Jayce could always know where he was, the tunnels leading to the field, and the goals where his father would dedicate a goal to him that night. Additionally, some wives of Kylian's teammates came over to greet and meet mini Mbappé, who was delighted to chat and meet new people.

Shortly before the match started, Kylian came up to the box to give you a final kiss and to encourage Jayce, promising to make him very proud. His presence and words filled the air with emotion.

"I am so proud of how you’ve evolved and how we’ve grown as a family," you whispered before giving him a warm kiss of encouragement.

"I couldn't have done it without you, mon amour," Kylian replied with a smile.

As you watched Kylian return to the field, you felt a wave of pride and love. This match was not just a sporting event but a symbol of the journey you had traveled together as a family. Kylian, Jayce and you had faced challenges that had strengthened you, and now you were ready to enjoy this special moment together.

Jayce settled into his seat, stroking the team scarf with a smile as you explained the details of the stadium that he explored with his hands. Every goal, every play, every moment of the match held special meaning, and you knew this night would be etched into your family’s memory forever.

In the 37th minute, Mbappé scored a goal that not only made all the Madrid fans leap to their feet but also brought Real Madrid closer to lifting that long-awaited Champions League trophy, especially significant since it was being held at their home stadium. Right after scoring and celebrating with his ecstatic teammates, Kylian headed toward a camera, blowing a kiss and pointing to the box where you were sitting. What surprised you the most was hearing over the loudspeaker: "Kylian dedicates this goal to his family and especially to his son Jayce." Kylian had taken care of every detail to ensure his son felt loved and understood what was happening.

“Send lots of kisses to Daddy,” you whispered to your son as he enthusiastically blew kisses into the air. Although Jayce couldn't see, Kylian was on the field, returning those kisses.

As the match progressed, Madrid focused on defense. Both teams tried to create chances, but neither managed to score another goal. However, this didn't dampen Madrid's spirits as they became Champions League winners once again.

You couldn't help but take out your phone to record, filled with emotion, as Kylian looked for you with his eyes. Your little one was jumping with joy when you told him to say hello to Daddy, who was looking for him. Tears welled up as you watched Kylian and the team lift the trophy they had fought so hard to win. While you saw Kylian joke around, dance with his teammates, and even sing chants with the fans, you decided to give him his space to enjoy his moment, taking the opportunity to explain to Jayce everything that was about to happen.

“Now we’re going down to celebrate with Daddy, okay?” you said, giving him a little kiss on the cheek.

Jayce nodded enthusiastically, clutching your hand as you prepared to head down to the field. The security staff, aware of the situation, kindly guided you through the stadium, ensuring everything went smoothly.

When you reached the edge of the field, the roar of the crowd and the glow of the spotlights created a magical atmosphere. Kylian, seeing you approach with Jayce, ran towards you with a smile that reflected pure happiness. He bent down to hug Jayce, lifting him into the air as the little boy laughed and reached out to touch his dad’s face.

“We did it, mon petit champion!” Kylian exclaimed with an emotional voice, kissing Jayce’s forehead.

“Yes, Daddy, we did it,” Jayce responded, his voice filled with a mixture of pride and joy.

The night turned into an unforgettable celebration, with Kylian sharing his triumph not only with his teammates but with the people he loved the most. As you held Jayce, you watched Kylian lift the trophy once more, feeling that all the effort and sacrifice of the past years had been worth it.

No matter how many times you had imagined this moment, this day had exceeded your expectations by far. Beyond the incredible athletic performance and talent that Kylian had demonstrated once again, your little one had immensely enjoyed this day. There were memorable moments, like when you took a photo with the trophy where Jayce sat inside it, or when Kylian lifted him up so he could touch the goal where he had scored the goal dedicated to him. Jayce had also enjoyed the company of the children of his father's teammates, who had animatedly talked with him and held his hand the whole time.

After many celebrations, cheers, and chants, Florentino Pérez carefully approached Kylian to ask if he could give a few quick words to some television channels. Although Florentino promised that he could ask someone else, understanding that it was a very important day for him, Kylian knew it had to be him who spoke. Not only because he had scored the winning goal or because he was the star player, but because many people were surprised that he had decided to introduce his son today.

Kylian nodded, taking your hand for a moment before heading towards the group of eager journalists. "Take care of our little champion," he said with a smile, kissing Jayce on the forehead and giving you a peck before walking away.

You and Jayce watched from a safe distance as Kylian took the microphone. The journalists started shouting his name to get an exclusive, and the cameras focused on him. "This goal is for my family, especially for my son Jayce," Kylian began, his voice resonating with a mix of pride and emotion. "Today is a very special day, not only because of the victory but because I could share it with the people I love the most. Jayce is an incredible, strong, and brave child, and he inspires me every day to be better both on and off the field. And y/n shows me every day how lucky I am that someone as wonderful as she has decided to spend the rest of her life with me."

The crowd applauded enthusiastically, and many journalists congratulated Kylian, commenting on how Jayce seemed like an intelligent child and was the spitting image of his mother. However, suddenly, a question echoed above all: "Aren’t you ashamed to have a child like that?"

The ensuing silence was palpable, and the atmosphere tensed. Kylian stood still for a moment, processing the insensitivity of the question. However, his expression hardened with determination and calm.

"Did you really just ask that crap?" Kylian responded firmly. "I often criticize the work you do and try to put myself in your shoes, understanding that you are paid to get exclusive news and that often you do things you don't want to. But what you just asked shows your lack of tact and poor education. Jayce is my son, and I am incredibly proud of him. His bravery and spirit are a constant source of inspiration for me. There is nothing to be ashamed of, although if you are a father, I wouldn’t doubt that your children have reasons to be ashamed of you. In fact, having Jayce in my life has taught me more about love, strength, and resilience than anything else. He is an incredible child, and anyone who cannot see that is the one who should feel ashamed."

Kylian's words were met with even louder applause, and many journalists nodded in respect and admiration while booing the other journalist, who couldn’t help but leave embarrassed, trying to hide his face.

From your position, you felt full of pride and gratitude. The way Kylian had handled the situation with dignity and love was a testament to his character. Jayce, although unaware of the full significance of what had happened, seemed to pick up on the positive energy around him, and his face lit up with a smile.

When Kylian finished his brief statement and returned to you, the crowd was still applauding. "You did great, Daddy," Jayce said as he hugged him.

"Thanks, champ," Kylian responded, returning the hug with strength.

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Please let Astarion meet Tav's family and have a younger sibling like 6 be like im gonna marry the prince points at Astarion.

Tav : Sorry, im married to the prince

NO IM GONNA MARRY THE PRINCE

That's so fucking cute kill me. But I just realized AFTER I finished it I read this wrong 😭😭 I read it as "marry" instead of "married" so whoops now it's an asking for your hand in marriage fic.

Also, I'm going to make this a weird little, unofficial, alternate reality, off shoot of this fic to explain away why Astarion can be in the sun without ascending because I am ~lazy~

Quick summary if you didn't read it, Tav serves Selune, gets a blessing for all the good work, and uses it to cure the anti-light issue of the vampirism (but not all of it). It's not a literal extension of that fic but I'm stealing my own plot explanations. That's it! Now here we go:

~

Astarion wasn't nervous per se. He was just... on edge. And the two-week journey it took to get here wasn't helping things, not when it gave him so much time to ruminate in his thoughts. He never expected to be in the position of "meeting the family," let alone in anticipation for asking for someone's hand in marriage.

Astarion wasn't even quite sure how his life got here. He had always fantasized that a life without Cazador would be one of selfish hedonism, not one where he would be legitimately concerned about a damn six year old sibling's first impression of him.

But then you came along, effortlessly shattering all of his grandiose plans with a batt of your eyelashes. Perhaps the entire journey of falling in love was more complicated, but it felt like it was that simple. In hindsight, he never stood a chance against you, but it was hilarious that there was a time he ever thought he did.

All of his prior dreams and fantasies felt like nothing in comparison to just being with you. It had been a year since you both saved the Sword Coast, a beautiful, fantastic year. That had ended with him somehow more in love with you now than when he first confessed. Selune's blessing had certainly helped with that he was sure. He still couldn't quite believe that you would use a god's blessing on him of all people, but gods, was he appreciative. Because being able to walk in the sun again meant that he could live the life he wanted, with no restrictions. He could be the partner you deserved, the kind that a father would happily say yes to when asking for your hand.

Which brought him back to his current dilemma. Perhaps he hadn't seen any of your family members in the time you'd been together, but he had heard plenty. You loved them all to death, especially your little sister. You wrote to them constantly, the mere sight of a letter from your parents enough to put you in a great mood for the rest of the day. He was aware that your mother was supposedly a saint, a fact that your own father had instilled in you often. He knew that they had a wonderful, loving marriage and were both higher ups in the Church of Selune. A fact that Astarion didn't particularly enjoy.

As grateful to the moon goddess as he was, he was aware that you were an expectation to the very normal belief that vampires were bad. And that marrying one was one of the stupidest things you could ever do from an average person's perspective, let alone a Selunite.

Why you hadn't done the smart thing and lied about what he was, Astarion would never know. But he did know that the thought of their rejection over his admittedly sordid history was putting him in a tailspin.

"They're going to love you," You said for the hundredth time, giving his hand a squeeze as you led him up the steps to your childhood home, "You have nothing to worry about sweetheart. I promise."

Astarion highly doubted that, but you were already knocking on the front door before he had a chance to argue. The door instantly slammed open, a beaming child already launching themselves at you before Astarion could process what was happening.

But you were more prepared them he was. You effortlessly caught them in your arms, laughing at their excited shouting, "Titi! You're late!"

So this was the famous Arabeth.

"No, I'm not!" You laughed as you settled her on your hip, "And what happened to my little girl's manners huh? You haven't even introduced yourself yet."

The child glanced over at him, like she was just realizing for the first time that someone else was standing over there. She looked a little shocked at the sight of him, staring at him with wide eyes. Wide enough for Astarion to start to wonder if something was on his face.

He gave her a little wave only for her to bury her face into your shoulder, peeking out at him with her lips pursed. Which was not the best start to the whole making his darling's family actually like him plan.

"Well, as you've probably guessed this is Arabeth. She's just a little shy," You reassured as you stepped inside, muttering a quick invitation inside under your breath. He appreciated that, he didn't need the whole house to be reminded of his... limitations.

"But she'll get over it soon enough," You continued as you called into the house, "Mom? Dad? We're here!"

And just like that they were rushing into the room, acting just as excited as your sister had been. Your mother wasted no time in smothering your face with kisses while your father swept you up into a hug. It was a rather impressive display of coordination, considering how they hadn't managed to knock you and your sister to the floor in the process. Astarion was pretty sure they were both saying something along the lines of We missed you! But it was hard to tell with all of you so tangled up in each other.

It was heartwarming to see, in all honestly. Of course such a loving person would come from an equally loving family, what else would he expect?

Though he certainly hadn't been expecting for your mother to throw her arms around him next. She brought him into a tight hug before looking him up and down, "So you're Astarion huh?"

She turned back to you, grinning ear to ear with her hands set on Astarion's shoulders, "He's so handsome! Selune help us, do you remember the last boy you brought home? He had a nose the length of my arm-"

"And that's enough of that," You said with a strained laugh, pulling your eccentric mother back a few inches, "And we've talked about the impromptu hugs. What happened to asking for permission?"

"Sorry, sorry!" She said with a wave of her hand, "Let me try again. I'm Seliras, and this is my husband-"

"Marcoul," Your father interrupted, putting his hand out for Astarion to shake, "It's been awhile since we've met a boyfriend."

"He's a little more than that," You said with a sigh as everyone exchanged pleasantries.

"We'll be the judge of that," Marcoul said with a sharp but friendly grin, the grip he had on Astarion's hand briefly tightening before he let go, "From what we've heard, you're quite the character aren't you?"

Ah, so the interrogating was starting early then. It was nothing that Astarion hadn't expected. Besides, turning up the charm was his strong suit, even when he was uncharacteristically nervous.

Astarion smiled back at him, "You've heard right. And I'm more than happy to answer any questions you might have."

"Oh gods please don't say that," You groaned, but it was too late. Your parents were already leading him to sit, rapid-fire questions coming out of their mouth.

Where are you from? How did you meet? Are you serious about our Tav? What's your religion? Where's your family? What are your plans?

But Astarion answered them all, with only mild censorship for the child's sake. The child who suddenly couldn't stop staring at him. It wasn't exactly easy to sell himself as a future husband when he was a vampiric ex-slave, but he made do.

It was an overwhelming experience to say the least, but not necessarily an unpleasant one. That was one good thing about trying to marry into a family of zealots, it was a lot easier to convince them of your virtue when you received a personal blessing from their goddess.

By the end of the night, they were all throughly appeased, enough so to get off the topic of him for a moment.

"You look a little young to have a thirty-year old child," Astarion said to your mother. He was actively trying to compliment her for obvious reasons, but he was also genuinely curious. She barely looked a day over 40.

"Oh we breed young," She said with a laugh, "We had Tav in our teenage years. Arabeth came much, much later. Our favorite little surprise. Gods, I can't think of a single person in our family who didn't have kids young. Our little Tav is the only exception to the rule."

"But maybe not for much longer, huh?" Marcoul added with a grin, yelping when you lightly smacked him over the head for the comment.

"Do not start the kid talk again!" You hissed out, cheeks red, "We've talked about this!"

Astarion couldn't help but grin at your reaction, charmed by your embarrassment. Though... the idea of the two of you having children together sure was an interesting thought.

Astarion felt a tug on his sleeve while you were distracted arguing with your parents. He turned, smiling when he saw your little sister standing there, still staring at him with wide-eyes.

She took a deep breath before blurting out, "You look like a prince. Are you?"

"Not exactly," Astarion said with a small laugh. That couldn't be further from the truth, "There's no blue blood in my veins."

She frowned, cocking her head at him like he wasn't making any sense. But then an idea obviously struck her as she excitedly asked, "But if you married a princess, then you'd become a prince too. Right?"

"I suppose?" Astarion answered with a shrug.

"So if I become a princess, and I marry you, then you'll be a prince?"

This conversation was quickly becoming out of his depth. But luckily enough for him you were swooping in to save him.

You laughed at her question, turning your attention back to the two of them, "No offense Bethy, but I'm going to be the one marrying this particular prince."

But Arabeth wasn't having it. She crossed her arms, looking at you like she was the one talking to a child, "You can't. Because if I don't marry him, he won't be a prince. So there. I have to do it."

She looked so serious, her facial expressions incredibly similar to your own. Astarion was holding back a loud laugh as you tried and failed to reason with her, "I can marry him without the royal status-"

"No! I'm marrying the prince!"

Your parents were doing a much worse job at hiding their reactions, both of them opening giggling behind their hands as you came up with a compromise.

"Okay, okay," You said with a sigh, kneeling down to look the small girl in the eye, "How about this? I marry him first. But only until you become a princess. Then he's all yours. Sound fair?"

She thought about it for a moment before nodding to herself, "Sounds fair."

Well Astarion wasn't going to get a better set-up then that. He turned to your father, his nerves coming back for a brief appearance, "I'm assuming now might be a good time to ask what I came here to ask. Though I do promise I only intending on asking for one of your children's hand in marriage."

Marcoul nodded slowly, his face unreadable as he spoke, "I mean no offense when I say this Astarion, but you aren't exactly who I imagined for my daughter."

"Dad don't-"

"Darling, let him finish," Astarion gently interrupted, his eyes still locked with your father's.

He took a deep breathe before continuing, "That said, I've never seen her so... herself with someone else before. So yes. The two of you can marry. On one condition."

"Anything," Astarion said instantly, nearly giddy at the fact that he was so close to the official yes, "Just name it."

"You have to have the wedding here," Seliras answered for him, a massive smile on her face, "No ifs, ands, or buts."

"And I get to be flower girl!" Arabeth chimed in, her past indignation completely forgotten as she climbed all over you, "And there has to be chocolate cake!"

"Oh gods, help us," You groaned, but Astarion was already nodding along. He couldn't give less than two shits where it happened or who was involved. He could scarcely believe that it was happening at all. But that was the last thing he had needed.

He already had the ring, the most amazing person he could ever fathom being with. Who actually wanted him back.

Now all he had to do was ask.

[prythianpages]

ACOSM | The Night she was Born

azriel x rhys's sister (oc) however, since this is her birth story, Azriel is not in this.

warnings: birth scene, mentions of blood, some angst and maybe mild fluff

A/N: this is just an imagine of the birth of Rhysand's sister, the first to my collection of imagines that follow her story. I do want to put a disclaimer that some details will be different in my series of imagines following Rhysand's sister, to what is actually canon in the books. Another disclaimer is that I've been in love with the name Yvaine since I watched Stardust and thought it would be a fitting name for Rhysand's mom after learning it meant "evening star." I am aware that there is a fanfiction that also named her the same but when I chose to name Rhysand's mom this, it was not my intention to copy it. I actually hadn't gotten to that part in the fic yet when I had already written this.

**

Screams of anguish followed by frantic orders filled the room. Sweat glistened on her skin, her dark hair sticking to her forehead. She hunched over in pain, her grip tight on the bed post as she refused to lay down. One of the maids rushed to open the doors to the room’s balcony and then drew back the curtains to all windows before opening those as well, allowing in the fresh draft of cool air in. 

The moon was aglow, casting its light upon the room as if it was bestowing its blessing upon the coming of the second child of the night court. But still, it did nothing to relieve the lady in distress as she let out another scream, causing the little dark haired boy beside her to pale, stricken with his own fear over hearing his mother’s agony. She had been like this for hours.

At the sound of the doors to the chambers opening, the dark haired boy turned his head. Tears glistened in his deep blue-violet eyes as they fell upon the High Lord of the Night Court. The little boy ran toward him.

The High Lord’s face crossed with fear, the color draining from his face at the sight of his wife–his mate– in pain. He paid no mind to the boy who had ran to him and sought out comfort but instead continued to walk to his mate. 

The High Lord did not say a word. He did not need to. His hand reached out toward his wife’s, finding it to be warm and clammy. He felt her relief shoot through their bond at his touch. She loosened one of her hand’s grip on the bedpost to allow herself to wrap them around her husband’s instead.

 “Push harder, my Lady.” Madja, one of the Night court’s healer, instructed as she kneeled before her Lady and urged the maids to aid her in helping with the birth. 

The High Lord watched his mate struggle, unable to hide the worry on his face. Their first born had come with ease. With Rhysand, it had been a smooth pregnancy with the babe arriving right on his expected due date. It had also been a short labor with minimal pain. Nothing compared to the scene before him. Very few things were capable of instilling fear into the High Lord of the Night Court…

Losing his mate was one of them.

“My High Lord,” Madja began with a frown. Tears streamed down her face as she brought up her bloodied hands–his mate’s blood. He followed her gaze to the pooling of blood on the floor that seemed to be growing more and more by the second. He felt like the breath was knocked out of him. He recognized that tone in Madja’s voice. “She’s lost so much blood. I’m afraid–”

“You will save this child at any cost!” The Lady of Night screamed in between her tremors. Her desperate eye’s met her mate’s. She knew what Madja was about to say and as she looked into her mate’s deep blue-violet eyes, she knew what his answer would be.

“Yvaine–”

“Please.” Yvaine, the Lady of Night, begged.

“We will save them both.” The High Lord said in a commanding tone as he returned his gaze back to Madja. A frustrated glower was etched on his face and his eyes were alight with a warning. If either of them die, you’ll be next.

The High Lord of the Night Court was powerful. However, his powers specialized in destroying and misting his enemies. He was not well endowed in the healing aspect, which is why he summoned more healers from the Night court, cursing himself for underestimating the need.

Upon their arrival, Madja barked desperate orders at them as she took the lead on Lady Yvaine’s labor. The High Lord did not know how much time had passed. He could only focus on holding his mate and whispering reassurances to her as she continued to hunch over in agony. Yvaine was strong and she would get through this. 

“The baby is coming!” Madja shouted in relief. “I can see its head!”

One last scream came from the Lady of the Night followed by silence.

Then, another cry—a babe’s cry. 

Madja caught the babe in her arms, wrapping her around the towels she had prepared earlier as her helper cut the umbilical cord. The High Lord carefully held Yvaine as some of the healers cleaned her up and switched her nightgown. Yvaine had lost a lot of blood that would slow down her recovery but she would live and that’s all that mattered to the High Lord.

As the High Lord helped Yvaine to rest in their bed, he couldn’t but smile in relief. He pressed a chaste kiss to her sweaty forehead. “Well done, my love.”

Wrapping the now clean baby in a new blanket, Madja approached the High Lord and Lady Yvaine. A warm smile on her face as she looked down to the crying bundle in her arms. “It’s a beautiful baby girl.” Madja said, holding out the baby to them.

The High Lord dropped his wife’s hand, allowing her to stretch her weak arms forward and beckoning for Madja to place her baby in her arms. 

A girl? The High Lord couldn’t help the disappointment that settled in as his gaze fell upon their newborn. A girl was not what he was hoping for and as his gaze inspected the babe further, he couldn’t help but notice how small she was or how fragile her little wings appeared. This was the babe that had caused his mate so much distress and pain over the past couple of months. He was hoping the pain and struggle meant the coming of another strong boy such as it had happened for the High Lord of the Autumn Court. 

 “Such a frail little thing. What a pity,” he couldn’t help but mutter as he turned and made his way out of the chambers, alluding that he had other present matters to attend to. 

**

“Rhysand.”

The dark haired boy–no older than two– turned to his mother with wide eyes, his little wings outstretched and taut. Despite being told to return to his chambers so that he may avoid the horrors of childbirth, he had opted to stay, determined to be one of the first to meet his new sibling. He swallowed the urge to bring back up his dinner and approached his mother with caution. He brought his wings back in, careful not to hurt his mother but anxious to see the small bundle in her arms. 

Rhysand’s mother, Yvaine, smiled with tired eyes, patting the spot on the bed beside her. He successfully hopped onto the bed and eased himself into her open arm as she curved it around his shoulder, bringing him close. He found himself staring into eyes that mirrored his own and hair just as dark as his. She also had wings like him. As Rhysand curiously looked upon his new sibling, the baby’s cries came to a stop as she did the same.

“Sister?” Rhysand softly asked, sparing a brief glance at his mother before he returned his awe stricken gaze to the baby. While his words were few, his mother had done well in teaching him two more words in anticipation of the babe in her stomach: brother or sister. She had opted to keep the gender a surprise to all, including herself. While she knew her mate and husband had wished for another son, she secretly wished for a daughter. And when she heard Madja’s announcement of a baby girl, she was over the moon with the news, despite her aching body.

“Sister.” His mother confirmed, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You’re a big brother now, Rhys.” 

A tiny gasp escaped from Rhysand. Big brother.

 “Have you thought of a name, my Lady?” Madja asked, feeling her heart swell at the sight of the three.

Lady Yvaine looked down at her baby with such love and tenderness. She had heard the words her husband had muttered under his breath before departing, her heart aching at his disappointment. She could not disagree more with him. The baby in her arms was not an easy one to carry or bring into this world but she did not care. She was just so happy and relieved to finally have her daughter in her arms, safe and sound.

“She is to be strong and brave in a world like this,” Lady Yvaine stated, reaching out her finger for the baby to grasp. She broke into another smile as the baby wrapped her hand around her mother’s fingers with a surprisingly strong grip. It was as if the baby had agreed with her and a name instantly came to mind.

“Valeria.”

“Valewia.” Rhysand repeated slowly, causing his mother to giggle and those around to swoon over the adorable moment.

“Oh, my little stars.” Lady Yvaine cooed as she brought both of her children closer to her, inhaling both of their sweet scents deeply. “May you always shine bright, even on the darkest of nights.”

[batbeato]

My partner keeps telling me to go on Tumblr whenever I launch one of my 20-10000 minute ramble-rants about Umineko at them so here I am AGAIN

Something that a lot of people love about Umineko (and I do too!) is how much Umineko centers its female characters: Umineko focuses a lot on the rich inner lives and emotions of these women, all of whom have been negatively impacted by ideals of submissive feminism and the needs of the patriarchy.

In general, in Umineko, there's this phenomenon that I don't often see elsewhere, where male characters' emotions and feelings are treated as less important, less interesting, etc. than female characters' are. This is interesting to me, and I think it makes sense - in many spaces and works, female characters are treated as caricatures - they are tragic dead mothers, loving wives, sexy girlbosses who secretly have a soft spot for the protagonist, etc. It's only par for the course that in a work where female characters are so celebrated and explored, it is male characters who suffer the fate of being reduced to more base qualities and have their feelings and emotions brushed off or waved over.

Umineko takes the concept of the absent dead wife, mother, lover and turns them into these complex, unknown ghosts who haunt the story: Kinzo's wife, Bice, Kuwatrice, Asumu. These are all female characters central to various plot points and aspects of the story, including thematic ones, but these women are very rarely, if at all, given space to truly express their inner thoughts. This is in contrast to the Ushiromiya women (Eva, Kyrie, Rosa, Natsuhi) who are so often able to express their innermost thoughts in these long, emotional sequences. Umineko doesn't allow space for these women to be caricatures, but instead seems to make space for them to be characters we simply don't have enough information on.

I think Asumu is the best example of this: she is a character with very little actual voice in the main story. Rudolf theorizes that she knew about Battler's true parentage and raised him with love regardless, but also worries that her death was due to his lies and infidelity. Her cause of death is never revealed. Kyrie talks about Asumu as a smart woman who played dumb and innocent to steal Rudolf from her, and there is the distinct concept that if Asumu hadn't died of Cause X, Kyrie would have killed her soon after. Battler sees Asumu as an uncomplicated, loving mother. And then, when Ryukishi released Last Note, we saw this different side of Asumu - an arrogant, jealous woman who took pride in her skill at puzzles and believed that she could have saved everyone, but also still a loving mother who loves her son, and even accepts her son's half-sister, Ange, in the end. Never a caricature, always cast in shadow, but with depths beneath.

But back to what I mentioned before - male characters being treated as those flanderized, flatter caricatures, with their feelings brushed off. It's very interesting to me, because it's not even just a case of male characters simply not having the screentime - they do. Battler and Kinzo get the most of it, but George also receives plenty of discussion as well.

Battler and George, however, are the male characters who I see the most flanderization of. Battler is a pathetic crying malewife twink bottom. George is a child predator who grooms Shannon.

George is a man who was raised by a hovering, overprotective mother with ridiculous expectations of him. She made him study every day and tried to instill values befitting of the power and status she hoped he would someday have into him. However, he saw how Battler, who was meant to be 'inferior' to him, getting along better with girls - even the one he liked - and grew jealous. His relationship with Shannon began because of this, but it also helped him to understand his own flaws, and he tried to change himself. Coming from a place of privilege, this is a difficult task. He also truly loved Shannon, even though he sometimes had a patronizing view of her due to his own instilled biases, and was even willing to go against his family for her. He isn't a perfect person, but he was attempting to change and grow.

Battler is a man with a deep empathy for others and is overly emotional at times - a trait I think is unfairly made fun of, given how men showing emotion is often portrayed as unmasculine, feminine, and shameful. He has a strong sense of right and wrong, and though clumsy and foolish at times, does his best to help others. He was raised by his grandparents for 6 years, so he is somewhat divorced from the privilege he now once again holds as a member of the Ushiromiya family, and makes mistakes because of that. He makes a lot of sexual jokes, but it's implied that this is due to being socially awkward after reuniting with the family he hasn't seen in six years. It's very difficult for him to truly despise someone, but once his trust is broken, even if he still loves them, it can be very hard to earn that trust back.

...I don't think the fandom needs to focus more on the male characters, per say. No one should be told they need to focus more on X than Y because enjoying X is more ethical, progressive, fair, etc. etc. But I would like to see people at least acknowledging the complexity of the male characters in Umineko more. The malewife Battler jokes are funny, I admit, but I'm tired of the child predator George jokes. Can we please leave people who ship Shannon and George alone? At this point, I'm beginning to worry about if they're alright... seeing a lot of hate for something they love can't be pleasant.

It's a general trend I see - liking a male character means you need to prioritize female characters more. Liking a het ship means you need to make it gay, or appreciate gay ships more. If a bisexual character dates someone of the opposite sex, this is bi erasure or erasing queer representation. But it's alright to like male characters, het ships, bisexual characters in het relationships, and so on. What isn't alright are the biases that are keeping queer media from receiving as much publicity, as much funding. What isn't alright are the biases that give male characters much more complex writing than female characters in many pieces of media. We as consumers can examine these things in the production and text of the works we enjoy, but I think there is too much focus on this ethical consumption of media.

...And that's how we end up making child predator George jokes - to reconcile the existence of a flawed, nuanced male character (who can and should be criticized of course) with the fact that Umineko is such a woman-central media. Umineko needs to be one of the 'good ones', the 'ethical ones'. So the male characters must be reduced to jokes, to one-liners. It is an overcorrection on a fandom level to reconcile with a society level issue, one that can harm fans of those characters and introduce toxicity to a place that should be about sharing love for a small universe we all enjoy.

(Whoops. This is why my partner told me to go on tumblr, huh?)

[rfaromance]

Fluffy ZenZen? 👀👀 (little sister here to be a pain ofcsofcs)

Every visit to Zen's place became a new story to unfold.

The first time you went to Zen's apartment, the butterflies swarming inside of your stomach were so agitated and fervent that you swore you could still feel them to this day. Back then, part of the issue had been convincing Zen to allow you to come over in the first place. You respected his efforts to be a gentleman, but also...

You couldn't help but chuckle at how flustered he had been, blabbering about a "beast" that would come out "under the full moon" and how you needed to be "safe." It was endearing, but as much as you adored Zen, you wished he could be more upfront about his feelings. You weren't a child! Why did he have to make himself sound like some hungry werewolf?

His warnings had instilled a sense of caution into you nonetheless. You wanted to see where he lived and try to get closer to him, but maybe he had his reasons for wanting to keep a bit of distance between the two of you. Maybe he had skeletons in the closet that he wasn't ready to unearth just yet.

Rather than any skeletons, the first time you finally visited Zen's abode, you found... a whole lot of nothing, actually.

"Zen! This place is so bare!" You could remember your protests at the sparse furniture. "Even your refrigerator is growing cobwebs!" Did he seriously live on salads, water, and beer?

"I'm not a flashy guy!"

"Liar!"

You both knew that wasn't the case. Zen was always eager to flirt and show off his body every opportunity he could. Why wouldn't his apartment be flashy too?

That was a major turning point in your relationship, when you began to see past his facade and realize he was actually more timid and humble than he wanted others to know. Zen put on an act of arrogance to conceal his insecurities, and his minimalist living space reflected who he was at his core: a simple person who was satisfied with just being appreciated and loved, not for his looks but for the comfort and kindness he could provide.

Each subsequent visit revealed a new side to him. Slowly, his apartment began to take on new life. You weren't sure where all his trinkets had appeared from, but the next visit you discovered an old costume hanging on a door, and the visit after that you found CDs from a variety of musical that he used to practice. (You teased him relentlessly for still using a Walkman to listen to those.)

"Zen? What's this?"

You stepped out of the restroom to see his closet door halfway open. While you didn't want to invade his privacy, your curiosity was too strong. A long, wooden handle was catching the faint light from his bedroom, and you couldn't help but wonder what it was.

"Handle" wasn't very accurate. As you drew closer to the closet, you saw strings running down the surface and knobs on the side.

"Y/N! Hey, hey, what are you doing, going through a man's personal stuff?"

You nearly jumped out of your skin as Zen's voice suddenly appeared behind you. You were so absorbed in the mystery in front of you that you hadn't noticed his approaching footsteps. "Zen, if you say things like that, I'm going to think you have weird secrets in your closet."

A deep blush spread across Zen's pale face like a rosebush in bloom. "That's... anyway, let's go back to the living room."

Swallowing the disappointment rising in your chest, you reluctantly nodded. "Okay." You didn't want to push him to do something that made him uncomfortable, after all.

You exited his bedroom and walked over to the couch, flopping down onto your favorite cushion. You expected Zen to drop down next to you, like always, but he was nowhere to be found. "Zen?"

A moment later, a shy pair of ruby eyes peeked at you from the doorway. "I'm rusty. Just know that, alright?"

Rusty? What was he talking about?

You had to fight to keep your jaw from dropping as Zen entered the living room with an old acoustic guitar in his hands. "But since you're so curious... I'll do my best to serenade you."

His hands trembled slightly as he sat down beside you, trying to place his fingers in the proper positions. "I'm lucky my parents didn't smash this girl when they found out," he mumbled, half to you and half to himself. "She carried me through a lot of tough times. I guess it's only fair to play her every now and again."

Clearly there was a story behind this guitar. A story that went beyond the guitar and to Zen's past, his story, his life. "Zen, you don't have to-"

"That should do it. Alright, love. You're very lucky to get a one-on-one show with me, you know? I wouldn't turn this down if I were you." The light returned to his eyes, and he turned to you with a beaming smile. "What'll it be, darling?"

"Hyun..." You could hardly choke out his name as tears began to prickle at your eyes and your throat. Hoping to brighten the mood, you decided to tease him a little. "Hm... how about a little Elvis?"

Zen's dumbstruck and slightly horrified look said more than a thousand words.

"... Anyway, here's Wonderwall."

[hoiststowline]

valley of tomorrow

hoist x reader

Though the silence was welcomed to instill a lengthy wave of peace, you dared to break such a precious thing. Eyes never leaving the buzzing overhead light as your lips moved to the rhythm of his name, you nearly wince hearing your voice break the quiet. "Hoist?" The mech responds with a hum, notifying you he was listening without words, to which you continue with a much less confident stride. "I've been thinking." 

Just by your delivery, this sends an alert to his processor, as if a rampaging red light was telling him something was wrong. At this, Hoist moves from his position on the berth to sit, one servo splayed out behind him as it supports his upper body, subconsciously knowing what you are headed. "About?" He asks, looking down at you expectingly when you make little effort to pursue your statement. 

"The other day." He watches as your eyes blink and remain closed a beat too long, then when they re-open those colorful irises are staring back up at him. "Can we talk about it?" When he grows quiet, you realize you are overstepping, hastily retreating with heavy apologies resting on your lips.

"No, no." Hoist murmurs, and though his mouth-plate muffles it, it's still at a normal volume. "I said we'd discuss it later, but I suppose I assumed you'd just forget about it." 

It wasn't your place to dig around in his paranoias and fears, especially those that he isn't forthcoming to share, but by accident, you had bled into one of those awful memories. There were very few who understood and even knew of Hoist's pain, but then again, there were very few who would take the moment to listen. 

"Why would I forget about it?" Your hands unclasp at your lower torso as they settle at your sides, tickled by the cold metal. "We're friends, H. I care about you." 

"I know you do." His visor hides the way his golden optics dim and then brighten softly, just at your compassionate words. Hoist feels guilty even thinking about it, even at the mere thought of letting you in. It's not that he doesn't want to, it's that he seeks you out to be that comfort in a raging storm, and if you saw him differently for what he feels, he couldn't cope with such an idea. “I care about you too, y/n.”

"If you don't want to talk about it, that's okay." You say eventually, unsure of what more to do, a culpable feeling settling in your lower stomach. “I just want you to know that I’m here for you,”

"I wouldn't know realistically where to start." Hoist blinks, helm resting on his left shoulder to better address you. "I think you've gathered I have a fear of being alone."

Lips pursed, you shift your gaze to meet his, nodding once. "Yes. I did come to that conclusion in a roundabout way." 

"I can be by myself, but I get anxious at times." His servo moves closer to yours, digit resting atop your hand. "If it's for a prolonged time, that's when it is at its worst."

You move to sit up, but he doesn't want you to, simply keeping his servo gently, but firmly in place. "Does it have to do with the rust spot?" You hadn't intended for it to be a whisper, but it stumbles past your lips as if you couldn't control it. 

"Yeah." Hoist mumbles, now unable to meet your gaze. "I'd like to think that's where it all started. I can't remember being so fearful of solitude before the rust spot." As if he can sense your sadness, he's quick to mend his words. "I'm fine, y/n. I've handled it thus far, it's an irrational fear."

The green mech jolts when you gasp loudly, tiny fingers finding the plating atop his hand as you wriggle free from his hold. "It is not irrational!"

He wasn't expecting an outburst from you like that, but it does calm some of the embarrassment that lingered in his chassis. You were being sincere, truly offended that he even labeled it as such. "y/n-"

"It's not!" Insistent, you move to stand, a frown brimming on faintly trembling lips. "It's something that happened to you, and it is an entirely rational fear and you shouldn't have to suffer in silence for it. Do not dismiss your feelings, Hoist."

There's overwhelming clarity as to why you understood his reverence when most didn't, it's likely because you've had an instance of your own where others simply couldn't comprehend, or took the time to listen to your spiraling thoughts. That is why you were so adamant about having this conversation because you wouldn't want another soul to feel the isolation you felt when others would not take a minute to listen. 

All he wants this very moment is for your soft smile to return, he can't stand to look at you whilst you appear so downhearted. "I didn't mean for you to become so upset. I'm sorry." 

"Why are you apologizing?" It's confused, arms crossing your chest as you stare up at him. 

"Why would I not?" He finally dares to look your way, shoulders sagging as you still have an expression of sorrow. "I can't stand it when you look at me like that." 

Your brow furrows slightly, tilting your head to the left. "Like what?"

"You're about to cry." As if on cue, you sniffle minutely, not on purpose. "I did not intend for this evening to end this way."

"I can't control my tears." You laugh, palms raising to soothe both your flushed cheeks. "But I hate it when you talk about yourself like that."

A sentence lingers on his glossa, tossed around for a few seconds before he stifles it, terrified to ruin such a perfect moment. "y/n, come here," 

You oblige, taking a few shuffled steps forward, and easily fall beneath his shadow. The hand that wasn't supporting his weight comes to settle on your shoulder, presence gentle as his thumb swipes away at a few rogue tears. "M'sorry."

"For what?" He laughs, a confused chuckle as if he could not believe his audials. 

"For crying and for ruining the peace," His touch is so warm, lingering atop soft skin as a single tut of disapproval falls from his masked lips. 

"You didn't ruin anything." Insistent, his digit falls from your face, but both of your hands come to hold it steady there. "Talking about it is good. It was wrong of me to presuppose you'd just forgo the conversation." 

Hoist physically stiffens as you placidly kiss his joint, just along the edge of his finger. Self-admittedly, he's waiting for the next round of words, preparing himself for the wound that is only going to deepen by such an incapable promise, but you never speak them. 

"I'm annoying like that." You laugh, finally relenting on your hold. "Any time you wanna talk about it, I'm here." 

I'm here. Not that black hole of a swear to be there in the rare instances when he needed it. You speak in the present, actually encouraging the exchange when others opt to let it slide by. If he's learned one thing from getting to know you, it is that you never make a promise you don't intend to keep. 

"Annoying? Never," His palm slides down from your shoulder to settle at your feet, cupping the back of your legs with utmost caution. "And understood. Thank you." 

"Anything for you, H." You pause, finding that your hands have awkwardly fallen to your sides. 

"And," He starts, your eyes jumping upwards to meet his. "If you ever have something you'd like to discuss, I'm here too," 

Hoist watches something cross your expression, an emotion that he can't quite place, but for a split second, that glassy look returns to your eyes. You swallow it back, clearing your throat before replying. "Not...tonight." Keeping your composure, you press onwards. "But I will definitely take you up on that someday." 

He nods twice before pulling his servo back, encouraging you to get some sleep. "I've kept you up long enough." 

"No, you haven't." You say, going to lie back down. "Good night, Hoist." 

A small smile erupts behind his face-plate, an action unknown to you, but targeted for you nonetheless. "Good night, y/n." 

[aposthates]

you seem to know what you're doing. // GOOD BC FEN DOESNT

PERHAPS IT SHOULD NOT PLEASE HIM SO MUCH AS IT DOES to have this over fenris . . . not their intimacy in itself, BUT THE EXPERIENCE. HARDLY EVEN STARTED, YET EACH AND EVERY BRUSH OF WIDE PALMS ACROSS HIS NARROW CHEST HAS BEEN MET WITH GREAT TREMBLES . . . poorly suppressed. and the hammering of the elven heart was thunderous in itself. IT'S QUITE ROMANTIC, ACTUALLY. for if you observed the two of them without prior knowledge, assumption might dictate that fenris might be the one more well-versed in the art of intimacy. however in reality, anders was the guiding force here. AN UNSURE DESCENT INTO SUCH AN ARRANGEMENT ENTIRELY COMPENSATED FOR BY A SOFT AND TRUSTING HAND. magic entirely absent from healing fingertips, and instilling trust to try and bridge the gap where such was still brewing.

HOWEVER THIS CERTAINLY WASN'T HOW HE IMAGINED IT. he expected something venomous, and boisterous and sudden. CLASHING TEETH LIKE THEIR DUELING WORDS, AND CUTTING LIPS TO FLOOD IRON 'CROSS BOTH OF THEIR TONGUES. however, such revelations . . . the openness displayed? IT SOFTENED ANDERS IMMENSELY. AS DID THE BOARDERS, TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS THEY HAD TO CROSS TO GET HERE. the mental strength fenris has begun to work through. IT SEEMED... UNBECOMING TO CROSS THE THRESHOLD OF THEIR ULTIMATE TRUST WITH ANY MEASURE OF CRUELTY.

"we've barely even done anything yet." HIS NOSE PUSHES FENRIS', ANGLING HIS FACE TO OFFER A KISS, AND THEN ANOTHER. DEVILISHLY FLEETING. teasing him, because he frankly finds himself unable to resist. SUCH A FACT GLITTERING SOFTLY IN HIS AMBER EYES. mouth returning to cocked smirk, as he trails flattened hands lower. MEMORIZING THE SLOPES AND RIDGES OF HIS RIBCAGE, until finally, he grips fenris' hips. thumbs swiping bones as he presses him firmly against the wall he had already been leaning against. ONLY TO GROUND HIM, with no such violence or intent to control threaded within. HE COULDN'T. NOT TO HIM. NOT NOW.

"but you're doing great, you know." he starts. "i know it can be . . . overwhelming." foreheads press as he raises one palm to cup his cheek, using it to angle his face upward. "this isn't how i imagined it. somehow, i thought that it would be.. i don't know. angrier. more hateful. but i couldn't do that to you.. not knowing." HE DOESN'T CUT HIMSELF OFF, YET LETS IT GO UNSPOKEN. knowing it's his first time. but he doesn't want to say too much, to scare him off. if he hadn't done so already. 'thank you, for trusting me' riding the tip of his tongue as it passes through the elf's lips.

@suledine. melt into me.

[w0rmdahl]

the beginning — ilyily

film: i love you i love you (au)

synopsis: an overview of the complete first act of i love you i love you (2020), an arthurian inspired tale of free will and rebellion centered around a mischievous queen-to-be and the son of a knight.

word count: 5.2k

featuring: (oc) yuna min, (oc) samir devgan, (oc) king jin, (oc) sir kabir devgan, & more!

warnings: medieval time-y issues, physical violence (idk really)

a/n: hellooooo first piece posted to w0rmdahl :) here is something i wrote in one sitting immediately after finishing tgk <3 hope you enjoy!

samir hadn't always been the personally appointed bodyguard of the king's only child and expected queen to be. it came with work — taxing work the aforementioned princess yuna was never privy to. though, she never was privy to her fathers' ministrations; the old, wrinkled hands that pulled each and every string in the kingdom she called home.

sam and yuna's relationship started at the very beginning of their own lives. the son of the kings' knight was only a few months old when the princess was born, an unexpected pregnancy for the queen after having many unsuccessful attempts in the past who ultimately gave her own livelihood for that of the newborn baby girl. she was named after the mother she'd never meet and subsequently burdened with the shoes too big to fill for her father who still held the fond memories of his late wife. so, as little yuna began to grow too large for the kings' palm and too loud for his thinned patience, he'd wave her off without uttering a word at her thousandth question in the hour — too preoccupied in discussion with sir kabir devgan to hear her ask 'can i play outside?'

5-year-old yuna would hurry out of the room to then giggle to herself as she skipped down the dim and dank halls of the castle and out into the field behind the castle wall, stopping dead in her tracks as soon as she spotted him; a boy sitting patiently in the grass as he plucked dandelions. he had dark curly hair and mud covering his feet all the way to the knee, wide eyes flicking up to hers upon the sudden presence.

"hello." yuna would say with eyes squinting at the blinding the sun rays. she'd ask the unknown boy what his name was — what he was doing — if she could join him. shy young samir would introduce himself humbly to the princess just like his father taught him before inviting her in on his independent time outside in the sun. and here, in the large patch of tall grass just below the northern watchtower, the foundation for a strong and long-lasting friendship was forged by the small hands caked in mud and dirt — a detail that did not please the king once he found out.

yet, much to the annoyance to the 'great king jin', from that point it was only a matter of time before they grew into larger troublemakers. samir and yuna would always somehow find the time in their day to speak with one another at least once. sometimes samir would weasel his way into the castle to join her reading in the library, other times he'd lure her out of the stone walls to pick berries and admire her complexion in the warm light of the outside world. never in his wildest dreams would he ever lead her into danger, though —  that was all her own doing. son of a knight, samir had always been instilled with the duty of protecting the royal family at any and all costs, meaning he was the one shirking away when she'd beckon him into certainly-dangerous adventures.

"come on!" yuna would chirp over her shoulder as she crawled with fingers full of the thick grass blades, boots sputtering past her skirt to dig into the dirt. samir's eyes once again surveyed their surroundings in search for anything looming around in wait for their naive arrival, gaze running along the hills and valleys as he nervously called back. "i don't know — what about the king?"

"what about the king?" she repeated back to him without faltering in her pace up the rising ground "you worry too much, sam. now come on or i'll have to tell him you hurt my feelings!"

sam, with the stressed brow that appeared far too often for just a 14-year-old, finally let out an exasperated chuckle at her playful antics and joined her in the tiring journey up this particularly steep hill. he found his way to the top with a groan and couldn't help the smile that donned on his face as she helped pull him up the crest with a hand on his arm, finally realizing just exactly why the princess had been so adamant about this adventure.

"wow..." he uttered as his wide doe eyes surveilled the vast valleys laid before them, the sunlight bathing everything it could touch over the various peaks that left dark shadows in the trees below. from their spot on top of this mound they could see the raging foxtrot river. "how'd you find this?"

yuna would finally turn to look at him, gaze promptly meeting hers the second he noticed. "promise you won't tell?" she always said this to him — always checking in as if to make sure he had her back even though he always answered the same way. at this point he couldn't tell if it was true distrust or consent to further the wedge between him and his loyalty to the king.

"i wouldn't dream of sharing your secrets."

a blush would dust her cheeks as she beamed and tucked a dark strand behind her ear. "one of the cooks said there was gold at the end of the foxtrot river. she said she'd seen it at the top of the hillcrest with one lone tree swaying above her head." now, with her nod gesturing behind him, samir noticed the peculiarly lone tree whose leaves danced with the gentle wind that fluttered through their hair. "i thought maybe we'd check it out."

there was a beat as sam watched the sunlight filter through the leaves, a push and pull tugging on the tender strings of his heart before he internally steeled himself enough to turn back to the exceedingly more precious treasure beside him. "your highness," he spoke hesitantly — carefully "you don't really think there's gold out there to find, do you?"

the restrained frown on her lips could've killed him right then and there if he would succumb. but then again, she still needed to walk back to the castle after this.

"i think there's adventure out there. i think there's something else...something other than this."

sam would always find himself mulling over their conversations on his lone walk home. she had a habit of leaving him things to think on; great adventures to be had or the possibility of different lifetimes. for a princess yuna was so strangely drawn to something other than nobility, so wholly unattached from her royal bloodline that had famously held reign of the largest kingdom in the region for the last century. he'd hoped that maybe she'd come around to the idea of royal duties later, maybe she'd grow big enough to fit into her mothers' shoes, grow into the fully blossomed leader she could be. but, after a particularly stormy night when a heavy knock came to the devgans front door, it grew more apparent how far the princess was willing to go in order to avoid the looming title of queen.

samir found himself braving the storm alongside his father as they covered opposite directions in search for the lost princess. the angry winds whistled through the walls of the kingdom as the cold rain brutally pelted his cheeks in his seat on horseback, fingers numbing while he clutched the reins. sam followed along the foxtrot river calling out her name until his voice grew raspy and took in as much as he could visually whenever the lightning would strike and light up the dark sky for just a second, illuminating the virtually pitch-black wood he ventured into. it wasn't until an exceptionally bright strike allowed him to properly survey the surrounding wood and notice the shivering figure against a tree trunk that samir spotted yuna.

"your highness!"

the familiar albeit hoarse voice cutting through the howling winds brought the princess's face from her soaked knees, arms still wrapped around her legs to pull them close to her chest as her wet eyes found the boy hurrying off his horse and to her side. reins hooked around his arm so it hung near his shoulder, sam cupped her frigid cheeks in his similarly frozen palm, noting how she leaned into his hand.

"why are you out here? the king's worried sick!"

yuna's glossy gaze now made sense as they welled with tears, a deep crease forming between her eyebrows as her typical smile-ridden lips pulled into a pained grimace. "he's going to sell me off, sam." her voice was relatively quieter than his although she still had to project over the harsh white noise, "he said he's made a deal with king pyre of the east. i'll see out tomorrow and then...it's over, samir."

sam rode back to the castle with his own hand on top of hers belted around his waist, fingers intwining as he roped her arm around his shoulders to aid her inside, the rough and calloused skin only leaving her starkly delicate and clean hands once he began to start the fire in the dining hall. he'd spend the rest of the night by her side as he warmed her up (as well as himself, though he'd never admit it) and as they waited on the king or sir devgans arrival samir would wear himself thin reassuring her that everything would turn out all right in the end. everything would be okay because he said so. and when he saw the flash of disbelief in her eyes sam would pull out an old trick up his sleeve he'd never used before — one he'd never thought would see the light of day. until now.

"your highness...if i may be honest...when i count my blessings at night, i count you twice. for as long as i shall live, you will exist as someone loved wholly and entirely. show me your thorns and i will show you my hands, ready to bleed. and if you must die i'll envy even the earth that surrounds your body. for as long as i shall live, you will live within me."

this improper confession left a soft smile on the princess's face tainted by the tear stains running down her cheeks, her gaze scrutinizing his features under a microscope to look for supposed feigning for only a fraction of a second before softening upon finding nothing but pure unadulterated vulnerability and sincerity. from her spot beside him on the floor yuna would scoot closer and loop her arm in his to rest her head on his shoulder, his curls tickling the crown of her head. he was lucky she couldn't hear the pounding heart in his chest over the combination of sounds swirling around them, nor the thick gulp bobbing his adams apple as he swallowed back the fuzzy feeling bubbling under the surface. samir would statue in this spot even after she fell asleep and his back started to ache in the now uncomfortable position, all to lap up the final days he'd get to spend with the celebrated princess.

and then, by the grace of god, the dreadful day came for princess yuna min of elora to meet prince asa enoch of hidora — only for him not to show. samir, who made sure to loom around the princess all day, watched as the sun began to fall in tandem with the mask of patience on the kings' face, the moonlight illuminating the identical furrowed brow both royals shared. king jin went to bed that night uttering curses and arguments to himself as he went to his chambers for the night, heard only by samir who made sure to sneak into yuna's after the coast was clear.

samir nearly got himself caught the moment he stepped into her chambers with the laugh that emitted from his chest at the wide and wild-eyed grin on her face. he knew her well enough to know that, while the king's angry brow had been a result of flakey business deals, yuna's annoyance was merely due to the subjection of sitting still for an entire day. she couldn't have been more thrilled that the prince didn't show. the almost childlike-giddy pair would spend the night talking in circles about what could've happened that day, their theories about why the 'illustrious' prince asa didn't show, and samir would reluctantly have to pry himself out of her room so as to not get caught in the princess's chambers. he went to bed with half the mind that prince asa would arrive the following morning and sweep the king off his feet, maybe even sweep yuna off her feet. but then the following morning arrived with the king up and ready at the top of the day...and then midday...and then night. it wasn't until the fifth night past their scheduled meeting that a letter arrived signed by king pyre, father to asa — well — father to the late asa.

as explained within this letter, prince asa and all of the men accompanying him were tragically killed in a passing storm in the area. he'd sent more men out to find his missing son after not receiving a letter with updates and "found bodies scattered in the woods." so, with a heavy heart and a heavy hand king jin signed his goodbyes to pyre and subsequently whatever business deal it was that was great enough to rid of his one and only child. however, sam and yuna's relationship would not come out unscathed. in fact, this is when things really began to change.

in a meeting set up by the king, samir was offered a 'chance at the opportunity' to personally watch over yuna, though it came with a few conditions. while this would be proving his worth both to his father and the king as a potential knight of elora as well as appointing him in the princess's presence at most (if not all) times, the cons laid out by the king really painted a troubling picture. he would begin this apprenticeship under the guidance of his father, sir kabir, until he was satisfied with his sons' skills. this was the first troubling thing that caught his attention, and then king jin went on.

after completing the physical training samir would then present himself before the king for a fortnight in place of his father as the prestigious 'king's knight.' once and only once the fortnight had been completed, and if king jin was satisfied with samir's performance by the end of it, would he be granted the permission to claim the title of 'the princess of elora's personally appointed guard.'

and then, once he claimed his title, samir would have daily check-ins with the king to reveal all of what she'd spoken about that day. the king said he "wanted every minute detail down to the gory bits." failure to produce a 'satisfying' dialogue or withholding information would be considered as disloyalty to the king and result in the subsequent removal of this role.

"do you understand the guidelines i've laid out before you?"

samir gulped. "yes."

"do you agree meet the challenge according to my terms?"

the starkly smaller boy blinked up at the grizzly man before him, his signet ring twinkling in his big brown eyes. "yes."

samir began training the very next day. his father worked him to the bone from the moment the sun rose until the sky became pink and orange, signaling that it was time to head home and rest up. he went to bed nightly with aching muscles tender to the touch and yet there was still a smile lingering on his lips, his chest humming with who he was doing all this for. her name circled around his mind like the tumbling rocks kicked on his morning walk to the field he trained, and like the dust clouds that flittered through the air when he hit the dirt, her name settled on his tongue in the dim silence of his room. quietly, to no one but himself, samir would whisper the prized name that predated the princess's birth, the name uttered only by those worthy of such intimacies with her.

"yuna."

it took a full 2 months and then some before kabir gave his approval to the king. he told his now broader son the same night over dinner, stoically and subdued as he stated he "was shocked by sam's drive to improve and ability to do so quickly." samir had pride swelling in his chest from his father's words as he then adorned his fathers' role beside the king. he went into his first day optimistic and honestly a little cocky thinking that this so-called duty would be more or less standing around all day. he soon found out that this was in fact not the case, and when he wasn't patrolling the forest for bandits or accompanying the king in a leisurely but protected stroll samir was subjected to the crushing weight of overhearing what was going on in the other kingdoms.

by the end of the first week samir had learned about the looming attack expected from luneberg whose leader believed they owned all of the land west of the kublai river. by the beginning of the second week he had been formally prepared to protect the king and his kingdom whenever the 'lunes' arrived. and by wednesday this fateful day arrived.

snow had begun to fall when the first man in the guard tower called out "lunes!" sam stood by the king with restrained heaving breaths as he waited for instruction, waiting to be told to find yuna or venture out to the drawbridge where he could stop by her room. but before any instructions could be given lune soldiers stormed into the halls from around the back, hidden from the original watchtower that had alerted the kingdom. samir had no choice but to step forth and protect the king; lead him to safety and out of the violent corridors being stained with blood, urged on simply by the drive to locate yuna. only when he was able to finally hand the role of 'kings knight' back to his father did sam have the opportunity to turn back to the castle and brave the horrors occurring inside despite the calls of his name from behind his back. he'd gone specifically against the kings' orders to find yuna, sword drawn as he dodged in and out of every room hidden within the stone walls. he'd slain only a few unfortunate lunes before coming across the field hidden under the northern watchtower; the field they'd claimed as their own all those years ago.

almost hidden in the tall grass filling with snowflakes sat a man fighting to hold down the arms that emerged from the blades, nails digging into his throat to keep him as far away as possible. over the roaring cries of chaos that boomed from each and every corner in the kingdom samir could recognize the yelps and yowls of resistance as belonging to the one and only yuna. he wasted no time in plunging his blade through the back and out the chest of the beast assaulting the princess, using this lead to push him off of her and offer a hand out to the panting girl in the grass. upon finding her footing samir noticed the bruises that littered the soft skin on the side of yuna's face casting purple shadows below her eye and along her cheekbone.

"your highness..." was all he could say through panicked breaths, big brown eyes wet and wide as his delicate blood-stained fingers moved to almost touch the unfamiliar looking flesh. yuna would catch his hand to fully press her cheek into his palm and inadvertently leave crimson fingerprints on the angle of her jaw. this tender reencounter after far too long of not seeing each other would then be rudely interrupted by the heavy footsteps that echoed off the halls toward them, far too loud and fervent for just one man. it sounded like an entire brigade headed their way, and as samir stopped to analyze what he needed to do, there was a firm tug on his hand in her direction.

"come on, they won't catch us in the woods."

samir turned with the panicked shake of his head. "we'll die out there."

she pulled him again. "you'll die if we don't." the thunderous footsteps grew louder as he allowed her to pull him a step closer before then pulling her towards himself by their intwined fingers.

"it's snowing, princess, we'll freeze."

"not if we're together." her answer was immediate.

"i can't protect you from the elements, your highness."

yuna now squeezed his hand tight as the lune brigade loomed just around the corner. "i ask not for refuge in the cold but instead your company and protection from man. can you do that for me, samir?"

the towering boy above would stare back into her pleading eyes sparkling brighter than any of the stars in the sky and find his resolve within them, taking only a second longer to finally make his decision. by the time the luneberg soldiers made their way into the tall grass they only caught a glimpse of the princess's stark blue skirt before she disappeared into the white snow dusting the vast wood. with nothing but footprints in the snow leaving a discernable path to follow for as long as they moved quickly, the lunes chose to take their chances in the storm rather than return home with empty hands, unbeknownst to their fate located within.

samir and yuna would embark on a three day journey before finally returning to elora shivering and covered in filth. king jin sat them in front of the fire and filled their bellies while interrogating them about what happened — where they had gone and what they had been through. yet, neither had much to say, though it seemed obvious by the glint in their eyes that something had occurred within the woods. jin eventually gave up on trying to pry information from them and ushered his daughter to rest with plans to visit the apothecary the following day. yuna said her goodnight to the men before exiting the dining hall, leaving samir alone with the king who turned slowly, his usual furrowed brow forming in the light from the fire.

"you're late, samir. the fortnight was yesterday — training completed yesterday."

"my apologies, your majesty —"

king jin interrupted him. "i mulled over my decision whilst grieving my child. i was certain she'd been lost; to the wood or the snow or the lunes — i was certain i'd lost my only kin. i prepared to meet her again alongside her mother. and yet here you are now — shivering without a cape because you forgot to ask for it back..." jin trailed off with a mouthful of condescension growing the smile that curled his lips, looking like he was almost going to laugh before pulling his eyes from the flames to look at the anxious boy before him.

"you disobeyed direct orders, abandoned your duty, lead my daughter into the elements, and didn't return for three days."

samir's cheeks flamed red with shame as his eyes fought to disconnect from the icy glare produced by the king, yet he remained still, braving his reprimanding. "yes, your majesty..."

"but, on top of it all," the king took a breath and relaxed in his seat "yuna is home. you brought the princess back home safe and warmer than yourself."

his demeanor was suddenly so relaxed and — dare he presume — grateful. samir sat expectantly, listening with his full attention for king jin to get to what he was saying. what he meant.

"you may not have proved worthy as the king's knight, samir, but you have certainly proved yourself worthy as the princess's guard."

samir went home that night with an ear-to-ear grin as he reunited with his father. he laid in bed exhausted and yet entirely too excited for the days that would follow. the ceremony that would take place to grant him his knighthood, the endless hours that would be spent beside the beloved princess, the memories to be created with the beloved princess.

and his giddy anticipation would turn out to be quite a founded reaction; samir's knighting ceremony would be marked by the kiss pressed to his cheek as he said goodnight to the princess, the following days filled with the song of her laugh and the monumental view of her smile, cheeks flushed by the sun as they picked flowers or sat under the old willow tree. he'd appease her wild imagination and accompany her on horseback to pick apples in the very wood that granted him this opportunity only to stop by the kings chambers every night and go over all they'd done that day. he typically omitted some details, of course, but it didn't change the fact that his relationship with the princess was so heavily monitored nor did it ease the ache he felt as a result of the secrecy and inauthenticity feigned towards her. after so long of true friendship and trust built...

the straw that broke the camels back wouldn't come until the fateful days following princess yuna's 19th birthday.

king jin had grown noticeably grayer by this point, reminding both himself and the entire kingdom of his eventual end of reign, leading all of the watchful and anxious eyes to fall to the queen-to-be. he began implementing formal preparations the year prior, personally instructing her on the various different duties rulers have and the rules they abide by, all the while yuna pulled every card in the book to shirk her hereditary duties. samir had watched silently nearby as the kings patience grew thinner and thinner over the span of the year, paling in comparison to the growing resentment the pair harbored for one another until finally it could no longer be contained.

samir had returned from getting a breath of fresh air away from the bickering royals when he heard the kings booming voice echoing off the stone walls. he stopped with his back pressed to the wall to listen.

"you've always wished to be rid of me! father, i have been burdened by the blood on my hands! i stole her life as well as her name and it has tainted me in your eyes since the first breath!" yuna's voice was shaky and pitiful as if she was fighting tears.

"your impurities lie in your heart, not your name! you have been corrupted by your immature imagination ever since you were born!"

"why? because i dream of something more? something other than a lifetime of losing myself for others? because i want to be more than just a woman? because —"

the princess was cut off by a sharp, deafening smack that even made samir flinch from his place against the cool stone. the kings' voice had gone quiet now, only audible due to the unassuming manner in which sam entered.

"because you are just like your mother."

yuna sat on her knees with her hand on her cheek, wet, venomous eyes craned up at the man bent before her even after he noticed samir.

"escort her to her chambers, samir. she needs rest."

he'd do so promptly with a hand placed gingerly on her back, internally seething at the burning red skin on her cheek that lied below the laceration from jin's signet ring, swaying him further into her fantasies even before she told him "i'm leaving tomorrow night. come with me." he originally denied her preposterous idea before appeasing her with the promise of 'thinking about it' as he left her chambers to return to the kings' with a lump in his throat, tongue bitten between his teeth. though, sam wouldn't alert the king until the following evening — the final day of elora.

the following morning began with sam attending to yuna's cheek. his father had taught him plenty of remedies for injuries far less severe than this one, even ways to rid the healed skin of scarring later, the whole time being persuaded into joining her pursuit of a new life. he always managed to find new reasons not to abandon elora, more reasons why it was an awful idea to venture into the unknown in search of something 'better.' but as the sun made its way around the sky it grew more apparent how certain she was about her decision, and by the time she clarified she'd "leave with or without him" samir realized he had to do something.

with great pain he brought himself before the king just as the sun began to set and revealed the awful truth of what yuna was planning; how she said she'd steal a horse and ride as far as she could away from elora until she had to figure something else out. he didn't realize his fatal mistake until the king clarified on when this information had been made apparent.

"last night, your majesty."

"and you didn't think to mention this then?"

"...your maj—"

"what else have you 'forgotten' to mention, samir?"

"n-nothing, your—"

king jin didn't even let him finish before throwing him in the dungeon, alone and sewer-level as temporary punishment for his disloyalty. "i'll deal with you later" the king would say before leaving the boy to his solitude in search for his scheming kin. samir spent this time — only a couple hours, really — imagining the anguish on yuna's face as he was hanged in the square, martyred as the face of treachery in elora. he clutched at his heart when he realized the life that she'd be sentenced to and for the first time openly let the tears run down his face, sobbing pleads of forgiveness to no one but himself in the dark cell.

and then — like a knight in shining armor, a light in the darkness — yuna crept down the dungeon steps, a crowbar in hand as she whispered to call out for him.

"prin—yuna!" he'd call back. samir was already apologizing the second she found him, grabbing for her hands despite her efforts to lodge the crowbar between the bars until she finally took his hand.

"prove your sincerity by leaving with me. tonight. i'll get you out of here and then we'll leave and never return to elora again. can you do that for me, sammy?"

sammy; the greatest accolade to come from their voyage through the snow. well — second greatest — behind that of the privilege to call her informally. yuna.

"yes."

yuna used all her weight to finally bust the cell open, slamming herself into it until the rusted metal succumbed to the force. sam would pull her into a tight embrace against his chest before the fated duo would run hand in hand out of the kingdom and onto the path of a new life; one with only one constant in the form of the others' company.

[peskellence]

More Than Want

Explicit content (18+)

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: M/M, Dirty Talk, PWP, Oral, Dom/Sub Undertones, Praise Kink, Sexual Fantasies

Read on AO3 here:

Summary: After a heat-of-the-moment kiss, Gavin finds himself increasingly preoccupied with fantasies of what might have happened next if his partner hadn't run away.

A smutty one-shot that takes place shortly after the events of Chapter 17 of More Than Our Parts (Can also be read as a standalone fic).

Word Count: 1.5K

Gavin sat on his bed, fingers digging into his sheets, as he let out a long grunt of frustration. It didn't seem to matter what his partner did; he always succeeded in getting a rise. Like he'd been specifically engineered to push his buttons and test his composure. Each cold stare and sharp word came peppered with fleeting glimpses of warmth and fondness. It had left the detective floundering for weeks, grappling to understand what his partner was: Human or machine. 

He found glimpses of both in the way Nines kissed. All the warmth and fragility of a person, coupled with movements that seemed to continuously adapt and tailor to his needs. It had required some coaxing to get to that point, but once they had, it was like the android had tuned to his every want, knowing exactly what he desired at any given moment. Yet he still asked, in heated words, whispered against the shell of his ear. 

"Tell me what you want". 

He wanted to hear Gavin say it, to disclose each sinful detail of the way he wished to be touched. Unravelling under the grip of hands that could easily destroy him. 

Then it was over, as soon as it had begun - like one of the many fleeting fantasies that seemed to be taking permanent residency in the depths of his traitorous mind.

Lying back on his sheets, shaky hands fumbled with his belt before sliding it free from the buckle. He tugged down his zipper with the sort of urgency that only seemed to come with the burning desire his partner instilled in him. Jeans fell to his ankles, along with his boxers, as his hands found his aching arousal. 

He'd never been with someone like Nines and would have no idea what to expect. Each thought toyed with a different feature, as Gavin soon found the sense of discovery excited him more than anything else. After decades of sexual encounters, he was once again left to wonder. 

His newest fascination was his lips. How natural they'd felt in weight and texture, whilst sculpted to a perfection he had previously thought impossible. He wondered how they might have felt had they been given more time to explore. Trailing the expanse of his chest towards the line of his navel and coming to nestle between his legs. He imagined a tongue peaking between them and running up and down his length in teasing motions. 

Nines would be able to detect his responses. Knowing what to do without prompt or instruction. Despite this, he would remain adamant that Gavin speak to him: 

"Tell me how good it feels". The words in his mind were low and firm. Dancing the line between request and demand. "Tell me how much you want this". 

In the privacy of his room, Gavin felt a name slip from his lips. Small and desperate, as he quickened the movements between his parted legs. His eyes remained shut as he sunk deeper into the grips of his fantasy. 

"It feels so fucking good".

Nails dug into his thighs hard enough to leave bruises. He watched in awe as his partner took him into his mouth, drawing out moans with each of his long, rhythmic motions. Gavin's hips bucked forward, back arched as he sought to push further into his throat. The hands on his legs kept him anchored as Nines ensured his view of his face remained unobstructed.

Because the android would want to watch. Analysing his every move as he goaded each desperate pant and plea. Like a predator stalking its prey, waiting until he was most vulnerable before closing in to strike. 

Or perhaps he’d take a different approach. Using his connection to his partner's responses to mercilessly tease and edge. Coaxing Gavin to the brink of release, doing precisely what was needed before slowing down or stopping entirely. 

Adjusting his mind to this newfound narrative, he watched as Nines' mouth steadily pulled away. Maintaining just enough proximity that his lips brushed his skin as he spoke. "I want you to beg". 

In an act of defiance, Gavin chose to resist the command. If only to speculate on how his partner might respond. The answer, as directed by his own libido, came in the form of long fingers wrapping their way around his neck. Trailing teasingly along the skin before firmly applying pressure. 

"I can take your pleasure just as easily as I can provide it". Gavin could feel his throat closing off as his head began to swim from lack of oxygen. "Do not play games with me. Now beg". 

Through the increasingly focused tightness, he managed a hoarse "Please". 

"Very good, Detective", Nines praised as the grip on his neck loosened, and fingers began coaxing at his lips, forcibly parting them. "If you continue to behave, I will ensure you are suitably rewarded". 

Gavin moaned as the first of the digits slipped their way into his mouth, quickly joined by a second. He caressed them both with his tongue, making no effort to disguise his burgeoning eagerness. The android watched on, smirking, and slowly pulled himself upright, pressing his knees to the inside of each of his partner’s thighs. With a firm movement, he forced them apart, permitting himself greater access to the willing body writhing beneath him.

Removing his fingers from Gavin's mouth, he allowed his hand to drift tortuously down the expanse of his legs. 

The other man keened in response as his free hand began to wander amidst his fantasy. Having mirrored each imagined action, he blindly made his way to the junction between his legs, steadily moving back. 

"No one else can make you feel this way". Nines' hand drifted lower until his fingers were brushing against his entrance. "I want you to submit to me. Entirely". 

The only response that Gavin could muster came in the form of a low, drawn moan. It was all the invitation Nines required as he swiftly entered him. His movements were gentle at first, allowing his partner time to adjust before he quickly picked up the pace. Striking each of his nerves with skilful precision and leaving him at a loss to do anything but pant and groan - as he sunk further into ecstasy. 

Every time he tried to reach up, to needily tug at his partner's clothes, Nines would swiftly rebuff him. Reminding the man of his strength while also acting in service to the many blanks his mind had yet to fill. 

A second finger entered as Nines began to further coordinate his movements. Continuing the motion of his fingers, his other hand came to envelop his partner's neglected arousal, teasing it back to hardness in a matter of seconds. He was methodic and controlled, yet there was no detachment in the way he pleasured him. His focus remained firmly on Gavin, wanting the man to know precisely who he belonged to at that moment. 

"Look at me". Nines demanded, staring down with piercing eyes that had etched their way permanently into his mind. "I want you to look at me when you come". 

As the fantasy reached its conclusion, Gavin was beginning to come undone. A name slipped from his mouth again. Louder, trembling, as he hurriedly brought himself to release. It spilled from his cock, and painted his hand before his arms to fell limply to his sides.

He knew many of his questions could be answered without his partner's involvement. It was simply a case of indulging in the right explicit material or propositioning one of the thousands of androids that occupied Detroit. With enough searching, it was possible he could find one that looked like him. The same dark hair, grey eyes, and gentle dusting of freckles. It would feel so close, yet not enough, and the thought alone was enough to dissuade him. 

Once the high of his orgasm had faded, he was struck with a harsh, deflating reality. He wanted more than just to imagine. To speculate on how his encounter with Nines might have developed had he chosen to stay with him. To know the extent of the pleasure the android could provide and how he could seek to return the favour.

Maybe it would be different if his desire was born of some newfound preoccupation with machines. Some perverse, fetishistic curiosity - but deep down, he knew it was more than that. If he wished to put an end to his current fixation, an android would be strictly off-limits. Gavin would need to find other ways to satisfy his want, lest he risk prolonging the torture it was currently subjecting him to. 

[themindarchive]

"Look to the stars, young one, and see as they do."

The BG3 brain rot has joined with one of the movie's i loved when i was a kid and still subscribed to the christian newsletter.

I had already made a post about it here:

But, I couldn't get it out of my head so now i am writing out the first draft of a piece of a future chapter.

In this chapter, Halsin has traveled with Razzikel to reuinite with his people. A group of wandering nomads who have no home for reasons both tragic and agravating but joined together to form a community loving and diverse community jst as willing to share what little they have as they are to protect it from being taken from them.

When he gets there he see's this diverse community from every walk of life, race and creed. Seeing Razzikel's home he better understands where Razzikel's kind, compassionate and non judgemental nature came from.

Tears may have been shed at the overwhelming beauty of it.

However, as he looked over this incredible community that was vibrant and full of life, those old thoughts that his captors in the Underdark instilled in him begin creeping in.

And even though he tries his best to remember his friends kind words as they had traveled over, it isn't enough to keep him from staying on the outskirts of the lively and joy filled celebration.

However, the ever observant source of Razzikel's wisdom and compassion does not fail to notice his child's new friends hesitation and sad expression. So, with warmth in his eyes and a gentle smile in his voice he walks over to help him not miss out on the joy and love those present wish to give him, because of the dark voices others had put there to keep him from living.

Written blurb under the cut.

Halsin held his cup of warm spiced cider to his chest as his other arm wrapped around his middle. His sad Hazel eyes watched in longing the dancing form of his friend as he spun and leaped, laughed and sang, the normally stoic drow blooded ranger radiating joy and freedom that he envied.

He wanted to join them. He wanted to bask in thier joy and warmth, letting it wrap around him until he forgot the world around him.

But the voices in his head began to whisper all the ways he was unworthy. They whispered how he was an outsider, a stranger to everyone but Razzikel. They told him that he was no longer needed, now that Razzikel had returned to his people. He should leave they told him. You don't need to be here anymore, you are just using up resources that are already scarce. Your wasting thier time, thier space, their company.

"Cub, why do you hide here?" A deep and gentle burr interrupted his spiraling thoughts.

Halsin looked up to the 7ft, 1/2 furbolg elven man, his tanned skin and long red brown hair, framing green eyes the deep color of maple leaves. The bonfire gave his gaze a warmth that made everyone around him feel safe despite the mans immense size.

"I would have expected you to be out there with my son. But I find you here in the shadows looking like someone stole your favorite staff. Are you all right?"

"I..." Halsin wanted to try and come up with a lie but Razzikel hadn't been exagerating when he siad his father's gaze saw straight into you. Looking at him now suddenly reminded him of the father he had lost so long ago. He had a gaze that was so filled with warmth and understanding that it was difficult not to tell him what was wrong.

So instead he cast his eyes to his feet.

He heard the man sigh before he felt a large hand gently rest on his shoulder.

"Cub, what is it that troubles you? What is it that keeps you from doing what you very clearly want to do?" He then gently hooked a finger under his chin and tipped his head up. "Let me be the arms that carry your burdens when you can carry them no more."

Halsin couldn't help the tears that pooled and fell down his face, nor the sobs that began to wrack his frame.

"Oh Cub, come here."

The larger man pulled him forward and wrapped his large muscular arms around him. The embrace was all encompassing in the same way Razzikel's often were. AS much as his friend would joke about taking after his mother in appearance, it seemed he took after his father in almost everything else.

Halsin let himself melt into the fatherly embrace as Rhu's voice gently echoed in his head.

"Razzikel told me of what happened to you in the dark and how isolating it has been for you. My heart aches knowing that the man who rsiked life and limb to get my son home has no one to turn to." He then stepped back and rested his hand against Halsin's face, wiping away a tear with his thumb. "So, cub, let this old wolf ease your burden. It is the least i can do after what you have doen for my son."

Halsin's eyes drifted back over to Razzikel who was now spinngin around with a couple kids hanging on to his arms, laughing and smiling, his Amthyst eyes shining like jewels in the fire light.

"I don't deserve to be here. I am an outsider. Now that Razzikel is home, i am of no more use. If i am not useful I..."

Rhu leaned down and pressed his forehead against his forehead. "Those arn't your words."

"What?"

Rhu then reached down and pulled up the tunic he was wearing. a few inches above his hip bone was an old faded branding scar. He didn't know which house it was from but he knew the aesthetic design on a drow noble house.

Halsin's eyes widened, "You too?"

He nodded. "In the same way you brought my son home, Danny did the same for me. That's why i know those aren't your words. Those words are theirs. You are worthy and deserve so much more than to just 'be of use'."

He then turned him back towards the celbration, his hand sweeping out towards all of his people so full of joy and life.

"This celebration could have easily been a funeral if it wasn't for you." He then pointed at Razzikel who was back to dancing and leaping around the campfire, his mother now having joined his side. "My wife could have been lighting her son's funeral pyre, instead there they both are dancing around a bonfire." He watched as tears began to form as he watched his wife and child. "When we lost him, our world shattered. Razzikel had been a blessing form Selune herself. A child Danny didn't think she was even capable of having." His eyes then turned back to him, the tears now falling down his face. "You brought him back to us out of the kindness of your own heart. What little we have, Halsin, is yours. As of today, you are a member of Clan Moonclaw and will always be welcome amongst us."

Halsin started crying again, happy tears this time. "I...I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything." He then saw Rhu look up and nod at someone. When Halsin followed his eyeline he saw Razzikel walking over, his chest heaving a bit out of breath. When Rhu saw him looking he smiled and said, "Instead, I want you to ignore those voices in your head that tell you you don't deserve to be here, and when my son offers his hand, you take it."

"I don't know how to dance." Halsin spoke but didn't stop Rhu from taking his cup out of his hand.

"You don't need to. Just let the music and energy flow through you, your body will do the rest."

When Razzikel reached them, his naked chest was glistening with the sweat and heat of the celabration, his thick pack alpha scent setting his veins on fire.

He held out his hand, the fire a blazing halo around him, making him seem as if he was the spirtual empobiment of the celbration itself.

"Dance with me?"

Halsin took a quick glance in Rhu's direction who tipped his head towards his son encourgingly.

"I would love too."

[singswan-springswan]

Batfam brainrot said imagine a Hunger Games AU for them and I have little self control so now I'm thinking about it. Which is tricky. Because I'm not very familiar with the DC cast at large. Things I headcanon:

Tim is the tribute of interest. He's reaped despite his name only being entered once, and it's kind of a quiet political scandal, but no one really makes a fuss because his parents suck.

Bruce is Tim's mentor. Can't decide if he's from the Capital or not and serves as a mentor after volunteering to go to the districts or something something administrative bs maybe he actually is from the districts and is a victor

Dick is definitely a past victor in the same district---I'm thinking District 1 because aren't they supposed to be fancy and stuff? Fits with both the glamor of the circus for Dick and the wealth of people like Bruce and the Drakes (full disclosure my knowledge of the Panem verse is limited to stuff from fics and the movies and personal curiosity research) Dick is highly desired by Capital Folk for his physical beauty and alluring charm and yet very exclusive as far as prostitution goes because Dick resists tooth and nail as much as he dares behind the scenes. Also Bruce does everything in his power to help, which sadly isn't much since the system is rigged but it's better than the alternative

Don't let Dick's pretty face and sunshine smile fool you; he won his games through unconventional brutality. He's a lethal fighter and one kriff of a detective, while we're at it. Definitely a huge asset to the rebellion

Of course Tim knows that Dick Grayson and his famous father Bruce Wayne are part of some rebellion against the Capital. He's not snitching. He thinks it's cool. He asks to be part of it when he's reaped, and the predatory tension in Grayson's toothy grin would mean less beside Bruce's stormy scowl if the rebellion hadn't gotten Jason killed two years ago. Tim knows about that too. He knows it's a big deal, but he's probably going to die anyway so he might as well help out in the few weeks before then.

The Joker was gamemaker the year of Jason's death. Idk exactly why he ended up being a tribute because surely at that point Bruce has adopted him. Maybe he volunteers for a kid who's like twelve and has no one, and Jason figures he stands a solid chance because he's been training for years and also his family is the Waynes, but the Joker ends up killing him violently and horrifically and a lot of people grieve across the country. No one expected Jason to be killed. Die, maybe, but not be killed. The Joker's the only one who finds the whole thing entertaining. He disappears soon thereafter without a trace (Dick and Friends commit murder).

What no one knows, however, is that Talia saves Jason's body from the arena and resurrects it with the help of her father by the time Tim's game rolls around. Jason is broken and beaten and lost and confused and full of rage. His only comfort is knowing his family avenged his death. Under Talia's guidance, he continues training, though he must keep his identity secret from everyone, including his dad and brother. This version of Jason isn't as antagonistic as canon and actually works to help the rebellion as a secret agent/informant once his time with Talia is over. He's ruthless. Does lots of crimes. His combatant training, calloused mind, and the freak detective skills instilled by his father make for a deadly combination, and he begins to operate as an urban legend within the Capital, collecting every dirty secret every political corruption and the long list of quiet atrocities to use against those in charge later on, leaving a bloody trail of bodies in his wake. Talia couldn't be more proud. As part of the rebellion, Bruce is grateful for the intel this anonymous source provides, but a little unnerved by the methods everyone knows (but can't prove) he's using to get it.

The Al Ghul's and the League of Assasins can just be the government's enforcers. Talia specifically is in charge of training the tributes before the games, so it makes sense for her and Bruce to cross paths occassionally. They're tentative allies. She's not necessarily a rebel, but she is a little bit in the loop and is content to see where the chips fall either way. Damian is raised in semi-secret. Obviously no one knows he's the son of the reknowned Bruce Wayne, but he does publicly exist, if barely. Talia would have sent him to the career academy if she wanted her son anywhere near the games. She doesn't. She and her father can train him just as well without the dead end that path leads down. Besides, he's the child of her beloved as well, and she wants Bruce to know the kid past eighteen.

Steph might be one of the other tributes in the same game as Tim. They become fast friends and she almost instantly worms her way into the rebellion. It gives Bruce a bajillion gray hairs because now he only has two weeks to figure out how to get them both out alive and the star crossed lovers thing hasn't worked ever but faking someone's death is twice as complicated and he's pretty sure Tim could only sit still long enough if he passed out from caffeine overdose. Then Duke is there too with them big ole eyes and sometimes the lights glow brighter in the room when he walks in and Bruce is getting too old for this.

Cass is a mutt created by the Capital. She's originally used as a weapon to eliminate perceived enemies of the state, etc etc and honed into a living weapon. Somewhere along the way she finds Bruce when he's doing Spy Stuff or something and he survives her assassination attempt and decides yeah okay always down for another kid, disregarding the fact that she may or may not be human exactly and doesn't appear to have any experience actually being human. It's okay though. Dick's teaching her how to dance. She might not know what language is yet, but she's learning to dance and that might be better anyway.

Tim's game very nearly goes to kriff because Bruce almost can't fake everyone's death in time, and if he wasn't able to pull it off, he and Clark and Selina and Diana and a bunch of other people were fully prepared to storm the arena and shut it down themselves to save the kiddos. But it's okay they made it to the end. Tim enjoys being legally dead a lot more than might be healthy and everyone is grateful he's on their side. Who "wins" that year's game? Maybe Kon. Bart's fake death was really dramatic and Dick laughed the whole time he was watching. Duke is convinced the leaked radiation from his faked death gave him super powers. It's all Bruce can do to make him not test that theory in the most unhinged dangerous chaotic way possible.

It isn't until the quarter quell or whatever that the rebellion breaks containment. Previous victors are reaped so Dick is thrown back into the wringer despite public outrage hehe. Barbara can be there too. I'm thinking she's from district 3 because tek and she and Tim can be hacker buddies. She was paralyzed by her game. Maybe sprinkle in some Roy, possibly Titans and a token Slade for goofs and giggles. Naturally, half these people are part of the rebellion. The rest definitely know about it. There are riots. They blow up the arena. Whoopsies, started a war.

It isn't until the batfam relocates to district 13 that Jason is revealed to be alive. I'm imagining them narrowly escaping the chaos in the Capital, bruised and battered, bunkering down in this secret forgotton part of their country and then Jason's just sitting in the cafeteria sipping coffee reading Hamlet. He looks just as startled to see them there as they are to find him. His boots are muddy on the table. No one else in for military rations seems to pay that any mind. Tim's pulling out his mobile blood toxicity test kit to check for hallucinagens in their systems by the time Jason works up the brain function to sip his coffee again. "Sup Dad" He says casually, because he's a little piece of crap.

I think Bruce faints.

the funniest part is that Jason's been keeping tabs on his family ever since etering the field full time, so he knows them all very intimately but keeps forgetting he's never actually met some of his new siblings so sometimes they go really still staring at him like they're talking to a ghost and he gets snippy about it before he remembers. Damian's the only one who knew Jason was alive and doing his own rebel thing because Jason taught him how to read when he was still training with Talia but Damian never mentioned it because "no one ever asked" (read: he's also a little piece of crap)

not really sure who the president would be. Idk if there are any villains down to earth enough that could reasonably fit the bill but also be general enough to account for all the other heroes not included in the batfam ie the supers and wonders and lanterns martians and everyone in between. Anyway the point is that that loser (or maybe group of losers; i wouldn't be opposed to an oligarchy dictatorship) is going down by the power of family and friendship. The rebels win because they have more fun. Good for them we stan some quality shenanigans

No one we like dies

Alfred makes everyone cookies

[dukemeropide]

[JADE TALISMAN] ruby eyes light up once he spots a familiar face by the kiosk. kaveh waves wriothesley over, relieved to see the duke's decided to take him up on his offer. (a debt has to be paid off, after all — hadn't he once forced the man away from his well-earned coffee?)

"have you been enjoying your time off?" kaveh asks, only to briefly turn away. he then draws forth a small parcel and letter, offering both to his guest. "this is long overdue, but thankfully the timing's worked out for us. the rite really is something, isn't it?"

Wriothesley, I'll admit that our last run-in left quite the impression on me — in more ways than one, as I'm sure you can imagine. Have you worked with jade before? Its hard exterior presents even the most experienced craftsmen with a laborious challenge. To carve and shape the stone into a new product is a tedious process in every meaning of the word. That's what makes the end result such an impressive feat. Every profession comes with its own hardships, yours being no different. I won't pretend to know them, but from our time together, I feel confident drawing this comparison. Working with unyielding exteriors is a taxing process in of itself. I would guess that, much like jade, it takes skill, patience, and an unwavering will to help shape a broken person into a polished gem. You grant people the opportunity to change and evolve. I'd argue there's no gift as precious. After all, what is the point of living if we can't mold our existence into something meaningful? Just as you instill hope in others, I sincerely hope the new year affords you the same. Regardless of the path you choose, may your choices bring you great peace and prosperity.

Signed with a flourish,

— Kaveh

RECEIVED: Jade Talisman, Modified Storage Box A round disk roughly the size of one's palm. Two dancing dragons have been etched onto its surface - a testament to the aptitude of Liyue's craftsmen. It has been placed into a metallic box with emulative designs. Inspired by their first run-in (and perhaps the recipient's interest in Mehrak?) the gifter has taken it upon himself to equip it with abilities emulating his beloved toolbox's. Largely simplified, of course, but should the recipient be curious enough to investigate...

Encountering faces both new and old is the heart of Liyue’s Lantern Rite, so glimpsing the Sumeran architect among the crowd of festival-goers - an eye-catching gem in his own right, yet carefully fitted in the middle of the mirth and merriment like he had belonged there all along - comes with not as much surprise as it does joy. Although their last meeting had been mostly one-sided, it had not sullied the impression the man had left on Wriothesley, so he joins Kaveh at the nearby table with an amicable smile.

"Truthfully, I didn't expect to run into so many familiar faces here, but I suppose that's a testament to the Rite's fame,” he says as he pulls the chair out on the other side of the small, round table. It’s the last one with any open space, Wriothesley notices, and glances back half-apologetically.

”You weren’t saving this spot for anyone, were you?” He can’t entirely believe that Kaveh would be here by himself, or that he had not been waiting for someone else to join him, but he decides to take the invitation, and Kaveh’s assurance, at face value, and settles into the chair with arms folded across his chest. With an entire sea between them ordinarily, the opportunity to catch up is a rare and precious one, and Wriothesley has a number of questions ready to pick back up where they had left off. Kaveh, however, beats him to it. The little box he presents, resembling a Sumeran meka, renders him speechless for half a beat - the only sign that the Duke, rarely caught off guard, has finally lost his footing.

“I don’t remember wagering a bet with you,” he recovers lightheartedly, uncrossing his arms and leaning forward to accept the gift, first turning it over to examine the details of the box, then opening it to the beautifully crafted charm housed within. Such a token of sincerity is almost foreign to him, and for all of his experience with the theatrical art of gift-giving and receiving in Fontaine, Wriothesley finds himself at a loss, expression soft, a thoughtful smile illuminated by the green glow from the box’s projection, as he holds the gift in reverent silence.

“Is this your design?” he asks after a moment, glancing back across the table at Kaveh. “That reminds me: I’d actually hoped to meet you again to talk about a commission…”

- - -

Only once alone does Wriothesley open the accompanying letter to read its heartfelt contents. The words describe a man he would liken to the jade artisans to which the letter draws its comparison more than to his own reflection, and he finds it difficult to believe that he had left such an impression on the architect during their brief acquaintance. It’s a precious reminder, however, of the way water shapes the seabed, and the seabed shapes the shore, and hidden between the lines, Wriothesley thinks he can catch glimpses of the author himself.

When he returns to his office in the Fortress of Meropide, he adds the letter to a small collection stored away in an unassuming drawer in his office, on top of the letter conferring his title and a commendation penned by the Iudex. On the edge of his desk, near his phonograph, he sets the metal box in a place where he can always see it.

[luminescentlyricist]

🎪 Bird’s Call - Identity V ✒️

There were shoes, clicking slowly yet distinctly against the tiles. The young man that they held aloft was wandering without a goal in mind, though that was only because of his preoccupation. Looking upwards and through one of the Manor's windows when carpet cushioned the sounds, Mike let out a sigh. He wasn't prepared for the days that stretched ahead. Such dejectedness hadn't come to him for some time, but it felt like it was going to drown him. Even thinking about the man he'd once held dear was making his head whirl. As much as he would've liked to return to his room and bury his face in the pillows, he'd promised his former troupe members that he'd always continue forwards. Refusal to do so would be an insult to their memories.

This, more often than not, led to his being awake during the later hours, and it wasn’t just because he had trouble falling asleep. As a performer, he had given himself many ways to quickly get rest, even if the resultant naps made him feel more rotten than before. Bernard had instilled in him a faith that hadn’t wavered, a need to do his best, so sacrificing a few hours to a visit wasn’t a big deal. Letters from the Acrobat were characterised by long rambles, paths of sentences calling back to performances already long forgotten by the recipient, because he wished for each encounter to be a memorable one. It was a shame they took so long to complete, for his handiwork needed to be legible.

As he passed the kitchen in his aimless wander, his chest tightened despite his internal protest and logic; the smell of smoke was pungent as ever, though it was only an accident with food and no disaster. From the nape of his neck to his tailbone, the acrobat focused on the tingling feeling of a shiver to take his mind off the tragedy that lingered ever-present. Pulling at the ruff around his neck had become habit. Even though his breaths were no longer shallow gasps, he'd almost forgotten how deeply his lungs would let him inhale. Remembrance… he had no time for it, if he were to honour those he'd left. Those that remained, and those he'd walked away from. Mike slowly bought a hand up to pinch his nostrils closed, lowering his head as a defence against the smell.

His feet carried him, still, even though he didn’t quite know where he was going. He walked out to the gardens visible in front of the Manor, sitting cross-legged atop one of the white benches and unintentionally taking up more space with his long legs. It was late enough that he doubted anyone would join him, which filled him with a sense of long-awaited peace. Relief. Eyes sweeping the area, the man finally let himself go - he untucked his curls from the hat that so often held them, fingers curling around the brown fabric so loosely that it might’ve fallen. To anyone else, to him in another night, this would mean nothing. But his muscles ached with their burdens, and it signified a small victory of sorts.

Reaching into the pinched and pinned-back portion of his hat, he drew out a small note, unfolding it with the utmost care he could provide. It had been pinned down there, in a little pouch, as were commonly found dotting the insides of the innovative Acrobat’s everyday wear. Always hidden from view. This note was something very important to him, but he refused to show even Margie what was written. She remained his dearest friend in the troupe’s Manor populace. Before he could read it properly, however, the noise of wings alerted him: a raven, black against the nearly starless sky, gazing down at him with beady eyes. He suspected the smell of food had followed him out from the kitchens, and it sought something from him.

“I have nothing left out here for you, you know.”

Mike remarked, the smallest of smiles curling the edges of his mouth as he replaced the note and put his hat back on. He hadn’t expected such an encounter, let alone at an unusual time. He watched as the bird tilted its head, as if to enquire ‘why not’, then flew up to a higher branch in the tree overhanging the bench. It continued to watch him, but he couldn’t satisfy whatever it was they wanted. Instead, this only left the acrobat feeling undeniably unsettled, with no true way to get the point across without sacrificing his peace - away from humans, that was - and returning to the Manor to get much-needed rest. His mind was soon occupied by the raven’s antics, as he found a sense of strange familiarity in that stubbornness.

“Certainly nothing seedy and aptly delicious. Shouldn’t you be with your roost-mates? It’s late.”

Of course he knew that the raven didn’t have any understanding of his words, but thought it rude to leave them without an explanation regardless. Despite how there weren’t many stars, the lamps flickering to bathe the gardens in a soft light were enough to avoid Mike straining his eyes. From one of the pouches on his belt, he pulled out a bottle of water, deciding to drink from it first and then hold up the filled cap to the raven, who simply stared at it for a good ten seconds. This was enough for Mike’s cheeks to colour in embarrassment, so he tipped it out onto the grass and replaced it before wandering over to a decorative stone basin that the Baron had commissioned from the Sculptor - Miss Galatea, whose self-reservation did little to stop the unease Mike felt even bringing her leering face to mind - some time earlier but never used. Now seemed as good a time as any, even though he couldn’t provide exactly what he assumed his new companion wanted.

So he emptied the rest of the bottle into the basin, heedless of how hot it’d been getting for him. He could remember to refill it any day. After a moment more, the raven came to perch on the edge of the basin and dipped its beak into the cool water. Mike was pleased, but he still took a few cautious steps backward so they wouldn’t see him as an invader. When he turned away, there came a squawking - the raven was indignant, almost, to hold his attention. The acrobat didn’t immediately turn on his heel, no, but instead pulled on the thick gloves hanging at his waist-belt (usually situated in his cabinet, he’d strung them there with little regard in a sleepless stupor that morning) and held his arm out to the bird, twisting his body appropriately.

Ruffling its feathers as if to puff out its chest in pride, the bird took the opportunity to use Mike’s arm as a perch. The young man stiffened in caution and alarm both as it landed so close, breath hitching. Muscle by muscle, he allowed himself to relax, mis-matched eyes meeting the small bird’s for a second or two. He needed to keep it occupied so nobody else would be disturbed by the racket its call produced, however futile. Tentatively, he reached a gloved hand over to run his fingers through the raven’s head feathers, almost as if giving it a pat, and it responded by leaning into the hold, a gurgling sort of quieter vocalisation eventually coming from its throat. Of all the thrilling things Mike had done, getting so close to a bird usually heralded as a vicious and dark omen wasn’t on his list. It didn’t seem to want to harm him, at least, and he was grateful for that.

The moment, perfect in its stillness, didn’t last. A familiar yet unwanted presence had arrived. The raven flew up to its tree once again, making its silent protest known. The acrobat sighed, unwilling to acknowledge what’d been shaken for a second longer. His eyes slipped closed, if only to preserve the waning peace of the situation, mind and focus lingering on the vague sensations left in his hands from the raven’s feathers. Until it was shattered, at last, by a crowing of another type - that man’s voice, grating on his ears like nothing else could. The tone wasn’t so bad in reality, but Mike personally couldn’t stand it. The obnoxiousness oozing from each syllable seemed nearly palpable to his sensitive ears.

The only thing Mike could think to do to stave off the novelist was to cut him off, and he did so with little regard to any possible greeting paid before. It wasn’t like him to be as careless as he appeared to Orpheus, but he knew well enough how long the conversation would drag on otherwise. He was too tired to deal with it, as the soothing of the raven’s visit had left him without the energy he naturally carried. The bird was more of a friend to him than someone of the Baron’s standing could ever be, though he didn’t speak it around anyone to avoid backlash. Sure, he could whine to his cousin or Margie, but the time ticked on. It would have been discourteous, he felt, even though both Survivors had assured him they’d be there if he needed them regardless of how early or late it was.

“Mister De Ross, I’d thank you to leave before I throw something fire-lit in your general direction.”

Mike hoped sincerely that his threat would be heeded. Orpheus was his own man, however, and would do nothing of the sort. Instead, he moved toward the acrobat even further, craning his neck to look at the raven in his own right. The bird stayed away from him, gaze nearly unblinking, and it appeared not to want to come back down for the disturbance. His smile was soft, serene, but held some air of superiority - he knew well that the acrobat wouldn’t be able to do anything to truly stop him, not while he was in the Manor’s grounds. Placing a hand over his chest, he continued to mock further, taking a slower step forth.

“How you wound me, Mike. I was simply coming to check on you. I’ve taken to doing the rounds, though Miss Dyer tells me I may stretch myself too thin checking on each of you.”

Who else he was talking about was left unspoken, but the acrobat knew better than to ask the novelist for confirmation. It would only make matters worse, indulging the Baron like that. He’d talk for hours, and Mike couldn’t hold attention for that long unless it actually concerned him. His gaze trailed up to the bird on the tree-branch, taking comfort in its presence. It was almost guarding him. Orpheus continued to talk to him, but his thoughts were elsewhere, distant as the raven. He wasn’t intending to ignore, really, but his captivation with the simple scene soothed him more than being almost interrogated by his visitor.

Said visitor became irritated, the patient curving of his mouth falling away, and he did the only thing he could think of - as if commanding the staff of the Manor, he clapped his hands twice sharply.

Mike’s breath caught in his throat, and he seized in fear.

Of course, somewhere in the back of his mind, Mike knew that Orpheus meant no harm. But the noise was so distinct, so painfully familiar, that his logic had abandoned him. His eyes were wide, startled, and it was all he could do to sit back before he fell, gaze redirecting to the man of the manor naturally. Just because he no longer craned his neck enough to see the raven. His palms scraped against the worn concrete of the path, but the pain barely registered for the aching of his heart. The last time he’d had such a thing happen, had a command be given in tandem… no. He wasn’t going to think about it.

Soon pulling distractedly on the cuffs of his ruffled sleeves, Mike’s movements were little more than twitches. He’d tuned Orpheus out, entirely oblivious to the concern of the Baron upon seeing the frightened display. Though his heartbeat pounded in his ears, he barely felt the rise and fall of his chest. Lightheadedness caused his eyelids to droop, though he knew he couldn’t stay like that forever - a futile attempt to stand left him on a course to the ground, yet more senseless tears blurring his vision and logic both.

“Mister Morton, I’d advise you return to your quarters. You’re not well.”

The voice came from a direction the acrobat couldn’t process, and he closed his eyes, bringing shuddering arms upwards if only to grind the heels of his hands into them. He didn’t like showing weakness, much less around someone of higher standing. He never had, really. He continued this movement until he felt a soft grip take his wrists, pulling them away from his face. The force caused him to tense, shivering in resistance. Though he didn’t open his eyes, he could tell that it was Orpheus - the callouses atop each of the novelist’s fingers told him everything he needed to know, sensitive as he was to the small things when overwhelmed. When he tried to formulate a reply, nothing came from his mouth.

He disliked feeling so pathetic, but the sound of the clapping still rung in his ears.

It should have only taken a moment for him to recover. That was what was expected of him, after all - being at another’s beck and call, especially for matters of entertainment. Always maintaining a smile, even when it was a struggle to bring one to his lips. He had to respect Orpheus, as his new source of… haphazard companionship, he thought, but the shaking of his body and mind both were doing terrible things. He couldn’t do it, and that stressed him out more than he was able to articulate. It was akin to a mask breaking, and the curtains opening on the backstage proceedings. He couldn’t afford to let it happen, but there was no strength left in him to pull everything together again.

Bernard had done that to and for him. Given him simple cues and commands, a list to follow, and they were once helpful. But he was no longer a child who needed to be shepherded around, and retrieving his easily diminishing sense of pride and growth had taken him a longer time than he cared to admit. Joker mocked him more than enough for his liking, and did him no favours. These cues were turned into weapons, even though the acrobat was the only one who thought of them as such. They were just another reminder of his lack of control, no matter how finely crafted his defences were.

Mike simply twisted his body, wrenching his hands from the Novelist’s well-meaning hold.

“Leave me be, Mister De Ross. Of course I’m not well, and It’s because of you. Just go. Please. I cannot cope with you right now. You should know better than to treat me that way.”

The acrobat’s voice was uncharacteristically cold, flattening almost into indifference but holding an obvious edge of irritation. He wasn’t feeling right, not at all, and the presence of someone he’d only consider a friend at the best of times was draining him of energy. He took his hat off, rubbing his hands across his ears in a vain attempt to rid them of the sound lingering. Of course Orpheus didn’t care to know the reason why the clapping had startled him so, and Mike didn’t expect it. It was a petty thing, and would have seemed ridiculous to anyone who hadn’t been through it.

This sort of loneliness was something he wouldn’t care to explain, but only one person in the Manor would have responded in the right way regardless. Curling his hands into fists to protect his palms, he leaned back onto them with heaving breath. Tears continued to run down his cheeks, but he didn’t move to wipe them away. Despite being unable to properly let it out, for fear of losing his composure around his superior in its entirety, Mike felt the relief sweeping through him as he allowed himself to cry. He was too tired to resist, even if he wanted to. It was something entirely foreign: the lack of performance in the display of vulnerability.

Orpheus was taken aback, to say the least, to see Mike crying, but he didn’t have the means to comfort the younger man. So he left, as was asked of him, and didn’t think to look backwards. However nagging his discontent with the issue, he knew that it’d all just make things worse if he tried to push forward with something likely to devolve into an argument. He, too, was tired, and he wasn’t looking forward to a sore back from falling asleep at his desk again should his journey take too long. He had writing milestones to meet before indulging himself with rest like that.

It was in this way that the acrobat found himself once more alone, sitting down on the path to the gardens with the sun threatening to set behind him. He didn’t care to sit back up on the bench, as nobody would think to go outside at that time. Much less to the gardens themselves, which were a subject of avoidance for any wary manor resident - save for the Baron’s closest, and the maintenance workers - due to an accident prior. This was yet another mystery surrounding the novelist, but he hadn’t had the time nor the actual courage to pry for answers. With a short and exasperated sigh, Mike kicked one leg up to steady his other foot on the ground, leaning against it with the majority of his tired weight in order to straighten and stand.

It was time to visit a friend.

Sparing a glance up to the sky, he wondered where the raven had flown off to. As disappointing as it was to find he’d lost that company, the acrobat knew such a thing wouldn’t have lasted. Idealism did him no favours. Grounding himself in the moment with the familiarity of his customised shoes would have been easy otherwise, but his heartbeat pulsed in his ears and drowned out all other noise. The plates he’d added to most if not all of the soles were reminiscent of proper tap shoes, and allowed him to keep the lively spirit of performance around. Sure, the modification was met with significant complaint, but he’d allowed himself a moment of relief and ignored it. They made him feel better, and the manor’s residents either learned to put up with it or reach that understanding themselves. Mischief didn’t equal the discomfort of others to Mike. That was different.

Soon enough after walking in a detached haze, the acrobat found his place, slipping out of his shoes and placing them at the front of the grounds (simply outside the entrance) before stepping through.

That morning, Orpheus had tasked himself with checking back up on Mike. Despite not having any understanding of what had caused the acrobat to lash out at him, he’d boiled it down to the night’s irritability, and had no real intent to stir enmity between anyone. There was a time and a place for that, and it was beyond the position of the Baron De Ross. Unbecoming of a nobleman, unexpected of a novelist, and thus out of place in his goals. First, he checked around the young man’s tent - a simple structure, donned with white and red striped cloth in its stereotypical fashion, serving as his retreat beyond the confines of the Manor despite being put up right beside it. That was where Mike spent most of his time, despite looking rather barren. A desk, a bed, a cabinet and a few piles of miscellaneous belongings, stacked with unprecedented care. That was all he needed.

Not meaning to intrude, he backed away from the tent and allowed the fabric to flutter behind him, closing the entranceway from view when it settled. He wondered why the acrobat hadn’t asked him about increasing the security, but hadn’t cared to look for enough. There was a panel that served as a doorway, and Mike held the key, but he hadn’t returned to his tent and set everything back in place.

Instead, he continued to the next place he thought Mike would be: around where his cousin’s boar was often kept with some of the other animals. Occasionally, Wick the post-dog would greet anyone there, but Victor had told him he preferred to keep them close. The Postman's companion, therefore, was likely still curled at the end of the boy's bed, sleeping soundly. Stranger still was the entire absence of the boar. It was commonly content to be there, snuffling away, tail flicking until Murro needed to take care of it again. The two were as inseparable as ever, but their bond remained rivalled by another.

That gave him the last idea. The woodlands beyond the Manor where the Gamekeeper prowled were often home to more wild boars. Contrary to the beliefs of some on the grounds, what was whispered between guest and servant alike, Bane didn’t intend to harm unless threat was bought to the animals under his care. So long as one kept in the many beasts’ good graces, he’d turn a blind eye to those entering and exiting his ‘territory’. Bane considered their opinions more than his own. He was one of the more unfortunate Hunters, twisted by circumstance and tragedy, but outside the game he was circumstantially gentler.

Orpheus took a deep breath, gathering his coat and heading out to the woods. Luckily for him, as he walked further into the various connected thickets and copses, there was no sign of Bane about. No further complications. The animals weren’t hostile, per se, but enough of them were large and frightening to those as unadjusted as he was. There were a few survivors who liked the forest, fewer still who may have preferred it to the Manor’s shelter, but the narrowing of options was exactly what he needed. So he walked further in, even though the trees’ canopy thickened and begun to block out the light. He took a pause to pull on his coat, fumbling with the buttons as his hands shook with the sudden cold of the shade.

A bird’s crowing cut through the oppressive silence as Orpheus walked, but he couldn’t see where it was coming from. They didn’t often come to the Manor, let alone straying to the darker parts of the trees. He followed where the sunlight struck, trying to keep himself as safe as possible. It wasn’t as if he were a frightened child, unwilling to go into the darkness; getting lost running around the unfamiliar parts of the Manor’s boundaries was just going to be more of a hassle if he had to help Mike get out as well. So he thought. Thanks to someone else’s careful guidance, the acrobat knew the woodlands better than Orpheus himself.

Turning a corner, he was lead to the entrance of a large clearing. Here, there sat a sight he’d never seen before, but was pleased to witness nonetheless. Mike and Murro were both asleep, side by side in the clearing, supported by the large boar’s soft body that it seemed perfectly content to let them lean against. It was simply something lovely, something peaceful, an occurrence seldom given within the Manor’s walls. The raven, the past night’s guardian, sat atop a tree-branch nearby, fluffing up its feathers as its own ward from the cold. It was only when Orpheus was leaving, unwilling to disturb the cousins in their moments of relief, that he knew what he was truly seeing.

A memory of the past, framed in waning sunlight.

[iironwreath]

Wounded [Cadiana]

[cw: war, gore, civilian death]

“In war, the only law was power. And power knew no civilians—you were either a combatant or a victim.” — Olivia Waite, Hen Fever

Cadiana rarely went without their armour. Part of it was routine; they would find themselves securing a cuisse without asking if they actually needed it. The act of attaching it piece by piece was meditative, ritual. There was community when a cleric or squire assisted with her upper body, each finding their own way to serve Erathis by lending their help to each other. 

The other part was trauma; two years couldn’t shake the effects of a war they’d grown up with. Fighting wasn’t just expected from their Order, it was required—and so, the armour. 

It was fortunate, then, they were in their armour when the cult of Tiamat descended on Westruun. 

First, Cadiana helped the First Bastion—those who weren't already defending—underground. They threw two injured people onto Warpath and fended off draconic beasts as they went, acting as a rearguard. Cady let the head priest do a headcount before pivoting on their heel, making for the exit to the surface.

Lorcan lunged to grab their arm, but instead of stopping Cady, her momentum brought Lorcan stumbling forward. His arms were strong, but his balance wasn't perfect with his re-grown foot. Cady stopped and supported him under the elbow, inviting him to speak. 

"You're alright to do this?" he asked. It wasn't a question that Cady was going back out.

Cady wanted to give it some thought for him, but they couldn't hesitate—every second mattered. Even if she wasn't okay, by whatever definition, she would have gone. "Yes.”

"Erathis protect you and guide your maul, Steelsong."

"She will." 

—

Outside, blasts of fire, ice, and lightning shaved off chunks of buildings. Poison clouded off blocks, dissolving skin and melting lungs. Civilians who hadn't escaped fast enough were cornered into their homes or drained into the streets, where they were cut down. The cult was needlessly brutal about it, removing entire limbs, heads, or dragging screaming families apart. Were they taking prisoners? What the hell for? 

Orla’s words, a reinforcement of Erathis’, resonated in them: protect the city. Protect her city. Westruun had become Cady’s home as much as Emon once was. 

Cady charged. They swung with the force of a battering ram, using their maul to slam cultists’ heads off their shoulders or into buildings and launching at them like a bear. Maybe bears didn’t scare dragons, but Cady was at her fiercest in battle—where she couldn’t instill fear, she could kill.

Cady realized why Lorcan had asked. She'd been here before—a hurricane of noise around her, steel on steel and bellowing and the drumbeat of a thousand armoured feet and shields, the snap of bowstrings and bones and crossbow bolts. Fire and spells added to the roar, so loud it made her ears want to go numb. The air was pungent with sweat and the iron bite of blood, so thick she tasted it in the back of her throat. 

For a fleeting moment Cady had wondered if they’d freeze, but they were calmer than they’d ever been, Erathis’ steady presence beating in tandem beside their heart. 

Once upon a time, Cady might have been on the opposite side, a pawn of a Betrayer God—Bane instead of Tiamat. Warren Drassig and his son were the closest she had ever gotten to one. Warren had fooled her, making her trust he was enacting Erathis’ tenets, but his son unveiled the truth. Cady had turned away just as Bane’s fingers had brushed her shoulder. 

Out on the battlefield during the Scattered War, away from the cities, Cady had believed everyone there was a soldier; that when opposing sides met, they were all at least trained in basic combat and were there voluntarily, even if that reason was a reaction. In Westruun, that couldn’t have been further from the truth. 

Cadiana arrived at the city’s heart in time to join with some of the Gilded Thorns: Krusk, Kishore, and Bryn. The three and some armed guards had cleaved a path through a knot of cultists trying to stave in the courtyard gates. The Thorns had successfully drawn their attention and were beginning to drive them back.

Cady reeked of sweat, smoke, and blood—some their own, but mostly the cultist’s. They thrust a fist against their chest, closing most of the wounds, and took up a wide stance beside Kishore. Kishore spared him a quick flick of the eyes, then returned her focus to battle.  

They smelled a pyrrhic victory. Westruun was wounded, but the cult would come away wounded, too. For every innocent life, Cady wanted to smite down ten of the cultists.